"Que intelligente, niño." El Yucatango ruffled Late's curly black hair and patted him on the back. "Now come on, Beacon. Won't you hire these two new super-hero cornermen for our match gigante?"
Both kids jumped up and down and pleaded until Cary finally gave in...at least for the time being. He still didn't like the idea and planned to scuttle it later, before the kids could be exposed.
"All right." He sighed. "You can be cornermen."
The kids cheered and ran around in circles until El Yucatango scooped them up in his arms. He set one of them on each shoulder and galloped around the graveyard, holding them in place with his giant hands.
As Cary watched and held his breath, a family walked by on the road. There were four locals--a man, a woman, and two little girls. All of them wore pins or scarves or sashes bearing the images of skeletons or skulls or the Grim Reaper. The woman carried a picnic hamper covered by a black cloth with a gape-jawed skull on it.
The four of them walked a little further, then cut between the rows of graves. They stopped at one of the stones, then proceeded to lay out their picnic in front of it.
El Yucatango, when he charged up with the kids, followed Cary's gaze and grinned.
"I almost forgot!" said El Yucatango, hoisting Glo and Late from his shoulders. "Today is a special day! El Día de los Muertos!"
"What's that?" said Glo.
"The Day of the Dead." El Yucatango laughed as he put the kids back on the ground. "What better day for me to wrestle a dead man?"
*****
Chapter Forty-Nine
Lilly, Pennsylvania, 2006
"I can't wait to get my hands on that piece of shit," said Paisley. "Fucking chickenshit not-putting-out-fires-and-pretending-he's-dead Grogan Salt."
Behind the wheel of Latoya Toyota, Celeste smirked. She wasn't in a playful mood by any stretch, but Paisley was in rare form this morning. The day before, with all the revelations and bickering at E.Q.'s house, Paisley had lost her oomph...but the sleep she'd gotten seemed to have sharpened up her edge.
Celeste knew she would need it. Everyone, including Pretzel, was jammed into the Toyota, on their way to see a man most of them had thought was dead for the past thirty years.
None of them seemed to be looking forward to it, either. The only one who seemed to be in anything remotely resembling a half-decent mood was E.Q.
As Celeste drove through Lilly, the tiny town where Grogan lived, E.Q. sat in the back seat and gaped out the windows at the passing landmarks.
"When my parents and I lived in Cresson, I spent some time here," he said. "I once dated a girl who lived in that house right over there."
"BAROOO!" Pretzel flopped his face over the back of the front seat and howled right in Celeste's ear.
"See that pizza joint on the corner? Used to be a five and tenny." E.Q. tapped the window beside him. "And that parking lot used to be a hotel."
"That train station looks pretty old," said Baron, who sat on the other side of Pretzel.
E.Q. moved around for a better look. "It's original, all right. I remember it well."
Paisley turned her head and spoke over her shoulder. "I take it you haven't been out for a visit then? No father-and-adopted-psycho pitch and catch or hooking crappies at the ol' fishin' hole?"
E.Q. ignored her. "Did I ever tell you kids that your grandmother and grandfather met here?"
Celeste was surprised. "No, you never told us."
"Well, they did. Olenka and Max. 1924." E.Q. sighed. "Olenka lived here. Her parents settled here when they came over from Poland."
"What about Max?" said Baron. "Where did he come in?"
"I wish you could have known him," said E.Q. "He was a great man. I learned so much from him."
"But how did he meet Grandma?" said Baron.
"Nothing special." E.Q. shrugged. "Remind me to tell you about it sometime."
*****
By the time Celeste pulled up to the right place, she'd gotten lost three times. That was three times more than she'd expected, since Lilly was such a small town.
The problem was, Grogan didn't live in Lilly proper. His shithole trailer slumped along an unpaved track branching off the hard-to-spot spur of an unmarked, winding country road. Why he didn't have an R.D. number for an address, Celeste had no idea.
But his trailer was definitely a certified shithole.
