Child gives me a long, empty look. Then he bursts into tears.
Galla finally springs into action. “Look what you did,” she said. “And the neighbors. The neighbors!” Of course she’s concerned with public image at a time like this. “We’ll bring him inside,” she says.
“And where do you plan on putting him?” I ask.
“The bed? The bathroom? Anywhere but here,” she says.
Have to admit, she’s got a point. She swoops up the lump, and it quiets down in her arms. Only rational explanation: the child’s paralyzed with fear. She takes it inside, I follow.
“Where are we headed?” I ask.
“I think I know the best place for it. Just for now.”
Walk through the main room, towards the hallway.
“Our bedroom? The thing’s already fallen once today. A tumble off the bed would likely be the end of him.”
“He’s not going on the bed.”
She comes to a dead stop. I realize we’re in front of the bathroom.
“But…no. No,” I plead. “My art.”
“The bath’s the safest place for him. Besides, it’s only for a minute. Till we figure out… how to proceed.”
I give in like I always do. “Fine,” I say. “Just for now.” Galla takes the child, plops him in the bathtub. She closes the door behind her, like the boy is a plague you can quarantine.
“What now?” she says. “What can we do?”
“Never heard of anything surviving before eight years,” I say. “We should assume…”
“Not an option,” she says.
Feeling fairly confused by her response. “I thought you didn’t even want it,” I say. “And now you’ve got a free ticket out. You should be overjoyed.”
She ignores me. “You’re sure we can’t take him back to the clinic?”
“Might as well let him live out his life here,” I say. “Doesn’t seem to be much harm in that. The boy’s barely started developing.”
“What if…” says Galla. Clearly, the wheels turning are turning. “What if we tried to re-bag him?”
“How the hell would we go about that?” I say. Can’t fathom how the woman comes up with such schemes.
“Think about it,” she says. “You can get another bag from the clinic. Charm your way into it. You’re good at that.”
“Oh, am I now?” I say. Must admit, flattery is the kindest form of manipulation.
“It’ll be easy for you,” she says. “Don’t give away the circumstances, obviously. Tell them you want to double bag. People do that.”
“People with anxiety disorders,” I say. “But yes, I suppose they do.”
“You get the bag, we hang Tate up tomorrow at sunset.”
“You seem to be ignoring the fact that we have absolutely no idea what we’re doing.”
“Couldn’t do much worse than the clinic,” she says.
“Fair enough,” I say. “Wait…what did you just call the thing?”
“Nothing,” she says, but a smile plays at the corner of her lips. “The clinic,” she says. “For God’s sake, go.”
***
Never repeat the same drive twice in a day. Makes you feel like your life is a wretched film you’ve already seen. Would’ve all been terribly boring if little “Tate’s” life wasn’t at stake.
Sun setting by the time I arrive at the clinic. Parking lot’s nearly empty. Either it’s a slow day for births, or the clinic’s about to close. No matter. Stroll inside quite calmly, run smack into the weasel nurse. Don’t they ever change shifts?
“What’re you doing back here?” she says.
“Lovely to see you as well. Just curious-”
“Sorry, I’m not free for a coffee later. I’ve already got a boyfriend.”
She strides away, haughty and proud. I suppose misplaced confidence is better than no confidence at all. Head to the front desk, and thank God, there’s a new male nurse. At first glance, seems a bit of a dandy.
“Excuse me,” I say. Put on my best grave voice. “Been having a minor problem with your product.”
“Yes?” says the man.
“The bag is absolutely dreadful. First day back, and there’s a deep sag in the middle. Looks like it could split at any moment. Shoddy construction, I’m inclined to think.”
“Mr. Covington, is it?” he says, looking down at some records. “I noticed you left your child here for a week before pickup, which is highly inadvisable. And I can’t say we’ve ever had much complaint before…” Can see he’s avoiding eye contact. Trying to hide something.
“Perhaps that’s because you made better bags before,” I say.
Dandy looks up at me, knows he’s caught. “Yes, well…” He looks around, then leans in conspiratorially.
“Can this stay between us?”
I nod.
“We’re in the process of changing suppliers. You received your bag within the last two weeks, correct?”
Another nod.
“Sorry to say it, but you got the dregs of the last generation. We nearly worked them to death. Since then, there have been quite a few…additions to the family, as it were. With their help, we’re creating some brilliant products.”
“That’s all well and good,” I say, “But I don’t see how it helps me. I need a bag that will support my child for a decade. And I need it urgently.”
Dandy mulls it over.
“There is a new prototype. Supports 400 pounds…”
“400?! Sign me up.”
“But Mr. Covington, I must warn you, there’ve been some inexplicable side effects in the lab tests.”
“I’m sure, I’m sure. Look,” I say. “This is one of the most important days of my life. So if you can supply me with better support, then you have the obligation to do it. Really, it’s not even about me. It’s about my poor child.”
I pause, let the words echo. Try to squeeze out a tear, but no luck. Still, Dandy relents.
“Follow me,” he says. “I’ll show you what we’re working on. If it’s up to your standards, you can have it.”
