Jokers Club (11 page)

Calling it a house was being kind. I had seen sheds in better shape. It was tiny, barely the size of a two-car garage. Weeds grew up around the base of the walls, as if nature were trying to hide the blue paint that was chipped and peeling in spots, like the house had been dipped in corrosive acid. What few windows it had were tiny and could not have let in much sunlight. A rusted furnace pipe stuck up out of the middle of a sagging black-shingled roof.

It was depressing to look at, to think someone actually lived like this. Whatever excitement I had was dampened. I didn’t know about the others, but I wanted to turn back and go home.

“Do you know who lives here?” Oliver asked, looking from one of us to the other. No one knew the answer.

“Carrothead.”

The others were excited and started laughing. I had enjoyed teasing him as much as the rest, but now that I saw what he called his home, my heart wasn’t in it. I wanted to say something but didn’t dare.

We climbed a big pine tree nearby, one whose needles provided ample camouflage. Oliver let the first egg fly. It seemed to sail forever in the air, and then dropped like a rock with an audible splat as it hit the roof. Soon, another followed, then another. We each took aim, but several, including my own, fell short of the intended destination. I didn’t really give it much effort.

When we were just about out of eggs, the front door opened and Carrothead stepped out.

“Hey!” he yelled, looking around but not knowing where we were. He turned back toward the house and noticed a glob of egg running down the clapboards. He stuck his finger in it and brought it close to his face to examine it, then stuck his finger in his mouth to taste it. When he turned back around, an egg slapped him in the side of his head. From our vantage point in the tree, we could see his face flush as his shoulders hunched and his right fist raised in the air.

He spotted us.

As we scrambled down, the last of the eggs were tossed, harmlessly landing at Carrothead’s feet as he shuffled toward us.

I had been higher up in the trees that the others, and as I neared the lower branches, I could see them hit the ground and scatter. When I dropped, I landed hard on my left side. I immediately jumped to my feet, but before I could take a step, two arms wrapped around my body. I could feel warm stinky breath on the back of my neck and cold drops of saliva. The arms tightened, squeezing my chest. My mouth opened, not to scream, but to try and gather air. Nothing could get through the tight clamp on my chest. My eyes searched for the others, for some hope of help, but they were nowhere in sight. I was getting dizzy and thought I was about to pass out.

A voice suddenly yelled out behind us. It was Carrothead’s mother.

The grip on me immediately loosened and air rushed into my lungs. I gathered strength in my legs and sprinted away to join the others waiting by our stashed bikes.

Once I was safe with my friends, my fear was gone, and I joined them in their laughter.

*   *   *

I stood on the boardwalk now and stared at Carrothead’s bewildered face.

“I’m sorry,” I said, remembering all those times. “We never meant any harm.”

He lifted the walkie-talkie to his mouth and whispered something inaudible into it. Who was he talking to? The other side? Was Jason on the other side, telling him things? (
Don’t let him out
.) I heard only static return a reply. I slowly walked away, keeping my eyes on him, but he just stood there, still talking into the walkie-talkie.

As I crossed the boulevard, I looked up at the town hall steeple to check the time. There was a large clock on all four sides of the steeple, but the two that were visible from my angle appeared to be broken. They both had different times, and neither of them could be remotely correct.

I crossed Main Street when I spied the phone booth outside the barber shop. There was a call I wanted – no, needed to make and my cell phone wasn’t getting a signal. I did not want to make it but felt I should.

Nick the barber stood outside his shop, wearing his white smock and holding a pair of scissors. He smiled at me.

“I have a seat available,” he said, gesturing inside.

I looked down and saw two small red dots on his smock.

“No thanks,” I said and stepped into the booth. Across the street, I heard the pinging sound of a chisel on stone coming from Mr. Under’s headstone shop. Could he be carving out Dale’s name already? No, it was too soon. I closed the door, shutting out the noise.

I took out my address book and looked up Dale’s number, thinking about how many times in New York I did the same, but never made the calls. I always put it off, hoping he’d call me first. Now it was too late. Now I dialed the number for the last time, dropping the correct change in as instructed. I counted the rings, really hoping no one would answer. I was about to hang up, even though it only rung a few times.

