Bad Things

by Tamara Thorne

  He scratched behind Quint’s ears. “I thought I saw the greenjacks,” he told it. “You know what that means?”

  Quint purred louder and settled down, watching Rick through slitted eyes.

  “It means I’m nuts,” he told the animal. “Completely, utterly bonkers.”

  The cat purred.

  “Ready for the rubber room,” he added, almost asleep.

  Ricky . . . Ricky . . . Ricky . . .

  Fear exploded within his gut, and the cat exploded on top of it, digging in its claws and hissing, before racing for its spot under the bed, where it started growling with a vengeance.

  “Shit!” Had he dreamed the voices or not? he wondered. Either way, he’d scared the piss out of the cat.

  “Shit!” he repeated. He got out of bed and knelt on the floor, pulling the bottom of the bedspread up. “Hey, cat, come on out. It’s okay.”

  Quint stared at him, unblinking. The growling ceased.

  Icky Ricky, icky Ricky, come out and play.

  The cat hissed, the sound turning into a high-pitched yowl. Ears flat back, Quint swatted at Rick’s face.

  “Christ!” He pulled back just in time. “What the hell’s the matter with you?” The feline moved farther under the bed, growling.

  Hey, icky Ricky, come and play, hey . . .

  The cat growled again.

  The voices, Rick thought. He hears them, too.

  Hey, Ricky, come and play . . .

  Softer now, fading into the night. They never called for long, he remembered. Never for long.

  18

  July 15

  “Daddy!”

  Cody’s call brought Rick instantly to consciousness, his stomach lurching behind somewhere, his brain dizzy, disoriented, and alarmed. The cat sprang off the bed, growling.

  “Daddy!”

  “I’m coming!” He staggered to the bedroom door and fumbled with the lock. “What’s up?” Seeing that his son was fully dressed, he glanced at his wristwatch, was appalled to see it was past ten A.M.

  His son stood a few feet back from the door, staring at something on the floor. “Lookit.”

  He followed Cody’s gaze down to the stuffed poodle standing just outside his door. It was bluish white and wore a purple rhinestone collar, its hind leg was held lifted, ready to urinate. Rick pulled his bare foot back without thinking.

  “You’re funny, Daddy!” Cody giggled, squatting to study the animal.

  “Did you put this here?” This was the dog that Carmen had talked about, the one she found dead in the dryer only six months ago.

  “Nah. It smells yucky.” Gingerly Cody patted its head. “But it wasn’t here when I went downstairs before.”

  “When was that?”

  “I dunno. It was light out, though. Carmen said I was an early bird and wanted to know if I eat worms.” He giggled. “I said no, so she made me breakfast. She cooked, Daddy. Pancakes, just like at McDonald’s, only better.”

  “Well, Cody was Aunt Jade up?”

  He made a face. “I didn’t see her.”

  “Where’s your sister?”

  Cody shrugged. “Can I go now?”

  “Where are you going?”

  “Carmen’s gonna let me pull weeds!”

  Rick had to smile. “How fun.”

  “Yeah!” Cody’s voice betrayed complete sincerity.

  “Don’t go near the pond.”

  “I know. Carmen said.” He turned and skipped back toward the stairs.

  With a last withering glance at the petrified peeing poodle, Rick shut his bedroom door.

  Fifteen minutes later, feeling considerably more human, he reopened it, snagged the poodle by its raised leg, and walked toward the back stairs. Pausing, he knocked on Shelly’s door, but there was no reply, so he headed on downstairs, the poodle held distastefully out and away from his body like a lethally loaded diaper.

  Carmen’s arms were in dish suds up to the elbows. “Sleep okay?” she asked without turning around.

  “Like the dead.”

  “Sometimes the dead don’t sleep so good.”

  He’d never known how to react to Carmen’s dire pronouncements, so he did what he’d always done and ignored it. The cheerful morning light that streamed in through the windows made her superstitions seem especially silly. “Jade paid me a visit sometime this morning,” he said.

