M.I.A.

by Michael Allen Dymmoch

  “Finn, where’s Jimmy?”

  “I really don’t know, Mrs. F.”

  “Finn, you’re old enough to be charged with aiding a runaway.” I didn’t know if there was such a charge, but I knew how to sound like there was. And a felony at that.

  “Honest,” Finn said, “he didn’t tell me. He did look up his grandparents’ address in Greenville.”

  “If you hear from him, tell him to call home or I’ll have to report him missing.”

  That was a problem. We lived in an unincorporated area. I’d have to call the sheriff’s police to make a report. Which meant Rory Sinter would probably get involved.

  I hadn’t talked to my cousin Steve in years, but I was desperate. I dialed the number from memory. After a moment I heard, “We’re sorry. The number that you dialed has been disconnected.”

  John Devlin got home about five-fifteen and I was knocking on his front door two minutes later.

  He seemed surprised. “Oh. Hello.” He started to back up, to invite me in, but I was nearly frantic and a bit abrupt.

  “Have you seen Jimmy? Did he work today?”

  He shook his head. “He asked for the weekend off. He didn’t say why. Things were slow, so I said sure. What’s wrong?”

  He seemed alarmed. Reflecting my own upset?

  I realized I must be overreacting and took a deep breath. “Probably nothing.” I handed him the note.

  He read it and said, “I take it this is something new?”

  I nodded.

  “Well, he’s what? Seventeen? This isn’t unusual for a kid his age.”

  “I know. It’s just—He was curious about his natural father’s family. And I wasn’t too…”

  “Forthcoming?”

  “Yes. And he may have gone to Greenville to find out about them for himself.”

  “Are they dangerous?”

  I thought about that. Billy’s brother was a bully but I doubted he’d be violent towards my son. “Probably not.”

  “Then he’ll be all right. He’s got good instincts. He’ll satisfy his curiosity and be back.”

  I must have still seemed worried because he added, “I could go to Greenville and look for him.”

  “No. Thanks anyway. I’m sure you’re right. I’ll wait. I’m sure he’ll call.”

  Jimmy

  The Wilding house was across one street from a park and across another from a restaurant, catty-corner to an insurance agency. The house was really cool—a big old two-story job with a round tower like a castle, and shingles—up under the roof—that looked like fish scales. A roofed-over porch ran all around the front and sides. The door was opened by an old lady dressed like she was goin’ to church.

  I told her who I was.

  “I can’t talk to you,” she told me and closed the door in my face.

  “Why?” I yelled. She didn’t answer. I pounded on the door, but it stayed shut.

  I hadn’t expected that. I felt hurt, but I was curious. It couldn’t be cause she hated me. She didn’t know me. I wondered what was I gonna do next. I had a whole weekend that I’d been gonna spend getting to know my grandparents, but now…

  As I walked back to the car, I spotted a guy sitting on the split-rail fence that surrounds the park. Watching me. He was an old guy—old as my ma, at least, and he had brown, curly hair long enough to hang over his collar. He was wearing a Cubs cap, a T-shirt that said, BEEN THERE/SHIT HAPPENED, painters’ pants, and tan work boots. A beat-up ten-speed leaned against the fence.

  When he didn’t look away, I checked to see what could be so interesting. Nobody and nothing around but me and my Chevy. I put my hands up like “What!?” He kept staring. Finally I crossed the street and walked right up to him and said it. “What?!”

  He slid off the fence. “You’re not from around here, but you look familiar.”

  “Bet you say that to all the boys.”

  “No! Oh, no. I got my faults but that’s not—You got business with the Wildings?”

  “Who wants to know?”

  “Steve Reilly.”

  Was I supposed to know him? I shrugged.

  “Look,” he said. “This is a small town. We got nothing to do but sit around and watch the grass grow. New kid comes to town—or stops to visit the Wildings, it’s news.”

  “They’re my grandparents.”

  “No lie! Let’s see. Bobby’s kids are all accounted for. And he doesn’t have the imagination to have any woods colts. That must make you Rhiann and Billy’s kid.”

