The Last Exit to Normal (15 page)

CHAPTER 19

T
hen all hell broke loose. I woke up the next morning to the sound of Mr. Hinks and my dad yelling at each other. It wasn’t pretty. I heard it all the way upstairs. I scrambled out of bed and into my clothes, listening to the voices. I’d never heard my dad yell before. Ever. He’d never even gotten into an argument over a parking space, let alone a yelling match with a car auctioneer, and my heart thumped in my chest. I ran out of my room and then slowed, padding down the stairs.

They were out on the front porch. Edward was watching them from the middle of the living room, and when he saw me coming down the stairs, he shook his head and pointed, signaling me to go back up. But I didn’t.

Then the yelling stopped, and the thud and clunk and crash of struggling bodies shook the house. I turned the corner at the base of the stairs just as Edward bolted to the screen door, and there I saw it. My dad and Mr. Hinks were fighting on the porch. A chair had been knocked over, and they grappled standing up, trying to pin each other to the railing.

My dad had a hold of Mr. Hinks’s upper arms, and as they struggled against the railing, Edward burst out the door and flung himself between them. Mr. Hinks, with blood dribbling down a swollen lip, braced himself in front of Dad and Edward. His face contorted in rage, he pointed a finger at Dad. “Keep your son off my property, you sonofabitch!” Then he strode down the stairs and walked away.

I watched as Edward comforted Dad, who was breathing heavily and staring at his feet, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. It came away bloody. Dad said something softly to Edward and shook his head. Edward nodded and came inside. I stood by the stairs. “What happened?”

Edward stopped, staring ice into me. “Well, your father just got into a fistfight because you decided to play the game. I think you should go upstairs now.” Then he was gone, heading to the kitchen to get a damp towel.

I had no idea what he was talking about, so I stood there. Edward came back, and as he passed, he told me again to go upstairs, this time in a more conciliatory way. I went.

Lying on my bed, I didn’t know who would come up those stairs—Miss Mae, Edward, or Dad himself. I doubted Dad would come. He’d said three sentences to me in as many days. Edward had said I “played the game.” What game?

An hour later, I got up and went downstairs. I wasn’t going to sit up there waiting all day. I had to know. Dad and Edward stood across from each other in the kitchen, leaning against the counters and talking. They stopped when I came in. Dad’s nose was puffy. I crossed my arms, unsure of what would come next. “What happened?”

Dad walked across the kitchen and faced me, his eyes intense and his voice full of trouble. “Did you do it?”

I stared. “Do what?”

“You put ten decomposed cat carcasses on his front porch last night, then slashed his tires.” It wasn’t a question.

I shook my head. “No. I didn’t. I didn’t do anything.”

Silence filled the room, and Dad studied my face for a long moment, searching for something. His jaw muscles clenched. “I don’t believe you,” he said. Then he turned and walked out.

I stood, stunned, then looked at Edward. “I didn’t do it, Edward. I swear.”

The look on Edward’s face said that he didn’t know what to believe.

“I didn’t do it.”

“I don’t know what to tell you, Ben.”

“Well, tell him I didn’t do it!”

Edward sniffed, then shook his head. “No.”

My mind reeled. “What happened, then? How’d they get into a fight?”

“Mr. Hinks threatened you.”

“Yeah, so? He obviously thinks I did it, and so does everybody else. Big deal.”

“No, Ben, it is a big deal.”

“Why?”

“Because your dad defended you, that’s why. Even though he thinks you did it.”

“What, let me guess. Mr. Hinks hit him, so they scuffled.”

“No. Your dad told Mr. Hinks he’d have to go through him first if he ever tried to hurt you.”

That stopped me. “He said that?”

“Yes. Then Mr. Hinks tried to get past him through the door, so your father hit him.”

That stopped me, too. My dad, the guy who followed all the rules, hit
him
? “It wasn’t me, Edward.”

“Tell that to him, then.”

