Seeing Red (22 page)

“Ew!” J said, looking in the dish. “It’s fish Jell-O!”

I picked up a small trout with a serving spoon and it made a sucking sound as I lifted it up, the wobbly gelatin stuff still clinging to it. I let the fish slide back into the dish, only it didn’t land in the dish. It hit the edge and bounced off it like a bouncy ball onto the floor and, I swear, flopped around a couple of times as if it were alive.

J screamed, then went into a fit of giggles.

I don’t know what came over me, but I scooped that fish back on the spoon and said in a wobbly Jell-O fish voice, “I’m gonna get you, J!” and chased him around the kitchen table, balancing my spoon of Jell-O fish. He was squealing and laughing and stumbling over chairs. When he ran through the dining room and into the living room, I followed him with my Jell-O fish and my wobbly voice, “Come to Fishy, J. There’s gonna be some
changes
around here! I’m gonna catch people instead of the other way round!”

He was giggling so much that it was easy to catch up with him except that, when I lunged, the Jell-O fish fell off the spoon and slid across the floor, landing with a squelchy flop at the front door.

We stared at it for a couple of seconds in silence, until Mama and her headache both came out of her room looking angry as anything.

“Boys!” she said in a screamy whisper. “What is going on?”

We couldn’t help it. Our eyes moved towards the door and the fish lying in front of it.

Mama’s eyes did, too. Slowly, she pointed her finger at it. “Since when do we throw perfectly good food on the floor?”

“It’s not perfectly good,” J said. “It’s Jell-O fish!”

She closed her eyes and said slowly, “It’s a fish aspic.”

“Ass-pick?” J said, his voice rising at the end as he tried not to laugh.

“A fish aspic is made from the congealed stock of boiled-up cartilage—”

“Ew!” J’s face was in full puke mode.

“Oh, for goodness’ sake,” Mama said, putting her hands on her hips, “it’s healthy and—”

“Gross,” I said.

Mama looked at me like the whole mess was my fault, which I guess it was.

For once the kid stood up for me. “He’s right, Mama. It’s gross!”

Mama looked at J and back at me. “What kind of an influence are you being, Red?”

I pointed at the fish. “That’s just wrong.”

J giggled and said, “Ass-pick” again, which made him bust out laughing.

Mama glared at both of us. “Clean up this mess.” When she turned to me J made a face behind her back and stuck his hands on his hips like hers. I’d never seen him imitate her before. He was doing such a good job it was hard to keep a straight face.

“And, Red, think about what your brother is learning from you.”

I nodded because if I’d opened my mouth I would’ve busted out laughing from watching J shake his finger at me from behind Mama’s back.

J waited for her door to close before whispering, “I know what I learned.” He imitated the fishy voice I’d made earlier, “There’s gonna be some
changes
around here!”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Vandalism

The next night, just as I was about asleep, I heard a car pull up, no headlights. When I heard voices and banging I jumped out of bed to look out my window.

The first thing I saw was a late ’50s Plymouth Fury convertible parked on a slant between the shop and the What-U-Want. I could tell from the clanging and “Shhhh!” sounds that people were inside the shop. I tried to yell but all that came out was a squeak. Our hall light went on, which seemed to unfreeze my body, and I opened my window and started crawling through the pine tree.

“Red! Don’t you go out there!” Mama had a hold of my undershirt and was pulling me back inside.

“Let go!” I yelled, trying to pull free.

Then we both saw it. Mr Harrison’s Chrysler coming out of the shop. The engine revved a few times and, even though it was dark, I could make out the driver.

“Who is it?” Mama asked.

It was Darrell. Two guys I didn’t know ran out of the shop and jumped in the Fury. They screeched off but I heard them say, “I didn’t know he was gonna steal a car!” and “Crazy!”

J came running into my room. “I wanna see! I wanna see!”

Mama turned to J and let go of me long enough that I dove through the pine branches and tumbled outside.

“Red! Come back! Someone might still be in there!”

