Black Duck Page 6

“What do you mean?”

  “She was walking home from the bus after school one day, and he pulls up in his car and says for her to get in, Dad wants to talk to her. So she gets in, and he starts driving to Harveston. When she asks him what’s going on, he says ‘nothing,’ he just wanted to get to know her better.”

  “That’s crazy. He’s ten years older than her.”

  “I know. So she says to take her home. He says he will, but he has an important errand up the road, and will she just sit tight until it’s done? Police business, he says. So, she says all right, and when they get to Harveston, he goes into some place by the train station, and comes out ten minutes later with a couple of guys in suits who shake his hand and drive off in a fancy car.

  “When he got back in the car, Marina asked who they were. He told her not to worry about it, they’re old friends. He was showing her how important he was, I guess. Then, on the way home, he starts up with her again and pulls into a field off the main road.”

  “That scum. What’s gotten into him?” I was getting furious listening to this. “What’d Marina do?”

  “She got out and started walking.”

  “He didn’t touch her, did he?”

  “He tried, but she got out too fast. She went back to the main road and walked, and he was driving along beside her, begging her to get in, that he wouldn’t do anything, but she didn’t trust him and kept walking. Then Emma Pierce came along in the Harveston taxi, and Marina flagged her down and got away. She came home okay.”

  “She told you all this?”

  “She didn’t want to. She would’ve kept it a secret like she does everything. But I saw her getting out of Emma’s taxi up the road from the Commons. She was afraid I’d tell Dad about seeing her, and that he’d ask her about it. I had to swear not to say anything. Dad would go through the roof if he knew what Charlie did.”

  “I wish she’d tell him. Charlie’d get fired!”

  “That’s what I said, but Marina said, ‘Don’t tell,’ because Dad is funny about stuff like that and he might blame her.”

  “Blame her! He wouldn’t.” All this was giving me a new view of what it meant to be a girl with a pretty face.

  “He might. He gets mad if he sees anybody looking at her the wrong way. Last summer, when Elton White came over and sat on the porch without even asking, Dad said it was Marina’s fault, that she was leading him on.”

  “Marina wouldn’t do that!”

  “I know. He wouldn’t listen to her, though. He told her he’d have his eye on her from then on.”

  At this point, we were interrupted by the sound of a motor out on the water, and we peered up over the dune again. A high-powered rig was coming in to the beach. We flattened out and watched.

  THE KILLERS RETURN

  THE BOAT WAS A DOUBLE-ENGINE SKIFF BUILT for speed, we could see that right away. Three men were on board, including the wheelman, who was a good skipper because he knew how to bring the skiff in close to a rock that stuck out from the beach, and turn her so his two passengers could jump off. The tide was low and nobody got wet. We watched, hardly breathing, as the two walked down the rock to the beach. We were hardly breathing because they were carrying machine guns.

  “Oh, Lord, it’s them back again,” Jeddy whispered. “What’re they up to?”

  “Looks to me like they’re going to see Tom,” I said.

  That was it, all right. They passed close by our hiding place in the dunes and walked in toward his shack on the marsh. One was a big guy in overalls and suspenders, and a broad-brimmed hat. The other wore a fisherman’s cap and was smaller but sharper-looking. From the ugly set of their mugs, we knew they meant business. We sat tight after they went by. A couple of minutes later, we heard yelling and a yelp from Viola. I couldn’t lay low anymore.

  “I’m going to go see what’s up.”

  “I will, too,” Jeddy said.

  We crept toward the pond, staying off old Tom’s path. We hadn’t gone very far when we heard a machine gun go off, one short blast, then one longer one.

  Jed dropped down and wrapped his arms around his head. “Oh, no, no,” he moaned. “They’ve gone and shot Tom.”

  I was scared, too, and I crouched down beside him but with my eye on the road. Pretty soon I saw the two thugs come hustling back toward the beach, their guns across their shoulders. Out on the water, the wheelman must’ve been watching for them, because the speedboat was already moving toward shore to pick them up. The two went out on the rock the way they’d come, and the skiff hovered alongside it and they jumped on board. Then the wheelman buttoned her up and roared off, passing outside West Island. It looked to me as if they were headed to Newport.

