Four Years from Home

by Larry Enright

  When I stepped into Grabber’s Emporium of Stolen Merchandise, I realized something was wrong. He was standing at attention in front of his closet, blocking the view of his candy store. A towel was clumsily draped over the inventory on his desk. And standing by the window, starting at me was a man dressed in a trench coat and fedora hat, a cigar stub stuck in the side of his mouth. He was the cliché of a cop. I immediately revised my theory on why the police car was outside. They had come looking for Harry.

  Play it cool. What choice did I have? “Hey there, are you Grabber’s dad?”

  “Michael,” Grabber coughed. “Michael.” It was one of those fake coughs boys use to disguise insults like “asshole” and “shithead” and warnings like “shut up” and “zip it” when they don’t want someone present to know what they are saying, except that they really do want them to know, don’t they? They just want to be able to deny that they said it if it ever came to trial by fire, water, or parents.

  I walked over to the cop, continuing to feign ignorance. It’s easier to get information when you play dumb. People don’t think of you as a threat and they more readily drop their guards. “Nice to meet you, Michael’s dad.” I extended my hand but the cop didn’t take it. I leaned closer to him and could smell alcohol on his breath. I whispered, “Sorry, we call him Grabber because he likes the girls, if you know what I mean.” I winked.

  “Are you done?” The cop pulled out a badge. “I’m Detective James, Mount Vernon P.D.”

  I backed up, more from the stench of his breath and his B.O. than what he had said. This guy had obviously never made it through Brother Richard’s health class. If there’s one thing you learn from a Christian Brother in health class, it’s how not to smell like you just came out of a bar after an all-night drinking binge.

  “Of course you are. Nice to meet you.”

  “We heard you were back. Dean Edwards phoned me earlier and I’ve got a few questions for you.”

  Apparently, James hadn’t gotten to the chapter on exchanging pleasantries in his Dick Tracy Handbook. As far as I could tell, he was still working his way through the direct intimidation section. He had no idea who he was dealing with.

  This would have been a golden opportunity to find out what the police knew about Harry’s disappearance, but Dick James Tracy’s timing stunk. I was looking forward to spending a nice evening with Beth and Old John Crowe, and at this rate I was going to be late. I didn’t want to be late. “Tell you what, officer…”

  “Detective.”

  “Right. Detective. Tell you what — give me your card and I’ll call you tomorrow and we can sit down and talk.”

  “Tell you what,” I could hear him saying the word “punk” but it didn’t come out of his mouth. “How about you come with me now and we get this all straightened out downtown. You have a lot of explaining to do.”

  “You’re not…? You don’t…?” Grabber almost stepped away from his cabinet of illegally obtained merchandise but caught himself in time. The pathetic kid was scared shitless. He’d thought the cops were there for him. Maybe it would scare some sense into him. I didn’t need to make any notes on that. I already knew the value of fear in keeping my subjects in line.

  James shut him up with a wag of his fat finger. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re up to. If I weren’t busy with your buddy here, you and me would have a nice go around. Word of advice — clean it up. Now.”

  That was three words, but I hadn’t figured him for a mathematician so I didn’t bother to correct him.

  “Yes, sir. Right, sir. Important safety tip noted.” Grabber melted into the closet, becoming part of the room’s furniture as the detective’s focus recentered on me.

  “You got two choices…” Once again, I heard him say “punk” but the word never came out of his mouth. I knew he was saying it, but he never actually said it. That was a clever little trick. I’d have to figure out how he did that and use it myself sometime. “Either you come downtown with me for questioning voluntarily, or I arrest you and you come downtown for questioning. Either way…”

  This guy was tough. I liked his style even if he was an ass. “Yeah, I know… either way, I’m coming downtown. Just out of curiosity, what would you be charging me with?”

  His eyes flashed and his nostrils flared. Clearly, I was standing in the streets of Pamplona on the wrong day. I backed away from his direct line to the door just in case. I didn’t really want to go to dinner bull-trampled and full of holes from where his horns had gouged me.

