by Joe Meno
“Who is in charge of this nefarious scheme?” the detective asks.
“That would be Margaret,” the masked woman whispers. “But she’s in a meeting.”
Forcing his quarry through what looks like a lobby, the boy detective thrusts open a meeting-room door and aims his weapon at the tall masked woman at the head of the table.
“What kind of sinister plot is at work here?” Billy asks.
The masked woman, Margaret, rises and tilts her head back, laughing.
“There is nothing sinister here to speak of,” the masked woman says, suddenly standing. “What we do here is a professional service for our paying customers.”
“I do not understand,” the boy detective says.
“We vaporize people.”
“You vaporize people?”
“Using a totally scientific approach, we are fashioning a world free of puzzling personal relationships, where one’s heart is never broken, where a harsh word is never spoken. At your inclination, people who hurt you are simply made to disappear. The mysterious, bewildering nature of love is thus made predictable, tempered, and pleasing.”
“I see.”
“For once, this complicated problem of human emotion is solved quite easily—with an end to the grave panic of unrequited desire and the indecent butterflies of high anxiety.”
“I like the butterflies,” Billy whispers.
“Pardon me?”
“I like the butterflies.”
“The world must come to understand that love is chaos. We have found a simple solution to a mystery that for centuries has been mankind’s undoing.”
“I believe you have made a terrible mistake here,” Billy says, shaking his head. The room is very silent then. He pushes his bifocals against his face and frowns. “What you’re doing seems very awful to me.”
“Well, you’re a weak fool, obviously. Prepare to be easily forgotten,” Margaret hisses. She turns to two of her masked cohorts and points at the boy detective angrily. “Doris, Veronica, please show our guest here how quickly we do away with unwanted annoyances.”
The boy detective feels himself begin to tremble as the room starts to spin. Doris, her name monogrammed in cursive white on her gray dress, seems to be the tallest in the room full of masked women. She nods and stands, clutching at the fake purple flower pinned near her bosom, taking aim on Billy’s stricken face. Veronica, another underling with dark hair in a brown business suit, her name also stitched in cursive letters, follows the order, but then stops.
“Pardon me, Margaret?” Veronica whispers, her hand raised nervously. “I was wondering …”
“Yes?”
“I don’t feel very appropriate doing this.”
“Excuse me?” Margaret asks.
“Well I just don’t feel it’s all that appropriate just vaporizing anybody. I mean, well, some of us have been talking, and well, we think … we think what we’re doing may not be absolutely right.”
“Pardon me?” Margaret asks.
“We think maybe we made … some mistakes here,” another masked woman in beige whispers. Her name, stitched in white lettering, is Gayle. “Like a month ago. The man with the beard. That … was a terrible mistake.”
Nearly all of the masked women begin to nod their heads.
“And the woman, with the long red hair. That was an awful mistake as well,” Veronica says.
“I don’t recall that particular case,” Margaret says angrily. “I don’t recall any mistakes.”
“Then there was the pet dog. I believe that was our fault,” Gayle says.
Margaret’s hand begins to curl up into claws.
“We just don’t like what’s been done. We just didn’t know how to mention it to you,” Veronica says. “But we don’t believe we ought to do this anymore.”
The boy detective begins to nod, too, and slowly begins to lower his weapon.
“You don’t like what’s been done?” Margaret whispers. “You think this is all a mistake?”
The masked women all nod their heads slowly, turning to each other in agreement.
“You weak fools,” she says. From above the din of the bustling office, Margaret stands. “You’re all fools,” she whispers. “Terrible, spineless, fools. I’m not sorry for what I’ve done. The world is utter chaos and I refuse to live in that way.” Margaret then opens her purse and lifts out a glowing white plastic flower.
“No, please,” Billy says. “Put that down.”
“No.”
In a flash, Margaret the masked woman raises the plastic flower and, amid shouts of protest, fires the strange vanishing ink upon her own chest, so that immediately and without ado, she vaporizes. It is very awkward for all the masked women as the puff of smoke, their former friend, escapes into the air. Billy does not know what to say or do. After that, it is very, very quiet in the room.
TWENTY-SIX
The boy detective waits beside the Mumford children, watching as the sky turns from a blanket of blue into a cloud of sparkling light. It is so very late, but still they watch and wait and watch and wait, Billy telling them about his strange adventures, the mysteries and clues leading up to him solving his favorite cases—the Haunted Candy Factory, the Phantom Lighthouse, the Singing Diamond, the Unbreakable Safe. When he is finished with his stories, they all look up and suddenly the night sky is a fading blue and black canvas of twinkling silver stars. Very soon, Mrs. Mumford brings them hot cocoa and asks if they would like some blankets and everyone shouts Yes! She takes a seat beside them on the porch and tells Billy she is glad he is out there watching over the children. Immediately he blushes, but in the dark no one sees it. Mrs. Mumford sits beside her children and Billy under the blanket and all four of them stare up at the sky, waiting for some kind of reply.
