Bad Man

  Soft and revolting, his stomach drooped over the waist of his jeans, making his belly button a mouth that frowned at its own face. He couldn’t see his pectorals; they were hidden somewhere beneath his deflating breasts. Because that’s what they were. Breasts. Fat-boy tits. With his free hand, Ben squeezed. He squeezed his drooping gut, his sagging tits. He squeezed and pulled at his fat. And while he could hardly grab it at all, his hands still felt full, overflowing. Ben grimaced. He rubbed at the stretch marks on his sides, first just to feel them, then harder as if he might erase them. He stared at himself: taut and coiled, distended and porcine. He stared at a gross, fleshy body that he could see without even opening his eyes. Burying his head in his shirt, Ben pulled the fabric down. “Yeah, okay, Marty,” Ben muttered.

  In the living room, Deidra sat watching TV. Her feet were propped up on the coffee table. Stampie wasn’t near her. Maybe he was still in Eric’s room, maybe on her pillow in the room down the hall. Ben wasn’t interested enough to ask, not that she would have answered him. Ben plucked his father’s keys off the counter and walked out into the sun.

  The truck rumbled awake on the second crank, and Ben pulled out of the neighborhood. He didn’t drive very often. Most of the things he needed to get to were close, and he didn’t need to get to that many things.

  The movie theater was about twenty minutes away. Frank had said he lived somewhere on Chemstrand, just behind that old dump. Ben hoped that Frank was being literal, because that road was a long one. If it was farther down the street or on a side road, Ben would be looking all afternoon. Fried clams. They served fried clams at that theater.

  Ben let the radio play and hung his elbow out the window. The wind felt nice, even as the truck slowed into thicker traffic. Frank’s side of town was more densely populated. More stores and restaurants, more things to do. At least it seemed like it. But a lot of businesses were closed, shuttered forever in the gutted strip malls that guided the road.

  Moving slower than the speed limit, Ben ambled down Chemstrand, looking for Reggie’s car. He didn’t know the make or model, just that it was silver with some kind of…thing on his dashboard. A statue or figurine or something. He drove for about a mile, moving slow enough that no car stayed behind him for long. Then he made a U-turn and doubled back before he turned down a side street.

  Ben let the truck coast. There were so many garages. If Reggie’s car was in one of those things, then that was that. There were miles of neighborhood here. Ben couldn’t walk up to each garage and peek through the square windows. More than a dozen times, Ben slowed or even stopped at the sight of a similar vehicle before pressing on the gas and rumbling deeper into the neighborhood. Twice Ben stopped the truck completely, getting out to lift car covers. The streets weren’t laid out in any sort of pattern. There were no grids, and Ben didn’t have a map, so he could only do his best to drive the roads systematically.

  And all the time, there were cars coming and going. Checking a driveway only really counted for as long as Ben could see it.

  It had been about an hour and a half of driving the neighborhood streets, retracing his route, finding new veins, reversing out of unmarked dead ends. An hour and a half of stumbling upon paths he’d surely driven before. But finally, there it was. A silver Mercury Tracer with an orange cat statuette on the dash.

  Parking in the street, Ben grabbed the Bible off the passenger seat. The house was nice. Small but brick with a manicured lawn. Screen door with no tears. Ben knocked on the wood door three times, then stepped to his right, out of the way of the peephole.

  There was a murmuring behind the door, and then it swung open. The smile on Reggie’s face faded, then struggled to return after a few beats.

  “Hi there, Ben,” Reggie said. “Everything okay?”

  “Hi, Reggie. Yeah, everything’s alright.”

  “Your dad okay?”

  “Yessir. He’s fine.”

  “Okay.” Reggie’s smile wavered as his eyes became uncertain. “Frank’s out with some work friends. I was just about to hit the sack.”

  “I didn’t mean to bother you,” Ben said. “Do you got a second?”

  Reggie stepped to the side. Heated air washed over Ben’s skin. He breathed in the clean smell of the house as Reggie shut the door behind them. Dark and warm, the home felt nice but impersonal. The decorations all looked to be store-bought trinkets, vases and paintings made in factories somewhere.

