The Mortal Nuts (21 page)

Chapter 33

The morning started out cool and moist, with a dew point in the middle sixties. During the night, the picnic tables and benches on the mall had gathered an oily slick of moisture that remained until after eight o'clock, when the sun rose high and hot enough to steam it away.

Axel sat on his folding metal chair behind the Taco Shop, holding an ice-filled towel against his elbow, listening to Sophie and Juanita setting up for the day. Sophie gave her orders in a quiet voice, not her usual snapping tones. Fairgoers filtered slowly onto the grounds. All three Tiny Tot Donut stands were closed. A TV news team rolled in and shot some film of the dead stand on the mall, probably planning a follow-up report on violence at the state fair. People who had been coming to the fair for thirty years for their bag of minidonuts would walk right up to the plywood window covers and try to see in, unable to believe that they were to be denied their ritual. Often they would then come up to Axel's Taco Shop, not to buy tacos but to ask about Tiny Tot Donuts.

If they asked Sophie where they could get some donuts, she would direct them to the Tom Thumb Donut stand down on the midway, or to the Mini-Loops stand on Judson Avenue. If they asked Axel, he would simply respond by saying that the owner had passed away and deny all other knowledge. He could not bring himself to send customers to one of Tommy Fabian's competitors. Even if Tommy no longer cared, Axel did. He was in no mood to be reminded every five minutes that his oldest and best friend was gone. It was just as well. It would have killed Tommy to see all those customers walk away without their donuts.

Every now and then, one of Tommy's carny friends would walk up from the midway to pay his respects by standing silently in front of the Tiny Tot stand, smoking a cigarette. A few of them drifted farther up the mall to exchange a few words with Axel. They all seemed to take Tommy's death philosophically. One, Froggy Sims, the aging, chain-smoking mike man for Wee Wanda, the World's Smallest Woman, didn't want to leave.

“Tommy, he was a good un. Real old-time carny, him.” Froggy put his cigarette in his crumpled mouth, made a pair of fists, clacked his rings together. The first time Axel had seen him do that, he'd wondered whether it was some obscure carny thing. He'd asked Tommy about it, and Tommy had said it was just Froggy's way of making sure you noticed his jewelry. Tommy hadn't cared much for old Froggy, but he'd always given him free donuts.

Axel shifted the ice pack to a new spot on his elbow. He resented this guy hanging around, making out like he'd been Tommy's best friend. He figured Froggy was mostly sad about losing his donut connection. The guy had about five thousand bucks in gold on him, not counting what was on his teeth, but he'd walk a half mile across the fairgrounds for free food.

“Use to run an alibi joint, me and him. Those were the days, I got to tell you.”

“I bet they were,” Axel said. “Listen, Froggy, you want a taco or something?” Maybe that would get rid of him.

Froggy made a face like he was surprised. “Jeez, Ax, that's white a you.”

Axel smiled with his mouth and told Juanita to get Froggy a taco and a Coke.

Froggy said, “You don't got no Pepsi?”

By nine-thirty the outside temperature had risen to eighty- four degrees. It was going to be a hot one, a late-summer Minnesota sauna. Every third person in the state would say, at some point, “It's not the heat; it's the humidity.”

The ice helped. Axel flexed his arm. The swelling had gone. It felt almost normal. He stared across the mall at the dead hulk of the Tiny Tot stand. Tommy's ghost was hovering over the mall, staring down at the boarded-up remnant of his life. Axel didn't want to know what that felt like, ever.

A familiar figure stopped in front of the Tiny Tot concession, then walked slowly up to Axel.

“Hey, Ax,” said Sam.

Axel looked up. “What are you doing here?”

Sam lit a cigarette. “I'm not sure,” he said. “I couldn't get no work done, thinking about Tom.”

Axel nodded. He understood. Another of Tommy's friends, paying his respects.

“I didn't think he'd be the first one of us, Ax.”

“Yeah? Who'd you think it would be?”

Sam spat out a fragment of tobacco, looked critically at his cigarette, then grinned at Axel. “Fact is, I thought it'd be you.”

“Thanks a lot.” Axel was not amused.

