Down in the Zero (19 page)

T
he kid was working on the Plymouth in the garage. He had the back end jacked up, the rear tires off. I wasn't worried about him finding the false bottom to the trunk—even the ATF had missed it once.

"What's going on?" I asked him, stepping out of the Lexus.

"I'm cleaning the tire treads," he said. "I tested it earlier. She corners better with forty–five pounds all around. You know you were only running thirty?"

"Yeah. Too much pressure and it rides like a truck."

"Sure, but for the race…"

"Okay. That's fine. However you want to do it."

The kid busied himself, intent. I lit a smoke, figuring out how to do what I had to do. First rule, get the other guy in a place where he's comfortable. Relaxed, so the knife goes in easier. I thought of taking him into the kitchen in the big house, where he couldn't hide his face. But when he had his hands on the car, he was a different kid, so maybe…

"Randy," I said, playing the long shot, "your girlfriend Wendy, how come you didn't tell me she was pals with Lana Robinelle?"

He dropped the tire pressure gauge, whirled to look at me, blood flooding his face.

"How did you…?"

"You haven't been leveling with me, kid. Maybe not from the very beginning."

"I was! I mean, I told you the truth. Just…"

"Just what?"

He stood up, walked over to where I was standing. His hands were shaking, but he met my eyes. "I knew Lana…tried to kill herself. Before. A couple of times, even. Everybody knew it, at school and all. I tried to talk to Wendy about it, but she thought I was an asshole. A tanker, you know?"

"So when you called me…"

"I was scared. That was the truth."

"But not scared for you, huh?"

"I guess I was, maybe. I don't know. The hospital. My mother told me once that she'd send me there if I didn't straighten up.

"But you're eighteen now. An adult, right? She couldn't
make
you go.

"Nineteen," he said. "But you don't know her."

"Never mind that now. Just give me the whole story."

"I was at a party a couple of months ago. She…Wendy was there. She doesn't do dope, but she drops acid sometimes—it's coming back in now, a lot of kids do it. She was out in the back, on the lawn. Tripping. She got real scared. The rest of them thought it was funny, her jumping around and all. I…held her. A long time. When she stopped, she was dreamy. Spaced out, I guess. She told me she saw Lana. She was happy. Lana, not Wendy. Happy where she was."

The kid took a breath, still on my eyes. I could feel him willing me to understand how bone–deep important this all was to him. "I got…terrified. You see it, don't you? She was going there. With Lana. But the more I told her it was crazy, the more she said I didn't understand. I stayed with her, that whole night. She has her own car, but I wouldn't let her drive. When I took her home, it was light out. Her father was there, waiting up. He blamed it on me. Told me if he ever saw me around her again, he'd kill me.

"I couldn't call her on the phone. And I don't see her in school anymore. She sent me a letter. A poem. It wasn't a sad poem, like I expected. It was…I don't know, gentle. I read it and read it. But when I got it, I got scared. It's about dying, Burke.

"I watched her house. At night. The police stopped me one time. They were gonna take me in, but then they found out who I was. Who my mother was, really. They called her and she came and got me.

"Wendy found out. She told me it was sweet, what I did. But it didn't matter. She wasn't going to go until she was ready.

"I saw her a lot, after that. Different places. She was the only one I ever told about racing. She said that was my poetry, driving.

"Then my mother went away. For the summer. Right after that, Wendy told me. Her parents were gonna put her in Crystal Cove, to get her some help. She promised to stop the acid–tripping, but they didn't believe her. That's when I got so scared. That's when I called you. I thought you could…save her. And I could…help, like."

I felt it. So deep I didn't know there was such a place in me. This rich, spoiled kid. This punk I thought was a herd animal. I never saw anyone so scared for someone else, reaching outside himself like that, trying to pull her in with him.

"Come on, kid," I told him. "We got work to do before it gets dark."

W
e took the Miata. The kid knew about Chalmer's Creek, got us there in a flash.

"What's here?" he asked.

I stood at an outcropping of rock, looking down at the blue–black water. "This is where Lana Robinelle went over," I said. "Drowned."

