Evil Heights, Book IV: In the Pit

by Michael Swanson

"I'm leaving,” she sobbed. “Going back home. As soon as they release Uncle Boyd's body, we're all going back to Gatlinburg for the funeral, and Aunt Darlene and the babies are going to move in with my family for a spell."

  Lee felt a sinking in his stomach. “When?"

  She wiped under an eye with her finger. “Soon, I guess. I imagine it'll be some time this week, maybe as early as tomorrow or the next day. Aunt Vivian and Uncle Reece are staying here and waiting to take us back."

  She pressed back up against him, and he could feel her quivering. “I really have gotten to like you, Lee."

  The lump in his stomach had moved to his throat. “Me too."

  "I hated it when I first came here. Absolutely hated it. Uncle Boyd was awful, and the babies were crying all the time. Aunt Darlene lives like a pig. You saw inside the house?"

  Lee nodded.

  "You should see the bathroom,” she shuddered. “At first I tried to clean up, but I'm the only one. I gave up after a while."

  Lee reached up and stroked her hair.

  "I missed all my friends and stuff,” she sobbed. “You're the only thing good about any of this. Last Sunday on the river, I think that was one of the best days I've ever had."

  Lee hadn't been expecting any of this. He didn't know what to do. But he did know it felt incredibly good to hold her and stroke her hair.

  "I thought we still had the whole summer,” she snuffled, wiping her nose. “Now I'm so scared I want to go, and I like you so much I want to stay."

  They were both quiet for a while. A baby began crying, the sound seeming to seep through the walls as much as come out the door.

  "Phoebe!” Aunt Viv's voice yodeled out.

  Phoebe pulled away, her nose and eyes red. “I've gotta go back in."

  Lee grabbed the handlebars. “I guess I've gotta get over to Ronnie's."

  She touched him on the nose and then opened the screen. “I'll see ya later, won't I?"

  "You can count on it. I won't let you go without saying goodbye."

  Phoebe looked around quickly causing Lee to look back over his shoulder. When he turned back, she was right there and gave him a quick kiss, then stepped back inside.

  CHAPTER FOUR: FIREWORKS

  Lee rode his bike down the path, his head in a whirl. A few minutes later, he found himself at the guardrail at the end of the road, looking down into the rain swollen Spit Creek. The water looked like chocolate milk swirling past, carrying branches, leaves, and trash as it swept downstream rushing to the Yalahalla. There was no question he wouldn't be going to Ronnie's that way today.

  Music was coming from the open windows of Javier's house, but his car wasn't there. He would have liked to talk to Javier, told him what's going on.

  Lee turned his bike around and mentally calculated on the best route around town to Ronnie's. He'd have to go all the way up the highway into town and back down south past the bridge before he'd hit Arbuckle Avenue. It'd be at least a half hour maybe more depending on traffic.

  Lee fairly flew up into Ronnie's driveway, his legs tingling, and his shirt soaked clean through. The McGiver's Studebaker wasn't pulled all the way up to the garage, and he almost hit it, as he hadn't seen it until he'd come around the bushes. Skidding up behind, he wobbled as he turned, narrowly missing clipping the bumper with his left peddle. He finally came to a stop in the yard, leaning on the handlebars and catching his breath.

  The house was decorated for the Fourth. At either corner of the house hung American flags, and a red, white and blue bunting stretched out over the front door.

  Carolyn was on the porch swing kicking out, back and forth, the back of the swing thumping against the front of the house. Lee wasn't even off his bike when she hollered out, “Ronnie, Lee's here!"

  Lee carried his bike up on the porch and leaned it against the wall by the front widow. Then he went to the door and started to knock.

  Carolyn was playing with two dolls, one in each hand. “Just go on in, Lee,” she said. “Ronnie's in his room."

  Mr. McGiver was sitting in a chair in the living room reading the paper. He didn't pay Lee any attention as he walked by.

  "Hey, Ronnie,” Lee called out, walking into the room Ronnie shared with his little brother, Robbie. “You're not gonna believe everything I've got to tell you.” Lee sat on the bottom bunk bed, and for the next hour filled Ronnie in on everything, from what he'd seen at Art's mom's dress shop to the gory details of Uncle Boyd's corpse.

