Bones of a Witch

by Dana Donovan

  We rolled into town about eleven-thirty and found the downtown district only mildly abuzz with nightlife, and most of that was generated around Ingersoll’s Tavern. There the neon façade lit up the street well enough to see faces out front from a block away, which is where we parked to keep from drawing attention to ourselves. I was sitting in the back seat, and as I started to get out Tony grabbed my shirtsleeve and eased me back in.

  “You know what Dominic?” I could tell from the tone of his voice what was coming. “I was thinking maybe just Carlos and I should go in. Why don’t you stay out here and watch the building?”

  I pulled my arm back with a jerk. “Watch for what?”

  “Putnam, you know, in case he pulls up with the girls in the van.”

  “I thought you didn’t believe he’d bring the girls with him.”

  “Well, we don’t know that for sure, do we?”

  “Bullshit. You don’t want me with you because you’re still punishing me for what happened yesterday and earlier today.”

  “No I’m not.”

  “You are, too. Carlos?”

  “I’m sorry, Dom.” I can tell you that’s what Carlos said, but what he meant was, Oh, please, Dom, don’t make me say no to Tony. You know I’m his boot-lick`n yes man. I do whatever he tells me. Man, it’s enough to make a guy sick.

  “Look,” said Tony, his tone surly now. “This is a police operation and I’m giving you an order.”

  “What? This isn’t a police operation. It’s not even in our jurisdiction.”

  “Drop it, Spinelli. It’s done. Now I want you to wait here and watch for Putnam. Carlos,” he gave him the Let’s Go nod. “Move it.”

  And with that, Tony and Carlos got out, pulled their coattails down over their weapons and walked the block to Ingersoll’s Tavern, leaving me to stew in my anger like a scolded child. I waited till they were out of sight before hopping out and getting in behind the wheel so that I wouldn’t look like a total buffoon.

  The first few minutes I don’t think I was really paying much attention to my surroundings—pissed as I was—but then I noticed twice in about a ten-minute span a dark-colored van slowing down as it drove past the tavern. On the third go-a-round I readied my hand on the door, prepared to jump out and take Putnam down single-handedly. That, I thought, would show the great Tony Marcella who was boss. Unfortunately, the van I thought might be Putnam’s, turned out to be just a ride for a bunch of teens looking to score something from a street corner druggie. I knew it wasn’t any of my business, but I was feeling particularly agitated and I wanted to do something about it. So I waited for the van to pass before getting out and approaching the thug on the corner. I figured if I couldn’t take Putnam down, I could at least clean up a single street corner for one night. Consider it my contribution to the betterment of Salem and its fine people.

  A lot of times I take people by surprise when I tell them I’m a cop. Guess it’s because I not that big a guy and because I look much younger than I really am. No doubt that’s what the kid on the corner thought when he saw me coming. Not only didn’t he run from me, but he actually coaxed me around the corner into the shadows to offer me a deal. Knowing I couldn’t bring him downtown, I went along for the jest.

  “So, wha`sup, man?” he said, stealing glimpse over my shoulder to make sure I wasn’t followed. “You lookin` to connect?”

  “Maybe,” I said. “Whacha got?”

  “Shoot, name it. 007`s, 151`s, Oxy, Dust. Maybe you’re a Black Whack guy, eh?”

  “What?”

  “Oh, I know, you like to sink a little Butu?”

  “You got all that on you?”

  “Dude, you luna? You ain’t the heat, man are ya? I ain’t lookin` fo no blista, Bro.”

  “Me? Do I look 5-O?”

  He stepped back to size me up proper, and having satisfied his suspicions, replied, “No, I guess U-cool.”

  “Right then, so what do you say?”

  “I say you ain’t told me what`chu want.”

  “You didn’t tell me what you had on you.”

  “Shit I didn’t, sucker. I don’t mule no shit `round here. I can get ya what ya want, but I run clean, man.” He nodded up into the night sky. “That’s a witch’s moon flyin` up there, Tyro. I don’t pack on a witch’s moon. Bitch’ll bust ya, know what I mean?”

  I turned and glanced back over my shoulder. The moon filled barely half its outline. “What is a witch’s moon?” I asked.

