The Best American Mystery Stories 1998

by Otto Penzler

  Suddenly it felt to Harrison like eight was an eternity away.

  “That’s one, Mr. Harrison,” said the fat man, who chuckled his throaty rumble again, shaking his entire body.

  Without hesitating, without giving himself a chance to back out, Harrison took the Frisbee from Lex and threw it again. As soon as he released it, the wind gusted and blew the Frisbee so high that it careened in a vertical plunge toward the playground. The Frisbee fell like an arrow, gaining speed. For a moment Harrison forgot about the dog. The Frisbee was now a knife, plummeting toward Adam’s tiny heart.

  Lex caught it again, smoothly, with fluid grace. He returned quietly with the Frisbee, and placed it in Harrison’s hand.

  “That’s two. Excellent, Mr. Harrison. Would you like to up the wager?”

  “No! I’ve got nothing left to bet. And stop that counting, would you? This is hard enough as it is.”

  Amazingly, this brought no rebuke from the fat man or his assistants, and Harrison felt his confidence return. He cocked back to throw the Frisbee again, this time waiting for the wind to die down a little before releasing. As Harrison swung the Frisbee forward, Adam called out, “Dog-gee! Daddy — Daddy — Dog-geeeee!”

  The Frisbee wobbled as soon as Harrison released it. Lex had already run out past it, unaware that Harrison had botched the throw. The Frisbee headed straight toward the trash can, barely three feet in the air, and Lex wasn’t going to see it.

  “Lex! Oh,Jesus! LEX!”

  i o Child Support

  Instantly, the dog slammed on the brakes, turned his head back, and miraculously reversed his momentum to charge toward the trash can. The Frisbee.barely cleared the top of it, and Lex caught it low, with his chin brushing the grass.

  “That’s three.”

  “I quit, you son of a bitch. Give me my six thousand now and I’ll take my chances. I’ve got until the end of the day to get the rest anyway, don’t I?”

  The fat man looked over at his two assistants and smiled. FishHook and Mr. Corillian walked forward, their hands in their coat pockets. The fat man turned his attention back to Harrison.

  “You do have a point, Mr. Harrison, but I am disappointed in you. I thought you had more steel in you. But as I told you, I am a fair man. I will even give you a five-minute head start before my associates begin looking for you again, for I do not believe you will accumulate the rest of the money so quickly.”

  ‘Just give me the money.”

  “Ah, yes. The money.”

  The fat man reached into the carriage and withdrew one of the stacks of cash. He tossed it to Harrison.

  “Please be so kind as to count out sixty of those bills for me. I would hate for my count to be off.”

  Harrison bobbled the stack like a hot potato, managing to unloop the rubber band. The crisp bills poured into his hands like a newly-opened deck of cards, cascading over his fingers. He counted out ten bills, then twenty, and lost count. The stack was so thick he could barely enclose it with one hand. Again he counted out ten, then twenty, and then he put those in his mouth. As he breathed through his nose, he inhaled the splendid perfume of green wagered and won. He counted out ten more bills, but the stack in his hand seemed boundless, like it would keep coming, as if it multiplied in his hands the more he handled it.

  As he counted the fourth thousand the money seemed almost to talk to him. I could be all yours, it said, so much of me you could take a bath in hundred dollar bills tonight. You ’11 be a winner tonight. On top. I know you will. You 11 win, and you 11 beat everyone. You ’re almost there.

  Harrison clenched the cool bills in his hand and knelt down to talk to his son. *

  “Adam, listen to me. I’m not going to lose. I can’t. Lex never misses. You’ve seen him. We’re going to win, Adam, just watch

  Daddy. In just five minutes we will be rich, I guarantee it. I feel it. I know it. This is the big payoff, Son, the one we’ve been waiting for.”

  Feeling confident and justified, Harrison threw the bills back into the carriage, picked up the Frisbee, and threw. It climbed and lifted with another gust of wind, and the dog hustled after it. Lex jumped, and Harrison’s stomach lurched as he heard the crocodile click! of hard teeth snapping on empty air.

  No!

  Lex had only bounced the Frisbee further in the air, to his left. He stayed with it, and after cutting at a right angle, he caught the Frisbee and kept it from hitting the ground.

