Down in Flames

by P. W. Catanese

  The three were barely able to keep from laughing while Fiasco talked. The girl covered her mouth with her hand, turned away, and pretended to cough. One of the guys talked to Fiasco, but Donny detected the sarcasm in his false grin and body language, even from a distance. The other one snuck cell phone pictures of Fiasco and the art. They finally waved to Fiasco and walked away, and they hadn’t gone ten feet before they put their heads together, whispered, and burst into laughter.

  Fiasco had always seemed oblivious to how people really reacted to his art, but this time Donny saw the way his gaze lowered to the floor, and his broad shoulders slumped. Maybe it was because the enormous beard was gone, but it was easy to see the warmth and humor depart from his expression. He suddenly looked old and tired, a mountain of a man slightly eroded. He returned to his stool and slowly picked up his brush and palette, but then set them down again and sat, his hand cradling the bottom of his jaw.

  Donny glared at the trio as they walked out of the building. “You okay there, Sparky?” one of the boys said when he caught Donny’s glance.

  “Nothing wrong with me,” Donny replied, still glaring. The boy looked at his friends, then shrugged and snickered.

  Donny’s blood was on fire. He stepped back out of sight in case Fiasco looked his way, and stood in the shade, smacking the wall with his fist.

  Then he got an idea.

  He patted the pocket of his shorts. There was a lot of money in there still, several hundred at least. He looked up and down the street and searched for a stranger who might help. There were tourists here and there, wandering the old city, shopping and sight-seeing. “But who can I trust?” he muttered to himself.

  There was something else in his other pocket, he remembered. Soon he wouldn’t need them anymore, or even be allowed to have them. But they could be helpful here. He dug out the tiny bottle of demon drops, pulled the dropper from the top, and squeezed a drop into each eye. He blinked rapidly and felt the liquid encompass his eyeballs and warm them to a nearly uncomfortable degree. The heat faded, and the world took on an amber hue as if he wore tinted glasses. Now when he looked at people, he saw the auras that surrounded them—a halo of light that glowed different colors and revealed to him who was good and decent, and who was downright nasty. It always felt like a violation to see people like this, but right now he just needed a specific kind of person.

  As usual, most people were somewhere in between. A sour-looking man went past with an aura so dark and purple that Donny pressed himself against the wall to stay out of his way. A few more went by, including a promising old gentleman, but Donny held out for something better.

  Then he saw them. A pair of plump middle-aged women in sundresses, sunglasses, and sandals, each with a shopping bag, ambled down the street. One had short hair, and one had longer hair, but their features were so similar that Donny was sure they were sisters. Better yet, they spoke English. Best of all, their auras were like golden sunshine, some of the brightest Donny had ever seen.

  He wondered what to say to them, but they spoke to him first. “Good morning, young fella,” one said with a sweet smile and a hint of a Southern accent.

  “Um, hi,” Donny responded. He scrambled to think of how to ask for what he wanted before they walked by. “Excuse m-me, ma’ams,” he sputtered. It was enough to get them to stop and look curiously back. He put on his most angelic smile and pressed his palms together. “I wonder if I could ask a really big favor?”

  They looked at each other, their eyebrows raised over the tops of their sunglasses. “Well,” said the long-haired one, “I guess it depends what the favor is.”

  “It’s nothing bad, I promise,” Donny said. He pointed with his thumb at the doorway of the artist’s building. “There’s a guy in there, selling his art. But nobody buys any of it, ever, because it’s terrible. So I was wondering if maybe you could go in there, make a big fuss about how great his paintings are, and buy some of them.” The women opened their mouths, maybe to object, but Donny went on before they could say anything. “You don’t have to use your own money. I’ll give you the money.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of bills. “Use this! What is this . . . ? It’s, like, four hundred dollars. Buy as much as you can with this. Meet me at that plaza right over there, and if you do that, I’ll give you a lot more money, just for doing this. Okay?”

  They both pushed their sunglasses to the tops of their heads and stared at the bills. Then they looked at each other, amused and a little stunned. “You really have that kind of money to throw around?” asked the long-haired sister.