  “Hadn’t seen you at the lot in a long time.” Reggie lowered himself into a chair and motioned for Ben to sit on the couch. “You look good.” The man mimed a biceps flex.

  “You too, Reggie. Still givin Brandy hell.”

  “She gets what she’s got comin.” Reggie smiled. “You come to talk shop?” He gestured toward the book in Ben’s lap.

  “No.” Ben mustered a chuckle. “Wouldn’t really know where to start.”

  “Well, first there was the Word. And then some other things happen.” Reggie laughed loudly.

  “Frank doin alright?”

  “Yeah,” Reggie said casually. “I mean, it was hard on him, what happened with that accident…Frankie ain’t good with stuff like that. Someone hurt. Blood. That kinda stuff. It was hard. He thought that boy died. You know? That he couldn’t save him. They’s best friends, him and Marty. I just think he feels a little bad.”

  “He shouldn’t,” Ben said. “Frank saved his life. I ain’t just sayin that.”

  “He’ll be okay. You don’t tell him I said anything,” Reggie snapped with mock seriousness. “I know you and Marty like to give my boy a hard time. Clint know you’re here?”

  Ben shook his head. Reggie crossed his legs and nodded.

  “Alright then…” The man swept his hands toward Ben. “Shoot.”

  “I been thinkin about it since last night,” Ben started. “Me and Frank was talkin a little while back about how long you and my dad knew each other. Frank said that you used to be a janitor before you worked at the lot, said you worked at my elementary school, Bradley Park. He said before that, though, you worked at a school called Blackwater. Now I remember that because I ain’t never heard of a school called Blackwater, and there ain’t too many schools around here. And it come up again at least one more time after that.”

  Reggie smiled and lightly smacked his hand on his knee. “You know,” he said eventually, “just as soon as I was pullin out of the lot last night, I realized I’d misled you. I did work at that place for a real short time. That was back when I lived up in Alabama. Long time ago. Forgot all about it. There ain’t much I could really tell you.”

  “You know if it’s still around?”

  “I mean it’s been a lifetime since I heard anything about that place. If I had to guess, I’d say it wasn’t.”

  “How come?”

  “Just because most things don’t stick around for very long, I guess. That’s all. New zones for new parts of the town, stuff like that.”

  “What kinda school was it?”

  “Oh, just a regular school,” Reggie replied, still grinning. “Elementary.”

  “It wasn’t a religious school?”

  Reggie’s eyes crept toward the Bible in Ben’s lap, then darted away. “Yeah, I guess it was. Yeah. It was.” Reggie laughed.

  “You was the janitor?”

  “Yeah, one of ’em. There was a couple.”

  “You still know any of ’em?”

  “It ain’t exactly a club there, Ben. Janitors’ club.” He chuckled to himself again. “I don’t even remember any of those guys’ names, to tell you the truth.”

  “Weren’t nothin special about it or anything?”

  “No,” Reggie replied thoughtfully. “Not that I recall. I’m sorry there, young Ben. I just don’t remember too much about that place. I hope you didn’t drive all the way out here just for that heap of nothing.”
>
  With a warm smile still on his lips, Reggie seemed to be waiting for Ben’s next question. But what it felt like, sitting quietly in the tidy living room, was that Reggie was hoping Ben would leave. Just get up and get the fuck out of his spotless home. Just get out and go away and shut up about old jobs.

  Instead, Ben stood and walked to Reggie’s chair. He thumbed open the cover and handed the book to the man.

  “Someone’s been usin this symbol to mess with me,” Ben said in a quiet voice. “Does it mean somethin?”

  Reggie nodded, and soon he was more rocking than nodding. “No. Not far as I know. I think that’s just a logo.” He tried to hand the book back to Ben, but Ben didn’t take it. Instead he sat back down. Reggie rested the Bible on his lap.

  “How come you didn’t work there for long?”

  “Just one of them things, I guess. Might’ve been better pay somewhere else. Yeah, I remember the pay being low. Not like what you’re makin over there at the store!”