  “Oh?” Drying her hands, she turned to face him, her eyebrows rising as she saw the dead dog. “Madre Dios.”

  “I found it outside my door.” While he was dressing, it had occurred to him that maybe Jade had picked up the odor of cat piss and was getting even, but he decided not to mention this possibility to Carmen.

  “That filthy old puta.” Carmen took the dog from Rick. “Excuse me a minute.” She stomped through the laundry room and pounded on the locked hall door, the back entrance to Jade’s apartment.

  Rick couldn’t quite make out what they were saying, but Jade sounded haughty, and Carmen, heated. A moment later she returned without the dog. “She says she didn’t do it. You want some breakfast?”

  “No, thanks. Well, who did it, if she didn’t?”

  Carmen crossed herself. “She did it. Mentirosa. She does it all the time.”

  “Menti . . . ?”

  “She’s a liar, Rick. She lies.”

  “Has this happened before?”

  “Sure. Every time I find that dog standing over my slipper, she says she didn’t do it. You should have a good breakfast.”

  “I can’t eat in the morning. Who does she say takes them?”

  “She takes them, Ricky. I told you.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Ricky, I don’t even want to say it.” Carmen crossed her arms and nodded. “Crazy old puta. She’s lost her marbles. Like I told you last night, she talks about him all the time. He makes love to her, he sneaks food from the fridge, he steals her dogs. She does whatever she wants, then blames him. Can you believe it, the stories she tells? She’s loco, that one.”

  “Are you sure she’s not dangerous, Carmen? Really sure?”

  “I wish I could say no so you’d have an excuse to send her away, but she’s harmless, except for the sex talk. And she’ll get into your refrigerator and get her germs in your food—you should get a lock for it or she’ll get her germs in everything. You should lock your bedroom, too. Sometimes she goes upstairs, you know.” Carmen paused. “It’s not good for you to skip breakfast, Ricky.”

  “I always skip breakfast, so you don’t need to remind me anymore,” he said with a smile.

  “Okay, okay,” she said quickly. “Tell me about last night, when we looked out the window. Did you see th—”

  “Excuse me,” he interrupted, having no intention of talking about last night either. “Do we have a Sears catalog around here somewhere? We should pick out a dishwasher.”

  “They don’t have the catalog anymore. But there’s a store in Montclair and another one in San Bernardino. Take your pick.” She blew air noisily out her nostrils. “But first we need to talk about the greenjacks.”

  “I’d better go now,” Rick said quickly. “I have to get back and get to work. I’m way behind on my columns.”

  She shook her head, “poor, little Ricky” written all over her face. “Whatever you say.”

  “Are there any features you especially want on the washer?”

  “I really don’t need it, Ricky.” Her tone betrayed her continuing irritation with him.

  “Well, I do,” he said lightly. “What am I supposed to do on your day off? The three of us will use up every dish in the house in twelve hours, we always do. And if you’re gone for more than a day, well . . . I have to have a dishwasher.”

  She started to protest.

  He held his finger to his lips. “Shhh. It’s for me, okay? I’m buying. But you can use it if you want.”

  “You want some lunch?” she asked, glancing at the kitchen clock. “It’s almost lunchtime.”

  “No, thanks.
” The clock was a circa 1965 plastic plate, olive with copper hands and numerals, uglier than sin. As soon as his stuff arrived, he’d replace it with his own kitchen timepiece, a reproduction of a vintage yellow and white rhinestoned Felix the Cat clock with the ticking tail and shifting eyes.

  Rick smiled, suddenly understanding her. She’d spent her whole life watching out for him, and now he was back and her instincts were up and saluting. “Carmen, I ate so much last night that I won’t eat again for a week. Stop worrying about me. I’m going to go out for a while. Is it okay if I leave Cody with you?”

  “Of course it is! You know Shelly took your car, right?” She saw the look on his face. “She said you knew.”

  “She lied,” he said, suddenly tired. “Do you know where she went?”

