Stumptown Kid (13 page)

I was afraid Mom and Vern would come after me in the car, so I ran through backyards and alleys as much as I could. I was still clutching the bayonet in its case, and it was heavier than it looked. My chest started aching after the first three blocks, but I kept running.

I’d told Mom about Luther’s boardinghouse, and she said she knew the place. She’d probably left home in the car by now. I just had to get there before she and Vern did.

And Luther had to take the bayonet.

I knew I’d be in big trouble whenever Mom caught up with me or when I went home, but that didn’t matter now. Luther needed me, and I was going to help him.

It was starting to get dark. A big, orange sun crouched behind the trees as I ran, pitching long shadows across the street. In a few minutes it would disappear, and the night would throw a curtain over everything. Including Ruckus, if he was in town already.

I ran even faster.

Finally the boardinghouse came into sight. Lights were on inside, but Luther’s window was dark. Where was he? Maybe he’d gone to Landen’s to clean up.

I had to be sure he wasn’t in his room.

I ran up the outside stairs, pulled open the door at the top, and hurried to Luther’s room.

“Luther!” I called, knocking loud. “Luther!”

I heard footsteps on the stairs at the far end of the hall. I stuck the case with the bayonet behind my back, in case it wasn’t Luther.

Mrs. Hollingsworth came up, towels hanging over her arm.

“Well, hello,” she said, smiling. “You’re Charlie, right? Luther’s friend? My, but he’s popular tonight.”

“He isn’t here?” I asked breathlessly.

“No, honey,” she said. “He went back to Landen’s to do some cleaning, I think.”

I stood there, breathing hard. Now I’d have to run to Landen’s. If I went home without giving Luther the bayonet, Mom would take it away and not let me give it to him.

Then something Mrs. Hollingsworth had said wormed its way into my mind. “What’d you say about Luther bein’ popular?” I asked.

“Oh, a fella was just here, inquiring for Luther. Not even five minutes ago.”

My heart stopped for a second. “Was he from Holden?”

“No,” Mrs. Hollingsworth said. “He had a lovely Southern accent.”

A sound like a cry escaped from my throat.

“Said he’d just come up from Tennessee.” She frowned. “What’s wrong, dear? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

My heart was thrashing now. “Did you tell him where Luther was?”

“Well, sure I did,” Mrs. Hollingsworth answered, still frowning. “And I gave him directions, too. I don’t think he had a car, though. He must’ve come up here on the train. Why, what’s the matter?”

“Call the sheriff, Mrs. Hollingsworth!” I backed away. “Tell him a man named Ruckus Brody is after Luther. Tell him to go to Landen’s!”

“Charlie, wait,” she called after me. “I don’t understand.”

But I was already out the door and running down the outside stairs.

At the bottom of the stairs, I saw Mom’s car pull up at the curb. I ran behind the boardinghouse and a hedgerow that stood between me and the car.

Then I headed down the street, running as fast as I could. My chest ached something awful. I was pretty near crying, to tell the truth, knowing that my dad’s bayonet might be the only thing that could keep Luther alive tonight.

I
had
to get it to him before Ruckus found him.

The sun had set, and darkness was swallowing up Holden as I tore along the streets. Maybe the dark would slow Ruckus down. Maybe he’d have a hard time finding Landen’s, and I could get there first. Mrs. Hollingsworth said it was less than five minutes ago that she saw him.

I wondered if I might even pass him on the way.

Let me get there first,
I said to God or Dad or anyone who might be able to help.
Just let me get there ahead of Ruckus.
I added a
please
in case good manners counted when you made requests like that.

It probably took ten minutes to run to Landen’s, but it seemed more like an hour. When I was a block away, I saw the lights shining from the windows like they were looking for me and calling me to hurry.

I hoped Luther had locked the doors behind him. Nobody locks their doors in Holden. But I hoped Luther was in the habit of putting on locks. Maybe they locked up their houses in Tennessee.

I raced up the street, and just as I got close, I saw him. A man was outside Landen’s, crouched deep in the shadows at a side window near the front. He was peeking inside.

Ruckus Brody.
It had to be him.

I ran up on the stoop, threw open the screen, and pushed through the big door. The front room was empty. “Luther!” I called out. I had my fingers on the lock and was closing the door behind me when Ruckus shouldered the door and heaved it open, pushing me out of the way.

