Only Killers and Thieves(22)

The rubber tubing was hanging in a coil on the wall behind the counter. Tommy crept around the bench and measured an arm’s length from the roll. He found a folding knife in the drawer, cut the tubing, then decided to take the knife as well, sliding it into the breast pocket of his undersized suit. He went back around the counter and was making for the door when a voice called behind him, “Help you with something?” and he jerked to a halt and turned.

She was wearing a dirty gray apron and holding a broom. Fine features, finely boned, slender fingers gripping the wooden shaft. Young, with a long neck and black hair cut bluntly to her jawline, glistening where it caught a bar of sun.

Tommy stood there dumbly. She noticed the length of rubber dangling in his hand.

“You buying that? Or running off with it, were you?”

“No,” he said quickly. “There was no one here, that’s all.”

“I was in the back. You could have called.”

“I didn’t know you were there.”

She rolled her lips thoughtfully. Her free hand went to her hip.

“Who are you?” she said.

“Tommy McBride. Who are you?”

“Mia Song.”

He glanced at Song, still slumped in his chair. “As in . . . ?”

“What d’you think?”

“I don’t know,” Tommy said, frowning, his gaze flicking between the floor and the girl’s pretty face, watching him so intently, her bright hazel eyes.

“McBride,” she repeated. “From out Mr. Sullivan’s way.”

“South of there. Glendale’s our selection.”

She nodded. “I know your father. How come I don’t know you?”

“Same reason I don’t know you.”

“You never been in town before?”

“Course I have. Just . . . not often. And not when you’re around.”

“I’m always around.”

“Good for you, then.”

She relaxed her pose, leaned the broom against the counter. “Why don’t you come to school?”

He shrugged. “I’m too old for school.”

“I’m fourteen and I still go.”

“I’ll be fifteen soon.”

“You’ve never come once, though. Can you read?”

“Ma taught us. All of us. There’s Billy and Mary too. I’m the middle one.”

“I’ve got two brothers, both gone.”

“Gone where?”

“Diggings. Daddy sent them. Thinks they’ll come back rich.”

“Will they?”

“I doubt it. It’s been a year nearly. Nothing yet.”

“What about this school anyway? How many of you go?”

“About twenty. I’m the oldest there.”

“You like it?”

“Mr. Drummond’s a drinker but it’s alright. I’ve learned all the lessons, but if I don’t go, I have to work, which is worse.”

“What you doing here, then?”

“Mornings is all we do.”

“My sister would like it. Mary. She’s eleven and sharper than a skinning knife.”

“She should come, then.”

“It’s three hours’ ride.”

“Some ride farther.”

Tommy shrugged. “We couldn’t spare the horse.”

They stood in silence a moment, Song’s snoring carrying through the door.

“So, what d’you want that rubber for anyway?”

“It’s for my brother. For a shanghai. To fire stones with, you know?”

“Sounds like fun,” she said.

“Only, I’ve got no money to pay for it, so here . . .” He stepped forward, offered her the tubing, but her hands stayed at her sides.

“I’ll write it in the book.”

Tommy hesitated. “Alright.”

“You want it, don’t you?”

“I just didn’t think you’d sell on credit is all.”

“Of course we sell on credit. Unless you’re not a real McBride?”

She was smiling, her eyes narrowed. Shyly Tommy returned the smile.

“There anything else you needed?”

“Thank you, no.”

“Well, then. Maybe I’ll see you next time. Or at school one day.”

Tommy laughed. “I don’t think so.”

“Next time, then.”

“Alright.”

Mia began sweeping, delicate little brushstrokes across the dusty boards. Her hair swung with the movement of the broom. Dust plumed with each stroke. She smiled once at Tommy, then lowered her eyes again; he forced himself out of the door. As he walked up the street he looked back and saw that she’d come out to watch him, her father still sleeping at her side.

Mother wasn’t in the church when he got there. The door was already open and he stepped into the shaded porch, then scanned the rows of bare-wood benches that served as pews. They were all empty. Not even a priest about. Sunlight fell in broad columns through the windows, and hanging above the altar was a carving of Christ on the cross. A crown of thorns, blood trickling, a scrap of cloth to cover his groin. As Tommy stared at the carving, memories of the hanging tree pulsed in his mind, the bodies dark and disfigured, flies feasting, crows hunched in the branches above, and now he saw all three before him, strung up in this church, two bodies burned and blackened, the other lily-white.