Hang Wire

by Adam Christopher

  Or that he didn’t need to sleep; that he’d already slept for twenty years and because that was all you needed over a lifetime, he didn’t need to sleep again, giving him more time for the sea and the surf and the sand, more time for dancing in the sunshine. More time for enjoying life.

  Bob smiled at Julie and her own grin grew. One of those stories was at least partially true. There were others as well, some true, some not. So many, in fact, and Bob had been dancing in the sunshine for so very long that maybe he himself couldn’t quite remember which were real and which were not,..

  “You don’t want to believe those stories. Well, not all of them,” he said with a wink, and Julie laughed. He pulled her around in a circle, swept out his right foot in a move that didn’t really belong to any ballroom dance but that kicked up a fan of sand that people watching seemed to like, and then released Julie, keeping hold of one hand and bowing deeply to the crowd. Julie seemed to get the message, and curtseyed to the hollers of her friends. Her dance lesson was over.

  Bob turned to his partner, and bowed, and brought his lips to her hand and kissed it gently. “M’lady,” he said, and Julie rejoined her friends, and the crowd clapped.

  Dancing on the sand was not ideal, as any ballroom teacher would say. Bob knew the moves – he’d had enough time to learn them, along with many other skills and talents – but it was a gimmick, nothing serious. Most of his partners couldn’t dance at all, although occasionally he got some partners who liked to show off. And when he did, he let them. This was their vacation, after all. And although the lessons were free, there was a collection box near the seating, donations welcomed for the upkeep of the park.

  And he needed to be near to the sea. He needed to feel the sun on his chest and the sand between his toes. It kept him connected, to the present, to the past. He looked out to the sea and rolled his shoulders. Just a couple more dances and he’d earned himself a nice swim.

  “Young man? Young man, excuse me!”

  Bob turned his gaze from the sea with a film-star smile, ready to greet his next pupil.

  The woman was old and frail, heading toward eighty if not ninety, one of those elderly folk you saw who didn’t look like they’d kept particularly fit or active. She was small, her back hunched and her skin as insubstantial as tissue. Bob saw her fingers curl as she held her hands in front of her, the knuckles red and swollen with mild arthritis. She was wearing a heavy coat, complete with scarf, ready to head out on a cold winter’s morning, regardless of the fact that the morning was already pushing the mercury north.

  “Madam, a pleasure,” said Bob, bowing from the waist with an expansive sweep of his arm.

  “I understand you teach ladies to dance?”

  Bob winked. “That I do, and not just the ladies. My name is Bob. Would you like a lesson?”

  “Oh, I don’t need any lessons,” said the woman. “But I haven’t done this in a long time.” She held her arms out, giving Bob his cue. He laughed and stepped into her embrace, and found himself suddenly in perfect hold. His frowned in exaggerated appreciation, although in truth he was impressed.

  “Very nice, Mrs–”

  The woman jerked her head to the side and closed her eyes.

  “Ah!” she said. “No talking. I’ll lead. I want to see what you can do. American Smooth with a quickstep.” She paused, opened one eye, and regarded Bob. “I trust you know how to dance, young man?”

  Bob opened his mouth to answer but the old woman had closed her eyes and suddenly her curved back was straight as a plank and he was pulled forward and swung around as the dance began. For a small old woman, the top of whose head barely reached Bob’s shoulders, she had surprising strength.

  From the seats came laughs and a wolf whistle. Bob smiled, shook his head, and let himself be led around the beach.

  By the time the dance ended, the crowd had doubled in size. Spectators were at least three deep on the tiers, with many more standing around Bob’s patch of beach. Beach walkers and swimmers, children and their parents, a mix of swimsuits and casual clothing. Aquatic Park was filling up.

  Bob released his grip on his partner and started to pull away, expecting the old lady to do likewise, but she pulled him even tighter like he was on a piece of elastic.

  “You’re doing good, young fella. Ever tangoed with a grandmother?”

  Bob wondered if there was a TV crew nearby, filming the spectacle for the local news. The entire encounter felt like a set-up. It had to be. She was a former dance teacher, perhaps. Maybe a famous ballroom dancer. Bob didn’t know. He lived among the people but he didn’t really pay much attention to what they did.

