Black Dogs Page 10

  “Get your ass out of here!” he shouted as his steel-toed boots thundered down the metal steps.

  A long arm in a black leather jacket shot up behind him and swung down. The bottle exploded over the carny's head. He bent at the waist and covered his head with his hands.

  Then all hell broke loose.

  Carnival workers appeared from everywhere. They leapt over counters and charged out of trailers. Every hand held a weapon. Baseball bats. Mop handles. Screwdrivers. The crowd swirled as carnies and Holy Ghosts squared off. As hard as the carnies beat them, the Holy Ghosts kept getting back up.

  Alex only needed one chance. He latched on to two fistfuls of hair hanging in the biker's pockmarked face, pulled down and shot his knee up. The biker's nose crunched. Alex swung him by the hair, twisting him around until Keith kicked the biker's legs out, knocking him to his knees. The skinny black kid who operated the Tilt-a-Whirl stepped forward and swung a tennis racket like he was returning a rocket of a volley. The strings raked across the biker's face and the wooden frame shattered over his skull.

  A Holy Ghost stomped a thick boot into the face of a limp body on the ground. A carny split a broom handle over his head but the biker barely flinched. He spun, grabbed the carny by the hair and punched him in the throat, sending him gasping to the ground.

  Backwoods Billy never let go of me. He bulldozed backward, using me as a battering ram to break through the chaos. The first punch slammed into my eye. He jerked my arm toward him as he threw it, doubling the impact. His fist seemed to fill my entire eye socket. A Holy Ghost slipped behind me and bear-hugged me, pinning my arms at my sides. He lifted me off the ground.

  “You're coming with us,” he grunted.

  I kicked out at both of them but without a foot on the ground for leverage, the blows bounced off. I buried my chin into my chest and wagged my head from side to side as fists hammered into the top of my head. One lucky shot slipped low on my forehead, tearing open the skin. Blood poured into my eyes. An uppercut crammed my lower lip into my teeth. I tasted blood.

  The Holy Ghost behind me lifted my body off the ground, turned it sideways and slammed me onto the ground. I should have stayed down but didn't. A foot crashed into my lower back as I tried to stand. My body flattened into the gravel. Kicks and punches landed from everywhere. I didn't even think about getting up. I curled in a ball and covered my head. Hands pried my arms away from my head to make holes for fists to slip through. My mouth filled with gravel and dust.

  “All right! All right!” Backwoods Billy yelled. He stepped forward and waved away the circle of jackals beating on me.

  “Lemme talk to him,” he said.

  Through the eye that wasn't swollen closed I saw Backwoods Billy bend and lift me up by my shirt collar. I stumbled and crashed onto my back. His grip slipped and I scrambled backward up the steps.

  The Ferris wheel worker rose behind him. Blood and broken glass streamed down his head. He fumbled in his pocket then swung a heavy metal wrench high over his head. I had every chance to say something. Every chance to warn Backwoods Billy before the wrench split his skull.

  I didn't say a fucking thing.

  The wrench ricocheted off the back of Backwoods Billy's head. Blood streamed down his face. He howled with pain and flung both arms over his head. The carny pried loose one arm and dragged Backwoods Billy backward into the crowd by his wrist. His motorcycle boots kicked in the dust as he tried to stand. A carny in a white apron leapt forward and cracked a pool cue across Backwoods Billy's ribs.

  “I'll find you motherfucker! I want my fucking safe!” he screamed at me.

  I stumbled forward, dodging swinging fists and sidestepping someone lying facedown in a pool of blood. Alex and Frenchy stood in a clearing on the other side of the swirling fighters. Behind them, a wall of police officers prepared to swarm into the brawl.

  “Where are the girls?”

  “They bailed the second this shit started,” Alex told me.

  “Where's Keith?” I said, scanning the area for him. Alex's head spun around.

  “Shit,” he hissed. “He must have run too.”

  Police radios crackled around us. Suddenly the Baltimore Police raised their batons and streamed into the crowd.

  “Let's go,” Frenchy shouted.