  He drew a soured smile and then dropped it quickly. “Serious?”

  “Yeah, I never heard the expression.”

  “Then you ain’t from `round here, Cubby.”

  I shook my head. “No, I’m new.”

  “Dude, you sup the witch thing?”

  “Sup? Do you mean do I believe? Of course, most definitely.”

  He nodded. “Then you should know; witches don’t die easily; least ways `round here they don’t, especially if they was hanged. Legend says a witch’s moon brings the spirits of dead witches out for revenge. They fly around in the mist looking for people doing bad things, and if they see ya doin` something wrong, they kill ya.”

  “Do they, now?”

  “Damn straight, `less you hangin` a witch at midnight on a witch’s moon. Then all the spirits stay in the spirit world and wait to receive the newcomer. But I don’t spect they is hangin` no witches tonight, eh?”

  “No, I don’t `spose. Do most of the town’s people believe that? Is that what Ingersoll’s Witness is all about?”

  The kid’s eyes narrowed sharply with that question. “What did you say you wanted, Bro?”

  I shook my head. “I didn’t.”

  “Dude, you asking a lot of questions.”

  “Yeah, and you’ve been a nice guy to answer them.” I reached into my pocket and pulled out my badge. “But I’m watching this corner now, Cubby. If I see you soliciting drugs around here again I’ll take you down. Got that?”

  “Man, you don’t chill. You da heat.”

  “So I lied. Now beat it.”

  The kid eased back a couple of steps before turning around and sprinting off into the shadows. About then the van full of teen drove by again on a slow roll. I held my badge up to the driver and he hit the gas, speeding off in a squeal of smoking tires. Man how I love this job sometimes.”

  Carlos Rodriquez:

  I felt bad for Dominic when Tony told him to wait out in the car instead of letting him into the tavern with us. But I agreed with Tony that someone needed to stay outside and watch for Putnam’s van. I know Dominic thinks I’m Tony’s yes man, and I suppose I can see why that is. But what he needs to understand is that nine times out of ten Tony’s right. The trouble is I don’t know when that tenth time is up, and unfortunately that’s usually when the shit hits the fan the hardest. Never was that more evident than when Dominic walked into Ingersoll’s Tavern not fifteen minute behind us. He seemed especially excited about something, but Tony squashed that quick as a lick.

  “I don’t care about some two-bit drug pusher.” Tony’s outburst turned heads in the tavern from one end of the bar to the other. I suppose I couldn’t blame him, though, I mean for blowing up like that. I’m sure the thought of losing Lilith had him sitting on a razor’s edge. But I also know Dominic, and I knew he must have thought that what he had to say was important enough to come inside and voice it. For that reason I should have mediated a truce, but I didn’t. I don’t know; maybe I am Tony’s yes man.

  “But I don’t think Putnam’s coming,” Dominic insisted. He waved his hand in a broad sweep across the room. “This is all a diversion.”

  Tony stood up, crowding Dominic against the bar. His voice had simmered, but his tone had come to a full boil. “A diversion from what?”

  “From Putnam’s real plans for Lilith and Ursula, which is to—”

  “To exchange them for the gate key, I know, but look. You’re causing a scene here. If Putnam shows up now you’ll scare him away.”

 
; “Tony, no, that’s not it. I think—”

  “Bullshit. You want me to leave so that I won’t try to….” he dropped into a harsh whisper, “so that I won’t try to sneak into Putnam’s van. You want the glory of saving the girls. Isn’t that right?”

  “No.”

  “Of course it is. Listen, I know you have a thing for Lilith. Maybe you don’t mean to show it, but you don’t want to see me succeed at witchcraft.”

  “Tony, that’s not it at all.”

  “It is, admit it. You don’t want me to succeed because you think Lilith won’t want me if I fail.”

  “That’s ridiculous. I don’t want you to fail. But look at you. Are you invisible now? Can he see you?” Dominic pointed to the bartender and motioned for him to look my way. “Can you see this man? Can you—”

  “Stop it,” I said, and again heads turned. “See, that’s what I mean. It’s all about you, Dominic. You pump yourself up so that everyone has to notice you, just like with Lilith.”