  “I’ll think of something. I have forty-eight hours to figure that out before I officially charge you with anything.”

  “I was on my way out to have dinner…”

  A step in my direction and he had me by the sleeve. James was bigger, stockier, and a lot stronger than me. He yanked me out the door. “We’ll stop for something on the way.”

  I barely had time to call back to Grabber, “Hey, Grabber, let Mrs. H. and Beth know I’ll be late, okay?” I didn’t particularly want him getting in touch with John Crowe. I’d apologize to him tomorrow.

  The anti-war demonstrators were gone and Gambier was just another quiet little town in the middle of nowhere by the time we had gotten outside. It was probably better that Beth not see me this way. I still hadn’t figured out how I would explain all this to her. My feelings about her and for her were all confused and I didn’t like that. Like a nightclub bouncer, James directed me across the main drags. I wasn’t resisting, but he wouldn’t let go of my sleeve.

  When we got to his car, I reached for the passenger front door handle but he stopped me and grunted, “Back seat,” opening the rear door and pushing me toward it.

  The squad car smelled like an exaggerated version of him — booze, B.O., and fried food. I resisted, mainly to air the car out a bit and give the stench a chance to dissipate, but James was too strong for me and he shoved me inside, laughing when I hit my head on the doorjamb. I took that as a challenge and decided at that point that his punishment would have to be severe. Perhaps there would be evidence linking him to the impending redecoration of Ransom Hall. Perhaps something worse.

  His car was obviously his home away from home and I was unfortunately in the bedroom. Disgusting. I pushed aside a yellowed pillow and a wool blanket that were lying on the seat, deciding to take my chances with the seat cushion fabric. Although I didn’t know why I bothered — I would be burning my clothes later anyway — but just the thought of sitting on his bed made me sick. The front passenger seat, his dining room, was littered with crumpled fast food bags and sandwich wrappers. James only ate at the best restaurants — Wendy’s, McDonald’s, and Burger King. On the floor were a half-eaten Big Mac, a bottle of Jack Daniels, and a handgun. No happy meal toys — what a shame. The driver’s seat, now occupied by His Royal Smelliness’ big butt, could only have been his living room, if you could call existing in that filth and debris living. The cage that separated us reminded me of Harry’s playpen. I couldn’t imagine he liked it in there. I certainly didn’t like it here.

  James drove us north out of town, following the right-hand road past the girls’ dorms and into the wintry darkness of barren farmlands that lay beyond the college. We were really into the wilds of Ohioland now, so I kept my mouth shut, not wanting to provoke a loose cannon like him. After all, he might dump me at some crazy local’s where they would string me up in the barn for the enjoyment of the wild dogs and coyotes. The darkness around us was complete — no road lines, no street lights, no house lights — not something I was used to at all. If I were writing a horror story, this would be the setting. I half expected him to turn around and there I’d be — face to face with a werewolf or vampire. Maybe the cage wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

  We reached a crossroad marked only by a reflecting sign that read Mount Vernon, and James turned left onto it. I felt more comfortable — at least it had reflective lines marking its boundaries and a double line down the center — a sure sign that we were headed
back toward civilization and that he wasn’t going to abandon me to the locals after all. My sense of horror-movie dread subsided a bit. It was time to break the ice and find out if he really was a monster driving me to my death. Maybe that’s what had happened to Harry... No, he was just a cop doing his job. I had to keep telling myself that.

  “So, where are we going… exactly?” I asked. He ignored me. “I could do Wendy’s. Did you know that Dave Thomas opened the first Wendy’s in Columbus, Ohio? Not that long ago either.” I saw the back of his hand as he reached for the car radio. It wasn’t all hairy and gnarled. I ruled out werewolf, leaving only vampire. “Columbus, that’s not far from here, is it?”

  “Dispatch, this is Denver 312. I’ll be code 7 at 321 Coshocton Rd. for thirty minutes and will be returning to base after.”

  A crackly woman’s voice responded, “10-4, Dick. Can you pick me up a six-piece meal? I’m starved.”

