Pursuit Of The Cygnus Thief

Chapter 9 - Monster

“Monster” By Roseyone

Chapter Nine

       He didn’t stink. He didn’t stare at me. He spoke to his wife and kept his pinpoint pupils trained on her but I knew better. He had been cleaned up for a trip to Muncie, he was on his toes and without looking at me Mr. Abel was aware of my every breath, my every movement as I stood on the sidewalk near the front of his wife’s car. He’d walked up behind me, stepped past me, his eyes had blazed from beneath the brim of a panama hat as he’d greeted his wife. They spoke sweetly to each other as Mr. Abel leaned into the passenger side window with one hand planted on the roof of her car. The two of them knew how to lay it on thick in the public eye, Freddy had told me about it, I’d seen it before and by the time of my sixteenth birthday Mr. Abel had already shared his disdain for his wife on numerous occasions. She’s simple-minded, too American. She’s a few buttons short. You know what I mean? I had no choice, it took her years to learn what a man like me requires of a wife. You must understand this Amelia.

     Soprano mingled with bass, as their theatrical laughter bubbled after some remark Mrs. Abel made about teenagers. I wondered how she could perform with him, a man like that; an able-bodied man who she’d been forced to bathe and make presentable earlier that same morning. Freddy had told me how things went on between his parents and how his mother had told him to butt out. That’s how he hates her since he can’t hit her these days. He don’t clean up, he don’t even wipe unless she does it for him. He burps and she has to say excuse me!

     I considered running for it. My father’s garage was over on Trimble Street, just a block from the eastbound freeway ramp. It was just after eleven o’clock, my father would check in at his garage by noon. Then I thought of the trouble already headed toward me if Freddy failed. I wanted to tell Mrs. Abel about her husband right there in front of Izzard’s. He’s a wolf! He gets fresh with me behind your… Even unspoken, the words deflated. My mouth opened. I took a shakey step forward. I froze. Just then, Mr. Abel stood up straight, his gaze glanced off me, questioned, devoured the scraps of my courage. He snorted through a grin then resumed his former stance with his head pushed a bit further into the passenger window of his wife’s car.

“Well whatdya know? Not only have I arrived late, I also forgot why I had to meet you Miranda. I’m to play chauffer this morning. And here I thought you just wanted to see your husband…” Mr. Abel lied.

     I thought about throwing myself on the sidewalk but it wasn’t in my nature, besides I was too close to the edge with worry to risk it. Any fake–out could turn into a real crack-up. Mrs. Abel’s thin cackle piped out of her car but I saw the tremble in her face. She was sick about getting her husband’s undivided attention, like someone who was running up a bill that would seriously hurt to pay up. I knew how she felt. He’d told me how things were between them, how he deserved better. Mr. Abel liked to confess.

     The Izzard’s valet with the parasol tucked under his arm stood straight-backed at his station next to the wood and chrome revolving doors of Izzard’s, his uniform loaned him a soldier-like quality, he resembled Ron Blay in more than a passing way. Slowly, his face turned toward me, he smiled looked away then squared at me again with a bigger smile. When he was certain I would follow, he looked over at the back of Mr. Abel and made an unpleasant face, the valet’s eyes darted to mine again and he chuckled a bit. Plain as day, people could sense it, see it. Was it the fakeness or the malignancy it tried to disguise? Suddenly, the revolving doors spun, the chrome dazzled in the sunlight and hurt my eyes as two women emerged carrying shopping bags and hat-boxes. The valet sprang into action, relieving them of their packages, consoling the two shoppers with the offer of his parasol and smooth assurance that their car would be brought around by his partner momentarily.