He leads me down a series of identical hallways. Quite certain they made this place into a maze so nothing can escape. Wouldn’t be surprised if this was all an elaborate trap. Imagine my death in forty different ways, all gruesome. Worst of all is one where I simply forget how to breathe.
Follow the dandy at a steady rhythm, attempt to match his pace. Chamber echoes as we get deeper, almost like a heartbeat. Walls are concrete, but somehow the whole place smells of sweat. Starting to get a bit spooked.
“Take customers down here often?” I ask.
“Only the ones that give us trouble,” he says.
At the bottom of the stairs, surroundings turn cave-like. Not liking this in the least. Trying to decide if I could best the dandy in a fight. Pride says yes; reality says it’s a coin flip.
“Here we are,” he says. Leads me towards a light at the back of the cave. Suddenly notice a floor-to-ceiling glass enclosure. Seems to be a large white tongue protruding from the middle. To the side, there’re piles of white cloth. Dandy goes up to the white tongue, strokes it.
“See this?” he says. “Newest and best product. We keep them working down here because they prefer the conditions. They can create up to fifty a day. Just like a machine.”
Come up to the glass, put my hands against it. Inside, dozens of caterpillars. They’ve lined up in a neat row along the edge of the cloth. As they work their way backward, the cloth grows. Never seen behind the scenes footage before. Quite fascinating. And every single one of the caterpillars is snow white.
“Gorgeous color on these,” he says, as if he’s read my mind. “Rare breed, too. Boss favors them over the rest.” He goes around to the finished pile and picks up a bag. Then pulls a card out of his pocket. Hands them both to me.
“There’s your bag, and there’s the boss’ number. If you run into any other problems, feel free to give her a ring. Have to warn you, she’s an absolute witch, th
ough.”
I force a smile. “Always are, aren’t they?”
Bag in hand, the deed is done. Head back up the stairs. Hope the little boy’s still alive. Would be a shame to have wasted a perfectly good day.
April 10, 2007
In the Workshop
7.
Ned wasn’t much of a bleeder. He had a nice round welt where his head had smacked the steel. It’d make a decent souvenir. I picked up his limp body. He was heavy for a rat. No matter. I slung him over my shoulder and went to the second door in my workshop. The one that led to the cave.
The door was locked, but I made short work of it. The hinges screeched as the door opened. A gust of warm, wet wind flowed in. It smelled of sulfur and sweat, decay and reproduction. It made me sick, but I went in just the same.
The cave was narrow. It got more constricted as you went along, like the hollow under a staircase. It might’ve been ten feet long. It looked like a big gaping mouth that closed up at the throat. I’d never gone further than halfway. I had good reason for that.
In the middle of the cave, there was a raised platform of dirt. It was in the shape of a circle. Things went into the circle one way and came back another. I dropped Ned off right in the middle.
“Hey!” I screamed into the darkness. “I got another one for you. Wrap him up nice and quick.”
I backed away from the circle. Then I went into my workshop. I bolted the door. Better not to have anything escape.
***
Dark Hollow Middle School was at the corner of a dead dream and a dead end. They built the school for the best of the middle class. People were looking to run away from the grime of the city. The suburbs were clean and empty. This was their escape.
Highways were supposed to connect every county. Then the money dried up. People stopped buying houses. Two-stories sat empty, with broken windows and bricks in their living rooms. Highway construction went on indefinite suspension. Dark Hollow was the last exit off a broken road.
I drove there in my old Chrysler. The car’s never let me down and I don’t see why it’d start now. I was shaved and sober and rested. I wore slacks and a suit. If you want respect, you earn it with looks first, words second. I was dressed for answers. I had business to attend to, and that business went by the name of Amanti Jordan.
I didn’t know where to find Amanti, but by Ned’s description, she’d be hard to miss. There aren’t many Amazons around. I walked right up to the main office. It was a risk, but I knew what I was doing. There was a little blonde secretary. She had on too much makeup. Close up, she looked worn out and lonely. But I could tell she had a good heart. I decided I’d better not break it.
“Can I help you?” she said.
“I’m looking for an Amanti Jordan,” I said.
“Oh no,” she said. Her face fell. “More trouble?”
“It always is, isn’t it?”
“Let me check her schedule.”
The old maid clicked buttons until she felt satisfied.
“Amanti is in gym right now,” she said. “It’s down the hall, and through the double doors.”
I turned to walk away.
“Mister?” she said.
“Yeah?” I said.
“Go easy on her, please. She’s not all bad. She’s had a hard life.”
I stared her down. “Who hasn’t?” I said. When I left the office, the blonde looked a few years older.
I found the gym real easy. But it was empty. The secretary didn’t seem the deceptive type. I considered other possibilities. The gym was a big open court, with wooden bleachers folded up on the sides. I walked further inside and found another set of doors. Above them, it said, “Locker Rooms.” I went through the doors. I wasn’t going in there to change.
Past the set of double doors, there was a carpeted hallway. There was a girls’ locker room and a boys’ locker room. I pushed my way into the girls’ room.