  So the dick really was a Dick. Fitting. “What? No happy meal?” I muttered.

  I thought I saw James crack a half-smile, but his look was hard when he glared back at me in the rear view mirror. “Roger, and out, Dispatch.” I ruled out vampire — they have no reflection in a mirror. The final credits for “How I Was Abandoned to Werewolves and Vampires in Ohioland” ended and the curtain came down. The second flick in the double feature would be starting soon: “I Was Kidnapped by a Goon in Ohio Who Turned Out to be the Monster that Devoured Cleveland.” I’d have to work on the title. It would be hard to fit that one on the marquee.

  I could see the golden arches growing in the distance under garish parking lot lights. So much for my requesting Wendy’s… The McDonald’s was at the end of a dark, ten-store strip-mall. None of the other stores was open at this hour, not even the pizza place. Odd, considering it was dinner time or thereabouts… James pulled into the empty lot and parked in a handicapped spot. Without looking back, he growled, “What do you want?”

  “We could eat inside.”

  “Not an option.”

  “I guess you’re right. Allowing a dangerous criminal to mingle with the public in an empty fast food joint in a deserted strip mall probably would be a breach of security protocol, wouldn’t it?”

  His face flushed. “Are you always a smart-ass? Do you think I enjoy chasing down dipshit kids who run away from home and cause other people a world of hurt?”

  Well, he had a point. I wouldn’t like that job much either, but then I wasn’t a dipshit kid and I hadn’t run away from home. “We could do takeout.”

  “Last chance — what do you want?”

  In the split second it took me to conclude that I was either going to have to go hungry, have a Big Mac, or eat greasy, fried everything from McDonald’s, my last chance with James ran out. He got out of the car and went into the restaurant. Great.

  I watched him snake through the empty roped-off line like a B-movie zombie. How about: “The Zombie that Devoured Cleveland?” That sounded better. That would even fit on the marquee. The guy had no class whatsoever. It would have been a lot easier and a lot less silly looking for him to just walk directly to the order-taker. No one would have been hurt by his shortcutting it, but in this B-movie, the law was the law, and the line was the line, despite there being no law to arrest me and no line to follow. I knew I was in for a rough time of it. And I was tired.

  I was awakened by the zombie cop’s rudely dropping a warm Happy Meal bag in my lap. James handed me a Coke. “I hope you wanted the Jetson toy and not the Barbie one. They were all out,” he said, slamming the door and getting into the front.

  Funny guy. I had been dreaming but couldn’t remember which episode of Combat! I had been dreaming about. It didn’t matter. They were all good. James had a cup holder for his drink. The prisoner end of the vehicle had no such amenities. I set the Coke between my legs, trying not to freeze my crotch. The detective grunted, unwrapped his first Big Mac and took a huge bite out of it.

  “I’ll bet you were hoping for either Daughter Judy or Jane his wife, right? You look like the Judy type.”

  James laughed, nearly choking on his mouthful of burger. Better luck next time. After washing down his regurgitated lump of meat, he looked back at me. “You’re a funny bastard. You seem like a nice kid. Why the hell would you pull a stunt like that?”

  “Like what?”

  I looked in the Happy Meal bag. Chicken McNuggets. I picked one out and started to chew, grease oozing out onto my lips. The chicken tasted like fish. I looked longingly at the fries — they had probably been cooked in the same oil. What a shame – McDonald’s fries were always my favorite. The toy was Astro, the Jetson’s dog. The evening was looking up after all.

  “Like that fake disappearance crap.”

  I decided not to tell James that it was impolite to talk and chew at the same time. “Like I told Dean Edwards, I really don’t remember what happened.”

  “Yeah, he told me. You mysteriously ended up in a diner on Route 70.”

  “A Pancake House, just over the line from West Virginia. The food was a heck of a lot better than this crap.” I tossed the nugget back into the bag and tried a fry. It was unfishified, so I downed a handful of them.

  “And the girl who helped you was…?”

