Gentlemen (14 page)

Sunday. This is where it all went to hell. It was a trip we just shouldn't've made, simple as that. We didn't mean for it to go down like it did, at least Mixer and I didn't. Bones, well, it's tough to say what he was thinking. But he did show up armed, and that's got to tell you something. As for me, I just wanted to get a straight answer, either to find out it was real or to put it to rest.

Maybe I'd better just begin at the beginning. We were in Bones's uncle's truck. It was an old beater his uncle kept out by the barn on his farm, and he wasn't going to miss it on a Sunday afternoon. He'd found religion, big-time, and wouldn't ever tend the fields on a Sunday. That's how he put it, “tend the fields.” I think maybe that's in the Bible.

Anyway, it's not like we had a lot of options, ride-wise, and Haberman lived kind of far out in Little River. Bones
was driving, because it was his uncle's truck and because he had a learner's permit, so it was practically legal. His mom thought it was good enough, anyway. We'd already found the place—the address is right in the phone book—and we'd cruised by once, real slow, to see if there were any other cars in the driveway. We knew there was no Mrs. Haberman, but we were just checking to see if maybe he had company or something.

There were no cars at all in the driveway, but the garage door was open, and we could just see his little MG in there in the shadows. It was late afternoon, kind of a gray day, and as near as anyone knew, we were all three of us up on the mountain fishing. We stopped at the end of the street, and Bones executed the worst K-turn in the history of driving. Bones was wired and on edge. He was geared up for trouble, maybe even looking forward to it. The truck kicked forward with a groan as he threw it back into drive. But there were only three houses on the whole street, all pretty far apart, so the chances of anyone seeing us, or of another car coming along, were pretty slim.

We came up on his house again, this time from the other direction. As we got close, Bones cut the engine and we coasted into the driveway. Bones handled this turn much better than the last one, and it was a nice paved driveway, so even the old rattletrap truck was fairly quiet. Unless Haberman was looking out the window, there was a halfway decent chance he didn't know we were there. Bones pointed the truck off to the
right, and we rolled to a stop halfway on the grass, so we wouldn't be as easy to see from the house. We climbed out of the cab real quiet and just pushed the doors shut behind us.

Mixer took a rag or something out of his jacket pocket and put it over the rear license plate of the truck.

“In case anyone drives by,” he said.

I gave him a thumbs-up, because it seemed like a pretty good idea to me. There was no shortage of beat-up old pickup trucks around here, so without a license number, it would be hard to find one in particular.

“Thanks,” he said, and he was smiling, but you could see it was kind of a nervous smile. I was feeling the butterflies, too.

Looking back, I've got to say, our plan was not really all that solid. I think we'd sort of talked each other into thinking it made sense, but it started to come apart right from the start. I mean, you pretty much lose the element of surprise when you end up standing on the welcome mat and knocking.

But there I was, knocking like a Girl Scout selling cookies. At the last second, after the first knock, Mixer was like, “We'll hide!” And they dove off to the side and crouched down against the wall, and I was left standing there, knuckles in the air. I'm not sure what the point was, except maybe that Haberman was more likely to open the door up for one dude than for three.

And probably of the three of us, Haberman was most likely to open the door for me. I sort of resented the idea of that, like I was some kind of teacher's pet or salvage project or
whatever, but I realized by the third knock that it was more or less true. If any of us was thinking clearly, it was Mixer.

Haberman's face appeared in the glass of the door, pale and confused. His thin hair was sticking out at weird angles, and I knew right then that he'd been napping. My breath caught in my throat but I tried not to show it, tried to keep my face totally blank, like Throckmorton's. But this was the wrong time to be thinking about the sheriff, and I felt my pulse rev.

Haberman's eyes narrowed, sized me up. A few quick excuses raced through my head: I was just driving by and had a question about the book; I'm selling something, door to door: Care to order a magazine? A storm door (you really should have one)? Girl Scout cookies?

