The Folds Page 7

  “Okay! Here we go!” Tommy began. The children quickly sat up to take note of Tommy’s instructions. “If you had one wish—one wish, and could be a superhero—what would your special power be?”

  Tommy tried to shrug his shoulders high enough to muffle his ears as the spastic boys screamed simultaneously, “Invisible! Strong! Fast! Smell good! Smart! Bulletproof! Be an animal! X-ray vision!”

  “One at a time!” Tommy barked. “One at a time! One…at…a…time! Bobby!” he said with authority. “You’re a superhero right now! What can you do?”

  “I’d be super strong!” Bobby said with much vigor.

  Tommy pried for more information, “So you could…?”

  “So I could beat up anybody that did something wrong,” he reasoned.

  “Ah, I get it! You’d be the guy to put the hurt on ’em, huh?” Tommy helped to confirm Bobby’s idea. “The strong, long arm of the law! Jr. G man!”

  “Yeah, man! Put the hurt on ’em!” Bobby bounced on the seat and gloated with pride at having gone first to make a wish.

  “All right, that’s good. We gotta have strong heroes like that. Daryl!” Tommy beckoned as he searched the rearview mirror. “You’re up, son! Super power! What’d you do?”

  “I’d be invisible!” Daryl said confidently with an almost evil squint in his eyes, as if he had planned this all along. The four boys sat still and completely mesmerized as Daryl described in great detail exactly how he would use this special power. “Man, no one would see me…and they’d just be talking normal and stuff about robbing a bank…but I’d really be there and listen to everything and tell the police.”

  Tommy leaned his head to the side and looked at Danny with a face that seemed to say, “Hey! That ain’t bad!”

  “And the police could arrest ’em,” Daryl continued, “and they’d be in jail sayin’, ‘How’d they know we were gonna do that?’” He paused a moment to let the idea sink in, then finished strongly with, “‘Cause I’d have been there and would have known what they all look like, and I could trip ’em or hit ’em wit sump’n’!” Once finished, he smiled broadly, bobbing his head in triumph.

  “Invisible, huh? Pretty good,” Tommy complimented.

  Dale timidly pushed open the glass door of the old neighborhood grocery store and inadvertently struck a bell on a string. As he entered, he spied Larry Pilgrim, the store owner, sitting behind the counter, reading his newspaper. Dale looked down and away while turning down the first of four aisles.

  “Good morning!” Larry greeted pleasantly, folding his paper. “Beautiful day, isn’t it?”

  Dale didn’t answer as he stalled for time and picked up a loaf of bread and a gallon of milk.

  “You findin’ everything ya need?” Larry volunteered. After not receiving a response for his second question, he stood and commented, “Ain’ seen you in this neighborhood ’fore. You moving in?”

  As he approached the checkout stand with his groceries, Dale breathed long and deep a few times to prepare himself. He quietly placed the items on the counter in front of Larry.

  “All right now,” Larry mumbled and turned the groceries toward him. He muttered the prices to himself, punched the buttons on the old manual cash register, and, after ringing up the total, told Dale, “That’ll be two thirty-eight, please.”

  Dale remained transfixed on the gallon of milk.

  “Son? That’ll be two thirty-eight, please,” Larry repeated.

  “I heard you the first time!” Dale shouted and pulled the gun out of his pants. He shakily pointed the gun directly at Larry’s face and nervously demanded, “Put the money on the counter, now!” His voice cracked slightly with the rush of both fear and adrenaline as he ordered, “All of it! C’mon! Move!’

  “Billy! You’re up! Super powers! Wha’da’ya got?” Tommy’s voice rang out.

  The four others turned to Billy in anticipation at what his secret wish might be. “I’d be able to run fast, be fast, and grow really tall,” Billy announced.

  “What do you mean tall?” Tommy asked, confused.

  “Well, when you’re tall,” he rationalized, “people look at you ’n are afraid of you ’n…’cuz they don’t get afraid that way of you when you’re short.”

  The car remained quiet.

  “Okay…” Tommy answered hesitantly. “I can buy that.”

  “C’mon! I don’t got all day!” Dale yelled impatiently. “Get the money out of the drawer and on the counter!”