That evening, after the Mumford children and their mother have fallen asleep near Billy’s feet, a single burst of blue-white fire explodes in the sky. With a powdery burst of sparkles, comes a single response: Y-E-S. Billy hurries off the porch and, searching through his pockets, finds Professor Von Golum’s immobility raygun and fires erratically into the sky. Just as the outlines of the single letters begin to fade, the strange ray surrounds them with a momentous glow, and they stay: fixed, frozen, temporarily unbroken in the air. Billy nods and, making sure the Mumford children and Mrs. Mumford are safe, rushes across the street to Shady Glens.
TWENTY-SEVEN
The boy detective walks down the short hallway of Shady Glens, past Professor Von Golum and Mr. Pluto, who are both wearing Billy’s clothes. There is the Professor in the blue cardigan and there is Mr. Pluto wearing one of Billy’s orange owl ties. They are both grinning, their teeth gray and crooked.
Professor Von Golum whistles, winking at him. “See that, Mr. Pluto, old boy. There, in front of you, is a genuine specimen: a true-life, yellow-bellied coward in the flesh. Look, look what he did to my arm!” the Professor howls, his bandaged left wrist hanging fractured by his side.
Billy walks by silently.
“Go on, boy detective, give us your wittiest response. I am daring you. Go on, Billy, please surprise me. Go on, say anything.”
Billy ignores him, walks into his room, which is unlocked. His room has been ransacked. He sighs, staring into his closet. It is evident that all of his other clothes are now missing. All he has now is what he is wearing. In this moment, he considers suicide, then decides it would only be worse if he tried but failed again.
TWENTY-EIGHT
What the boy detective does is this: He crosses his small, dusty room and holds the lady’s pink purse in his hands, staring down at it. With it next to him, he does not feel so bad about everything. He smiles, thinking of the look on her face as the lady in pink danced. He decides that tomorrow he will find her, without fail. Without fail, he will find her and return the purse to her and ask if perhaps they might talk about something very nice. He will ask if she is maybe not doing anything else that evening, and, well, maybe if she would … He does
not know the words he will use, but decides he will ask her something and hope that she will then smile in return.
The boy detective says his prayers and whispers goodnight to his owl alarm clock. He does—honestly, every night. He says it like this: “Goodnight father, goodnight mother, goodnight bedroom, goodnight Mr. Owl Alarm Clock,” like it is a first, middle, and last name. He switches on the light and immediately it begins snowing. A soft white haze fills the room, as Billy, thinking about the lady in pink, soon falls asleep.
It is not long before he is awakened, as the boy detective is every night, by Mr. Lunt’s screams.
This time, however, he jumps out of bed and follows the sound down the hall to Mr. Lunt’s room before Nurse Eloise can arrive. He throws open the door, switches on the light, and catches Professor Von Golum and Mr. Pluto, both dressed up as ghosts in sheets, standing over Mr. Lunt’s bed, moaning quietly. Professor Von Golum howls and tries to run past Billy. Billy grabs the sheet as the Professor heads into his room. Mr. Pluto only stands there, grinning. Mr. Lunt, an old frightened fellow with a droopy white mustache and wrinkled white pajamas, looks up, shaking.
“My Lord! I thought for sure it was that no-good ne’er-do-well partner of mine cursing me from beyond the grave, trying to find out where I had hidden our last bit of treasure from a vault robbery back in ninteen-ought-nine!”
Billy shakes his head, angry, turning off the light, dropping the sheet, heading back to his room.
It is at that moment that the owl alarm clock begins ringing.
TWENTY-NINE
The boy detective, at work, is having a hard time concentrating. “Blah, blah, blah-blah-blah-blah, blah, blah, a, blah.”
“Blah, blah, blah-blah-blah-blah, blah, blah, a, blah.”
“Blah, blah, blah-blah-blah-blah, blah, blah, a, blah.”
“Blah, blah, blah-blah-blah-blah, blah, blah, a, blah.”
The only thing he can think of is the lady in pink: her face, her eyeglasses, her small hands. He says her name to himself again and again: Penny, Penny, Penny.
In the bathroom, he winks to himself and says, “Hello, Penny. Penny, my name is Billy. It is a pleasure meeting you, Penny,” before Larry enters and asks him exactly what he thinks he is doing.
THIRTY
A surprise: The boy detective is on the bus again. Like always, it is raining, but let’s pay no mind. He is looking for the lady in pink. She is not on the bus. He gets off at the next stop and waits and hops onto the next bus that comes. He searches and searches and she’s not on this one either. Billy gets off the second bus and stands again, waiting in the rain.
The boy detective gets on and off buses all night: climbing aboard a bus, looking for Penny, then hopping off. He looks more and more sad and disheveled as the hours pass. His owl tie is wrinkled and hanging lopsided around his neck. The owl tie has all but given up.
Finally, Billy gets on a bus and Penny is there, sitting by herself, a lovely blur of pink staring out the window sadly. Billy takes out her purse and hands it to her. She slowly takes it, very, very nervously. She gets up to run off, but Billy stops her.
“Please, wait … I won’t tell anyone. I won’t tell. You can trust me.”
