“I can meet with you in a couple of hours,” Nick said. He cast a glance back toward the food stall, thought he caught a glimpse of Nancy leaning across the counter to speak then looked away again. If he was going to burn that candle the way he wanted to then they needed to hurry it up. “Where and when?”
“My room at the inn,” Wes said. “You remember?”
“Yeah,” Nick said.
“Same price as before?” Wes asked.
“Same flavor as before?” Nick asked.
Wes looked puzzled for a second and when it did click, he flushed again. “Not… exactly,” Wes said. He looked at Nick then and there was that feverish gleam in his eyes that Nick remembered.
“Then what? If you don’t tell me what it is, I can’t tell you how much it’s going to cost.” Nick looked at shy, cute, dorky Wes and thought: I bet they never see you coming.
“Not like before,” Wes said. “But… but…”
“But?”
“But don’t be gentle either.” Wes’s voice was almost a whisper and in the low roar of the crowd, Nick nearly missed what he said.
“So call it ninety and we’re good,” Nick said.
“I well… Maybe… I don’t know,” Wes said.
“Spit it out, sugar,” Nick said.
Wes startled at sugar and looked at Nick with wide eyes. The way he licked his lips said he liked it. Nick thought he might call him that while he fucked him through the floor later, see what that got him.
“Can I ask you some questions after? About Sparrow Falls? People aren’t real big on talking about stuff that happens around here, but you told me things,” Wes said. “I was wondering if you would do that again.” He hesitated a moment and added, “I’ll pay you for that, too.”
Nick almost told him not to worry about that part, but then he thought about the seven dollars and twenty-six cents he had to his name.
“Then let’s call it two hundred,” he said.
“Sure,” Wes said. “That’s fine.”
“You writing a book or something?”
“No… I mean… maybe… I don’t know.”
“A book about Sparrow Falls,” Nick mused. “Huh.”
“Well, come on, this place is kinda really fucked up,” Wes said. He looked surprised to have said it out loud and Nick grinned at him.
“Yeah, I know, man,” he said. “You should meet the undertaker of Greene’s Funeral Home. He’s a doozy.”
“Why? What’d he do?”
Nick thought about elegant, beautiful, horrifying Tobias and shook his head. “Nothing. That’s the thing about him.”
Wes looked perplexed and opened his mouth to ask more about it. Nick shook his head and waved at him to hush. “Later, Wes,” Nick said. He gave him his dirtiest smile and leaned a little closer. “I’ll tell you all about it… later.”
Wes swallowed and nodded. “Later,” he said. He smiled, glanced up at Nick and licked his lips again. “After.”
“Yeah, sugar,” Nick said, leaning a bit closer to whisper right into Wes’s ear. “After.”
Wes shivered and smiled and then backed up a step. “I should go now though.”
“You should,” Nick said, thinking that Nancy would be along soon.
“Okay,” Wes said. “Bye-bye for now.”
“Bye-bye.” Nick gave him a little wave.
Wes turned, walked away and vanished into the swirling crowd.
Behind him, someone cleared their throat loudly. “Jesus fucking Christ, Nick.”
Nick turned around and there was Nancy with a cardboard tray of snacks and a scowl on her face.
“Nance—”
“No, do not,” she said. “You are un-fucking-believable. Do you ever learn? Ever?”
“How do you know what I was doing?” Nick asked. “Maybe I was making a date.”
“I know what you were doing because I know you,” Nancy said. “And what I know is that you don’t date, not ever. You don’t even go home with someone unless there’s a fee attached.”
“That’s not entirely true,” Nick said.
“It’s mostly true and that’s good enough in this case,” Nancy said. “Don’t even try to lie about it, Nick.”
“Who says I’m lying? Maybe I’m turning over a new leaf,” Nick said.
Nancy’s glare said she wasn’t buying it; then again, she had always been the smarter of the two of them. Nick didn’t date, he didn’t pick up random guys at carnivals and fairs to fuck later. No, if Nick was talking to a guy, voice low and sweet, then Nick was working. Nancy had seen him do it enough to know his MO by then. He still didn’t want to talk about it, didn’t want to have the same tired old argument they’d been having for years. Nick wanted to just put it all behind them and move on with the rest of the evening. He had a good idea he could want until Hell froze over, but that didn’t mean he was going to get a damn thing out of it.
