Prodigal Blues

by Gary A Braunbeck

  "So says you." He peered over the top of the menu. "Would you take it personally if I said I'd rather hear it from her?"

  "No." Though he'd never met Tanya, he'd pegged her correctly: she did not appreciate unannounced guests. My wife is a wonderful hostess, and prefers time to prepare for company.

  The waitress came with our drinks, took our orders, and left. Not once did she look directly at either of us.

  We sipped at our sodas, not speaking, not looking at each other; both of us were almost completely drained.

  "So," Christopher said after a couple of minutes. "I gather that Tanya and you have some sort of psychic connection."

  "Beg pardon?"

  He tapped his right temple with his index finger. "I take it that you can send her a psychic message about company. I'm forced to think this because you are not using one of the pay phones over by the restrooms."

  "Didn't you recharge the cell?"

  "Uh, no. Someone threw it in the back of the bus when it didn't work and broke it."

  "Oh. Sorry. I don't remember doing that."

  He shrugged. "Things were a little confusing. Besides, I didn't pay for the damn thing. You gonna call your wife now, or what?"

  "Can't we eat first?"

  "I'd feel a whole lot better if you'd call her now. All in favor."

  We both raised our hands.

  He threw a bunch of change onto the table. "I think that should cover it."

  "I'll call collect."

  "You sure she'll accept the charges?"

  "Very funny."

  "I have moments."

  I went to the bank of payphones; two of them were in use, one was broken, but the last one was free and working. I made the call, but got the voicemail; the operator told me I'd have to deposit two dollars before I could leave a one-minute message. It took me a few moments to feed all the quarters into the phone, but once that was done the phone rang again and I left a message: "Honey, it's me. I'll be home in about four hours. Listen, I'm bringing someone with me, okay? His name is Christopher and he's… he's going to be staying with us for a while. I'll explain everything when I get there. Oh, one more thing—if you get any calls from anyone asking about me, just say I'm not back from my trip yet, okay? I love you so much. God, I've really missed you."

  The beep sounded and the phone went dead. I stood there a few seconds longer, feeling dizzy. Jesus did I need to eat.

  I got back to our table just as the waitress was delivering our food.

  Christopher was gone.

  "Your friend had to run an errand, I guess," said the waitress. "He said to tell you he left a note for you."

  "I'll be right back." I ran outside to the parking lot and looked around for the motorcycle but it wasn't there. I ran to the corner and looked at the traffic, hoping to spot him.

  "Goddammit!" I shouted loudly, startling an older couple who were walking past. "Sorry," I said to them.

  "Need to learn some manners, young man," said the woman. Then she and her husband continued on their way, secure in the knowledge that they'd put that toilet-mouthed bum in his place.

  I went back into the diner and took my seat. After a few moments I realized that I was sitting on something, and scooted over to reveal a couple of large, thick brown envelopes, held together by several rubber bands. I picked them up and saw the note Christopher had written on the top envelope: Don't go and do something noble. You earned this. I took my share, so don't worry about me. I left one of the computers plus some other stuff. Say hi to Tanya for me. You're one of the good guys, Mark. Thank you.

  The envelopes contained money. A lot of money. A lot.

  "You sneaky little shit," I whispered to myself. "What am I supposed to do now?"

  I lifted up my head and looked around the diner: business people, blue-collar workers, teenagers, families with children who were scribbling with crayons on the placemats; signs advertising today's specials, signs about the circus coming to Riverfront Coliseum next week, fliers for garage sales, car sales, auctions for charity… and a couple of missing children posters.

  I sighed, rubbed my eyes, and realized that I was crying again.

  Missing children posters.

  This is where you came in, son.

  Don't I know it, Dad. Don't I know it.

  "Mister? Is everything all right?"

  I looked up to see our waitress standing by the table. This time she was looking directly at me, and seemed genuinely concerned.

  "I'm very tired," I said to her. "I just need to eat and get home."

  "You live here?"

