The minivan reached the road and rattled away. And I was just about to turn back toward the crooked house when I heard a metallic click a few yards to my left.
It sounded a whole lot like a pistol being cocked.
13. Meet the Boyfriend
As I turned, a sudden flashlight beam caught me full in the face.
“Whoever you are,” David Garrett’s voice said, low and angry, “you have just created more problems than you could possibly—”
He stopped. The bright disc of the flashlight moved in closer.
Then Garrett spoke again.
“Are you seriously wearing blackface?” he asked.
I decided to fight fire with fire. “Are you seriously pointing a gun at me?”
He lowered the flashlight.
“I’m not pointing it,” he said. “I’m just holding it. I found it on the ground over there.”
I could see it now, in his left hand, pointing at the ground. But I had heard him cock it, so I knew he wasn’t “just” holding it. Or at least he didn’t think he was. If Ernest hadn’t lied to me, there weren’t any live rounds.
Garrett’s face became clearer as my eyes adjusted, and I could see that he was peering at me with a puzzled frown.
“Do I know you?” he asked.
I’d only seen Garrett at a distance at school, and I doubted that he’d noticed me at all. There was a chance he’d seen me in some of Elizabeth’s photos, but those were all more than six years old. So maybe aging, plus the full-face sports black and bad light, would keep him from recognizing me.
When I answered him this time, I used the same Churchill/Batman voice I’d used with Ernest.
“No,” I said. “But I’m on your side.”
His frown deepened. “What the hell side is that?”
“The side that gets your brass back and keeps everyone out of jail. Without getting anyone shot.”
“What’s any of that to you?” he asked.
“Let’s assume I’m a concerned parent.”
“One who runs around in the dark wearing blackface?”
“All right,” I said. “A concerned parent with a hobby.”
Garrett shook his head. “I get sent out here by a hick with a giant handgun, and I find a lurker dressed like a ninja. While I’m doing that, one of my students drives off in a stolen minivan to keep the hick from taking our tuba. My estranged brother has become a black-market sousaphone smuggler to get back at me for a crappy adolescence. My girlfriend doesn’t want her students in trouble with the law, so we’re making deals with the gang who couldn’t shoot straight instead of calling the sheriff. And now I have to go back and report that I’ve found a concerned parent in blackface, but that I still don’t have the money the hick is demanding for his time and trouble.” He sighed. “I moved to a rural school district because I wanted a simpler life. Jesus.”
“Where’d you teach before?” I asked.
“Chicago. Twelve years. Just came here two years ago.”
The universe was full of coincidences. “Never been to Chicago,” I lied. “But I hear it’s nice. Low sousaphone-theft rate.” I held up my hands. “I’m going to reach into my back pocket now. Don’t get excited.”
Garrett hefted the .357, but didn’t aim it at me. That was nice of him.
I pulled the stack of fourteen one-hundred-dollar bills from my back pocket. I unfolded it, took four bills off the top, and put them back in my pocket. Then I extended the other ten toward Garrett.
“If you give this to the gentleman on the porch,” I said, “he’ll go away. Although you might have to give him a ride. The rest of it—getting back your instruments, punishing larcenous students, resolving sibling rivalries, and all that horseshit—that’s your problem.”
Garrett stared at the cash. “You playing Robin Hood or something? How dirty’s this money, anyway?”
It annoyed me that he wouldn’t just shut up and take the dough. “It’s as clean as any you’re going to get. And this offer expires in about five seconds, bubba.”
He took it. “Okay. Thanks, I guess.”
I knew Elizabeth and the kids would be all right now. So I turned and started for the driveway.
“Hey!” Garrett said. “Hold it. Whoever you are, I think you’d better stay.”
I paused, glanced back, and saw that he had raised the .357.
I gave him a big smile, and I hoped the moonlight was strong enough for him to see my teeth.
