The Bumblebee Flies Anyway (16 page)

“Sorry,” he said, giving Mazzo a last encouraging look over his shoulder. Mazzo merely turned away.

Back in his room, in his bed, Barney drifted into sleep, weary now, bones aching a bit, his back painful from that uncomfortable stance in Mazzo’s room. He would keep his promise somehow. Mazzo would go out in a blaze of glory, and Barney and Cassie and all of them would cheer him on.

B
ILLY
,” he said. “We are going to steal a car.”

“We?” Billy asked, raising his hands in a helpless gesture. Meaning: me, this wheelchair, my legs all shot?

“Yes, we,” Barney said. “I’ll do the actual stealing, but you’ll be the expert on how to pull it off and also act as a lookout.”

Billy looked doubtful, but his expression also showed a bit of hope. In a place like the Complex, anything that broke the routine, fractured the hopelessness and boredom, was welcome. Even the impossible, like stealing a car.

“Where are we going to steal this car?” Billy asked, playing along, nothing to lose, what the hell.

“From the junkyard next door.”

Billy shook his head. “You’re crazy, Barney, know that? Why do you want to steal a car from a junkyard?”

“Not just any car,” Barney said. “A particular car. A very particular car.”

Billy’s eyes gleamed with interest now. Barney could always do that to him, capture his attention and interest.

“What are you going to do with it once you steal it?” Billy asked.

“Give somebody a ride in it,” Barney said, delighted
with Billy’s curiosity. He was also delighted by something else: a new kind of aftermath. Not the frightening, dizzying aftermath he had dreaded so much but a new one. He’d awakened this morning feeling pleasantly light-headed and tipsy, his body loose and relaxed. He had never been drunk in his life, but he figured this was how being mildly drunk must be. Feeling willy-nilly and sort of woozy. But in control. Able to walk and talk and eat—the return of his taste had also brought back his appetite and food tasted good again, even the institutional kind of food he found on his plate every day. Anyway, anyway. He enjoyed the sensation of tipsiness, drifting down the corridor to find Billy sunning himself near a rear window.

“Who?” Billy asked. “Who’s going to ride in it?” A child again, hoping it might be him.

“That comes later,” Barney said, thinking that yes, maybe Billy could get to ride in it too. He’d hate to disappoint Billy. “First the car.”

“Okay, which car you going to steal?”

“We,” Barney said, “you and me, we’re going to steal it.” Slurring his words a bit, talking lazy but nice and slow, no hurry. “Like a partnership. Partners in crime.”

“Wow,” Billy said.“But which car?”

“Well, it’s not really a car.”

Billy’s face fell, disappointment draining the eagerness away. “Hell, Barney, you just said we were going to steal a car and now you say it’s not a car.”

“That’s right, Billy. It’s a car but it’s not a car. Remember that day I climbed the fence? I spotted it from the top of the fence. A red car, looked like an MG.”

“That was the day you froze on the fence. Like a statue and I was calling you to come down.”

“Right. Well, I went back up again. Went up the fence
and over, and looked at the car real close. Know what I found out?” He felt light and bright and clever.

“What?”

“That it was made of wood. An imitation car some kids made in a school in woodworking class. The label said that.”

Billy was even more disappointed. “Aw, what good’s a phony car?”

“Remember those little cars they have in amusement parks? They weren’t real but they were fun to ride. Hell, you must have ridden in one of them. I did.” Barney wasn’t sure where or when he had driven one but knew he had, all right.

“Sure, I remember,” Billy said.

“Well, you had fun, didn’t you?”

“But it wasn’t made of wood, Barney.”

Barney sighed in exasperation. “What does it matter what it’s made of,” he said, “as long as it works.” But he wanted to say more. Needed to tell him how he felt about the car and what it meant.

“Billy,” he said, knowing he was breaking the rule and entering Billy’s compartment, “why did you come here? To this place?”

Billy looked quickly away, a pink flush invading his sallow complexion. His hands fiddled with the controls of his wheelchair. “I … I …” he stammered.

“To serve mankind?” Barney asked, knowing the words were high sounding and probably embarrassing to Billy. But true all the same.

