Little Crew of Butchers

by Francine Pascal

  Well, not from Lucy. But everyone knows she doesn’t have a sense of humor.

  Finally, Larry himself makes Luke an ordinary peanut butter sandwich. But before he closes it, he sucks up the snot from his nose and spits in it. All the boys fall down laughing.

  Then Larry compiles a list of things they need. Rope, he tells Charley. Lucy keeps playing dumb about her jump rope, but Charley finds another piece of rope in the garage. Then Larry tells them to get some long poles. They settle on some extension curtain rods from the basement. While they’re down there, Larry takes a wrench from Mr. Adler’s toolbox and a can of white paint. Benny helps himself to the plastic cover from the barbecue, but Charley makes him put it back.

  That’s when Larry picks it up. He looks at Charley, who doesn’t object, rolls it up, and hands it back to Benny.

  “We gotta go,” Charley says, his worrying in full bloom. “My parents are gonna be home any minute. Right, Luce?”

  Lucy stands silently at the door, a small cushion tucked under her arm. She nods her head in agreement.

  “What’s that for?” Dennis asks, pointing to the cushion.

  “It’s mine,” she answers.

  It isn’t ever worth messing with Lucy, so Dennis just mumbles, “Butthead,” and looks at Larry.

  “Let’s go,” Larry says.

  “You go,” Charley tells him, “I wanna lock up.”

  Larry walks out, the twins following. Charley frantically tries to clean up the remains of the lunch party.

  Lucy waits for him.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Luke has never been as happy to see anybody in his whole life as he is to see those five children. He’s a little disappointed that they haven’t brought any adults but relieved and delighted that they came back.

  Though the children keep their distance, he can see that they have bags of supplies. He guesses they’ve brought stuff to help lift the wood and cement.

  And water, he prays.

  Whatever problems he’s had with them, he has to keep remembering that they’re only children. Even if this isn’t the best way, they’re still trying to help. He can empathize; this has all the earmarks of an exciting adventure, and they probably want to play at being heroes.

  He’ll let them give it a try; if they can’t move the cement, he’ll send them for help.

  “Hey kids, am I happy to see you. You didn’t happen to bring any water, did you? I’m dying of thirst.”

  They didn’t, but Benny remembers the gallon jug in the weeds. “Yeah, we found some outside,” he says. “Should I get it, Lar?”

  “Sure, get it.”

  Luke smiles. “Thanks, guys. My mouth feels like the inside of a motorman’s boot.” It’s an old expression he’s heard all his life. Personally, he never understood why a motorman’s boots would be especially dry, but it sounds friendly and he wants to put the children at ease, show them there’re no hard feelings.

  They’re good kids. He can see that the little girl has actually brought a cushion for his head.

  “We brought you lunch,” Dennis says.

  “Great.”

  “A peanut butter sandwich,” Larry says. “You like peanut butter?”

  “Love it.”

  With the exception of Lucy, they all start laughing. In the spirit of camaraderie, Luke laughs too.

  Benny comes back with the water, and then they have to figure out how to get it to Luke without getting too close. They’re very wary of him since he grabbed Charley.

  It’s decided that Larry will push the jug over to Luke with the curtain rod, but the gallon jug is too heavy, and Larry can’t keep it straight. After a few attempts, they manage to move it close enough to Luke’s left hand for him to grab it. Now the problem is how he can get it to his mouth without spilling too much. It’s almost full and very heavy.

  The children watch as Luke uncaps the top, puts the cap on his chest, picks up the jug, raises his head as high as he can, and brings the water to his lips.

  It pours out over his face, but he’d expected to lose at least a quarter because of the bad angle. As long as he’s able to get enough liquid to quiet his raging thirst, it’s okay.

  It’s a little annoying to have the children laughing at his clumsiness, but what the fuck, they did bring him the water.

  “Hey, mister,” Larry says, trying to hide a grin that keeps escaping at the sides of his mouth, “you ready for your lunch?”