  Donny nodded. “Uh-huh. And I really need your help. It’s super-important.”

  “This feels like one of those hidden-camera shows,” the other one said.

  “No, this is for real,” Donny said. “That guy in there—he really deserves this. I can’t do it, because we know each other. Would you please, please do this for me?”

  The long-haired one chuckled and wagged her head. “This is just the weirdest thing anybody’s ever asked.”

  “I guess it won’t do any harm,” the other one ventured.

  “Great!” Donny said. Before they reconsidered, he shoved the money into the long-haired woman’s hand. “He’s at the end of that long room, the very last artist. A huge guy. His name is Fiasco.”

  “Did you say Fiasco?”

  “Yes, ma’am. He’s nice; you’ll like him. And believe me, you’ll know him and his art when you see them. Remember, you have to pretend it’s really good.”

  “It can’t be that bad,” the short-haired one said.

  “No, it definitely is. Thank you, ladies. I knew you’d help as soon as I saw you.”

  The long-haired one laughed and repositioned her sunglasses. “All right, here we go. I shouldn’t be surprised—crazy things happen to us all the time!”

  Tell me about it, Donny thought to himself. He watched them approach the entrance and pause to get a few giggles out of their system. They nodded back at him, smoothed the wrinkles from their dresses, and walked inside.

  CHAPTER 31

  From the plaza, Donny could see the doorway. He waited, and then relaxed when the sisters had been inside for a while. His biggest fear was that they might come back out and leave without buying anything—either because they wanted to keep the money, or because one of them turned out to be one of those rare people who was sensitive to the presence of infernal beings.

  He sat on the wall of a fountain and drummed his kneecaps with his fingers until he started to get nervous. It shouldn’t take this long, should it? It seemed like almost an hour had gone by. He was about to sneak over and peek inside to see what was happening when the women emerged, each with three or four paintings of various sizes wrapped in brown paper and twine. They headed straight for the plaza, talking to each other in excited whispers. Donny waved them over and backed away until they were all out of sight of Fiasco’s building.

  “Hold these,” the short-haired sister said. She shoved the paintings into his hands, reached into her purse for a tissue, and wiped tears from her eyes. The other sister laughed and shook her head.

  “Uh, how did it go?” Donny asked.

  “I think that was the happiest gentleman I have ever seen,” the long-haired sister said.

  “It was wonderful,” the other one said with a sniff. She was crying the right kind of tears, where good feelings filled you up and spilled right out of your eyes. Donny reached into his pocket for more of the cash.

  The long-haired sister wagged a finger. “You leave that money right where it is. We won’t take another dime.”

  “We just got all the reward we could ask for,” said the other sister. They had the type of shared brain where they completed each other’s thoughts. Sort of like if Zig-Zag ever agreed on anything.

  “What happened in there?” Donny asked.

  “Well, that man was in a sorry state.”

  “He looked like somebody had just run over all his kittens.”
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  “So we wandered over, and I said, ‘Look, Loraine, isn’t this one nice?’ ”

  “And I said, ‘I like that one even better, Brenda.’ Then that Fiasco picked up his head, and he looked over and rubbed his eyes like he didn’t quite believe what he was seeing.”

  “Then I said, ‘Why, sir, do you happen to know who did all these beautiful paintings,’ and he popped out of his chair like he’d been shot from a cannon!”

  “I never thought a man that large could move so fast.”

  “He just went on and on about each painting, and made sure we saw every one.”

  “Every one,” said Loraine, with a momentary grimace.

  “So we bought all we could with the money you gave us.”

  “But he insisted on giving us a couple more, because he knew how much we loved them,” Loraine said with a chuckle.

  “Then he wrapped up the paintings for us, thank the good Lord, because they truly are dreadful.”

  “He asked for my address so he could send us a thank-you note!”

  “Then we both got the biggest hugs we ever got, and I’m half surprised he didn’t break all our bones.”

  “You’ve never seen such a happy man, laughing and practically dancing.”

