Prom Night in Purgatory (Purgatory #2)(76)

“Shit!” they heard Craig shriek. “The speaker tipped over, and the cymbal is shoved through the snare drum!”

Jody and Jeremie joined the melee and commenced rearranging the equipment so they could make it home without further incident.

No one seemed to remember that there had been someone in the back of the truck...someone they had agreed to help, someone who had been holding the cymbal that had skewered the drum. Reduced to a vague and fleeting sense of something forgotten, it was as if he had never been there at all.





~23~

A Time to Die





1958


Johnny slowed and then swung into the spot left open just for him. He opened the heavy door of the Bel Air and stepped out of his pride and joy. The sound of his black boot hitting the ground met with silence. He lit a cigarette like he had all the time in the world and no one was watching.

He was dressed like some of the other guys – jeans, boots, white tee and black leather jacket, but he seemed suited to his choice where the others looked posed. His dark blond hair swooped high off his forehead, and his blue eyes swept over the kids standing by, or sitting atop, somebody’s Studebaker or someone else’s Lincoln or any one of the various cars and trucks arranged in two lines. Johnny noticed that Irene Honeycutt's pink Cadillac took up two spaces. It was a miracle she hadn't dented a tailfin yet. That baby was so long it could drive in two counties at once. Irene was the only girl in Honeyville who had her very own spankin' new wheels. He wouldn't mind taking that car for a ride, although he’d lost a lot of respect for the girl. She glanced away uncomfortably, and thoughts of Maggie slid into his mind. Damn it all. He was too old for this schoolyard shit.

Donnie had put new wheels on his truck, and it looked like Carter’s dad had come through on the new carburetor for his old Ford. The last he had seen, it was up on blocks. He would have helped him put it in if he’d known. Johnny let the cars distract him; the cataloging of parts and paint jobs calmed him down and made him forget for just a moment that he was here to bloody a few noses, break a few tail lights, and generally raise Cain.

But someone had alerted the ladies. Who the hell brought chicks to a rumble? Johnny sighed and tossed his cigarette. Eyeing the school, he thanked his stars that he had graduated, and he would never have to attend the shiny new edifice the whole town was talking about. He would be more than happy if he never had to set foot inside the new Honeyville High.

The passenger door on his black hot rod opened, and Billy stepped out. He didn't try to imitate Johnny. It would have been laughable if he had. Johnny didn’t want Billy to be like him. Billy wasn’t cool, but he was nice. He didn’t have an attitude, but he had a brain. He might not have girls hanging on him, but he would be able to hang on to a classy lady someday. Johnny was sure of it. Billy was worth two of Johnny, and Johnny was proud of it.

Billy wore his thick, black-rimmed glasses, and peered through them nervously at the crowd that had collected in the brand new parking lot. His nose and lip were swollen from the altercation earlier in the evening. He wore a button-up, collared shirt and slacks, though it was sweltering out. Of course, Johnny had his jacket on, but that was all for the intimidation factor. Billy had insisted on coming along, knowing that Johnny was more likely to remain calm if his little brother was with him. Johnny had told him to stay home and had expected Billy to give in to his stern command, but for once Billy had been adamant, knowing that Johnny was set on picking a fight all because of him.

"You lookin' for Roger, Johnny?" someone called out. Johnny didn't bother to answer. They all knew he was. Johnny strolled down the line of cars and stopped in front of Irene Honeycutt's pink ride. Irene didn’t smile, but her girlfriends giggled and elbowed each other. If he wanted to, he could crook his little finger at any one of the twittering females perched on Irene's car and be hot and heavy in five minutes flat. But he wasn't interested in Irene's friends; none of them could hold a candle to Maggie.

Irene looked different. She had always been a beautiful girl, but there was a stiffness and a strain in her eyes that had never been there before. She looked afraid. From what he'd seen, Johnny wasn't so sure the blue-eyed brunette was that into Roger, but who was he to question it? Roger was smart, rich, and popular, and Irene's daddy sure seemed to have plans for him. Johnny had plans for him, too. He was going to beat the hell out of Roger and all his boys and swear that it would be ten times worse the next time anyone messed with Billy Kinross.

"He isn't here, Johnny!" a plump redhead named Paula called out, and Irene leveled a look at her that Johnny couldn't decipher. The redhead squirmed nervously and ducked her head when another girl poked her in the ribs.

Johnny zoned in and moved close to the nervous little carrot-top. Tipping her chin up with a long finger, Johnny spoke loud and clear.

"Then where is he, Pidge?"

Paula stammered a little, and her cheeks flamed as bright as her hair. "I, um, I'm not sure…he just wanted us to tell you he had better things to do…or something…I think. Um…didn't he say that, Irene?"

"Then what are all of you doing here?" Johnny jerked his head, indicating the crowd, his eyes meeting Irene's, demanding an answer.

She didn't respond, but her blue eyes were wide, and the expression on her face had him smelling a rat. The crowd shifted uncomfortably, and someone cleared his throat. A few of the guys that Johnny called friends started asking questions and calling out, and everyone seemed to chime in at once-