by Thomas, Lee
I knew how stubborn Bum could be, and I knew he’d recognize a lie the moment it left my lips. My only chance to get rid of him was to tell him something he would believe. So I made him swear an oath on his Ma’s life, and then I told him what was what.
~ ~ ~
Bum tried a dozen times to talk me out of helping Hugo as I sat at the window. His thin, insistent voice grated at my ears, and I wanted him to shut up, but he kept on. Then I saw Hugo and the others strutting down the street, talking and laughing, and Ben Livingston swung a stick through the air like a baseball bat, and Austin Chitwood covered his mouth, suppressing a laugh, and Hugo seemed to be ignoring them both, marching ahead like a general, leading unwieldy troops.
“Don’t go over there,” Bum said. “Please, Tim, just stay here and listen to the radio, and if they come to the house send them away.”
“Somebody’s got to stop him,” I said.
“Mr. Jones already reported him to Sheriff Rabbit,” Bum pointed out. “You think if there was a doubt in his mind the sheriff would let Mr. Lang loose?”
“Sheriff Rabbit is as dumb as a mule’s ass.”
“Now you just sound like Hugo.”
“Well maybe Hugo is right. You saw what he was doing to that man. You saw it.”
“But he didn’t kill him,” Bum said. “You watched that man walk right out of his house and drive away.”
“Did you ever think they might be in it together?”
My nerves were on edge, and I wanted to get moving, get it over with, like jumping into a cold lake all at once so my body would adjust to the temperature. Bum could flap his jaw all night long and it wasn’t going to change what we’d seen or what needed to be done. How could my best friend be so blind? It seemed he just didn’t want to see the truth. I decided Bum was afraid, and I understood that, but my daddy wasn’t a coward and he hadn’t raised a coward.
“You should just go home,” I said. “You’ll just make a mess of things.”
Bum was stricken by my words. His face fell and it looked childish to my eyes.
“I’m not going anyplace,” Bum said. “Somebody’s got to look after you.”
“I can look after myself,” I said. “But if you come along just stay out of the way, and you remember the oath you took. You don’t tell anybody about what we’re doing until Sheriff Rabbit arrests him. We’ll be heroes and there’ll be plenty of time to tell our story then.”
“Heroes,” Bum whispered, unconvinced.
“If you’re staying help me get the leg off of that table.”
~ ~ ~
Hugo’s instructions looped in my mind like a scratched phonograph recording – get him out of the house, ten or fifteen minutes, get him out.... My hands shook violently as I crossed the street and climbed the German’s porch steps. Next to me, Bum looked around the neighborhood anxiously, probably worried that a neighbor would see us, but I wasn’t concerned about that. Folks were eating dinner. They wouldn’t come out to their stoops until sunset, once the hellacious heat of the day had subsided. I felt scared enough, but my fear was focused on what lay behind Ernst Lang’s door, not the interference of nosy neighbors.
The German opened the door and seemed surprised to see Bum and me, and a bolt of dread ran through me. My thoughts scrambled and when the German said, “Hello, boys,” neither Bum nor I replied. His brow clouded and he opened the door further. He stood on the threshold looking over our shoulders at the street. “Is something wrong?”
“No, sir,” Bum muttered.
Hearing my friend’s voice brought me back to myself. He sounded so guilty and scared, I had to cover for the both of us.
“You look upset,” the German said.
“No,” I said, finally able to unknot my tongue. “Well sort of. I just…we kind of goofed. We didn’t mean any harm, but we sort of broke something.”
“What did you break?”
“A table. We broke one of its legs and we don’t know how to get it back on, and I know you make those great chairs, and….”
“How did you break this table?”
“Bum fell on it,” I said.
I didn’t turn to see how Bum took this excuse, but the German laughed. “Yes, your friend could break many tables I think.”
“Yeah,” I said, trying to sound as amused as the German. “We were just messing around and I kind of shoved him and he fell. It wasn’t his fault or anything. And like I said, we tried to fix it, but I’m afraid we’ll just ruin it.”
“I could come over in the morning,” he said.
Suddenly I was afraid that the German was on to us. He looked suspicious, uncertain as if being asked to jump into a hole the bottom of which he couldn’t see. I spoke quickly.
“Oh, Jeez. If Ma found out we wrecked her table she’d kill us. It was a present from her daddy, and she’d probably tan me for a month if she knew I broke it.”
The German nodded slowly as I spoke. He looked from me to Bum and then said, “Yes. Good. You come in. I have supper on the stove, and I do not want it to burn.”
I stepped over the threshold, but Bum didn’t move. He visibly trembled, and his face was drained of color. Why hadn’t he gone home the way I’d told him to? He was going to ruin everything.
“Your friend is afraid of me,” the German said, bemused. “Am I so very scary?”
“Bum, come on, we don’t want to keep Mr. Lang all night.”
“I’m sorry,” Bum said, but he remained frozen on the porch.
“Are you sure everything’s all right?”
“Yeah,” I said, too quickly. “Everything is fine. He’s just really worried about breaking Ma’s table. Bum, come on. You’re being rude.”