  “Sure, pass it over.”

  Again, the children use the rods to push the sandwich until Luke can reach it. Hungry as he is, the last thing he wants is peanut butter. But they’re all waiting with such expectation that he can’t disappoint them.

  He unwraps the sandwich and takes out half. They watch him as if they’ve never seen anyone eat before. He’ll give them their money’s worth.

  He takes a bite.

  “Great! Thanks.”

  With the usual exception of Lucy, the four boys double over in glee, snorting with laughter, punching each other on the shoulders, behaving like little assholes.

  Obviously Luke looked peculiar trying to reach the sandwich to his mouth. But not that funny.

  He could learn to hate these children very easily. Okay, not Lucy, but the other four. Luke can remember being ten or eleven, but even then, he was never an asshole like these kids. He liked to think he had more backbone.

  Strangely, he thinks he’d have been most like the little girl.

  “Honey,” he says gently to Lucy. “Did you bring that cushion for my head?”

  She looks defiantly at Larry and her brother, and then nods.

  “Could you just put it under my head? My neck is breaking from trying to hold it up.”

  Lucy moves toward Luke, but Charley pulls her back. “Lu, are you nuts? You get close enough and he’s gonna grab you!”

  “No,” Luke says, “I swear I won’t. I’m sorry, Charley, I just wanted you to listen to me. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  “Fuck you, you didn’t scare me.”

  “I meant I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

  “Fuck you, you didn’t hurt me either.”

  “Okay, whatever. I can’t lie here like this. Just shove the cushion over with the stick, all right?”

  “Me, me,” Dennis says, “I wanna do it.” He takes the cushion from Lucy and starts pushing it toward Luke.

  Then away from Luke.

  “Hey, it don’t like him. Look at that, it don’t wanna go.”

  Now Benny takes his rod and shoves the cushion in the other direction, toward Luke. “Yes, it does. Hey, looka that!”

  Larry gets into the act, pushing the cushion toward Benny. “It likes you, Benny.”

  “Hey, how about me?” Charley reaches out with his pole and pulls the cushion in. “It likes me.”

  Luke can do nothing but watch.

  In an instant it becomes a free-for-all, rods and poles flying and banging, pounding on the cushion. Finally, Larry gets his pole under the cushion and sends it sailing through the air. It lands at Lucy’s feet. Lucy scoops it up, runs over to Luke, and stuffs it under his head, then runs back to the sidelines where Larry grabs her arm hard, throwing her off balance.

  “Who told you to do that?”

  “She didn’t mean anything,” Charley answers. “She’s always doing things like that. Sometimes she doesn’t hear so good, right?”

  Lucy doesn’t even look at her brother.

  “See,” he says, “she didn’t hear me.”

  “Next time she does something like that, I’m gonna fuckin’ make her hear me.”

  Lucy pulls on Charley’s sleeve. “I have to pee.”

  “So go outside, near the weeds.”

  “No. I wanna go home.”

  “Yeah,” Larry says. “Take the pain in the ass hom
e.”

  “No, wait,” says Luke. “We need Charley to help get me out.”

  “How do ya know we’re gonna get you out?” Larry says.

  Luke turns his head to look at Larry. Patience, he tells himself, stay adult. He pulls up a smile as if catching the joke. “Yeah right. Funny.”

  “I wanna go home now.”

  “Let’s go, butthead.” Charley walks toward the entrance to the sewer. Lucy is already out. “See ya.”

  And he’s gone.

  “What do ya wanna do, Larry?” Dennis asks.

  Larry pays no attention. “You don’t sound American,” he says to Luke.

  “I’m Australian. Like Mel Gibson.”

  “You know him?”

  Suddenly, Luke feels he has a shot at making contact with Larry, but he has to play it carefully. “Not well. He’s related to my uncle.”

  “No shit!” All three boys are impressed.

  “Only by marriage.” Even a distant relationship with a movie star would give Luke some standing. He can’t be a homeless person if he’s related to Mel Gibson. “I stayed with him in LA.”