  “I don’t have the money in the drawer,” Larry explained, gently lowering his arms. “It’s down here…in my cigar box.” He pointed to the back side of the counter and slowly squatted down.

  “You think I’m stupid?” Dale said, waving the pistol “Keep your hands where I can see ’em! And whatever you’re thinkin’ about doin’? Don’t!”

  Larry began to panic and tried to explain. “I’m getting you the money, son. Just…take it easy now. I keep it in a cigar box away from the register.” He again started to bend down and lower his left arm toward the back side of the register.

  Dale cocked the gun. “I don’t wanna shoot ya…so keep your hands up and quit moving!”

  “I’m just getting the money! Please! Just…hold on!” Larry pleaded again as tears streamed down his cheeks.

  “Are ya listening to me? What are ya stupid, you old man?” Dale jabbed the gun in the air and accidentally squeezed off a round, hitting Larry in the chest. At almost point-blank range, the. 38 caliber bullet violently ripped through his ribcage and lung before exiting through the shoulder blade, lodging itself in the wall.

  Brooke jumped in her seat at the sound of gunfire as Larry fell against the wall then slid down to the concrete floor.

  “Jimmy! Your turn!” Tommy cheered.

  “I’d have all the cool stuff, like Batman!” Jimmy replied. “Poisonous dart guns, radar-controlled boomerangs, cars you can drive from your wrist, walkie-talkies in your wallet. Man, I’d be cool!”

  “So you’d rather be more of an engineer or inventor rather than have special powers?” Tommy asked.

  Jimmy, not really thinking about the question, replied, “Nah! I just wanna make cool stuff that catches bad people and drive a cool car!”

  Larry’s wife Caroline rushed from the back room upon hearing the shot. Dale was standing in shock with his gun still held out in front of him when she rounded the corner of the counter. Brooke turned to look through the rear window from the passenger seat. She drew her knees into the seat and placed her hands on the headrest, resting her lips on her knuckles.

  “Augh! No! No!” Caroline screamed at the sight of her husband lying in an ever-enlarging pool of blood. “Larry? Larry? Augh! No! No!” she wailed uncontrollably as she knelt down beside her husband and tried to pull up his torso to embrace him one last time.

  “I didn’t mean to!” Dale explained. “He was…reaching for his gun! I just wanted the money. I didn’t mean to. It just kinda went off!”

  Caroline looked at Dale in woeful amazement. “What gun? We don’t have any guns!” then hid her face in her hands. “You killed him!” she screamed mournfully. “He’s dead for money?” She crawled on her hands and knees to the other end of the counter to where Larry stood just moments before, leaving a trail of bloodied handprints on the floor. Her weeping grew louder and louder until finally she screamed, “There!” and threw a King Edward’s cigar box over the counter at Dale. “That’s what you wanted, isn’t it? There’s your money!” Heart stricken, Caroline crawled back to Larry’s lifeless body and lay on top of him, embracing him.

  Dale gazed upon the rubber-band-wrapped box lying at his feet, stained with blood. His eyes were then distracted by Caroline rising up off Larry. Trying to keep her balance, she leaned against the wall for support as she struggled to stand. Sobbing uncontrollably, almost convulsively, she hobbled toward the phone.

  “Hey!” Dale shouted, shaking his gun. “What are you doin’?”

  Caroline reached out to the old wa
ll-mounted rotary phone.

  “Get away from the phone!” Dale commanded, looking out the glass front door for any customers.

  “You killed him!” she screamed as she picked up the receiver. “Augh! You killed my love!”

  “Get away from the phone! Now!” Dale warned. “Don’t!” The two stared at each other as Crystal Gale’s “You’ve Been Talking in Your Sleep” played on the overhead speakers.

  Caroline broke the silent standoff by calmly asking, “Are you gonna shoot a woman?”

  “Put…the phone…down!” Dale explicitly instructed through gritted teeth. “Look at your husband! You wanna be next? Put the phone down!”

  She dared not take her eyes off Dale as she fumbled with the phone. Her fingers found the zero and clumsily dialed the operator. After one ring, Dale heard the line connect. Grief stricken, Caroline could barely speak as she turned away from Dale and said, “Yes…I’d like…I’d like to report…my husband.”