  “He even cried a little, and it was the oddest thing, because I could swear I saw steam coming out of his eyes when he cried.”

  “You know, I thought I saw that too!” Brenda said.

  Change the subject, Donny thought. “I can take the rest of those for you,” he told them, pointing at the paintings.

  “You know what?” Loraine said. “You just take those big ones. I’ll hold on to the little ones. They can fit just fine on the plane. I know they’re awful, but I might want to take them out for a look once in a while so I can remember this day. And you, young fellow.”

  “Same goes for me,” Brenda said. She leaned the bigger paintings against the fountain wall and kept two that weren’t much bigger than a cookie sheet.

  “Are you sure I can’t give you some more money?”

  “Don’t you even think about it! Why, you’re just a little saint, aren’t you? Your parents must be so proud.”

  Donny thanked them again and said good-bye. They walked happily across the plaza and vanished around a corner, giving him a final wave back. Donny was thinking about what to do with the paintings that were left, when his phone buzzed in his pocket. He took it out to see a text from Angela.

  Where u at little buddy? Let’s have late breakfast or early lunch or whatever. I’m starvin, Marvin.

  All his warm feelings vanished in an instant, like a candle snuffed. He stared at the message for a while. “This is it,” he mumbled. His thoughts went foggy. He wrote something simple back, but it took minutes to compose because his shaking thumbs kept hitting the wrong buttons.

  Be right there. See u in the lobby.

  Right before he sent it, he noticed again the ornate letter O that was imprinted on his palm. Angela’s mark was just a ghost of what it used to be.

  He walked slowly back to the hotel, in no hurry for this fateful conversation. Second thoughts bubbled up, but every time he remembered the awful conversation he’d overheard, those bubbles burst.

  Down one alley, he spotted a Dumpster that was half full of construction debris. He looked around to make sure nobody would see, and then tossed the rest of Fiasco’s paintings into the Dumpster. It made him feel awful. In a weird way, he wanted to keep them, for the same reasons the sisters did. But he didn’t know what else to do. He never wanted Fiasco to know why they’d really been bought, and he didn’t think he’d be able to bring them wherever he was going. It was safer to just get rid of them.

  He turned the corner and saw their hotel. “Oh boy.” He stopped, shut his eyes for a moment, and took a deep breath.

  When he went inside, Angela was in a flowery blue dress, waiting in the lobby.

  CHAPTER 32

  Near the hotel was a street that was for pedestrians only. There were restaurants on both sides, and tables and chairs had been set up on the cobblestones.

  “This is all very charming,” Angela said.

  Donny nodded. The best thing about the scene was all the tourists at the tables around them and in the street. He didn’t think he was brave enough to tell her what he had to say in private. There was no telling how she might react. Being in public might keep him safe, or save his life, for all he knew.

  The server came over and they ordered lunch.

  “I heard Carlos will be okay,” Donny said after the server left.

  “Yes, that’s dandy, isn’t it? Though he’s out of commission for a while, and I wish we had him for the next part of our investigation. We’ll sally forth without him, I guess.”

  Donny nodded, but his head wobbled awkwardly. He looked down at the table. It was suddenly so hard to look at her.

  “Obviously we have to go to the other spot on the map. But this time I think we wait and watch, so we can figure out where the . . .” Her voice trailed off. “Cricket, is everything all right?” She leaned forward, elbows on the table, and stared him down, one mischievous eyebrow arched high. “You’ve been a funny bunny for a couple of days now.”

  Donny’s palms had turned sweaty. He wiped them on the thighs of his shorts, and clutched his shins, rocking back and forth in his seat. “Uh. Yeah. I know. It’s just . . . I gotta tell you something.”

  She put her knuckles under her chin. “Do you?”

  He nodded. “I, uh . . .” Time turned to molasses while he paused. “I don’t know if I can do this anymore.”

  Now both eyebrows were up. “Do what? Eat lunch?”