  “Spectacular, Mr. Harrison! Your animal is simply amazing.” After a pause, the fat man added with a sly grin, “That’s four.”

  When Lex returned, it was with shaky hands that Harrison took the Frisbee from him. The fifth throw sailed straight and solid, unaffected by the wind, and Lex caught it easily. The sixth angled a bit, but Lex understood the idiosyncrasies of the Frisbee, and recognized the physical forces affecting it. He compensated marvelously. The fat man continued to count out loud.

  Harrison noticed the dog’s tongue lolling from the side of his mouth, sticking out from under the Frisbee. “Lex, lie down,” he said. The dog immediately dropped to the ground, apparently grateful for the break. It was getting colder, however, and Harrison was anxious to have all of this finished. Only two more catches. Two more catches and they were home free.

  Fish-Hook walked over to Lex and knelt.

  “Get away from him,” Harrison snarled. “I only need two more catches.”

  “Take it easy, Sport. I just might help you out and buy this mutt off a you when you lose. He would look good on film, yes, I believe he would. Quite a virile specimen. I just happen to operate a side venture in the video industry.” Fish-Hook turned to Harrison and flashed a rotted grin. “Special orders, you might say.”

  Good God, thought Harrison, as his hands turned to ice.

  “Besides,” Fish-Hook continued, as he left the dog and touched Adam’s carriage, “I have some exciting plans for my new star here. Believe me, such young talent is in demand, and extremely difficult to obtain these days.”

  Blood sank from Harrison’s face as he turned toward the fat man and croaked, “You can’t be serious.”

  “My associate is quite serious, Mr. Harrison. He has become quite the enterprising producer.”

  Fish-Hook knelt down and peered in at Adam, flicking his chalky tongue rapidly in and out at the boy. He then looked back at Harrison and shrugged. “Boys, girls, they’re more or less the same at that age, don’tcha think?”

  Revulsion erupted inside Harrison as he lunged at Fish-Hook. “You bastard, you get away from —”

  Again, Harrison never saw the thick man move a muscle. Before Harrison could reach his son, Mr. Corillian’s right arm was around Harrison’s neck. His left hand held a black device inches from Harrison’s face. It looked like an electric razor, but with two points protruding like silver mandibles from the face. Once Harrison stopped struggling, the strong hand gently squeezed the device, and a blue arc of electricity sizzled between the two probes.

  “What was that you were saying, Mr. Harrison?” asked Fish-Hook, as he bounced on his toes. “I wouldn’t try that again, if I was you. Two hundred thousand volts would turn you to jelly for at least an hour. In fact, I think we should zap you right now, and just take the kid.”

  “No, no,” interrupted the fat man. “I made a wager with the man. So far he has performed admirably.” Mr. Corillian released Harrison and resumed a quiet stance. ‘You do intend to finish, do you not, Mr. Harrison?”

  ‘Just two more throws and you guys will leave me, and my son, alone?”

  “Of course, Mr. Harrison. I am a man of my word.”

  “And I get to walk away from here with the cash. No strings attached.”

  “No strings attached. Absolutely.”

  ‘You guys won’t come after me as soon as I turn around?”

  “Mr. Harrison, you watch too much television. Do you plan to continue?”

  Lex was standing already, refreshed from his rest, and Harrison picked up the Frisbee. T
his time, it felt weightless, and Harrison gripped it tight until the chewed plastic edge bit into the sides of his fingers. Two more times, he thought to himself. Take it easy, just two more. Please, Lex, don’t screw this up.

  He felt numb as he threw the Frisbee, and once again it fell short and looked like it might not even reach the trash can. Like a bowler trying to will the ball to move left with body language to pick up that spare, Harrison swung both arms low and thrust them upwards, trying to create an updraft that might lift the Frisbee. Magically, a burst of wind did appear, pitching the Frisbee up high as if it were a small boat struggling to stay afloat in a storm. Lex watched it, waited for it to drop, and then stabbed out and caught the Frisbee before it hit the ground. Harrison cheered and dropped to his knees, his fists still up in the air, his mouth opened wide as he screamed with the surge of victory. When Lex returned, Harrison vigorously ruffled his fur and scratched at his neck in hearty celebration.