“I don’t know,” Billy said. “There was nothing else to do. I figured what they learned in the tests might help somebody, sometime. I don’t know about mankind, though.”

“Okay. In other words, you’re doing something, right?”

Billy looked at him again. Nodded. “Trying to.”

“Well, I’ve got to do something, too. Or try.” It was still difficult finding the words. “The worst thing, Billy, is not doing anything at all. So stealing a car that isn’t a car is better than doing nothing.”

Billy looked at him doubtfully, frowning.

“Trust me,” Barney said, thinking: The best thing is action, not words. Show Billy the Kidney what he meant. Steal the car and let Billy see what he meant. “I’m going to make that car work, Billy.…”

Billy still looked skeptical. But there was a hint of interest behind the skepticism.

“Tell me some more,” Billy said.

“Before I tell you more, we have to steal it,” Barney said. “We also need a plan. And some tools. That’s where you come in, Billy. You know all about this place. Where can I find some tools? Like a saw and a screwdriver. Stuff like that.”

“You going to build a car or steal one?” Billy said, eyes bright with interest now.

“Maybe both,” Barney said mysteriously. “And I’m counting on you, Billy, to help.”

Billy snapped his fingers. “The cellar,” he said. “I saw a maintenance guy come out of the celler with a toolbox once.”

Good old Billy the Kidney. He knew almost everything about the Complex except when he was going to die.

He had never been in the cellar before, had had no reason for visiting it, so he stumbled around the place like an explorer invading foreign territory. The cellar reminded him of a haunted house, white sheets covering assorted pieces
of furniture. Barney gingerly lifted a sheet off a chair, afraid he might find a ghost sitting in it. And chuckled when he saw nobody, not even a ghost, was under the sheet.

Just as Billy had reported, the cellar was neat, everything seemed in place. An array of paint cans lined one wall. Lawn mowers and other pieces of equipment, along with shovels and hoes and rakes, hung from pegs on a long board at the far end. The cellar was divided into small alcoves. Peeking into them, Barney saw that most were empty or contained more furniture, shaped like desks and chairs, also covered with sheets.

There had to be a workbench somewhere. And a workbench always had tools, among them the tools he needed—a screwdriver, a hammer, maybe a chisel.

The dust tickled Barney’s nostrils and he almost sneezed. He tried not to sneeze, although nobody was here except him. Nobody but us chickens, he thought, feeling light and bright and adventurous.

At the next alcove he saw the green workbench, loaded with tools of all kinds. Thanks, Billy the Kidney.

In the drawers of the workbench he found a variety of tools, all kinds of hammers and chisels and drills and screwdrivers and stuff he didn’t know the names of. He took a medium-size screwdriver and a small hammer. He could always come back if he found that he needed more tools.

Best of all, he discovered a room at the far end of the cellar that was completely isolated from the rest of the place. Not an alcove but a room with a door. The room was dusty and dirty, old newspapers piled in a corner, rags tossed here and there. A sagging table, covered with cheap oilcloth, stood in the middle of the room. A few straight-backed
chairs, some with missing legs or backs or seats, stood around like crippled beings from another planet.

Barney giggled with delight.

A perfect place to work.

Private and untouched by human hands for God knows how long.

Giggling again—he couldn’t remember ever giggling before in his life—and still pleasantly light-headed, he stood at the doorway of the room, grinning happily.

Next item on the agenda:

Car theft.

But first, Allie Roon.

Billy the Kidney had protested when Barney had said that he wanted to make Allie part of the plan for stealing the car.

Disappointed, he had said: “He’s no use, Barney. He won’t even make a good lookout with all his twitchings. You wouldn’t know whether he was trying to give you a signal somebody was coming or whether he was just twitching like he always does.”

“Look, Billy,” Barney had explained. “He’s going to see us coming and going. He’ll wonder what’s going on. He might start asking questions or nosing around. He could screw it up nice and easy.”

Billy’s lips formed a childish pout. “I thought we were partners, just you and me, Barney.”

“We are partners, Billy. Think of Allie Roon as our assistant.”

“He’ll have to take orders from me?” Billy asked, getting interested again.

