Web of Smoke (13 page)

Chapter Twelve

The engine of DC’s car roared to life, growling for the open roads. He pulled away from the bushes, leaving behind the sweet smell of his mother’s neighborhood for the toxic fumes of the freeway. Merging with eastbound traffic, he tried to block out his mother’s words, but they haunted him, replaying over and over in his mind.

Mary Jane’s dead . . . Suicide. No note. Maybe she just couldn’t take it....

His mother had enjoyed telling him. He’d seen it in her eyes. Alone, he felt grief rise up on him. Mary Jane dead? How could that be? He missed her. He needed her.

He turned the radio down, coasting onto a cul-de-sac of small, postwar bungalows. Darkened windows reflected his headlights and shot them back as he passed. DC slouched behind the wheel, scanning the street. Empty cars. Silent driveways. Dry gutters marking the borders of each of the stone-faced structures. Not a single light glowed behind the drawn curtains.

Suicide. No note

Glancing at his directions, he willed his mind silent. He counted five drives down from the stop sign and turned. His tires brushed the curb and the hood cleared the thick border of an overgrown hedge as a blinding searchlight pinned him to the street. Gasping, he instinctively ducked behind the wheel, listening to the bright stillness. Cautiously, he peered over the dash.

Motion detector light.

He let out a shaky breath and stepped on the emergency brake before slipping from the car. His jittery glance scanned the “For Rent” sign leaning against the trunk of an ancient pepper tree. Dozens of seedlings sprouted through its roots like a mutant forest. DC opened the garage and hurried back to the car.

The garage echoed with the sound of his engine as he pulled inside. He turned off the car and the silence seemed equally loud. The drop of the door, thunderous.

He left it dark as he popped open the trunk. The interior light reflected off the pale, tear-streaked oval of Jessica Jordan’s face. Her eyes seemed to have swallowed her, the blue irises encircling giant pupils. She squinted in the dim light.

“Out,” DC said, reaching for her arm.

She cowered back against the spare tire and whimpered. DC grabbed her by the arms and yanked her out. He set her roughly on her feet and shoved her to the door that led inside the house.

She stumbled, moving as if her legs had turned to rubber. After four hours in the trunk, maybe they had. It had been hot in the car. The trunk must have been an oven. Her hair stuck to her scalp, wet with sweat that dampened her shirt and streaked her face. DC followed her inside.

The house smelled of fresh paint and pesticides, sealed up for a long time. The girl hovered in the center of the living room, framed by the white shadow of the streetlight filtering through dirty sheers, as he made a silent inspection. DC yanked the curtains shut, plunging the room into darkness. Going back to the car, he grabbed a grocery bag and a hot pizza box from the front seat. When he returned, she was still in the same place.

He went to the kitchen and emptied the bag on the counter. Plastic cups, toilet paper, a six-pack of beer, and a fifth of bourbon. Grabbing a beer for himself, he filled a cup with tap water.

“Jessica? Come here.”

She shuffled in, her skinny arms wrapped around her torso in a protective hug. Her gaze silently tracked his movements.

“You did real good today, Jessie,” he said, holding the cup above her reach. “I didn’t hear a peep out of you, and I was listening. I guess you took my advice. Just keep on doing that and we’ll get along just fine.”

She nodded, standing mutely on the linoleum floor, and waited patiently for the water he brought her. She gulped it down and held the cup out for more.

“Later. Let that hit your stomach first.”

Tears welled up in her eyes as she stared at him, still holding her cup out. Shrugging, he took it and filled it again.

“You’re going to barf,” he said, giving it back to her. “Drink it slow or you’ll be woofing.”

She nodded and sipped, her gaze scanning the kitchen. It landed on the pizza and shot back to DC, as if she’d been caught looking at dirty pictures and feared punishment.

“Scared?” he asked.

She nodded, shivering.

“Good. You wondering about your mom?”

The girl’s eyes filled with tears again. Another nod.

“Don’t. She’s gone.”

“Gone where?” she whispered.

“It doesn’t matter. She’s gone.”

“Did you kill her?”

He smiled. “Of course not. I don’t look like a killer, do I?”

“I saw you.”

“Saw me what?”

“Hurting her. She was screaming.”

“No, you didn’t.”

He stared at her, daring her to argue. She didn’t.

“You’re pretty smart, girl. Sit down.”

She remained as she was, staring at him with those terrified eyes.

“I said, sit down.”