  “That’s seven, Mr. Harrison.”

  Yes, thought Harrison, that’s seven and there’s only one more to go and then it’s payday.

  “Come on, boy,” he urged, “you can do this. Just one more, champ. Let’s go, boy, let’s do it. Let’s win.”

  Harrison looked over at the fat man before the final throw, to see if he showed any sign of concern. To see if he was sweating as the final card was being dealt. If they had intended to cheat him all along, thought Harrison, they would probably look unconcerned, even bored.

  The fat man’s eyes were fixed on the Frisbee in Harrison’s hands. Those eyes revealed intense interest. At least this appears to matter to him.

  The fat man’s two assistants also stared at the Frisbee in Harrison’s hand.

  So did Lex.

  Harrison looked over at the baby carriage, and at the stacks of cold cash piled inside. This could finally be the big score.

  It was getting darker, and Harrison looked out over the park and where he needed to throw the Frisbee. Just an easy toss, no need for anything fancy. He scraped the edge of the Frisbee with his fingernail as he wound back. Lex perked up, ready to take off. The Frisbee felt normal, finally. All he had to do was toss it. All he had to do was let go. Throw it like he had a trillion times before.

  After what seemed like two days, Harrison finally swung his arm forward, and flicked the Frisbee into the air.

  It sailed clear of the trash can, out in the open, with a slight arc to the right. Lex kept up with it easily, his dog tags jangling as he ran under it to position himself for its descent. Finally, he reached up to grab it, and Harrison heard the satisfyingly familiar crunch.

  Except Lex missed it. The Frisbee looped from his mouth and rolled to the ground.

  Harrison froze.

  . He stared at the Frisbee resting in the grass.

  He could not breathe. His lungs had collapsed. His circulatory system immediately flushed as antifreeze surged through his veins. All he could do was turn his head toward his baby boy, toward the three men now hovering over him like crows over carrion.

  With pain branching throughout his chest, Harrison saw that somehow he had crept at least twenty feet away from Adam — unconsciously, he had been hedging closer to the trash can with the last two throws. Suddenly he felt as if he were in a free falling elevator, whooshing away from his baby boy. As in every dream he had ever had where he had been chased by mobsters, Harrison’s feet felt like cement blocks trudging across hot sand as he struggled to reach his son.

  The fat man, however, was not looking at Harrison, nor at Adam. He was looking at nothing, with his left index finger pressed into his hearing aid. Suddenly the fat man lifted the lapel of his jacket and began talking to it.

  “Did you get all of that?”

  Harrison stopped, numb.

  “Good,” the fat man continued. “Good . . . Excellent! Oh, this is better than we hoped for. Mr. Harrison, I’m told that your expression just now came out wonderfully on the monitor. Dr. Harrison just informed us she will pay a bonus for a copy of the videotape alone! Oh, this is marvelous!”

  Harrison stared, dumbstruck, as the fat man shook with laughter.

  All three men then reached into their jackets, and it occurred to Harrison that they might just shoot him right there. Instead of pistols, however, each pulled out a business card, and held it out. Harrison took the one from the fat man and read:

  Leonard Y. Piper Private Investigator 221-2121

  “What—”

  “Mr. Harrison,” the fat man began, “our client, Dr. Lynn Harrison, has been somewhat concerned with . . . oh, how should we put it, your fitness to be the custodial parent of young Master Adam here. With the custody hearing coming up tomorrow, I’m sure you can appreciate her need for a demonstration of your . . . concern toward your son’s welfare. Please direct your attention down the lane, toward our car.”

  Harrison looked to where the fat man pointed, and the rear door of the black Mercedes opened. Out stepped Lynn, wearing a white sweater and tan skirt he had not seen before, and also holding a finger to her left ear.

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “Oh, believe me, Mr. Harrison,” Leonard Piper continued, “both the video and the audio portion came out extraordinarily well, as I understand both are being reviewed just this moment for clarity. Would you like to hear?”

  Piper plucked the earpiece out by the cord with a pop! and held it out. Harrison saw a small dab of wax dangling from the rubbery insert.