“In the first place,” I said, “that pistol’s got nothing in it but brass. In the second place, you’re going to have to rescue the deputy sheriff I handcuffed in that Chrysler. Oh, and you’re going to want to blame everything that’s happened on the mysterious stranger who cuffed him. Maybe you can spread a little blame onto the boys who stole the instruments in the first place, if you’re careful about it. But if you tell the deputy about the hick, the hick will see to it that your brother and all the kids go to jail with him. I know the guy, so you can trust me on that. Got it?”
Garrett lowered the .357. “Got it.” He looked down at the pistol. “I thought this thing felt a little light. But I don’t know much about guns. I’m a schoolteacher. And a musician.”
“So at least you’re rich.” I pointed at the crooked house. “Go pay the man and get him out of here. Then look after the deputy.”
“I can handle them,” Garrett said. “It’s my damn brother who’s going to be a problem. We had the same mother, but she never could make us get along.”
I shrugged. “People tend to be less trouble when they get what they want. I overheard some of your conversation, and I gather he wants something called banda. So give him banda.” I turned away again. “But no fiberglass.”
Then I jogged across the driveway into the woods where I’d started the evening. This time, Garrett didn’t say anything to stop me, and it was a good thing. I’d had a stupid, altruistic impulse, and now I was pissed off about it.
I didn’t like the feeling. So I tried to convince myself that the whole mess had been worth the four hundred dollars I was walking away with.
But instead, I only managed to convince myself that being a nice guy is a big pain in the ass.
14. Old Friends in Need
I wasn’t in a hurry, and I took my time getting through the woods. After about fifteen minutes, I emerged onto the side road where I had parked my Toyota. It was hidden in a shallow ditch under the low canopy of a huge live oak, almost invisible. So at least I had done one thing right tonight.
“Hold up there, friend.”
The voice was behind me, and I recognized it.
I turned with my hands held out to my sides. Bobby Tone stood at the edge of the road. The barrel of the Judge gleamed even in the weak moonlight.
“I sure am glad I caught up with you,” Bobby said. “See, now that I’ve been paid, I need a ride. I didn’t want to bother the others on account of there turned out to be a deputy sheriff on the premises. So I thought it best to depart immediately.”
“I see,” I said. “And you knew I was here because—?”
“Oh, that band-teacher fellow mentioned you. And sure enough, here you are.” Bobby Tone took a step closer and peered at me. “My goodness, is that little Matty Marx? I ain’t seen you since your daddy and me moved our last load of East Texas Canna-Bliss. That’s been a few years.” He made a “tsk-tsk” sound. “I was sorry to hear he passed, by the way. I was a guest of the state at the time, or I would’ve gone to the funeral. Lord rest him, though, and your mama, too.”
I lowered my hands. “Thank you, Bobby.”
“And while we’re on the topic,” he said, “I want to say I was also sorry to hear about your baby girl. Terrible thing, that sudden infant syndrome business. No fault of yours or the missus, and nobody thinks it was. But it seems the loss took a toll on your marriage, and I was sorry to hear about that as well. I for one happen to approve of interracial unions.”
I looked at Bobby Tone’s eyes. I didn’t th
ink I saw any compassion there. But I wanted to believe there was.
“I appreciate the condolences,” I said. “But you don’t mind my saying so, you could probably lower that big-ass hand cannon now.”
He took another step closer. “Well, if it’s all the same to you,” he said. “I’ll wait ’til you drop me off in town.”
Which was what I’d figured. “Let’s go,” I said.
As I started the Toyota’s engine and the lights came on, Bobby Tone waggled the barrel of the Judge at me.
“Son, I thought I was imagining things,” he said, “but you’ve got your face done up in black, haven’t you?”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” I said.
Bobby cleared his throat. “Well, it’s highly inappropriate, I’ll have you know. And since we’ll have a little time here as we drive, I’ll explain why. Then, once we’ve reached our destination, I’ll require a good-faith demonstration that you’ve received and accepted my message of understanding and tolerance.”
I looked at him. “How much?” I asked.
“Depends on how much you got,” Bobby Tone said. He faced forward and tapped the Judge on the Toyota’s windshield. “Come on now, son. I parked my new truck behind the propane dealership. I can’t wait for you to see it. It’s a big old silver Dodge Ram, and I’m just tickled to death with it.”