  As soon as the boat was far enough away so they wouldn’t spot us, Jeddy and I got up and ran like madmen to Tom’s shack. We expected to find him sprawled in the yard, but there he was! We couldn’t believe our eyes. Old Tom was all right, and he was sitting outside his door, bent over a little but still very much alive.

  We yelled and jumped for joy. “Tom! We thought you were killed! Oh, Tom! You’re all right! Who were those guys? What did they want?”

  He didn’t answer and he didn’t look up. We couldn’t figure out what was wrong.

  When we came a little closer I saw he had Viola in his arms. A sick feeling came into me and my knees got weak. I stopped running and let Jeddy go ahead. Tom had his face in Viola’s fur. He was holding her and rocking her back and forth in a sort of agony. Jeddy got down and put his hand on Viola’s neck and it came away red.

  Tom was talking to her when I came up. “Old dog, oh, old dog. Don’t you mind, don’t you mind,” he was saying. He kept rocking her, as if it would bring her comfort. There wasn’t anything that would’ve done that, though. Her eyes were open but the light had gone out of them.

  Jeddy turned to me with a terrible face.

  “They shot her,” he said. “They’ve gone and killed Viola.”

  It was quite a while before we could gather ourselves enough to think of what to do next. I felt numb all over and Jeddy was just as bad, I could see. One glance at Tom Morrison was enough to break your heart. He wouldn’t let go of Viola, kept rocking her and whispering into her ear. When a half hour had passed and he was still at it, we began to worry that this was the final catastrophe in his life that would drive him over the edge forever.

  “C’mon, Tom. Let’s get up,” I said. “You’ve got to tell us what happened.”

  “I believe I’ll just sit here with her awhile longer,” he answered in a quavering voice.

  So we sat on with him, and in the end I saw it was a wise thing to do. Viola was killed in a most sudden and horrible way. She was dead as dead could be, but all around us nature was carrying on. The southwest wind began to drop, as it often will on a spring afternoon. The seaweed smell of the beach drifted in on it, along with the familiar cries of gulls. The sun went in and out of clouds, progressing toward the horizon. Gradually, Jeddy and I began to feel steadier, as if the sea and sky and birds and whatever else was out there were wrapping themselves around old Tom’s place, just as he was wrapped around Viola, and telling us “don’t you mind, don’t you mind.”

  Tom must’ve felt some peace come into him, too, because at last he put Viola down and got to his feet. He went out back of his shack and came back with a couple of shovels. He handed one to Jeddy.

  “She’ll need a resting place,” he said. “The sooner the better.”

  He showed us a shady corner of the yard where Viola liked to lie on hot afternoons, and we took turns digging. When the hole was deep enough to take her, Tom carried Viola across to it, and put her in just as she was, and covered her up after one last look.

  “Take her to the good place. She were the best of dogs,” he said, nodding up at the sky, as if to give God the go-ahead.

  Then we bowed our heads to say a prayer for her in our thoughts, though by this time I wasn’t in a very prayerful mood. I was over my shock and getting angrier by
the minute. The only thing I could think was that I was going to catch up with the two bums who’d killed Viola and make them pay for it. But first I had to find out from Tom why they’d come.

  “They was looking for something,” he said.

  It was getting on toward late afternoon by the time he came around to giving us this information. Jeddy and I had been pressing him to tell us what happened, and he kept putting us off. The thugs had been in his shack and torn it apart on the inside. His chair and table were overturned, the bed mattress was on the floor, the stove pipe was pulled out of the wall. We helped him put things to rights, swept up some broken dishes and pounded out a dent in his big boiling pot. He owned very little and it didn’t take us long. How any man could get by with so few possessions, I don’t know.

