Frost: A Novel by Sam Neumann

Author:Sam Neumann [Neumann, Sam]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2018-10-31T16:00:00+00:00

54

Jack Keifer won’t stop texting me. He still has my number, it seems, and wants a date. “Hanging out,” as he calls it; he wants to know when we can hang out. Mere days ago this would’ve done something for me—a flutter of the heart or a pique of emotion. Some positive change in my physiology, however short-lived. Now, it does nothing. I don’t have time for Jack Keifer. Maybe in a year, maybe down the line. But now, I’m busy.

I’ve heard nothing from the police, and I don’t imagine I will. Their casual indifference to my story told me as much; it seemed like they believed me about the goat masks, but probably wrote it off as some kids screwing around.

Ah, but Dooley. There he is in front of me: Arnold Dooley, his puffy and greasy face peeking out from his RV. Dooley is fulcrum here. And he finally shows up at Monty’s again.

If there’s a buzz in the diner, I don’t notice it. Perhaps the town has moved on from Arnold Dooley. Perhaps there’s another freak show at large. I look for Ted at his usual table; he isn’t there. Tourists and couples go about their breakfasts. Rita is on the phone with the soda distributor. For the first time, Arnold Dooley is present at Monty’s, and people go about their business.

“Good morning, Arnold.”

“Are you okay?” His eyes are bloodshot.

I drop a menu in front of him. “A little hungover is all. Wine.”

He stares back at me.

“I’m fine,” I say. “Were you expecting them to come get me?” I don’t bother lowering my voice. It’s loud enough in here.

“I’m worried about you.”

“That makes two of us.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“I’ll be right back.”

I return with an empty mug and a pot of coffee. He didn’t ask for it, but I start pouring to prolong the conversation.

“Arnold, I need you to help me out.”

“Of course,” he says.

“I need you to think about the men who attacked you. The ones who…the bad men. I need you to think of everything you remember about them, and then I need you to tell me all those things.”

He’s shaking his head. “I told you everything already.”

“I know. But there has to be more. Something else. Not here—I’m working. But after work.”

He looks at the table, concentrating. “I mean…”

“Just think about it,” I say. “You’ll remember something.”

After work, I return to the Skyview Trailer Park. The wind and rain from yesterday blew in a cold front, and the radio says we’re going to have our first freeze. I see two men on lawn chairs smoking cigarettes, and they look back at me. I continue down the right fork, toward the river again, and pull into the spot in front of Dooley’s Prowler. I leave the engine running.

In thirty seconds, his door opens and he appears outside, clad in dungarees and a brown Dickies jacket. He gazes long across the park, back in the direction of the men I saw smoking, and gets in the passenger side.

“Before you say anything,” I start, while his door is still partially open, “I still don’t trust you.

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