  “Yeah, so what’s his telephone number?” Larry is relentless and not stupid.

  “I can’t do that to him. You know stars don’t give out their private numbers.”

  “Bullshit. You don’t even know him.”

  “How about this? He was born in 1953 in Melbourne, Australia. Mother’s maiden name Nora Henley; father Sam Gibson. His ex-wife is the former Sara Leight, and her father is my mother’s uncle, David Leight. That good enough?”

  “Wow!” says Benny. “He really knows him.”

  “Unless he’s making it all up.”

  “Tell ya what,” says Luke, stronger now. “Why don’t you just look it up?”

  “Where?”

  Luke can see that Larry is going to challenge him on everything. He has to show conviction. Bullies like Larry are always on the lookout for weakness. You show weakness, he sinks his teeth in.

  “Go home and google him,” Luke says with just enough annoyance in his voice to show confidence.

  “Okay,” says Larry, “let’s go home.”

  “Wait a minute!” Luke snaps. “How about getting me outta here first?”

  “How about we check and see if you’re a liar? If you are, then we’ll know you’re probably also a spy.”

  “Then we’ll call the police,” Dennis says.

  “Great,” says Luke. “Nothing I’d like better than for you to call the police. Surprised?” he says to Dennis. He has no trouble handling Dennis, his brother—even Charley. It’s Larry. And now Larry’s smiling.

  “Let’s test him,” Larry says.

  “Ask me any question you want.”

  “We’re not gonna test you that way. I got another way. C’mon, guys.”

  “Where are you going? Come back. You gotta stop this fooling around and get me out of here!”

  “Says who?” Larry keeps on walking.

  Luke struggles to control his fury, but his teeth bare and an animal growl escapes his lips. If he could get his hands on that kid, he’d rip him apart. He’s shocked to feel such rage and hate for a child, but underneath this ugly passion he’s beginning to feel something even more frightening: a terrible emptiness, a total lack of power. How could this have happened? He’s an adult, a man of substance …

  But of course he isn’t a man of substance. If he had been, no one, certainly not these children, could have disrespected him in such a manner.

  How do they know I’m not? he asks himself. What do they see? Before he can answer, Larry and the twins come back. Benny and Dennis are each holding one side of a large bucket filled with water, probably lifted from the construction site. Luke can’t help but think what a fuckin’ lot of stupid giggling kids do. They can barely stand up straight for all their swallowed laughter, and each time they double over more water spills out of the bucket.

  “Put it on this side,” Larry says, pointing to a spot next to his feet. “Okay, now, Loki, you answer some questions and if you’re right, we pull off some of the stuff.”

  “And if he’s not?” Benny wants to know.

  “Then we do the sandballs. You ready, Loki?”

  “My name is Luke.”

  “Okay, Loki, first question. What is my mom’s sister’s name?”

  All three, even Larry, collapse in gales of laughter. Luke makes no answer.

  Larry counts, one one thousand, two one thousand, three one thousand, until he gets to ten.

  Luke remains silent. There is a certain dignity to silence. It’s what a man of substance would do.

  “Okay, let ’er go!” Larry says, and sends a gritty ball of sand and water right at Luke’s exposed arm. It hits his forearm, splattering him with wet sand.

  Now Dennis asks his question. “What is my aunt Sarah’s name?”

  “Asshole!” Larry says.

  “What?”

  “You already said.”

  “I didn’t.”

  “Tell him, Benny.”

  And he tells him and Dennis says he meant his other aunt and that starts an argument between the brothers and all the while Luke is silent.

  “Fuck the game,” says Larry. “Let’s just aim and you gotta say first where and then if you hit where you said you get a point. First one with five points wins.”

  The children dip sand into the bucket and line the balls up at their feet. When they’ve made ten each, they call out where they’re aiming and start throwing.

  Luke the target has nothing to do with Luke the human being.