The white siding had fallen off in many places, and the corrugated roof had collapsed in the middle. Most of the windows had no glass and were boarded up from inside. The front screen door hung from one hinge, and the front stoop was nothing but a rusted old milk crate.
The yard looked like the leading edge of the town dump. It was strewn with shopping carts, car parts, toilets, refrigerators, furniture, newspapers, clothing, bedsheets, carpet remnants, tires, and heaps of beer cans and bottles. Everything had been ruined by time and the elements, rusted and faded and shredded and chewed.
"Okay," said Paisley. "Who votes we turn around and go home?" As soon as her hand shot up, so did Baron's.
Celeste parked the car and turned off the engine. "Feel free to stay here," she said as she opened the door. "I'll let you know what he says."
E.Q. opened the back door on his side, too. "I better go with you. I'm the only one he's talked to recently."
"Shit," said Baron, opening the other back door. "I can't let you two go out there alone. That junkyard's probably crawling with rats and snakes and who knows what else."
"Have fun, chumps!" said Paisley. "Baron Junior and I have some napping to do."
"BAROOO!" Pretzel said from the back seat. "BA-BAROOO!"
"Hey, wait!" said Paisley. "You forgot your dog!"
With that, all three car doors slammed shut at once.
Celeste, Baron, and E.Q. proceeded to pick their way through the field of trash to the front door of the trailer. The whole time, back in the Toyota, Paisley kept yelling, and Pretzel kept howling.
As Celeste got closer to the trailer, she thought she saw what was making Pretzel bark so much. At least five different cats prowled the rubbish, converging on Celeste, Baron, and E.Q. with lithe, silent movements.
"So what do you think he'll say?" Baron's voice had a cynical edge. "You think he'll be happy to see us?"
"He'll probably try to get us in trouble with Dad." Celeste sneered. "For old times' sake."
"He's changed," said E.Q. "You might be surprised."
"Not surprised so far," said Celeste. "This is about the kind of shithole I would've expected him to be living in."
"If you'd known he was alive," said Baron.
"Right." Celeste crossed the cracked cement slab to the trailer's front door. Stepping up onto the milk crate stoop, she put a fingertip on the grimy doorbell button mounted crookedly on the siding. "Last chance to turn back."
"Forget it," said Baron. "I've always wanted to meet someone who came back from the dead."
"Have it your way," said Celeste, and then she rang the bell.
*****
Chapter Fifty
Puerto Peñasco, Mexico, 2006
Standing inside the closed coffin, Cary heard the first bell clang.
Father Lovito, the emcee and referee, continued to shout, his quickfire Spanish sounding like gibberish to Cary...but Cary didn't need to understand it. He was only really listening for the bells; the third one would be his signal to move.
Then, finally, he would be able to see what awaited him.
He'd entered the coffin hours ago, before the crowd had arrived for the big match. Without any peepholes, he couldn't see how many people were out there...but from the sound of the crowd noise, he guessed there were a lot of them.
They sounded excited, too. The chatter and laughter had grown louder and more energetic with each passing moment, especially once Father Lovito had started his introductory speech.
Cary's nervousness grew right along with the rising noise. His heart pounded, his breathing raced, and his stomach twisted. His nervous s
weats were intensified by the head-to-toe spandex costume into which he'd been stuffed.
The costume didn't help his claustrophobia, either. It had started out as a mild case, brought on by the coffin's confines...but by now it was on the verge of a raging freakout. Maybe it wouldn't have been so bad if his mask had at least had breathing holes or an opening over his mouth. As it was, he felt like a mummy, wrapped up and sealed in for eternity.
That was why he felt almost as relieved as nervous when the second bell clanged.
Two down, one to go.
Yet again, Cary went over in his mind the sequence of events that El Yucatango had said would happen. It seemed pretty simple.
Cary would leap out of the coffin, pretending to be the Diamond Demon, returned from the dead. He would wrestle El Yucatango, who would pretend to lose for a long time. Then, in the end, El Yucatango would win. Cary would surrender the championship belt to him and admit he'd stolen it in the first place.
Then, Cary would got to "Hell." He would fall through a trap door in a burst of special effect flames.
