by M. D. Thomas
“What do you want, kid?” Harvey asked as he fished out a cigarette. How had he found him twice? And how’d he get around town? The bus? Coincidences happened, but the kid in front of him was no damn coincidence.
The kid didn’t say anything, but he yanked the ball out of the air and walked it across the back of his right hand as if it were nothing, the ball too big to dance on his fingers that way but dancing all the same.
“I don’t like you following me, kid,” Harvey said as he stared at the ball. He’d almost asked the kid his name, but… “Keep it up and I’m gonna find your parents. You got that?”
The kid was silent, moved the dancing ball to the back of his left hand where it kept right on going. The kid was a creep, but he was a whiz with a baseball. Maybe he was one of those savants, but instead of being able to tell you the day of the week on a date four hundred years ago he could make a baseball do things that shouldn’t be physically possible.
Harvey heard the door jingle and he turned around to see Dave emerge from Macho Burrito, still tugging on his belt as if he’d just clasped the damn thing. Relief that he wasn’t alone filled Harvey—which both surprised and ashamed him—and he turned back to the kid.
But the kid was gone.
“What’s wrong with you?” Dave asked as he ambled up. “You got indigestion? I hope the salsa wasn’t going bad or something. Last thing I need is the trots.”
Harvey didn’t answer, not trusting his voice. He swung his eyes around the parking lot but saw nothing. He wondered if the kid was hiding behind one of the cars. There weren’t many though. He fought down the urge to run to the nearest one and peer behind it. How in the hell did he disappear like that?
“No,” he said as he turned toward Dave. “Did you see the kid I was talking to?”
“Nah,” Dave said as he opened the passenger door. “He hit you up for some money or something?”
Dave didn’t miss much. The skin on his neck crawling, Harvey scanned the lot one last time.
Nothing.
“Yeah,” Harvey said as he got in the Cherokee and closed the door. “Something about Boy Scouts. I told him to scram.”
Dave shook his head. “Too bad it wasn’t the girls. A box of Thin Mints would hit the spot right about now. Or those coconut ones. I can’t ever remember what those damn things are called, but they sure are good.”
“You think about food too much,” Harvey said as he pulled out of the spot. He glanced in his rear view mirror, unsure if he wanted to see the kid back there or not. But there was only asphalt. “Let’s get back to the station so we can get this plan wrapped up.”
“Robertson really lit a fire under your ass, huh?”
Harvey shook his head. “Not that. You remember the Hill?”
Dave chuckled. “I don’t think I could ever forget that crazy chick dancing behind the bar. My wife was some kind of pissed when I came home shit-faced that day. Have you seen her since then?”
“No. But I think I’ll check on her tonight.”
Fourteen
ELLE
The Hill was busy that night and Elle lost herself in the rhythm of the music, the chatter of the crowd, the dance of the drink.
She’d been born to be a bartender. She reveled in talking to the customers, distracting them if they were bothered, fueling their enthusiasm if they were just out for a good time. She played into whatever role they needed from her, all the while connecting to them but never committing. It was a job of a million small attachments and none of them mattered. She drank when a customer offered to buy her a round—someone always did—and fuck her boss’s complaints and threats because she brought in more money than all her coworkers. She had a talent for inspiration, encouraged abandon in her patrons, and they reciprocated. She danced behind the bar, buzzed but not drunk, sweating from the heat of so many rocking bodies, from the constant shuffle at one end of the long bar to the other, tossing bottles to Angela, her fellow tender that night, fetching beers, getting rid of the head, making mixed drinks, shake shake shake, no wine at the Hill, it wasn’t that kind of a bar and they didn’t get that kind of customer.
She loved every damn minute of it.
A college boy was flirting with her, trying too hard and drinking too fast, when Harvey edged his way up to the crowded bar.
“You were telling me more about yourself,” the boy said over the din of the band. They liked coming out here from Georgetown. Slumming it.
“No, I wasn’t,” she said, unable to take her eyes off Harvey. “Go find yourself an easy freshman, honey. I’m mean and I’ll just hurt you.”
He gaped as she walked away.
Elle fetched a bottle of bourbon and two shot glasses then walked over to Harvey. He had on a suit as usual and damn if he wasn’t better-looking than she’d remembered. Despite the press of bodies around the bar he seemed to float inside a bubble—he was the kind of man people gave space. She set the shot glasses on the bar in front of him and filled both, pushed one toward him while she tossed the other down. “Thanks for the drink.”
He looked at her for a moment before he picked up the bourbon and downed it. “I wasn’t sure you’d still be here.”
“Where the hell else would I be?”
“After lighting out early last time I thought you might get canned.”
Elle shrugged. “The boss says he’s gonna fire me all the time. Said it tonight when I came in late. But I make him a lot of money so it hasn’t happened yet.” She parted her lips and sucked at the back of her teeth. “It’s busy tonight though. No way I’m getting out of here before closing.”
Harvey looked around as if to confirm what she’d said. “We need to talk.”
“What do you think we’re doing?”
“Don’t play stupid.”
