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Garage Space Rented by the
Week, Month, or Year
, and HONK FOR ENTRY—but the only one that
really meant anything was the new one leaning in the darkened office
window: CLOSED UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE. Sitting in one corner of the
snowy front lot was an old crumpled Mustang, one of the real door-suckers
from the '60s. Now it sat silent and broody under a shroud of snow.
"It's creepy," Leigh said in a low voice.
"Yeah. It sure is." I gave her the keys I'd made at the Western Auto that
morning. "One of these will do it."
She took the keys, got out, and walked over to the door. I kept an eye in both
rearview mirrors while she fumbled at the lock, but we didn't seem to be
attracting any undue attention. I suppose there is a certain psychology
involved in seeing such a big, conspicuous vehicle—it makes the idea of
something clandestine or illegal harder to swallow.
Leigh suddenly tugged hard on the door, stood up, tugged again, and then
came back to the truck. "I got the key to turn, but I can't get the door up," she
said. "I think it's frozen to the ground or something."
Great, I thought. Wonderful. None of this was going to come easily.
"Dennis, I'm sorry," she said, seeing it on my face.
"No, it's all right," I said. I opened the driver's door and performed another
of my comical sliding exits.
"Be careful," she said anxiously, walking beside me with her arm around my
waist as I crutched carefully through the snow to the door. "Remember your
leg."
"Yes, Mother," I said, grinning a little. I stood in profile to the door when I
got there so I could bend down to the right and keep my weight off my bad
leg. Bent over in the snow, left leg in the air, left hand holding onto my
crutches, right hand grasping the roll-up door's handle, I must have looked
like a circus contortionist. I pulled and felt the door give a little… but not
quite enough. She was right; it had iced up pretty good along the bottom. You
could hear it crackling.
"Grab on and help me," I said.
Leigh placed both of her hands over my right hand and we pulled together.
That crackling sound became a little louder, but still the ice wouldn't quite
give up its grip on the foot of the door.
"We've almost got it," I said. My right leg was throbbing unpleasantly, and
sweat was running down my cheeks. "I'll count. On three, give it all you've
got. Okay?"
"Yes," she said.
"One… two…
three
!"
What happened was the door came free of the ice all at once, with absurd,
deadly ease. It flew upwards on its tracks, and I stumbled backward, my
crutches flying. My left leg folded underneath me and I landed on it. The deep
snow cushioned the fall somewhat, but I still felt the pain as a kind of silver
bolt that seemed to ram upward from my thigh all the way to my temples and
back down again. I clenched my teeth over a scream, barely keeping it in, and
then Leigh was on her knees in the snow beside me, her arm around my
shoulders.
"Dennis! Are you all right?"
"Help me up."
She had to do most of the pulling, and both of us were gasping like winded
runners by the time I was on my feet again with my crutches propped under
me. Now I really needed them. My left leg was in agony.
"Dennis, you won't be able to work the clutch in that truck now—"
"Yeah, I will. Help me back, Leigh."
"You're as white as a ghost. I think we ought to get you to a doctor."
"No. Help me back."
"Dennis—"
"Leigh, help me back!"
We inched our way back to Petunia through the snow leaving shuffling,
troubled tracks in the snow behind us. I reached up, laid hold of the steering
wheel, and did a chin-up to get in, scraping feebly at the running board with
my right leg… and still, in the end, Leigh had to get behind me and put both
hands on my kiester and shove. At last I was behind Petunia's wheel, hot and
shivering with pain. My shirt was wet with snowmelt and sweat. Until that
day in January of 1979, I don't think I knew how much pain can make you
sweat.
I tried to jam down the clutch with my left foot and that silver bolt of pain
came again, making me throw my head back and grind my teeth until it
subsided a little.
"Dennis, I'm going down the street and find a phone and call a doctor." Her
face was white and scared. "You broke it again, didn't you? When you fell?"
"I don't know," I said. "But you can't do that, Leigh. It'll be your folks or mine
if we don't end it now. You know that. LeBay won't stop. He has a well-
developed sense of vengeance. We can't stop."
"
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