  “She said she was going to the mall to put in job applications at some more stores.”

  “Well, don’t let her take my car again without double-checking.”

  “I’m sorry, Ricky. I didn’t realize—”

  “It’s not your fault, Carmen. I should be apologizing to you. I can’t believe how badly she’s behaving.”

  “No, she’s just being her age.” Carmen smiled wryly. “Of course, she’s doing it in spades.”

  “She’s very difficult for me to control.”

  “We’ll turn her around. Kids that age, you give ’em a little bite of cake, they’ll take the whole thing.” She shook her head. “A lot of little kids are cruel. A lot of big kids are selfish.”

  “Cody’s not cruel.”

  “Neither were you, and he’s a lot like you, just happier. More outgoing. But he hasn’t started school yet either. He’ll have to learn to be a little mean so he can take care of himself.” She paused, considering. “You never liked school very much, did you?”

  “No,” he admitted. “But it wasn’t that bad. I knew how to stay away from the bullies.” And everybody else, he thought.

  “Cody will have it easier because he doesn’t have the pain you had.”

  Rick’s throat tightened up. “Carmen—”

  “We have to talk, Ricky. We both have things we need to say to each other.” Her voice was fierce with emotIon. “You know? You remember?”

  Carmen kneeling by the koi pond, pushing her hands into the cold corrupt water, so green, so alive . . . Our secret, Ricky, our secret . . .

  Roughly he shook his head. “No. I don’t remember.”

  She studied him a moment, then drew a key from her pocket. “Here, you can use Hector’s truck. He’s better today, but he’s not going anywhere.”

  “Thanks.” He accepted the keys and opened the back door, then turned and looked at Carmen once more. “I’m sorry,” he told her quietly. “Sometime we’ll talk.”

  “Okay.”

  19

  Having picked out a dishwasher and arranged for delivery, Rick left Sears, stopped at the market for Pepsi and rattraps, and returned to the house shortly after one. Pulling into the driveway, he was annoyed to see that Shelly was still gone, but he hid his irritation as Cody raced to greet him.

  “Daddy!”

  Rick swept the mud-caked child into the air, eliciting a volley of delighted giggles. “You making mud pies, Cody?” He set the boy down.

  “Hector and I are pulling weeds!”

  “How you doing, Rick?” Hector asked as he approached.

  “Fine.” Shaking hands, Rick thought that the small, lean man hadn’t changed except for the salt and pepper at his temples and in his mustache. “Should you be working today? Carmen said you were pretty sick.”

  “I’m fine. I just had a little flu bug, but you know Carmen. She’ll try to make you stay in bed if you’ve got a hangnail.”

  Rick agreed, then asked Hector if he thought the koi pond could be turned back into a swimming pool. They discussed the possibilities for a few minutes until Cody insisted he and Hector had to get back to work.

  Indoors, Rick let Carmen feed him lunch, and was relieved when she didn’t try to bring up the past. In fact, except for Shelly’s stunt, everything was going very, very well. Before going upstairs to work, Rick and Carmen divided up the rattraps, and he didn’t protest when she said she’d do the house and the root cellar. He took his out and placed them in the garage and toolshed, then finally entered the workshop.

  He didn’t lift the tarp off the car this time, but toed a couple bait boxes in underneath it, and placed the rest in the base cabinets.

  Time to get to work, Piper. He had a column due in two days, and he couldn’t be late with it. Normally he kept the syndicate supplied with at least six weeks worth of columns, but he’d gotten lax lately. They had nothing in reserve, so he not only needed to get this one done, he needed to write several more, pronto.

  I’ll go up in a minute. He’d been thinking about building a big Don Quixote off and on ever since he’d found the unfinished sculpture yesterday, and he was dying to see what he’d need in the way of supplies. He would allow himself that, he decided, before he went in and got to work.

