The Trouble in Me (11 page)

She ran back into the garage and in a moment came out with a plywood spool with about fifty yards of heavy yellow boat rope. She rolled it down the driveway, and Frankie and I helped her push it across the grass.

Once Gary was on the ground he hung the saw by its handle on the lowest peg. He peered up at the naked tree, which looked like a stubby toothpick.

We peered up at it, too.

“So, Olympic athletes, here is what we are going to do,” he announced. “I will tie the rope onto the top of the tree, supertight, and then one of you will climb to the top and hang on to the tree like a koala bear. I will take the loose end of the rope and tighten it around the winch on the tow truck, and when the tree is bent backward—having been aimed toward a certain valuable target—I will let the rope go and the tree will snap forward. You must time your release from the treetop in order to hit your target destination.

“Here are some tips. If you release too soon, you will shoot straight up into the air and come straight down. If you hang on too long and the tree snaps way forward, it will fling you facedown on the ground. So consider the geometry and timing that may shape, or misshape, your future.”

I tried to keep my expression blank so as not to show any fear.

“Finally, I must tell you. There are only three targets and you have to pick one. There is an easy one, a harder one, and an insanely deadly one. You got that?”

I sort of did. “What are the targets?” I asked.

“Asking a question,” Gary said, “is against game rules—thus you will have to go first. So, big mouth, here are your choices: A, I will catapult you over the roof of our crappy little house and you will hope to land alive in the swimming pool. B, the kiddie pool near the tree in the side yard is full of water and those Korean death fish, and you will have to land dead-center in that to avoid breaking your face. And C, looking toward the other side of the yard is a very friendly southern oak tree with lots of soft Spanish moss covering the branches. This is the easy one. I shoot you in there, and all you have to do is grab a branch and hang on.”

I raised my hand. “Can I ask another question?”

He groaned. “If I lived with you I'd smother you in your sleep.”

“Since each target is so different,” I continued, “are the rewards or prizes better for the harder ones?”

“Indeed,” he said, and smiled appreciatively. “I've built that into the game. Each target has a prize that is calibrated to please one exact person. So if you are shot blindly over the house and land in the pool, then at a very future date you can join me and my friends at a special private juvie-reunion party where all sorts of fun may just be lurking about. Or, if you land in the Korean killer-fish pool, you can have my brass knuckles. Or, if you land in the oak tree, you can have my plush, three-foot-high pink teddy bear and I promise I will remove my ex's name from the bear's rear end because I will never have anything to do with Tomi and her lying ways in the future.”

He took the end of the rope and quickly climbed the tree and tied it to the top, then returned with the other end of the rope and yanked it to the tow truck and got it hooked to the winch cable.

Since I had first choice, I couldn't resist trying to win an invite to the juvie-reunion party. Even though I was a little jealous of his outlawed friends I was thrilled he would give me a chance to meet them.

“I go for the swimming pool,” I announced.

Frankie snorted through his nose. “I better call an ambulance now,” he said gleefully. “Or a hearse.”

I trotted toward the tree as Gary backed the tow truck into position so that it was in a straight line with the roof and pool. It was easy to climb the tree, and as I made my way up I could feel that the trunk was very strong and yet very springy. It was also pretty tall, and I figured my best approach would be to let go a little early and lob myself in a soft arc over the house and into the pool's deep end. When I reached the top of the tree I could see just enough of the back patio to imagine the pool's location, and that helped me figure out my flight path.

Once I got myself turned around into a position where I thought I would be able to let go at the right time, I gave Gary a hand signal. He started the tow truck and began to winch the rope in. I could hear the cracking stress compression in the wood as the top of the tree was pulled back.

Before long the tree was bent over and I was staring upward at the blue sky and my heart was pounding. It suddenly occurred to me my chances of making the pool were slim, but I did not regret any of what was about to happen even if I hit the diving board or the tiled edge of the pool. If taking a chance like this would bring me closer to Gary and his juvie pals, then I had to do it. I had to be more to him than just the face of his choirboy friend every time Mr. Mercier visited. That was not good enough.