  I shook my head. "No. In Cedar Hill." I blew my nose on a napkin—it still hurt like hell—then wiped my eyes. "My friend won't be coming back."

  "You want me to put his food in a doggy bag for you?"

  "Sure. Thanks." I smiled at her. "How far is the bus station from here?"

  After eating, I took a cab to the bus station where I bought a ticket to Columbus. I had about an hour to wait before the bus started boarding, so I walked around the terminal until I found an empty seat away from people. I opened the shoulder bag Christopher had left behind. The laptop was in there, as well as several CD-ROMs, more bottles of codeine pills than I could count—Christ, if security here decided I was suspicious-looking and searched my bag, I was in deep shit—and all of the credit cards and various garbage that had been inside my wallet.

  He'd also left me the CD of The Marshall Tucker Band's Greatest Hits. (I listen to it every day. Tanya is now officially sick of it.)

  I held the CD jewel case against me like it was a child, then realized how silly—if not outright crazy—I must look, put it back, closed and zipped the bag (I'd put the money in there before entering the terminal), and decided that I wanted something to drink.

  I wandered over to one of the soda machines and bought my regular Pepsi. I popped it open just as my bus was being called. I nearly tripped over a little girl who was sitting on the floor beside a tired-looking young woman of about twenty-two was fast asleep.

  "Mister," said the little girl. "My mommy and me don't have enough money to get home. Can you give me some money, please?"

  I didn't even think about it. I reached into the bag and pulled out a handful of fifties and gave them to the little girl. "Don't let anyone see this, okay?"

  "Okay. Wow. Is this a lot of money?"

  "I'm guessing it's more than enough to get you home."

  She rolled up the money and stuffed it into a pocket of her faded and too-small dress, then stood up and gave me a hug. "Thank you, mister. My mommy won't be so tired and worried now. We ain't had anything to eat since last night. We been here for three days."

  "I'm sorry."

  "It's not your fault. Thank you for the money."

  "You're welcome."

  Amazingly, the bus got into Columbus in time for me to catch the #48 Express that runs back and forth from Cedar Hill twice a day. The ride took about sixty minutes (I drive the route twice a day in under thirty-five both ways), and the passengers were dumped at the park-and-ride locations at 6:45 and 6:57, respectively. I got off at the second stop, which put me right in the middle of downtown, about a fifteen-minute walk from my house.

  I don't remember the walk home. I was on autopilot all the way, except for one moment when an expensive motorcycle with a windshield and side compartments and a rack across the back seat passed me; for a moment I thought it was Christopher, but unless he'd gotten rid of his helmet, changed his hair color to red, grown it to his waist, and become a woman in the last five hours, smart money said I was wrong.

  I rounded the corner of my street and quickened my pace. The world around me was a dark and threatening thing, and the sooner I was away from it, the better.

  The front porch light was on and Tanya was standing outside, talking with Perry. From the looks of things—especially Perry's wildly-animated gestures—my wife and her brother weren't exactly reminiscing about the good times when they were kids.

  As
I walked up the steps toward the porch they stopped their arguing and stared at me, open-mouthed.

  "What the hell happened to you?" said Tanya.

  "Unfortunate pay-toilet incident. Let us never speak of it again."

  Perry strode off the porch and right up into my face. "Goddammit, Mark, do you have any idea how much you're costing me? Do you know what that crook Cletus is charging me for—"

  I drew back and hit him square in the mouth, knocking him to the ground. "Not really in the mood for a chat right now, Perry." He tried to get up but I placed my foot against his chest. "And just so we can clear the air, I never much liked you, either. Also—removing the engine warning light from a car is a criminal act, so before you start threatening to call the cops and have me arrested for assault, just keep in mind that if you do, we'll be sharing the same cell down at the city jail and I make a lousy roommate."

  I pulled my foot away and walked up onto the porch, threw my arms around my wife, and wept.