“Where is he?” he demanded.

Ruckus and I both looked around wildly for Luther.

A door opened in the back behind the counter, and Luther came out with a floor mop in his hand.

“Luther, it’s him!” I cried.

Ruckus hurried around the counter toward Luther with me right behind him.

Luther backed up a few steps, his eyes big. He lifted the mop with his left arm and held up the wet part in front of him. It wasn’t a weapon, but it was all he had.

“I’m sorry that pitch killed your brother, Ruckus,” Luther said in a calm voice. “I didn’t mean to hit him.”

“I don’t care if you meant to or not,” Ruckus said. “My brother’s dead on account of you.” He held up something in his hand and flicked it open.

A
switchblade.

“Luther!” I crouched low, took the bayonet out of the case, and slid it hard over the floor to him. It bumped against his foot. He scooped it up and dropped the mop at his feet. I dropped the case on the floor.

“I told you I’d kill you, boy,” Ruckus said to Luther.

It was weird hearing those words come out of his mouth because it wasn’t a comic book and it wasn’t a movie. It was real. He sounded mad and even a little bit sad.

Ruckus was dressed like any other guy, in old blue jeans and a T-shirt. But when he held up the knife and looked at Luther, his eyes were crazy. I started trembling.

“It wasn’t Luther’s fault,” I shouted. “He threw a good pitch.”

Luther glanced at me and back at Ruckus. “Charlie,” he said, “you get out of here, you hear me?”

“My brother raised me,” Ruckus said. I knew if Luther didn’t have Dad’s bayonet, Ruckus would’ve rushed him by now.

He took a step toward Luther.

“Leave him alone!” I hollered. I wasn’t so sure that Luther would use that blade, even to defend himself.

But he
had
to. It was the only thing protecting him.

“Charlie,” Luther said, “I’m tellin’ you, son, get
out
of here.”

I couldn’t move. I wouldn’t leave Luther for anything.

Ruckus moved to the side, and they circled each other. Luther didn’t move the arm with the blade; he just held it out in front of him. The night was cool, but sweat ran in tiny rivers off his face.

Ruckus crept closer to Luther and Luther backed up a couple steps, still holding the bayonet blade out from his body. Three stacks of wooden egg crates sat just behind him. He bumped into them, and they crashed to the floor. Luther fell backwards on top of them, crushing a few crates and sending broken eggs sliding across the floor. He staggered to his feet, still holding the bayonet. The gooey eggs were slippery, and he slid to the floor again, landing on his back in the egg mess.

Ruckus rushed over and stomped on the hand Luther was using to hold the bayonet. Luther cried out and let go. Ruckus kicked it out of the way and bent over Luther with his switchblade.

I could see what was going to happen. So without thinking about it, I grabbed the nearest thing—one of the egg crates that wasn’t broken—and smashed it over Ruckus’s head as hard as I could.

He staggered a few steps, then hit the floor. He wasn’t unconscious, but he was stunned a little.

Luther scrambled for the bayonet and picked it up off the floor. I started toward Ruckus to yank the knife out of his hand, but Luther grabbed me around the waist and hoisted me in the air.

“Charlie, are you crazy, boy?” he yelled at me. “Let’s get out of here!”

We were barely out the door when we heard the sirens. A squad car, red lights whirling, barreled up the street toward us and screeched to a stop outside Landen’s. Two sheriff’s deputies threw open their doors and leaped out, aiming guns at Luther.

“No! No!” I screamed, waving my arms. “Get Ruckus Brody—he’s inside. He tried to kill Luther.”

“He got a weapon?” It was Deputy Mead.

“A switchblade,” I said.

They turned and walked with slow and careful steps into Landen’s. A half minute later, one of them poked his head out of the screen door.

“We got ’im,” the officer said. “Come inside, you two.”

Me and Luther went inside Landen’s.

The first two officers aimed guns at Ruckus, who still looked pretty dizzy from when I whacked him on the head. They had taken away his knife.

“Okay, tell us what happened,” said Deputy Mead.

Just then, the screen door flew open and my mom and Vern rushed in.

“Charlie!” Mom cried. “What happened? Are you all right? We saw the police cars. Oh, Charlie!”

She threw her arms around me and held on real tight. Vern put his arm around her, but she didn’t seem to notice. I tried to get away, but Mom was squeezing too hard.