  He began pulling equipment and metal from drawers and cabinets, setting it out on the counters, taking stock, and making plans in his head. At one point he nearly went inside to find a notebook so that he could write down the particulars of his project, but remembering that before he’d worked with no plans, only sight and intuition, he squelched the urge. He would design the don by the seat of his pants.

  Minutes turned into hours, but Rick, feeling at peace and happier than he’d been in years, had no notion of time until the workshop door opened. “Dad?” Shelly asked. “Carmen told me you needed to talk to me?”

  Reality came crashing rudely back.

  “Shelly, you took my car without permission,” he said as he set down a box of flaring tools.

  She looked at the ground. “I thought you wouldn’t mind.”

  “Why would you think such a thing?” His stomach started twisting up. Shelly could frustrate him like no other.

  “Well . . . you let me take it yesterday.”

  “You asked permission yesterday.”

  “I didn’t want to wake you up, and it was for a good reason: I put in job applications all over town and—”

  “Damn it, Shelly! You know perfectly well that you have no excuse for what you did. It was wrong. Why can’t you admit it?” Crossing his arms, he took two long strides toward her.

  “I thought—”

  “You didn’t think, Shelly, you just assumed you’d pull another one over on dear old Dad. You’ve taken advantage of me for the last time.”

  “Daddy, I didn’t mean to—”

  “I knew it would be hard on you leaving your friends back in Vegas, and I’ve tried to be extra nice to you. But instead of appreciating that I let you use my car yesterday, you decide that gives you carte blanche to take it whenever you please.”

  “If you’d buy me a car, it wouldn’t be a problem anymore.”

  One. Two. She’s your daughter, you can’t kill her. Three. Four. Five. Maybe you could ship her off to a nunnery. Six. Seven. The pressure in his ears and the black spots in front of his eyes started to diminish. Eight. Nine. Carmen would help him with her from now on. Ten.

  “Shelly,” he began calmly. “Let’s talk about what you’ve asked for in just the last two or three days.”

  She rolled her eyes and started to back out the doorway.

  “Don’t move,” he ordered.

  “Da-ad . . .”

  “And don’t whine. Now, if I remember correctly the day before we left Vegas, you said you needed a NordicTrack—”

  “Well, I do.”

  “Shhh. The same day you said your ears stick out too far, and you’d like to have cosmetic surgery to pin them back.”

  “They do! They’re horrible.”

  “You have very nice ears, as I recall. Of course, I haven’t seen them in years because they’re hidden under your hair.” He smiled sweetly. “But if you keep interrupting me, I’ll be glad to pin them back for you.�
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  She glared, but said nothing.

  “In the car coming here, you asked for blue contact lenses. But your eyes are twenty-twenty.”

  “My eyes are drab.”

  He shook his head, almost amused. “Your eyes are the same green as your mother’s were, and hers were beautiful.”

  Shelly didn’t respond, just stared at something on the floor.

  “You also asked for a car, cable television, your own phone line, and a television for your room. First, how do you propose I pay for all these things?”

  “You should take that spot on the morning news like you were talking about?” she asked meekly.

  Lord, why did I tell her about that? “If I did take it—and frankly, getting up at three in the morning three days a week doesn’t appeal to me—I would use that money to fix up the house.

  “Listen, Shelly, I’m not saying you can’t have those things you want. I’m saying you’re going to have to pay for them yourself.”

  “You said you’d buy me a car!”

  “Unless things change around here, that won’t be happening.”

  “Can I use yours?”

  “Nope. You blew that today.”

  “Then how am I supposed to get a job if I don’t have a car?”

  “Ride your bike.” As he spoke the words, he realized the movers hadn’t arrived yet. He glanced at his watch, saw that it was nearly six, and figured they’d pull in tomorrow.

  “I hate you!” Shelly cried. “You’re mean and I hate you and you’re horrible and disgusting!” Her shot taken, she turned and flounced out of the workshop, slamming the door behind her.

  Rick shook his head, knowing she’d calm down soon enough, then put his tools away and went in to clean up for dinner.

  20