The Burning Soul

The house was unexceptional in every way, just one more anodyne suburban box in a street composed of identical suburban boxes outside Bedford, each with its car in the drive, and the flicker of TV screens in front rooms. There were Halloween decorations in place: tombstones, and scarecrows, and pumpkins that had begun to rot, drawing the last of the night insects. Ryan felt the weight of beer pressing on his bladder. He could have gone to men’s room at the Wanderer if it hadn’t been for Dempsey and his actions. Now here Dempsey was again, cursing the existences of people he didn’t even know, as though the quality of his own life was worth more than the change from a nickel.

‘Look at all this shit on the lawns,’ said Dempsey, as he parked the car. ‘How many of these people really have children of their own, you think?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘You don’t think there’s something wrong with lonely old men putting out Halloween crap to attract children?’

‘No, I don’t think there’s anything wrong-’ Ryan began to say, then caught himself before he went any further. It didn’t seem wise to suggest that there was anything okay about using Halloween decorations to attract children, because that raised the specter of why one might be trying to attract them to begin with. He tried again. ‘You’re making it sound bad when it isn’t. It’s not like that. It’s just people getting into the spirit of the season, like at Christmas.’

‘Don’t get me started on Christmas either,’ said Dempsey.

‘You know, you’re a miserable bastard.’

‘And you’re too trusting. It’ll be the death of you.’

Dempsey checked his gun, which prevented him from seeing the look that Ryan sent his way. Had he glimpsed it, he might have reappraised his relationship with the younger man. Instead, it was lost to him. When he surfaced, Ryan’s forehead was furrowed only by the slightest of lines.

‘We’re just supposed to talk to him,’ he said.

‘We are going to talk to him. We just want to make sure we have his full attention when we do. And when did you get so sensitive?’

‘He’s not a tough guy. I’ve met him.’

‘You want to try an experiment? Here’s an experiment. Close your eyes.’

Ryan didn’t close his eyes. He didn’t want to. He didn’t like being around Dempsey with his eyes closed. He was coming to the conclusion that he didn’t like being around Dempsey even with his eyes wide open.

‘Why should I close my eyes?’

‘It’s just a thing. Come on, do it.’

Ryan closed his eyes, and waited. Five seconds went by before Dempsey said, ‘Okay, open them again.’

When Ryan did so, the muzzle of the gun was an inch away from his face, and although a part of him had been expecting something of the kind, the shock was still enough to cause his sphincter to loosen in response, and he had to tense it to bring it under control before he shamed himself.

‘You see?’ said Dempsey. ‘Tough guy or not, that hole commands attention.’

Ryan swallowed. He didn’t speak until he was sure there was enough moisture in his mouth and throat.

‘Are you finished?’ he said.

‘I’m just kidding with you,’ said Dempsey as he lowered the gun. ‘You really are too sensitive.’

Ryan shook his head. He wanted to take deep breaths. He wanted to put his head against the cool window and wait for the waves of dread to stop pulsing through him. He wanted to stop running and hiding. He had started to believe that the fear of what might come was worse than the thing itself.

‘Don’t shake your head at me,’ said Dempsey. ‘What?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Hey, I’m sorry, all right?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Come on, don’t be like that.’

‘You almost made me piss myself.’

Dempsey smothered a grin. ‘My bad.’

‘It was all that beer you made me drink.’

‘All that one bottle?’

‘Beer just goes through me. I don’t know what it is about it. Maybe I got an allergy.’

Dempsey stepped from the car, the gun now hidden in the folds of his coat, and Ryan followed. There was nobody around, and no cars moved along the street. Ryan was a little happier being this far from Boston. The last job like this had been in Everett, which had originally been part of Charlestown way back, and even its historical connections to their old stomping ground had made him sweat. If they showed their faces in Charlestown proper, they’d be dead before the nearest lights changed.

They walked up the short drive to the front door, Dempsey taking in the untended lawn and the weeds in the flower beds as they went.

‘That’s a disgrace,’ he said.

‘It’ll be winter soon,’ said Ryan. ‘Weeds will die. Lawn won’t grow. What does it matter?’

‘It’s an indication of a state of mind. You take care of all of your affairs or you take care of none of them. That’s how he’s in this trouble to begin with.’

‘Because he didn’t mow his lawn?’

‘Yeah, because he didn’t mow his lawn. What is it with you tonight?’ Dempsey rang the doorbell, but his attention was fixed on his partner.

‘There’s a game on. I’d prefer to be watching it.’

‘Yeah, well there’s a game on here too. This is what pays your bills. You need to step up to the plate here. You don’t pay attention, you make mistakes.’

‘He drives a gypsy cab. What’s he gonna do, overcharge us?’

A shadow appeared behind the frosted glass, giving Dempsey just enough time to raise a finger in warning before the door opened a crack and a woman’s face appeared. Ryan could see that she had the security chain in place, but it looked loose to him; that, and the fact she had answered the door after dark, meant that her husband probably wasn’t home yet. Now Dempsey would have something else to complain about, since it was Ryan who had hustled them from the bar to begin with.

‘Mrs. Napier?’ said Dempsey.

The woman nodded. She looked tired and badly worn, just like her clothes, although Ryan thought that she might clean up well. The little that he could see of her body seemed trim.

‘We’re looking for your husband,’ said Dempsey.

‘He’s at work,’ she said.

Ryan watched her trying to gauge the situation. It was after eight, there were two strangers at the door, and they now knew that the man of the house wasn’t around. She had two choices: number one, to claim that there was someone else there with her, or-

She went for number two.

‘I’m expecting him back soon, though. I can give him a message, if you like.’

‘We’d prefer to wait and give it to him ourselves, if it’s all the same to you,’ said Dempsey.

Mrs. Napier’s mouth opened and closed. Ryan could see her getting worried. Maybe she knew about her husband’s work on the side, or perhaps she’d just guessed when the cash began to flow more freely. He wondered if she was the kind to ask questions. If she was, then her husband wasn’t the kind to answer them. He’d always struck Ryan as sullen and taciturn, and his wife didn’t have the face of a woman who was being smothered in spousal affection. Whatever she knew or suspected, it was enough to connect their arrival on her doorstep with any doubts she might have about the state of her husband’s affairs. Ryan liked to think that he could blend in with a crowd and look like a regular guy, but Dempsey carried the smell of the streets with him. At best, they could expect her to call and warn him. At best.

‘Well, I’m not sure when he’ll be home.’

‘Soon,’ said Dempsey. ‘You told us he’d be back soon.’

‘That changes. I never know. He drives a cab. If he’s having a good night, then sometimes he stays out late.’