“What are you going to do to me?”

“No telling. Sit down.”

She looked around as if expecting a chair to pop out of one of the walls. She sniffled and sat on the floor.

“Okay, Jessie. This is the way it’s going to be. I’m God. I’m God and I own you and your mommy isn’t coming back.”

“I don’t believe you,” she said.

“Yeah? Well, you’d better start believing.”

Slowly, the girl scooted backward on the floor, gaze fixed intently on him. She tucked herself into a shadow in the corner. DC took another swig of his beer. The kid gave him the creeps.

“She will too come back,” she said.

‘‘Uh-uh.”

“You’re mean.”

He chuckled. “I’m mean’s big brother, little Jessie.”

“That’s not my name.”

He ignored her, opening the box of pizza and grabbing a piece. He slapped it on a napkin for the girl. She scooted out of her shadow just far enough to reach it, then scurried back. Like a mouse. After a while, she peeped out again for another piece and more water. When she finished, he heard her yawn.

“Come with me,” he said.

He pushed her toward the hallway. At the bathroom door, he stopped, swinging it open. A toilet, bathtub, sink, and cabinet took up all of the floor space, leaving only a small patch for the door to arc through.

He grabbed a blanket he’d brought in from the car and tossed it to her. Closing the door on her, he sank to the floor in the hall.

Suddenly, he felt very tired. He blinked as the booze and exhaustion fought for control of his mind. The kid was bawling. He could hear her scared sobs through the door, lulling him into a fitful sleep, where the sound of crying was his own. Outside, a dog began to bark. The floor of DC’s mind shivered and cracked open over a terrifying darkness.

He was crying. DC was five years old again and he was crying.

His mother had a hold on his arm and she was marching down the dirt road. The air smelled wild and clean, full of honeysuckle and lilac. A bird called from the branches of a giant tree and, from over the hill, he could hear dogs barking.

“Keep up, DC,” his mother said, yanking him along.

“But I don’t wanna go to Grandpa’s,” he cried. “He’s mean.”

“Stop whining, Dwight Calvin. You’re lucky he’ll even let a bad boy like you under his roof.”

“I don’t want to be under his roof. I wanna go with you.”

“I’ve told you, you can’t go. I don’t have enough money for that, but when I can come get you, I will. Now quit your crying. He’ll change his mind if he think’s you’re a crybaby.”

They crested the hill and looked down at the tiny brown house and matching shed centered in a dirty yard below. In the shadow of the house, two old cars sat on brick tires, looking like scary metal monsters to DC. A broken fence encircled an empty corral. Beside it, a giant chicken wire cage held three pacing dogs. One of them lifted its head and tested the air, as if smelling humans even at this distance. It began to bark.

“Let me see your face,” his mother said, spinning him to face her.

He stared at her pretty, red dress as she spit on her handkerchief and wiped his face. He wanted to wrap his arms around her legs and beg her not to leave him, but his mother didn’t like him to touch her and he knew she wouldn’t listen anyway.

“There you go,” she said. “Listen to me, DC. This won’t be so bad if you behave yourself. Your grandpa won’t take none of your lip, so you best keep your trap shut. Just stay out of his way as much as you can.”

DC nodded and sniffled. His mother picked up his small duffel bag. All at once, he was gripped with panic.

The dogs started circling their cage, barking fiercely as DC and his mom got closer. The air took on the thick smell of dog poop. DC wrinkled his nose. From inside the house a woman hollered, “Lou, would you shut them animals up?”

His mother’s grip on DC’s arm tightened and she shot him a warning glance. He blinked back more tears, stumbling along at her side.

She stepped onto the bottom step of the porch and then hesitated. She looked down at him, and something in her eye scared him.

“Wait here, DC, and don’t you move. Hear? You sit right down on the steps and stay put.”

He nodded, releasing her hand with reluctance. She wiped her palm on her hip before stepping up to the screen door and knocking.

“Mama?” she called. “Mama, it’s me.”

“Come on in,” DC’s grandma answered from the back of the house. His mother disappeared behind a slamming screen door, leaving DC in the hot sun with the caged dogs. They growled at him, sitting in a row and watching him through black eyes. Quickly, he looked at his shuffling feet, making some patterns in the dust with the toe of his shoe.  Then he glanced up and stuck out his tongue at them.

“Like my dogs, boy?”