  “Did you…” Ben paused as he tried to think of what to ask. “Did you have uniforms?” There was irritation on his tongue. He spat the sentence more than he said it.

  What a dumb fucking question.

  “Yeah,” Reggie answered. “Jumpsuit kinda deal.”

  Ben nodded and looked long at Reggie. He wasn’t holding the book. He sat with his arms resting beside his legs like the Bible was an animal he wasn’t quite afraid of but didn’t want to touch. He was still smiling, even when he spoke. But there was something. Ben could swear it. A shadow in his pauses. The ghosts of thoughts that danced across his face.

  Ask another one then.

  “You, uh…You have one of them buckets with the wheels on it? Or did you have to carry the bucket all over the place?”

  “Oh, it had the wheels I think.” Reggie nodded.

  There was a warmth on the back of Ben’s neck. Reggie wasn’t telling stories. No embellishments. No real laughter. He didn’t care why Ben was asking these questions; he just wanted them to end. He already knew what was prompting them, or he desperately didn’t want to.

  There was a question Ben could ask that would open Reggie up. Ben was sure of it. Everything Ben wanted was just below the surface of Reggie’s strained smile. But Ben didn’t know enough about the school to know what that question might be, didn’t know what Reggie didn’t want to talk about, and now he was out of time, because Reggie was standing.

  “If I covered the gas money,” Ben started, “any chance you’d take me up there?”

  Reggie laughed. “That’s a long drive there, Ben. Besides, I doubt it’s even still around.”

  Ben nodded. He rubbed his palm against his leg.

  “I really do gotta be hittin the hay,” Reggie said, handing the book back. “I’m sorry for not rememberin what you was talkin about last night, makin you drive here for nothin. I’ll tell Frankie you said hello.”

  There it is.

  “Nothin to be sorry about, Reggie. Hey, you mind if I wait in the truck there? I’m parked on the street.”

  “Wait? For what?”

  “For Frank. Figure he might be interested. In ridin out there with me, I mean.”

  The man smiled and pushed his glasses up with a bent index finger. “What you wanna go all the way out there for? Ain’t gonna be nothin to see.”

  Ben shrugged. “That’s okay. At least it’d be a new kind of nothin, I reckon. I appreciate you letting me take up part of your day, Reg.”

  “Well, gas money or not, I can’t let you use my car. Can’t risk not havin it for work. And I don’t think Frankie’s gonna appreciate you wastin his time along with yours,” Reggie said.

  “I ain’t tryin to waste anybody’s time. If he don’t wanna come, then he don’t got to.”

  “And he won’t want to.”

  Ben stepped toward the front door. “Alright then, Reggie.”

  “I ain’t—” He cleared his throat. “I ain’t got no kinda problem with it. Just a waste of time is all. I’m tryin to help you.”

  “And I appreciate that.”

  “But to drag my boy along with you…” Reggie frowned and looked at Ben with disapproval.

  “I ain’t gonna drag nobody.” Ben shrugged. “I’m just gonna ask.”

  “No…you—damnit. You ain’t listenin.”

  “It ain’t that long a drive. It’ll be—”

  “You ain’t takin my boy out there!” Reggie cried. “You understand me? So quit makin like you are.”

  Ben stared at the man. He’d known Reggie for a long time, had never heard him yell, had never seen him this angry. But this wasn’t quite anger. It felt like something else. “Reggie, how come you don’t want me to take Frank out there?”

  The man’s lips snagged on his teeth. He tried to smile but couldn’t seem to manage it.

  “Tell me what was wrong with the school, Reggie.” Ben’s voice shook.

  “I was just a janitor.”

  “Tell me about the school, or I’ll ask Frank. I’ll ask him and he’ll say yes, Reggie.”

  “No,” Reggie said casually, waving Ben’s words away. Tears followed the contours of his struggling smile.

  “He’ll say yes. And me and him will drive up there and see for ourselves what it is. Tell me what was wrong with Blackwater.”

  “Nothin wrong with it.”

