Salamanders
by Pete Murphy
Chapter 4
King of the Mountain
The Kids
Billy was bawling, toddling back down the hill, tears streaming, his
mouth wide open and rubbery, his arms stretched out, fingers working, trying to
grab hold of something that wasn't there. Connie ran to him. He grabbed both
sides of her dress and buried his face in her stomach. She bent and held him,
rocked him a little, spoke softly in his ear. His body shook.
Zack and I had just walked up. Finn was scrambling up the hill.
Curtis was at the top swinging a baseball bat.
"What happened to Billy?" I asked.
Freddie said, "Aw, we're playing king of the mountain, Oliver.
Curtis got a little rough with him. He'll be alright."
"He hit Billy with a bat?"
Sully walked over to Connie and Billy. "No. He didn't hit him.
Scared him, though."
Curtis had the bat in the air. Finn had almost reached him.
Zack yelled, "Curtis! Put that down! That's not the way you
play the game! You'll hurt somebody bad with that!"
"It's my hill now," Curtis called. "Nobody gets it
back!" He swung the bat. Finn ducked and dove for Curtis' legs, tackled
him. The bat fell. Curtis started punching. Then they were rolling around,
wrestling, each trying to get on top.
Connie called to me, "Oliver, do something!"
I ran up the hill, tried to pull them apart. Finn's foot slipped and
he started rolling down the hill and then it was me on top of Curtis, trying to
pin him down and stay away from his arms and fists. Then Finn was back, trying
to grab an arm, hold it down. Curtis wriggled around and his foot came up and
kicked Finn hard in the face. Finn yelled and fell back, rolled over, holding
his nose. Curtis slammed the free fist into the side of my head. It dazed me a
moment, but I held on, got my knees on either side of him and grabbed for his
arms, pressed my forehead against his, held his head down. Then somebody
grabbed my ankles and I was sliding off him.
Zack had come up and pulled me off Curtis. He grabbed him, yanked
him to his feet and slapped him hard twice across his face. It stunned him. He
swayed a little, then blinked his eyes. He sneered at Zack and spit at him,
tried to kick his shins. Zack grabbed the back of Curtis' neck, held him at
arms length with one hand, told him, "You play fair, you'll have a better
time of it around here, Curtis."
"Does that mean you're the king now?"
"No. I don't play these games."
Curtis smirked. "Then I'm still king. Get off my hill."
Zack stared at him a moment. "Sure, Curtis." He relaxed
his grip, let go of him. "You can have your hill. I don't think anybody
wants it anymore." He turned and went back down the hill. Finn and I
joined him at the bottom. We looked back at Curtis. He shot his hands up into
the air, looked up at the sky. "I'm king of the hill!" he shouted.
Connie said, "Come here, Finn. Let me look at your nose."
Sully said, "Gee, let me look, too." He stood on his toes,
stuck his face real close to Finn's, studying the nose. "Looks bent,"
he said. "You got a spare one at home?"
Billy giggled. Sully patted him on the head, tousled his hair.
Connie said, "Oliver, I'm taking them down to the stream to
wash their faces. Anybody have a hanky?"
Sully gave her his and we all headed down to Morgan's Stream. When we'd crossed the pasture, I looked back.
Curtis was still there, standing on his hill.
"Scared you, huh, Billy?" Freddie said.
"Uh‑huh."
#
The Icehouse
The tall man stayed quiet, tried to act calm for Billy's sake. They
were in the back seat of a compact Chevy, gray, no chrome, another car behind
them, the goons up front chuckling now about Billy trying not to cry, sitting
up there feeling safe, looking too small to be the big picture. Gray suits and
sunglasses. This had to be Brody doing his thing. Heading north again, but west
too fast. They weren't taking him to the beach, that was sure.
"You guys FBI?"
"Shut up."
Maybe quiet is better.
They weren't big at all, surely had guns but the driver had to keep the
wheel. He could grab the other guy easy. Right in front of him looking straight
ahead. Easy, especially with his Popeye arms. Get his right forearm around the
guy's neck, grab and hold on, grind him into the seat. Billy might not panic.
He might even feel safer then, maybe do something good. He wasn't dumb, just
too afraid right now. It could work. That was the problem: It all seemed too damned
easy. Jesus. We've got to ride it out. This is a Brody thing and not about to
quit. The guys in the front know that. Ride it out, pretend God'll send a
message.
"It's okay, Billy. We'll be okay."
Billy was looking out the window, his hands clasped on his lap. His
knuckles were white. He said nothing.
"You guys grabbed us too soon. We were going for the money, take
it back."
Silence.
"Really. Tell Brody he ain't giving me time."
Nothing.
"Look. Brody told me what to do and I'm goddamned doing it. Tell
him that. He gave me till
"Shut up."
