Halloween Candy by Douglas Clegg Read Free Book Online

to movie to home without walking more than a few feet, the kids in their souped-up cars, the old men walking with canes, the brief flare of life in the all-night drug stores.

    All of it he saw, and it was for him the world.

    But then one night, he saw something else.

    It began as a routine call about an old drunk out at the trash cans. Paul was six-months new to the uniform, having only seen a couple of drug busts of the non-violent variety and one DUI. It was that kind of town--one murder in the past six years, and one cop killed in the line of duty since 1957. He and his little sister had lived there five years, and picked it because it was fairly quiet and calm, a good hospital, good visiting nurses’ association, and no one to remember them from nine years before. He had been a security guard back in St. Chapelle right after college, but it had been his dream to be a cop, and now he was, and it was good, most nights. Most nights, he and his partner just trolled the streets for small-time hookers and signs of domestic violence. 67

    Sometimes they arrived too late at a jumper out on the Pawtuxet Bridge. Sometimes, they watched the jump.

    Paul couldn’t shake the vision of his head of the kid who had jumped two weeks ago. Damn lemmings, some of these kids were. Just wanting to get out of town so bad they couldn’t wait for the bus.

    “Some guy’s over in front of the Swan Street apartments knocking over cans and covered with blood,” the smooth voice of the dispatcher said.

    “Christ,” Paul muttered. “Swan Street. Why does everything seem to happen over there?” He glanced at his watch. Nearly midnight.

    His partner, Beth, sighed and shook her head when the call came from dispatch. “I bet I know this guy,” she said, “Jesus, I bet it’s this old clown.” She turned left at Wilcox, and took two quick rights until they were on Canal Road. The night fairly steamed with humidity, and the sky threatened more rain. Paul wiped the back of his neck, feeling the slickness.
    68

    “He used to be with the circus, a real carny-type.” As she spoke, Beth managed to reach across the dash, grab a cigarette from the pack, thrust it between her lips and punch in the lighter while still keeping her eye on the road. “He spends half the year God knows where and then comes back here in the summer. We had to ship him out twice last year.”

    “What a night,” Paul said, barely hiding the disgust in his voice. The flat-topped brick buildings, dim blue windows, dark alleys of downtown bled by as he looked out the window. The streets were dead.

    When Beth pulled the patrol car to the curb, Paul saw him. A fringe of gray hair around a shiny bald scalp, the checkered shirttail flapping, the saggy brown pants halfway down his butt. The guy stood beneath the streetlamp, his hands over his crotch. “He jerking off or what?” Beth asked, snorting.

    “Poor old bastard,” Paul said. “Can we get him to the station?”

    “Easy,” she said, “you just tell him we’re taking him for some free drinks.” As she opened her door, she shouted, “Hey! Fazzo! It’s your friend!”
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    The old man turned, letting go of his crotch. He hadn’t been masturbating; but a dark stain grew where he’d touched. He cried out,
    “Friends? My friends!” He opened his arms as if to embrace the very darkness beyond the streetlamp.

    Paul got out, too, and jogged over to him. “Buddy, what you up to tonight?”

    Looking at his uniform, the guy said, “I don’t got nothing against cops. Believe you me. Cops are gold in my book.”

    Paul turned to Beth, whispering, “His breath. Jesus.”

    She gave him a look like he was being less than professional. He was new enough to the job to not want to get that kind of look.

    The guy said, “I just been having a drink.”

    “Or two,” Beth said. “Look, Fazzo...”

    “Fazzo the Fabulous,” the guy said, and did a mock-spin. “The greatest magician in the tri-state