I pulled the Toyota onto the dirt road and began my drive back to empty pockets.
15. It’s the Music, Not the Instrument
Elizabeth didn’t call me to school for the rest of the week. But I went to the spring concert Friday evening even though it was three bucks to get in. I was curious to see how the sousaphone gangsters were doing.
I don’t know what I expected. Marisa, Kaylee, and Jared were in their places along with the rest of the band, and they played well. As far as I could tell. The Kingman High gymnasium had terrible acoustics, especially from my perch at the top of the bleachers. But David Garrett seemed pleased with his players, and so did the crowd of parents and grandparents. Many bows were taken, and there was even an encore: “Stars and Stripes Forever.”
I had the strong sense that it was a setup.
Marisa’s tuba solo was amazing, though. Even in the echoey gym. I don’t know how she made each whale-fart note sound better in there than it had in the band room. But she did.
When the encore was over and Garrett and the band had received their applause, Elizabeth stepped out from her seat in the front row and faced the crowd.
“Once more for the Cougar Band!” she cried, and everyone applauded and whooped again. “Now, for those of you who can stick around, the annual bake sale and barbecue dinner will take place in the faculty parking lot, just through the rear doors. And I’m told that some members of the band will have a surprise for us.”
I stayed where I was as the band packed up and everyone else filtered down from the bleachers. Almost all of them went out the back, so apparently the bake sale really was a big deal. But I wasn’t planning to stay. I was just waiting for everyone to clear out of my way so I could climb down and head for the front doors.
Then I noticed that the band kids were placing their packed-up instruments next to the folded bleachers on the far side of the gym. And standing next to the growing pile of instruments were Donny, Tyler, and Deputy Beeswax.
This, I had to check out.
As the last of the band kids dropped off their cases, I came down and crossed the gym. Ernest’s head moved ever so slightly in my direction.
“Attention, gentlemen,” Ernest said as I approached. The boys pressed their backs against the folded bleachers and stared at a point somewhere on the distant ceiling.
“Deputy,” I said, extending my hand as I came near. “Haven’t seen you since Monday morning, so I thought I’d say hello.”
Once again, Ernest did not acknowledge my hand. “Are you someone I should remember?”
I gave up on the handshake. “Probably not. I’m Matthew Marx. Both our names end in ‘x,’ which makes us alphabet buddies.”
Ernest tilted his head downward to give me a baleful stare over the top of his sunglasses. “No such thing,” he said. “Now, is there something I can help you with? I have a chore to attend to.”
“I can see that,” I said. “Did these boys volunteer to help the band with their equipment?”
Ernest nodded. “Indeed they did. And then they’re going to do anything else I ask them to do for the foreseeable future, including shine my shoes and execute a few automotive repairs. They have volunteered to perform these and other tasks to serve as shining examples to all young men in the Kingman community who wish to continue to breathe free and have a snowball’s chance of playing football next season. Isn’t that right, gentlemen?”
“Sir,” Donny and Tyler said in unison. “Yes, sir.”
I couldn’t help grinning. And I wished I had heard the conversation after Garrett had freed Ernest from the handcuffs. At some point, though, Donny and Tyler had been presented with a choice of penance or arrest. I wasn’t sure they were going to conclude they’d made the right choice.
“Something funny, Mr. Marx?” Ernest asked.
I shook my head. “No, sir. I just wanted to say howdy.”
“I see.” Ernest pushed up his glasses. “Well, you probably don’t want to say anything further. You’re starting to sound familiar.”
Once again, I gave him a salute. Then I turned away and started for the front doors.
But I saw Elizabeth and Garrett standing at one of the back doors. And Elizabeth was gesturing for me to come over.
I didn’t see any way out of it. So I went.
“I don’t think the two of you have officially met,” Elizabeth said. She was speaking rapidly, the way she did on those rare occasions when she was feeling nervous. “Matthew Marx, this is David Garrett. David, Matt and I used to be married.”