  "If I were you, I'd move out of that house,” Ronnie concluded. “I knew it wasn't any good for y'all to move over there."

  "Because I'm always grounded,” Lee replied.

  Ronnie laughed. “Well that too. Did you ever give that girl back her shorts?"

  "Phoebe?"

  "Yeah, Phoebe."

  "Not yet.” Lee realized he'd forgotten about giving Phoebe back her red shorts. He made a mental note to make sure he gave them back tomorrow. It'd be a good excuse to get together.

  When they went outside Lee could smell the smoky aroma, which meant Ronnie's dad had started the fire in the big bar-b-que pit out in the back yard. It was fabricated from an old fifty-gallon drum and painted silver with automotive engine paint.

  "What's your dad bar-b-queing?” Lee was genuinely curious as he'd been invited for dinner.

  "Ribs and sausage.” Ronnie rubbed his stomach. Then, as after thought, he tried patting his head at the same time.

  Lee shook his head. “You've been hanging around with Art too much, you know that?"

  "Me!” Ronnie fired back. “You're the one who hung out with him in a closet for an hour or so!"

  Lee grinned. “Yeah, it was worth it, too."

  Obviously knowing he couldn't come back to this, Ronnie changed the subject. “So what do you want to do?"

  "Why don't we ride our bikes over to the fireworks stands now,” Lee suggested. “You got your money?"

  Ronnie patted the pocket of his blue jeans. “I got three dollars, twenty-eight cents. How much you got?"

  Lee smiled avariciously, “Five whole bucks."

  Ronnie pulled his bike out of the bushes, where it lay. “We'll get some Roman candles, too, huh?"

  Lee carefully carried his bike down the steps, setting it on the walkway. “Does a bear shit in the woods?"

  "Is the Pope Catholic?” Ronnie fired back.

  "Does Fat Larry stink?” Lee added, breaking up both boys.

  Once the laughter had died down, Lee kicked the left peddle to an upright position and swung his leg over the Schwinn, but held his position. “I hope they've got the good Roman candles, last year's were a bunch of duds."

  "I like the ones that shoot ten balls the best,” Ronnie came back. “Nothings better to lead the charge.” Ronnie held his arm out as though he was carrying one of the Roman candles in his hand and made swooshing sounds as he pretended he was aiming the flaming balls at the enemy as they scattered.

  Lee stood up on the pedal, and with Ronnie right behind, the two boys set off at a good clip up Valentino St.

  Way out on the west side of town, where highway 57 snaked its way into the valley, just outside of the city limits, fireworks stands crowded one next to the other on either side of the busy blacktop. Signs out front staked into the ground, and painted cloth banners on top of the stands showed illustrations of erupting firecrackers and the faces of snarling black cats. Hastily painted paper signs stapled to the stands read: “Black Cats! Buy One Get Three Free!!” or, “Everything Two For One!!!"

  All the stands were busy, and cars were always pulling in and out off the highway. Kids were running around everywhere packing into the front of the stands and pulling up on the counters, their feet coming up clear of the ground as the leaned in to get a closer look.

  The boys passed two, going straight to the one painted a bright, garish yellow with a small trailer parked around back. Lee had always bought fireworks here. The guy and his wife, who ran the stand, always gave them a bunch of free punks and usual
ly threw in an extra black snake or a few smoke bombs for their regular customers.

  The fat man working the stand wore a red and white striped apron which had two pockets, each chocked full with cash and change. His sparse, flat-top haircut was shorter than the stubbly growth on his sweaty face, and he chewed a mile a minute on the stub of an unlit cigar while he filled orders and made change.

  Using a tiny, yellow pencil, he calculated and wrote down each order on a flat, brown paper bag before filling them with the goods. The entire counter was covered with bags and fireworks. When someone asked for something, he'd put the fireworks in a pile in front of the bag and then enter the amount, keeping up a running tally.

  His wife, who had yellow hair with dark brown roots, kept just as busy. She was stuffed into a bulging pair of jeans, which separated her fat into two distinct lower rolls which supported the third tier containing her breasts. Both were as busy as humanly possible.

