Cemetery Street - John Zunski (good novels to read in english .txt) 📗

show your thanks by calling me a liar?”
I ducked. The glass whizzed by and smashed against the wall. “Jesus! You’re whacked!”
“WHAT DID YOU SAY?” she screamed. She moved closer, threatening me with the dishtowel pulled taught in her hands. “You call me a liar and have the audacity to use the lord’s name in vain?” Veins bulged in her forehead. “And you call me crazy?”
I ran out the door. “GET BACK HERE THIS INSTANT!” She yelled after me. I sprinted down Cemetery Street, past the old piano factory and the Junior High. My lungs burned as I raced down the tree lined street. Just past the Lucas funeral parlor, I braved a glance behind. I was relieved she wasn’t following. At the bottom of Cemetery Street, I cut across a backyard, crossed the railroad tracks and the vacant lots. On the bank of the Schuylkill River, I found a secluded spot and sat against an uprooted tree. Panting as I caught my breath, I pulled my knees to my chest and cried.
The slow, steady current of the river eased my emotions. I worried about my family. Back in California, we seemed to get along. We had our upsets, but nothing like this. Since moving to Beyford, my mother seemed increasingly on edge. “It’s hormones,” my father said. “Pregnancy,” as an afterthought, he added: “the move was hard on her.”
“I thought she wanted to leave California?” I asked.
“Pennsylvania is different than she expected. She’s having trouble making friends,” my father answered.
Go figure, I thought, she couldn’t get along with Diane, and she is the coolest grown-up I ever met.
Despite being critical of my mother and never passing up an opportunity to rake her across the coals, Shannie was fair and would give me her honest opinion. That evening I asked.
“She hates her life. Imagine sitting on an unwanted egg, passing time till it hatches. The only thing she has to look forward to is making another person miserable,” Shannie answered.
I winced.
“If you want a high opinion of a dog, don’t ask a cat,” she scoffed.
“I thought I asked a bug.”
“A lightning bug mind you, I will illuminate you with my brilliance.”
“Okay brilliant Bug, what makes you think she doesn’t want the baby? She told me she wants it.”
“Geezus Pete. You believe everything she says? She did tell you she got pregnant by taking a pill,” she paused, measuring her words. “Do you think anyone would wait twelve years before having another wanted hatchling? I’m thinking about this time the rooster would be having his pecker snipped.”
I shrugged my shoulders. I had no idea of what Shannie was talking about; I was wrapped up in her style. Comparing speaking skills, mine was pencil marks on scrap paper, Shannie was oil on canvas, she was all about color, theme, and texture.
When I walked into my kitchen. my parents were having a civil conversation. Other then a frown from my mother our spat wasn’t mentioned.
That night I realized Shannie was right. My parent’s were getting too old to have a wanted baby. They waited ten years after packing away the last of my diapers. My father was forty-five, my mother was turning forty next month. Maybe they’re trying to save their marriage, I thought as a freight train’s horn echoed in the distance.


