True Detectives

CHAPTER 21

When Moe was six years old, a girl in his class whispered in his ear: “Your brother's a monkey.”

Moe had just started first grade, didn't know if this was part of getting out of kindergarten. He ignored the girl and returned to his addition workbook.

The girl giggled. Later, out on the yard, she brought an older boy, probably a third-grader, to where Moses was bouncing a ball by himself, the way he liked to do.

“This is my brother,” she said.

The big boy smirked.

Moe looked around for Aaron. None of the fifth-graders were on the yard.

Bounce bounce bounce.

The big boy punched air and moved closer. He and the girl laughed.

He said, “Your brother's a monkey nigger,” and placed his hand on Moe's chest.

Moe lowered his head and charged, churning his arms like they were a machine. His hands turned into rocks and his legs were real fast-kicking robot legs that couldn't stop.

Suddenly the big boy was on the ground and Moe was sitting on top of him, and he still couldn't stop moving. Tasting blood but not feeling any hurt anywhere and red was shooting out of the big boy's nose along with snot and the big boy was screaming and crying.

Each time Moe's fist pounded into the boy's head and his body he made a hopeless noise, kind of like Oh no.

It took two teachers to pull Moe off. The big boy did nothing but cry.

In the principal's office, Moe got a bad feeling from Mr. Washington and refused to talk until Mommy showed up. He whispered everything into her ear. She listened and nodded and translated for the principal. “That's certainly not good, Mrs. Reed. If it indeed happened that way.”

“It happened that way, Mr. Washington. Moses never lies.”

Washington, black as coal, broad as a garage door, said, “Indeed.”

“Trust me, Mr. Washington. You'll never meet a more honest child.”

The principal studied her, then Moe.

“Has he ever caused problems before, Mr. Washington?”

“This is first grade, Mrs. Reed. We've only been in session for two weeks.”

“Call his preschool. Moses had an impeccable behavior record. For him to do something like this, there had to be a good reason.” “There's never a good reason for violence, Mrs. Reed.” “Ah,” said Mom. “I wonder if the protesters in Selma, Alabama, feel differently. Not to mention residents of the Warsaw ghetto, the Navajo-”

“I don't believe I need a history lesson, Mrs. Reed.” “I'm sure you don't and I'm sorry for being presumptuous. However, if that kind of racist sentiment is common among your student body, it's no surprise there'd be some sort of-”

“Our student body is excellent, Mrs. Reed. Let's not get off target. Moses beat a boy bloody. Now, I'm sure you believe he's a good boy. But this isn't what you'd call a good start. Under no circumstances can any sort of physical acting-out be tolerated. No circumstances, whatsoever.”

“Of course not, sir. And he will be duly punished, I can assure you.”

Mommy never punishes me. Oh, no!

Moe tried to catch her eye but she kept looking at Mr. Washington like Moe wasn't in the room.

Mr. Washington said, “I suppose we can call this to a close with a warning. For Moses, and for your other son.”

“What's Aaron done?”

“Nothing. Yet. I'm trying to ensure it stays that way. There'll be no personal vendettas, absolutely no attempt on anyone's part to get even.”

“What about the other side?” said Mom. “Will they be warned as well?”

“Side?” said Mr. Washington. “That's confrontational terminology, Mrs. Reed.”

“I didn't mean it that way, sir. I just wanted to make sure that no one aggresses against my boys.”

“Your boys will not be aggressed against. What I need from you is an iron-cast assurance that they won't bother anyone else.”

“They will not, I swear.” Suddenly, Mommy was touching Moe, squeezing his hand like she did when holding him back from traffic. Maybe a little harder.

He looked at her. What was on her face had nothing to do with comfort or safety. Flat, like a mask. He shivered.

Mommy squeezed again.

Mr. Washington said, “Well, I sincerely hope you're right because here we are, just two weeks in, and already Moses is skating on thin ice.” He shuffled some papers.

Mommy said, “Everything will be perfect.”

“Perfect?” Washington smiled. His desk clock ticked. “So as not to keep this exclusively negative, Mrs. Reed, I will tell you that Aaron is one of our top fifth-grade students as well as an excellent athlete. That would imply a certain degree of self-discipline.”

“You bet,” said Mommy. “Aaron's always been super-disciplined.”

Washington lowered his eyes to Moe. “And this one?”

“This one as well, sir.”

Washington picked up a pencil, studied the eraser.

Mommy said, “Both my boys are wonderful. They never give me a lick of trouble.”

“It's good that you think so, Mrs. Reed. Have a nice day.”

“You, too, Mr. Washington. Thank you for your flexibility.”

The principal hoisted his enormity from a creaking chair, came over to Moe, cast a gigantic shadow. “Son, your mother says you're wonderful. Don't make her change her mind.”

Moe mumbled.

“What's that, son? Speak up.”

“Mom never lies.”

“An honest family,” said Washington, lowering a huge hand onto Moe's quaking shoulder.

