“They do good work down there” he nodded. “Must be rough, though, working nights. I never liked to do that myself.”
“I like it,” Dave said quickly. “I like the night. Daytime not so much.”
“He’s a regular night owl,” Ray put in. “Hardly ever seem him when the sun’s up. Some people are like that. You remember old Dennis? Wouldn’t pull back his curtains long as there was daylight.”
“Sure,” said Ray. “It’s what you get used to. I did a graveyard shift myself one time, way back in the day when I was a kid. Over at the rail yards, doing guard work. Just me and the dogs, all night long. Didn’t care for it much.”
“A lot of dogs out there,” Dave said thoughtfully.
“Mean ones these buggers were,” Clay said. “Ready as not to rip your neck out. Kept ’em on these long-ass chains. Vicious brutes.”
Ray relaxed as the conversation turned away from Dave for awhile, until suddenly Clay was back at it.
“So what do you do for fun? You got a girl? What’s your long term plans, anyhow? Gonna stay living here? I know it’s none of my business and all, but, heck, well it is, seeing as how your uncle’s my business partner and my oldest friend. I’m kind of like your uncle too, you see.”
Dave nodded throughout the interrogation and finally, when Clay sat back to listen for an answer to any one or more of those questions, he said one word.
“Movies?”
“Movies?,” Clay repeated. “What about ’em? Oh, you like ’em?”
“Like to go to the movies,” Dave said simply, nodding. The thought had only just occurred to him. He had read in some magazine about movies, where people went and paid money to sit in the dark and watch a big TV together.
“What kind of movies you like?,” Clay wanted to know.
“Any kind,” Dave told him.
“Well, we oughta go some time,” Ray suggested. Every one agreed.
Later, when Clay had talked and eaten his fill, he leaned back and said,
“Well, it’s time I shoved off. The old lady’s bound to be waiting up for me.”
Dave stood and along with Ray walked him to the door, shook his hand again, said good night. As they watched him depart, Ray shook his head.
“You’re a quick study, boy,” he said. “I don’t know how you pulled that off.”
“Watch and learn,” Dave said, and forced a meager smile to appear on his face.
Nine
Dave went out soon after Clay had left. Ray had muttered something about movies costing a lot of money these days, but Dave paid no attention. He hadn’t meant anything but small talk. He had heard about small talk on a tv show and how it could come in handy in awkward situations. He understood that money was important, and that Ray had little or none of it, but he hadn’t made all the connections yet, wasn’t quite sure what it was or where it came from. He only knew that if he came across some, he would give it all to Ray. It was, like so many other things in this world, utterly useless to him now.
His intention was to retrace Cookie’s steps of the previous night, but to go in closer and get a better look at the recipients of her donations. Much of his sense of caution and fear had been dispersed, merely by the recent conversations both with Cookie and with Clay. Even the issue of dogs was cleared up for him. He now knew what they were for, and what their limitations were. He decided to ignore them.
He headed straight down the riverbank, along the edges, behind the houses that bordered on it. He had found a secret path, hidden behind rushes and sometimes covered by the tide. Wet and muddy shoes were no matter. Concealment was more important. He strode along, confident in his invisibility, and neared the first encampment beneath a broken fishing pier. He could smell the charcoal smoke mingled with spicy cigarettes and heard some low murmuring punctuated occasionally with a raucous laugh. When he got close enough to hear breathing he stopped, and kept very still behind some tall stalks of wild bamboo. He tried, but couldn’t make out the words being spoken. He took a step closer and as he did he stepped on a brittle piece of dry driftwood which snapped with a sound like a gunshot. The voices abruptly ceased.
Dave stepped back behind the bamboo and could hear now only the languid lapping of the river against the pebbles on the bank. He waited a few minutes, and then pushed some stalks aside and poked his head through. Standing right there in front of him was a very large, very angry looking man, who loudly called out,
“I told you it weren’t no rat. It’s a god damn man!”
“Who is it?” a female voice shouted back.
“Damned if I know,” he replied. “It ain’t talkin’.”
“So,” he said with a little less volume, still staring right at Dave. “Who the hell are you, bud?”
Dave did not reply right away. He was considering his options and asking himself what the appropriate reaction should be. Step out and introduce himself? Run away? Both seemed equally reasonable plans.
“Say, wait a second,” the man went on, now pushing the whole clump of bamboo aside and taking two steps forward, so close now to Dave he could feel the hot beer of his breath.
“I know you,” he said. “Holy mother of pearl!”
“Princess!,” he shouted out loud and turning in her direction. “You are not going to believe who this is. You are so not going to believe it!”
“Who is it, Rick?” the one named Princess called back.
“Come on over and see for yourself,” he replied.
“Just tell me, damn it!,” she yelled. “I don’t want no more of your stupid games.”
“This ain’t no game, honeypot,” Rick said. “This here is little Davey Connor. You remember Davey Connor, don’t you?”
“From middle school?” she cried. “That little weasel?”
“The very weasel,” Rick laughed, and turned back to Dave.
“Well I’ll be damned,” Rick told him. “I heard you was smoked. Sure I did. There’s people up in Wetford selling tickets to your very grave. Holy smoke! What the heck?”
“My name is Eddie,” Dave said, quite calmly. “I don’t know you.”
“Eddie! That’s a laugh,” Rick said and yelled out, “Says his name is Eddie! Ha!”
He turned back to Dave and challenged him.
“Eddie, huh? Eddie what?”
Dave paused for a few moments before replying.
“Barkowicki,” he said, and he had no idea why he said it, or where that name had come from. He thought he just made it up.
“Eddie Barkowicki,” he repeated. Rick was not amused. His jaw tightened and his big right hand curled up into a fist.
“Now you’re joking with me, boy,” he spat. “Here I was making nice with you and now you’re making fun of me? I don’t highly recommend that, you little piece of dog waste!”
“Says he’s one of you!,” he shouted back at Princess. “Says he’s a Barkowicki.”
“Get out of here!,” Princess screamed back, and this time she got off her butt and came creeping over along the riverbank to see for herself. Dave did not recognize either one of them. Rick was a good six foot four, and maybe close to three hundred pounds, sported a buzz cut, sideburns, bulging biceps and a tattoo on his wrist that spelled out the word “damn” in a font resembling barbed wire. “Princess” was short but nearly as heavy as Rick, with thick, long, tangled blond hair, and wore tight clothes revealing clearly every single roll of fat that lined her body. Her face was sweaty and pale, and she curled her lip as she said,
“Little Davey Connor. Son of a gun! Saying you’re a Barkowicki now? You know there ain’t no Barkowicki’s but me. Annie!”
“Didn’t he have a thing for you at one time?,” Rick asked her.
“Who didn’t?,” she smiled. “I was quite the thing when I was twelve” she went on.