Lion Loose in the Garden

Lion Loose in the Garden

by

Jeff Brown

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2010 Jeff Brown

* * *

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License Notes

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For Sammy and The Jinx.

Lion Loose in the Garden

Chapter One

1984. New Lazarus, PA.

Contrasts abound on the edge of Pennsylvania Dutch country: cornstalks urge sunward in a field next to a strip mall; a shoo-fly pie kiosk defies a grocery mega-store; a homey veterinarian’s office leans slightly on its foundation towards the Pep Boys next door; an Amish buggy coasts past a movie multiplex.

And then there’s Chester's Cheap Eats, a fast food diner with the tastiest pig stomach and pierogies east of West Heckstown.

In the parking lot of Chester's, two blonde and tanned teenagers share a smoke on the hood of a restored Barracuda--conceited Zeb and flirty Suzie. The lovers watch twin boys Peter and Eli as they chase a limping Dalmatian dog across the yellow lines. Portly Chester Shantz himself haggles with a salesman in a white jumpsuit. The salesman clutches a lobster tail in each hand, waving them as he gesticulates towards a white van with The Meat and Tail Man stenciled on the side.

Inside the kitchen of Chester's, 15-year-old Owen McPhail--dark, stout and morose--gazes out a window at Zeb and Suzie. Mostly Suzie. He wears a dreamy expression and a bloody apron. Behind him, two burgers sizzle on a grill.

A moan startles him, but he doesn’t turn from the window.

Another moan.

Owen clenches his fists as a phlegmy voice pollutes the air: Owen… Owen….

He turns. Instead of burgers, the naked corpse of a middle-aged man now fries atop the grill. Red hair covers much of a scalp that’s split wide open. Bloody gray matter oozes onto the metal, bubbling as it hits the hot surface. Steam fills the air.

It’s me, Owen. Remember me?

Of course I do. Please go away.

Can’t we just… talk awhile?

What is it? What do you want from me?

The corpse strains, but no words come out.

Approaching the grill, Owen shouts, Spit it out already!

Owen! A new voice. An angry voice.

The boy spins around to find the perpetually-scowling Chester Shantz. In a thick Pennsylvania Dutch accent, Chester asks, What, you’ve gone blind now? He points to the grill and two charred patties, then flips the meat into the trash. This here--what’s it say? He waves a slip in Owen’s face.

Medium rare.

Quit mumbling and make some use out of yourself once.

Owen throws down two new burgers as Chester drapes himself with an apron. I’ll get it right this time, says Owen. You don’t have to.

Don’t bother. Chester pushes him aside.

Dejected, Owen lifts a schedule off the wall. Sorry I keep burning shit, man. I’ll make it up to you by working a few doubles, okay?

Chester grunts and shakes his head. Pass.

But… I kind of need the hours. Really.

Faking a grimace of concern, Chester mocks him. But… I’m kind of letting you go. Really. He crosses Owen’s name off the schedule. I’ll mail your last check.

After a pause of disbelief, Owen throws his apron on the floor and skulks out to an empty dining room with wood paneling and olive green carpeting. After a quick glance kitchen-wise, he lifts two twenties from the cash register before exiting out the front door.

* * *

Owen catches a glimpse of Suzie from the corner of his eye as he hurries across the lot. She waves and shouts. Hey there, Owen McPhail!

Zeb nudges her, then snorts, Where’s our food, dude?

Owen responds with a raised arm and a middle finger, but doesn’t break his stride until he reaches a pay phone at the curb. He can hear Zeb muttering as he searches for a quarter. Did that guy ever change. What a hole.

Will you cut him a break already? He’s had a rough year.

Owen dials and waits. When the young couple starts to tickle one another, he shuts the door of the booth to block out their giggles.

A voice, female and tense, answers his call. Hello. Honey, is it you?

It’s me.

Hesitation. Do you still love me?

Of course I do. You know I do.

Silence.

Owen spots Chester waddling outside with Zeb and Suzie’s burgers. The teens drive off and Chester returns to his duties, while the twin boys continue their sport of chasing the lame Dalmatian dog. Owen watches as all three disappear behind the restaurant.

He whispers into the receiver. Relax, okay? Get some rest. I’ll run all the errands.

The voice grows hysterical, and he pulls the phone away from his ear. When there’s a pause, he says, I’m on top of everything. Calm down. It’s under control.