The door opened and I heard the shush of air slipping in around the weather stripping. It was dark inside and the smell of cigarettes hit me like a breeze.

I don't know why Haberman opened the door for me, but I can say for sure that he shouldn't've. I stood there for half a second, looking into the dark gap. I guess the right word is
hesitating.
Then I heard Mixer and Bones stand up, and then there they were, brushing past me on the right and shouldering their way into the house.

“Hey, Mr. H,” said Mixer. “Mind if we come in.”

But it wasn't a question and they were already inside. I followed and I could feel Haberman pushing the door forward, not hard enough and not in time. It was just like a little protest that meant nothing, one vote against in the face of three votes for. His face was hidden behind the door frame now, but I could imagine the expression he must've been wearing right then, surprise with maybe a little fear mixed in.

By the time I cleared the door and was inside, his expression had settled back to confused. His head looked like it was floating in the air, not attached to anything, because the light was dim in there and he was wearing something dark.

It was a gray day outside—a cold front had swung down overnight and brought a thick layer of clouds with it—and as near as I could tell, there were no lights on in the house. There was just the weak light coming in through the windows to go by. Still, there were plenty of windows, and no need to close the blinds with so few neighbors and even them so far off, so things came into focus fast enough.

Haberman was wearing a dark blue sweat suit under a long bathrobe. The robe was dark plaid and hanging open, as if he'd just thrown it on to get the door. I figured that was the case, but it's still a funny thing to see your English teacher in a sweat suit, slippers, and a raggedy old robe.

There was a staircase straight in front of me, heading up to a landing with a big picture window. The first thing I really noticed, without even taking in all the little things that made it so, was that this was a nice house. Things were nice in here. And apart from the cigarette reek, things were clean.

I looked around. I could see parts of five rooms, including the hallway and what looked to be a kitchen at the far end of it. Pictures were hanging on the wall in frames. Not Wal-Mart frames but real wooden ones. Things were old but not raggedy old, nice old, antique old. When there was a table, it
was polished up and there was something on the top of it, like some candles or a bowl of wooden apples.

The room off to the right was sort of a living room, I guess, because it had a couch and a big leather chair in it. I guess in a house like this you might call it a “parlor.” I'd heard of parlors but had never been in one before. Or maybe I had, I don't know. Where's the line between a nice, kept-up living room and a parlor? Anyway, that's where we were headed.

Mixer had gone straight for it. I closed the door behind me hard enough to let Haberman know it wasn't negotiable, and the rest of us just kind of drifted in after Mixer, Haberman in between me and Bones, like an animal being herded. At first I figured Mixer picked this room because of the couch, but then I saw a phone on a little table alongside the leather chair. Mixer was standing in between Haberman and the phone, and that was the right thing to do.

I tried to climb inside Haberman's head, figure out what he might be thinking. He couldn't make a break for it. There were three of us; we were young and he was old. The first thing he'd want to do, if he thought he was in danger, which he was, was to get to a phone. There was probably at least one more in the house, plus a cell, if there was service this far out in Little River, which I wasn't sure of.

In any case, we'd have to keep a close eye on him until we were gone. Sunday afternoon in this corner of the state, there wouldn't be anything else for the cops to do. Throckmorton
was probably at home, carving up a Sunday bird, but the Staties'd send a cruiser, be here in no time flat.

“Well, gentlemen,” he said, and it was sort of a surprise to hear a voice in this dark, quiet house. “What, uh, what brings you to Stavers Street?”

He sounded pretty calm, pretty normal, the tar rolling around in his throat, because he'd been lying down. But just that little hesitation—what, uh, what—that little doubleclutch, it told me he was nervous.

And now it was a question of who was going to do the talking, and I figured I'd better, so I threw a “Well” out there, just to box out the other two. Mixer liked to provoke people, and I remembered where things had left off in the parking lot between Haberman and Bones. If either of them did the talking, things could pick up speed fast, not rolling down a hill as much as rolling off a table. Especially if it was Bones.

