by Brian Toal
"No. I know the guys down at the junk yard pretty good. I can probably get a used rim off of them for a couple bucks and if I decide to do an oil change, I can do it in the driveway."
"Okay." Chris looked over his shoulder into the dark apartment, his blankets strewn across the floor, between the couch and door. "Where should I stay? Do you think Carman would mind if I stayed here for today?"
Jon shrugged. "Ask her, when she gets home."
"Yeah, right. Okay."
"Anyway..." Jon turned on the landing "...I'll stop by later this afternoon - but can we plan on leaving tomorrow?"
"Sure." Chris nodded. "And if you need any help, come and get me."
"You bet." Jon clumped down the stairs.
Jon had to do some thinking. Which he was having some trouble doing, this morning. Too much beer and Scotch and Vodka and, if he remembered right a couple shots of Brandy had circulated into his blood-stream last night. They were still circulating this morning, but only within the clouded confines of his head.
He squinted his eyes closed against the bright sun as he walked around the rear of the plumbing shop to the stairway leading to his own apartment. His apartment - filled this morning with stale smoke, overflowing ashtrays, the malty smell of spilt beer and the blare of the television.
And that is where his muddled confusion had all begun. Tottering about the apartment, an hour ago, wearing only his skivvies and clutching a black coffee in his hand, contemplating giving up drinking, dope, cigarettes and all other earthly evils as long as some higher authority would take pity on him and miraculously remove the throbbing torment within his skull, he had cranked on CNN. They were reporting on the aftermath of some huge conflagration, a couple of days ago, that had claimed thirty-eight lives in some small town in California, which Jon already knew about from the young boy in the opposite apartment. He sat down on the battered couch to learn more.
"The origins of the fire, according to authorities on the scene, seems to have originated here..." The picture changed to two gutted cars parked parallel to each other among an expanse of burnt and tarry asphalt. There was almost nothing left of them. Certainly nothing to identify them. Rusting hulks. The tires were gone, only the steal belts remaining on the rims. The two rear doors of one of the cars were missing entirely and the interior vacant of upholstery, seats, dash - even the steering wheel was gone. The deep voice of the announcer continued, "...where three California State Police officers apparently got into difficulties when trying to arrest two suspects on a charge of kidnapping..."
Where do they get these guys that do the news? Jon wondered. Their hair was always so perfect and their voices so superbly masculine and deep. He could imagine the job application forms (something he had seen a lot of lately):
1. How many times per day do you use hair spray? ____
2. When fixed, does your hair part perfectly, at the right or left side? _____
3. Do your friends comment on the depth and resonate quality of your voice? If so, how many testicles do you have. Two__, Three__, Four or more__?
"...authorities are still investigating the exact cause of the blaze and the destruction of some sixty tractor trailer units and the restaurant and adjoining gas bar."
The picture panned over a field of melted aluminium and parked engine blocks, with a burnt and gutted building in the background.
"Although badly burned, authorities have one of the suspects in custody, another was believed to have perished in the fire along with the three arresting officers. At present, police are not releasing the name of the suspect, although they have released the name of the kidnapping victim, who was taken from the scene by the remaining kidnappers. The name of the victim is Christopher Robert McCarter, aged twelve..."
Jon's choked on a sip of scalding coffee, as Chris' face appeared on National Television.
"...authorities believe that he is still being held by one or more kidnappers, driving an older model 75 to 77 green Datsun. The family of the boy has posted a two hundred-thousand-dollar reward for information leading to the recovery of their son. This is the eight hundred number to call."
An eleven-digit number appeared across the bottom of the screen as another picture of Chris materialised over top of the phone number.
Now, again sitting on the sagging couch in his apartment, Jon had some thinking to do. He had never been very good at figuring out complex issues. Usually, he just acted. Did what he felt was right at the time. When his sister had been beaten up by her boyfriend a few years ago - he hadn't thought about it. He had just driven over to the guy's place and beat the shit out of him. The next day, the police had arrested him for assault, which sucked, because there was no way he could have denied it - his own hands were still bruised and cut - and later he was convicted and had to spend a year on probation.