“I’m okay,” I said. She kept squishing me. “Let go, Mom, I can’t breathe.”

She finally let go.

Vern put a hand on my shoulder and I batted it away.

Deputy Mead cleared his throat. “Okay, suppose you all tell us what’s goin’ on?”

“He killed my brother,” Ruckus said, pointing at Luther. His eyes looked clear now and focused sharp with hate.

“It was an accident!” I blurted out. I looked at Deputy Mead. “You know about what happened. And so does Sheriff Engle.”

“That’s right,” the deputy said, nodding. “But I want to know what happened here tonight.” He turned to Luther. “You tell me.”

So Luther told him about how he’d come back to Landen’s to clean. He told how Ruckus burst in, how I shoved the bayonet across the floor to him, and how they fought.

Mom gasped and held on to my shoulder. Vern still had his arm around her. Even with everything that had just happened, it burned me to see that.

Deputy Mead turned to Ruckus. “That pretty much what happened?”

“He killed my brother,” Ruckus said.

“We’re taking you in and charging you with assault,” Deputy Mead said, slapping handcuffs over Ruckus’s wrists. He looked at Luther. “And we’ll need a formal statement from you, Mr. Peale.”

Luther glanced around him. “Mr. Landen’s depending on me to clean up this mess. Could I come in the morning? Or after I finish here?”

Mead nodded. “Okay, we’ll get your statement in the morning. Meantime, you better call Landen and tell him what happened here.”

One of the other deputies took down my address and Luther’s address while Mom stood behind me, still gripping my shoulders.

When the deputies had all the information they wanted, they said we could go. The deputies walked Ruckus out the door, reading him his rights.

Luther held out Dad’s bayonet to Mom. “Here, Mrs. Nebraska. I won’t be needing this now.”

“I’ll take that,” Vern said, stepping in front of Mom and grabbing the bayonet.

“Give it to Mom,” I told him in a loud voice.

“Vern, I want to put that away,” Mom said, her voice going as soft as mine was loud.

He glared at me but handed it over to her. She turned to me. “Where’s the case?”

I picked the case up off the floor where I’d dropped it and handed it to her.

Luther turned to me. “Charlie, you shouldn’t have done what you did. You could’ve got yourself killed. Now, I appreciate you comin’ to help me, but it wasn’t the right thing to do.”

“Charlie,” Mom said, “that man had a switchblade! Whatever were you thinking?”

“Luther didn’t have nothin’ to protect himself with,” I said.

“Well, don’t you worry about Ruckus, Charlie.” Luther looked steady into my eyes. “He’s goin’ to jail now. Besides, we got a big game tomorrow.” He put a hand on my shoulder and it felt pretty shaky, if you want to know the truth. But it sure felt better than Vern’s fat paw. “You better go home and get rested so you can concentrate on that tomorrow.”

“Okay,” I said.

“Come on, Charlie,” Vern said. “I’ll drive you and your mom home.”

I scowled at him. “I ain’t goin’ anywhere with you.”

“Charlie—” Mom began.

“I’ll walk home. I ain’t ridin’ with Vern.”

Vern sighed loudly and ran a hand over the top of his head.

Mom said to Vern, “I’ll walk home with Charlie. It’s not that far.”

“Mary, it’s dark,” he said, but Mom shook her head.

“Now that that man with the switchblade is going to jail, we’ll be fine,” she said. “Holden’s a safe town. And I want to walk home with my son.”

Vern glared at her, then at me. He walked out of Landen’s and let the screen door bang shut behind him.

“Ready to go?” Mom asked me. I nodded. “Good night, Luther.”

“’Night, ma’am,” he said. “‘Night, Charlie. See you tomorrow on the ball field.”

“Yeah,” I said. “See you.”

Mom and I walked down the street for a long time without talking. I wondered what she was thinking, but she kept it to herself till we were almost home.

Finally she said, “Charlie, I want you to know that I think you were very brave,” she said. “But don’t ever,
ever
do anything so dangerous again. You were wrong to take the bayonet when I told you not to. You could have been killed. Promise me you won’t do anything like that again.”

I kept walking and didn’t say nothing. I knew if Luther ever needed help again, I’d do just about anything.

“Promise me, Charlie.”

I sighed. “I promise.”

It was a lie. But I thought maybe with Ruckus in jail, I wouldn’t have to do anything dangerous again.