  “You know my mom?”

  “She’s my cousin.”

  “She never told me—”

  “She wouldn’t. I’m the black sheep of the family. We used to be really tight when we were your age. But once she got married and had a kid she got religion.”

  I was skeptical. It sounded too much like a line some chicken hawk would use.

  I musta looked it ’cause Steve said, “Look, you’re smart to be careful. But call your mom—” He pointed across the street, to a pay phone outside the restaurant. “You were going to do that anyway to tell her you got here safe. She’ll vouch for me.”

  I shook my head.

  As if he read my mind, Steve said, “You didn’t tell your mom you were coming, did you? You run away?”

  “No-oo.”

  Steve nodded like, “yeah, sure,” and pulled some coins from his pocket. “What’s her number?”

  I shook my head again.

  “Hey, it’s call your mom or I call the cops and report a runaway.”

  “Okay. Okay.” I gave him Ma’s work number.

  Steve cut across the corner and dropped a quarter in the phone. He punched in the number and asked whoever answered for Mrs. Wilding.

  “Fahey,” I told him. “I thought you know my ma.”

  “Yeah, yeah. I forgot. She married the cop.” To the phone, he said, “Sorry. I meant Mrs. Fahey.” He listened for a minute, said, “Yeah, thanks,” and hung up. “She’s gone home,” he told me. “What’s your home number?”

  I told him.

  As he dialed it, he said, “Where’re you staying?”

  “You got a Y in town?”

  “No. You’re staying with me.” He held up a finger—one minute. “Rhiann? It’s Steve. You missing a kid? Yeah, don’t worry. He’s with me.”

  It took both of us pleading to get Ma to let me stay. She made me promise to be home early enough to get ready for school on Monday. And not to get in the car if Steve was driving.

  By the time we hung up, I remembered where I heard the name Steve before. “You were that friend of Billy’s when he was a kid.”

  “Your mom tell you about us?”

  “No. Billy did.”

  “He died before you were born.”

  “Yeah, but he wrote home a lot. From all the letters, I’d say he didn’t have much to do in the army but write.”

  “At least not that he could write your ma about.”

  Steve lived in a house that was sorta the opposite of Wildings’. Eighteen-nineteen Killdeer Lane was a little brown ranch—no porch, so surrounded by trees and bushes you could hardly see it from the street. Less grass to mow, Steve explained as he took his bike outta my trunk. He left the bike by the front door.

  Inside, the wall across from the door was covered with pictures, including the one of Ma and Billy and the mystery guy—who I now recognized was Steve. And Steve pointed out his parents, and Ma’s—who I knew from visiting them in Florida.

  In the living room, there were more pictures of Ma, Billy, and Steve, with another kid their age.

  “Who’s this guy?” I asked.

  “Tommy Johnson. Nobody called him that, though. After the sixth grade, we called him Smoke.”

  “Why?”

  “He used to introduce himself to newcomers by holding out his Marlboro box and saying, ‘Smoke?’ If they took one, he’d whip out his Zippo and light it for them. Then he’d wait until they took a drag before asking their name. Usually they�
�d end up coughing up a lung, and the rest of us would bust a gut laughing.”

  “Where’d you meet this guy?”

  “We lived in Greenville all our lives—Smoke and Billy and me. The three of us hung out together forever—two musketeers and D’Artagnan. Smoke was D’Artagnan. He was only six months older than Billy, but he had a lifetime more years on him. He was always kidding around, but I could tell he was a sad clown, trying hardest to cheer himself up.” Steve took a high school yearbook off a shelf under the TV. It looked like the same book Ma had in her box in the attic. Steve flipped it open to a picture of Smoke. He was kinda husky, with a blond crew cut and a “make-my-day” stare.

  “He had a thing for trouble,” Steve said. “If he wasn’t causing it, he was fanning the flames. Guys used to say, ‘Where there’s fire, there’s Smoke.’ When the law showed up, he’d disappear—just like smoke.” Steve laughed. “Some guy once said, ‘Smoke, that’s a nigger name, ain’t it?’ Smoke just gave him a evil little smile and said, ‘Want to go outside and discuss it?’ The guy suddenly remembered he had an appointment.”