Dad sat on the front porch, and as I walked outside, I didn’t even look at him, just kept going. Straight to Mr. Hinks’s front door. I knocked hard three times, and a moment later Mr. Hinks answered. I didn’t give him time to talk. “I stole your antlers and hid them in my closet. I did it because you strapped Billy for something you knew wasn’t his fault. But I haven’t done anything else to you or your house, including the cats and your car. So if you want to call the sheriff and have me arrested, or come out here and beat the shit out of me, go ahead. But if you fuck with my dad again, I’ll kill you.”

Mr. Hinks studied my face for a moment, his own a slab of rock. “Get out of my sight.” Then he slammed the door in my face.

Dad stood at the porch rail as I walked across the lawn. Concern flashed across his face. “What are you doing, Ben?” he asked.

I kept going. “Making things right.”

Twenty minutes later, I had the pile of antlers out of my closet and had just gotten them carefully stacked in the Hinkses’ driveway when the sheriff pulled up. He got out, walked up the drive, and planted his hands on his hips, studying the antlers. “Funny how things just start showing up sometimes.”

I sorted the last of the horns. “Arrest me if you want, but let me do this first.”

He scratched his ear, then glanced at the slashed tires. “Mind coming clean with me about this whole thing, Ben?”

I straightened. “Sure. I took the antlers, hid them in my closet, and now I’m putting them back. I did it because you and my dad and everybody else in this stinking town doesn’t give a crap about Billy Hinks.”

He nodded, soaking it in. “The tires?”

I shook my head. “No. But I know who did.”

“And I suppose you’re not going to tell me?”

“No, I’m not.”

He thought about this, glanced at the tires, then eyed me. “I’ve been hearing a whisper about a young man around here that might not like you too much. Now, taking into consideration what I know about this individual and how he operates, you might want to tell me about it?”

I shrugged. Nothing was a secret around here. “I’m saying I didn’t slash Mr. Hinks’s tires or do the cats, and I don’t really care who thinks I did.”

A moment passed. He nodded at the antlers. “Okay, then. Looks like you’ve got some work to do.”

“You’re not going to arrest me for these?” I said, pointing to the antlers.

He shook his head. “Looks like you’re taking care of it just fine. I’ll deal with Mr. Hinks about it.” Then he turned. On the way to his Blazer, he knelt by Mr. Hinks’s car, examining the slashes. After a moment, he straightened up and left.

I got our ladder and climbed up it, attaching each antler to the garage wall. It took me almost two hours, and every once in a while, I caught a glimpse of Mr. Hinks looking out through the shades.

When I’d finished, I walked inside. Dad had gone with Edward to the bank to sign papers. I grabbed my keys and drove to town. I found Dad and Edward sitting at Ms. Pierce’s desk, talking over the loans. I ignored her. Dad and Edward turned when I approached, and it all came out in a burst. “I might be the shittiest son in the world, but I’ve never lied to you about anything. Not once. That’s something you can’t say about yourself.” Then I strode out, pissed at how I felt about myself and even more pissed at the world that made me feel that way.

On my way home, I thought about what had happened. The cats. Ron Jamison telling me he wished he’d thought about doing the antlers. Greg telling me not to go to the party. Kim telling me to stay away from Ron. Seeing him at the cemetery. It added up.

I’d been set up.

When I got home, I headed out back, hopping the wire fence and walking across the fields. I knew what I’d find. I knew what had happened. Ron Jamison had dug up the cats and dumped them on the porch. He’d done it knowing I’d be blamed.

I jogged the last bit, through the stand of pines and to the edge of the ravine. Ten dug-up graves, the rock cairns scattered all about, greeted me. My stomach sunk. Damn. There was more to Ron Jamison than I knew. Then a rock hit me on the side of the head.

I ducked, then turned, my head hurting like a sonofabitch. I expected to see Ron, smiling wickedly and winding up for another throw. He wasn’t there, though. Billy was.

Billy threw another rock, barely missing me, and I faced him. Tears welled in his eyes. “Dirty bastard!” he cried. He threw again, and I ducked. The rock grazed my shoulder.

