Beyond Blame by Stephen Greenleaf

Author:Stephen Greenleaf
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Open Road Integrated Media

EIGHTEEN

It’s not what we do that disturbs our dreams, it’s what we don’t do. Action admits of ambiguity; inaction is absolute. We embrace the rationale that inertia is for the best. In the long run. All things considered. Given the circumstances. But the undone deed seldom admits to such evasion, and we live lives shadowed by the consequences of timidity.

I was about to acquire another such shadow myself, since I was about to leave the anonymous addict lying where she was, as she was, what she was. Because Cal was urging me to come with him. Because there was nothing obvious to be done for her. Because the Chinese say that if you save a life, you are responsible for that person forever. I wondered what the Chinese had to say if you let a life expire. I stood up with a grunt and left everything behind me but an image needled into my brain like a loser’s bleak tattoo.

Cal led me out of the apartment building through the rear exit, onto the concrete slab in the back. The parking area was occupied by a VW van and a Toyota pickup with a homemade camper unit built into the bed. The sides of the camper were cedar shakes, the roof a peaked chalet. Smoke was drifting from a crooked smokestack, so I assumed the fairy-tale conveyance was where Cal was taking me, but he trotted past the pickup and headed for a small square guest cottage that was hidden behind some boxwood bushes on the far side of the parking area.

The cottage looked in better shape than the main building, less battered and bruised. Cal trotted up the steps. I expected him to plunge inside, but he stopped short and knocked at the door in an incongruous burst of etiquette. “This is the Maniac’s place,” he told me. “I mean, he crashes here sometimes. He’s got a whole bunch of places he hangs out, but I don’t know where all of them are.”

“Looks like he’s a good housekeeper,” I said.

“His women keep it up for him. And even the stoners and the blood know better than to fuck with the Maniac’s pad.”

Cal started to knock on the door again but I put out a hand to stop him. “Hold on a second. Who was the girl we left back in the apartment building?”

Cal tried to shrug away the subject. “She goes by Needles. I don’t know her real name.”

“She mentioned another girl to me.”

“Who? Lisa?”

I shook my head. “Sherry.”

“Sherry who?”

“Sherry Misteen. Do you know her, Cal?”

Cal labored to look blank and blasé. “Sherry. Yeah. She and Lisa were real tight for a while.”

“What happened between them?”

“Who knows?” His shrug was comprehensive.

“Where’s Sherry now?”

“Who knows?”

“Needles says she’s dead.”

Cal jerked as though I’d slapped him, then examined me to see if I knew anything or was just making guesses. “Is she right, Cal?” I went on. “Is Sherry Misteen dead?”

Cal’s face cast off its initial wrinkle of concern. “That’s what they say.”

“Who says?”

“I don’t know.

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