  He lifted a red tent skirt and we scurried underneath. Boxes of toy prizes and giant stuffed bears cluttered the dark tent. We plowed through the tent flaps on the other side and sprinted across the fairgrounds toward my car, lost in the orange lights in the distance.

  FOURTEEN

  PISS.

  “That's okay, honey,” the chubby nurse said to me from the other side of the bathroom door in my hospital room. “You just need to relax. We'll try again later.”

  Frenchy insisted on bringing me to the hospital. The doctor figured the beating left me with a minor concussion, maybe a few cracked ribs. Otherwise I was all right. He made me stay the night and told me if they didn't find any blood in my piss I might be able to go home early. Only I couldn't piss.

  My folks came by a few hours later. I told them I'd been beaten up and robbed for my watch. Not a total lie. Mom rushed into the room and hugged me, which made my vision go blurry. My dad stood at the end of the bed and told me I shouldn't have been downtown anyway. Then he babbled about the hospital's outdated fire alarm system. When I'd heard enough, I told them to leave so I could get some sleep. In the morning the nurse entered my room.

  “You have a visitor.”

  Emily poked her head around the corner.

  “How are ya feeling, champ?”

  “I'm all right, Emily. How are you?”

  She pulled a chair over to the edge of the bed and sat down, crossing her long legs and kicking one sandaled foot back and forth. Her cutoff jeans and white tank top clung to her.

  “How did you know I was here?” I asked.

  “Tina told me.”

  Alex must have told her. Emily sighed loudly.

  “You heard about Keith?” she asked.

  “What about him?”

  “He's in jail.”

  I sat up in bed. A bolt of pain shot through my ribs.

  “What for?”

  “I don't know,” Emily said. “They arrested him and a bunch of those motorcycle nuts.”

  “Shit,” I groaned.

  I pictured Keith in a tiny holding cell, surrounded by Holy Ghosts. I had to get in touch with Alex and find a way to bail Keith out.

  “Patrick!” Emily shouted. “Are you listening to me?”

  “Yeah. Sorry. I'm listening.”

  “So?”

  “So what?”

  “So what happened? What was all that about?”

  “Just a misunderstanding,” I lied. “Something to do with Alex's uncle Danny.”

  She didn't believe me but let it go.

  “When are you getting out of here?” she asked.

  “As soon as he gives me a pee-pee sample,” the nurse said, walking into the room holding up a clear plastic cup. I sunk into the bed. Emily giggled.

  “Aww. I'll let you … uh … take care of things. But we should hang out when you get out of here. I'm worried about you.”

  When she was gone I padded barefoot into the bathroom.

  “Maybe that visit from your girlfriend relaxed you,” the nurse said from outside the bathroom door. I stood in front of the toilet with my hospital gown open and thought about getting out of there, settling things with Backwoods Billy and spending time with Emily.

  The nurse was right. I pissed long and hard until I was nearly out of breath.

  “You have another visitor, honey. I'll come back.”

  I snapped the lid on the cup of piss. When I opened the door a man in a suit stood in the middle of the room. He looked at me and my cup of piss.

  “Hey, Patrick. It's Patrick, right? How are you feeling?”

  “I'm okay.”

  I left the piss on the counter and climbed back into bed.

 
; “You a doctor or something?” I asked.

  “You don't know who I am?”

  He didn't give me a chance to answer.

  “Of course you don't. You're just a fucking teenager,” he said, talking to himself more than me. “I'm Simon Cooper. District Attorney.”

  I stiffened in bed. He started to shake my hand but his eyes caught the cup of piss on the counter. He pulled his hand back.

  “You know what a district attorney is?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Really?” He smiled. “Did I put one of your friends in jail or something? Maybe your father? You don't hold some grudge against me, do you? Not gonna try to stab me?”

  “Depends. What do you want?”

  He laughed and scratched his head. His messy hair stuck up in dark tufts above glasses that looked too tight for his box-shaped head. The gray flecks at his temples matched his wrinkled shirt.

  “So, what happened last night down at the harbor?”

  “Some guys tried to rob me. No big deal.”

  “Really? Did the police catch them?”

  “Nah. Could have been anyone.”

  “Wasn't any of the Holy Ghosts, was it?” he smirked.

  I shrugged. He paced the room and stared at the floor.