Chapter 3 Secrets

Shannie led me to a secret place. We slipped through Fernwood and under shade trees that dotted the ridgeline. To our left, traffic raced along the Expressway. We followed the ridge until we came upon a huge maple tree, its base so thick that each of its four limbs could have been a separate tree. Leading the way, Shannie climbed atop the base. I stopped myself from reaching up and boosting her butt. Instead I eyed it. Since, it is what I measure all others against.
“Take a look down there. That’s where we’re headed.”
“A junkyard?” Behind a hedgerow were piles of old refrigerators and stoves, washers and dryers. Beyond was an auto graveyard. Shannie called the place gi-normus. “It’s more than a junkyard - it’s a treasure chest. You never know what you might find. And we, my friend, have the keys - sort of.” Mischief fell over Shannie’s face. “Count and I can get in and out whenever we want. No one else knows.”
“Let’s go.”
“Hold your horses. We’re meeting Count. He kind of has tickets,” Shannie said.
“Tickets? Why do you need tickets? I thought you get in whenever you felt like it.”
“We can. But, it takes a bribe.” Shannie curled her brow. “I’d hate to see the dog have you for lunch. It knows me and Count. You’re new blood.”
“Bribe him? With what? A can of Alpo?” I asked.
“We’re not. You are Just James.” Shannie patted my back.
I leaned against a limb. “With what?”
“A steak. Count’s getting one at Friedman’s market.”
Oh shit, I thought. “What kind of dog?”
“A big, mean one,” Shannie teased.
“Great.”
“A word to the wise, don’t come here alone. He know us. You have to grow on him. Kind of like a fungus.”
“What kind of dog?” I repeated.
“Rottweiler ”
“Shit,” I mumbled studying the heaps of junk.
“A big mean one. A big mean hungry one,” Shannie continued. “A big mean hungry one with a taste for flesh.”
“Fucking Friedman’s,” Count rumbled as he approached. “I had to dumpster dive to get a decent piece. You’d think with the business we give them they would save us decent scraps. Damn Jews.”
“They’re German,” Shannie said.
“Jews, Krauts.” Count waved his hand. “They’re all the same.”
“You’re such a redneck,” Shannie said.
“At least I’m not a Commie-Pinko.”
“At least I’m not a close minded hick,” Shannie retorted.
“At least I’m not so open minded my brain falls out.”
“Yours already did,” Count said.
My head bounced back and forth to their banter. “We going to exchange pleasantries all day?” Shannie said jumping from the tree. She led the way towards the junkyard.
“Here, this is for you,” Count handed off the bag of steaks like a football. The bag slammed into my gut. “Dog is a mean mother. You should’ve seen what he did to the last kid. He took a chunk out of the poor bastard’s arm. Kid bled like a pig.”
“What happened?”
“The dog went after him,” Count answered.
“No shit,” I said. “What happened to his arm.”
“He got gonorrhea, chlamydia, gangrene something like that. They had to chop it off,” Count smiled.
“You’re full of shit,” I protested.
“Honest to God. After they chopped his arm off, the owner of the junkyard, damn it, what’s his name Shannie?’
“Gus,” Shannie said weaving down the hill.
“Yeah, Gus the Russian Jew was so pissed he told the kid’s parents he would press charges for trespassing unless they gave him the arm. He wanted to feed it to the dog.”
“You’re full of it,” I hoped he was lying. “Why didn’t the kid rat you out?”
Count laughed, “I told the pecker head I’d tear off his other arm and shove it up his ass, then he would walk around with a tail looking like the rat bastard he is.”
“Bullshit!” I cried.
“It ain’t bullshit. It happened,” Shannie said.
“Why did the dog go after him?” I worried aloud.
“Who knows what goes through the mind of a mongrel? Come to think of it, that was the only other time I dumpster dove. I think the mutt was pissed he didn’t get a fresh cut. Probably wanted a porterhouse or something.”
We slipped behind the hedgerow and stared at the chain link fence. As I stood between my friends I eyed the barbed wire draped along the top. “Ever climb over barbed wire?” Count asked.
“Nope,” I gawked at the stacks of wrecked and rusting hulks of dead Ford’s and Chevy’s.
“There’s a first time for everything. Listen up, you got to be absolutely quiet, you can’t even fart. You don’t want Duke Nuke ‘em hearing ya.”
“Who’s Duke Nuke ‘em?” I asked.
‘The dog, dumb ass,” Count hovered over me. He poked my chest to emphasize his point. “Believe me when I say he ain’t a happy camper. Especially if you wake him from his siesta.”
“Mum’s the word,” I whispered.
“Good,” Count patted my back and took the bag from me. “Listen up, when you climb over the top be careful. Cut your hand on a barb and you’ll bleed like a pig. Duke Nuke ‘em’s like a shark. He can smell blood a mile away. Don’t rush. Understand?”
“Don’t rush,” I repeated.
“Whatever happens don’t panic. And remember, keep your goddamn trap shut. You want to find Duke in a good mood.”
“You sure you done this before?” I looked at Shannie for reassurance.
“Of course knucklehead,” Shannie smiled.
“What about the steak?” I asked.
“We’ll worry about that,” Count nodded at Shannie. “Keep a clear head and remember if anything happens - we don’t know you. If you rat us out you’ll be wearing an arm as a tail. Just keep your trap shut.”
The blood drained from my face.
“Get going, we’re right behind ya.”
“It’s a piece of cake James. You can do it,” Shannie gleamed.
“You waiting for the leaves to change? Get your ass over that fence!” Count barked.
I scrambled up the fence. As I climbed over the barbed wire, I thought how enjoyable it would be to watch Count’s fat ass struggle. I made it past the barbs without a scratch. When I got to the ground Shannie and Count were gone - and they took the steak with them. “Hey! You pricks, where did you go?” I yelled. My voice bounced off the hill and rained over the junkyard. Duke’s dark baritone drowned my echoes. I froze. “This ain’t funny, you bastards! ” I yelled: “Paybacks are a bitch!”
I was launched forward, landing on my hands and knees. I looked up. Count hovered over me. “I told you to keep your mouth shut!”
“How did you get in?”
Shannie laughed. “Through the hole in the fence.”
Duke Nuke ‘em’s barks closed in on us.
“Douche bag, I told you to keep your trap shut.”
“Let’s get out of here,” I said.
“We can’t, Duke Nuke ‘em will chase us,” Shannie said.
“Get in one of the cars,” Count ordered. I hesitated. “Run!” he yelled. I ran for a rusted old pickup. I jumped inside the cab. The Rottweiler barreled around a corner. It stopped. Standing its ground it snarled and barked at my friends. Count took a steak from the bag. “Here you go buddy.” The dog sat. It drooled eying the meat. Count held out the steak. Duke Nuke ‘em ripped it from Count’s hand.
“You little son’s a bitches, I see yee these time. I catch you and beat you asses.” An old man waved his cane as he waddled along the outside of the fence, his face flush.
“Shit, It’s Gus the Russian Jew,” Count said. Shannie and Count took off.
“You little bastards, I see you. Duke sic.”
Ignoring his master, the dog worked on the steak. The old man’s curses trailed off as he hobbled along the outside of the fence. When the dog finished, he scavenged for leftovers. “Want company?” Shannie asked?
I jumped, banging my head on the roof. “Owe, fuck,” I muttered rubbing my head.
“A little jumpy?” She chuckled climbing into the truck. Count’s voice bounced through the junk yard. Duke looked up. Duff and drool hung from his jowls. He barked and trotted after Count’s voice. “What’s Count doing?”
“He’s running screen. We’ll meet him at the tree.”
I looked into Shannie’s eyes. She smiled. I closed my eyes and leaned towards her.