Penny nods. Billy sits beside her, silently, for a long time. Then after many, many quiet moments, Penny speaks in a whisper. It is clear she is trying to shout, but the sound of her voice remains only a quiet peep: “You … you scared me.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You scared me very badly. You shouldn’t go about grabbing at people. They might have a good reason for what they’re doing.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Well, I could call the authorities on you! Grabbing people like that. I could. I really could. But it’s none of my business what you do. I mind my own business. I mind it. I think you should apologize to me. You really ought to.”
“I’m very sorry.”
The lady nods. Billy sits beside her silently for a long time again, and then the lady speaks, whispering, looking at the pink purse.
“Thank you for returning this to me. I’m sorry I shouted at you.”
“Shouted?”
“I’m sorry I raised my voice. It’s just that this purse means a lot to me.”
“It’s very … pretty.”
“I … I don’t own any other color clothing. A pink purse is hard to find.”
“Pardon me?”
“I … I don’t own any other color clothing.”
“Besides pink?”
“Pink and brown. They’re my favorite colors.”
“They’re very … pretty.”
“Why did you follow me?”
“I … I don’t know. I saw you and … you look … My name’s Billy.”
“Pleased to meet you. I’m Penny.”
“Hello.”
The two of them sit in silence for a few moments. Penny itches her nose and then whispers:
“I … I went four days without speaking to anyone this week. My longest record is thirty-one. Thirty-one days without talking to anybody.”
“Thirty-one days? That’s an awful long time.”
“I don’t like talking with people. You never know what they’re thinking.”
“You’re like me,” Billy says.
“I don’t know. Maybe. Do you like jigsaw puzzles?”
“I love jigsaw puzzles.”
“So do I. Ha.”
When the lady laughs: enchantment.
Billy nods and smiles. “Maybe, maybe you’d like to go somewhere with me, to sit maybe. We don’t have to talk, specifically. We can just sit somewhere, a diner, a café, anyplace. Would you like to go somewhere with me?”
“My sister goes with men to nightclubs. She wears black lipstick some nights.”
“We could go to a nightclub if you like. It might be too late now though, maybe.”
“I think … I think I’d like to go somewhere with windows.”
“Windows? OK, I think I know a place.”
The boy detective and Penny sit across each other in a small yellow diner, staring down at their coffee. Outside it is sunny. People walk past the windows, heading to work. Billy and Penny whisper very strange secrets to each other:
“My sister is a pianist and named her dog after me.”
“I had a sister,” Billy says. “She … she died a long time ago.”
“Was she pretty? I think she would be very pretty.”
“Yes, she was. And smart. She loved animals too. She’s been gone for more than ten years now.”
“Well, I like animals too, but I am allergic to most kinds. I had a cat but it left me.”
It is then that the boy detective notices that Penny is wearing a wedding ring.
“Are you—are you married?”
With this, Penny, upset, runs out of the diner. Billy stands, watching her go. She has left her purse and jacket and scarf. Billy only wavers there, staring at her things, perplexed. Penny slowly returns, creeping back to the table. She sits down, straightens her glasses, and begins speaking, staring at her coffee.
“I’m sorry. It’s just, my husband … my husband was in a horrible automobile accident. He’s … he’s … he’s been dead a long time, but … it’s still upsetting.”
“I’m sorry.”
“OK.”
“OK,” the boy detective repeats.
“Yes, well, yes.”
“Maybe I should …”
“Would you like to know why I took all those pens?”
“All right.”
“I don’t know why. I really don’t. There is something wrong with me.”
“It’s OK.”
“No, no. I’d like to ask you something.”
“OK.”
“Do you think there’s any way for people to stop themselves from doing bad things?”
“I … don’t know.”
“Because I don’t think so. I don’t see a way.”
“I don’t know what to say to th
at.”
“I should go home now.”
“Would you like to meet sometime and talk again?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, could we maybe meet here again, some night?”
“OK. Only please don’t scare me again. I didn’t like that.”
“OK.”
“Billy?”
“Yes?”
“Are you going to tell the police what I’ve done?”
“No.”
“Thank you, Billy.”
Penny and Billy sit across from one another, staring silently.
“May I walk you to the bus stop?” he asks. “We can walk past the park.”
“OK. If you like.” She laughs, nervous. “But do not try and kiss me.”
In our town, there is a secret spot where you can still see the stars at night, believe it or not. It is the only spot like that left, unclouded by the rumbling factories, uninhibited by the dwindling skyscrapers rising nearby. It is a good place to go to walk and talk in whispers. Following the little hill that rises from the park to a small clearing which overlooks the statue of the armless general on his bronze steed, most of us later remember this spot as the first place we knew we might be in love.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
THE CASE OF THEGHOSTLY FIGURE
What is the boy detective’s greatest fear?
The bus driver: impolite passengers.
The mailman: attack dogs with hideous fangs.
The police chief: masked men in dark alleys.
The schoolteacher: children with weapons.
The banker: counterfeiters.
Definitely counterfeiters.