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Authors: Randy Wayne White
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decorations and mops and a box of donated Halloween costumes, kept for the party they had each year so the television people could take pictures and prove how happy everybody at the rest home was. Joseph started opening boxes, throwing Christmas stockings and plastic pumpkins onto the floor. There was a suit in there somewhere. He'd seen it—a gray suit. Then he found the jacket and tried to pull it on over his shoulders, but it was way too small. Couldn't even get it over his arms. He found a dress, a red one with frills, big as a tent.
I'd hitchhike back to Mango buck-naked first.
He threw the dress on the floor with the suit coat. He kept pawing through the box, holding costumes up to his chest, then tossing them over his shoulder.
People get to this place, the crummy food must make 'em shrink.
He held a black costume up, almost threw it into the heap, but then reconsidered. It was bigger than the rest, so he ripped off his gown and tried it on.
"Hum . . ." Looking down at himself: black costume with a black hood and white bars across the chest and a single white band down the front of each leg.
White stork costume maybel No-o-o . . .
Joseph thought for a moment. Nope, it was a skeleton costume. That's what he was wearing, a skeleton suit, only his boots and calves stuck way out of it, and so did his wrists. But that didn't matter. He liked the way it felt, nice and soft, plus black was a good color for him. Set off his eyes—a woman had told him that once.
Joseph put his hat on and turned to the door . . . then stopped, listening: footsteps coming down the hall, squeaking along on the linoleum. Quickly, Joseph flipped off the lights and stepped back against the wall just as the storage room doors were pulled open. One of the orderlies stood there, looking right at Joseph, it seemed, blinking into the darkness. The thick orderly with the chubby face and the tattoo on his wrist. The one who'd whacked him with surgical tubing that time, then tied him up. Joseph pulled his fists to his sides and was just about to leap on the man when the orderly turned on his heels and let the doors swing shut, calling out, "The Injun ain't in here, Hank!"
Joseph relaxed and waited. Amazing. How could the orderly have missed him? It was a good omen—Joseph knew that. A very good sign for a pursuer to look right at him but not see him.
Joseph crouched a little, listening. He could hear the rubber-shoe noises of the two orderlies going room to room. When he could no longer hear them, he peeked his head out and took a look. All clear, so he shuffled past the elevator to the stairs and clomped on down. The fire door at the first floor had no window, so he had to crack it open to look, and there sat the fat nurse and the two orderlies, backs to him, watching television. That quick, they'd given up the search. Maybe a dozen old people beyond the staff, sitting at tables playing cards. An old woman yelling, "Play me a spade, goddamn it! Either bid or get off the can!" Her thin voice rising over the noise of the television.
So how was he going to get past them? He thought about maybe pulling the upstairs fire alarm, sneaking out in the panic. But no, that'd bring the police, and he didn't want the cops after him. He was thinking about it, standing there in the stairwell, when, unexpectedly, the doorknob was pulled from his hand, the door was yanked wide open, and an old man tottered past him without saying a word.
Joseph didn't hesitate. He stood in plain view of the whole room, and there was no other option. He tipped his hat to the orderlies and the nurse, as if he was going for an evening stroll, then walked right out through the front doors.
The nurse and the orderlies never budged. Never said a word.
It was almost as if he were invisible.
As Joseph moved along the night streets, he began to assemble a plan in his head. It was about thirty miles to Mango, where Tuck lived—thirty miles of busy streets and fast traffic. And
I'd hitchhike back to Mango buck-naked first.
He threw the dress on the floor with the suit coat. He kept pawing through the box, holding costumes up to his chest, then tossing them over his shoulder.
People get to this place, the crummy food must make 'em shrink.
He held a black costume up, almost threw it into the heap, but then reconsidered. It was bigger than the rest, so he ripped off his gown and tried it on.
"Hum . . ." Looking down at himself: black costume with a black hood and white bars across the chest and a single white band down the front of each leg.
White stork costume maybel No-o-o . . .
Joseph thought for a moment. Nope, it was a skeleton costume. That's what he was wearing, a skeleton suit, only his boots and calves stuck way out of it, and so did his wrists. But that didn't matter. He liked the way it felt, nice and soft, plus black was a good color for him. Set off his eyes—a woman had told him that once.
Joseph put his hat on and turned to the door . . . then stopped, listening: footsteps coming down the hall, squeaking along on the linoleum. Quickly, Joseph flipped off the lights and stepped back against the wall just as the storage room doors were pulled open. One of the orderlies stood there, looking right at Joseph, it seemed, blinking into the darkness. The thick orderly with the chubby face and the tattoo on his wrist. The one who'd whacked him with surgical tubing that time, then tied him up. Joseph pulled his fists to his sides and was just about to leap on the man when the orderly turned on his heels and let the doors swing shut, calling out, "The Injun ain't in here, Hank!"
Joseph relaxed and waited. Amazing. How could the orderly have missed him? It was a good omen—Joseph knew that. A very good sign for a pursuer to look right at him but not see him.
Joseph crouched a little, listening. He could hear the rubber-shoe noises of the two orderlies going room to room. When he could no longer hear them, he peeked his head out and took a look. All clear, so he shuffled past the elevator to the stairs and clomped on down. The fire door at the first floor had no window, so he had to crack it open to look, and there sat the fat nurse and the two orderlies, backs to him, watching television. That quick, they'd given up the search. Maybe a dozen old people beyond the staff, sitting at tables playing cards. An old woman yelling, "Play me a spade, goddamn it! Either bid or get off the can!" Her thin voice rising over the noise of the television.
So how was he going to get past them? He thought about maybe pulling the upstairs fire alarm, sneaking out in the panic. But no, that'd bring the police, and he didn't want the cops after him. He was thinking about it, standing there in the stairwell, when, unexpectedly, the doorknob was pulled from his hand, the door was yanked wide open, and an old man tottered past him without saying a word.
Joseph didn't hesitate. He stood in plain view of the whole room, and there was no other option. He tipped his hat to the orderlies and the nurse, as if he was going for an evening stroll, then walked right out through the front doors.
The nurse and the orderlies never budged. Never said a word.
It was almost as if he were invisible.
As Joseph moved along the night streets, he began to assemble a plan in his head. It was about thirty miles to Mango, where Tuck lived—thirty miles of busy streets and fast traffic. And
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