Carmen, still wearing yesterday's clothes, woke up with a headache. It wasn't a bad headache. In fact, it was the mildest one so far that week.

Someone was pounding on the door. She had the sense that it had been going on for some time.

“Just a minute!” She looked at the clock: ten-fourteen. “Who is it?”

“Management!”

Carmen opened the door. Bill Quist stood in the doorway and looked past her, smiling.

“Where's your friend?”

“What do you want?”

“I haven't heard from you lately. Is your friend still staying here?”

“No. He's gone.”

“Oh. Mr. Speeter called. He says you're supposed to go in to work.”

“I was fired.”

Quist shrugged. “I don't know about that. I just know he called and asked me to wake you up and tell you.”

“He could've just called my room.”

“He's been trying all morning.” He pointed. “Your phone's off the hook.”

Carmen remembered dreaming about this incessant ringing noise, then making it stop.

“Did that key I loaned you work out?” Quist asked.

“What key?”

Quist laughed. “That's what I say: ‘What key?' You were going to give me some money, remember?”

“No. Did Axel say anything else?”

“Just that you're supposed to go to work. How about you give me twenty bucks now and the rest later?”

Carmen slammed the door.

Quist blinked at the closed door, still smiling, then shrugged and walked back across the parking lot to his office. It was always worth asking. You never knew.

“You're leaving?” Sophie said.

“I called Carmen. She'll be here anytime now.” Axel found a paper bag and started filling it with burritos.

“But—” Sophie looked at the line forming in front of the restaurant, shook her head like she couldn't believe it. “You're leaving
now
? Just me and Juanita?”

“Kirsten and Carmen should be here soon.”

Juanita shouted over her shoulder. “I maybe need some help right now, you know.”

“I'll be right there,” Sophie said. She gave Axel a dark look. “Kirsten's an hour late, and you know Carmen.”

Axel said, “I'll be back in an hour. Look, I've asked Sam to help out. He needs to be doing something. He'll be right back—he just went to the john.”

“Sam O'Gara? I don't want him anywhere near here. I heard what he did to Tommy's donut mix.”

“It's up to you. I gotta go, Sophie. Back in a couple hours, okay?” He added the paper sack of Bueno Burritos to his burlap bag, slung it over his shoulder, and walked across the mall. He heard her shout that it was goddamn well not okay, but he kept moving.

“Now where's he going?”

“How the fuck do I know?”

“He's got that bag with him.”

“The money's in the bag?”

“Some of it is, I bet. C'mon, podna, let's get a move on.” Dean stood up, his straw cowboy hat riding low on his forehead. He felt ridiculous. He wore a light-blue western- style shirt and a red paisley bandanna around his neck. The shirt was made of polyester or something, hot as hell, sticking to him like a sheet of glue. All three items had been purchased at a western-wear stand in the Coliseum. The only good thing was that next to Tigger he looked great.

Tigger had selected a colorful shirt with
Let's Rodeo
embroidered in rope letters, front and back. His hat was white felt with an outrageously high crown. It had cost fifty- nine bucks, but Dean figured it was worth it if it made the kid happy. He needed him, for now. But he'd drawn the line at new boots. They didn't have time. He planned to keep an eye on the old man every minute. This was serious business, and there would be no mistakes.

Somehow, Pork had managed to spend or lose over four thousand dollars during the few hours he'd had Dean's jacket. When Dean had discovered how little money was remaining, he'd told Tigger to drive back to The Recovery Room's parking lot and drive over him a couple times, just in case the beating hadn't killed him. Tigger had not responded well to that suggestion, so he'd let it go. He realized now that it wouldn't have been the smart thing to do. From now on, he was going to do only smart things. The plastic bag Pork had left in the chest pocket of Dean's jacket helped. It contained several grams of meth. A few fat lines, and he'd got so smart it was like he could predict the future.

“Don't get too close,” Dean said. One bad thing about wearing disguises on a day like this: He was sweating buckets. The speed made his sweat smell like chicken soup. Chicken soup running down his cheeks and trickling along his ribs. He smelled like a high school cafeteria.

“He ain't looking,” Tigger said. “He's heading out through the gate.”

“Going out to his truck.”

“What're we gonna do?”