And that would be the end of it. He and the kids would sneak away and head home in the taxi--assuming it reappeared as conveniently as it had disappeared.
He'd be home free. The long journey that had started days ago in West Virginia would finally end, and he could get on with life with his kids.
Well, it wouldn't be quite that easy, of course. He'd kidnapped them from their birth parents, after all. He and the kids might have trouble at the border, and if they made it across, they'd have to set up new lives with new identities. It could be a real ordeal.
He'd just have to take it one step at a time.
Right now, he just had to worry about getting through the match without getting hurt or arrested. He just had to hope Drill and Crystal didn't show up with the police to take back the kids and cart him away to a Mexican jail.
Outside the coffin, he heard Father Lovito announce El Yucatango's name, drawing out each syllable with dramatic intensity. The whole crowd booed at once.
They didn't stop booing the whole time El Yucatango spoke. Even without a microphone, however, his roaring voice surged over them. Cary didn't understand the words, but even he could grasp the meaning behind the explosive speech.
El Yucatango was going to take back his good name by force.
Finally, the third bell clanged.
The crowd fell silent.
Cary placed his hands against the coffin lid and took a deep breath. In his costume, ready to burst from his secret hiding place, he felt like a real super-hero about to leap into battle.
As nervous as he was, he got a chill up his spine and smiled under his mask.
Then, he threw open the coffin and leaped out onto the canvas.
Everyone in the audience gasped at once.
After so long in the darkness, it took a moment for Cary's eyes to adjust to the light. When they did, he took in his surroundings in one vivid, throbbing burst.
He stood at one end of the wrestling ring under an open-sided tent. Everywhere he looked, he saw people staring back at him, most with eyes and mouths open wide in surprise.
People of all ages jammed the space under the tent, standing among the gravestones...sitting on them, even. They wore brightly colored clothes, often decorated with skulls and skeletons. People flowed out from under the tent as far as Cary could see in all directions.
In the far corner of the ring, little Late grinned and waved at him. He wore a white hood mask that covered the top half of his head.
Turning, Cary saw Glo in a corner behind him, wearing a black mask. She had a towel slung over her shoulder, and she smiled and hopped up on tiptoes when he saw her.
Father Lovito stood in the center of the ring, shouting and pointing in Cary's direction. "El Deeemoooniooo delll Diamaaaaante."
At the mention of his alter ego, Cary threw his arms straight up in the air. Suddenly, the crowd roared with cheers and screams and applause.
Another chill ran up Cary's spine, and he had a thought: This is what I should've been doing all my life.
Then, as he turned in a circle with his arms overhead, he saw his opponent in a far corner of the ring, bouncing against the ropes.
It was the first time he'd seen El Yucatango since going into the coffin two hours ago. A lot had changed since then.
The last time Cary had seen him, El Yucatango had looked the same as always. Now, though he was still the same man, just as massive as ever, he looked like an actual professional wrestler--a wrestler gone to seed, but still a wrestler. The crazy street person look was gone.
He'd cut off his braided hair horn and shaved off his scraggly beard. Instead of a pillowcase mask, bedsheet cape, purple t-shirt with painted-on emblem, and chinos, he wore what was obviously a professionally made costume. It was green and gold, with intricate, swirling designs over every glittering inch. It was so overstretched, Cary was surprised his mammoth flab hadn't already burst the seams...but it still gave him a new look that was more intimidating than ridiculous. He looked a lot more like a super-hero than a street nut pretending to be one.
Cary looked down at his own red and blue costume. It was identical to the one he'd seen on the statues of El Demonio del Diamante, right down to the flared epaulettes and the stylized diamond emblems on the chest and mask. The main difference from the statues was that Cary's skinny body didn't fill out the tights like the sculpted Demonio had.
Suddenly, the bell clanged again, and the crowd roared. Cary looked up.
El Yucatango was charging across the ring at him, howling and shaking his fists. Even though Cary knew the match was staged and no one would really get hurt, he felt a sudden urge to run for his life as the behemoth thundered toward him.