  Cheek to chest, they began a tango, promenading down the beach toward the surf, then executing a perfect turn before heading back to the crowd. Behind them, Bob hear the waves breaking.

  “Did you know Lucy?” They reached the edge of the beach, turned, and promenaded to the left this time.

  “Lucy?” asked Bob. Someone else he’d given a lesson to perhaps?

  “She was my daughter,” said the woman. “Lucy Winters. She was killed last week. Strung up with wire in a quiet street, Bob.”

  Bob’s smile vanished. He missed his step and tried to pull away from the old woman, but her grip was firm and she tutted like he was a bad pupil. He had no choice but to keep dancing.

  “I’m sorry for your loss–”

  “You know anything about that, Mr Bob?”

  It was a set-up. Bob broke the hold and stepped away from the woman. Then he took her hand and began walking back up the beach. He could easily direct her back into the crowd, nobody seeing anything but the smile of the charming and handsome man. Then it was time for his swim. He’d earned it now.

  As they walked back, Mrs Winters laughed. Bob ignored her, his own smile fixed for the crowd, not for her.

  “Oh, don’t look so worried, my handsome young man.”

  “Lady, I have no idea what you’re talking about. You need to leave the park.”

  Lucy’s elderly mother stopped and turned. She grinned, showing tombstone teeth and gums that had receded by a thousand miles. She was much older than Ted had first thought, despite her strength and skill. Maybe a little bit not altogether there. He couldn’t just pass her back to the crowd. He’d get someone to call the police, or maybe an ambulance, and they’d be able to take a look at her, maybe get her some care. If her daughter really had been murdered last week – by the Hang Wire Killer, no less; even Bob knew about that news story – then she would be in a fragile and dangerous state.

  “Do you have any family we can call?” he asked, searching the park for any police or ranger who might be near.

  “I’m not crazy, young man. And I’m not here to pin my daughter’s murder on you, if that’s what you’re worried about. You might be a looker who knows how to dance, but that’s about as important as you get.”

  “So what do you want?” The smile was gone, the warmth from Bob’s voice gone. “You don’t seem too cut up about your daughter, either.”

  Mrs Winters tutted again. “Of course I’m not upset. You didn’t kill my Lucy, because she’s not dead. Now, pick those feet up, I need to see what kind of Viennese waltz you’ve got.”

  Bob let her take his arms and lead him around, his feet moving on automatic as his mind reeled. “I thought you said your daughter was killed last week?”

  The old woman’s mechanism was gone, clearly. Maybe Lucy wasn’t her daughter. Maybe she’d seen it on the news and in her dementia had formed some kind of attachment. Why she’d come down to see Bob, specifically, was a mystery, but then maybe she’d seen him in the news too. He was in and out of the back pages a fair bit, like a skateboarding dog.

  “She was killed, yes. But you and I both know that’s not the end.”

  Bob froze, mid-step. Did she know? How could she know? Was she one of Them? Sometimes – rarely – They did come back. And, truth be told, he had felt there was something different about the city of late. Tangun was
around. Nezha too, or at least he had been, the sensation of his presence fading almost as soon as Bob had noticed it. And if they were here, maybe others were too?

  They stayed in hold but they didn’t move. For anyone watching, it would look like Bob was giving his pupil a few pointers.

  “Who are you?”

  The old lady turned to watch the spectators on the tiered seating. Bob was sure she was cooking like a pot roast under her thick coat and scarf, but her skin was as pale and translucent as it was when they’d started.

  “I need your help, young man.”

  Bob sighed and shook his head. She did know. Somehow. But if she was one of Them, it was some kind of trick, trying to catch him out. Maybe They wanted him back.

  “Help for what, exactly?” he asked, scarcely believing he was going along with it.

  The old woman finally turned, glanced at Bob, and then surveyed the sand around them. “You ever built a bonfire before?”

  Bob frowned. “On the beach?” He shook his head. “Not permitted in the park.”