They were in
The tall man stayed cool. He was a thief, that's all, and knew deep in
his bones this was a terrifying business but remained calm about it. That'd
work for a while, a thief seeking penance, just a thief trying to set things
right.
No blindfolds. That worried him. Still, he wasn't afraid.
The tall man knew the area. They'd passed
He'd straighten it out with Brody, thief to thief. It wasn't even
They'd been into the trees five miles and now turned left again and
drove another two, turned onto weed‑strangled white gravel and pulled up
behind an old green Ford van outside an abandoned building. The map stayed in
his head. He was not afraid.
"Hey, Billy. We're home. Wake up. Take a pee."
The goons got out of the car and walked toward the house, left them
alone, didn't seem to care about them anymore. The backup car had stopped out
on the asphalt. They'd done their jobs, delivered them. It seemed enough.
A big guy in a robins‑egg‑blue suit came out onto the porch
wiping his hands and brow with a handkerchief. A little green guy eased out and
slipped in front of him, aimed a cigarette lighter at the goons and lit it,
grinned, said something the goons didn't seem to like. They stopped.
"We can run now."
"No, Billy. We'd be...they'd catch us. Try to relax. Stay
here."
He got out of the car watching the man in blue. The green guy spoke
first, louder now.
"Hey, Bags. They brought our money."
The tall man grinned, kept moving. Slowly. "Nope. I was trying for
it but these guys stopped me. Brody gave me till
The green guy turned to Bags. "Who da fuck's Brody?"
One of the gray-suits started inside his jacket but the green guy was
quicker, more relaxed about it. He was down the steps and into the yard with
his gun at the guy's nose before the hand was out. The guy froze. His partner
stepped back. Bags smiled, came down into the yard and met the tall man in
stride approaching the group, picked him up by the neck with both hands. The
tall man slammed the heels of his hands against Bags' ears, wrapped his right
arm around Bags' neck, got his forearm under the chin and squeezed. They were
nose to nose with Bags turning red, but grinning.
"You haff...th...CLICK...my money?"
The tall man tried to nod but his head wouldn't work right with the big
hands at his neck. He felt himself going away, worrying now about Billy.
"Bags, don't kill him till we get our money."
A message from God.
Bags eased up, let some air in. The tall man brought both arms out and
behind himself then slammed them full into the fat, looking for the ribs. Bags
grunted a little, opened his hands. The tall man dropped to the ground, took
three steps back.
Jesus. Hands like a vise.
They stared at each other.
"Hey, mister Bags."
Billy had gotten out of the car and moved away from it, stopped just
outside the group, his hands at his sides, shoulders a little stooped but his
chin out, his eyes wide, his mouth rubbery again. Everybody looked at him.
"It's true mister Bags. We were going to get your money. I'm sorry
we took it. Really. We'll get it back for you. Promise. I pray to God you don't
hurt us."
Everybody stared at him. Silence.
Arnie's head moved first, looked at Bags, waited. The big man shoved
his teeth up and wiped his brow, looked at the sky, then at the ground and back
at Billy once more then turned away from the tall man.
"Pray to Pilot," he said, and walked toward the porch.
"We wait, Bags?" Arnie asked.
"We wait."
Arnie put his gun away, told the gray-suits "Put them in the
icehouse. Separate rooms."
Nobody moved.
One of the suits smiled, the other guy told the green guy, "We
don't take orders from you. We brought them. They're yours now. We're
done."
The green guy got up into his face. "Oh?" He smiled.
"That right, Bags? They leave and we ain't got our money?"
Bags was on the porch now, settling into on old rocker, testing it, see
if it fit him, trying his weight on it, not looking into the yard.
"No, Arnie," he said, still testing the chair, looking at its
rockers, "That will never do. Nobody leaves."
The tall man watched. Arnie still had his eyes at the suit's eyes,
grinning now.
"Didn't think so," he said. "Tell you what. How bout dis? You guys go in first, check out
their rooms, see everything's okay, secure and all, then come out and tell me
you got everything ready. Meantime I'll talk to them a bit, make sure they
don't hurt you none. Okay?" He stepped aside. "See? Gives you a
chance alone, decide on it. Then you come out smiling, tell me everything's
ready. Thirty seconds, maybe a minute. That's how it works."
The other suit looked at Bags, comfortable now in his rocker, checking
it out, rocking a little, paying no attention. Arnie followed his gaze, looked
at them again and took a few more steps back. He did not reach for his gun.
"Bags is quicker than he looks," he said. "Me too."
His grin got wider. "You wanna try?"
The heavier suit shook his head, walked toward the porch. "We'll
wait for Pilot," he said. His partner followed him. Bags seemed not to
notice them as they passed and went into the icehouse.
Billy had moved a little closer to the tall man. Arnie came over,
looked at Billy first.