*****
Chapter Fifty-One
Lilly, Pennsylvania, 2006
When Grogan Salt stuck his head up out of the hole in the ground, Celeste yelped and ran right into one of the yard toilets.
She caught herself on the toilet tank before she could spill all the way over and hit the ground. "Oh my God!" Her heart was pounding like crazy, and her stomach was in the middle of its fiftieth flip-flop.
Grogan had scared the shit out of her. When he'd failed to come to the door of the trailer, Celeste, Baron, and E.Q. had fanned out through the surrounding junkyard to look for him. Celeste hadn't expected him to pop up out of a pit, though...especially one that was covered by newspapers so she hadn't even known it was there.
For that matter, he didn't look much like his old self at first glance. It took Celeste a minute to look past the wild gray hair, bushy beard, and extra weight to see traces of the old horse-faced, scrawny Grogan.
What clinched it were the teeth. They were just as crooked as before, and the incisor fangs were still prominent.
When he spoke, of course, there could be no mistaking his identity.
"H-h-hello," he said, wiping his hands on his army camouflage t-shirt. "C-canIhelp y-y-you?"
Without a word, Celeste waved for Baron and E.Q., who hurried over to stand beside her. Grogan's eyes sparked with recognition when he spotted E.Q.
"Oh!" he said. "It's y-you."
"Hello, Grogan," said E.Q. "What's with the hole?"
Grogan looked around at the rim of the pit and laughed. "I d-don'tgetmany v-visitors," he said. "Well, any v-visitors. B-b-bettersafethan s-sorry."
"Ri-i-i-ght," said Baron as he elbowed Celeste in the ribs.
"Guess who's here?" said E.Q.
Grogan stared blankly at Baron and Celeste, then shrugged.
"Don't you remember Baron and Celeste?" E.Q. grinned and put a hand on their shoulders.
For an instant, Celeste thought she saw a flicker of the old angry hatred in Grogan's eyes. Then, it was gone.
He smiled and nodded. "W-welcome tomyhumble h-h-home."
E.Q. bent down and extended a hand. "Why don't you get up out of there so we can talk?"
*****
"If I'dknown y-
youwere c-coming, I'd've c-c-cleaned theplaceup alittle," said Grogan as he led them through the junkyard. "Well, n-not r-r-really." His laugh had become a wheezing, wet chuckle, the product of too many years of hard living.
"It's the thought that counts." Baron sounded flip, but he wasn't smiling at all. The blue eyes behind his wire-framed glasses were flinty and clenched. The edge in his voice was hard and sharp and cold as the blade of an ax.
"Look over there in the car." E.Q. pointed at Paisley's Toyota. "Paisley's here, too."
"W-where's C-Cary? Inyour p-p-pocket?" Grogan laughed and patted the pockets of his bright red sweatpants.
"We can't find him." A lock of Celeste's hair had strayed forward from her ponytail and bobbed down over her face. Reaching up, she tucked the stray lock behind her ear. "Do you have any idea where he might be?"
Grogan stopped and glared at her. "I w-was wondering w-whyyouwere h-here."
"Hey," said Baron. "We didn't exactly know you were alive until last night, Grogan."
"S-So whenyou f-foundoutI w-was, yourightaway f-f-figuredI d-didsomething t-toyourbaby b-brother."
"Gee," said Baron. "Now why would we think that?"
Grogan stared at him for a long moment, then brushed his hand through the air. "G-g-get the hell off m-my p-property."
Then, he shoved his way between Baron and Celeste and marched toward the trailer.
Celeste hurried after him. "Listen!" she said. "We're only here because Cary left clues that led us here. We're not assuming anything."
Grogan threw open his milk crate front stoop and hoisted out a bottle of whiskey. "You'reassumingI g-giveashit w-whathappens t-to any ofyou, w-which I d-don't." He tipped the neck of the bottle in the direction of the car, then unscrewed the cap. "Now g-getouttahere b-before I c-call the c-c-cops." He raised the bottle to his lips and let the amber liquid trickle into his mouth.
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