by David Crow
Then we hit pizza parlors. “I’m having a large party. Can you deliver ten pizzas, five with cheese only and the other five with pepperoni?”
“We’ll have them to you in an hour,” the first one said. Once I realized how quickly they’d arrive, I staggered the deliveries over several hours.
Sears and Roebuck came next. “We’re surprising our mom,” I said to the salesman. “My dad asked me to make this call. Can you bring us a new washer and dryer today? Our old machines are worn out.” The guy was happy to help when I explained, “My dad will be waiting with his Sears credit card. He’s downstairs right now unhooking the old washer.”
The sucker on the phone at Hechinger’s lumber store said they’d deliver four-by-four posts for the nice garden we told him Dad was building for our mom, who’d just gotten out of the hospital. Sam showed me a flyer he found on our front porch advertising a ton of fill dirt for a hundred dollars. When I called, the voice on the other end promised to drop it on Query Man’s driveway before the end of the day.
Cab companies were the easiest to schedule. The dispatchers spoke broken English, though, and I had to repeat myself several times.
“I need a ride to the airport,” I told each one. “I’m leaving tonight at eleven on a trip to Europe with my family. Honk the horn loud—I’m hard of hearing.” A fleet of cabs would appear all at once.
Who knew the Yellow Pages could be so much fun? When Sam and I ran out of things to order over the phone, we hid in the bushes to watch deliveries to our neighbor’s house, one after another. We laughed until our stomachs ached as Query Man and his pudgy wife got angrier with each arrival.
It was disappointing to see that Query Man was able to stop the washer and dryer delivery, along with the lumber. But the florists and pizza guys wouldn’t take back their orders and insisted on being paid. Query Man had to open his wallet a few times. When the truck brought the dirt, he stood in the street shouting at the driver that he didn’t order any damn dirt. Sadly, the man drove away.
AT DUSK, WE PREPARED FOR our physical assault. Sam and I gathered eggs, water balloons, a potato, five pounds of sugar, honey, toilet paper, a screwdriver, a valve core remover, and a flashlight—the essential tools in our line of work. Using Dad’s socks as gloves, we filled a paper bag with dog shit from nearby yards. That was my brother’s idea.
As soon as it got dark, we crept to the house and saw that the curtains and shades were closed. Query Man must have thought we’d had enough fun for one day. Sam sneaked to the porch and unscrewed the two front light bulbs without making a sound. No one came out to check.
We began by removing all four valve cores from the guy’s station wagon, replacing the caps on the stems, and then I emptied the five-pound bag of sugar into the gas tank. Sam inserted a potato inside the exhaust pipe, carefully wiping away the residue and peels. I unscrewed the front and back license plates and threw them in the bushes behind the creek near where his son had thrown Sally’s bike. He’d never know where to find them. Still no one in the house stirred.
Query Man had left his car unlocked. Big mistake. Using a pair of Dad’s boxer shorts as gloves this time, Sam smeared dog shit on the inside of the windshield and globbed the rest of it on the outside of the glass, followed by a mixture of honey and mashed toilet paper. A lovely concoction. We had just enough of everything to do the job. Sam left the shorts on the driver’s seat.
Next, we rolled down the passenger side window a couple of inches and inserted a nearby garden hose, gently rolling the window up to make it snug. We wanted to ensure proper interior hydration. In the dim glow of the streetlight, the hose looked like a snake trying to crawl into the car. Sam turned the water on at a low level so no one would hear it.
Now, we needed to let him know that revenge had been served Thurston Crow–style. We lined up eggs and water balloons on his front lawn where it sloped down to the street and started firing our weapons at his house.
When Query Man opened the door, we could see his outline in the hallway light. My left-handed, flame-thrower brother nailed him in the head with a perfectly timed egg, and I ripped two water balloons into his chest. Query Man waddled out into the yard, wiping his face and yelling, as we dashed off laughing.
“We hit him hard, Dad,” I said when we entered the house. “And we ordered about a million dollars’ worth of stuff. Best of all, he won’t be using his car anytime soon, that’s for sure.”