Sobs rise from the phone. Owen hangs up. After a few deep breaths, he turns to find devious Peter, the slightly larger of the twins, staring at him.

What?

Give us a hand.

A Chevy Blazer driven by a woman with long white hair pulls into the lot just as Owen follows Peter to the back of the restaurant.

Guileless Eli, the smaller of the twins, has cornered their prey between the dumpster and the diner’s outer brick wall. He holds a rope and swings it in the air excitedly as Owen approaches. It’s a fire dog, he squeals. Could be a reward for him.

The Dalmatian snarls and lunges, but Eli’s able to sidestep the attack due to the dog’s wounded leg.

He’s going to bite your nuts off if you’re not careful, says Peter.

Eli turns to Owen. Want to help us catch him?

Owen studies the Dalmatian. Seconds pass. Then suddenly, he reaches down to pick up a broken chunk of brick. His eyes glaze over for a moment as he weighs it in his hand, then he hurls the brick at the dog’s head. The animal stumbles backwards, blood seeping from the wound.

Flabbergasted, Eli chokes out, What did you do that for?

Owen offers a wide smile. He grabs a second hunk of brick and pulls back for another pitch.

Peter’s all sadistic sneers. Yeah, do it man! Do it!

When Eli moves to shield the stunned canine, Peter yanks him away.

Owen winds up again for the second throw, but then stalls. A wave of remorse crosses his face. He drops the brick and shuffles off towards the tall cornfield. The strip mall looms in the background.

Peter scoops up the heavy chunk and prepares to throw it himself, but pauses when a desperate shout roars across the lot.

You! Get away from that animal! The white-haired woman from the Blazer limps towards the twins, who back away. She looks Hispanic, in her mid-50’s. Winded, she waves a leash and collar at Owen’s retreating form. I saw what you did, you monster! You’d better run!

Owen raises a middle finger before vanishing into the stalks.

The dog stumbles off, the woman hobbling after.

Chapter Two

Leo Durant, a lanky 16-year-old decked out in a trench coat and combat boots, squats on a log before a campfire, smoking a joint. I can’t wait around much longer, man. I’ve got to pick Molly up after school.

A second teen, husky Freddy, unrolls a sleeping bag. Will you relax? Freddy’s crew cut and sideburns make his plump face all the more jowly.

Their camp sits just inside the tree line of smallish woods overlooking a graveyard. Leo points at a distant funeral and a crowd of mourners. There’s a bad omen.

Shut up and pass the bone, mutters Freddy. After a few hits, he grabs a strip of condoms from Leo’s lap. To hell with these. Didn’t you hear? Gina’s dad got locked up again. Her mom can’t pay rent. She’ll do whatever we tell her to. However we want it.

With a frown, Leo pulls out a pocketknife and resumes work on a piece of wood he’s been whittling into the form of a pouncing tiger.

Hey, here’s Randy now. Freddy points at two figures as they approach from below. Don’t spoil this, dude. You get in with my brother, you can start coming to our parties and shit.

A taller, muscular version of Freddy, Randy absolutely towers over the skinny, dirty-blonde Gina. You losers owe me big time, barks the older boy as he stomps into camp. He plucks the joint out of Freddy’s hand, then nods to Gina. She responds by removing her outdated, second-hand clothing, eyes averted.

Have at it, boys. Randy plops down on the log. I’ll just observe awhile.

While Freddy fumbles with his belt, Leo stares into the distance.

Whatsamatter, Durant? asks Randy. Chill out, already.

Gina, stripped to her underwear, kneels before Leo. She opens his trench coat and reaches for the zipper on his jeans.

Nodding with a lecherous sneer, Randy purrs, Nice! Bro, get behind the little bitch, pull the hair out of her face. I gotta see this chickenhead in action.

Leo lifts up, allowing Gina to slide his jeans down, but he winces when she touches his underwear. He suddenly begins to gasp and shake.

Calm the fuck down, man! You’re gonna shoot off before she even starts.

Hyperventilating, Leo jumps to his feet, but stumbles on the pants around his ankles and ends up falling against Randy.

Watch it, dick!

Leo tries to right himself, but Randy shoves him to the ground. He manages to pull up his pants, but can’t stop wheezing.

Christ, mutters Freddy. Where’s your inhaler?

What’s the deal with this freak?