  Tanya did not ask any questions. She told Perry to go away, took me inside, helped me undress, then put me in a hot bath where she washed the road and blood from my body. She cleaned and dressed my wounds, reapplied the nose-splint and medical tape, then gave me some aspirin and put me to bed, sitting there until I fell asleep, her loved one's watch keeping all through the night. I woke up the next morning and put on my jackass suit that I wore like it was tailor-made for the next ten days, right up until she had to drive over to Columbus and bail my sorry ass out of jail for assaulting some college prick who insisted on telling me a dirty joke to entertain his harem. She chewed me a new one as we drove toward home, then I reached over and placed my hand on her leg, then gave it a little squeeze. "I'm sorry, hon."

  "Uh-huh...?"

  "I love you."

  "You'd better." Her voice still sounded hurt but she managed a little grin.

  We stopped for a red light. Still too ashamed of myself to meet her gaze, I glanced out at a telephone pole that was covered in fliers advertising everything from dating services to Goth bands to tattoo parlors and pizza delivery specials; most of these were ragged and torn and discolored, but one flier, deliberately placed on top of all the others so it faced the street, was new, and had been stapled in about a dozen places to make sure that the wind wouldn't tear any of it away. I thought about Denise Harker, and Arnold, and Thomas, and Rebecca, and my lost friend Christopher.

  Why'd you do it, buddy? Why'd you leave? We would have made room.

  Gayle and the kids had decided to move into Mom's and Dad's old house; they hadn't been there the night I got home, nor had I seen them yet.

  I was hiding from everyone and everything. But something I'd found out tonight in the computer lab was threatening to change all that and I didn't like it one little bit. I liked hiding out in my jackass suit, mop in one hand, bottle of Windex in the other.

  I squeezed Tanya's leg a little harder.

  She turned toward me. "What?"

  "Look at that."

  She leaned over and stared out the window. "What? What am I supposed to be looking at?"

  I pointed toward the missing child flier. "The biggest part of the mess."

  She looked at the flier, then at me. "Okay…?"

  The light turned green and we drove on.

  "I love you so much," I said to her.

  "You're repeating yourself."

  "If I tell you everything that happened, will you promise not to interrupt me until I'm finished?"

  She nodded her head, her eyes tearing up. "Just as long as you don't keep shutting me out, Mark. I can't stand it when you shut me out. Gayle and the kids are worried—they think you're mad at them."

  "I'm not."

  "Then why have you been acting like this? I've been living with a stranger for the last ten days."

  "I know." I touched her cheek; she leaned into my touch.

  "You see their pictures everywhere these days," I said.

  And told my wife everything.

  16. And Peace Attend Thee

  When I had finished telling Tanya, down to the last detail, what had happened, she said nothing for several moments. She just wiped her eyes and got us a couple of fresh cold beers from the refrigerator while the Marshall Tucker boys sang about why couldn't I see what that woman been doing to them. I leaned back and closed my eyes for a moment. It was after three in the morning and I was exhausted.

  "This will be your last one for a while," said Tanya, handing the beer to me.

  "Fair enough." I decided to drink this one slowly.

  Tanya sat across from me on the couch, ran a hand through her hair, then sighed, tried to smile, and said, "What's on the computer and CDs?"

  I looked at her and shook my head. "Didn't you listen to that last part? Honey, I killed a man. I stood right in front of him and shot him in the head and then kept shooting. He was chained up, he had no weapon, he posed no threat. I murdered a man in cold blood."

  "No you didn't. You killed a bug, that's all you did. You stepped on a worm." She squeezed my hand. "You don't have it in you to harm another person, not like that. You're no murderer, my love."

  "Do you suppose that might explain why I don't feel worse about it?" I scratched my chin. "Hell, I don't even feel bad about it."

  "Then why are we wasting our breath discussing it? I believe my original question was something about what's on the computer."

  "Video files of Grendel with all the children. In groups, by themselves, at the parties. Being… disposed of. E-mails from his various customers, orders for antiques, for furniture."

