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You'll like her. See if you don't.
Her again—I was becoming morbidly aware of that casual form of referral…
and getting damned sick of it.
Then I made my last preparatory call. There were four Sykeses in the phone
book. I got the one I wanted on my second try; Jimmy himself answered the
phone. I introduced myself as Arnie Cunningham's friend, and Jimmy's voice
brightened. He liked Arnie, who hardly ever teased him and never "punched
on him" as Buddy Repperton had done when Buddy worked for Will. He
wanted to know how Arnie was, and, lying again, I told him Arnie was fine.
"Jeez, that's good," he said. "He really had his butt in a sling there for a
while. I knew them fireworks and cigarettes was no good for him."
"It's Arnie I'm calling for," I said. "You remember when Will got arrested and
they shut down the garage, Jimmy?"
"Sure do." Jimmy sighed. "Now poor old Will's dead and I'm out of a job.
My ma keeps sayin I got to go to the vocational-technical school, but I
wouldn't be no good at that. I guess I'll go for bein a janitor, or somethin like
that. My Uncle Fred's a janitor up at the college, and he says there's an
op'nin, because this other Janitor, he disappeared, just took off or somethin,
and—"
"Arnie says when they closed down the garage, he lost his whole socket-
wrench kit," I broke in. "It was up behind some of those old tires, you know,
on the overhead racks. He put them up there so no one would rip him off."
"Still there?" Jimmy asked.
"I guess so."
"What a bummer!"
"You know it. That set of boltfuckers was worth a hundred dollars."
"Holy crow! I bet they ain't there anymore anyway, though. I bet one of them
cops got it."
"Arnie thinks they might still be there. But he's not supposed to go near the
garage because of the trouble he's in." This was a lie, but I didn't think Jimmy
would catch it and he didn't. Putting one over on a fellow who was
borderline retarded didn't add a thing to my self-esteem, however.
"Aw, shit! Well, listen—I'll go down and look for 'em. Yessir! Tomorrow
morning, first thing. I still got my keys."
I breathed a sigh of relief. It wasn't Arnie's mythical set of socket wrenches
that I wanted; I wanted Jimmy's keys.
"I'd like to get them, Jimmy, that's the thing. As a surprise. And I know right
where he put them. You might hunt around all day and still not find them."
"Oh, yeah, for sure. I was never no good at finding things, that's what Will
said. He always said I couldn't find my own bee-hind with both hands and a
flashlight."
"Aw, man, he was just putting you down. But really—I'd like to do it."
"Well, sure."
"I thought I'd come by tomorrow and borrow your keys. I could get that set of
wrenches and have your keys back to you before dark."
"Gee, I dunno. Will said to never loan out my keys—"
"Sure, before, but the place is empty now except for Arnie's tools and a
bunch of junk out back. The estate will be putting it up for sale pretty soon,
contents complete, and if I take them after that, it would like stealing."
"Oh! Well, I guess it'd be okay. If you bring my keys back." And then he said
an absurdly touching thing: "See, they're all I got to remember Will by."
"It's a promise."
"Okay," he said. "If it's for Arnie, I guess it's okay."
Just before bed, now downstairs, I made one final call—to a very sleepy-
sounding Leigh.
"One of these next few nights we're going to end it. You game?"
"Yes," she said. "I am. I
think
I am. What have you got planned, Dennis?"
So I told her, going through it step by step, half-expecting her to poke a dozen
holes in my idea. But when I was done, she simply said, "What if it doesn't
work?"
"You make the honor roll. I don't think you need me to draw you a picture."
"No," she said. "I guess not."
"I'd keep you out of it if I could, I said. "But LeBay is going to suspect a trap,
so the bait has to be good."
"I wouldn't let you leave me out of it," she said. Her voice was steady. "This
is my business too. I loved him. I really did. And once you start loving
someone… I don't think you ever really get over it completely. Do you,
Dennis?"
I thought of the years. The summers of reading and swimming and playing
games: Monopoly, Scrabble, Chinese checkers. The ant farms. The times I
had kept him from getting killed in all the ways kids like to kill the outsider,
the one who's a little bit strange, a little bit off the beat. There had been times
when I had gotten pretty fucking sick of keeping him from getting killed, times
when I had wondered if my life wouldn't be easier, better, if I simply let
Arnie go, let him drown. But it wouldn't have been better. I had needed Arnie
to make me better, and he had. We had traded fair all the way down the line,
and oh shit, this was very bitter, very fucking bitter indeed.
"No," I said, and I suddenly had to put my hand over my eyes. "I don't think
you ever do. I loved him too. And maybe it isn't too late for him, even now.
That's what I would have prayed:
Dear God, let me keep Arnie from getting
killed just one more time. Just this one last time.
"It's not him I hate," she said, her voice low. "It's that man LeBay… did we
really see that thing this afternoon, Dennis? In the car?"
"Yes," I said. "I think we did."
"Him and that bitch Christine," she said. "Will it be soon?"
"Soon, yeah. I think so.
"All right. I love you, Dennis."
"I love you too."
As it turned out, it ended the next day—Friday the 19th of January.
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