When Gary had me bent back to about fifteen feet off the ground he yelled out, “Ready to meet your maker?”

Frankie was saying “Holy shit!” and slapping himself all over like he was invisibly on fire. He looked psychotic, but then again I was preparing to be catapulted from a tree, over a house, and into a pool I couldn't see. I silently waved my arm and a moment later Gary severed the yellow line with bolt cutters.

The tree had a lot of instant power and it felt as if I were sitting on a giant flyswatter that some monster had pulled back and let loose. I quickly elevated and cleared the house, which I never thought would be a problem. It was landing in the deep end of the pool that was going to take a miracle.

For a moment it appeared I had too much speed and was going to shoot well beyond the pool and maybe cannonball badly onto the stinking bank of trash thrown by the canal, or into the nasty canal sludge water, where I'd just get stuck and be slowly eaten by the Korean death fish.

I only spent milliseconds torturing myself with each particular fear, and yet each tragic story of my crash, death, and funeral seemed to take hours to unfold in my mind.

But my geometry was well planned, and as I approached the pool my acceleration slowed and I ran out of forward momentum and dropped.

I plunged straight down into the water and hit the concrete pool bottom hard but not so hard that I crushed my ankles, and then I pushed up. When I broke the surface I was smiling crazily because I had done it. I had been terrified but I'd lived! It
was
miraculous. And what's more, even though I doubted myself, Gary must have known I could do it. He was just grooming me to be on his regular level—and be better than his juvie friends.

Alice was the spotter on the pool side and when I broke water on the surface she waved her rubbery limbs over her head and shouted out through her undersized sea urchin mouth to Frankie and Gary, as they came running around the side of the house, “I can't believe he did it! You didn't kill him, which is really what I wanted to happen.”

Then she turned to me. Her little teeth were like pencil points.

“You got lucky, kid, but you can't live on luck forever.”

I didn't know her at all. This was the first thing she had ever said to me, but after she revealed her blood wish I knew she was a purebred Pagoda—a special morbid breed of dog that trackers use to hunt down the tragic events caused by disturbed people.

I trotted over to Gary and he was grinning from ear to ear.

“Dang,” he said. “I thought for sure I would have executed you and that would be the end of all your nonstop questions.”

“Nope,” I said, grinning grandly. “I'm alive and all I need now are some juvie party clothes.”

“That would be called shoplifting,” Gary informed me. “Probably the first low-rung skill a juvie kid develops.”

“Is that an assignment?” I asked, knowing that I was going to start shoplifting one way or the other.

“One more question and I blast you into the electric wires,” he replied, and pointed toward the high power lines that ran overhead. I imagined that birds landing on them would burst into flames.

Frankie was next up for the contest. He chose the fish pool. Gary repositioned the truck, reattached the line, and winched him back. Frankie let go a little too late and he flew low across the yard like a lawn dart. He hit the ground early and ricocheted off the pool as he plowed up the ground with his chest and some of the skin on his lower chin. He finished his assault on the killer fish with a somersault and hopped up onto both feet.

“Voilà!”
he hollered in a voice that did not sound victorious. Then his hand reached for his chin because it looked like he had a broken jaw.

But the jaw was just stunned and he wiggled it back into working order while snapping his teeth together like toy windup dentures.

“I'm not doing any more of these Pagoda Olympic Games,” he said, pouting. “It's insane, but do I get the brass knuckles anyway?”

“Of course not,” Gary replied. “In the Olympics you get either a gold, silver, or bronze medal. There is no
brass
medal. You screwed up. If you want to try again I'll give you a second chance. Two
brass
attempts will win a bronze.”

“Let me get some Band-Aids first,” Frankie whimpered, and headed toward the house. “And a helmet.”

