Chapter 14
IT WASN’T difficult to find the junkyard where, according to Tiffany, Bethany’s boyfriend Derek worked. Just off of Tibbs in one of the seedier sections of the south side, I found Schneider’s Junk Yard. The place was surrounded by a huge wooden fence with a gate in front that was kept open during business hours. Schneider’s Junk Yard was painted on the gate in red letters. I pulled in and found a place to park. There was a small office that looked like a good wind would knock it over. Everywhere else there was just trash and rubbish and a lot of cars in various stages of dilapidation. Derek’s uncle seemed to make most of his money from selling parts off of junked cars. In front of the office were sundry other items that Schneider’s had that one could pick up for a song. An out-of-tune song, at that. A swing set that was nearly eaten away with rust. Three baby strollers, one with a broken wheel. An Easy Bake Oven that looked like it had been dragged through the mud. I wouldn’t give the change in my pocket for the lot.
Grass refused to grow within the fenced-in area, and I can’t say I blamed it. I kicked up a little dust as I walked up to the office door. There was a small, broken wooden step in front of the door that showed traces of rat droppings. I’d have to remember to bring Daisy here next time so she could feed. A sign said to Come On In, so I did.
Inside everything looked to be coated with oil or dust or both, including the guy sitting behind the counter. He was watching a tiny black and white television and barely looked up when I entered. Oprah is hard to tear yourself away from.
“You’re Schneider?” I asked.
He waited until the commercial and then leaned forward to turn the sound down. “Who wants to know?” Schneider was a big guy, but not a healthy big. His grimy shirt didn’t entirely cover his gut, and I was subjected to the sight of his fish-belly-white stomach. He had sandals on over white socks. Classy guy.
“Me. My name is Duncan Andrews. I’m looking for your nephew, Derek.”
Schneider barked out a harsh laugh. “He owe you money? Good luck with that, partner. You’ll never see any of it. Boy was supposed to come and help out here today and never did show up. Just works when he feels like it, I guess.” For someone who didn’t want to talk to me at first, he’d suddenly become quite garrulous. Must be my winning personality.
“He doesn’t owe me money. Just need to see him, that’s all.”
Schneider cocked an eyebrow at me, and I could see understanding dawn upon him. He obviously thought I wanted to buy some weed off his nephew. He nodded. “He’s living down on Gimber right now, few blocks over.” He gave me the address. “He’s probably there right now, sitting on his ass. Boy’ll do anything to keep from working.”
I thanked him and beat a hasty retreat. I felt like I needed a shower, and I hadn’t even touched anything in the office. I got back in my car and drove around until I found Gimber Street. As I searched house numbers, I thought about calling Ellen Boyd to check in with her but nixed the idea. She knew how to get in touch with me if there were any fresh developments. After running out of the house, Tanner Boyd had apparently made a beeline for his favorite bar. Upon returning, he still insisted that ghosts don’t exist and that what we’d seen was some sort of shared illusion. Apparently this was the same illusion that allowed people to believe that Liberace was straight.
The house where Derek Schneider was living was indeed small. I found a parking spot on the street a few houses down and walked back. Several kids were playing in the front yard. They all wore dirty clothes and none had on a jacket despite the chill in the air. The oldest was a boy of about seven or eight. He was digging into the dirt with a pocket knife. A sullen-looking girl of about five was standing by watching him. Two other boys were wrestling off to the side. They seemed to be getting a bit angry and were cussing each other out with words I wouldn’t think six year olds knew. The other kids paid them no attention.
The kid with the knife looked up as I approached. Not finding me of interest, he went back to his digging. I went on up to the front door and knocked. After a moment the door was opened by a boy wearing cut-off jeans with the top of his boxer shorts in plain view. A fashion guru. He had blond hair and was maybe fourteen. He looked at me like I was a slug. “Yeah?” he asked.
“I’m looking for Derek,” I said with a friendly smile.
He was immune to my charm. “Ain’t here,” he said.
“Do you know where he is?”
The kid gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head. He didn’t know, and he didn’t care. I couldn’t see much of the inside of the house, as the kid hadn’t opened the door more than was necessary, but I could see that the small living room behind him had a pair of bunk beds pressed up against one wall. A television was on and some unseen person or persons were in the middle of a video game. I guessed I was keeping Blondie from blowing up a planet or whatever the object of the game was. “How about Amber?” I asked. “Is she around?”
He looked at me blankly.
“Brenda?”
The same look. I wanted to punch the kid. I couldn’t tell if the name meant nothing to him or if he’d merely decided I wasn’t worth giving any information. “Check back later,” he said, starting to swing the door closed. “Derek should be back then.”
I let the door close. Despite the lack of verbal confirmation, I was pretty sure I’d found where Brenda Sanderson had gone. Derek must be one hell of a lay or, more likely, she really wanted to get back at her mother to endure staying at this kid-infested hovel.
Back in the yard, the two boys had found that wrestling wasn’t settling their differences and one was straddling the other and throwing punches. Most were deflected by the other boy’s upraised arms, but it was still quite a beating. The kid on the bottom was screaming at the top of his lungs. The boy with the knife didn’t even bother looking up. “Stop it, you two,” he threatened, “or I’ll come over there and stop you myself.”
They ignored him. I smiled at the little girl as I walked by. Her mouth shifted slightly, which I took as an attempt at a smile. I got back into my car and wished that I didn’t have to return. Maybe I could just provide Janice Sanderson with the address and tell her that’s where her daughter was. Let her deal with the Brady Bunch from Hell.
I sighed and started the engine. I needed a drink. I’d have to drive through downtown to get back home, so I figured I’d stop off at Jimmy’s, a gay bar on Pennsylvania Avenue. It was a piano bar and a popular place for the after-work crowd. I’d found the place where Brenda Sanderson may have run to, so I considered that I’d done some work and therefore qualified to join the after-work crowd.
As I pulled away I looked in my rear view mirror and saw that the two boys had risen. The one that had been getting the snot beat out of him picked up a toy tractor and threw it at the other kid. It hit the kid in the forehead, and I could hear his howl even with the engine running and the windows all up.
I pressed the accelerator and gunned down the street. A gin and tonic or two would make the day seem a little better.
ANGELA had taken to sneaking out of her house often to spend time down at the Lion’s Mane. The young men in town began to talk about her. The things they said angered the man. Once he was at the edge of the cemetery and happened to overhear a conversation between two men on the other side of the fence. They were taking a shortcut through the churchyard on their way home. Usually the man paid no attention to people when they talked, but he overheard one of them mention Angela. By now the man knew her name. He often heard Angela’s mother calling out for her, usually in anger. The man was laughing and calling Angela a whore.
He followed the two men. He stayed back, making sure they didn’t know they were being followed. He was getting very good at being stealthy. Angela never suspected that she was being followed to the inn night after night. The taller of the two men, a youth with a broken nose and bad skin, continued to laugh and speak ill of Angela. When the two men separated, he followed the tall man.
He killed the youth with the broken nose, strangled him with his hands. Then he clawed his way into the youth’s gut and ate some liver. It tasted good. Fresh. It was the first time the man had killed and the first time he had tasted new flesh. It was so different from already-dead flesh. He liked it.
He also knew that he was changing in some way. He was no longer one of his own kind. Not exactly. He wasn’t human, either, but he no longer wanted to skulk and hide in the shadows. He wanted to be free of the cemetery. He wanted to be with Angela.
He took the young man’s heart with him and ate it back at the crypt.