When Query Man knocked loudly on our door, Dad waited a while before answering. Mona was nowhere in sight, knowing to stay away during a Crow revenge session.
“Mr. Crow,” he said, “your boys attacked me and my house with eggs and water balloons tonight. And this afternoon, we received deliveries of all kinds of things we didn’t order. Flowers. Pizza. Fill dirt. A washer and dryer. Lumber. Your boys are responsible for that too.”
From the hallway, Sam, Sally, and I watched Dad’s eyes go wide and his jaw drop as if he couldn’t believe his ears. I had to put my hand over Sam’s mouth to keep him quiet.
“I can’t imagine my boys doing anything like that. Let me query them.”
Dad flashed the world’s fakest smile and gently closed the door. He loved getting to use the word “query” on Query Man. We took turns peering through the peephole to watch the guy squirm on the porch. A few minutes later, Dad winked at us and opened the door.
“My sons said they walked by your house and may have thrown an egg or two, but boys will be boys, as we know.” Dad puffed out his chest. “But they certainly didn’t do anything else, so get your fat ass off my porch and don’t come back.”
Dad slammed the door hard enough to send a gust of air through the entryway. A moment later, Query Man knocked again. When Dad opened the door, the guy made the incredible mistake of stepping into the doorway and bumping into Dad’s chest. With the same swing that flattened the Mexican man at the Black Bear Gas Station, Dad drilled our neighbor in the nose, knocking him back. Blood squirted down his jowly face and onto his white shirt.
Query Man righted himself, panting, his breaths gurgled. “What kind of man strikes another in what should be a neighborly discussion about the behavior of our boys? You’ll be hearing from the county police, mister,” he said, getting up and looking for his glasses.
“Good luck with getting the cops to help you, asshole. You got what was coming to you.”
ABOUT AN HOUR LATER, A Montgomery County police officer knocked on the door. A tall, thin, pimply-faced man, he had a gun in his holster and a walkie-talkie on his belt. He seemed too young to be a cop. Query Man stood behind him, and a police cruiser sat in our driveway. The officer asked politely if he could come inside, and Query Man, his jaw swollen, followed him into the foyer. Dad brushed Sam and me away.
“Mr. Crow, your neighbor says you struck him in the face after he complained that your sons vandalized his house. Apparently, they also placed orders for a variety of goods and services that he did not authorize.”
It bothered me that every time someone gave an account of our misdeeds, the description never captured their beauty. Unauthorized goods and services were the least of his worries.
Dad walked into the hallway, snagged Sally’s upper arm, and dragged her to the door. “Tell this nice officer what happened to you.”
She looked up at the young guy with her big brown eyes and bruised face. “The boy across the street smashed my lemonade stand and poured the lemonade on the ground,” she said, crying. “And then he hit me in the face and threw my bike in the creek.”
Her lip had turned purple and was so swollen she lisped. The officer looked at her, then at Query Man, then at Dad.
“This man assaulted me in my home,” Dad said, pushing Sally behind him as if to protect her. He lowered his head to appear meek and whispered for maximum dramatic effect. “He forced me to defend myself and my family after his son beat up my poor daughter and destroyed her property. I feared my neighbor would slug me again since he refused to acknowledge the
great wrong that had been done. My sons repaired their sister’s bike and broken lemonade stand, and I iced her lip and black eye. She may still need to go to a doctor if the swelling near her brain doesn’t subside.” Dad lowered his head even further. “What would you have done, officer, if you were attacked in your home by a vicious neighbor after his son attacked your daughter?”
The officer’s eyebrows pinched in disgust as he looked from one man to the other. Sam laughed, and I shoved him into the living room.
“I’m going to drop the entire matter,” the officer said, shaking his head. “Both of you need to control your sons and yourselves. You should be embarrassed for having a physical confrontation over something your sons did. I don’t want to hear from either of you unless you want to spend time at Montgomery County Police Headquarters. And I would advise against that.”
Sam peeked into the hallway. The policeman smiled at my little brother, who had the face of an angel. He had no idea what that blond boy was capable of.