“No helmets allowed,” Gary fired back. “You know the rules.”

“Then I quit,” said Frankie as he disappeared inside.

“My turn,” Alice said, perking up. “Just give me a soft shot into the oak tree. It looks easy—plus I want the pink teddy bear.”

It
was
easy. She climbed the tree and he gently lobbed her in. She crashed through a few outer branches, which were as spongy as old rope, and she ended up grabbing hold of a vertical branch that she could hug.

While she stayed in the tree, Gary went inside and got the teddy bear for her. He came out and tossed it up to her along with his cigarette lighter.

“Burn the name off the butt end,” he said. “It's yours now.”

“You'd better think quick,” she said. “From up here I see a cop car a few blocks away.”

“Crap,” Gary replied. “Quick, Sailor Jack, grab the tarp and meet me behind the garage.”

He jumped in the truck and it roared to life. He raced it down the strip of dead grass and ivy between his house and the neighbors' driveway since they weren't home. I met him around back and helped him throw the tarp over the truck.

Then we dashed back for the branches and chucked those on top.

When that was done I ran for my backyard and hid behind a tree where I could watch the scene.

A few minutes later, the cop pulled up to Gary, who was casually spooling the rope in his front yard. It was the same cop as before.

“Hey, did you find Flame-Out?” Gary asked.

The cop didn't seem amused. “The department is missing a tow truck,” he said roughly. “Someone said they saw it around here. You got it? Because I know you have a special thing for tow trucks.”

“Never seen it,” Gary said. He was a good liar. He kept his answers simple and he always denied everything.

The cop stared blankly at him, and then turned toward his squad car. “I try to be nice to you, but you won't be straight with me,” he said with contempt. “Every tip you give me is a dead end.”

“What do you expect from a guy who has been labeled a dead end all his life?” Gary shot back, telling the truth with the same voice he told lies. Maybe they were the same to him.

Suddenly from the tree where Alice was sitting came the
whoosh
of a flame and Alice squawked like one of those electrocuted birds and the flaming teddy bear dropped to the ground and in seconds it had melted down to a bubbling puddle of brownish-pink gunk and black smoke.

The cop had a startled look on his face and then he frowned and abruptly shoved his gearshift in reverse, did a screeching three-point turn, and peeled rubber down to the corner.

I ran over to Gary.

“I gotta get this thing out of here,” Gary said, and walked quickly toward the tow truck.

I followed close behind.

“Are you going to be okay?” I asked.

I was hoping he'd want me to come with him.

“Actually, I'm more worried about you,” he said, and held me at bay by the front of my wet shirt. “The girl who lives on the other side of you returned last week.”

He pointed to the house next to ours—the one with the empty swimming pool.

“I haven't seen a girl there,” I said.

“Don't question me,” he snapped. “Just listen to your master's voice. There is a girl in there. She's hiding just now because she told everyone a lot of lies about me, and now she's afraid of me. But as soon as I'm gone she'll surface. She'll see you and size you right up. She's beautiful. You won't be able to stay away from her. But you have to.”

“Why?”

He slapped my face fast and hard.

“That's another word I don't like. Just accept that she's smarter than you,” he said as a fact. “And that you'll fall in love with her and believe everything she says.”

“Not the lies,” I said.

“Especially the lies,” he replied. “Now, I'm in a hurry, if you haven't noticed.”

He squatted down and began to unbolt the back license plate on the tow truck.

I leaned over him.

“What's her name?” I asked.

“You don't need to know. You'll say it just once and like a genie she'll appear and ruin your life.”

He began to bolt on a fake license plate from Georgia.

“I'm good with girls,” I said with confidence. “I can resist her. I've resisted girls all my life.”

“Not by choice,” he said deliberately. “They've actually resisted you all your life.”

He handed me a can of white spray paint.

“Now, shut up and listen. Spray over all the lettering on the passenger-side door. And not another word out of you.”