I looked over at him because something had just sort of dawned on me. He was wearing the camo hunting jacket that used to be his grandad's. That jacket was always a little too big for him, but this far into spring, cold front or not, it was way too much coat, especially since he had a hoodie underneath. I'd sort of thought he'd worn it to look bigger, tougher, like the puffy clothes in the rap videos. The thing about hunting jackets, though, is that they have big, oversized pockets. Bones was keeping his hand in the right-side pocket, with his elbow bent like a gunfighter in a movie, about to draw. I guess that was when I realized he had something in there.

So anyway, yeah, I figured I'd better do the talking, at least to start off. “Oh, we were just kind of passing through, is all,” I said, just sort of getting the ball rolling.

“I see,” he said. “We don't, uh, get many passersby out here.”

He was calling me on it, and that was fair enough, because he knew what I was shoveling.

“This street,” he continued, “it only has one end to it.”

NO OUTLET
is what the sign said, but the phrase “dead end” just sort of hung in the air, waiting to be said. Haberman might've seen it there, though, because he tacked on a quick question. “How did, uh, how did you boys get here?”

“Bones's got a license,” I lied.

“Well, congratulations, Mr. Bonouil,” Haberman said, turning toward Bones and forcing a thin smile onto his face. “This must be a heady time for you.”

“Yeah,” said Bones, “real heady.”

And he said “heady” the way you might say some unusual swear, like ass-hat.

“Well, if you'll excuse me, gentlemen, I've left something upstairs. I was sleeping, you see.”

“What'd you leave?” I asked.

“Uh,” he said. There would be a phone up in his bedroom, and I figured that was what he really wanted.

“Your smokes?” I said, giving him a free pass.

“Uh,” he said again.

“This won't take long,” I said. “You can light up when we leave.”

“I wouldn't mind some smokes,” said Bones.

“Shut up,” I told him, because I figured it was about time to get down to business. He didn't challenge me on it, because I guess he probably figured the same thing.

“Well, then,” said Haberman, realizing he wasn't going anywhere and sort of settling onto his heels. “How can I help you?”

Like I said before, our plan was pretty sketchy, but there were a few key parts. First, we'd keep our eyes open for any obvious clues, like blood or stuff like that. And after that, it was basically a shakedown. Haberman was not a big dude, and the three of us standing there, all clenched fists and attitude, we figured that'd be enough. Maybe one of us “accidentally” shoulders into him, maybe we do some shouting, but just to be clear, the plan wasn't to beat it out of him. The plan was to stand there like we
might
beat it out of him—loud and angry, Jack Malone-style—and it seemed like we were all on the same page going in.

We figured if Haberman had anything to do with Tommy, there wouldn't be any problem with us being there, because he'd be the one up the creek. And if it came out he'd killed him, well, we'd probably throw him that beating after all. The cops wouldn't care: We'd be frickin' heroes. And even if he didn't have anything to do with it, if we could get him to spill about what was in the barrel, and it really was roadkill or something like that, he still wouldn't want to cause any trouble.

It was only if we were flat-out wrong on all counts that we'd have problems. If he wasn't guilty of anything more than boring classes, well, that's why we had to keep him away from the phones and stuff. But even if we got nothing, we figured we'd just file out. It would be like, So long, thanks for your time, like he'd just invited us over for tea. Like in
Dumb & Dumber
: “Maybe she'll invite us in for tea and strumpets.” What does he charge us with, trespassing? Not if he opened the door. We'd get in trouble at school—because school is a dictatorship and they don't have to prove anything—but we could handle school trouble, no sweat.

And anyway, we were like, This guy's a freak. What are the odds we won't find some dirt on him? We knew he lived alone and half expected to find the house full of shrunken heads or something. The idea was to get our answers and shake something out of him, something bad. Now was the time to start shaking, so I got right to it.

“All right, well,” I said, just to get my voice going at a nice even level, “why don't you start by telling us what was in the barrel.”