  “My ma grew up with you guys?”

  “She moved to Greenville the summer after fifth grade, when her folks bought the house next door to this one. Our dads were brothers, and we were both only children. My folks wanted me to be her older brother, but I wasn’t into girls, specially relatives, so I spent the whole summer avoiding her. Smoke and Billy first met her when she started in the sixth grade. The three of us guys were always up for teasing. Smoke had caught a green frog on the way to school that day. He carried it into the building in his jacket pocket, planning to put it in the teacher’s desk drawer. Until he spotted Rhiann in the hall before first period. I think it was love at first sight, but he wouldn’t have admitted it to save his balls. Anyway, when he saw her, he hit my arm and said, ‘Hey, a new girl.’

  “‘That’s just my cousin.’

  “‘No shit! She’s cute.’

  “She had on a sleeveless red dress with a kind of a curved neckline—” Steve made a big U across his chest with his finger.

  “I just shook my head. Smoke took the frog out of his pocket and sort of sauntered up to her, then grabbed the front of her dress and dropped the frog down it. We all waited for the screams.”

  He grinned. “Didn’t happen. Rhiann reached into her dress and pulled out the frog. She marched up to Smoke, who was too surprised to run. She grabbed his belt buckle and pulled it toward her, then shoved the frog down his pants.

  “It was the first time anyone ever got anything back on him. But he recovered fast. He reached in his pants and pulled the frog out. He held it up like he was looking it in the eye. ‘Lucky frog,’ he said. ‘You’ve been to no man’s land and paradise and lived to tell about it.’

  “Of course, everybody started to laugh.

  “Except Rhiann. She got the last laugh. She got right in Smoke’s face and said—loud enough for everyone to hear, ‘Keep your filthy frogs to yourself.’

  “She made him laugh. He took it on himself to be her older brother and made us let her in the club. We were the four musketeers after that.”

  “Where’s Smoke now?” I asked.

  “MIA. He ran away. Billy disappeared in Vietnam. I’ve been sort of AWOL from life the last fifteen years. I guess we all went missing one way or another.”

  Jimmy

  Steve took me around town and pointed out the high school, the swimming pool, and the Dairy Queen where he used to hang out with Rhiann, Billy, and Smoke in “the good old days.”

  “I s’pose I oughta feed you,” he said, after a while. “You hungry?”

  “Don’t you gotta be to work pretty soon?”

  “Yeah. You think if I gave you my house key you could amuse yourself?”

  “Sure. What’s there to do around here?”

  “Well, we got a bowling alley, a theater, an’ a video arcade.”

  “That ought to keep me busy for an hour or two.”

  “Oh, and a public library.”

  “Cool! I could do my homework.”

  “Don’t be a smart-ass.”

  I dropped Steve off at Hannigan’s, where he worked as a bartender. After driving all the way from Overlook, I didn’t feel much like sitting another two hours in a movie. That narrowed it down to bowling, the video arcade, or the library. I was on my way to check out the arcade when I spied the golden arches. Friday night Mickey D’s ought to be hopping. I parked and went inside.

  Judging by the people—a few truckers, families, and groups of kids—Greenville wasn’t a whole lot different than Overlook. I like people-watching, so I got a Quarter Pounder, large fries, and a Coke and sat down where I could keep an eye on things.

  I was almost finished when I spotted the cutest girl I’d ever seen, a blonde a head shorter than me. She was in line with another girl, and they were really into their conversation, so I got to stare without pissing them off. I wasn’t the only one who noticed. These three guys in Greenville starter jackets got in line behind them and started crowding them and mouthing off. The girls ignored them at first—until one of the guys grabbed the blonde’s purse and held it over his head.

  “Hey, jerk!” She jumped up trying to grab the purse.

  The guy just turned around, keeping it out of her reach. His buddies thought it was hilarious.

  I looked around. Everybody was watching, no one offering to help.