“Hey! Stop, Billy!”

Billy’s face contorted and tears streamed down his dirty cheeks as he hurled rock after rock at me. “Why’d you do it, huh? Why’d you have to go and do that?”

“I didn’t! I swear, Billy, I didn’t. I never would.”

“Liar!” He threw another one, and it hit me square in the side.

I rushed him, then, and tackled him to the ground. He struggled, but I’d pinned him down. He was stronger than I thought. I looked down at his face, dirty and wet and hysterical. “Knock it off, man! I didn’t do this, Billy. I didn’t. But I know who did, and I’ll take care of it.”

He struggled for a minute more, then went totally limp. I rolled away from him and we both lay there, staring at the sky. White heat rose around us. “I know why this means so much to you.”

He didn’t say anything.

“If there was one thing in the whole world that could happen in your life, what would it be?”

He stared at the sky, bringing an arm up to wipe his face. “That my mom would come get me.”

I closed my eyes then, and wished I could feel the same as he did. I didn’t, though. My mom was better off being away. “I’ll find her for you.”

He sat up. “Pa says she fell flat off the face of the earth. Just disappeared. He says people do that when they don’t love nobody.”

“I think people do things for a lot of different reasons. That’s what I think.”

“She wouldn’t a left if she loved me.”

“Maybe she felt trapped. Like she couldn’t do anything else. Maybe she was afraid.”

He didn’t say anything.

“You’ve never been afraid?”

“Sure. Everybody gets afraid.”

I nodded. “Well, when some people get afraid, they run away.”

“Maybe so.”

“Did your mom ever tell you where her favorite place was?”

“She told me once she’d like to take me to Las Vegas. We was looking through a magazine and she showed me. All lights and glittery stuff everywhere. They got a big pirate boat there that sinks. Pirates jumping in the water and cannons goin’ off. I like pirates.”

“Cool.”

Billy thought about something for a moment. “I ain’t killin’ cats no more. My dad can do it if he wants.” He picked up a rock and threw it. “I’m gonna be a vegetarian.”

“A vegetarian?”

“Yeah. When I grow up. Then I can help them.”

“You mean a veterinarian?”

“Yeah. The guy that makes animals better.”

I smiled. “I think you’d make a good one.”

CHAPTER 20

T
hursday morning. Bird-hunting. The closest thing I had to camouflage gear were my long camo skater shorts and a wheat-colored T-shirt. It’d have to do. As I wiped the sleep out of my eyes and went downstairs, Miss Mae called from the kitchen. I walked in. “Morning.”

She didn’t turn from the sink. “Morning.”

“I’m going bird-hunting.”

She nodded, pointing to the counter. “Lunch and a thermos of coffee for you.”

I smiled. “Thanks.”

She busied herself with buttering two slices of toast, then brought me a plate of scrambled eggs with them. “You’ve got work today.”

I dug into my breakfast. “I’ll make it up, okay?”

“You put dinner on the table and that’s your work.” Then she walked out of the kitchen, leaving me to eat alone. Eat birds? I didn’t think we were hunting chickens. I wolfed down the rest of my eggs and toast, then eyed the thermos of coffee. After a moment of thinking, I got up and grabbed my stuff, stopping off in the bathroom before I hit the door and waited on the porch.

A few minutes later, Dirk pulled up and I got in. He was fully camo’d from head to toe, and Skeet hopped around anxiously in the bed of the truck. Dirk glanced at me in my shorts. “Nice outfit.”

“Thanks. You look pretty, too.”

Dirk put the truck in gear and drove, setting his coffee mug in the cup holder. “We’ll be hunting pheasant.”

Like I knew what a pheasant was. Sure. I knew what a pheasant was. It was a thing with wings that probably had feathers. “Awesome. Want some coffee?”

He nodded, glancing at his almost empty mug. “Sure.”

I poured. “I put sugar in it. Hope you don’t mind.”

He sipped, then drank. “Nope. Pretty good.”

“Miss Mae grinds her own beans. Old-fashioned, you know?”