The ringing stopped.

“Hello?” The familiar voice of his wife came from across the miles. It gave me chills. I couldn’t find my voice. I just stood there holding the receiver in one sweaty hand.

“Hello?” she said again, irritation in her voice. “Is someone there?”

“Hi,” I finally uttered. “It’s Geoff, Thorn.”

“Oh, hi.” She was definitely thrown off guard by this. “Where are you calling from?”

“I’m in Malton. I needed to tell you something.”

“Well, listen. If Dale put you up to this, forget it.”

“No, you don’t understand.” My palms sweated.

“I hope you’re all having fun, getting drunk and whatever the hell else it is you’re doing there.” Her voice was angry.

“Listen, please –”

“I’m kind of busy if you don’t mind –” her voice was cut off and I could hear someone talking to her in the background. It was a man’s voice. She had a man over. Dale was lying dead in a morgue and she had a man with her. I stared at the phone, fuming. I slammed the receiver down. For the first time that day I began to cry, inside that phone booth all alone.

I don’t know why I chose that moment to break down. Things were happening in my life with such turbulence and disorder, it was making me dizzy. Something was wrong in this town. I came back here for some kind of stability, in the dazed state my mind had been in from learning about my tumor, to the town that had always remained a constant. But everything I looked at seemed cockeyed.

I drifted along the streets, wherever my legs took me and they carried me back to the old neighborhood that had been the starting point of everything. I could feel the echoes. I wanted to reach out at the curtain of time and grab hold and pull it back, to run through the streets and woods again in a moment when there was no awareness of evil and dark things that crawl out of the cracks, except for the ones my own imagination generated in that attic room where the Joker lived.

It wasn’t fair that something that happened so long ago should affect the lives of others now.

I walked down Shadow Drive, toward the ancient and decrepit house that was rooted at the end. There was no one else on the street. Why was this neighborhood so quiet? It was as if, now that the Jokers Club was all gone, there was nothing else left.

The green shades were still drawn in all the windows. I wondered if it was possible the Tin Man was still alive. But he couldn’t be; he had been so old then. But nobody seemed to age here. It was as if the whole town was stuck in time, stuck waiting for us to come back. Waiting for the long-delayed justice to be dispensed.

I thought back.

*   *   *

When they found Jason’s body in the old man’s refrigerator, all the parents pointed their fingers at the Tin Man. He was strange, they said. He spooked everybody. He was always chasing the kids out of his yard with that spade shovel of his. He had to be the one. He must have caught Jason in his yard and decided to teach him a lesson.

The whole neighborhood stood on their front steps or porches and watched when Hooper came to arrest Emeric Rust. What evidence they had, who knew. But it was an answer that would satisfy the restless residents.

At the inquiry, I was the first one called to testify before the grand jury. It was hot in the county courthouse that day. They had the wide multi-paneled windows open all the way, but all it let in was hot air from outside. The ceiling fans were going, but they just pushed the searing heat that rose back down upon us. One of the fans had a rhythmic squeak, not loud enough to drown out anyone’s voice, but noticeable enough to stick in my ear like a buzzing fly I couldn’t swat away.

I was so nervous I was nauseous. I just wanted this all to be over. All eyes in the room were on me as I sat on the stand wearing the same suit I wore at the funeral. The only suit I owned. The one I wore to church on Sundays. And here I was about to lie after swearing an oath to tell the truth. But I had sworn another oath:
cross my heart … hope to die.
I don’t know which urge was stronger, the one to cry or the one to vomit.

When they asked me when was the last time I had seen Jason Nightingale, I glanced over at the table where Emeric Rust sat. The whole time in the courtroom I had avoided looking at him. I thought the only way I could go through with it was if I didn’t see his eyes. But now I couldn’t help but look at the pathetic old man as he sat there with his head bowed and staring down at his wrinkled and knobby fingers.

He glanced up and his eyes met mine, freezing me like two animals suddenly crossing paths. I thought about the noise that night that sounded like a shade being rolled up. Had those eyes looked out the window and seen Woody and me in the darkness?