  “So some guys beat you up and tried to rob you right in the middle of the carnival? Worked you over pretty bad, right? I mean, here you are.”

  He chuckled. I didn't like where this was going.

  “What do you want?”

  “Listen,” he said. “I'm not after you. Not at all. It's just that a cop friend working the carnival last night thought maybe he overheard you say something to my friend, our friend Backwoods Billy. Something that could really help me out and then maybe help you out in the future too.”

  He stood at the foot of the bed waiting for me to say something. I didn't say anything.

  “Something about a safe, maybe? Maybe I'm wrong. Am I wrong? Is that not what you said?”

  I didn't say a word. His fingers tapped nervously on the edge of the bed.

  “I understand, Patrick. I really do. But see, there's a chance, just a small chance, really, that there's something in that safe that is, uh, very valuable to me. More valuable than you might even realize. Do you know what I'm talking about?”

  I didn't. We hadn't opened the safe. Now I wanted to know what was in there.

  “Can I smoke in here?” he asked, holding a cigarette in his fingers. He leaned to look out the door into the hallway. “No. No. I probably can't.”

  His fidgeting grew worse and his fingers fumbled around in his pants pockets. He started to sweat.

  “Am I under arrest or something?” I said.

  “No! No.” He stuck out his arms and gave me a face like I had to be kidding. Like we were old friends and how dare I suggest such a thing. “Not at all. Nothing like that. I'm just trying to track something down and thought maybe you had it.”

  “What is it?”

  “Well, see,” he smiled, “I can't really say too much. Nothing against you. It's just something between me and Billy that I've been trying to get back from him. This would just make it easier, you know, to get it from you.”

  I nodded.

  “Kind of hard to tell you if I have it or not if I don't know what it is we're talking about.”

  “Just look around,” he said. “I'll leave my card for you. If you come across it, give me a call. No questions asked.”

  He placed his card on the counter next to a water pitcher and some medicine the doctor left me. He lifted a bottle of pills.

  “Are these Percocet? Wow. Ever taken them? These are … wow. You'll have a good time with these.”

  He shook the bottle at me and smiled.

  “He really gave you a lot. Mind if I take a few?”

  Outside in the hallway I heard the nurse talking loudly.

  “Boys. Boys! You can't go in there. Stop right there!”

  Alex and Frenchy charged into the room, doubled over laughing. The front of Alex's T-shirt said, “Delcon Industrial Strength Weed Killer.” He froze when he saw Simon and stared at him suspiciously.

  “Who the fuck is this guy?”

  “Just a friend, gentlemen. He's all yours. I was just leaving,” Cooper said, moving toward the door. He stopped in front of Alex. “Actually, are you guys in the gardening or landscaping business? I noticed your shirt and thought …”

  Alex could sniff out authority and he hated it. He stared at Cooper like he had just asked if Alex ate shit sandwiches.

  “No,” Alex snarled, lighting up a cigarette. “It says ‘weed’ on it. It's funny.”

  “Oh, yes. Of course. Really funny. Okay, guys. Um, take it easy.”

  Alex pointed at Cooper.

  “Seriously, Patrick. Who the fuck is this guy?”

  After Cooper left, I told Alex and Frenchy about how he asked about the safe.

  “So, what's in it?” I wondered out loud.

  “I think there's a ton of cash in there,” Alex said.

  “Has gotta be,” I agreed.

  “Or maybe Backwoods Billy stole something from this Cooper guy and it's in the safe and he hasn't been able to get it back,” Frenchy said.

  “Nah. He's a DA. If he thought Billy stole something from him he'd just have Billy arrested.”

  “Whatever's in that safe, they both want it,” I said. “They both want it really fucking bad.”

  This changed everything. Alex picked up the phone.

  “Hey, Boogie. It's Alex. New plan. You know that safe? Open that fucker up.”

  Alex covered the phone with one hand and looked at me.

  “He says Danny already called and told him to open it. They've almost got it.”

  Frenchy sighed and sat down on the counter, knocking my bottle of pills to the ground. He bent to pick it up.

  “Holy shit! Percocet? Mind if I take a few?”