“You’re not out of prison a month and you’re back to doing that again.” Nancy pressed her lips together and shook her head.
“That’s not why I went to prison,” Nick said. The look on her face told him that was the wrong thing to say.
“Right, how could I forget, you didn’t go to prison for whoring yourself out to whoever had some sock money lying around. You just ran drugs across the Mexican border is all.” Nancy made a low sound of anger in the back of her throat. “What is wrong with you? You don’t have to do this anymore. You never did, but now… now you’ve got a job and a chance at a decent life, but instead here you are risking it all to turn a trick for what? Sixty bucks?”
“Seventy-five,” Nick said. “Actually, that one’s worth a couple hundred.”
“Stop. Talking.” Nancy bit each word out through clenched teeth. “You worry the hell out of me. You scare me, Nick. This isn’t normal, do you get that? You sell yourself like you’re worth nothing and I don’t… God. God.”
“I need the money, Nancy,” Nick said. “I’m pretty much broke and I don’t get my first check for nearly two weeks.”
“How are you broke? I thought you worked in prison. Didn’t they pay you when they let you out?”
Nick’s responding laugh was bitter, harsh; Nancy didn’t get it. When he had told her he had a job in the plate shop, she thought it was a regular job with regular wages. She hadn’t known that the few things he’d purchased at the prison commissary had cost him more than they would have on the outside. He’d been paying more and making less and by the time he got out of prison that had left him with very little cash to begin with. Then he’d hitch-hiked home and burned through what cash he did have in the process because he’d wanted Louisiana more than he had wanted a pay-by-the-week home in a shitty motel somewhere in southwest Texas. If he had picked that door then it wouldn’t have been long before he ended up right where he had been: on drugs and on his back more often than not because the drug running business paid well, but only if you didn’t put most of your pay up your nose.
“I think I made about fifty cents a day in the plate shop,” Nick said. Maybe they had told them the exact wage they earned once, but it had been a long time ago and Nick no longer remembered. “A good bit of that went toward shit I needed like toothpaste, deodorant, razors. Hell, an extra roll of fucking toilet paper cost three damn dollars. That’s nearly a week’s wages gone just so I could be sure I was able to wipe my ass when the slop they called chili gave me the runs. So no, I’m fucking tapped out and if I can make a little extra fucking some guy then I don’t see the harm in it.”
“It’s illegal, Nick,” Nancy said. She hung her head and sighed, the sound watery and sad. “Damnit. I didn’t know it was like that. I mean, I know it wasn’t a spa vacation, but I didn’t realize it was… I would’ve sent you money if you had asked. I’ve got it, I could’ve helped you. Look, let me loan you some cash until payday, all right? You can blow off the weirdo in the ugly sweater and it’ll be okay.”
“No,” Nick said.
“Why the hell not?” N
ancy snapped it at him loudly enough a few people nearby turned to stare at them.
Nick calmly took his corn dog and funnel cake from Nancy before she dropped (or threw) them. He took a bite of the corn dog so he didn’t have to look at her.
“Because you’ve done enough, that’s why,” Nick said. “I’m not going to get busted; the guy’s not a narc, trust me.”
“Oh, fuck,” Nancy said. “Really? When?”
“A few days before my interview,” Nick said. “I needed clothes.”
“Nick…” She shook her head and sighed again. “Goddamnit. Why won’t you let me help you?”
“You have helped me,” Nick said. “Fuck’s sake, you’ve done enough for me already, I told you. Let me do this for myself.”
“It’s not safe,” Nancy said.
“Nothing’s safe anymore, Nance,” Nick said.
“Only because you won’t let it be,” Nancy said.
“I don’t know what else to do.”
“And that’s the problem,” Nancy said. “You never have. Most kids were working summer jobs flipping burgers or just slacking off, but not you, not Nick Lange. No, you were blowing Reverend Michon and lying to Mama and Daddy about it.”