If they did, they showed no sign of it.

I told the county prosecutor that the last time I saw Jason Nightingale, he was running down Shadow Drive.

Oliver and Lonny were the only others of the club they called forth. Luckily they didn’t call Martin or Woody, because I think they would have fallen apart on the stand. But the three of us stuck to the story that we were playing the game and then went home afterward without seeing Jason. They didn’t grill us too hard, didn’t think there was a reason to I guess. We were just kids.

Emeric Rust remained silent throughout the entire inquiry. He would not utter one word in his own defense. Everyone said it proved he was crazy.

But the evidence, or rather, lack of evidence, convinced the grand jury there was no reason to indict him. They let him go free, deciding it was most likely Jason accidently crawled into the refrigerator to hide during the game and couldn’t get out. His parents were upset and less than a year later moved out of town.

I remembered when Emeric Rust left the courthouse that day. I was standing on the sidewalk. My parents and some of the others were standing in a group off to one side, conversing quietly. Outside there was no relief from the smothering heat. With the proceedings over, I had undone my tie and it hung loosely around my neck. I saw Jason’s family driving away, but averted watching them, looking down at the worn leather on the tip of my shoes as I tapped the edge of the stone wall with my right foot. I didn’t want to face them, but they were going back to the same neighborhood I was. How could I help but meet them sometime? Our paths were bound to intersect.

Hooper led Emeric Rust down those stone steps to his car to give him a ride back to his house. Oliver’s father began yelling and swearing at him until a police officer quieted him down. When Rust got near me, he stopped and stared down at my cringing frame. He bent over and, in a whisper that still managed to roar in my ears said,

“Keep out of my yard!”

I stood there quivering as he turned away, led by Hooper who gave me a puzzling look. I was afraid everyone had heard him. But no one could have heard. No one, except …

*   *   *

My mind returning to the present day, I turned and saw Hooper in his patrol car, looking at me. I had been so engrossed in my remembrances, I hadn’t heard him pull up. He got out and approached me.

“Whatcha doing?” he asked.

“How did you know I was here?”

“I’m keeping my eyes on you boys, you can be sure of that.”

I looked back at the old man’s house. “I was just checking out the old neighborhood. Surprised to see this place still standing.”

“I’m surprised to see him still standing.”

“You mean he’s still alive?” I was shocked, but shouldn’t have been.

“As far as I know. No one sees him around much, but the undertakers haven’t collected him yet. I guess he just doesn’t get out often.” He grinned at me, but it wasn’t a happy grin.

“Got any leads?” I asked.

“That’s what brings me here.” He walked to the Tin Man’s front door and knocked. “Checking things out.” There was a rusted metal doorknocker, but Hooper ignored it and just pounded on the door with his fist.

“You don’t think he has anything to do with it?”

“Exploring every avenue. You boys put him through quite an ordeal.” He pounded again, this time louder, then shrugged. “Don’t think he’d answer even if he did hear me.” He walked back to where I stood.

“You think it’s one of us, don’t you?”

“That seems most likely.” He looked off to the woods at the Pines. “But heck, maybe it’s just some psycho wandering around town. I’ve got my men checking the vacant cabins on the other side of the lake. Sometimes drifters passing through shack up in them for a while, before moving on.”

“But that’s just another one of those avenues you’re exploring?”

He looked at me, squinting, licking his lips.

“They say murder with a knife is a rather intimate kind of killing. Your friend wasn’t robbed. That makes the motive rather a mystery, don’t you think?”

“It is interesting.”

He walked back to his car but stopped.

“I’ll tell you another thing that’s interesting,” he said. “I checked up on your friend, Paul Woodman.”

If he was waiting for my attention, he had it.

“Seems he’s been missing for about a month or so.”

“Really?”

“Seems he had settled in a town up north near a girlfriend. But he hasn’t shown up for work, hasn’t been at his apartment. Just vanished. No one filed a missing persons report though, so no one’s really looking for him. I’ve asked the local police to check on the girlfriend, but they haven’t been able to track her down yet.”