She resisted the urge to tell him to go fuck himself and walked down the bar. Angela was lining up a row of shots for a group of squealing girls who looked like they belonged in a sorority. Old enough to be Elle’s mother, Angela had smoked away her younger days traveling across the country on the back of her boyfriend’s motorcycle following first the Grateful Dead and then Phish. Whether it was the years of dope or just her personality, Angela was always laid back and agreeable. Elle shouted over the din. “Okay if I take five?”
Angela nodded without hesitation. “Sure. Don’t take long though. Boss man has his eye on you. Hey—can you spell me when you get back? I’m dying for a smoke.”
Elle nodded and left Angela with the hooting college girls, went back to Harvey, grabbed the bourbon and the ten he’d put on the bar, replaced the bottle and drawered the cash. She walked out from behind the bar and Harvey followed.
She could’ve taken the side door where they’d be alone, but she didn’t know what the hell Harvey wanted so she chose the front, nodding at the circling bulk that was Earl as they exited. He took his job of managing the drunks seriously, but not as seriously as he did protecting her and the other bartenders.
The night was warm and breezy outside, the air heavy with moisture. She took a right, walked from beneath the large black awning that protected the entrance and stopped a few feet from the corner of the building. Overhead the city’s lights illuminated thick clouds that hurried across the sky.
Harvey followed and when she came to a halt he pulled out a pack of cigarettes, put one between his lips. He held the pack out to her and she took one, which made the edges of his mouth curl upwards. She flipped him off as he held out a lighter, then leaned in to puff the cigarette alive. He lit his own and for a moment the two of them smoked in silence as people passed through the Hill’s entrance, a fair amount entering, a lot exiting, most of them to smoke, only a few to leave, the music cresting and falling every time the door opened. A number of those coming out stumbled despite the early hour.
She squinted at Harvey, who stared ahead as if he were seeing something other than what was in front of him. Either he’d missed her—not fucking likely—or something about that night was bot
hering him. Or what’d happened since then.
Damned if I’m asking…
Halfway through the smokes Harvey’s eyes refocused and he turned to her. “You know about the kid?”
“What the fuck are you even talking about?”
“The kid in the back seat of the car.”
She shook her head, didn’t have to ask what car. “There wasn’t anybody in there. I looked.” She’d remember if there was someone in the backseat of that goddamn car. Even full of coke she couldn’t have forgotten a detail like that.
“He was thrown out the door when the car rolled.”
“You’re shitting me.” She spoke casually, as if she knew he was trying pull one over on her. But she knew he wasn’t. Not him.
Not serious-as-hell Harvey Keitel…
All of a sudden she wanted nothing more than to go back to the bar, fetch the bourbon, and drink herself piss-blind.
Harvey only shook his head.
Elle took a hard drag on her cigarette, amazed her hand wasn’t shaking. “He die?”
“No. But he had a disagreement with a tree and was in a coma.”
“Was?”
“He’s out of it.”
I’m not asking. I’m not… goddammit… “How do you know?”
“Because I’ve seen him. Twice.”
The coward inside her wanted to run. Just go, leave the whole damn city behind her flat ass. The state for that matter. It was the same feeling that made her leave home two years before graduation, that made her flee from countless other problems.
No. I’m not my mother. I’m not running again…
Running would mean losing her job at the bar, the only thing she’d ever done that made her feel worth a damn, like she actually had a place in this shit-ass world. “You sure it was him?”
He nodded. “It’s him.”
“So you saw him. Twice.” She tossed the spent cigarette onto the asphalt, didn’t bother to toe it out. “You come here just to tell me that?”
A new expression appeared on Harvey’s face and it took her a moment to recognize it as discomfort, or perhaps uncertainty. He hesitated, then said, “He’s ten or eleven probably. Dark hair, dark eyes. A little bit Asian looking, but it’s subtle. Wears a Pirates cap. Any chance you’ve seen him?”
Elle thought about the guy with the blood mask, thought about the little shit who had run past her at the park. “No,” she said, shaking her head. “Never seen a kid like that before.”
Harvey didn’t take his eyes off her. “Sure about that?”
She resisted the urge to ask him for another cigarette. “I said it didn’t I?”
Harvey’s mouth turned up at the corners again. That smile was dangerous—it made her want to wipe that shit-eating, know-it-all grin off his face then take him home and fuck his brains out.
“Today I saw him at least fifteen miles from where I saw him yesterday,” Harvey said. “You realize what that means?”
“You’ve got a new fan?”
Harvey stepped closer and Elle resisted the instinct to back away. His voice was quiet when he spoke, his face inches from hers. “It means he knows. I don’t know how, but the kid knows. You can see that, right?”
That last wasn’t quite a question, but almost. She noticed Earl by the entrance and waved him away. “That’s bullshit. How could he know?”
“It’s not bullshit. But that’s not even the issue. He’s following me.”
She shook her head. “You’re paranoid, Harvey.”
He stepped back a little. “No. No, if I’d just seen him yesterday, I’d agree with you. But not after today. This is too big a city, with too many people, for that kind of coincidence. The kid’s following me, and he has no reason to do that unless he knows. Which means he knows you were there too.”
She’d never heard him talk so long. It was practically a goddamn speech. “I told you I haven’t seen him.”