Query Man’s face sagged in defeat, and he shuffled across the street without realizing the extent of his losses, particularly his car. And he still had three cabs coming to take him to the airport for his phantom trip to Europe.
Presumably, he was too embarrassed to file charges since we never heard from him or the police again.
I swelled with pride, feeling powerful and invisible again.
WHILE WAITING FOR THE SCHOOL bus on Monday, I walked over to my next-door neighbor, Mary, the prettiest girl I’d seen since Violet back in Gallup. I wanted her to be my girlfriend. She usually waited for me to start the conversation, but that day, she talked to me first.
“Did you and your brother really rub dog poop all over the inside of the Sturdivant’s car and then put a running hose in it?”
“His son smashed my sister’s lemonade stand, threw her bike in the creek, and hit her. He deserved it. I hope we ruined his car.” I burst out laughing.
“They had to tow it to the shop to get it fixed. My mother is Mrs. Sturdivant’s best friend, and she told us all about it. She said your dad punched Mr. Sturdivant in the face, and you ordered all kinds of things for their house without their permission. And then you threw eggs and balloons at him. You’re a disgusting pig. Don’t ever talk to me again.”
I was devastated. The other kids at the bus stop heard her. Some nodded their heads. An older boy said, “No one wants your family in our neighborhood.” The students turned their backs on me as I moved as far away from them as possible. When I got on the bus, no one looked at me. I walked to the back row and sat by myself. Why didn’t they think it was funny? After all, the Sturdivant kid started it.
When I collected for my paper route, a woman who’d always been friendly to me said, “What you did to the Sturdivants was mean and wrong. Your father should go to jail for hitting Mr. Sturdivant. And he should have to pay for all the terrible damage you caused. You should be ashamed of yourself, young man.”
Why were we so wrong? The kid really hurt Sally and ruined her stand. Dad trained us to not just get even but “to get one up.” Justice meant revenge, he said. It was the law of the world. I’m surprised he didn’t tell us to kill their dog and put its head on a stick in their yard.
Dad sure as hell wasn’t sorry for what we had done. He told Sam and me again and again how proud he was of us.
Getting revenge was the only thing I excelled in.
I woke up that night with a knot in my stomach, thinking about what Mary and my paper route customer had said and how angry they were. For the first time, I saw my behavior from someone else’s point of view.
We’d have gotten away with what we did in Fort Defiance, but we were playing in a new league with a new set of rules. I realized how far off Dad’s sense of right and wrong was from the civilized world.
The feeling of shame stayed with me for a while. It was different from the way I’d felt when I hurt Mom, but it was bad just the same. I wanted to change but had no idea where to start.
And I wanted Mary to talk to me again.
CHAPTER 41
IN EARLY FEBRUARY, I CAME home from indoor track practice to find Dad talking loudly with Mona in the living room. As soon as he saw me, he yelled, “Sam and Sally, get in here—right now!”
My brother and sister raced into the room. Sally whispered to me that Dad had been yelling for over an hour.
Pacing in front of the couch, Dad waved a piece of paper in the air. “Your mother’s coming for a visit,” he said. “Her lawyer got in touch with me, complaining that we left Fort Defiance without leaving a phone number or forwarding address. She’s mad, but I don’t give a shit. She married a truck driver—a guy named Wally—and they adopted a baby boy. You’d think that would keep the crazy bitch occupied, but she has the legal right to see all of you. She’ll be here on Saturday, and I’m not too goddamn happy about it.”
Dad reached for a cigarette, though he usually smoked a pipe. His hand shook when he lit it. Taking two long drags, he said, “Her lawyer is threatening to sue for permanent custody of all three of you. Now that she has a husband, a baby, and a stable household, she’s trying to force me back into court. I didn’t tell her we were leaving for the East Coast because I wanted to protect you. Her lawyer calls it kidnapping. That’s total bullshit, of course, but she thinks I’ll pay her and let you go live in Albuquerque with her fat ass truck driver husband. Since we don’t have a published number or address, her lawyer went to a lot of trouble to track us down. The dumb bitch couldn’t have pulled this off without a lot of help.”