  “Damnit, Reggie! What was wrong with the school?”

  “It wasn’t a school.” Reggie’s eyes widened in surprise, as if he hadn’t been the one who said it. It was a horrified look, one that Ben had only ever seen once before, on Deidra’s face. Reggie froze like a child hiding from a monster that could hear you only if you breathed.

  There was a burning in Ben’s chest. He could taste bile in his throat as he watched Reggie’s eyes turn red with tears and private terror.

  “What was it?”

  “Oh, God. Oh, goddamnit!” Reggie moaned. “I didn’t do nothin. I don’t know who told you I did, but I didn’t do nothin to nobody.”

  “I ain’t…That ain’t what I’m here about. No one told me nothin, Reggie.”

  “Then what in the holy hell are you here for? Just leave it alone! Stop talking about it. Stop making me fucking think about it!”

  “What’s the symbol mean?” Ben urged, opening the book and pointing. “The boy and the moon.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Yeah, you do,” Ben snapped. “Why would somebody send this to me?”

  “The book?”

  “No. The symbol.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Reggie—”

  “They didn’t have no Bibles when I was there. Weren’t no books at all. Oh, Jesus. Oh my God.”

  “What was it then? If it wasn’t a school, then what was it?”

  “I don’t know!” Reggie lost control of himself and wept. His glasses were smudged with tears. His breathing shuddered as it leveled. “Oh, Christ. Frankie’s…I’m gonna wake up Frankie.”

  “He ain’t here, Reggie. He’s out with friends, you said.”

  Reggie breathed heavily. With unsteady legs, he moved toward his chair until he found it.

  “Tell me, Reggie.” Ben held the book out, and Reggie took it with pain in his eyes.

  “I think it was a school back when it first started. Oh, jeez…My uncle. My uncle got me the job. And I was lucky to get it. Weren’t a lot of work for black folks up in that part of Alabama. I was fifteen or so. My brother had already moved up to Baltimore, so it was just me and Momma, since my daddy was in a bad way.

  “I just cleaned. That’s it. I cleaned the floors. I cleaned the toilets. I didn’t know nobody and didn’t nobody know me. When I saw— I asked my uncle, ‘How come you sent me to work in a place like that?’ And he didn’t know what I meant. Thought it was what it used to
be back when it was a church thing.” Reggie tapped his fingers against the cover of Ben’s book. “Started as one little ol’ building, for kids whose folks had died or given ’em up.”

  “Like an orphanage?”

  “Yeah, kinda. Mostly. But it was a school. It was that too. Church members would send their kids to it just during the daytime if they wanted. Donation-type thing. It went on for a while like that. It was really nice. That’s what everybody said. That it was real nice.

  “They was building the place up all the time, adding new rooms and buildings. Buncha kids and lots of teachers and nuns and what have you. But for this or that reason, the church or churches maybe started getting less and less donation-wise. Or maybe they spent too much money on makin the place bigger. I don’t know.

  “Whoever ran that place or the committee or whatever, they made some kinda deal with the state so that they could keep it open, I guess. It was important. They didn’t want to just…to just shut it down. It was state money for state students. That was the deal.

  “This was all before I got there. I don’t know how it went from what it was to what I seen. I’m fifteen years old. What the hell was I supposed to do?”

  Ben looked at Reggie uncertainly. The man took a deep breath.

  “The students that the state sent, there was something wrong with ’em. Some of ’em was…‘special needs’ is what they’d call ’em now, I think. Rowdy kids. Or just simple ones. But there was other kinds too.”

  “What’s that mean? Other kinds how?”

  “I don’t know. The kind that needs doctors. They was mean. That’s what I heard. They just kept bringin ’em in until there weren’t no more room left. Some of them kids couldn’t have been there to learn. You couldn’t teach ’em. They was gone.

  “But it weren’t just kids. Like how they put them dim older kids in the younger classrooms at Bradley Park? It was like that. But some of the people the state sent was grown. They had to be. Sent ’em because they had ‘minds of children’ or some such horseshit.