  Afterward, we told him we had to go. Marina would be expecting Jeddy home. I should’ve been at the store long ago for my afternoon job. I knew I’d have to tell my dad some story about being kept after school, which was going to take some doing since I hadn’t been back to the place all day. Jeddy asked Tom one more time what those tough guys had wanted. Finally he answered: “They was looking for something.”

  “For what?”

  Tom held up his arm. The dead man’s gold watch was gone.

  “Grabbed it right off me,” he said. “But that weren’t it.”

  “They wanted something else?”

  “The big one kept yelling: ‘Where’s his wallet? We know you took it.’ I told ’em over and over there wasn’t no wallet. I didn’t take nothing else. He got real mad, went in my shack and kicked stuff around. Finally the little one stuck his head in and stopped him.

  “‘C’mon, Ernie, he ain’t got the ticket. Let’s get outta here.’ So the big one comes out. But Viola was standing there and he tripped over her. That made him mad again and he up and shot her.”

  I couldn’t believe it. “But why?”

  “There’s no why to it. He tripped, that’s all. Wasn’t Viola’s fault. She was just standing there.” Tom shook his head helplessly. “He up and shot her, and then they took off. Whatever that ticket is, I don’t know. I didn’t take nothing else. Only the watch. They could’ve had it back without grabbing, too. Just ask, that’s all. They didn’t have to . . .”

  He was overwhelmed and mopped his eyes. “I never thought somebody could do a thing like that,” he went on in a ragged voice. “Kill an old dog because you trip over her. I just never thought it.”

  “We’re going to report it,” Jeddy said. “Don’t you worry, my dad is going to know about this.”

  Tom nodded. You could see he didn’t care one way or the other. What was done was done, as far as he was concerned. Viola was killed and that was the end of the story. All the way walking home that afternoon, I felt bad for him. I was also afraid of what would happen when Jeddy’s father found out how we skipped school that day.

  “Do you have to say anything yet?” I asked Jeddy. “Tom doesn’t care. Maybe we should keep today to ourselves.”

  “Nope, I’m telling him,” Jeddy said, determined as he could be. “I’ve got to. It’s police business, two guys coming in, roughing up old Tom and shooting his dog. It’s my responsibility to tell.”

  “Well, take me out of it,” I said. “You can say you were down on Coulter’s by yourself.”

  Jeddy shook his head. “I’m telling the whole truth about both of us,” he said.

  “Why, when there’s no use in it?” I was getting hot under the collar.

  “Because it’s right. It’d be a lie any other way.”

  “It’ll be all right for you maybe, but for me, it won’t be,” I told him. “My dad is going to take it out on me. He’s a stickler for stuff like this. It’s not just school. I should’ve been at the store all this time. The store is my responsibility.”

  “Well, I’m sorry about that, but I can’t help it,” Jeddy said. “This is police business.”

  “I didn’t know you were working for the police,” I yelled at him.

  “I didn’t know you were such a liar,” he yelled back.

  After that, we were too mad to talk any more. We walked up the road staring straight ahead, and if thoughts could freeze air, there’d have been a big block of ice between us.

  As soon as I could, I veered off and took a shortcut across the fields toward my house. I didn’t know what I’d say to my father that night. Then, as it turned out, I didn’t have to say anything because he’d been in Worcester all day picking up supplies, and nobody missed me at the store. They must’ve thought I went with him.

  Also, by pure luck, I met Mary Marquez, who was in my class, on my way back and she gave me the assignments for the next day. I got home and did my schoolwork first thing, which impressed my mother. So, for the time being anyhow, everything came out all right for me.

  Only, late that night, I woke up and thought about Tom Morrison in his shack behind the dunes. I thought how he must be missing Viola. Here was a man who’d had big dreams once, but who’d been beaten down to the point where he wasn’t asking for anything anymore. All he wanted was just one old dog and a shack by a pond. Then look what happens.

  Life wasn’t being fair to Tom, that’s what I decided. It kept taking things away from him. He was trying to live it the best he could and, over and over, it kept taking things away.

  The Interview

  THE OLD MAN STOPS, LEANS FORWARD, BURIES his face in his hands.