  FIFTEEN

  RANG THE NEXT DAY. I CRINGED IN PAIN AS I HOBBLED TOWARD THE KITCHEN TO ANSWER IT. MY RIBS STILL HURT. I'D BEEN LET OUT OF THE HOSPITAL EARLIER WITH MY PERCOCET AND A WARNING TO TAKE IT EASY. I KNEW IT WAS ALEX BEFORE I ANSWERED.

  “Boogie called.”

  “He got the safe open?” I asked.

  “Just about. He wants us to come by.”

  “Did he say what was in it? Could he see?”

  “Wouldn't tell me. Just said that he wanted to meet at his shop in an hour.”

  “He wouldn't tell you?”

  “Nope. He kept laughing and told me that we needed to come see for ourselves.”

  He paused.

  “Think there's enough in there to bail Keith out?”

  “Let's hope. Where's the shop?”

  Boogie's shop took up the back room of a tire garage on the east side of town. He stood in front of the open garage door as me and Alex pulled up at the address. His Funkadelic T-shirt hung loosely and he tugged at his blossoming Afro with a black pick. A huge grin spread across his face and he sang loudly as me and Alex walked up: “Spread your tiny wings and fly away, and take the snow back with you where it came from on that day.”

  “What the hell are you singing?” Alex asked.

  Boogie smiled and motioned for us to follow him through the garage. Stacks of tires covered the concrete floor. A muscular black guy pounded on a steel rim at a tool bench. In the back, an air gun pumped loudly. Three soda machines, probably left over from Boogie's business, sat along the wall.

  At a closed office door in the back corner Boogie turned to face me and Alex. He flung open the office door and sang loudly as he ducked through the doorway: “The one I love is forever untrue and if I could you know I'd fly away with you.”

  Me and Alex both laughed. I didn't know what the hell Boogie was singing but he seemed to be in a good mood. I took that as a good sign. Maybe things were going to work out. I limped through the store behind them trying not to fall over anything.

  Johnny Paycheck and a few other guys sat in mismatched c
hairs and played dominoes on an old card table. R&B blasted from a tiny radio. A double-barrel shotgun leaned against the wall and a pistol lay on the counter. Paycheck looked up when he heard Boogie singing.

  “Was that you singing?” Paycheck asked.

  Boogie nodded.

  “You know, that's just fucked up.” Paycheck laughed. “You're one sick motherfucker.”

  Boogie's deep laugh rumbled from his chest.

  A tall gray safe sat in the corner. It was enormous, and for a second I was amazed that Danny and Alex had even been able to carry it. The thick steel looked impenetrable. An older black man with thick glasses and a bald head leaned over the safe. He stared into a small scope stuck in a hole drilled in the door. He slowly turned the combination dial with one hand.

  “Is that the safe?” I asked.

  “You mean you never saw this shit?” Boogie grinned. “They tried to kill you for stealing this and you never even saw it?”

  Everyone in the room laughed. Everyone but me and Alex.

  “Goddamn, son.” Paycheck grinned.

  “Danny really fucked him over, right?” Boogie asked with a smile.

  “Hell yeah,” Paycheck said, grinning.

  “Any idea what's inside?” Alex asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

  “Oh, we got an idea.” Boogie grinned. “We took a look around with the scope.”

  “Just about got it,” the old guy said.

  The dial clicked loudly and the old guy stepped out of the way. Boogie stood in front of the safe. He slammed down on the handle and flung open the heavy door with a magician's flourish.

  “Ta-da!” he yelled.

  Me and Alex both stepped forward. Neither one of us could believe it. The cold steel walls, the wide top shelf, all of it sat empty except for the bottom of the safe, which held two dusty reel-to-reel tapes: Jim Nabors's Galveston and Anne Murray's Snowbird.

  Boogie started to sing. Johnny joined him.

  “So, little snowbird, take me with you when you go to that land of gentle breezes where the peaceful waters flow.”

  They howled with laughter and Johnny pounded on the table with his fist.

  “Jim fucking Nabors.” Paycheck laughed hysterically. “That motherfucker played Gomer Pyle. Why you gonna buy an album by Gomer fucking Pyle?”