"You did all right, kid. Dat was brave, talkin' to Bags like
dat." He nodded, watched Billy a little more.
The tall man waited.
Arnie told Billy, "Don't be afraid, now. Bags won't hurt you
long's I'm around. We just want our money back."
Billy nodded, looked at the ground. Arnie's eyes moved to the tall man.
"You too. Arms like dat you get yerself trouble
you don't need. You seem all da time ready to make a move. Don't do it. We get
our money you go home, arms and all. We wait. We all wait. Y'unnerstand?"
The tall man looked hard into Arnie's eyes a moment then nodded toward
the porch. Arnie looked back.
The suits were in the doorway looking at them, hands empty. Bags was a
few feet away, rocking, staring into the trees.
Arnie grinned, turned back to the tall man. "See? Easy. Promise.
It'll work. Let's go in."
It was as if they'd entered a cave. Years of rain and snow and summer
heat had eaten away huge chunks of the roof. Its insides stunk of old dead meat
and mold. A mat of weeds had crawled in from its sides and clung to the cement
floor, sprawled across it and died and come to life again months later,
continued to crawl until it met itself and moved on to the inner walls and died
and came to life again. The bottom rail of the door had rotted away years ago.
Birds flew through the ceiling and came back to their roosts, watched them. The
tall man stared at them a moment then at the roof. He looked across the floor.
It seemed still. He stepped in and stopped.
A salamander avoided his foot, skittered into the floor weeds. He
stepped again. A tiny crayfish slipped aside, turned to face him, a worm
slithered into the mulch. He stepped again. Another salamander two inches from
his foot didn't move. He looked back. The salamander near the door was up
again, watching Billy come into the room. The tall man looked across the floor.
Everything seemed still. He looked up at the birds. They watched him. He smiled
a little.
"Stinks in here," he said.
"It ain't gonna bother ya too long." One of the goons.
"Get in there." Behind him, at the door. He didn't look back. "I
said get in there." Shoving Billy now, both of them in and everybody else
out. And a rotten front door. Crap. Quiet is better. Waiting too.
The tall man could wait. He was not afraid.
He looked around. A huge butchering table took up most of the main
room, long tracks and pulleys and hanging chains above it, all rusted now, too
high to be of any use. Beyond that, along the far wall, three rooms separated
with cinder block. Heavy doors. The freezers. Years ago their walls'd be lined
with blocks of ice, ready to keep the hog or cow carcasses fresh for days, even
weeks, until ready to cut up and package in the main room. The goons had
apparently pulled the floor weeds away and yanked two of the doors open. He
sighed, looked up at the birds again. They seemed to be watching him.
"In. In. You understand in?"
Shoving Billy now.
The tall man turned. "Don't be afraid."
"Can't help it."
"We'll be okay. The goons want the money back. We're the only ones
who know where it is. Hurting us'd be dumb."
"You ain't shittin'." The green guy, closer now, getting
closer, looking eyes to eyes. "You give us an address, we leave. Everybody,
even the goons." Grinning, patting his jacket now, nodding. "I don't
mind helpin' ya leave, know what I mean?"
From the corner of his eye the tall man saw Billy's head jerk toward
him now. His eyes stayed at the green guy.
"We have no address. A lotta hunches. Lotta background. Important
to both of us. You understand that much?"
The green guy stared at him, turned his head back a little.
"Bags?"
From the porch, "That will never...th...CLICK... No. Wait for
Pilot."
The green guy shrugged, shook his head, grinned. "Nope. That don't
help nobody."
The two goons had been watching from the butcher table. Arnie signaled
to them. They got up and motioned toward the old freezers. The tall man nodded
to Billy, smiled a little, tried to reassure him. They put Billy in the center
room. The tall man entered the first one. The heavy door slammed shut behind
him.
He looked immediately to the roof, over twelve feet high. Daylight
crawled in from a hole big enough to climb through. The floor was empty. A four‑by‑four
ran from wall to wall, centered in the room and nailed to a wooden beam in the
cinder block wall about eight feet up, a thick iron chain and hook wrapped
around its middle and hanging above head level. No windows. A heavy inside
latch on the door. He could keep them out. He paced the room a little and
listened at the inner walls, heard little beyond the room, just tiny muffled
noises. He could not hear Billy. He
called quietly through the cinder block, then a little louder, and got no
answer. Almost soundproof. Still, he thought, I need to be quiet now.
He grabbed the chain, jumped and pulled himself up, wrapped his arms
around the four‑by‑four, swung and got his legs around it, twisted,
knelt, then stood, his head and shoulders now above the roof. He could see the
goons' car on the road. Empty. They'd apparently come up to join the others. He
looked to his left. No holes above Billy's room. He eased back down to the
floor. Everybody seemed to be waiting. He could wait as well, and think. Wait. He
was not afraid.