  “That’s bull.”

  “Is it? Then why did you name the Chihuahua, after her?”

  “Tony. You got me all wrong. I don’t—”

  “That’s right, you don’t. You don’t have a damn clue what me and Lilith have going together. But one thing’s for sure, I’m not going to let you screw it up by jeopardizing her life, Ursula’s, mine, Carlos’ and for that matter, your own. Now why don’t you be a good cop and go back to what you were told to?”

  “But….”

  “Good bye, Spinelli.”

  I think that when Dominic walked out, so went a shred of his respect for me, an amount I can measure equally against the loss of my own self-esteem. I don’t know why I didn’t go out after him, perhaps because in my heart I thought Tony was right. I’ve seen the way Dominic looks at Lilith. The boy is definitely smitten with her. But that didn’t give Tony the right to walk all over him like that. The sad part is that Dominic was right, too. Sitting in Ingersoll’s Tavern all night was exactly what Putnam wanted. If it wasn’t for the free beer and nuts (Tony was buying), the evening would have been a total bust.

  Lilith Adams:

  Boy, I can’t tell you how pissed I was. I didn’t mind so much that Putnam bitch-slapped Ursula and me, even with our hands up behind our backs. But the pistol whipping was totally uncalled for. He had beaten a confession out of Ursula within the first ten minutes of torture, yet still continued to hit her for the fun of it. I mean, the poor girl had already hanged once for being a witch; what more did he want?

  “Names,” he said, when asked that question. “I want the names of all the witches she knows here in Salem.”

  “I know of none,” Ursula replied, her left eye swelled shut from the beatings. “Haft not the centuries past but thrice? Surely those I knew are all dead these many years.”

  “Surely not, for you are not dead.”

  “Aye, but for a time I was.”

  “How have you come back?”

  “I brought her back,” I said. “You know I’m a witch. I told you so at my trial. But Ursula is mortal now. She has nothing to do with witchcraft. So why don’t you let her go.”

  “I think not,” Putnam said, and he laughed sickly. “Not by the light of a witch’s moon shall you or she escape the noose tonight.”

  “Yes we will. Tony will stop you. He’s on his way up here right now, you know.”

  “Your fool hearted boyfriend?” Again that sickly laugh dribbled from his lips in measured spats. He had taken us up to Gallows Hill, dragged us really, by the ropes from the nooses around our necks. “I hardly think so, Ms. Adams. Even as we speak, your boyfriend and his hapless cohorts are sitting in Ingersoll’s Tavern, drinking beer and waiting for me to come in and make a swap: you and Ms. Bishop for Ms. Bishop’s gate key.”

  “I don’t believe you. Tony’s too smart to fall for that. He’ll think of every contingent.”

  “Will he?”

  “Yes, I know he will.”

  “Well then, he better hurry up now, hadn’t he?” He glanced down at his watch and then up at the moon. “Look at that. It’s almost midnight. What do you say we get started?”

  He had stepped right up to me, nearly toe-to-toe; perhaps wanting to gauge my reaction up close and personal. I could do little with my hands joined to Ursula’s behind our backs and that confounded witch’s stone around his neck. But I could express my opinion, and so I drew a narrow bead on him with my most menacing leer, summonsed up a wad of deep-throat icky shit and spat it in his face. “What do you say you go fuck yourself,” I answered.

  Man, did that piss him off. He fell back to wipe his face clean, and began screaming at me—us, using language that I’m sure Ursula never heard in her century. He came back to me on a march and slapped me across the mouth, cutting my lip with his ring.

  “YOU FUCKER!” I yelled. “YOU DWEEB PUNK BASTARD! YOU’RE FUCKED NOW!” Naturally, that earned me a backhand across the other side of my mouth.

  “We’ll see who’s fucked, Ms. Adams,” he said, curling his upper lip, only now his words were hushed and filled with a tone of finality. He picked up the rope ends on our hangman’s nooses and tossed them over the thickest branch on the tree. Then, he retrieved an old wooden chair from behind a bush, one he apparently put there only hours earlier just for the occasion.