And this look broke out on his face, like sheer relief. He put his hand to his mouth to cover a quick cough, and when he took it away, he had a little smile there. That was definitely not the effect I was going for.

“The barrel? In class? Is that what this is all about?” he said and looked up at the ceiling as if he was scanning it for holes.

“That's a start,” I said, and I put a little bite in my voice, because I wanted him to stop smiling. I know he heard it, because he looked down at me and his eyes sort of narrowed. But he didn't say anything, so I kept going.

“Seemed like an animal or something,” I said. I was going to start there and work my way up, but Bones jumped in.

“Or a person,” said Bones.

“An animal, a
person
…” he said, and he said it like it was completely alien and crazy and he had no idea what we were talking about. The tricky thing about that was that it was exactly how you'd expect him to react if we were wrong and he had nothing to hide, but it was also exactly how you'd expect him to act if we were right and he did.

“Well, gentlemen, I can assure you it was no such thing. I certainly couldn't bring a—what are you saying?—a
carcass
onto school property.”

“Yeah, why did you then?” said Bones. He still had his right hand in his jacket pocket, and I saw something shift in there.

This was why Bones shouldn't've been talking, because he was just going to accuse Haberman and Haberman was just going to deny it. Of course he was. I thought it might open up an angle for me, though, allow me to be like the Voice of Reason.

“Well, I'll tell ya,” I said, trying to sound sort of neighborly or whatever, “sure felt like something was shifting around in there.”

“Well, yes,” said Haberman, looking over at me, then right back at Bones, because now he'd noticed Bones's right hand buried in the jacket pocket, too. His eyes drifted back to me as he spoke. “It was, I mean, it was just…”

“Well, spit it out,” said Bones, and I sort of cringed, because it'd seemed like that's exactly what Haberman was about to do before Bones piped up. And even if it was going to be a lie, it still would've been something to start with and build off. Now, Haberman had zipped it again. He was just standing there and looking at Bones.

I guess Bones had a lot of steam stored up, all that stuff he couldn't say or do in class, because of that F hanging over his head, that threat of having to repeat. It was pretty clear he wasn't going to bottle it up here, I guess because it wasn't the class or even the school. Mixer was looking at Bones with kind of an amazed expression. Mixer knew what was going to happen. I didn't yet, or maybe I did but thought it could still be avoided, so I butted in again.

“What about all that talk?” I said. “About a murder at the school and disposing of a body and who would the police believe?”

I just kind of blurted it all out at once. It wasn't how I'd planned it, but Bones was really kind of speeding things up, the way he was acting. Haberman only glanced over at me toward the end. Mainly, he was keeping his eyes on Bones.

“Well, that, that was just the book. I was talking about the book.”

“I don't think so.”

“Yeah,” said Bones. “See, Mike here, he read your stupid book.”

Haberman looked at me now, and I tipped my head and took credit for it, even though I hadn't exactly finished.

“He doesn't dispose of the bodies,” I said, hoping there wasn't a scene like that past where I'd read. “Just leaves ‘em there.”

“You're right,” said Haberman, and I think I might've actually blushed. It was dim in the house, though, so I don't think anyone saw. I hope no one did.

“I suppose I was speaking hypothetically.”

“That's not what you said before.”

“Quite right,” he said, and at this point, he was looking at me. “I was creating a scenario that you might be able to relate to more easily. I was just trying to, well, to get your attention.”

“Well, you got it.”

“I should say.”

“Where'd you get an idea like that: a kid killed at school, in a classroom? Problems for his friends?” I said.

“Well, I, uh…” he said.

“What was in the damn barrel?” shouted Bones, interrupting.

Haberman jumped and I think I did, too.

Haberman turned toward Bones with his head sort of pulled in toward his shoulders, like he was expecting to be hit. At this point, I was pretty much the only one who didn't know.

“It was just…” he said.

“Yeah?” said Bones.

“Some trash,” said Haberman, and that really set Bones off.