I picked up a heavy rock, held it in two hands. Dropped it over the side into the water. Watched it disappear, the circles spreading out from the center, wider and wider, reaching.

"What's it look like to you?" I asked him.

He looked down, eyes following my pointing finger. "A bull's–eye," he said.

"Y
ou're in it now," I told him on the drive back. 'That's what you wanted, right?"

"Yes."

"All right, kid. First rule—you don't talk. Understand?"

"Yes."

"Anybody you talk to, regular?"

"Just…Wendy."

"Nobody knows your secrets? Not your mother? Nobody?"

"Nobody."

"Okay. Keep it that way. Meet me at the garage tonight. Eleven o'clock. We're gonna do some work."

"I'll be there," he said, face set in harder lines than I thought it had.

B
ack in the apartment, I found the microphone and pulled it loose. Whoever set it up would have to come back. I checked the rest of the place. Couldn't find anything new.

Eight o'clock. I took a shower, wrapped a towel around my waist, lay down on the bed and closed my eyes. I didn't even try and sort things—I'd be talking to the Prof soon enough.

A tap on the front door glass woke me up. I flicked off the towel, slipped into a pair of pants, walked through the dark house. My watch said 10:05.

It was Randy, standing outside the door, hand poised to tap again. I opened the door. "What?"

He stepped past me, agitated, moving quick, words tumbling out of his mouth too fast for me to follow.

"Hey!" I said to him. "Hold it down. Get it together, all right? Something happened?"

"No. I mean, yes. I don't know. It didn't
just
happen. I have to tell you—

"Randy, sit down. Relax."

"I can't. I…"

"Breathe through your nose," I told him. "Close your mouth and breathe through your nose. Deep breaths. Slow."

He followed orders, working at it until he stopped gulping air, sat down on the couch. I sat across from him. The only light was a moon–spill through the windows, enough to see his shape, not his face.

"Now…what is it?"

"I…lied, Burke."

"About what?"

"When you asked me, about secrets. Did I talk to anyone…?"

"Yeah?"

"Charm. I talked to Charm. That time she was here. When she went into the house by herself."

"You already told me about that." He mumbled something, head down.

"Randy, work easy now. Speak so I can hear you. Come on."

"Charm asked me about you. What you were doing here."

"You told me that."

"I didn't tell you that I…told her about Crystal Cove."

"That's all right. It's not much of a secret now, with all the running around I've been doing."

"Charm said to…keep an eye on you. I'm supposed to call her, tell her what you do."

"And you said you'd do that?"

"I told her no. But she…took me inside the house."

"I don't get it."

He started to cry then. First a bubble, then a dry sob…then it all went loose. Shame radiated off him like heat. I let it go for a while, saw it wasn't going to stop. I got up, walked around behind him. Put my hands on his shoulders, working the piano–wire muscles with my thumbs the way you loosen up a fighter before he gets it on. "Let it go, kid. Nothing's gonna hurt you now. It's pus, like from a wound. Squeeze it out."

I kept working until the sobbing slowed down, stumbled to a stop. I stepped back away from the kid. He shook himself violently, trying to throw something off his back—sweat flew off his body, spraying fear. When that stopped, he trembled. Sat there trembling.

I went back to my chair. "Tell me," I finally said.

"Charm was like my…babysitter. When I was a kid. I really…admired her. She's so tough. One time, she was jumping horses and she fell off. Broke her leg. We were all there, watching. Charm didn't say a word. I mean, you could
see
it hurt…her face was all white and sweaty and her leg…it was bent all funny. But she didn't say a word."

"When…?"

"In the seventh grade, that's when it started."

"What did she do?"

"If I told my friends, they would have thought it was great. So great. Like a dream come true. That's what Charm says, the trick is to come true."

"You had sex with her?"

"I…guess it was sex. What she did. It made me…excited. But I was scared too. I didn't know what to do."

"I know."

"I wanted to do it. I mean, after a while, I wanted to do it. All the time. All she had to do was touch me. The handle, that's what she called it. Charm says everybody has a handle. I thought she meant my…cock. But that wasn't it. The handle, it's the way you twist people."

"How did it start?"