  “Amy. Amy something-or-other. She was pretty nice.”

  James had pulled out a notebook and after wiping his hand on the seat, jotted down a few points. I had this sinking feeling he was going to check out my story and find that I’d been lying all along. I tried another bite of chicken from the last meal I’d probably have outside of prison, wondering what the sentence would be for being convicted of impersonating a brother. At least there wouldn’t be McDonald’s chicken there.

  “How’d you get back to school?”

  “I rented a car.” I should have said that I hitched a ride back. Renting a car is leaving a trail. Too late — he was writing that down, too.

  “From…?” His pencil was poised at the ready.

  “Avis.” That would slow him down. I had rented from Hertz and back in Pittsburgh, not in Ohio. I could probably squeeze in another couple weeks of fast food before he figured it out. I considered suicide by hamburger.

  “Were you injured in any way?”

  “I don’t think so, at least not that I remember.”

  James grunted. It didn’t look like he was choking on his second Big Mac, but I didn’t understand “gruntese” so I asked, “What’s that?”

  “Seems to me that if someone fell thirty feet into an ice cold river that they’d have broken a bone or two, or gotten a few bumps and bruises, or gotten frostbite, or something, assuming they could survive the fall.”

  All that from a single grunt — maybe the hamburger was making him smarter. Was that possible?

  “What makes you think I fell from the trestle bridge into the river?” I felt uneasy. I was just a piece of evidence to him, part of a puzzle he was solving.

  “We found one set of tracks leading out onto the bridge and none returning.”

  So much for the theory that someone had intentionally hurt Harry, he must have walked out there on his own and fell; and so much for Harry’s stupid theory that everything happens for a reason. It sounded like an accident pure and simple. I made a note to tell Sam about that one.

  “We also found your wallet and keys in the water under the bridge.”

  “Isn’t that what they call circumstantial evidence? I mean, anyone could have made those tracks. And the keys could have been dropped upstream somewhere and carried with the current.”

  “Are you saying you didn’t fall from the bridge? That something happened upstream?”

  “I’m saying I don’t remember, but I’m also saying that you might have jumped to a false conclusion here. Like you said, wouldn’t I have been hurt pretty badly if I had fallen? And what proof do you have that the footprints belonged to Harry?” An unfortunate slip but my recovery was immediate. “…Ryan? And not Joe Blow from Idaho?”

  I could fe
el him peeling away my protective skin, looking for the rotten onion underneath. “Let’s take that little ride downtown.” He started the car and pulled out onto the highway.

  “You mean Mount Vernon has a downtown? I’m impressed.”

  James belched. I wanted to tell him he was nasty, brutish, and short, but settled instead on leviathan. He ignored me for the rest of the ride to the police station. My thoughts returned to Beth. I was feeling stupidly protective, hoping that Grabber had let Mrs. Hoople know I would be late and that Mrs. Hoople would in turn tell Beth.

  Chapter 11

  Mount Vernon wasn’t a bad looking place once you got past the strip malls, fast food joints, Quicky Lubes, and 7-11s that lined the highway into town. Why any place as small as that would need two 7-11s and two Quicky Lubes within a couple miles of each other was beyond me unless it was the lube and go capital of Ohio. It was depressing to see the tentacles of modernity tightening around the old, well-kept neighborhoods we passed after we left the highway on our way to the town square and the police station. This seemed like a place that just wanted to be left alone to live the “good old days,” and I respected them for that. I just wanted to be left alone myself right then. But there wasn’t anything I could do about what was happening either to Mount Vernon or myself, so I made a few notes that would remind me that it should be looked upon favorably when my reign began. Even Detective James would have a place in my society. After all, I could use a few good bullies.

  James pulled up to the curb in front of the police station, and he hustled me out of the car and along to the front doors of the old, bastion-like building, grabbing the remains of my Happy Meal from the back seat. Had he turned into a neat freak all of a sudden? He looked into the bag and then at me. “Where’s the dog?” Astro was in my pocket.