  Dale fired once more, shooting Caroline in the back. With the phone still in her hand, she fell to the side with a thud, landing a few inches from her dead husband.

  Brooke jumped once more as the sound of gunfire again resonated in her ears. Shaking and near the point of hyperventilation, tears ran down her cheeks. Unable to see inside, she squeaked a long, high-pitched sob like that of a tea kettle slowly reaching its boiling point.

  Dale stood alone.

  “Okay, Danny, you’re next,” Tommy said, looking over to his son. “Super powers!”

  The back seat foursome pulled themselves up to the back of the front seat to listen to Danny’s wish.

  “I’d like to, um, I’d think I’d like to…” Danny pondered.

  “Kiss Jessica Holder!” Daryl hollered.

  “Shut up, Daryl!” Danny yelled angrily with a jump and turned onto his knees to face Daryl.

  The boys immediately began singing in unison, “Jessica and Danny…sitting in a tree.…k-i-s-s-i-n-g!”

  Danny turned back to face the front, embarrassed, folding his arms in front of him.

  Tommy stepped in to control the situation with a chuckle. “All right, settle down, settle down.” He leaned over to Danny and gently inquired, “You don’t wanna kiss ol’ Jessica Holder, do ya?”

  Danny turned away to look out the window, trying in vain to hide his smile from his father. With a sudden surge of confidence, he then whirled around to confront Daryl. “I’ve already kissed her!”

  Tommy and the boys reacted to the prideful boast with a mighty, “Whoa!”

  Dale reached down and clumsily picked up the cigar box covered with Larry’s blood. He then tucked the gun into his pants and stepped to the glass door. From the doorway, he thought to himself, no one would be able to see the bodies of the couple unless they walked over to edge of the counter and leaned over. Dale took a few cleansing breaths then casually walked out the door with a jingling from the bells.

  As he exited, Dale spotted Brooke walking toward the store, crying loudly. “What are ya doing?” he screamed and grabbed her by the arm. He turned her around with a sudden and vicious yank. “Get in the car! C’mon!”

  “You never came out!” she explained nervously as Dale forcibly escorted her to the car. “You said you’d be right back! Are ya hurt?” she asked, stopping to examine him. “What were you doing in there? What happened? Are you okay, baby?”

  “Would you shut up?” Dale complained, slapping her hands down. “I’m out! Look, I’m okay! All right? I’m okay! Let’s go!” He gruffly stuffed Brooke into her side of the car and slammed the door in frustration. As he hurriedly walked to his side, Brooke’s eyes followed him all the way around the car, watching his every movement like a cat. Dale threw the cigar box in the floorboard as he entered the car and placed the gun in the seat next to him.

  “What were you doing in there?” Brooke asked as Dale stepped on the gas, squealing the tires.

  “Nothing!” he shouted. “Here! Open it up!” he instructed and tossed the bloody cigar box on her lap.

  “What’d we get?” he asked as Brooke wearily slid the rubber band off the box.

  Dale accelerated, blindly and carelessly running the stop signs in the local neighborhood.

  Brooke counted out loud as she separated the bills. “Twenty, forty, forty-five, fifty, fifty-five, sixty…eighty.”

  “Eighty?” Dale cried with a whip of his head, his eyes filled with pandemonium. “Eighty bucks? Eighty stupid bucks?” He grabbed the cigar box and slammed it repeatedly against the dashboard. “I don’t believe this!”

  “Baby?” Brooke cooed softly, trying to understand. “What happened in there? I heard gunshots.”

  The green Cadillac neared the downtown area as Tommy urged Danny to declare his super powers. Danny, however, was reluctant to speak after receiving the taunting from his friends. “Okay, guys, that’s enough,” he coaxed the pod of hecklers. “C’mon, tiger. What would you do?”

  “I’d do something nobody’s ever thought of,” Danny stated. “Nobody would know me or who my family is. I could blend in and go unnoticed. I’d help people ’fore they got in trouble.”

  Dale raced recklessly down the tiny residential streets.

  “Why are you driving so fast?” Brooke asked.

  “Would ya shut up and let me think!” Dale bossed. “The quicker we get outta town, the harder it’ll be for the police to find us… Anyway, there’s nothing we can do for them now!”