“What do you want us to do, Dad?” I asked.
“I’ll do whatever David does,” Sam said. “Just tell us.”
Sally looked at Sam and me and then at Dad, nodding.
Mona gave her usual tight smile and put her hand on Dad’s shoulder. “You’re so lucky to having a loving mother and father to stop you from leaving for Albuquerque where you’d live in a trailer park and live around poor Mexicans.”
I almost gagged.
“Tell the bitch not to come back again,” Dad said. “Tell Wally to stop encouraging her. Make her cry and regret she came to visit. Make this whole trip a disaster. You know what to do.”
I thought our days of hurting Mom were over. No way would I upset her on purpose again. We could promise to visit in the summer, but probably nothing would come of that since airlines tickets for three kids would be expensive. And if Mom hadn’t changed, seeing her would just open old wounds. I just wanted the whole thing to go away.
THAT SATURDAY, AFTER DELIVERING PAPERS, I rode my bike to a nearby track and ran laps until my legs felt like rubber. When I came home, Sam and Sally were waiting for me.
“Where were you, David?” Sally asked, her large eyes full of worry. “We thought you’d left for good.”
“I wouldn’t do that to you and Sam,” I said. “This will be okay. Mom will leave in a few days, and things will go back to normal.”
“What if her lawyer wins and we have to go back to Albuquerque?” Sam asked.
“I’m fifteen, you’re thirteen, and Sally is ten. They can’t make us go since we haven’t been with Mom for five years.”
“It’s not like you’re a lawyer. How do you know?”
“I just do, Sam, so stop worrying.”
The three of us watched from the living room, where we had a view of the street. It was ten-thirty now, and they were a half hour late. Only a couple of cars passed, and finally, a truck with a camper top pulled into our driveway.
Wally walked around to help Mom. He was short and about as fat as he was tall, with a close-cropped crew cut and thin mustache. Holding the baby, Mom got out of the truck slowly and took her usual fidgety steps, moving like a flighty bird.
They seemed to take forever to get to the door and ring the bell. Mona invited them inside. “Thurston,” she said, “please come and greet Thelma Lou, Wally, and their baby.”
“Sit down and let’s talk,” Dad said, walking towa
rd the door. His voice was almost reasonable, and I let out a sigh of relief. I figured Dad might deck him.
Mom handed the baby to Wally and lunged at Sally and Sam. They both pulled back. She turned to me. “How’s my oldest boy? Are you being treated well, honey?”
“All of us are fine, Mom. Why don’t we go get something to eat?”
I nodded to Wally, but he didn’t move. “We have business to discuss with your father and Mona,” he said. “We need to clear up some things, like why he took you kids three thousand miles away without permission and without telling us how to find you.”
Dad glared at Wally and curled his hands into a fist. Wally didn’t seem to realize he was only one comment away from getting his head bashed in.
Mona jumped in. “You kids go with Wally and Thelma Lou now,” she said. “We don’t need to talk about this in front of you.”
I pulled Sam and Sally out the front door, and we walked to Wally’s truck without looking back. A moment later Wally came down the stairs with the baby and Mom soon followed. He unlocked the doors, and the three of us squeezed into the back cab, already cramped with tools, dirty rags, and chewing tobacco.
Wally inched his way out of the driveway. “We’ll go eat and catch up on what’s been going on in your lives,” he said.
Mom started crying, reminding me of all the times she cried when she lived with us.
Wally patted her hand and said, “Don’t worry, Thelma Lou, we’ll get your kids back. Thurston and Mona can’t stop us.”
I tensed up, looked over at Sam and Sally, and whispered, “Don’t worry, they aren’t taking us anywhere.”
Wally and Mom acted like they didn’t hear me. We drove for several miles but turned off the road toward the neighboring city of Rockville, so at least they weren’t driving us back to Albuquerque yet.
WE PULLED INTO THE PARKING lot of the diner, but before we could get out, Mom turned in her seat to face us. “Your daddy tried to kill me, and he kidnapped you guys. Wally and I have a lawyer. You can leave with us to go to Albuquerque. Thurston can’t stop you.”