December Park(45)

“Someone locked his backpack with a combination lock,” I informed Michael.

“Ahh,” Michael intoned. “You’ve been pack-latched, friend.”

“I told him you might be able to help.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

Adrian jumped when Michael yanked the backpack’s straps from his shoulders. If Michael noticed that he had startled the kid, he didn’t acknowledge it. He tossed the backpack onto the ground and knelt beside it, fingering the combination lock.

It occurred to me that it was a child’s backpack, made of cheap bright green vinyl with a decal of the Incredible Hulk on it.

This kid doesn’t stand a chance, I thought again.

“How can you open it?” Adrian asked, peering over Michael’s shoulder.

“Ees vetty deefficult,” Michael said in his best German accent. “Das lock ees vetty stubborn.”

Adrian stared at Michael like he was crazy. I couldn’t help but grin.

“So what kind of music do you listen to?” Peter asked. He and Scott had finished excavating stones from the hard earth and were trying to stack the flatter ones atop one another without much success.

“I don’t know,” Adrian said. “I don’t really listen to music.”

Peter frowned. “Not any music?”

“No, not really. Well, my mom has some Bing Crosby records that used to belong to my grandma.”

“Holy shit,” Peter said in a low voice.

“How about movies?” Scott interjected. “You like horror movies?”

“I guess so. Some horror movies.”

“Did you see Jason Goes to Hell? It’s the last Friday the 13th movie.” Scott was a Jason Voorhees fanatic. He had posters, T-shirts, and even a hockey mask he adorned with streaks of red nail polish so that it looked like blood. He owned every installment on VHS, and I couldn’t count the number of times he made us watch them with him. He had all the lines memorized and knew which kill went with which movie.

“I’m not allowed to see those movies,” Adrian said.

Scott literally gaped at him. Even Michael, who had been occupied with the combination lock on Adrian’s backpack, turned to stare at him.

“You’re kidding,” Scott said. “What was the last horror movie you saw?”

“No, no—what’s your favorite horror movie?” Peter jumped in.

I tried to catch Scott’s and Peter’s eyes and to mouth the words leave him alone, but they weren’t looking at me.

“I guess maybe Explorers,” Adrian said.

“Aw, f*ck,” Peter said. “That’s not a horror movie.”

“Those aliens at the end were pretty scary,” said Adrian.

“They were like big rubbery puppets,” Peter said. “They quoted TV shows.”

“What do you mean you’re not allowed to see ’em?” Scott pressed. Scott’s parents worked long hours with little time for their kids. Shy of murder, Scott was pretty much allowed to do whatever the hell he wanted, which included watching any horror movie his little heart desired, no matter how gratuitous.

“My mother doesn’t think they’re neurologically stimulating,” said Adrian.

Peter laughed. “What the f*ck does that mean?”

“She says they’re like junk food for your brain.”

“Yeah,” Scott said. “No shit. That’s what makes them so great.”

“Mmmmm,” Michael moaned, climbing to his feet and thrusting his arms out like a zombie. “Fatty junk-filled braaaaaains . . .”

“Zombies would starve hanging out with this crew,” I added.

Peter started laughing uncontrollably.

“Braaaaaains,” croaked Michael as he stumbled toward Peter, casually dodging the stones Peter chucked at him. “Redheaded braaaaaains . . .”

Still laughing, Peter launched himself off the ground and tackled Michael around the waist, driving them both down to the hard dirt. The force of the hit drove a fart from Michael, who also burst into maniacal laughter.

Chuckling, I looked over to Adrian and was surprised to see him grinning. It was a goofy grin that made him look almost simple, but it was a grin nonetheless.

“Get off me, queer bait,” Michael said, bucking his hips until Peter crawled off him.

“Jesus Christ,” Peter said, looking just as eager to get away. “That fart reeks. What did you eat for lunch? An old lady’s diaper?”

“Leave your mother out of this,” Michael returned, though I could tell he was fighting off his own bout of laughter.

I watched Adrian watching my friends. He was so out of place among the four of us that he could have been a visitor from another world. All of a sudden I felt sorry for him.

Once everyone settled down, Michael returned to the combination lock. More focused now, he was able to open it in under two minutes. It came unhinged with an audible pop.

“Wow,” Adrian said. “How’d you do that?”

“Magic.” Michael tossed the lock at him.

Adrian attempted to catch it, but it rebounded off his chest and tumbled to the ground.

“Mikey’s practically useless in all other aspects of life,” I said, “but for some reason, the son of a bitch has a knack for popping open combination locks. Anyway, he’s Michael Sugarland.”