Dead Man's Song (Pine Deep 2)

Silence for a few heartbeats. “It’s not like I said it in front of her. ”

“You shouldn’t have said it all. ” She expected him to say something else, peevish or defensive, but there was nothing. She said, “What time tomorrow should we pick you up?”

“You don’t need to bother,” he snapped. “Buck Franklin from the Rotary is coming by. ”

“I’d like to be there anyway,” Val said, “for Connie. ”

“Don’t bother,” Mark said, and hung up.

She set down the phone and looked at it thoughtfully for a while, lips pursed, twin vertical frown lines between her brows. Crow would have had something witty and biting and funny to say, even to the silent phone, but he wasn’t here and the best Val could manage was, “ass,” which was appropriate enough.

Around her the house was huge and silent, filled with brown shadows. She knew that every door was locked and every window shut and pinned. Crow had seen to that before he had left for town to put in some hours at the store. He wouldn’t be back until the middle of the afternoon, and then at four a reporter was coming over to interview Crow about the events of thirty years ago. That should be loads of fun, she thought.

She went downstairs to her father’s room, hesitated in the doorway for a while, steeled herself, and went into the room, past the bed that was now empty of both her mother and father, to the big oak wardrobe. The doors swung open quietly. She knelt down and dug around until she found a old shoe-box tied with a piece of hairy twine. Val brought this over to the desk by the window and sat down. Though her left arm still ached it was better each day. She untied the twine, set the lid aside, and removed a bundle wrapped in an oil-stained cloth. Val unwrapped it and stared at the contents for a long while, frowning.

There was a small cleaning kit in the box, which she opened to the smell of gun oil. Val slowly and methodically stripped and cleaned the . 45 Colt Commander. When she was finished, she loaded the magazine and slapped it into place. These motions hurt her shoulder, but not that much, and even if the pain had been intense Val would not have cared. When she closed her eyes she saw the dead face of Karl Ruger—but with his eyes open and his wet lips curled into a leering grin. Now, with the pistol, when she saw that face in her mind it would be at the far end of a steel gun sight. And if Boyd came calling, well…that would be too bad for him.

(2)

Three times yesterday and twice today Tow-Truck Eddie drove past the Crow’s Nest and slowed to peer in the window. After that first try, when all he could see was a blurred face, he’d circled back an hour later, but this time all he saw was Crow moving around the store. No one else. He tried it late in the day, near closing, and again all he saw was Crow. No sign of the Beast. Doubt chewed at him. This morning he parked his wrecker in a side street and walked past the store as surreptitiously as he could

, pausing to peer inside. Again, just Crow, though this time he was with customers, all of who were adults. No sign of a teenage boy anywhere.

Could he have changed his appearance? This thought wormed its way into his thoughts and wouldn’t go away, even though the great booming voice of his Father told him that the Beast in boy skin was there. Right there. Right now.

Eddie could not see him at all. Not even the blurred outline of him. Nothing.

He would keep coming back, though, he promised his Father that. Nothing on earth would stop him. Yet deep inside him, far down in the soil of his heart, the first real seeds of doubt were beginning to take root.

The Bone Man felt desperately weak, but even though he kept having to dip into the shallow well of his strength to hide the boy from those penetrating blue eyes he did not feel any weaker than he had earlier. Perhaps he had bottomed out somehow, had dropped as far as he could drop. Well, he thought, if that was so then it was so, and it was something he could—well live with was not quite right, and for once he smiled ruefully at the perversity of his condition—even so it was something he could endure.

The crucial thing for him was that this was something he was actually able to accomplish, and for once he truly felt that he understood why he had been brought back. If he could save the boy, at least until Halloween, then his life and death and whatever the hell this was would all be important. It would matter…and more important to him, it would make sense. He stood there invisible in the sunlight and watched the wrecker drive away, and despite the agonizing weariness the Bone Man felt good.

(3)

“I’m going to throw some punches at you,” Crow said, raising his hands and settling his body into a boxing posture—knees flexed, chin tucked into his right shoulder, hands high, fists tight. “What I want you to do is block anything you see. ” Mike’s eyes were a little glassy, and Crow thought he saw the beginnings of tears forming. The kid’s bruises looked a lot better today, but his eyes were still spooked. “You ready?” Crow asked, though it was clear the only thing Mike was ready for was a mad dash down the alley.

“Um…yeah. Sure. ”

Crow nodded and threw a light jab with his good arm, aiming four or five inches to the right of the kid’s face and stopping three inches short. Throwing the punch hurt, but Crow kept it off his face. Mike made a clumsy swipe at it that missed and jerked back so fast it looked like somebody had pulled him with a rope. Crow took a shuffle step in and looped a big, wide roundhouse right that had no chance at all of making contact. Mike squeezed his eyes shut and wrapped his arms around his eyes.

“Okay,” Crow said, lowering his hands, “that lets me know you’re not ready for Golden Gloves. ” Throwing the punch without power only tugged at his stitches. It didn’t really hurt, and he was glad about that. He’d had a good night’s sleep last night, curled up in Val’s arms, the both of them sleeping long and without dreams. Over breakfast Val had remarked on it.

“I feel almost human today. ” Her black hair was glossy and damp from the shower and there was the first trace of a sparkle in her eyes, something he hadn’t seen in days. It had lifted Crow’s heart and made him feel better, too.

Now, scuffling around the backyard with Mike, Crow felt ever closer to his old self—though he still didn’t throw any punches with the arm Ruger had squeezed.

Mike, on the other hand, looked sheepish and ashamed, blossoms of red flaring in his cheeks as he continued to back away from Crow’s approach. Finally, raising his hands palms outward, Crow said, “What was Crow’s Rule Number One?”

The kid shrugged. He was still covered in bruises on every visible inch of his skin. By comparison he made Crow look uninjured and whole.

“Sorry, kid, that was my I-didn’t-hear-shit ear. ”

“Never let the assholes win,” Mike snapped irritably.

“Damn right. ” They were in the small yard behind Crow’s shop and apartment. The yard was walled in by other stores except in the back and had a fine view of the hills, the distant farms, and the long snaking line of A-32. “Come on now, let’s work on some moves. ”

Mike flapped a hand. “It’s just that I hate that I have to learn this stuff. ”