Never those. Theyâre the real ghosts .
He stood in the doorway, looking at Deenie and her bruised boy. The kid had gone back to sleep, and in the morning sun, the two of them looked almost angelic.
Sheâs no angel. Maybe she didnât leave the bruises, but she went out partying and left him alone. If you hadnât been there when he woke up and walked into the living room . . .
Canny, the kid had said, reaching for the blow. Not good. Something needed to be done.
Maybe, but not by me. Iâd look good showing up at DHS to complain about child neglect with this face, wouldnât I? Reeking of booze and puke. Just an upstanding citizen doing his civic duty .
You can put her money back, Wendy said. You can do that much .
He almost did. Really. He took it out of his pocket and had it right there in his hand. He even strolled it over to her purse, and the walk must have done him good, because he had an idea.
Take the coke, if youâve got to take something. You can sell whatâs left for a hundred bucks. Maybe even two hundred, if it hasnât been stomped on too much.
Only, if his potential buyer turned out to be a narcâit would be just his luckâheâd wind up in jail. Where he might also find himself nailed for whatever stupid shit had gone down in the Milky Way. The cash was way safer. Seventy bucks in all.
Iâll split it, he decided. Forty for her and thirty for me .
Only, thirty wouldnât do him much good. And there were the food stampsâa wad big enough to choke a horse. She could feed the kid with those.
He picked up the coke and the dusty People magazine and put them on the kitchenette counter, safely out of the kidâs reach. There was a scrubbie in the sink, and he used it on the coffee table, cleaning up the leftover shake. Telling himself that if she came stumbling out while he was doing it, he would give her back her goddam money. Telling himself that if she went on snoozing, she deserved whatever she got.
Deenie didnât come out. She went on snoozing.
Dan finished cleaning up, tossed the scrubbie back in the sink, and thought briefly about leaving a note. But what would it say? Take better care of your kid, and by the way, I took your cash?
Okay, no note.
He left with the money in his left front pocket, being carefulnot to slam the door on his way out. He told himself he was being considerate.
3
Around noonâhis hangover headache a thing of the past thanks to Deenieâs Fioricet and a Darvon chaserâhe approached an establishment called Goldenâs Discount Liquors & Import Beers. This was in the old part of town, where the establishments were brick, the sidewalks were largely empty, and the pawnshops (each displaying an admirable selection of straight razors) were many. His intention was to buy a very large bottle of very cheap whiskey, but what he saw out front changed his mind. It was a shopping cart loaded with a bumâs crazy assortment of possessions. The bum in question was inside, haranguing the clerk. There was a blanket, rolled up and tied with twine, on top of the cart. Dan could see a couple of stains, but on the whole it didnât look bad. He took it and walked briskly away with it under his arm. After stealing seventy dollars from a single mother with a substance abuse problem, taking a bumâs magic carpet seemed like small shit indeed. Which might have been why he felt smaller than ever.
I am the Incredible Shrinking Man, he thought, hurrying around the corner with his new prize. Steal a few more things and I will vanish entirely from sight.
He was listening for the outraged caws of the bumâthe crazier they were, the louder they cawedâbut there was nothing. One more corner and he could congratulate himself on a clean getaway.
Dan turned it.
4
That evening found him sitting at the mouth of a large stormdrain on the slope beneath the Cape Fear Memorial Bridge. He had aroom, but there was
He stood in the doorway, looking at Deenie and her bruised boy. The kid had gone back to sleep, and in the morning sun, the two of them looked almost angelic.
Sheâs no angel. Maybe she didnât leave the bruises, but she went out partying and left him alone. If you hadnât been there when he woke up and walked into the living room . . .
Canny, the kid had said, reaching for the blow. Not good. Something needed to be done.
Maybe, but not by me. Iâd look good showing up at DHS to complain about child neglect with this face, wouldnât I? Reeking of booze and puke. Just an upstanding citizen doing his civic duty .
You can put her money back, Wendy said. You can do that much .
He almost did. Really. He took it out of his pocket and had it right there in his hand. He even strolled it over to her purse, and the walk must have done him good, because he had an idea.
Take the coke, if youâve got to take something. You can sell whatâs left for a hundred bucks. Maybe even two hundred, if it hasnât been stomped on too much.
Only, if his potential buyer turned out to be a narcâit would be just his luckâheâd wind up in jail. Where he might also find himself nailed for whatever stupid shit had gone down in the Milky Way. The cash was way safer. Seventy bucks in all.
Iâll split it, he decided. Forty for her and thirty for me .
Only, thirty wouldnât do him much good. And there were the food stampsâa wad big enough to choke a horse. She could feed the kid with those.
He picked up the coke and the dusty People magazine and put them on the kitchenette counter, safely out of the kidâs reach. There was a scrubbie in the sink, and he used it on the coffee table, cleaning up the leftover shake. Telling himself that if she came stumbling out while he was doing it, he would give her back her goddam money. Telling himself that if she went on snoozing, she deserved whatever she got.
Deenie didnât come out. She went on snoozing.
Dan finished cleaning up, tossed the scrubbie back in the sink, and thought briefly about leaving a note. But what would it say? Take better care of your kid, and by the way, I took your cash?
Okay, no note.
He left with the money in his left front pocket, being carefulnot to slam the door on his way out. He told himself he was being considerate.
3
Around noonâhis hangover headache a thing of the past thanks to Deenieâs Fioricet and a Darvon chaserâhe approached an establishment called Goldenâs Discount Liquors & Import Beers. This was in the old part of town, where the establishments were brick, the sidewalks were largely empty, and the pawnshops (each displaying an admirable selection of straight razors) were many. His intention was to buy a very large bottle of very cheap whiskey, but what he saw out front changed his mind. It was a shopping cart loaded with a bumâs crazy assortment of possessions. The bum in question was inside, haranguing the clerk. There was a blanket, rolled up and tied with twine, on top of the cart. Dan could see a couple of stains, but on the whole it didnât look bad. He took it and walked briskly away with it under his arm. After stealing seventy dollars from a single mother with a substance abuse problem, taking a bumâs magic carpet seemed like small shit indeed. Which might have been why he felt smaller than ever.
I am the Incredible Shrinking Man, he thought, hurrying around the corner with his new prize. Steal a few more things and I will vanish entirely from sight.
He was listening for the outraged caws of the bumâthe crazier they were, the louder they cawedâbut there was nothing. One more corner and he could congratulate himself on a clean getaway.
Dan turned it.
4
That evening found him sitting at the mouth of a large stormdrain on the slope beneath the Cape Fear Memorial Bridge. He had aroom, but there was
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