  He shook his head. There was a lump in his throat the size of a coconut. “Uh. No. I mean . . . I mean the whole thing. Being with you . . . you know, living in Sulfur. Helping you. Uh . . . all that.”

  It felt like his heart was stopping, and every muscle in his body was about to snap. He managed to raise his eyes to see her face. She stared back, her mouth pressed in a grim horizontal line. The hand that had propped her chin lowered to the table, and she leaned back in her chair. Donny dropped his gaze again. His head turtled between his shoulders. The silence was terrible. He searched for something to say, and wished he’d thought this through better.

  “It’s not you,” he said. How can you say that? he shouted inwardly. It was completely her, the false friendship, and the constant endangerment, but he was so afraid of her temper and what she might do that he was desperate to soften the impact. “It’s . . . I found out where my mother is. I wanted to see if . . . you know. If she’d . . .” It seemed impossible to put together a coherent sentence. The table shook, because his trembling knee was touching the table leg.

  “Your mother ran away and left you behind, remember?” Angela said. Her voice was arctic. Donny glanced at her again and saw a face frozen in rage. He couldn’t look at her for more than a fraction of a second. “How could you possibly say that to me?” she snapped. “How dare you ask to leave? I saved you, don’t you remember? You’d be a crispy corpse if I didn’t find you in that fire.”

  “I know . . . I . . .”

  “What do you know?” she snapped again. She leaned toward him, almost crawling over the tabletop. He crunched his eyelids shut and slid low in his seat. “We had a bargain, Donald Taylor. An infernal bargain. You think you can just walk away from that?”

  His resolve shattered. “I’m sorry. I take it back. I take it—”

  People must have been staring, wondering what the commotion was about, but Donny couldn’t bear to open his eyes. When she spoke again, it was almost a hiss. “I took care of you! I let you into my home! I thought we were . . .” Suddenly her voice twisted with emotion, and her words were strangled. That was somehow worse than her anger.

  He had screwed this up in epic fashion. He’d wanted to make her understand how hurt he was, how scared he’d been. “Angela, listen . . . ,” he began, but then he felt it. A wave of fear and anxiety hit
him like a subsonic noise that he sensed in his nerves and bones but not his ears. “Oh no—please don’t do that to me,” he squeaked out, but then the panic was on. It was like he’d been dropped out of a plane without a parachute. His heart thumped wildly, his limbs jolted, and his brain went berserk. He heard people get up from tables nearby, gasping and moaning, their chairs screeching on the stones.

  The wave ended suddenly. Donny clutched the front of his shirt and gulped for air. He gripped the table with his other hand so he wouldn’t topple over. And then he heard steps, and her voice was at his ear and her lips brushed his hair. “Maybe I should put an end to you,” she whispered. “Not here. When I catch you somewhere, alone.”

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered. It barely made a sound.

  She stood tall and glowered down. “It’s not even worth the effort. Get out of my sight. Don’t cross my path. Don’t go anywhere we’ve ever been. If I see you again, I’ll crush you and feed your soul to the flames. Starting in thirty seconds.”

  He sat there, eyes shut, heart pounding.

  “I renounce you! Go!” she shouted.

  He scrambled out of the chair and stumbled down the street, blind with tears.

  CHAPTER 33

  Time had ceased to have any meaning, but Donny thought that he’d turned the nearest corner before thirty seconds had passed. Still, he looked behind him, and even at the rooftops, to see if she’d changed her mind and had come to stalk him.

  He tried to orient himself and remember which way was back to the hotel. Was it safe to go there? Not really, he figured. His extra clothes and money were in a bag in his room, but it wasn’t worth the risk to retrieve them.

  He stepped out of sight behind a van that was parked on the narrow road and dug his phone out of his pocket. There were only two contacts in there. He called the one that wasn’t Angela. It rang for so long that Donny was afraid he’d have to leave a message. What if Howard never responded? What if he didn’t pick up because Angela was already on the phone, ordering him to cut Donny off from all contact, all assistance? Did she even know that Howard was planning to help him? Would she figure out that Howard’s organization had tracked down his mother?