“Was I supposed to tell them the truth?”
“You weren’t supposed to do it!”
“You didn’t complain one fucking bit about all the trips to the pizza place and the movies you got out of it though, did you? No, you fucking didn’t.”
“I should’ve, but I was a stupid kid who didn’t really get how bad it was, not then,” Nancy said. “I wish I had, I wish I had told Mama and Daddy because they never have known, you know. They knew you got up to some hairy shit, but not what exactly because you’re fucking sneaky and I’m too good at keeping my trap shut.”
“And you liked all the stuff I bought you so you could have decent clothes for school,” Nick said.
“That is low,” Nancy said. Her voice shook. “Even for you, that is fucking low, Nick. I was fifteen when you spent the summer banging Reverend Michon; thirteen when you first started this shit. I… I… fuck you.”
Nick took another bite of his corn dog to keep from gnashing his teeth. It was a hell of an old circular argument that always came back to the same place: Nick would do what he always did even though he knew better and Nancy would be sad and scared and pissed off. While he was sorry to her about it, he just wasn’t wired to be like other people. Maybe once he had been set up for a life of behaving himself and not getting naked for the highest bidder, but then the bottom fell out of his little world and there was nothing there to prop him up except Nancy who had been only a kid herself. His aunt and uncle were decent people who had done the best they could for Nick, but he was a subtle kind of fucked up that they hadn’t known how to fix.
He’d started by selling his virginity and it had been an accident, like a great find at a garage sale only in reverse; Nick was the find, not the john. Except maybe not, not when he really thought about it. He’d learned quickly though, he’d started that first day and before long, he knew what some of the looks both men and women gave him really meant. People had told Nick he was good-looking his entire life; he was a cute little boy who grew into a handsome young man. People wanted him and Nick was willing to let them have him for a price. It didn’t always work out when he said sure, he’d do whatever they wanted—for a fee—but sometimes, like with Reverend Michon, it had worked out really well.
That entire summer he had been the Reverend’s and only the Reverend’s, a young whore kept on retainer because Michon’s wife was gone to visit relatives in Florida until August and the man had inherited a small sum from some uncle or another. He’d chosen to spend part of that inheritance on the pleasure of Nick’s company every Monday, Wednesday and Friday in his office at the Faith Tabernacle Church. It was the closest to being holy Nick had ever gotten.
Reverend Michon hadn’t been much to look at; a tall, scarecrow thin man with a face that was all harsh planes and sharp angles. He’d had dark green eyes and freakishly long fingers and he’d been hung like a horse. Nick’s jaw had stayed sore most of that summer and when the good Reverend was tired of blow jobs only, Nick’s ass had taken quite a pounding, too. The good thing about Reverend Michon had been that he liked to give as well as receive. Nick had always found that to be mighty Christian of him. He’d told his aunt and uncle he was working around the church, doing little repairs here and there; mowing the lawn, weeding the flowerbeds, repainting the entryway. He’d really been bent over Reverend Michon’s desk getting ridden like a prize pony. His favorite time had been on his knees behind the pulpit while the Reverend panted and cursed and when he came, he’d said, “Praise the Lord!” Nick had swallowed and thought, Amen, because his damn jaw felt like it was on the verge of coming unhinged.
Three years earlier, Nancy had told Nick over the phone that Reverend Michon had been found on the steps of his church with his throat and wrists cut, all the blood drained from his body. His mouth had been stuffed with flower petals and his body washed clean. The good man had become one of the longtime local serial killer’s victims.
Nancy was still staring at him, waiting for Nick to say something, but all he did was work his jaw in recollection and shake his head. He couldn’t meet her eyes. “Let me take you home,” he said.
“Uh-huh, I guess you should do that,” Nancy said. “You have someone you need to be in.”
“Damnit,” he said. “Come on, Nancy.”
“Fuck you,” she said again. She tossed her uneaten food in the trashcan behind her. “You break my damn heart, Nick, you really do.”