When he had decided to drive Chris up to Seattle. He hadn't thought much about it either. It seemed like an adventure and the kid needed some help. Now, he wasn't too sure about this action. With the kid's picture on National TV as well as a description of Jon's car... How the hell, did they know the kid was in a 76 Datsun? Which, of course, was his Datsun! ...this little adventure had a good chance of getting a bit heavy. Like, major heavy! And the kid...was he actually telling the truth or not? He didn't know. The only thing Jon knew for certain - Chris wasn't being kidnapped by anyone. He was free to do whatever he wanted. So, he knew that the news report was wrong on that account.
But, what about this shit the kid was saying about killing his own parents. He certainly broke down and cried a stream of tears, whenever he talked about it. Jon figured he must be telling at least some of the truth, unless he was one hell of an actor. But, the newscaster had said that it was Chris' own parents who were offering the reward.
Jon sighed, and decided to break his own carefully imposed regulations, pulling a Winston out of a pack that had been left behind. Then he stood up and began to look around the apartment for his lighter. What the hell gives with all this shit? He asked himself as he spotted a pack of matches amidst the rubble on the coffee-table. Somebody is telling lies - that he knew for sure.
Chris sat in the same armchair Carman had occupied last night. He too had the television on. But, not CNN. Chris had never been able to understand why adults were so interested in the news. So what, if some African country was having a revolution. They were always having revolutions. So what, if the Arabs were doing something bad to the Israelis, or visa-versa. They hated each other and always would. The news was predictable and boring. Rock videos though, were quite interesting. There was nothing predictable about them, and of course the music was quite excellent too.
There was a thumping of footsteps on the wooden steps outside, then a key in the lock and as Chris turned in his chair, Carman opened the door. She had a stack of books under one arm and a plastic shopping bag of groceries sat on the porch behind her. "Hi." She said as she dropped the schoolbooks by the door. "I figured you’d still be here, so I got some food."
Chris stood up and walked over to meet her. "I can get the bag." He offered.
"Thanks." Carman passed the bag to him and closed the door, stooping to remove her shoes as Chris took the groceries into the kitchen. "Did Jon come by, or is he still asleep?"
"No, he came over a little while ago. He said he needed to get some work done on his car, before he could drive it up to Seattle."
"Really?" Carman walked into the kitchen and began to unpack the groceries. "His car is still parked downstairs, so he mustn't be in much of a rush. When are you planning on leaving?"
"Jon thinks tomorrow would be best."
Carman nodded. "I figured as much."
Chris leaned against the counter, watching as she efficiently stowed away the groceries. "Jon says, I should ask you if I could stay another night here."
Carman shrugged, "Sure, I guess."
"Thanks. I appreciate it." Then, realizing he should probably do something to show his appreciation, he asked. "Is t
here anything I can do. Like cook something or..."
Carman collapsed the plastic bag and shoved it into a drawer with dozens of others. "Do you know how to cook?"
"Ahhh...not much. I can cook hamburgers, or bacon or soup or..."
"How about grilled cheese sandwiches?"
"Ahhh...sure. If you show me how."
Carman laughed and ruffled his hair, something Chris usually hated, but he let Carman do it without any resistance. If Carman wanted to run her hands through his hair, that was fine with him.
"Let's get you started on the grilled cheese. They are fairly easy to make. We'll make enough for Jon too, because I suspect he hasn't had anything to eat yet and I want to talk with him about your plans anyway."
"Okay." Chris turned on the kitchen tap in order to wash his hands. Something his Mother had always insisted he do, prior to helping her in the kitchen. "Do you mind if I use your phone? I want to call my grandparents and tell them I am coming."