  “Get that thing out of my face! Even if you do have this on tape, none of it is admissible in court. You people deliberately set me up!”

  “Ahhh, but it is admissible, and quite desirably so, as you should very well expect, Mr. Harrison, in matters central to the moral fitness of a custodial parent. How do you think the news agencies will react to your acceptance of and participation in our little wager? Or perhaps the bar association?”

  Piper withdrew a stack of papers and a pen from inside his jacket. “We are no longer recording, Mr. Harrison. Please sign this consent decree. It indicates your desire to award permanent custody of Adam to Dr. Harrison, thus obviating the need for the hearing tomorrow. I’m sure you will find that everything is properly addressed within the document.”

  Harrison grabbed the papers and scanned them. After a long moment, he took the pen. As he signed, he saw Piper replace the earphone and listen. Harrison looked back down the hill toward Lynn. The white sweater accentuated her long dark hair blowing in the wind. She held a small microphone with a cord trailing into the car, and Harrison could see her lips move as she spoke into it. “What is she saying, as if I really need to know?”

  Piper clasped both hands together on his chest and chuckled again, his gelatinous body jiggling as he tried to find breath to speak. “Just this, Mr. Harrison,” Piper managed between snorts. “Checkmate.”

  Harrison let loose with a string of profanities shouted at his wife, angry spittle flying from his mouth. Piper roared with laughter, but then interrupted Harrison suddenly with an outstretched hand. Piper touched his finger to his ear again, listening.

  “I’ve just been instructed to make you a cash settlement offer, Mr. Harrison. Apparently, Dr. Harrison does not wish for the boy to be fatherless, nor for you to lose the ability to contribute child support. She has authorized me to present you with enough cash to pay off whatever stake there is against you. In exchange for the dog.”

  Piper thumbed through a stack of cash and pulled out a chunk of bills. “Please count these,” he instructed as he tossed the still-banded remainder to Harrison. “I would hate for my count to be off.”

  Two minutes later, Dexter Harrison stood alone in the park, the wind now colder in the twilight. He quietly cursed as Piper pushed the blue baby carriage down the park path with one chubby hand and struggled to hold onto the tugging dog leash with the other.

  Swear Net by the Moon

  from Tamaqua

  I was only nine the first time I was on fire. It was during a family va
cation, or as close to one as we ever got seeing as Momma and Daddy gave up tryin’ to travel together since before I can remember. Winter break Momma would take us to Granny’s farm in Verde Pointe (good to wash the sin of the city out from under our nails, Daddy would say as he helped us pack the car). Summertime, me and him and David would strike for the beach in Mobile, or as near a beach as Alabama gulf coast comes. One time I asked him why we never went nowhere all together (except Carnival every February, and that just to shout “Repent!” at the revelers) and he just smiled that crooked smile of his — the one I later suspected he gleaned from Elvis and practiced in the cracked bathroom mirror all through high school ■— and said they always would fuss and fight over schedules and directions and all that shit. Not that Daddy ever said “shit” in his life. That glib hound-dog grin was as raucous as he ever got.

  But that ain’t here nor there. It was during a summer trip and we had the tent up and the lines still in the water and a camp fire going under a new moon sky. A sky like that always makes me wonder how the shepherds made up all those constellations; sky like that has so many stars so close together, what you ought to do is make pictures out of the black spaces between them. Sayin’ shit like that always got David to raggin’ on me. Three years older and four years dumber and it was easier to bully and humiliate me than be overshadowed by my imagination. So while I was staring up at the rivulets of black creases between distant suns teeming with potential, David pushed me ass over teakettle into that camp fire.

  I howled and rolled around in the sand long after the flames from my clothes and hair and eyelashes were out, trying to worm my way into the soft, gritty earth and save everyone the trouble of a decent burial. Daddy was in the tent and didn’t come out ’til I was screamin’ and writhing. My brother told him I was lookin’ up and musta got dizzy and fallen in. And later, after I got done floppin’ in the moist granules and spent shells; after I ran down to the ocean, refusing to heed my Daddy’s shouts; after I learned just how salt water feels on a fresh burn; after all that, I said: Yeah, Daddy, that’s just how it happened.