She walked around him and into the crowd toward the parking lot without another word. Nick had no choice but to follow her. They had gotten loud there at the very end for a bit and Nick refused to acknowledge the curious looks as he made his way along behind Nancy. No one seemed to have heard the bit about Reverend Michon at least; there would be no point in dragging a dead man’s name through the mud. He had been good to Nick, too; he had stroked his hair and told him he was a good boy.
10
Nick was in the hospital employee parking lot taking his lunch-slash-smoke break when he met Crash for the second time. There was a newspaper in his lap with a glaring headline: UNHAPPY HOLIDAYS FOR SPARROW FALLS and beneath it in smaller type; Death of Local Man Rocks the Area. The byline belonged to none other than Hylas Dunwalton. Hylas had always spun a good tale and knew how to weave an interesting story even out of journalistic fact. He was reading about Hunter’s death, about how authorities had so far been unlucky in finding the animal responsible for the slaughter. There had been no tracks at the scene because the ground was covered in pine needles and leaf litter. At the time of printing the article no new information was available.
He dropped his smoldering cigarette butt into his empty Sprite can and folded the newspaper up. Hunter had been killed by a Big Mystery; that was the gist of what the officials were saying, just in their roundabout way so they didn’t look as clueless as they really were. Their little community out in the boonies was more divided than ever over it. Nancy was barely speaking to him even four days after their argument at the Christmas Carnival, but she had let that slip. Melinda Turner had gotten into an argument with Josephine Miller. It had all come out that Melinda did indeed think that the awful things that had been happening since August were the work of a deranged psychotic; Josephine swore it was an animal, maybe some kind of trained bear.
Nancy had been amused when she relayed to Nick that Melinda’s response had been, “So it’s what… A trained attack bear on the loose? That is dumb, Josephine.”
Nick could see the headline clear as day: DANCING BEAR TRAINED TO KILL TAKES OUT LOCAL NATURE ENTHUSIAST.
Melinda and Josephine were not currently on speaking terms, much like Nick and Nancy (mostly). Nick had told her about the headline he imagined and Nancy had laughed. Then she seemed to catch herself and had blinked and looked annoyed like she’d
been woken from a pleasant dream only find Nick had walked in and fucked it up. She’d walked away without another word.
Until their argument, Nick had been eating in the break room with Nancy, but now that she was angry with him, he sat on the tailgate of his truck and ate alone. He couldn’t sit in the break room with things as they were between him and Nancy at the moment. It was too tense, the atmosphere too strained, their co-workers all sitting around waiting to be clued in. There was a pleasant kind of quietness to eating alone again after so long, one he had yet to grow tired of. But there was also something pleasant about sitting down with Nancy and some of the other people on their shift and eating.
He didn’t contribute a lot to the conversations as a rule, but he liked listening to them; it was different from the constant chatter in prison about how so-and-so was up for parole or how XYZ had put in a petition for a retrial. If it wasn’t jail house gossip then it was about how they were all innocent and had been hard done by the system. Even the ones who said they weren’t, who owned that they were to blame, occasionally went through a bout of, I don’t deserve this! and that had included Nick. Hospitals seemed to run on gossip just as much, if not more, than prisons did.
He considered smoking another cigarette then opted for eating the last of his potato chips instead; he’d smoke one more right before he had to go inside, maybe finish it on his walk to the door. Nick didn’t realize he was no longer alone until he heard the rustle of the newspaper when it was snatched off the side of the truck bed. He turned his head to find Crash standing there, looking down at the glaring headline with an exaggerated frown.
“Poor, Hunter the hunter got torn asunder,” Crash said as he dropped the paper back in the bed of the truck. “I saw the body you know. Messy.” Then he smiled, big and pretty and full of the white teeth he used to bite Nick’s name with. “Hiya, Nick, how’s tricks?”
“What?” Nick nearly dropped his potato chip bag.
“Whoa, big boy, it’s just a figure of speech,” Crash said. “I’ve been rhyming a lot tonight. I find that I don’t care for it. I only wanted to try a touch to keep my mind from wandering too much. Now I’m stuck in this rhyming rut, wishing this mode of speech was like a fish I could gut.” He rocked on his heels. “That one wasn’t too bad.”
Shades of Night (Sparrow Falls Book 1) Page 9