  “Up on the chair,” he ordered, to which Ursula and I politely declined, calling him a maggot-faced grub. But old Putnam was done having fun. He pulled the gun from his shoulder holster and pointed it at my head. “I said get up on the chair.”

  I stared straight down the barrel and laughed. “You’re funny, aren’t you?”

  He crowded his thick brows into a matted knot. “What are you talking about?”

  “You think I would sooner hang than get shot? Come on, a bullet to the head is a much quicker way to go.”

  He reeled back his gums to expose a row of yellow teeth caked in plaque as thick as stucco. “Who said anything about shooting you in the head?” And he lowered the gun to my left breast.

  “Oh, you didn’t,” I said, gritting my teeth, “now you’re asking for it.”

  He pushed the muzzle against me till it hurt. “No, Ms. Adams, you’re asking for it. I won’t tell you again. Get up on the chair, both of you.”

  I had made up my mind to do what he said, and I know Ursula did, too, but I guess we just didn’t move fast enough to suit old Putnam. Before we could lift a foot, he snatched a fistful of our hair and yanked us both up onto the chair. Tears began spilling from Ursula’s swollen eyes, and her sobs robbed me of feelings for any other soul on this earth but hers. All I wanted to do was get her out of that noose and free her of the pain of hanging twice for a crime she did not commit. But with the witch’s stone around Putnam’s neck, things seemed altogether hopeless, and though I don’t believe in miracles, I believed that nothing shy of one could have saved us then. Fortunately, sometimes fate disguised as miracles comes to us when we least expect, and in the cutest packages.

  Putnam finished tying off the rope ends around the tree trunk and he pulled taunt the slack in our nooses. Now Ursula and I were standing on tip-toes to keep from choking. As best I could I said goodbye and apologized, promising her that Tony would not rest until he killed Putnam or brought him to justice, whichever he could get away with.

  That’s when I saw him; Dominic, alone and determined, silhouetted against the pale moonlight. He was moving up the hill, keeping low but scurrying quickly, having no cover to conceal his advance. I could see him trying to keep the tree between his line of sight and Putnam’s, dropping occasionally onto his belly when that was not possible. But time was running out and I feared he would not make it. I called to Putnam, hoping to buy his attention and possibly distract him from Dominic’s advance.

  “Yo, how badly you want those names?” I said.

  He came around the chair to face me, and in doing so turned his back on Dominic. “Come again?”

  “You want to know who the
witches are, don’t you? I’ll tell you.”

  He seemed suspicious, but curious. “Okay.”

  “You want to write it down?”

  “No.” He stepped closer. “I’ll remember.”

  “You sure, `cause there’s a lot of names.”

  “Look, if you’re just trying to buy some time—”

  “No, I’m good. I’ve got plans for the afterlife. I’m ready to go.” I could see over the top of Putnam’s head that Dominic was almost there. He had started into a full run up the hill and was closing fast. “Unlike some of us, I’m not afraid to die.”

  “What’s that suppose to mean?”

  “Nothing, it’s just that you seem preoccupied with death.”

  “Me? How do you figure?”

  “You’re always in the middle of it.”

  “It’s my job.”

  “Yeah, right.” I looked up over his head again. Dominic was now only forty feet out and slowing down, reaching for his weapon. I brought my eyes back to Putnam, but immediately sensed something wrong. He was not looking at me. His eyes were off to the side. He had heard Dominic, or seen that I was looking at something beyond. Either way I knew he knew. I saw him reach slowly for his gun. Dominic had picked up his pace again, advancing on us with his weapon leveled at Putnam’s back.

  “Dominic, no!” I cried. “He knows you’re there!”

  Putnam pulled his gun and spun around sharply. Dominic crouched into a shooter’s stance, but fearing he might hit me or Ursula, did not take the shot. A lick of fire from Putnam’s .45 lit up the hilltop in a brilliant flash of orange and white. Dominic fell to the ground. The thrust of the bullet like a mule kick knocking the weapon from his hand and sending it tumbling into the night.

  “Dominic!”

  Putnam turned back on his heels, the .45 still smoking and smelling of burnt gunpowder. “That’s your last trick,” he said to me. “The undertaker will collect your remains at sunrise.”