Strays (3 page)

“Sure, I’ll be happy to wait.  You said something on that flyer about a reward?” 

Sarah’s face grew cold.  Who was he talking to?  For a crazed moment, she imagined the Green River Killer on the other end—after all, he had never been caught, had he?  Or maybe the shaggy-haired boy
was
the Green River Killer.  Wouldn’t that be a gas?  But if that was the case, who was he calling, why would he be talking about
her
, and what was this about a reward?

“Straight down The Strip,” the boy said, “just past the U-Haul you’ll see a truck stop on the west side.  Big Chevron sign out front.  I'll be on the dock.”  He listened a moment and then said: “That’s fine, sir.  Yeah, you’ll know me when you see me.  Friends call me Rhino.”  A pause, and then with more gruffness:  “Never mind my real name, Rhino’s all you need to know.”

The tattooed guy, Rhino, twisted his head to glance back over his shoulder with a lazy grin, and for a moment Sarah thought he was looking right at her.  “Big Buddy, is it?  Well, get on down here, Big Buddy and we’ll see how big you really are.”

Sarah pulled herself back into the store and ducked down one of the aisles.  She lifted her head to look, and just beyond the magazine rack this Rhino fellow could be seen through the giant walk-through windows that protected the front of the store.  She saw him cradle the phone back on the receiver, and then he paced across the dock, stuffing his hands in his pockets, standing guard.  There was no escape.

Crouching low, Sarah made her way back to the narrow hallway near the bathrooms, the hall that led back to the stock room.  She lifted her head only briefly to study the young man who worked behind the counter.  He was still hunched over his radio, smoking a cigarette and listening to the baseball game, and that was good.  He would not notice her as she slipped in the back, into the stockroom. 

Three days earlier, Sarah had been lingering around the dumpster, steeling herself to peer in for something to eat, when a grocery truck backed up to the side of the C-store.  The driver had brought down a rack filled with dry goods and wheeled it around the back, not through the front door as Sarah had expected, and since the dumpster was right there on the back corner she had stolen away lest the man see her.  Hungry as she was, there was still much shame in poverty if someone else was looking.  Nevertheless, she kept the memory of the grocery truck high in her thoughts.  The fact that the deliveryman took his wares behind the building meant that there was a back entrance leading directly into the stockroom, and now it would provide Sarah with the perfect escape.

Daring one last look at the young man behind the counter, Sarah pushed the thin aluminum doors leading to the stockroom and cringed as they squeaked.  She waited for the footsteps of the clerk, but he was too entrenched in his game to notice a couple of rusty hinges.  When she was sure she was safe, she slipped into the stockroom, listening to the hinges whistle as the doors swung back behind her.

The stockroom consisted of a wall of wooden shelves packed with brown cardboard boxes.  Logos from chip companies like Nalley’s and candy companies like Mars graced the boxes.  Some of the boxes were partially opened as the night clerk had no doubt consulted them for restocking.  For another agonizing minute, Sarah considered reaching into one of the open boxes and grabbing anything she could find, just something to tamp down this awful hunger. 

But then there was the door, back next to a wide sink where the mop buckets were filled, and freedom seemed much more important at the moment.  With a quickened pace, Sarah stole to the back door, turned the knob, and pushed.  She expected an alarm, but there was none.  It was simply a stock door, locking from the inside. 

Sarah leaned into the door, and it opened quite easily to a damp asphalt track behind the store.  At the far edge of the track was a cluster of bushes, and hunched down next to them was something small and orange, its green eyes flashing in the moonlight.  Sarah started and then realized that it was a cat, short-haired with deep ginger fur.  It sat back on its hind haunches, its pale white chest thrust up, and from the light of the storeroom behind her, Sarah swore that it was smiling.  She found herself smiling too.

“Hey kitty.  Whatcha doing out here?”

The cat’s eyes slowly closed once and reopened, and the smile seemed to broaden, and then it ducked back into the bushes.  Just like that, the first friend Sarah was likely to make on this journey was gone.

She glanced back over her shoulder, taking a last lingering look at the boxes of food stacked on the storeroom.  The moment did not last.  Shaking off the pain in her belly and the temptation in her heart, Sarah bit her lip and stepped out into the night.