I got up and flew to the shop. I ran through the door and turned on the light. I couldn’t believe what I saw. They’d spray-painted the shelves of tools, the workbench, and the floor. Tools were scattered where they shouldn’t be. I ran up the stairs at the back of the shop to see if anything in the office had been hurt. I was real relieved when I saw that Old Man Porter’s desk was fine and nothing had even been touched. I walked back down the steps and Mama and J were standing at the door.

J’s eyes were wide. “Red, you’re in big trouble now!”

“It wasn’t your brother,” Mama said. “Let’s go back inside. I’m calling the sheriff.”

I wasn’t going anywhere. I just stood in the shop, shaking my head. Before I knew it, the patrol car pulled up and Sheriff Scott went in the house. In another minute he and Mama were in the shop.

He yawned and cleared his throat. “You know, Betty, I think I’ll take you up on that cup of coffee, if you don’t mind.”

When Mama was gone the sheriff looked at me, awake as could be. “You got any idea who did it?”

I puffed up my cheeks and blew out, looking at my feet.

“Don’t want to say who, huh?”

I started rubbing some dirt off my left foot with the heel of my right.

Sheriff Scott looked around the shop. “Shame to do such damage. Your daddy worked hard for this.” He sighed. “Reminds me, I got to bring my car in here for some servicing. Oil change. And tyres. Last winter just about wore them out.”

He walked over to our stack of tyres and looked at them, rubbing his hand over the treads. “I’ve used Goodyears for a long time now. I like a Goodyear tyre but I might could use a change.”

He made his Kiss of Death and put his hand on a Dunlop tyre. “What do you think, Red? Should I be looking at a Dunlop this time?”

I chewed my lip. I knew what he was doing. And I appreciated it. I didn’t look up, but I kind of moved my head a little like maybe it was a nod if that was the way you wanted to take it.

He left before Mama came back with the coffee.

“He’s gone already?” she asked. “Well, come on back inside.”

“I will in a minute.” After she left I looked around the shop one more time and noticed that the hymn Daddy wrote had fallen off the wall. Amazingly the frame and glass didn’t break, not even a crack. I hung it back up on the nail. It was like Daddy’s spirit was still there. “It’s okay, Daddy,” I whispered.

Buried in sorrow and in sin

At hell’s dark door we lay,

But we arise by grace divine

To see a heavenly day.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Kung Fu Guy

The sheriff told Mama that Darrell was going to juvie, that he’d played one too many high jinks, especially something as stupid as stealing Mr Harrison’s Chrysler. I felt kind of bad about it because I figured Rosie might actually miss Darrell, but Mama said Darrell had made his own choices. And they weren’t real good ones. Plus it might be good for him to get away from Mr Dunlop.

After school, me and Beau cleaned up the shop, got the paint off the tools, and repainted the walls and shelves. By Thursday, Beau had put in so many hours Mama insisted he go home early. I was tired and sore, but nothing was going to stop me from looking for Freedom Church, so I headed over to the Dunlops’.

I’d made my own map of our land, the Dunlops’, and Miss Georgia’s, shading in red all the places on the Dunlops’ land where I’d already looked. I pulled out the old map from my pocket and sighed. I’d looked all around that triangle of land on the Dunlops’ land that said
NO CONSIDERATION
. I just didn’t see how a church could’ve been there. The next place I was going to look was where the Dunlops’ property bordered Miss Georgia’s. Maybe the church had been real close to George Freeman’s home, just over the Dunlops’ property line.

I guess I was concentrating so hard as I crunched through the dead leaves, looking ahead of me, that I didn’t even hear someone sneak up and grab me from behind.

I let out a scream and tried to break loose at the same time as I heard Mr Dunlop say, “What are you doing, boy?”

I turned around. He was still holding onto my arm like a C-clamp screwed tight. His other hand held a shotgun. And he was smirking, real pleased with himself at how much he scared me. I wished I hadn’t screamed.

He shook me but still didn’t let go. “You’re a little chicken, and a sneak, just like all the Porters. What are you doing here?”

“I was just…looking for rocks!” It was the truth.