Clutching Moe's now sweaty fingers, Mommy led him-pulled him- through endless beige school corridors into abrupt, stunning sunlight, across the play yard and past the guard at the gate.

“Morning, Mr. Chávez.”

“Morning.” Chávez, always friendly, turned away.

Mommy pulled Moe harder.

He said, “Ow.”

Silence.

She always talks. This is different. Oh, no!

When they were inside the van, she said, “Belt up, buster, we're going for a ride.”

“Where?”

“Baskin-Robbins.” Leaning over, she kissed the tip of his nose. “Even tough-guy heroes need Jamoca Almond Fudge.”

♦

By the time Aaron came home an hour later on the upper-grade bus, Moe and Mommy were waiting at the kitchen table with the ice cream and glasses of milk. Aaron breezed past them. The door to his bedroom slammed.

Mommy said, “Well, that was different,” and went after him.

Moe heard loud voices ringing through the door. He sat there for a while, finally got up to listen.

“… don't need his help!”

“… not the point, Aaron, it was a vile thing to say and he was trying to defend you-”

“… don't need his defending!”

“… what we call spur of the moment, darling. He didn't think, he just loves you, so he acted-”

“… loved me he'd mind his own business!”

“… think you're being a little harsh on-”

“… always embarrassing, he's so weird. Everyone calls him a retard because he stands around by himself and bounces that stupid ball and doesn't talk and I have to always stick up for him and say he's not a retard. Since he came to school it's been-”

“Well, I'd certainly hope you stick up for him. Retarded! That's horrid-”

“… acts so weird-whatever. Just tell him to stay out of my face. Okay?”

Silence.

“Okay, Mom? He really needs to stay out of my face!”

“Aaron, I really don't understand this attitu-”

“He's making me look like a fag who needs to be protected! I can protect myself, okay? The only reason he's trying to be a big-shot hero is 'cause you're always talking about how they were heroes. But they weren't! Not both of them! My dad was a hero, Jack was just a stupid drunk who sat there while-”

Sharp report.

“Oh, God, I'm so sorry, honey. I didn't mean to hit you, I've never hit you, how did that happen!”

Silence.

“Aaron, honey, please. Talk to me, I don't know what got into me, please forgive me, please please-”

“He brings problems.”

“Oh, Aaron-”

“Yeah, yeah, I forgive you.”

Later, when Aaron came out of the room, saw that Moe had been listening, he sneered: “What do you want? Hero.”

“I… I…”

“I… I… I… I… blah blah blaaah.” Shoving Moe aside, Aaron continued to the kitchen. “Mmm, kinda hungry. Gonna get me some big-time hero ice cream.”

It was that same smug, mocking tone Moe heard over the phone.

Eight a.m., still tired. The laughter in Aaron's voice when Moe said, “What?” caused Moe's hands to clench.

“I said nice to see you last night, however briefly. Thought you'd want to know that Rory Stoltz picked Mason Book up just after you left the first time.”

Aaron had been able to watch him, unseen. He had been unaware of Aaron. Until hours later, the Porsche speeding by. Big Brother wanting Moe to know.

“You're sure it was Book?”

“No one but, Moses. I got a clear look through the passenger window. Older than he looks on screen. Haggard, like he's been through some rough times.”

“Where'd Stoltz take him?”

“Nowhere in particular, they just drove.”

“Where?”

“All the way to Ocean Front, I'm thinking Yes! They're going to stop at Riptide. But Stoltz turned the other way-north-got on PCH, kept in the slow lane and cruised under the speed limit. Now I'm thinking they're gonna head over to Lem Dement's place in Solar Canyon, maybe do a little early-morning praying. Negative, again. They made it as far as the Colony, turned around, went home. Ten minutes after Stoltz drops Book off, the gates open and he drives away himself.”

“Moonlight cruise up the coast,” said Moe. “Sounds kind of romantic.”

“Yeah, I thought about that, maybe Book's got a secret life and his head's in Stoltz's lap. But anytime it was safe, I got close and they were just sitting there. Book looked like he was heading for a funeral. So if he did give the kid head, he did it at Olympic pace. I honestly don't think it happened, Moses. Stoltz is Book's gofer, Book's got insomnia, he makes a call, the kid's there to do his bidding. That's the whole point of walking-around guys. They make you feel important. My question is, what's Book losing sleep over?”

“Dope can do all sorts of things to your cycles.”

“True. But what we've been guessing-guilt over Caitlin-could also explain it. Not that I saw overt guilt. More like stupor. So how was your night?”

“Uneventful.”

“Sorry you missed the action.”

“Moonlight cruise?” said Moe. “Sounds like you didn't catch much, either.”

A beat.

“Okay,” said Aaron, “but at least we know for a fact that Book crashes in Dement's house. Whether or not Ax lives there remains to be seen.”

No, it doesn't.

Moe said, “Something actually happens, feel free to call.”

Before Aaron could answer, he clicked off, punched in a number at Hollywood Division.