  “Them?” Brooke asked, openmouthed and wide-eyed. “Who is ‘them’? Oh my God! Did you shoot someone? Baby? Did you shoot someone?”

  Dale’s eyes remained focused on the road ahead as Brooke interrogated him, his face transfixed in a scowl.

  Brooke sat back in shock and disbelief, holding her hand to her mouth. Seconds passed before she passionately rationalized to Dale, “We can’t just leave them there! Oh my God, baby, we gotta go back!”

  “Go back? Are you outta your freakin’ mind?” he badgered. “We go back ’n you know what happens? Huh?”

  Brooke cowered against the door with a shake of her head.

  “They get me! They get me, then they get you as an accessory for after the fact, and guess what?”

  Brooke sat motionless, frightened and vulnerable, like a child receiving a harsh scolding from her parents.

  Dale finished his belligerent onslaught. “If they get you, then our baby’s gonna be born in jail! Is that what you want? For our kid to be born in a jail? Huh?”

  All of a sudden, in a fit of rage, Dale picked up his gun and backhanded Brooke.

  “I only wanted to be with you!” Brooke explained, sobbing, holding her bleeding left cheek. “I just want my baby to be happy!”

  “Shut up!” Dale shouted, hitting her again with the barrel of the gun. “Just shut up! I’m tired of you always telling me what to do! Shut up!”

  Brooke struggled in vain to block Dale’s blows, but he was too strong. Blind with rage, he struck her over and over. The barrel and butt of the gun made repeated contact with her skull, cheek, eyebrow, and lips.

  “Stop it! No!” Brooke cried out, trying desperately to protect her belly as Dale struck, swerving madly out of control. “Momma!” she wailed. “Let me out! Let me out! Augh! Momma!” With an unexpected burst of courage and energy, Brooke turned the tables and lunged out at Dale, trying to scratch his face. “I hate you! I hate you!” she shrieked.

  Tommy cruised slowly through the historic brick buildings of the old downtown area. “What do you mean?” he asked. “How’d you do that? Daryl already said he’d be invisible.”

  “I know,” Danny admitted. “I wouldn’t be invisible.”

  “Well, how’d you do it then?” Tommy again asked.

  “Read minds? Telepathy? Tell us!” the boys demanded.

  Ron and Casey lounged in the living room while John, Jason, and the women parked themselves outside on the wraparound porch, sipping coffee and talking. Ron and Casey took their fair share of turns getting out of the re
cliners, walking over to the large wood-encased Curtis Mathis television and flipping through the television stations. Casey turned to one of the local stations and just so happened to come across anchorman Glen Armstrong, broadcasting live from a remote area in downtown.

  “We’re live outside the Radio Active Comics store,” Glen reported, “waiting patiently, or I should say impatiently, for the arrival of Superman.” The camera zoomed across the street to the long lines of high-spirited children. “And as you can see, Superman has a lot of fans, waiting to ask some questions and maybe get his autograph or picture. Some are just arriving and some have been here since late last night, like this father and son who drove in late last night, all the way from Grapeland…”

  “Hey, ya’ll!” Ron bellowed to the others on the porch. “Ya’ll c’min here! Tommy and the boy’s gon’ be on TV.” The patio tables cleared with a flash as the remaining parents crowded into the living room. They watched intensely as the camera panned from one side of the downtown intersection, down the sidewalk, into the parking lot, and back up to the other side of the next building.

  “I don’t think we’re gonna make it to Texoma ’til late tonight!” Jason sorrowfully admitted.

  Butch had a corner flat on the second floor of a three-story apartment building. From his bedroom windows, if you looked straight down, you could see the entire alley. Moreover, you could also see the busy intersection of the main drag and a few shops, including the brightly painted windows of the Radio Active comic store. His apartment building bumped right up against the Greyhound bus terminal. It was noisy at times, even more so it seemed during the summer months, particularly in the early mornings and late afternoons. Butch exited through the back side of the apartment building and into the alley, crossed the street, and made a short jaunt to go do some shopping at the local men’s store, French’s. He was in need of some new trousers and dress shirts for his first day on the job that coming Monday.