“Boys,” the German said, “My supper is burning, so you just come in when you’re ready. Or, if Ernst is too scary for your friend, wait here and I’ll be right back after I turn off the stove and gather some tools.”
Then, the German turned away from the door and walked across the living room, leaving me on the threshold to convince Bum. He didn’t want to be convinced.
“He’s been nice to you,” Bum whispered. “He’s done a bunch of chores for your ma and your neighbors. He’s the one who mended you up after Hugo gave you a licking. Why are you doing this?”
“I can’t believe you’re on his side.”
“I’m not on his side. There is no side because this shouldn’t be happening.”
“He called you fat.”
“Everyone calls me fat,” Bum replied. “I am fat. So what?”
“I don’t see what’s got you so knotted up,” I said.
“What does Hugo think he can do that the sheriff can’t?”
The German returned from the kitchen and said, “Would one of you boys go in the backyard and pick up my hammer while I get a few things from my workshop? It should be beside the chicken coop.”
“Sure,” I said.
“Oh,” he announced, startling me. “I am very sorry to hear the news of your father, Tim. We’ll hope he is in good health.”
“Thanks,” I said, turning away. The angry ticking in my head exploded into absolute rage, and it burned a path down my neck.
We walked through the German’s house and continued outside. I looked at the chicken coop and it had been demolished. Scraps of splintered wood littered the dirt. The entire roof had been torn away and lay in the middle of the yard; the rest had been reduced to useless jagged planks. I turned away in confusion and was surprised to see Hugo and the other two already pressed up against the back of the German’s house. Thoughts collided in my head as I gaped at the boys. Ben and Austin crouched, each holding lengths of board, but Hugo stood tall with a Colt revolver trained on the kitchen door.
“Tim,” Bum muttered at my side, seeing exactly what I saw.
The sight of the weapon sent icy rivulets down my back. Hugo had said nothing about guns. The possibility had never occurred to me, and it scared me as I came to realize this really was adult business, like war,
and people died in wars. Quickly I turned back to the pile of broken lumber, searching the mess for the German’s hammer, so my neighbor wouldn’t come outside. I tossed boards stained with white bird shit aside but found no sign of the tool I’d been sent to fetch.
“What are you doing?” Bum asked. His voice trembled horribly. “We can’t be here.”
“Just help me find the hammer,” I said.
The German came out and said, “No luck?” He laughed at this and shook his head, walking down the two steps toward us. He didn’t think to look around his yard.
“What happened to your coop?” I asked, hoping to keep his attention on me.
“Happened?” the German replied as if he couldn’t see the demolished shack with his own eyes.
“Mr. Lang?” Bum said, sounding frightened to the core.
“Bum, shh,” I said.
Behind the German, Hugo crept forward, the gun trained on the back of the man’s head.
“No, Tim,” my friend argued.
“Boys, what is going on?” the German asked. Then he must have heard Hugo, because the German spun around to face him. Taken off guard, Hugo’s step stuttered and he came to a stop, but he kept the revolver aimed at the German. “What is this?”
“It’s what you deserve,” Hugo said.
My neighbor turned back to me with a question on his brow, and Hugo skipped forward to place the muzzle of his pistol against the man’s head. The German spun quickly, slapping Hugo’s gun hand to the side and planting a fist in the boy’s chest. Hugo tripped backward, landing hard on the ground. His gun had found its way into the German’s hand, and dread filled me. The brawny man looked at the weapon and tossed it high, sending it soaring over the fence. Through all of this Ben and Austin remained motionless at the back of the house.
The German whipped back around, shot out his hand, and grabbed Bum by the collar.
“So you come for a fight?” he asked. “Little boys playing soldier?”
“Leave him alone,” I shouted. “You get your hands off of him.”
“You come into my home and attack me?” he bellowed in Bum’s face. “Kill my birds? Ruin my fence?”
I didn’t know what he meant about the birds or his fence, but Bum squealed, trying to get out of the man’s grip, and seeing my friend so helpless affected me in an unexpected way. It felt as if a cascade of ice water fell over my head, leaving my skin and muscle numb in its wake. I walked to the German, and when he spun on me, I kicked him in the balls, the way he’d shown me. His eyes lit with surprise and the man dropped to his knees, his hand releasing Bum as it joined its match to cover his crotch. Then Ben Livingston strolled casually across the lawn and stepped in front of the German, cocking the board back like a baseball star. He swung and connected with the German’s forehead, splitting the board in the process. The tremendous concussion sounded like a gunshot to my ears. The German rocked back on his knees, and for a second he seemed to struggle to right himself, and then blood poured from the new wound on his brow, his eyes rolled up and he dropped face first onto the grass.
I stared at him, suddenly aware that the radio-drama scenarios I’d imagine were nothing more substantial than the signals they’d been delivered on. A man lay unconscious at my feet, bleeding from his head, and the night was only getting started.
“Get him inside,” Hugo called, climbing to his feet.
“Lord, you killed him,” Bum said.
“He’s not dead, yet,” Hugo said. “Now you just keep your mouth shut.”
“You killed him,” Bum repeated, backing up the stairs.