Jon still had not decided. Had not decided a thing. Didn't even know where to start. Who were the people that had posted the reward? Were they the kid's parents? Is the kid really going up to Seattle to stay with his grandparents? Or is he planning on going all the way back to Detroit, to do battle with some machine? Is there really some sort of alien machine in Detroit? Did this alien machine make him kill his parents? Or did the kid actually kill anybody? Was he kidnapped by some people and then escaped? Or did CNN lie? What will the police do to Chris if they catch him. Or, to himself if they catch him with Chris? Should he drive Chris up to Seattle or call the number and get some of the two hundred thousand...
His thoughts were interrupted by a knocking on his door and looking up he could see Carman's face peering in at him through the window. "Come on in." He yelled, remaining on the couch.
"Hi." Carman said, walking into the room. "Whew...what a stink."
"Yeah. Maybe you better leave the door open and let it air out."
"Right." She shoved the door fully open. "And clean those ashtrays out too." She suggested.
"Yeah, right. In a bit."
Carman pulled a wooden chair over to the edge of the battered coffee table across from where Jon sat on the couch. "So, Chris tells me, you’re planning on leaving tomorrow."
Jon nodded. "Yeah, maybe."
"Maybe? Why? Are you having problems with your car?"
Jon shook his head. "Naw. Nothing major anyway. But, I’m having second thoughts about this whole thing."
"Well, I wondered why you ever volunteered in the first place."
Jon nodded. "Carman...has Chris told you much about himself?"
Carman thought she knew where this conversation was leading to. "A little bit. He says his parents are dead and he is going to Seattle to live with his grandparents."
"Did he tell you that his parents have been dead for only two days?"
"What?" Carman exclaimed.
"Yeah." Jon laughed sourly. "And did he tell you he killed them himself?"
"No!" Carman realized she had no idea what Jon was going to say next.
"Yes. And apparently he killed another thirty-eight people at the same time."
"I can't believe this!"
"It's pretty hard. I don't know how much I believe either. But I do know this much, that kid is dangerous as hell and the cops are after him - big time."
"For killing his parents?"
"No! Shit, no! That’s the whole fuckup about this thing. The cops say he has been kidnapped."
"Kidnapped. By who?"
"Well, I guess...by me."
"What! Jon, you didn't kidnap him...did you?"
"Fuck no! Why the hell would I ever want to kidnap a kid for? And..." Jon snorted with acrid humour "...then bring him to a party. No, this is all fucked up. I don't understand a thing anymore." He paused, looking critically at Carman as he tried to judge her reaction to what he was going to say next. "Do you know that kid can break things. Like, move things. I think it’s called teli...telekinesis. Mind over matter, type shit." Then louder, in order to convince Carman he wasn't crazy. "I saw him do it! He broke my door handle right off in my hand and...and then he rolled my window up too."
There was silence for a moment as both of them just stared at each other. Then in a quiet, deliberate voice, Carman asked. "Jon, what are you talking about?"
Jon sighed and fell back against the cushions. "What I’m saying is this...the kid is really strange. He says he can move things around by thinking about it - and he can. He also says he killed his parents, by accident, when the police tried to arrest them. And..." Jon raised one hand as Carman tried to interrupt "...he is going up to Seattle only to talk with his grandparents, not to live there. What he wants is; their help in shipping him back to Detroit in order to destroy some sort of alien machine. A machine that he and a friend found in Canada last summer. He also says this machine messed with his brain somehow and that’s why he can do what he can do." Jon finished, looking across the table at Carman with a sorry expression on his face, as if he had just farted or done something else equally socially unacceptable.
"Well..." Carman spoke slowly, looking for the right words "...I don't know anything about the troubles he has had with his parents or this telekinesis. But, I agree, he is a strange boy. Maybe I should tell you a story..." "Last night, he made me do things that I normally wouldn't do."
Jon frowned, "Like what?"
"Not much really, but I didn't know I was doing it." She paused, thinking for a moment. "He got some sort of ability to manipulate people. I told him it was a gift, but he didn't seem to agree."