I was living every pervert’s dream. But I wasn’t going to lose any sleep over it. On the way in, I walked past a fully dressed brunette tart. She gave me a hard look, but she didn’t say a word.
The locker room had ten rows of lockers. They were tall and wide, and spaced a few feet apart. In the gaps, there were benches for girls to sit on. They could do other things on the benches, too. I made my way past row after row, looking for Amanti. All I saw were dressed girls checking their hair in mirrors. There was a bathroom, and a line five girls deep for each stall. The false modesty of teenage girls. It always astounds me.
I got to the gap between the last two rows of lockers. There was a potential match. Her back was turned to me. I studied her figure. The bottom half in bright green pants, the top half uncovered except for a pink bra. Her caramel skin glittered in the fluorescent light. There was a stamp on her lower back. She put on a small white t-shirt that just barely covered everything. What a shame.
She turned to see me standing there. Her pink bra shone through the shirt like a stain.
“You lost?” she said.
I looked into her eyes. They were as hard as coal. Her eyebrows had a severe arch. But there was a softness in her cheeks and nose that kept everything in balance. I could see what the Little Duck had been thinking.
“Sure,” I said. “Maybe you can help me. I’m looking for a quiet place to talk.”
“We’re talking. Seems quiet enough,” she said.
“Have it your way, Amanti.”
I sat on the bench and examined my fingernails. They looked just fine, even sparkled in the right light.
Amanti made a disgusted noise. “You with the police, too?”
“What do you think?” I said.
“I don’t know,” she said. “A short, old white dude with a Napoleon complex? Yeah, you must be a cop.”
“Funny,” I said. I spat on the floor. “Everybody’s funny these days. Hell of a lot easier than being honest.”
“What do you want with me? You here about the disappearances? Because I already gave my statement.”
That got my attention.
“Yeah,” I said. “I am. And I’m going to need another statement. One where you don’t leave anything out.”
“You think I lied to your boyfriend?”
“I think you’re trying to keep your nose clean. Which isn’t a bad idea, as far as I’m concerned.”
“Why should I help you?” she said. She slung her backpack over her shoulders. She acted like she was about to leave. It was a good act. I stood up and met her. I only came up to her chest, but I looked in her eyes. I knew how to get answers. Even when I didn’t know the question.
“This isn’t about me. Or you,” I said. “It’s about them.”
She nodded. “I know a place we can talk,” she said. “Follow me.”
She led us out the back door of the locker room. We walked down an ancient hallway, the floors tile and the ceiling asbestos. Neither of us said much. At the end of the hallway, there was a room on the left. We went inside. There was video equipment all around. It gave me a bad feeling.
She shut the door behind us. “This is where we study tape. Coach said I can come in whenever I feel like it.”
“You play basketball?” I asked.
“You eat donuts?” she said.
“Enough,” I said. “Talk. And don’t leave anything out.”
I sat back and cracked my knuckles. It was habit. I waited a minute. She didn’t start.
“What?’ I said.
“Don’t you need a notebook or something?”
“I’ve got a memory,” I said. “World’s biggest notebook.”
She frowned.
“Better not ask me for this a third time,” she said.
“If you have to tell it again, you’ll be in court. I really don’t want that, though.”
She glared at me. “OK,” she said. “Last night, I didn’t hear anything. No messages, no texts, not from anybody. I got to school today and people came at me hard. Like, ‘You hear about Ned? You hear about
Madeline?’ And I’m thinking they must’ve hooked up or something. Maybe she got herself pregnant. But no. They were both gone.”
I took in the news without any reaction. Ned was easy. He was right in my basement. Madeline? That was more difficult. The last I’d seen of her, she was skipping off into the darkness. I doubted she ended up anywhere good.
“What’s your take on it?” I asked.
“Isn’t that your job?” she said.
“I like amateur opinions. Sometimes, they’re just stupid enough to be right.”
She didn’t like that. But she kept on just the same. “There’s a rumor going around that they ran off together. It makes sense to me. Everyone knows the two of them were close. I never had much to do with Ned, but I knew Madeline. She was always spending time with him. So yeah, that’s what I think.”
She sounded like she was trying to be confident. But confidence isn’t something you can fake.
“I think you knew Madeline very well,” I said. “And if that’s true, I don’t believe a word you’re saying.”
“You’re crazy, man,” she said.
“Madeline wasn’t interested in Ned, was she?”
Amanti shrugged. “She could do better than him.”
“How much better?” I paused. “For instance, could she be with you?”
Amanti dropped the act real quick. “Who told you?”
“Doesn’t matter,” I said. “I don’t care about your love affairs. But we both know Madeline didn’t run off with Ned. So why don’t you tell me what you really think?”
“Listen,” she said. “I know how it works. Someone disappears, people start looking for a suspect. Husbands, wives, girlfriends, boyfriends, whatever. But I didn’t do it.”
“We’ll see,” I said.
“She probably just ran away from home,” she said. “Her Mom was hard on her. Madeline cried about it almost every day.”
The Caterpillar King Page 4