“You’re a shitty liar, Elle. Give it up.”
She shook her head. “No. The only person I’ve seen that I don’t want to is you.” No smile that time. “So if he’s following you, what do you think he wants?”
“I don’t know. He didn’t say a word. But he hasn’t told anyone or the police would’ve found me already.”
“How could he tell? He doesn’t know who you are.”
“The kid knows something. He couldn’t have found me if he didn’t. You must have said something that night.”
“I didn’t say shit, Harvey. Besides, he hit a tree for christ’s sake. He didn’t hear a damn thing.”
“That doesn’t mean he was unconscious.”
“Believe whatever the hell you want, Harvey. I didn’t say anything.”
“How well do you even remember that night? Because I don’t remember it too well. You were high and I was drunk. Who knows what either of us said?”
“I know you said there was no way we’d get caught.” That didn’t get so much as a raised eyebrow out of him. “So what now?”
“Avoid the kid if you see him. You understand? There’s a lot at stake here. So don’t go anywhere near him.”
“What if that pisses him off?”
“Hopefully it won’t.”
“So that’s it? Avoid him?”
“Yes.”
“What are you gonna do?”
Harvey answered without hesitation. “I’m going to figure out what the hell he wants.”
Fifteen
HARVEY
A light, misty rain had just begun to fall early the next morning when Harvey saw the kid again.
He’d spent most of the night awake, his mind flitting between Robertson and the kid, trying to understand what was happening and figuring out nothing. He had to go to a court hearing that morning and testify about an operation from a few months before, so when dawn finally came he got out of bed, had the day’s first dose of nicotine on the back porch, then dressed and ate a plain bagel smeared with a bit of cream cheese. He needed to get out of his own head and that wouldn't happen as long as he was at home.
He looked over his shoulder through the rain-spattered rear glass as he reversed down the drive, braked to make sure no one was coming before he pulled into the street. When he faced forward again the kid was twenty feet away on the sidewalk.
Harvey gaped, the car forgotten, the street and any approaching traffic forgotten. Then he threw the shifter into drive and screeched tires toward the kid. He slammed on the brakes next to the sidewalk, put the Cherokee back in neutral and jumped out of the car, left the door open in the rain.
“We gotta talk, kid,” he said as he stepped onto the sidewalk and stopped, the rain leaving a few dark spots on his coat. He felt on edge, recognized the hunted feeling he’d experienced every time he’d gone undercover. Unlike Costillo, it wasn’t a feeling he enjoyed.
The kid didn’t answer. He was wearing the same Pirates cap he’d had on outside of Macho Burrito. Same Pirates jersey, same faded leather glove. There was something wrong about his clothes, maybe something different. After a moment Harvey realized what—the kid was wearing cleats. He’d been wearing sneakers when he was perched on the Cherokee’s hood.
The kid was rolling the baseball around his hand, the movement slow and hypnotic. Harvey stared at the ball, sure the kid would drop it at any moment, but it flowed like mercury. He tried to take his eyes off it and couldn’t.
Look at his face… his face, not the ball…
Harvey tore his eyes away from the ball and back up to the kid’s face, his breathing heavy.
“You get around, huh kid?” Harvey said, an edge of fear beneath his words. The certainty filled him that at any moment the kid’s face would morph into something horrible, something so utterly frightening that it would bend his mind until it broke.
He’s just a damn kid, Harvey…
Harvey closed his eyes, swallowed hard, then opened them again. Relief filled him when he saw only dark eyes, a small nose, and an unremarkable mouth instead of the gapin
g bloody hole he’d imagined. “I know you're not supposed to talk to strangers, kid, and that’s good. But you want something from me and there’s no way I’ll figure out what unless you tell me. So out with it.”
The kid said nothing as he continued to roll the baseball in his hand. It was so slow, so hypnotic
no. don’t look at it
and Harvey forced his eyes upward again. “I’ve had enough of you following me around, kid. Got that?”
Nod kid. Back away. For Christ's sake do something…
Nothing.
Again the terrible feeling came over Harvey and he was sure that at any moment the placid mouth and eyes would change into some kind of satan’s maw of raw, angry red flesh.
No. No, that won’t happen…
…enough. That’s…
“Enough. Get the hell out of here, kid,” Harvey said as he walked toward the kid. “If I ever see you again you’ll regret it.”
But instead of running the kid wound up and threw the baseball straight at Harvey’s head. The ball moved as if in slow-motion, yet Harvey knew it was traveling at immense speed. To Harvey’s eyes the approaching ball grew and grew until it was as big as a horizon moon.
Harvey threw himself to the ground as he cried out in shock and surprise, certain he wouldn’t move fast enough, certain the ball would take the top of his head clean off like a buzz saw.
He rolled around on the damp grass, his feet dangling past the curb, filled with the sickening vision of his wrinkly white brain exposed to the rain as blood drained down the sides of his head. It took a full five seconds, his hands clutching at his skull, before he realized the ball hadn’t hit him.
When he looked back at the sidewalk the kid was gone.
Harvey stood, spun in a circle searching for the kid.
You’re going fucking nuts, Harvey…it’s this shit with Robertson. Its gotta be…