Creepy Jack

“Evening, girl.”

The car was long and looked something like a midnight blue as the street lamps flickered off its hood.  Sarah could not tell the make or the model—she knew little about cars—but it had rolled up on her right out of a bad movie, the kind she had watched those afternoons at home, some black-and-white tragedy about a lonely girl walking the night and getting into trouble.

“I said good evening,” the man in the car persisted.

Sarah glanced at the car, peering in through the window on the shotgun side, which had been rolled down so the man could talk. 

“It’s not evening,” she said.  “It’s four in the morning.”

Deep in the dark of the car, she heard a low chuckle.  “I won’t tell if you won’t.  Need a ride?”

Sarah rolled her eyes.  Not much of a pickup line, but she had heard worse.  “Fifteen will get you twenty,” she said.

The man snorted again.  “Like I said, I won’t tell if you won’t.  You cold?”

“It’s August,” she said.  “I'm not cold.”

“Hungry, then.  I bet you’re hungry, girl.  Here.”

That word stopped Sarah in her tracks. 
Here
.  She knew what that word meant. 
Here
, meaning at this point, this position, this moment in time. 
Here
.  Shorthand for
Here you go
or
Here’s something I want to show you
or
Here, take this.

He had asked if she was hungry.  And yes, she was hungry, so hungry, in fact, that she was processing every word, every inflection, every syllable, breaking down the semantics and the words to make sure she heard them right, that they did, indeed, mean that something to eat was on it’s way.

Gently, so as to not show too much interest, she turned her head toward the car, which had slowed down to stop next to her. 

Here
was something beyond her wildest dreams.  The man’s hand, lean and smooth with long fingers—not the fat greasy pig fingers she expected—was holding out a small white paper bag.  Imprinted on the front was a familiar pair of golden arches.

“One of those egg-muffin things and those world famous fries,” the man said. 

“They don’t make fries for breakfast.”

“Sure they do,” the man said.  “The ones with the 24-hour drive-thru always have fries in the fryer.”  He shook the bag, making it ruffle.  “I bought it for
you
, girl.”

Sarah stared at the bag.  For as long as she could remember, that symbol on the bag meant goodness and warmth and comfort, and most of all, a state of not-hungry.  She could even smell the fries, just a little bit, their crisp aroma hovering in the cool night breeze.

“I can’t,” she said.

“Sure you can.  It’s a gift.”

Sarah took a step toward the car and felt her hand reach for the bag before she knew what it was doing.  She caught herself at the last moment and froze, her arm extended in air, her fingers mere inches from the gleaming white paper.

“I’m sorry, I … I can’t.”

The man pulled the bag back in the car, and Sarah almost cried out at the loss.  After a moment, she saw the car inch forward until it was next to the curb.  The engine died, and the man flicked on the interior lights, ducking his head to look at her.  His face was the color of toast, and he wore a dark sweater with a light gray pattern that looked like it would be comfortable in front of a fire over cocoa.  His hair was a dried-blood tint but neatly combed, and although the shadow of the dome lights hid his eyes, his smile was just wide enough through a light rash of whiskers to be real, coming from a place between pained and forced.  He looked gentle, peaceful, and Sarah wanted to trust him.  She watched as he reached into the switch alongside the steering column, pulled out the keys, and jangled them in the air.

“See these?” he said.

“Yes.”

With a flick of his wrist, the keys arced out the window, clinking on the pavement in front of Sarah.

“Pick those up,” the man said.  “You can hold onto them.  That way you know I’m not going to drive away with you because I can’t.  And then you can get in my car, take a load off your feet, and have something to eat.”

Sarah looked down at the keys before her.  “What’s the catch?”

“I just do nice things,” the man said.  “It’s what I do.  I like to go out at night and find people who are struggling and do something nice for them.  Is that a crime?  Because if it is, I’d much rather go to Hell for doing the right thing than the wrong thing.”

Sarah found her smile all at once, and she shook her head.  “No,” she said.  “It’s not a crime.”

“Good,” said the man.  “Come inside then.  My name’s Jack.”