Garrett and I shook hands. “I used to be married, too,” he said.
“But not to Elizabeth.”
“I wasn’t that lucky.”
I looked at Elizabeth. “How’s the banter so far?”
She looked upward as if praying for strength. Then she said, “Okay, that’s out of the way. And now I need a piece of cake. David?”
“You go on,” he said. “I’d like to have a quick private word with Mr. Marx.”
Elizabeth’s eyes widened. “Oh, that’s such a bad idea.”
“I promise to play nice,” Garrett said.
I gave him my best this-smile-really-means-up-yours smile. “I will if he will.”
Elizabeth raised her hands in surrender. “There’s a deputy sheriff right over there. Just sayin’.” She went outside.
“Okay,” Garrett said then. “Even without the blackface, I recognize you.”
“I figured.”
“And I can only assume the reason you were out there was because you were stalking Elizabeth and me. You followed us there.”
It hadn’t occurred to me that Garrett would jump to that conclusion. I even opened my mouth to tell him he was wrong—and then realized I might as well let him think that.
“It was stupid,” I said. “And it’ll never happen again.”
“Better not,” Garrett said. “I’m going to let it go this time because you helped me out. But I’m not paying back the thousand bucks, mainly because I can’t. For one thing, I’ve got my brother living with me now. People seem to think I’m rich, but I’m just the trustee for my mom’s estate. What I have of my own is schoolteacher money, which means I for damn sure don’t have an extra thousand. And I’m sorry about that.”
“Don’t be,” I said. “It was my choice.” And it was your mom’s money.
Garrett nodded. “All right. I won’t say anything to Elizabeth about your being there the other night. And you and I are starting from scratch.” He held out his hand again.
We shook hands again for the briefest of moments, both hating it. Then he pushed open the door and gestured ou
tside. “You joining the party?”
I was about to decline. Then I looked at the crowd and the tables of food in the small rear parking lot. And I saw Bobby Anthony at the cookie table. He was wearing a “Guns & Ammo” gimme cap and an “I Heart Rodeo” T-shirt under a washed-out denim jacket.
So I nodded to Garrett and stepped outside. I glanced back long enough to see him join Elizabeth at a table full of cakes.
I followed Bobby Tone to the edge of the crowd. He saw me coming and stopped under a light pole, leaning against it and pulling the plastic wrap from a paper plate of oatmeal cookies. He took a bite of one as I came near.
“You know,” he said, “most folks zero in on the chocolate-chip ones. But I say there ain’t nothin’ like a good oatmeal cookie. It’s all wholesome and brown-sugary, you know?” He held the plate out toward me. “Go on, Matty. It’s on me.”
I took one and had a taste. “It’s good,” I said. “Not four hundred dollars good. But not bad.”
Bobby gave me his snaggle-toothed grin. “Now, if I thought for a second that you’d earned that four hundred dollars through honest work, I might feel bad. But I know who raised you. I personally don’t believe in hell, though, so I think he’s enjoying an oatmeal cookie and a reefer at the right hand of my Lord. Even as we speak.”
“That’s a special heaven you have there, Bobby.” I glanced around. “A special earth, too, where you can walk among people you’ve messed with and know they won’t touch you.”
He nodded and polished off his cookie. “My Lord is merciful,” he said, pointing skyward. “That’s why I know your little girl is up there, too. So remember, Matty. When something precious is stolen from you, you can’t steal it back. Not from anyone in heaven or on earth. Don’t even try.”
I turned to head back toward the food tables. “I’ll see you around, Bobby,” I said.
“Not if I see you first, Matty.”
There was a commotion across the lot at the cafeteria loading dock, and as I crossed in that direction, David Garrett’s brother Charlie came out onto the dock dressed as he had been dressed at the crooked house. He was followed by a dozen band kids with instruments, with every kid dressed just like him. I saw Kaylee with her trumpet, Jared with his clarinet … and Marisa carrying a white-fiberglass sousaphone with five ragged holes in the bell.
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