He stopped grinning. “How stupid do you think I am? I’d like to tan your hide.” He gave me one more shake and shoved me away from him. “Now get off my land!”

I ran all the way home and collapsed on the steps of the What-U-Want, panting. All I could think of was how those men with shotguns had grabbed Emmett Till, only I got away without anything but a scare. Still I was shaking, and I was glad no one was home to ask me why I was in such bad shape. I’d about calmed down when a Mustang sped by. Poindexter. And he was headed for the Dunlops’. I groaned. Much as I didn’t want to go back there again, I had to know what was going on.

I hid under Rosie’s and my climbing tree, crouching under the branch we used to jump over the bushes from. But now I was hiding behind the bushes and looking through them to the Dunlops’ front porch, where Mr Reynolds was talking with a grinning Mr Dunlop. His
cli-ent
. It made me sick. At least I’d get some more dirt and maybe make Miss Georgia and Miss Miller see the truth.

I couldn’t hear what they were saying because they were talking low, but Mr Dunlop pointed over to our land and Mr Reynolds followed his gaze. Unfortunately that meant they were looking over towards me, and Mr Dunlop narrowed his eyes and stuck his head out towards the bushes. I froze. He couldn’t see me, could he? I was glad sweat didn’t make any noise because it was breaking out all over me.

Rosie came out on the porch with a couple of glasses of iced tea. Mr Reynolds bowed his head all polite and I could hear him say thank you. Mr Dunlop was slow to take his eyes off my hiding spot, so he stuck his hand out for the glass without looking and knocked it clear out of Rosie’s hand. It landed on his foot and he hollered like a snake bit him. I wanted to laugh so bad until I saw what he did next.

“You fat klutz!” He out and smacked Rosie across the face with the back of his hand, sending her reeling.

I stood up so fast to go help her that I near knocked myself out on our jumping branch that I forgot was right above my head. I tried to steady myself and was seeing those popping bubbles in front of my eyes, but that didn’t stop me from seeing what Mr Reynolds did.

He grabbed Mr Dunlop’s wrist and twisted it behind his back in one swift move, like something that
Kung Fu
guy on TV would’ve done. It was real impressive. Mr Dunlop’s eyes were bulging from shock or pain, I don’t know which. Mr Reynolds’s voice was loud and clear, and his face was raging red. “I don’t ever want to see that again, do you hear? I am an officer of the court, and it’s my duty to uphold the law! That, sir, is against the law! Do you understand me?”

The way he said “sir” made it sound a whole lot more like “scum”, like he knew exactly what Mr Dunlop was.

Mr Dunlop gave as much of a nod as he could what with being twisted up in pain, and Mr Reynolds let him go. I don’t know which one of them was more red-faced. And what was amazing was that Mr Reynolds still held the glass of iced tea in his other hand and hardly spilled a drop.

That seemed to surprise him as much as it did me, because he stared at the glass for a moment before handing it to Rosie, who was standing in the shadows at the other end of the porch.

“Here, miss,” he said, much more kindly, “I believe I’ve had enough.” Rosie took the glass with a shaking hand. He turned back to Mr Dunlop, his eyes shooting daggers. He didn’t look like a Poindexter any more. He looked more like Caine, that
Kung Fu
guy on TV, the hero. He gave one more darting-daggers look at Mr Dunlop. Mr Dunlop blinked first. Making an about-face as tight and tough as a soldier, he marched off that porch.

Once the Mustang was out of sight, Mr Dunlop sneered at Rosie and told her to get inside.

“Daddy, I’m—”

“Inside!” he yelled, starting after her, and she let out a little cry and ran through the front door, Mr Dunlop following on her heels.

The cold breeze blew again and I shivered – harder when I heard Mr Dunlop cussing up a storm and slamming things around inside. Rosie screamed, and I forced my wobbly legs to run around the bushes, stomp up the front steps. I banged on the Dunlops’ front door. I kept banging on it until it opened. Mr Dunlop loomed over me, letting out another string of swear words when he saw it was “a two-bit Porter” at the door.