We drove, and I wondered what separated Dirk and me. He was nineteen years old, but he seemed . . . older. Like you would never question what he was doing. I slouched down in my seat. A few minutes later, Dirk smacked his lips: “Good stuff.” He shifted in his seat, speeding up a bit. “I hear Ron Jamison’s been giving you hassle.”

“Who told you that?”

“I got ears.”

“Kim.”

He nodded. “He’s a punk.”

“You know him?”

“Yeah. I worked with him out at his uncle’s place when I was fifteen. Before I left.”

“He would have been like thirteen.”

“Fourteen. He’s a year behind in school because he’s a dumb shit.”

“I take it you don’t like him.”

He shrugged. “Not worth my time. Kim don’t like him one bit, though.”

“I know.”

He shifted in his seat again, letting out a large fart. He grunted.

I cracked a window. “Nice one.”

“Damn.”

I breathed through my mouth. “Why doesn’t Kim like him?”

“Hell if I know, other than there’s not much to like in the first place.”

I didn’t want to talk about it, because just thinking about it made me nervous. “Jerks are a dime a dozen, I guess.”

Dirk pulled out another fart.

“Dang, you got ’em this morning.” I laughed, waving my hand in front of my face.

He grimaced. “Musta ate something bad.”

“Smells like you’ve got something dead up there.”

He smirked. “Just a raccoon I was saving for lunch.”

I spun the lid on the thermos. “Want some more? It might settle your stomach. My mom used to say hot liquid settles things.”

He shrugged. “Hell, I’m fine. Just a gurgle.” He held his mug out and I poured another cup.

Dirk drove on, and we didn’t say much until we’d turned off onto a dirt road. Dirk was the kind of feller that didn’t say more than was needed to be said, I’d learned, and I was fine with that. Silence was uncomfortable between most people, but he was the type that you didn’t feel weird around. We listened to music and got to where we were going, and there were no expectations.

A few minutes later, Dirk set his mug down and pulled over. “All right.”

I looked around. The fields looked like every other field we’d passed for the last fifteen minutes. “This is it?”

“Yeah. To the south.” He hopped out, and Skeet jumped from the back of the truck, wagging his tail. Dirk scratched him between his ears. I got out and came around the truck. Dirk winced. “Do me a favor, huh? Grab the shotguns from the cab. I gotta take a shit.” He reached in the cab and brought out a travel-size packet of tissues.

“You all right?”

He headed off, toward a gully. “Be fine. Just gotta get it out, is all.”

As Dirk disappeared into the gully to take a huge dump because of the quadruple dose of laxative I’d put in my thermos, I smiled to myself. Payback is a bitch. This would be an experience he’d remember for a long, long time. Skeet wagged his tail. “That’s right, boy. You tell your master that if he wants to tangle with the King, he’d better be ready for some fun.”

A few minutes later, Dirk reappeared and shook his head. “Sausage this morning must’ve been ripe.”

“I hate that.”

Dirk spent fifteen minutes explaining how we’d hunt and what Skeet would do to flush the birds out of the wheat, warning me three times to keep my barrel up and away from the dog. We’d be walking, and he showed me how to properly hold the shotgun while doing so, warning me twice more about shooting the dog and three times about staying parallel to him and being aware of your partner. Then he excused himself to go take another crap, mumbling about the sausage.

I didn’t have the heart to offer him more coffee before we headed across the fields, and as we entered the wheat, excitement coursed through me. Dirk called here and there for Skeet, prodding him in different directions, and five minutes later the dog flushed the first bird, scaring the hell out of me.

I didn’t even have a chance to get my gun up. I just stared at this big and beautiful and colorful thing flying up over the wheat. Faster than the clay pigeons we’d shot. Dirk’s rifle was up in a flash, and he let go with a shot, missing. He grunted, cracking the breech of the shotgun and reloading the first barrel. “Fast, huh?”

“Yeah.”