  "Christ." She shook her head. "Don't take this the wrong way, Mark, but I'd really like that stuff out of our house as soon as possible. Why not take it to the police?"

  "I don't know. Maybe because once it's done, they're going to be all over Thomas and Arnold and Rebecca for all the details. Goddamn media vultures will come out of the woodwork wanting all the juicy details."

  "Mixed metaphor, honey."

  I looked at her. "Thank you for pointing out my every mistake and flaw, regardless of how small or inconsequential."

  "That's why I married you."

  "No, you married me because I lied about being pregnant."

  "Oh."

  I set down the beer and rubbed my eyes, then stared at my hands—which were still shaking—as I thought about what had happened since I'd come back home.

  The officer from the Missouri State Police who'd called the house last week was very polite and understanding, and accepted my explanation about having to run out the first chance I got to rent a car. He swore me in over the phone and recorded my statement, then thanked me for my time and asked me if I'd like to have Denise Harker's family contact me personally; they were very grateful and wanted to thank me. I'd told him that wasn't necessary but to make sure he told Denise that I was fine and she shouldn't worry. I wasn't mad.

  "Why would you be mad at her?" he asked.

  "She thinks I was mad because she skipped out on paying for the orange juice. It's a joke, officer. She'll get it."

  He concluded by telling me that a transcript of my testimony would arrive in the mail, and that I should read it over, sign it, and send it back as soon as possible.

  Cletus called, as well, to tell Tanya that he was shipping the boxes I'd left behind and we should have them soon. He then gave her Edna's cookie recipe and informed her that I should give him a call when I was feeling better.

  "I like him," Tanya had said. "He's a feisty one."

  "He cheats at Pinochle."

  "So do I."

  Tanya's hand on my arm startled me from these thoughts.

  "Mark?"

  "What? Huh?—oh, I'm sorry."

  "Please bear in mind that I'm only asking this for practicality's sake, okay? But—"

  "—how much money is in the bag?"

  She blinked. "How'd you know I was going to—?"

  I tapped my temple with my index finger. "Psychic powers. Sixty-two thousand d
ollars."

  "What?"

  "Sixty-two thousand dollars, minus the four or five hundred I gave to the little girl in the bus depot."

  "I can't believe you did that."

  "Seemed like a good idea at the time."

  "And you'd do it all over again, wouldn't you?"

  "Probably."

  She smiled. "Still insist you're not one of the good guys?"

  "Could we not get into that old chestnut again—I know, I know, another mixed metaphor."

  "Actually it's a misplaced simile, but let's not pick nits."

  "You're too good to me."

  She began rubbing my back. "What happened to set you off at the bar? I know it wasn't just the joke."

  "No, but goddammit that was part of it! I get so sick of these smartass college kids who think that just because you have to wash your hands at the end of the day's work and maybe clean grease out from under your fingernails that your intellectual level isn't quite on par with a slug. That little fucker figured that because I was a janitor, I'd appreciate a joke like that because it's the only kind of humor I could understand. Asshole! It was the way he was so obvious about it, you know? Thinking I'd laugh at it and that'd show his little prickettes what an ignorant low-life I was and—"

  "Settle down."

  "Sorry."

  "Deep breaths."

  "I'm fine."

  She kissed my cheek, then continued rubbing my back. "So what set you off? What started it?"

  "This morning when I got into work, I started checking the inner-office e-mail—you know, to see what needed done where—ever since the university freed up some money for repairs, there's always a list of things longer than my arm—anyway, I finish checking the e-mail and then I checked my personal account, and there was an e-mail from Christopher. All it said was, 'Guess where I am, Pretty-Boy.' I think he called me that so I'd know it was from him."

  "He didn't say where he was?"

  I shook my head. "No—but then I get this bright idea and forward it to this kid I know over at the university's tech support center. This kid locked himself out of the lab one night before he had a big paper due and I let him in. He said if I ever needed a favor from him, so…