"I was in my room. In my bathroom, taking a shower. And she just came in there. I was…embarrassed. But she did something…with her mouth…and I got excited. Then she did it. With her hand. Then she…hit me. Hard. It hurt. I was…crying. And she kept hitting me. She told me I was a dirty little boy. I was scared of her, but she did it again, later. Then she told me I had to do what she said."

"Did you ever tell? Tell anyone?"

"I…couldn't. I was…guilty, like. Like it was my fault. Dirty. I started…fucking up. Everything. I used to get all A's—I really liked school, once. And I was…beating off. All the time, even in the Boys' Room at school. I had bad dreams. Then I got caught…"

"In school?"

"At the mall. Shoplifting. The security people, they made me sign something, then they called my mother. She came down, all mad. She went in their office with them. Alone. When she came out, she took me home. And she showed me the paper I signed. Tore it up right in front of me. It was okay, she said. All fixed. But she wanted me to see someone.

"A therapist?"

"Yeah. Dr. Barrymore."

"From Crystal Cove?"

"Yes. But I didn't have to go into the hospital. He has this house, right on the grounds. And he has an office in the back. That's where I saw him."

"You didn't tell him about Charm?"

"I kind of…did. But not for a long time. He's my mother's friend. I'd seen him in the house. A couple of times. I could tell from the way she talked to him…I thought he'd tell her."

"Why didn't you just tell her yourself?"

"Charm showed me…pictures. Pictures of her and my mother, naked. Together…you know?"

"Sure. You thought they were lovers?"

"They were! You could see…what they were doing. In the pictures. They were…disgusting."

"Because of what they were doing?"

"Because it was my mother!" He started crying again. "And Charm told me…Charm said my mother told her to do it. With me. So I'd know how to do it. With girls, like."

"And you believed her?"

"My mother always hired people to teach me things. To play the guitar, or ride horses. Dancing. She always paid people to teach me. Charm said I would be…a homosexual unless she helped me."

"That's got nothing to do with her," I told him.

"I know. I mean, I think I know. But I never…"

"With girls?"

"Yeah. Except with Charm."

"Still?"

He looked down, quiet for a minute. "Yes," he finally said. "That's what happened the last time she came over. I didn't want to do anything, but…"

"It's okay. It takes time, to get strong enough."

"I'll never be strong enough. I thought I was. She…hasn't come around for a long time."

"Yeah you will. And soon, too. She was conditioning you, understand?"

"No."

"She started with you early, so you got used to…certain things. After a while, you feel like that's the only way you
can
do it, see? But it's a trick…a cheap, dirty trick."

"How could I…?"

"You already are, kid. If her stuff was really working, you wouldn't feel anything for Wendy."

"What do you mean?"

"How do you feel about Wendy? Like she's your sister?"

"No. But I never tried to—"

"What? Have sex with her? Don't worry about it. You feel like you want to be with her. Close. To protect her, right?"

"Yes."

"The rest will come, kid. I promise you. You may have to talk to somebody…some pro who knows what they're doing—some places you can't get to all by yourself. But it's already happening. You got a good throw of the dice now—let it ride."

His head came up, eyes on me now. "What do I have to do?" he asked.

"For now, you have to drive—we got a meet to go to."

I
showed the kid how to park so we could cover the whole lot with one eye–sweep while we waited. A couple of minutes before midnight, Clarence's Rover glided past the gas pumps. They spotted us, rolled over to where we were parked. I was already stepping out of the car. The Prof came over to where I was standing, leaving Clarence at the wheel. He was carrying a dark green canvas duffel in one hand. We naturally rolled into a prison–yard position, shoulder to shoulder at a slight V–angle so we narrowed the exposure of our backs and could watch the maximum vista. The way it's done, your mouth hardly moves but your eyes never stop.

"What you got that's hot, schoolboy?"

"A nest of snakes, Prof. I need to show you a few things. We'll take my car, okay?"

"You say, we play, bro," the little man said, waving Clarence over.

The Prof took the shotgun seat next to Randy, Clarence and I sat behind. Randy cruised through the quiet streets as I ran it down. The Prof gave me a quick glance over his shoulder, tilting his head toward Randy. I nodded—it was all right for the kid to hear.