In Search of Jack Grey, pt. 2

tpc005

Sarah

In downtown Metro, Sarah reclines on her roof deck watching the sun come up over matchstick buildings waiting for a light.  Her phone rings next to her.

“Hello.”

“He wasn’t there.”

“He wasn’t?

“No.”

“Why?”

“We don’t know?”

“Wrong answer.”

“We’ll find out.”

“When?”

“Soon.”

“Call this afternoon.”

The phone clicks on the other end.  Sarah hangs up.  She picks up her cigarette pack from the telephone table, pulls one, lights her cinnamon-scented Zippo, flames the butt end, snaps the lid shut - click.  Her exhale holds her thought, “...idiots.”.

The Car

Mr. Ben places the car phone in its holder.  “She wasn’t happy.”

“No?”

“No.  She wants us to make up for it.”

“Denise said he’d be home.”

“But he wasn’t.”

“Denise tipped us bad.”

“Don’t know why she’d do that.”

“We should ask her.”  Mr. Jerry makes a move to open his door and step out of the car.  Mr. Ben stops him.

“No.  Not now.  We’ll catch up with her later.  Might be eyes around.”

Mr. Jerry nods and relaxes back into his seat.

Mr. Ben turns the key and puts the Nova into drive.  The tires move slow on the fuzz pavement griping every crevice.  He picks up speed at the corner where he turns onto the main road.  Mr. Ben wishes he knew why the kid wasn’t there.  Now it will be a bitch.  He’ll have to talk to Denise.  Find out what’s up.  She had his times down to the second.  He was home.  “Mr. Jerry, where to?”

“Bar.”

“Bar it is.”  And their tail lights blaze red on smooth street.

Chroma Park

Chroma Park was dedicated about eight years ago in downtown Metro.  Tall buildings surround a tiny island of grass and chrome.  All benches and poles and a fountain and handrails were Chevy-chrome.  It was designed by the Morris and Morris company.  The Works keep it shining.  At noon the effect is blinding.  At eleven-thirty Stanley sits in the grass reading his fiction pad.  He is a third of the way through: Lester Finn has just finished his mind-blower invention. 

Shadows in the Park

Denise arrives at the park at ten minutes to noon;  she looks around and sees that the guy from the other day is here again.  Today she’ll give him the back view.  Denise walks toward him across the grass from the path.  The breeze plays with the edge of her skirt blowing at it - teasing.  The hemline gives gentle whips, and she smiles at the slight sting.  She stops with her stuff about thirty feet from him.  She turns her back and bends pushing herself forward on her elbows and putting her head down on her folded arms while the wind sings a lullaby - she grins, sighs, and settles into the grass.  She pictures him staring over the edge of his pad as her skirt rises.  She imagines his lingering eyes - his fear peaking - she holds him frozen in a block of innocent boy-man; an easy exploit, but still, his guilt feeds her.  She cozies into the ground pressing her body down and side to side.  Skirt fabric rises, and her white thighs shine with the chrome around her.  She wore pink today..

“Hello Denise.”  She startles and sits up pushing down her skirt.  She looks up and sees two, shadowed silhouettes in the sun.  “He wasn’t home.”

(continued in pt.3)