Dirk shuffled his feet. “Dude, I gotta go. Like I got a water cannon up my ass.” With a pained look on his face, he laid his weapon down and hurriedly unbuttoned his camos, squatting where he was.

I turned around, walking off a few yards and chuckling under my breath. “You got them bad, that’s for sure,” I shouted.

“Holy shit,” came the reply, between grunts. “Like a faucet, man.”

A few moments later, he was up and tucking the tissue packet in his pocket. He walked a little funny when we started again. I shook my head, laughing. “A little raw?”

He nodded. “You don’t know it, man.”

Guilt spread through me. Not enough to feel that bad, but enough to muster up some compassion. “Want to head back?”

“Hell, no. I’m fine. Gotta be empty soon.”

Ten minutes later, we swung south and Skeet flushed a pair. I got my shotgun up in time, flipped off the safety, and both of our weapons fired at once. A bird fell. Skeet bounded to it, and a few seconds later appeared with a pheasant in his mouth. Dirk praised him. “You go for the left one or the right one?”

“Right,” I said excitedly.

“You got it. I went for the left. Nice shot.”

I stared at the dead bird, and an uneasy feeling swept through me. “Pretty.”

“They are. Taste even better, though.”

“You eat them?”

He smiled. “I don’t hold with killing things for no reason.”

That made me feel better. “I’ve never killed anything before.”

“Sure you have.”

“Well, maybe a spider or two and some ants or bees or something.”

Dirk smiled. “Every time you put a piece of meat in your mouth, you killed something. Might not a pulled the trigger yourself, but you killed it.”

I’d never thought about it that way. “I guess it’s just different.”

Dirk laughed. “Doing the dirty work yourself is always different. Come on, let’s hunt.”

So we did. Dirk squatted three more times, and by the time we got back to the truck, he was walking bowlegged. Every time I felt guilty about what I’d done, I remembered my shoulder. Fair is fair, and I smiled when he told me that he’d be damned if there was a drop left in him.

He’d snagged two birds, and I missed every time after the first. That I missed on purpose wasn’t exactly public knowledge, but I had fun. And I had to admit I was proud of my first shot. It was hard to do.

By the time Dirk dropped me off, he
was
empty. We’d stopped one more time on the way home, and when he got back in the truck, he finally showed some pain, shaking his head. “Battery acid, man. Pure battery acid.”

“I heard Wal-Mart sells buttholes cheap.”

He laughed and I went inside, the pheasant I’d shot in my hand. Miss Mae was in the kitchen, and when she saw it, she smiled. “Well, look what the cat dragged in. Get over here.”

I walked over to the counter. “How do you cook it?”

“You dress it first.” She took a knife from the butcher block and proceeded to show me how to take the feathers off and then gut it. Let me tell you, bird guts stink like all get-out. I almost puked.

Half hour later, Miss Mae had the bird in a baking dish, seasoned and ready to go. She skedaddled me out of the kitchen and told me to clean up, so I did, calling Kim after I got out of the shower. “Hi, Kim. It’s Ben.”

“Hey. How’d hunting go?”

“Great. I got one.”

She giggled. “That’s what Dirk said. He stopped by to use the bathroom before he went out to Uncle Morgan’s.”

“How’s he doing?”

“He said he ate something bad.”

I laughed. “Never know.”

“Was it that bad?”

I busted up, unable to control myself. “He was squatting like every ten minutes.”

Silence, then, “Ben . . . don’t tell me you . . .”

“I did. Miss Mae has this stuff in the bathroom. Superlaxative to the rescue.”

She laughed, then laughed harder. “He’s going to kill you. You do know that, right?”

“Worth it. Totally and one hundred percent worth it. His butthole is going to be raw for just about as long as my shoulder was trashed.”

She laughed. “You are a bad, bad person.”

“Let him know, okay?”

“Ben . . .”

“It’s not a joke unless he knows. You’ve got to tell him.”

“Okay.”

Later, over a dinner of stuffed pheasant, I decided one thing as I wolfed down the last of the best fowl I’d ever eaten in my life. Bird-hunting wasn’t all that bad.