“Just stay cool, podna. We get in your car and follow him, see where he goes.”

Kirsten Lund was late, and it wasn't her fault. It was her mom's fault. Kirsten had made a big mistake, a huge mistake, a mondo mistake, when she'd told her mom about the fight at the fair.

“Young lady, if you think I am going to let you go back to that horrible taco shack, you have got another think coming.”

Wow. Kirsten never thought her mom would get so twisted about it. It wasn't like people got shot at the fair every day. In fact, it was probably the only time ever in history. Not go back to work? Not possible, she explained, but her mom was being a real load.

“You don't need the money that bad, dear. Most of your school clothes from last year still fit you fine.”

Kirsten was horrified. “Jesus, Mom, what are you trying to do to me?”

That was another mistake.

“I won't have language like that in my house! You are not going back to that awful place, and that, young lady, is final!”

Big, huge, mondo mistake. She'd had to wait for her mom to leave for work, then rush to the bus stop. Her mom would kill her if she found out, but that was better than going back to school wearing last year's clothes. And Sophie was going to be mad too. Everybody was going to be mad at her. She might even get fired, like Carmen.

“What's he doing? Can you see?”

“He's got a little, like, stepladder. He's setting it up next to the fence.”

“Has he got his bag with him?”

“Yeah. Now he's got a shovel. He's throwing it over the fence. He's up on the ladder now. He's taking something out of the bag.”

“Can he see us?”

“He's not looking this way.”

“I hear dogs barking.”

“Now he's throwing some stuff over. It looks like food.”

“Food?”

“Yeah. It looks like tacos or something. … He's climbing over now. He's climbed over. I can't see him anymore.”

“Shit. Okay, let's go see what he's doing.” Dean jumped out of the car and trotted down the sidewalk, Tigger close behind. The fence, in violation of city ordinance, was seven feet high. “Okay. Boost me up so I can see,” Dean said in a low voice.

Tigger crouched beside the privacy fence and let Dean straddle his shoulders. He tried to rise, groaned.

“Come on!” Dean said, grabbing the top of the wooden fence.

Tigger straightened his legs, gasped, and fell over, sending both of them sprawling onto the sidewalk. “I can't,” he gasped.

Dean climbed to his feet, rubbing his elbow. “What a fucking wuss. C'mere, I'll lift you up. Tell me what the fuck he's doing in there.” They exchanged positions, Tigger on Dean's shoulders.

“Can you see?”

“Yeah.”

“Well?”

“It's some kind of junkyard. A bunch of cars. Shit There's a couple big motherfucking dogs in there, man. Looks like they're having lunch.”

“What about the guy?”

“I can't see him. Wait a minute. He's in one of them. He's in this old pickup truck, trying to get it started. He's backing it up now. Okay. He's getting out. There's—he's—he's standing there looking at this hole, man. Like a big hole somebody dug up, you know? He's just looking at it… He don't look happy, man. He looks pissed. His fuckin' face, man, he looks like he's gonna blow. Shit! Shit lemme down, man! Lemme down!” Tigger pushed away from the fence, sending Dean staggering backward just as something heavy hit the fence from the other side and dual howls shattered the quiet neighborhood.

The dogs.

The goddamn dogs. Now they were barking, howling at something on the other side of the fence. First they ruin his life, then they bark about it.

Axel stared down into the shallow pit at the fluttering remnants of a dark-green Hefty bag. He thought, If I ever have a heart attack, please, God, let it be now. He looked up at Sam's dogs jumping against the wooden fence and amended his wish. First, God, give me time to kill the dogs. He reached into his bag, pulled out the .45, cocked it, and pointed it toward the bellowing mutts.

He held it on them for several seconds, knowing there was no way he could do it. It wasn't the dogs' fault. A week back, he'd invaded their territory carrying two bags, one filled with Bueno Burritos, the other filled with cash money. He'd given one to the dogs, then buried the other right before their hungry canine eyes. Axel uncocked the pistol and put it back in his bag.

The dogs had started digging at the back bumper. He could almost see it, the two dogs working together, or maybe in shifts, sending a steady spray of loose dirt flying out from under the truck. Yeah, he knew a dog-dug hole when he saw one.