  Lee had learned their names years ago. “Hey Gene! Hey Cindy!” They were the only adults he knew that he called by their first names.

  Ronnie pulled his money out of his pocket and held it up. “We're back."

  "Bottle rockets, huh?” Gene remembered them immediately.

  Ronnie put his money down on the counter, holding it in place so the dollar bills wouldn't blow away.

  "Still fifty cents a gross?” he asked.

  "Sorry,” Gene replied, “seventy five cents a gross this year. Inflation."

  Ronnie fished his change out and dropped it on the counter. “How ‘bout the Roman candles?"

  Gene pointed to a piece of paper stapled to the shelf. “They're still ten cents for a ten shot, fifteen for a twenty shot. Dozen ten shots to a package for a dollar, and a buck fifty for a dozen of the twenties."

  Lee looked over at the man next to him. He didn't look like he had a pot to piss in, as his dad often described hillbillies. Along with not possessing a pot, the man was short a few teeth. But what he gave up in teeth, he more than made up for with dandruff. However, he did have an enormous collection of fireworks piled up before him on the counter. There were two bricks of Black Cat firecrackers, at least a dozen sky rockets, a package of M-80s, four big flaming volcano cones, a Mustang variety pack in a box, a couple gross of bottle rockets, two cellophane packs of 20 shot Roman candles, and an assortment of smoke bombs, butterflies, screamers, snakes, and poppers. Lee could see the amount Gene had calculated on the paper bag came to forty-two dollars. Gene would throw in a couple of packs of sparklers and a handful of punks for free.

  The man reached into the top pocket of his overalls and pulled out a crumpled wad of bills, having to straighten them out on the counter, one by one, to count the money out.

  For some strange reason, Lee felt sure he'd seen this guy somewhere before.

  Finally, with the big spender taken care of, Gene turned his attention back to the boys. “What'll it be?"

  Ronnie lost no time. “I'll take two gross of bottle rockets, two of those hundred count packs of Black Cats, and a dozen pack of ten shot Roman candles.” He nudged Lee. “Can you loan me twenty-two cents?"

  Lee reached in his pocket and handed Ronnie a quarter.

  Gene bagged it up, plucking the fireworks from the shelves automatically, without even looking. He opened the bag he'd penciled $3.50 down on and shoved it all in including a handful of punks, a couple of smoke bombs and one enormous M-80. Ronnie let Gene scoop up his money and took delivery of his bag. He stepped off the stoop that ran the length of the front of the stand, immediately reopening the bag to ogle his goods.

  Lee fired off his order to Gene, which was almost the same as Ronnie's except he asked for another gross of bottle rockets, another pack of Black Cats and five M-80s. For Lee's bonus, Gene dropped in a small volcano cone, some smoke bombs, and a box of snappers along with the obligatory punks.

  Lee stepped down, and his place was immediately filled. He and Ronnie walked back to their bikes, looking into each others bags like they were comparing Christmas stockings.

  Lee looked up to notice the man in the overalls had gotten into his pickup and was preparing to pull onto the highway. The “Secede Now” bumper sticker triggered Lee's memory of where he'd seen this guy before, remembering that this was the hillbilly who'd hollered at him on his way to Art's mom's dress shop Saturday a week ago.

  Traffic was tight, with so many people pulling in and out, and the pickup was second in line behind a car that was having trouble finding enough space to pull out.

  Lee fished one of the big M-80s out of his bag. Pulling the long fuse out of one of the smoke bombs, he twisted it onto the end of the M-80s fuse.

  "What're you doin'?” Ronnie asked, watching as Lee worked feverishly.

  Holding the modified M-80 in one hand, Lee reached into his pocket for his pack of matches. “I'm gonna get that guy."

  "Who?” Ronnie didn't know what was going on.

  Lee pointed at the truck, then handed Ronnie his bag and casually walked forward, holding the matches and M-80 down at his side. The car in front of the hillbilly's pickup had just turned left onto the highway, and the pickup was about to go right.

  Lee struck the match, and even before the initial burst of flame had died down, he'd lit the fuse. With a little underhand lob, he tossed the M-80 into the pickup's bed.

  No one had seen a thing, except Ronnie.

