Billy and the Bearman. David A. Poulsen
Читать онлайн книгу.
it’s not exactly stealing, seeing as I cut most of the wood and paid for at least half of the tools.”
“I don’t get it.”
“We’re going to pay a visit to my old man’s place.” Bearman lowered his voice. “After dark he’ll be drunk and we’ll be able to load up everything we need and be out of there before he knows what happened.”
Billy swallowed hard and recalled the ugly welt on Bearman’s back. “Uh . . . when were you thinking we should do this?”
“Tonight.”
The Goodwill store was a small, wooden building that had been brown a long time before, but now was in need of a coat of paint. A large woman in a multi-coloured dress and almost as many shades of makeup greeted them as they entered.
“Something I can help you with?” she asked, studying first one, then the other.
She seems friendly enough, Billy thought.
“Yeah, we . . . uh . . . need some clothes. Some good warm clothes for the outdoors,” Bearman explained to the woman.
Her expression didn’t change. “You two on the run from the law, is that it?”
Billy blinked and looked carefully at the woman. Maybe she hadn’t meant anything by the remark. Maybe she was just kidding around, just making conversation, or maybe . . .
Bearman appeared to be having the same thoughts. His cheeks coloured and he stammered out a response to the question.
“Uh . . . no . . . we . . . uh . . .”
Billy was afraid that in his anxiety, Bearman might say the wrong thing. He knew he should help. But what should he say? It didn’t matter. He had to say something.
“It’s for a play,” he lied quickly. “We’re doing a play about the outdoors and we’re looking for costumes.”
“Oh, what’s it called?” The woman started toward the racks of shirts.
“Uh . . .” Billy paused. “Uh . . . it’s called . . . Murder in the Forest . . . It’s about a murder.”
“In the forest,” Bearman added.
Billy stepped closer to the woman and lowered his voice confidentially. “We play the killers.”
“Awfully young for killers,” the woman said as she pulled a heavy, checked blue shirt off the rack. “Mighty young killers if you ask me.”
“Yeah, well they . . . uh . . . give us makeup to look older,” Billy said. “We murder our partner for the gold we found up in the mountains.”
“Sounds pretty good,” she said, “sort of like the Lost Lemon Mine legend.”
“The what?” Billy looked at the woman.
Bearman poked him in the ribs. “Yeah, something like that, except . . . uh . . . different.”
“It’s very interesting,” Billy assured the woman.
Several minutes later they had a bag filled with shirts, pants and a jacket for each of them. Bearman had winked at Billy as he pulled a jacket off a hanger that looked almost exactly like the one he already owned, minus the dirt. He seemed to be over Billy’s remark that had made him so angry before.
“Thanks a lot for the help,” Bearman told the woman as he led Billy toward the door.
“No problem.” The big lady’s mouth opened in a wide smile. “Always like to help out with drama. That’ll be eight dollars all together.”
“What?” Bearman gasped. “I thought these were free for people who need ’em.”
“They are . . . for the needy. But for groups there’s a small charge.”
“We . . . we haven’t got eight dollars,” Bearman told the woman.
“Doesn’t your drama group have a budget for costumes?” The woman was still smiling. “Eight dollars isn’t very much.”
Bearman didn’t say anything. He seemed to be out of ideas.
Billy tried to think of something to tell her. “There . . . isn’t any money for costumes. It’s . . . uh . . . a free show.”
“Oh . . .” The woman’s forehead creased as she thought for a minute. “Well, in that case, you better just take them. Funny, I never heard anything about any play going on.”
“Yeah . . . well . . .” Bearman sputtered, “we . . . just started practising and . . .”
“Rehearsing,” Billy corrected.
“Yeah,” Bearman nodded, “rehearsing and . . . uh . . .”
“They haven’t started advertising yet,” Billy finished up.
“Yeah,” Bearman nodded. “Anyway, thanks again.”
The two boys exchanged looks as they turned once more for the door.
“Oh, and one other thing.” The woman’s voice stopped them. “If you should see those two kids that did a number on that gang of punks at Long Valley, tell ’em there was a Mountie in here this morning askin’ if I’d seen anybody like that. The Mountie said he figured they’d probably run off to the city, but if they didn’t find them in a few days, they’d start searching the woods. If you happen to see them, you tell them that people are looking for them — they’d be about your ages — so, you know, if you run into them while you’re rehearsing, what was it? . . . Murder in the Forest?”
Neither of the boys turned back to look at the woman when she’d finished speaking. “Yes ma’am,” Bearman said as he reached for the handle of the door, “we’ll tell ’em.”
“Bye,” Billy added as they quickly left the store.
Back in the pick-up, Billy’s voice was shaking as he said, “What do we do? The police are after us.”
Bearman rolled a cigarette with one hand. “You were a lot better liar in there than you were with the pie lady.”
Billy shrugged. “I had more time to work on my story. Besides, I don’t think we fooled her a bit. That last thing she said proves she knows exactly who we are. And now we’ve got the police to worry about.”
“So? We knew they’d be lookin’ for us, didn’t we? All we do is stay hidden where we are. They look for us, they don’t find us, then they give up and leave us alone.”
“You think so?”
“And you know why they don’t find us?” Bearman lit the cigarette. “Because we’re tucked away like two little cozy bugs in our treehouse.”
Billy rummaged through the bag of clothes and pulled out a checkered shirt like the one Bearman wore. He unbuttoned the shirt he’d been wearing and replaced it with the new one. “By the way, what’s the Lost Lemon Mine?”
Bearman nodded his approval at the shirt. “Like the lady said,” he answered, “it’s a legend. A couple of guys supposedly found gold. Not far from here, up in the mountains. One guy — Lemon — killed the other one, a guy named Blackjack. But before he could make his claim, he went crazy, maybe guilt, who knows? Anyway there’s supposed to be an Indian curse on anyone who tries to find the mine.”
“Sounds like a good place to avoid.”
Bearman shrugged, then guided the pick-up slowly out onto the street.
“Speaking of places to avoid,” Billy said, turning to face Bearman, “do you really think it’s such a good idea to go to your dad’s . . .”
“I said we’re going.” Bearman gripped the steering wheel hard and there was an unpleasant edge to his voice. “End of story. We’re going . . . tonight.”
Billy