  The woman laughed, high and haughty. “No, Mr Bob, not here. I want you to help build me a bonfire, nice and hot. Back at the house.”

  “A… bonfire at your house?”

  She nodded. “Nice and hot. And then I want you to help me dig.”

  “Dig?”

  The woman sighed and tutted. She stabbed a finger at his bare chest.

  “We have to dig beneath it, Mr Bob,” said Mrs Winters. “We have to dig beneath the fire.”

  “What for?”

  “To get Lucy back, of course. Now, are you going to help a harmless old woman or am I going to set off the rape alarm in my handbag and scream blue murder?”

  — VI —

  SAN FRANCISCO

  TODAY

  “Welcome back, birthday boy!”

  Benny was standing by the door just as Ted and Alison walked into the office of the Bay Blog. The copier was there and she was doing a big batch of something. Her baseball cap was on backward like it always was. Ted wondered if wearing a 49ers cap with an Oakland Raiders shirt was quite the done thing, but he had the strangest feeling that Benny hadn’t even noticed her clothes were mismatched. At least Benny didn’t cover sports. That was Zane’s area, while Benny blogged about events and local news in Chinatown, which, Ted imagined, would include the little incident down at the Jade Emperor.

  Benny frowned at Ted. Perhaps she’d seen something in Ted’s face that betrayed his thoughts, but as the small copier rocked on its cabinet, spitting out page after page, Benny held up a hand.

  “Don’t worry, I’m not going to blog it.”

  Alison slipped her bag off her shoulder and was walking toward her desk. “Won’t someone ask about it if we don’t run a post?” she called over her shoulder.

  She was right. Ted knew it.

  “No,” said Benny, “just a fire alarm gone haywire, that’s all. Nobody will ask, don’t worry.”

  Ted frowned. “And the broken windows down half the street?”

  Benny returned her attention to the copier. “Meh,” she said, with a smile.

  There were three other people in the office, a long, narrow room with just enough space for six identical Ikea desks. Ted could see the top of Zane’s head over his monitor as he talked on the phone, and Klaire and Jake were having a meeting in the editor’s office, a glass-walled partition that occupied the back corner of the space. The editor herself, Mazzy, was nowhere to be seen.

  “You OK, dude?”

  Ted blinked and swayed on his feet. Alison looked up at him from her desk as Benny collected her copying. She held the ream of paper under an arm and looked Ted up and down.

  Ted smiled. “Fine. Just a lack of sleep.”

  “And the fact that we just walked past a crime scene,” said Alison. Benny’s eyes went wide, her head swiveling between her colleagues.

  “A crime scene?” She stopped on Ted. “Seriously? Dude.”

  Ted and Alison exchanged a look, and Ted continued his walk to his desk. “Down by the convention center, one of the streets opposite, off Fourth.”

  Ted swung into his chair and booted up his computer. Benny stood right where she was.

  “Oh man.” The Chinatown reporter shook her head and blew out her cheeks. “Was it, you know…”

  Ted saw Alison’s eyebrow go up, but he nodded.

  “Again?” Benny shook her head. “Oh, man.”

  Ted’s computer was taking a while to boot and he had a sudden need for fresh air. In the dull shadowed reflection of his monitor he wasn’t sure he recognized himself. He changed the subject. “Anyone want a coffee?”

  From over his monitor, Zane waved a hand as he continued to murmur into his phone.

  Benny dumped her printing on her desk. “I’ll grab it. I know what everyone likes. I could use the fresh air, y’know?”

  Ted sprung from his chair. “I’ll come,” he said. Benny nodded, and the two headed out.

  Benny ordered the coffee, getting Ted a triple shot. Ted laughed, and Benny told him he looked like he needed it. As they waited at the counter, Benny pulled her baseball cap off and replaced it the right way around, threading her ponytail through the gap above the Velcro fastener at the back.

  “At least Mazzy is out of town,” she said.

  Ted nodded. It didn’t matter, the editor not being there. The Bay Blog wasn’t the kind of place that required constant supervision. The writers were paid by the post, so if they slacked off it would be reflected in their paychecks.