“Don’t be a baby,” I scolded. “This is man’s work, Bum. You keep your crying to yourself.”
“I don’t want any part of this,” Bum mumbled.
“Look,” Hugo said, “I don’t know what you’re doing here.” He shot me a glare. “But you’re part of this whether you like it or not, and if we don’t tie him up he’s going to kill you and the rest of us, so give us a hand.”
Bum muttered incoherently next to me, blubbering.
“Stop it,” I told him. “Just settle down.”
“I want to go home.”
“You’re not leaving,” Hugo said. “You’re not taking one fucking step out of this house. You think I’m going to have you shooting off your mouth about this? No, sir. You’re either with us or you’re against us and if you’re against us, I’ll have Ben find another fucking board.”
“But you killed him.”
“We saved your life. You saw the look in his eyes, like a wild animal. That’s how they are. So shut up and give us a hand.”
“This shouldn’t be happening,” Bum said.
“We’ll put him in the bedroom,” Hugo said.
“What if he wakes up before we tie him down?” Ben asked.
“We beat him til he’s sleeping again,” Austin said.
But the German didn’t wake up. We hauled him into the bedroom and dropped him on the bed. Then Ben left the bedroom, returning a minute later with a long coil of rope that they must have had hidden in the backyard. Hugo took it from his hands and immediately began cutting it into serviceable lengths. Ben took the strands and went to work, tying the unconscious German to the posts of his bed. It was done in no time, and Hugo walked around the bed, checking on the binds, nodding in approval at each station. He told us we had to get the German’s clothes off and Austin burst out laughing. Ben asked why, and Hugo told him that it was necessary without further explanation. Since none of us understood or made a move to follow Hugo’s order, he withdrew a buck knife from his belt and opened it and started cutting away the German’s shirt, tearing along the seams from the sleeve to the waist. When he finished he tried to pull the garment away, but the German’s weight secured the back of the shirt to the bed, so Hugo sliced it at the shoulders and tossed the rags into a corner. The pants took longer, but they came away clean. Bum stood just behind me crying, and I was too nervous myself to calm him down. Hugo insisted we should cover the German’s face with something in case he woke up and started screaming. Austin found an old brown blanket in the closet and he draped it over the German’s face, tucking corners in behind his head, giving the rough woolen fabric the shape of a hood, draping down about the German’s shoulders and chest.
“Now what?” Ben asked.
And Hugo told him we waited for the German queer to wake up. He lit a cigarette and stared frowning at the naked man on the bed.
It was quiet for a time. The German lay sprawled, tied spread eagled with the brown blanket covering his face, and if it weren’t for the gentle rise of the fabric when he took a breath, I’d have thought he was dead.
“He’s going to scream,” Austin said. “When he wakes up, he’ll scream and the neighbors will hear.”
“The blanket will muffle the worst of it,” Hugo said. “Besides the next house isn’t that close, but we’ll probably need something for a gag when we take it off. Find some socks,” he said to no one in particular.
Ben responded quickly and attacked the chest of drawers by the door. He handed a rolled-up pair to Hugo, who dropped them on the bed beside the unconscious man.
“We need to keep the front of the house dark,” he said next. “We don’t want people to think he’s home, and someone has to stand guard up there in case his queer buddy comes back tonight.”
“We gonna question him, too?” Austin asked.
“No. We have enough on our hands with this one. He’ll go away if this one doesn’t answer. Ben, you go close all the curtains and turn all the lights off. Blackout conditions in every room but this one. We got a moon tonight so we’ll be able to see our way around once it gets dark.”
“Consider it done,” Ben said, scurrying out of the room.
“When you’re done with that, you go out back and find my daddy’s gun.”
“What are we going to do to him?” Austin asked.
“Whatever we have to,” Hugo replied. He took a drag off of his cigarette and glare
d at the bed. “Whatever it takes to get justice done.”
~ ~ ~
Dark settled hard outside. Ben had found the Colt, and Hugo shoved it into his waistband. Austin Chitwood discovered a bottle of whiskey in the kitchen and brought it into the bedroom. The older boys passed the bottle around and when Hugo offered it to me, I took a small sip of the burning liquid and held back a cough. Bum just shook his head. Then Austin disappeared again and returned with the German’s supper, eating the ham steak with the long fork my neighbor had used to push the meat around the skillet. The older boys kept passing the bottle between them, and I took a second and final sip. The whiskey was nearly gone when my neighbor began to stir.
The German muttered, his voice scarcely audible through the layers of wool covering his face. Then his body started to tremble. He shook so badly the bed clacked against the wall, and his attempts to move his arms became frantic. The ropes held. He shouted, but I didn’t understand his words as he was speaking German. Next to me, Austin Chitwood laughed as if he were watching the Marx Brothers from the balcony of the Palace Theatre, and Hugo remained calm, standing sentinel over the bed, watching his captive struggle. The shouts became dreadful, and at one point, the German said in English, “Where is this place?” His voice cracked, and he pissed himself, sending a stream down his thigh to pool on the mattress between his legs. Hugo took a step away from the bed, shaking his head slowly, and Austin guffawed, pointing at the stain, and Ben said, “Would you look at that?”