Sarah hesitated.  “Like Jack the Ripper?”

“Nah, just a little ditty ‘bout Jack and Diane.  Your name Diane?”

A polite laugh made its way out of Sarah’s chest.  She had no idea what Jack was talking about.  Was he trying to be funny?  Sarah didn’t think he was funny.  In fact, she found him to be a bit creepy, and the name Creepy Jack suddenly lodged in her head.  Still, she was hungry, and hungry almost canceled out creepy at this particular moment.  

She stooped and picked up the car keys.  She went to the open window, fully intent on handing them back to Creepy Jack, but then she caught the scent of those fries again, and her stomach lurched, and without even realizing what she was doing her fingers groped for the car door handle.  She tugged up on it, and the door swung open, and her body did the rest, sliding into the front seat and plopping in next to him, and that was that.  Her eyes darted about for the bag of food, but already Creepy Jack had moved it away, placing it on his left leg closest to the driver-side door.  She thought about reaching for it but then thought better about it because you never knew, a move like that could be misconstrued.

“Still hungry?” Creepy Jack asked.

Sarah’s head bobbed.  “Yes.”

“Good.  In the ministry, it pays to be hungry.  I’m willing to give you this food, do something charitable for you.  But I’m going to require something from you.”

Here it came.

“It’s called pay it forward,” Creepy Jack continued.  “Ever heard of it, girl?”

“Yes,” she replied.  “I think so.”

“It’s like this.  I do something nice for you, you do something nice for someone else.  You think you can do that?”

“Of course, yes.”  The smell of the food was killing her now.  “I’ll do it.”

“Good,” said her new friend.  “Now, before I give you the food, I’d like to introduce you to the one I want you to pay it forward to, the one who deserves a kindness from you because you’re getting a kindness from me.”

Sarah felt that creeping tingle in her chest, the one that began as a child once she realized the flying boots of Big Buddy would be a regular occurrence.  But her stomach had tightened, and her head had been pounding, and the smell of the food in that bag felt good … oh so good. 

“Okay,” she said.  “Sure, whatever.”

Creepy Jack smiled and pointed down the street, indicating with his finger an old strip mall that had been shut down for the night.  “He’s right back there.  You want to go see him now?”

No,
Sarah thought. 
That’s the last thing I want.
  “Yes,” she said.

“Good.  I guess I’ll need those keys back sooner than we thought.”

And so she gave him the keys, and she turned and looked out the window into the night, bracing her feet hard against the floor of the car.  Over by the curb, seated majestically on the sidewalk, the ginger cat thrust up its white chest, stretched its neck, and looked at her.  Its green eyes flickered.  And then the motor in the door hummed, and the glass window slid up, locking her in completely. 

The ginger cat blinked again, as if saying goodbye.

Rage/Salvation

The lot behind the strip mall was wide enough for maybe two compact cars, but with something the size of the big blue beast that Creepy Jack drove there was no way another vehicle would fit into the puzzle.  A concrete wall stood on the right side of the alley about four feet tall, and a row of steel posts that had once held a chain-link fence were imbedded into the top of it.  Sarah looked up the wall and wondered if she could clear it, just in case she had to.  She felt the car slow down and stop, its front end facing a dumpster at the far end of the alley.  Creepy Jack switched off the engine, then turned and looked at her. 

“Still hungry?”

Sarah nodded.  “I am.”

“How hungry are you, girl?”

“I haven’t eaten since Wednesday.”

“Oh, that’s too bad,” Creepy Jack said, but his voice didn’t sound like he cared.  “So let’s meet my friend.”

Creepy Jack reached down next to his right hip and pushed the button on the seatbelt buckle.  The buckle clicked, and the belt slid across his body and back into its carriage.  Jack smiled, and then with great care, like a man adding sugar to his tea with a demitasse spoon, he gently eased the tongue of his pants belt out of the loops about his jeans.  He glanced at Sarah for approval, and she saw his eyes for the first time.  They were round, and the irises were wide and the color of ink, lifeless like a shark’s eyes.  His thin little mouth twitched as he grinned.  When she said nothing, he tugged the tongue back, freeing it from the buckle.  The buckle clinked as the belt came loose.