A Graveyard for Lunatics

?Good God, does anyone in the studio know about that passage??

?If so, they never said.?

?Lord, think. If nobody knew, and the Beast came every night or every day, and listened behind the wall, after a while he?d know everything. All the deals, the ins and outs, all the stockmarket junk, all the women. Save up the data long enough and you?re ready to cash in. Shake the Guy at them, get the money, run.?

?The Guy??

?The Guy Fawkes dummy, the fireworks mannequin, the Guy they toss on the bonfire every Guy Fawkes Day in England, November 5th. Like our Halloween, but religious politics. Fawkes almost blew up Parliament. Caught, he was hanged. We got something like it here. The Beast plans to blow up Maximus. Not literally, but rip it apart with suspicion. Scare everyone. Shake a dummy at them. Maybe he?s been shaking them down for years. And nobody the wiser. He?s an inside trader using secret information.?

?Whoa!? said Crumley. ?Too neat. I don?t like it. You think no one knows the Beast is behind the wall, the mirror??

?Yep.?

?Then how come the studio, or one part of it, your boss, Manny, has a conniption fit when he sees Roy?s clay model of the Beast??

?Well??

?Does Manny know the Beast?s there and fear him? Did the Beast come into the studio at night, see Roy?s work, and destroy it in a rage? And now Manny?s afraid Roy will blackmail him because Roy knows the Beast exists and no one else does? What, what, what? Answer, quick!?

?God?s sake, Crumley, hush!?

?Hush! What kind of rough talk is that??

?I?m thinking.?

?I can hear the cogs turn. Which is it? Is everyone ignorant as to who hides behind the mirror listening? and so they fear the unknown? Or do they know and are twice as afraid because the Beast has gathered so much dirt over the years he can go where he damn well pleases, collect his money, run back under the wall? They don?t dare cross him. He probably has letters some lawyer will mail the day something happens to him. Witness Manny?s panics, hanging out his underwear ten times a day? Well? Which is it? Or do you have a third version??

?Don?t make me nervous. I?ll go into a funk.?

?Hell, kid, that?s the last thing I?d want to do,? said Crumley, with a twist of lemon in his mouth. ?Sorry to shove you into a king-size funk, but I hate keeping time with your quarterhorse half-ass deductions. I?ve just run through a tunnel chased by a criminal beehive you kicked over. Have we stirred up a nest of Mafia or just a single maniac acrobat? Promises, promises! Where?s Roy? where?s Clarence, where?s the Beast? Give me one, just one, body! Well??

?Wait.? I stopped, turned, walked away.

?Where you going?? groused Crumley.

Crumley followed me up the small hill.

?Where in hell are we??

He peered around through the night.

?Calvary.?

?What?s that up there??

?Three crosses. You were complaining about bodies??

?So??

?I have this terrible feeling.?

I put my hand out to touch the base of the cross. It came away sticky and smelling of something as raw as life.

Crumley did the same. He sniffed his fingertips and nodded, sensing what it was.

We looked up along the cross at the sky.

After a while our eyes got used to the darkness.

?There?s no body there,? said Crumley.

?Yes, but??

?It figures,? said Crumley and stalked off toward Green Town.

?J. C.?? I whispered. ?J. C.?

Crumley called from down the hill. ?Don?t just stand there!?

?I?m not just standing here!?

I counted to ten, slowly, wiped my eyes with digging fists, blew my nose, and fell downhill.

I led Henry and Crumley up the path to my grandparents? house.

?I smell geraniums and lilacs.? Henry lifted his face.

?Yes.?

?And cut grass and furniture polish and plenty of cats.?