He sat for what seemed hours, waiting, thinking, knowing what to do,
still waiting, sat with his back against
the wall and watched the sunlight move over and past the building, into the
trees, watched the room become darker. The silence and the waiting tore at him.
The birds came, sat on the roof around the opening and on the four‑by‑four,
watched him. He talked to them in low tones.
"Thought I had it figured," he said. "But I'm ready
again."
They jerked their heads, listening, blinked at him.
"You showed me the way out."
Three birds flew from the beam, through the roof, circled somewhere and
came back, joined the others at the opening.
"Brody's a thief," he told them. "He'll talk to a
thief."
They watched him. Their pupils contracted, expanded. Their heads jerked
away and back again.
A tiny crayfish crept from the corner mulch.
"He'll talk to me. Hurting us will do no good. He'll see
that."
Six birds flew away. One swooped from the four‑by‑four,
swept up the crayfish and flew through the roof. The others followed. He was
alone.
He waited.
The birds came back and watched him again but he didn't speak to them.
He stared at the hook and chain hanging from the four‑by‑four a
long time then climbed up and untied it, took it down and sat with it, knowing
the beam was now too high to reach. He had a weapon.
He'd wait. He was not afraid.
He heard noises in the outer room now, louder than before, then louder
again in Billy's room. He jumped up, put his ear to the wall. Nothing clear.
Just voices, two people, maybe three. One of them had to be Billy, everything
muffled through the wall. He pressed his ear harder against the cinder block,
waited again, pulled his head back and rubbed his ear, pressed it back against
the wall.
The scream threw him back. The birds flew away. He shook his head, bent
to the wall. The second scream echoed in his room. He grabbed his ears. Nothing
was going right.
He pounded on the door, tried to scream through it. "Where's
Brody? Where you at you bastard!!?"
Billy screamed again.
The tall man pounded on the door. His hand hurt. "Brody!!! Talk to
me you motherfucker!!!"
Billy screamed again, screaming words now. The tall man shoved his ear
against the wall, heard "Curse me Billy! Curse me Billy!", then a
louder scream.
He looked at the four‑by‑four, tried to grab it. Too high
now. He grabbed the chain, tossed it around the beam, tried to pull himself up
again. The four‑by‑four pulled loose from the exterior wall. The
chain slid down. He fell back, the four‑by‑four on top of him.
Billy screamed.
"Billy! Hang on! I'm coming back!"
They were at the door now, coming in. He grabbed the chain, yanked the
four‑by‑four away from the wall and slipped the chain and hook off,
grabbed the hook and ran to the door dragging the chain.
He pulled the first guy in with his left, slammed him into the far
wall, spun back and grabbed for the door latch, pulled. A fat hand reached
through and grabbed his right arm, twisted it. He dropped the hook, lashed with
his left, but too late. Somebody else had his right now too and they yanked it
into the main room, slammed the door hard against it, shoved their weight
against the door. His arm was outside now pinned against the jamb and the goon
was getting to his feet. He kicked and missed. The goon grabbed his hair,
pulled and slammed his face into the door. He struck out with his left, found
only air, the guy dodged again, came up with a solid fist into his ribs. He
grunted, tried again to pull his right arm free, his fingers out there somewhere
trying to grab something, anything, the goon inside grabbing at his head again.
He got his left arm up and swung his elbow into the goon's temple, floored him,
but the guy was getting up again. He stooped as much as he could, his right arm
still pinned, and grabbed the chain, brought it up and swung. The hook hit the
goon hard full in the face, brought him down again. Somebody slammed the butt
of a shotgun hard into his arm. Something cracked. He screamed, sweating,
gritted his teeth and pulled. His arm came free. He yanked his arm into the
room and their own weight slammed the door shut. He grabbed for the latch
again, pulled, slipped it into place, then turned, the chain still in his left,
the guy coming up again now. He got the hook into his hand and went for him.
The chain dragged along the floor.
Billy screamed.
The tall man took two steps, watching now, not afraid, watching the guy
came off the floor glaring, steadying himself and facing him, the guy looking
very afraid.
And now he didn't care about fear anymore, didn't want to think at all
about it. His first swipe with the hook took a chunk of the guy's neck away.
Billy stopped screaming.
The tall man screamed now, hacked at the guy's throat while they tried
to pry the door open, tried to get at him while he tried to hack the head off,
loving it, loving his rage, wanting it to never stop, loving they couldn't get
at him, loving them screaming behind the door trying to pry it open, loving it,
loving the hacking long after the guy stopped screaming.
He dropped the hook and stepped back, breathing hard now. The door
latch was bending. they were coming in. He stepped on
the four‑by‑four, stooped, grabbed it with both hands, winced at
the pain in his right arm and walked up, slipped out onto the roof. The sun had
gone. Everything was black. He jumped.
#