DC jumped and spun to see his grandpa standing behind him. He wore a dirty undershirt, and hair poked from the armholes and two jagged rips on the chest. He had scrawny white arms, the skin around them flabby and wrinkled. On the right one, a snake tattoo slithered from shoulder to elbow, its wicked tongue flicking from a scaled green head. His trousers were worn, and they stopped short of his ankles, revealing black boots without shoelaces.

“I asked you a question, boy. You stupid?”

DC shook his head.

“Is you a dummy?”

“No, sir.”

“Then answer me when I talk to you, boy. I seen you looking at my dogs. Like ‘em?”

“No, sir. They look mean.”

Grandpa threw back his head and laughed. He whooped for a while, slapping his leg and wiping his face. DC didn’t know what was so funny, but he smiled anyway.

“Mean they is, boy. Mean they is.”

As if in response, the dogs’ growling and pacing increased. DC flashed them a glance from the corner of his eye.

“Come on, boy. Let’s go take a look at ‘em.”

DC shook his head.

“Aw, come on, boy. They’s caged. You afraid they gonna eat right through and gobble you up like a rat?”

As he spoke he moved closer to DC and grabbed him, tickling his ribs hard enough to hurt. DC squirmed away and ended up closer to the cage. The dogs barked louder, the sound cracking through the clear air. A flock of birds gave up singing and took flight.

DC backed away, but Grandpa stood right behind him, pushing him forward. DC stumbled and fell in the dirt at the foot of the cage. His grandpa reached down and yanked him to his feet.

“You’re acting like a goddamn sissy, boy. Is that what you is? A sissy?”

“No. I just don’t like dogs.”

“All boys like dogs. Except maybe sissies.”

Bravely DC faced the cage, remaining as far away as he thought he could without Grandpa pushing him closer.

“What kind of dogs you got in there, anyway?” DC asked. “Wolves?”

Grandpa belly laughed again, swatting DC on the back of the head. It hurt, but DC tried not to let it show.

“Them’s pit bulls, boy. Best dogs in the world. See that one?” he asked, pointing to a mean-looking one with a tan body and white feet.

The dog’s stubby ears swiveled at the familiar sound of his voice and it turned its huge head their way, grinning. Its thick neck bulged and its body tensed as it waited for a command.

“That one’s Chopper. I seen him rip the head off a big ol’ hound once. I ain’t a-kidding, either. Clean off.”

Grandpa tee-heed. DC felt sick.

“Want to pet him?”

DC shook his head violently.

Grandpa grabbed DC’s shoulder roughly and pulled him toward the cage. “Come on, pet him. He wants you to. See? Look at his eyes.”

DC
was
looking at his eyes and they looked mad as a swarm of bees. A streamer of slobber hung from Chopper’s jagged rubber lips. He growled and the other two dogs, sensing that something exciting was about to happen, stopped their circling to watch.

“I don’t want to pet him,” DC cried as his grandpa pushed him closer. “I don’t want to pet him. I don’t want to. I don’t—”

His grandpa snatched DC’s hand from his side and thrust it through the chain link. Chopper looked at the small white fingers as if they were chicken wings. The muscles in his thick body coiled and Chopper flew across the small distance that separated him from DC just as DC’s scream pierced the dusty yard.

With a mighty twist, DC wrenched his body from his grandpa’s iron grip. He yanked his hand back through the fence as Chopper’s teeth grazed the meaty flesh beneath his pinky finger. The pain seared up his arm as he collapsed to the ground.

“Dwight Calvin!” his mother yelled from the porch. “What are you doing? Bothering those dogs?” She stomped over to where he lay on the ground.

DC glared at his grandpa, who smiled serenely back.

“What happened here?” she demanded.

“Just like you seen,” Grandpa said before DC could squeak a sound out. “He was pestering my dogs. Lucky for him I was here to pull him back, else Chopper might’a eat him alive.” He glared at DC. “Them dogs is in a cage for a reason, you damned fool boy.”

“Oh, Pa, I’m so sorry,” DC’s mother said.

He pointed accusingly. “Looks like he got bit, too.”

His mother turned on DC, hands propped on her hips and anger glinting in her eyes. “Let me see that hand.”

He held it up for her, feeling swamped with injustice and pain. She pulled her handkerchief from her purse and spit on it again, roughly wiping at the drying blood. “It’s just a scratch,” she announced. “You’re darn lucky, young man, that your grandpa was here to help you. Now you stay away from them dogs. Come on, now. I want to talk to you.”