  I wondered if the bully’s pals would stand behind him if I butted in. I didn’t wonder long. Dad always said bullies’ll back off if you stand up to them. So I did.

  Stepping up behind him, I grabbed the purse. The blonde was standing off to the side, staring at me. I pretended to ignore her. I handed the purse to her girlfriend, who was closer, and stayed between the girlfriend and the creep so he couldn’t take it back.

  “Why don’t you pick on someone your own size?” I asked him.

  “Like you, asshole?” the bully said.

  The two girls retreated to a safe distance.

  “Mr. Fahey to you, butthead.”

  “Oooh. Tough guy!” Without warning, he threw what would’ve been a sucker punch if it had landed.

  Dad had taught me what to do about stuff like that. I turned sideways and grabbed his fist as it flew by. Pivoting in the same direction he’d thrown the punch, I kept hold of his wrist and stepped forward. I got out of the way as he fell. He ended up facedown on the floor at the feet of the blonde.

  She giggled.

  Her friend pounded the air with her fist. “Yes!”

  Everybody else stared.

  The bully started to get up. His face went as red as a large fries holder.

  Then the manager came charging out from behind the counter. “Get outta here! All a you!”

  I smiled at the blonde and bowed.

  She smiled back. Then she and her friend headed for the ladies’ room.

  The bully got up and started toward me, but the manager blocked his way. I went for the exit.

  The bully yelled, “Hey, chicken!” after me.

  I didn’t even turn, just put my hand over my head and waved as I walked away. Once I was outside, I decided that the girls would be all right with the manager there. But with three against one, I might not do as well once the goons got away from him. I jumped in my car and burned rubber peeling out of the lot so everybody inside would know I’d left.

  I tore up to the next corner and squealed my tires turning right. As soon as I was out of sight of McDonald’s, I slowed down. I really wanted to see the blonde again. I went around the block like I was taking my driver’s test. I crept up to Mickey D’s entrance just as the goons screeched out the exit, turning the same way I had.

  They never looked back, just took off like the Dukes of Hazard.

  When the blonde and her friend came out of the restaurant, I was right in front of the door, leaning on the hood of my car.

  “Evenin’, ladies. Need a ride?”

  The blonde giggled
and elbowed her friend.

  Her friend said, “We’re not allowed to take rides from strangers.”

  “I’m Jimmy Fahey. And you are…?”

  “Beth,” the blonde said.

  “Beth?” I circled my hand to encourage her to give me her whole name.

  “Just Beth.” She pointed at her girlfriend. “This is Stephanie.”

  I said, “Stephanie.”

  “Did you just move here?” Beth asked.

  “I came to visit my grandparents.” I let it go at that. No sense confusing her with the details.

  “Where’d you learn kung fu?”

  “That wasn’t kung fu, just a little self-defense move my dad taught me.”

  “Pretty cool,” Stephanie said.

  I smiled. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught sight of the manager coming toward us. I said, “Now that I’m not a stranger, can I give you a lift?”

  “We left our car at the library,” Stephanie said.

  The manager came out the door at a run.

  I jumped to the passenger side and yanked the door open. “Get in. I’ll drive you there.”

  They did. Beth first, I noticed.

  I closed the door and held my hands up in front of the charging manager. “Just picking up my sister, sir.”

  That seemed to throw him. He stopped. He opened his mouth and closed it. “Which one’s your sister?”

  Stephanie looked the most like me, so I pointed to her.

  The manager pointed at Beth. “Who’s she?”

  “My girlfriend.”

  He frowned, then said, “Get the hell outta here!”

  “Yes sir.”

  “And don’t come back!”

  Stephanie did most of the talking. Beth navigated. I tried to keep my mind on my driving and my hands to myself. I still wasn’t real familiar with Greenville, but it seemed to me we went a couple miles out of the way before we finally turned into the lot next to the big gray stone library.

  I shut off the engine. Stephanie got out, still talking.

  “Can I get your number?” I asked Beth.

  She shook her head. “My dad’d kill me if I got a call from a boy.”