  Lee dropped the match on the ground, stepped on it, and did an about face, walking easily back to Ronnie and accepting back his bag.

  Ronnie looked bewildered. “What'd you do that for?"

  "That jerk almost ran me off the road the other day,” Lee replied.

  The truck was slowly picking up speed, the transmission whining loudly as the driver shifted from first to second. The pickup could be seen to slow slightly, as the driver had pressed the clutch to put it in third, when a tremendous explosion rocked the bed. A few cans and tatters of junk flew up, scattering through the air in every direction. Through the rear glass Lee and Ronnie could see the man's panicked face as he looked back; obviously convinced his truck had blown up. He swerved, going down into the ditch before he could come to a stop. The activity at every stand on both sides of the road momentarily came to a halt, as everyone had to stop what they were doing to see what had happened.

  Lee rolled up the top of his bag and kicked his kickstand up before swinging a leg over his bike. “That'll teach him,” he smiled.

  The hillbilly was still poking around in the smoking garbage in the back of his bed with a broomstick when the two boys rode past.

  CHAPTER FIVE: THE BOTTLE ROCKET WARS

  Lee and Ronnie spent the rest of the hot afternoon laying around, watching T.V. and doing next to nothing. In the late afternoon, once it had started to cool down, Ronnie's mom called everyone into the backyard. The Fourth of July dinner was spread out on a redwood plank table covered by a festive red, white, and blue tablecloth. There was potato salad, coleslaw, beans and rolls to go with the bar-b-que ribs and sausage. Lee had seconds of everything and washed it all down with two huge tumblers of heavily sugared iced tea.

  Ronnie's parents were polite in asking Lee about how things had gone for them since the move, but Ronnie's mom had never gotten along with Maggie, and after only a few questions, they left Lee alone.

  Melissa though had made a point of sitting next to Lee, and he found it embarrassing that more than once she reached below the tablecloth and touched him on his leg and giving him an eager smile when he reacted.

  Afterward, Lee and Ronnie went out to the garage and poked around until they had each found a suitable piece of tubing. The one Lee was going to use had been a curtain rod, and Ronnie had scavenged a three-foot length of copper tubing. With their bags of fireworks gripped under one hand and the tubes tied onto the bike frames with string, they peeled out of Ronnie's driveway at a quick clip, weaving their way through back ways and short cuts eventually ending up at the vacant field behind the Lenoir municipal sewer treatment p
lant on the far southwest corner of Pickford Acres.

  Though it was still early, there were already a few cars lining the side of the road. Using a chain and combination lock Ronnie kept wrapped around his seat stem, they chained their bikes to a light pole at the sewer plant's parking lot. Pops of firecrackers and swooshes from launched rockets were sounding out from behind the building. Hearing the noise from the activity, Lee and Ronnie were so impatient to join in they ran the rest of the way, carrying their tubes and bags, like soldiers running up a beach.

  Behind the sprawling facility a mowed field stretched out. This was where the little league practiced in the spring. At each end of the field were two practice diamonds with chain link backstops.

  Sometime ago, someone had decided to use the place to shoot off fireworks. Lee didn't know who it was who'd actually started the bottle rocket wars, or when, but every year, more and more people were showing up. This would be their third year to attend, and not once had Lee noticed any girls amongst the participants.

  On one side of the field was a group of guys bunched up behind a pickup truck. About fifty yards away was another group hiding behind two cars which had been pulled up bumper to bumper. Every year Lee had come to the field, he never could believe that people would actually be stupid enough to bring their cars. He knew that whenever he owned a car, it wouldn't come any closer to the field than the main road.

  Ronnie was out of breath and panting, his face red and streaked with sweat. “Which side do we want to join up with?"

  It looked pretty equal. Usually, one of the unwritten rules of the bottle rocket wars was that you always joined the side with less people so that the battle would be even. But there was only one real rule: Don't come unless you are willing to get shot with bottle rockets, hit by firecrackers, and burned by Roman candles. If you're the type to get upset about such things, you'd better stay home; both sides would gang up on and forcibly eject anyone who became belligerent.

  A gangly kid in the group behind the end to end cars, obviously a high schooler, had spied Lee and Ronnie.