  Benny looked directly at Ted, who blinked. He felt tired. So very, very tired.

  “So, look,” she said. “How about we leave early today, grab a bite. You know, chillax. Shoot the shit.”

  Ted laughed. “Benny, my friend, please never use those phrases again.”

  She placed a closed fist across her heart. “I swear,” she said, and then she tapped Ted’s chest with the back of her hand. “But come on. Let’s split at four. Grab a drink, burgers, my treat.”

  Ted nodded. “I’ll ask Alison if she can finish early.”

  Benny’s face dropped. “Oh, yeah, sure,” she said, but Ted could tell she didn’t mean it. He was going to ask when the barista called their order and Benny vanished to the other end of the counter to collect.

  Ted frowned. Maybe he’d imagined it. It was just the lack of sleep and a surprising twenty-four hours. Everything would return to normal, eventually. He backed away from the counter to give the person behind him some room, only there was nobody there. Ted blinked, then followed Benny.

  “Please don’t tell me you’re posting on Twitter about this.”

  Benny looked up from her phone, which she had been trying ineffectively to hide in her lap. Then she smiled and made a big show of clicking the phone off, holding it up unnecessarily high like she was about to perform a bad card trick before putting it on the table in front of her. Ted chided himself. Benny wasn’t like that.

  “Sorry, dude,” said his friend, lifting her bottle of Bud and taking a swig. Ted watched the brown and red bottle rise and then fall, and took a sip from his mug. The coffee here was passable at best, but people didn’t generally come to the Fifth Street speakeasy to drink coffee. He grimaced slightly at the too-bitter, too-cool liquid. He was feeling better, but he wondered if Benny was disappointed that her work pal wasn’t joining her in some brews.

  Benny took another swing from her bottle and looked around. “Quiet, huh?”

  It was. They sat in a booth big enough for a family of eight, and represented exactly half of the bar’s clientele. The other two customers were men sitting at the bar, both watching a re-run of a recent game on one of the bar’s many large televisions. Neither spoke and they didn’t seem to know each other, and Ted realized they weren’t even looking at the same TV.

  Benny drained the last dreg from her beer. “Early, I guess.”

  Ted nodded in agreement. Early was just fine for him. Early out of the office, and early dinner, and
an early night. Alison had stayed behind – she was too busy on the museum story, but had insisted she had no problem with Ted and Benny getting dinner together. Benny seemed a little too pleased at this, but Ted put it down to her natural, apparently boundless enthusiasm for just about everything she did.

  The clock behind the bar was slowly heading around to five. Benny and Ted sat in silence for a while. Ted listened to the ball game on the TV and let his eyes drift over the wall of bottles behind the bar. There were so many containers in so many shapes and colors, with exotic names and fancy labels. So many typefaces, illustrations of faraway places and animals: deer, birds, the kinds of things you dressed up in tweed to go shoot. The back of the bar was mirrored. Ted could just see himself in between the glittering amber liquids. He squinted a little, but there was an imperfection in the mirror and it looked like there were two Teds sitting in the booth. He took a sip of his coffee and it looked like one of the reflections moved with a weird half-second delay.

  Ted nodded at the phone on the table. “So how many followers do you have now?”

  Benny grinned and tapped the edge of the phone, sending it on a slow counterclockwise spin.

  “Eighteen hundred and eighty-seven,” she said. “Man, I’m so close to the big 2K.”

  Ted smiled and shook his head. “And what are you gonna do when you hit the magic number?”

  Benny’s grin froze for a second, and she stared at Ted, the gears working until she came up with a suitable answer.

  “Aim for the next thousand, of course,” she said, perhaps with not as much conviction as she would have liked, Ted thought. Benny looked down at her phone and the smile flickered off. “Anyway, it’s quality over quantity. I have me a fine posse of online friends.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Benny slid off the bench seat and tapped Ted on the shoulder. “More followers than you have, Mr Unpopular. I have to powder my nose. You want another coffee?”

  Ted drained his cup. “That I do. Another beer?”

  “Line ’em up, my friend, line ’em up.”