  That’s enough for today.

  David looks down at his notepad and discovers that, once again, he’s forgotten to write anything on it.

  Life not fair, he scrawls hastily while he can still remember. Tom Morrison. Blue crabs. Thug stumbles over dog (Viola). Shoots it.

  He shakes his head at himself. He’ll have to improve if he’s going to be a professional journalist. Maybe he should learn shorthand or buy a tape recorder. Newpapers have started checking their reporters’ research notes. They want to be sure they’re getting the truth. Some phony articles have been uncovered recently, written by reporters who made things up.

  I thought you said you and Jeddy never fought, David says, nitpicking. At least he can go after the old man’s contradictions.

  We never did, Mr. Hart answers. Till that day. He turns away in his chair, making it clear that he doesn’t want to talk anymore. David plunges ahead anyway, a little meanly.

  This time, I think you were wrong. Jeddy was right. He had to tell his father the whole truth. His dad was the police chief. A crime had been committed.

  That’s backseat driving. If you knew my father, you wouldn’t have told, either.

  David nods. Knowing his own father is quite enough to see the point of this argument.

  Also, you don’t know the whole story about Ralph McKenzie yet, Mr. Hart adds.

  I can bet he was under some pressure to go along with things, David says. Especially if it’s like you say, that small-town cops didn’t make much salary in those days. It sounds like the McKenzie family could’ve used the money.

  I guess you could put it down to that.

  Why, was there something else?

  Mr. Hart doesn’t answer; the shop’s closed for today.

  Is it okay if I come again tomorrow? David asks. I hope I’m not taking too much of your time. There’s more here than I expected.

  My time? I’ve got more of that than I know what to do with.

  Well, is there anything I could bring back for you? From the store, I mean? David noticed there wasn’t much in the refrigerator when he put the milk in, just some kind of white soup in a plastic container. A guy that age shouldn’t be living alone.

  Is someone helping you with shopping? he asks.

  Mr. Hart’s eyes brush over him. Someone helping me, did you say?

  Yes. It looks like you could use a hand around here, with your wife away.

  The old man raises an eyebrow. From you? he asks, and laughs. So, are you driving now? I mean, aside from giving out free advice to old fools l
ike me.

  Well . . . no. Actually not yet.

  A senior in high school and you can’t drive a car?

  Well, ah . . .

  In fact, you’re not in high school yet, are you? You’ll be a freshman in the fall. You’re in no position to interview anybody about anything. You’ve never even had a job that wasn’t handed you by your family.

  That’s true, David admits, his face getting hot. How’d you find out?

  I’ve got my sources. I may look slow, but I can still get around.

  Sorry, David says. That was stupid of me. I guess I stepped out of bounds.

  You did.

  I’m sorry I lied about high school, too. I was afraid you wouldn’t talk to me if you knew my real age.

  Figured that, Mr. Hart says. I don’t mean to needle you. I’d guess you have some of the same problems I used to have as a kid. Your dad’s got a big landscaping business, I hear.

  He does.

  You’re supposed to work there for nothing?

  Well, almost nothing. He gives me a little. It’s kind of taken for granted that I’ll be going in with him.

  And you want to get away from what’s expected. You want to break ground on your own.

  David nods. My idea is to go for journalism. I’d like to write.

  Well, I admire that, Mr. Hart says. Everybody should have a chance to start fresh, take possession of what’s truly his. You know, I never did that. Professionally, that is.

  Why not?

  The Depression came on and jobs dried up. I stayed here and took over managing Riley’s store from my father. Jeddy made it out of this town, but I didn’t. Seems kind of funny to me now.

  Did Jeddy leave because of something his father did? Chief McKenzie, I mean, David asks.

  I may get to that, Mr. Hart says. He waits a minute, then adds: And then again, I may not. I haven’t decided.

  You said you didn’t start fresh professionally. But you had something else going?

  I did, yes.

  Which is the reason you stuck around here?

  Yes, I’d say so. I’ve been lucky in other quarters.