He’s having a panic attack. Happens all the time.

Randy gets in Leo’s face. Well, you ain’t getting your money back, wuss. And don’t expect…. Randy trails off when Leo grabs the pocketknife and opens the blade. Leo glares at Randy, as if he might actually jump up and stab the older boy.

After catching his breath, Leo closes the knife and slips it into his boot. He shuffles over to Gina.

What’s wrong? she asks. Don’t you want any?

Leo touches her shoulder. His hands still quake. Let me drive you home.

No response.

He reaches for her hand, but she smacks him away. What exactly is the matter? You afraid of girls? Or maybe my stuff ain’t good enough for you.

Leo’s stunned. No. No, that’s not it at all.

Maybe you’re some kind of faggot, then, she snorts.

Randy bursts out laughing. Freaking faggot! He can barely contain himself. We should fuck him next. You’d like that, Durant, wouldn’t you?

Leo drops his tiger carving into the fire before trudging away.

* * *

Leo approaches a restored muscle car--a 1973 Roadrunner with a 383 big block engine. Reaching into the passenger window, he pulls an inhaler from the glove compartment. After two puffs, he begins to relax.

A minute later, he slides into the front seat and starts the engine. The car rumbles to life. He blasts industrial punk on the stereo as he floors it, racing past the funeral-goers and up towards a steep hill.

Halfway up, the car backfires. He shuts off the music. Come on, girl, what’s the matter? Come on, Beauty!

When the car reaches the top without stalling, Leo groans in an almost sexual manner. He coasts down towards the cemetery gates. I love you, girl. You know I do.

* * *

Leo enters the parking lot of George Washington Elementary. It’s swarming with kids in various Wizard of Oz costumes and their shepherding parents.

As the crowd disperses, Leo exits the Roadrunner and scans the remaining children. Unsatisfied, he calls out, Mol-ly! Yo, Moll!

After several minutes of searching and shouting, he heads inside and locates the principal’s office. Approaching an aging receptionist with thinning blue hair, he says, I’m Molly Durant’s brother. I was supposed to pick her up after rehearsal. She go home sick or something?

You’re Leo? The brother?

When he nods, she hurries to a back office.

Leo spots Molly in an adjoining room. A plump eight-year-old with long, dark hair, she wears a Wicked Witch of the West costume, green makeup and all. Hey you, he says. Where you been hiding?

Pressing her brow against a book of fairy tales, Molly purses her lips and shakes her head.

Hey, what’s going on?

He would’ve loved the play, she groans. He said I had the very best part.

Who? Dad?

What are we going to do now?

The matronly Principal Farris, a severe woman in her 50’s with long white hair, enters the room. She faces Leo and leans in close, brow furrowed. You skipped today, didn’t you?

No. Why? What’s going on?

We’ve been looking for you all afternoon. There are two social workers in my office who need to speak with you. You know Mrs. Joseph already.

A tall, thin blonde woman hovers in the principal’s wake, clutching a briefcase to her chest.

The principal continues, her tone dropping. There was an accident this morning.

Molly sets the book in her lap. Dad’s dead, Leo. He’s gone.

As Leo gapes in disbelief, Molly takes his hand and rests her head upon his arm. I won’t leave you, she whispers. Not ever. I promise.

Chapter Three

Owen hunts for a job.

Owen at a card store: the clerk shakes her head. Owen at a clothing store: the clerk shakes his head. Owen pleads at the shoo-fly pie kiosk: no luck there. Owen talks to the manager of the grocery mega-store, who also shakes his head. Owen gives up and starts filling a cart with food.

At the register, he stands over five bags of groceries. The bill is $58.00. Owen has only the stolen $40.00 and three singles in his wallet. Beneath the glares of the other customers in line, he begins to pluck out items to return.

* * *

The sun sets on Main Street. Owen collapses on a bus stop bench, carrying three grocery bags.

Most businesses have closed. A few cars remain outside Chester’s Cheap Eats and the veterinarian’s office.

The breeze carries a whimper. Owen stiffens. Can’t you just leave me alone? he pleads to no one.

Spotting a bus in the distance, Owen gathers the bags.

Another whimper. It clearly comes from the bushes behind him. Intrigued, he investigates, and finds the Dalmatian from earlier in the day. The dog is in terrible shape: bloody snout, glazed eyes, distended abdomen.