Barney sighed; he got tired sometimes of Billy’s childish behavior. Actually, he didn’t know why he was insisting on
Allie Roon’s participation in the event. He wasn’t really worried that Allie would blunder and probably ruin the plan. Somehow it seemed proper to have Allie join in the conspiracy.

“Yes,” Barney said, “Allie Roon will have to take orders from you.”

“Gee, I don’t know,” Billy said, still reluctant, shaking his head dolefully but giving in finally. “But I guess it will be okay.”

Barney stole his way along the fence, crouched low as if he were a moving target, looking for loose slats. But there were no loose slats. Whoever had built the fence had built it to last, to resist anyone trying to break through the fence. Which seemed ridiculous, of course. Why would anyone want to break into a junkyard? But I’m breaking into it, Barney thought.

He ran his hand over the weather-beaten wood. Weather-beaten but sturdy. Glancing back at the Complex, he saw Billy the Kidney in his wheelchair acting as lookout near the doorway. He knew that Allie Roon stood inside near the freight elevator also performing lookout duties. Unnecessary, of course. But they’d been so eager to be a part of the car theft that Barney had pretended that lookouts were needed at this point. Maybe later, but not now.

He frowned at the fence. Problem: getting the car into the Complex. Impossible to lift it over the fence. Probably impossible to cut an opening in the fence wide enough to get it through. Even if it were possible, he didn’t want to risk sneaking a car into the complex. Better to smuggle it in piece by piece, a little at a time, and then reassemble the car later. Slower, maybe, but safer.

What he needed was a section of fence, away from the street or the windows of the Complex, in which he could loosen some of the slats. He became discouraged as he moved along the fence, testing the sturdiness of it, looking for weaknesses and finding none. Maybe he’d have to return to the cellar and find a saw. But how the hell would he go about sawing his way through a fence?

Finally, a hundred feet or so from the Complex, almost at the spot where the fence turned a corner, he noticed a section with boards that were not joined as tightly together as the rest of the fence. Two loose slats with a bit of daylight between them. Enough daylight to admit a hammer or screwdriver or even a crowbar if he could find one back in the Complex. Might as well give it a try with the tools at hand. Taking the hammer from his pocket, Barney pried the boards apart. Without having to exert himself too much, he pulled two boards loose from their nails, creating a small opening less than a foot wide. He would have to loosen another slat. But the third board proved tougher, resisting his efforts. The board was newer than the others, evidently installed during a recent repair job. Finally the slat yielded to him, drawing loose from its hold. Barney peered through the opening, then measured it with his hands. Wide enough to pass the sections of the car through. Beautiful. He spent another ten minutes at the fence, nailing the boards back into position but not hammering the nails too tightly so that they’d be easy to remove. Tomorrow he’d begin the actual theft.

The sun was slanting low in the sky when he returned to the Complex. Billy greeted him with professional courtesy, formal in his questions, which reflected how seriously he was taking the conspiracy. What was the condition of the fence? Had it been hard taking the nails out? Was he sure
the opening was wide enough for both him and the sections of the car? Barney answered his questions with equal seriousness, playing the game, going along with the act. Although he knew that Billy didn’t consider it an act.

Inside, Allie Roon greeted him juicily, spitting and twitching. “H … h … h … o … o … o … o … ow … ow … ow … how … d … di … di … did … I … I … I … d … do … do?”

Barney thought: How the hell do I know? You were inside, I was outside.

But he told Allie Roon that he had done fine, real fine.

He was impatient to get away from Billy and Allie Roon. He wanted to get back to his room, wash up and change his clothes, get ready for his meeting with Cassie. He hadn’t seen her since the wooziness, three long days ago, and hoped she would show up today. His desire to see her was like a wound in his heart.

That day she told him about the Thing.

“It happened when I was just a kid, oh, twelve years old. Actually, I remember exactly when it happened. A Saturday afternoon, July, Alberto away at summer camp in Maine. Papa and I came out of McDonald’s. I’d just pigged out on a quarter pounder with a large order of fries. On the way to the car this weird feeling hit me. Like the sun had disappeared, although I could feel its warmth on my face. It was like I was ready to drop through the earth, my breath coming fast. Dizzy, but more than that, as if I was floating in space. And this terrible feeling that I was going to die …”