a label attached to the bumper. Squinting, shading his eyes from the sun, he bent down and read the faded print.
MONUMENT VOCATIONAL
HIGH SCHOOL
WOODWORKING DEPT
So that was the big secret. A bunch of kids in a trade school had built the car as part of a course and then either sold it or turned it over to the junk dealer once its usefulness was over.
Barney looked around the junkyard, at row upon row of abandoned vehicles in various states of ruin. No sound here but the wind moaning as it moved through the empty cars. Glancing at the mock automobile once more, he felt sad, as if he had lost something. Or had finally learned how a magician made the rabbit appear from the hat and it turned out to be not magic after all.
Let’s get out of here, he told himself. And he began running toward the fence, slipping and tripping, as if chased by ghosts or goblins. As he began to climb the fence, he realized that the Complex was almost cheerful—almost but not quite—compared to this terrible place where the only inhabitant was a gray rat lurking in the ruins.
Billy the Kidney wheeled into view at the door of Barney’s room.
“Mazzo,” Billy said, eyes flashing, but not with pain this time. Something else.
Mazzo’s dead, Barney thought, held suspended for a moment, breathless, emotionless. Emotionless? At someone’s death? Had his emotions gone the way of his sense of taste? He cringed, felt the horror of being without any feeling whatsoever. And then the emotion came: poor Mazzo, such beauty and promise, gone. All of this in a split second.
“Where’ve you been?” Billy asked. “I’ve been looking all over. Mazzo’s been screaming for you for an hour.”
“That sounds like Mazzo. Screaming.”
“You know Mazzo,” Billy said.
Barney raised himself from the bed. He’d been resting after his foray into the junkyard, thinking of the fake car and the merchandise waiting for him in two days. When he closed his eyes, the car gleamed beautifully in his mind.
“Did he say why he wants me?” Barney asked.
Billy shook his head.
Barney established himself on the floor. “Let’s go and see what he wants.”
Billy swiveled away. “He wants to see you alone. He told me: Send Barney in here and then take off. Like I’m a servant or something.” A wound in Billy’s voice.
Barney watched Billy wheel through the doorway, head down, arms working like mad, knowing Billy was angry and sulking but nothing he could do about it.
Bascam was leaving Mazzo’s room as Barney arrived. She avoided Barney’s eyes, looked sheepish, hurried away. As if she’d been caught doing something wrong. Maybe Bascam was like all the others, stealing into Mazzo’s room at all hours, basking in the glow of his beauty.
“Where the hell have you been?” Mazzo asked angrily as Barney approached his bed. But not going too close. He didn’t want to get too close to Mazzo.
“Out,” Barney said.
“Out where?” Unbelieving, of course. Figuring, Where could Barney Snow possibly have gone?
“Just out. What business is it of yours?” Not giving an inch.
Mazzo sighed, shaking his head, the violet eyes brooding, face blotchy, moist with perspiration but handsome all the same. Christ, I wish I looked like that, Barney thought. All that beauty wasted.
Mazzo remained silent, seemed to be contemplating something very mysterious and interesting on the bedsheet. Barney waited. He was in no hurry. Glancing at the telephone on the wall, he wondered if Mazzo was waiting to hear it ring. Did Mazzo want him to go into his song and dance again? Why didn’t he just take the phone off the hook? Take everybody off the hook?
“A bargain,” Mazzo said finally, drawing his eyes away from the sheet and looking directly at Barney, turning the full force of those brilliant, fevered eyes on him.
“What kind of bargain?”
“Billy wants to use my telephone, right?”
There he goes again, Barney thought, putting his stamp on
MONUMENT VOCATIONAL
HIGH SCHOOL
WOODWORKING DEPT
So that was the big secret. A bunch of kids in a trade school had built the car as part of a course and then either sold it or turned it over to the junk dealer once its usefulness was over.
Barney looked around the junkyard, at row upon row of abandoned vehicles in various states of ruin. No sound here but the wind moaning as it moved through the empty cars. Glancing at the mock automobile once more, he felt sad, as if he had lost something. Or had finally learned how a magician made the rabbit appear from the hat and it turned out to be not magic after all.
Let’s get out of here, he told himself. And he began running toward the fence, slipping and tripping, as if chased by ghosts or goblins. As he began to climb the fence, he realized that the Complex was almost cheerful—almost but not quite—compared to this terrible place where the only inhabitant was a gray rat lurking in the ruins.
Billy the Kidney wheeled into view at the door of Barney’s room.
“Mazzo,” Billy said, eyes flashing, but not with pain this time. Something else.
Mazzo’s dead, Barney thought, held suspended for a moment, breathless, emotionless. Emotionless? At someone’s death? Had his emotions gone the way of his sense of taste? He cringed, felt the horror of being without any feeling whatsoever. And then the emotion came: poor Mazzo, such beauty and promise, gone. All of this in a split second.
“Where’ve you been?” Billy asked. “I’ve been looking all over. Mazzo’s been screaming for you for an hour.”
“That sounds like Mazzo. Screaming.”
“You know Mazzo,” Billy said.
Barney raised himself from the bed. He’d been resting after his foray into the junkyard, thinking of the fake car and the merchandise waiting for him in two days. When he closed his eyes, the car gleamed beautifully in his mind.
“Did he say why he wants me?” Barney asked.
Billy shook his head.
Barney established himself on the floor. “Let’s go and see what he wants.”
Billy swiveled away. “He wants to see you alone. He told me: Send Barney in here and then take off. Like I’m a servant or something.” A wound in Billy’s voice.
Barney watched Billy wheel through the doorway, head down, arms working like mad, knowing Billy was angry and sulking but nothing he could do about it.
Bascam was leaving Mazzo’s room as Barney arrived. She avoided Barney’s eyes, looked sheepish, hurried away. As if she’d been caught doing something wrong. Maybe Bascam was like all the others, stealing into Mazzo’s room at all hours, basking in the glow of his beauty.
“Where the hell have you been?” Mazzo asked angrily as Barney approached his bed. But not going too close. He didn’t want to get too close to Mazzo.
“Out,” Barney said.
“Out where?” Unbelieving, of course. Figuring, Where could Barney Snow possibly have gone?
“Just out. What business is it of yours?” Not giving an inch.
Mazzo sighed, shaking his head, the violet eyes brooding, face blotchy, moist with perspiration but handsome all the same. Christ, I wish I looked like that, Barney thought. All that beauty wasted.
Mazzo remained silent, seemed to be contemplating something very mysterious and interesting on the bedsheet. Barney waited. He was in no hurry. Glancing at the telephone on the wall, he wondered if Mazzo was waiting to hear it ring. Did Mazzo want him to go into his song and dance again? Why didn’t he just take the phone off the hook? Take everybody off the hook?
“A bargain,” Mazzo said finally, drawing his eyes away from the sheet and looking directly at Barney, turning the full force of those brilliant, fevered eyes on him.
“What kind of bargain?”
“Billy wants to use my telephone, right?”
There he goes again, Barney thought, putting his stamp on
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