"Hold it..." Jon hit his palm against his forehead. "He did say something about that too. He said he could make people driving their cars, change lanes whenever he wanted to. But, he said that he wasn't very good at it."
"He is quite good at it. I should know."
Jon sucked in a deep breath and then forcefully ejected it, blowing some ashes off a plate on the coffee table that had served as an ashtray the night before. "Well, there you go. He is a very strange kid. So...I’m not sure I want to be travelling far with him. He’s too damn weird."
Carman shrugged. "Yes, I understand what you’re saying. But, we have to do something for him."
Jon nodded, noncommittally, "I suppose, somebody has to do something. But I can't, because they are looking for my car." Suddenly he pushed himself forward on the couch, "Have you seen the news today?"
"No."
"He's on it."
"Who, Chris?"
"Yes!" We can phone the number and let someone else look after him."
"What number?" Carman asked, exasperated. "Why is Chris on the news?"
"The cops are looking for him. Remember I said someone supposedly kidnapped him - that is what the newscaster said on CNN, anyway. So the cops are looking for him because someone has kidnapped him. Which isn't true. We both know that. But then they even gave a description of the kidnapper's car. And its my car! I don't know how they found out he was travelling with me, but we both know I never kidnapped him. But, if we phone the number on CNN, they would come and get him." Jon was talking fast, convinced he had found a solution to his dilemma. "Chris could tell them his story about whatever this thing is back in Detroit. They could phone his grandparents and drive him up to Seattle. And then they could go, the police and Chris, and find this machine in Detroit and everything would be alright."
"Whew." Carman shook her head. "This is too complex. I don't understand any of this."
"Don't you see though..." Jon was still excited about his planned course of action (and the reward too, although he tried not to think too much about that aspect of his rational) "...it’s perfect. Chris wants to go up to Seattle. I don't want to take him because the police are looking for my car. After he talks with his grandparents, he wants to go back to Detroit and do battle with this thing back there. So...if we go to the police now. They can help him do everything he wants to do. And hell, if this alien machine really is in Detroi
t, they can nuke it or something like that, if they want to. That's the way to go. We got to call that number!"
Carman was shaking her head. "I wouldn't do that Jon. Not until we talk with Chris."
"Hell, he will probably say yes."
"Maybe, but I wouldn't phone until you’ve talked with him. Don't forget, you’re dealing with a kid who apparently can do some pretty nasty stuff if he gets pissed off."
Jon's excitement died and a quick shadow of fear clouded his eyes. "Fuck! I guess you’re right. We better talk to him first."
"Geez, you took a long time." Chris said, a miffed expression on his face. "I burnt the grilled cheese sandwiches trying to keep them warm for you guys."
"Sorry, Chris." Carman wrapped her arm around his shoulders as he stood in front of the stove. "Jon and I got talking and I entirely forgot about the time."
"Well, they’re ready." Chris gestured at the pile of blackened cheese sandwiches. "But, they’re a little burnt."
"A little bit of carbon never hurt anybody." Carman said, as she grabbed one off the top of the stack and threw it onto a plate. "Do you want ketchup with yours?"
"Yes, please."
"Not bad." Jon pronounced, popping the last of his first sandwich into his mouth. "A little burnt, but that was our fault."
"Yes, sorry we were late, Chris." Carman had finished hers and was making no move to get a second. "Jon and I were actually talking about you. That's why we took so long to come over."
"About me?"
"Yes. About your forthcoming trip to Seattle and...and other things as well."
Chris put his plate with his half-eaten sandwich on the coffee table. "I have a problem." He spoke slowly. "My grandparent's answering machine says they are away on a cruise for a couple weeks. They don't get back until the end of next week."
"Oh...what are you going to do now?" Carman asked
Chris shook his head dejectedly, "I don't know. I don't think I should stay here for a whole week."
"Well, if it’s necessary, I suppose you could. I’d have to talk with my roommate first, though."