  Luke flinches when the balls hit his face but otherwise shows no reaction. What is there about him that allows these children to take such liberties? He isn’t deformed, disfigured, or mentally disadvantaged, the kind of person children traditionally pick on … But whatever his vulnerability, they sense it. If he can’t count on the normal respect children have for their elders, he has to find something else.

  Another ball hits his forehead and the sand crumbles in his eyes. Rather than wipe it with his free hand, he keeps his eyes shut and doesn’t move.

  If the kids notice his lack of response, they give no indication. In fact, if anything, the game becomes more intense. Benny is foolish enough to be beating Larry. Luke knows Larry will end the game before Benny can win. And indeed, just as Benny is about to throw for his fifth hit, Larry dumps the bucket of water over his head.

  “Hey! Whaddya doin’?” Benny says, jumping back.

  “Fuckin’ cheater!” Larry leaps at Benny, knocking him down, pummeling him with his fists. Dennis’s natural instinct to help his brother pulls at him hard, but still he can only stand in terror as Larry bloodies the smaller boy, pounding his head against the rocky sand, screaming over and over, “Fuckin’ moron! Fuckin’ cheater!”

  “Stop him! For Christ’s sake, stop him!” Luke shouts to Dennis. “Make him stop!”

  But Dennis can’t move.

  Luke’s alarm brings an authority to his voice that erupts from his very gut. “Larry, you’re gonna kill him! Stop!”

  Like a wounded animal, Dennis stands against the wall howling in agony. The agony of cowardice.

  Luke grabs fistfuls of sand with his free hand and tries to throw it at Larry, but it lands impotently at his feet.

  And then, from nowhere but pure conjecture, from a notion not entirely empty of experience, Luke shouts, “You fuckin’ moron! You fuckin’ moron! Stop that!”

  And Larry stops. In midpunch, he stops dead and turns to Luke, fear leaping in his eyes.

  “Fuckin’ moron.” Luke bites out the magic words, but lower and more menacing now.

  Wordlessly, Larry gets up and walks out of the sewer. Dennis, in tears, goes to help his brother.

  “He’s crazy, your friend. You
know that, don’t you?” Luke says.

  Dennis doesn’t answer. He helps Benny up and they make their way out of the sewer like wounded soldiers after a battle, leaning on one another. One bowed by pain, the other by shame.

  “You better tell your parents what happened or he’s gonna kill you one day,” Luke shouts at their backs. “He’s a lunatic! If anything happens to me, the police are going to come after you. Please, tell your parents! Please—please …”

  But they’re so deep in their own tragedy that they don’t even turn to look at Luke.

  And then they’re gone. Luke is alone again. Tears begin to fill his eyes and run down the sides of his cheeks. He doesn’t try to stop them. He tries to think of better days, but he can’t—not family, not friends. Surely not his best friend, not Hank.

  So he does the only thing he seems to be able to do. He weeps.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Larry’s house, like much of Shorelane, is 1930s clapboard with a wooden front porch. Somewhere along the line someone talked the whole street out of its charm and into aluminum siding. Though less kindly looked after than many others, the O’Neill house is neat enough, lacking only the extra touch of flowers and interest.

  It’s less than ten minutes from the beach, but Larry drags his feet, taking almost twenty minutes to get home. Despite his stalling, his fat cheeks are still blotchy red, his ears crimson. Dirt stains his clothes, and his T-shirt is ripped where Benny tried to fight him off.

  The front door is open, but Larry cuts around to the back door. He doesn’t notice his father, crouched, working on an air conditioner that extends from a ground floor window.

  But his dad sees him. Mr. O’Neill stands, and Larry immediately stops and backtracks. But not fast enough.

  “Look at you, you fuckin’ moron,” Mr. O’Neill says, cuffing the boy upside his head. “What the hell have you been doing?”

  Turning his head to shout in the open window, he calls to his wife in the same angry tones, “What the hell has he been doing? Goddamn it, Carol, can’t you fuckin’ keep your son clean?”

  Carol never answers.