HE’S JUST A WORM

“Clay—did you kill Mitch?”

Sprawled on Mickey’s couch, Clay looked up at Pam, the smile fading from his face.

“Did you?” Pam demanded, standing over him, her hands on her hips. “Did you kill him?”

The wind rattled the loose pane in the living-room window. Mickey stepped out of the shadows of the darkened kitchen and turned on the floor lamp next to the couch. His face was drawn, Pam saw, his eyes tense, wary. He held a half-eaten Three Musketeers in his left hand, but wasn’t chewing on it.

Clay still didn’t reply. “Give me a break, Pam,” he muttered, rolling his eyes.

“I’m not going to let you off the hook,” Pam said. “I want to know, Clay. I have to know. After I told you that Mitch was the one who was blackmailing us, that Mitch was the one who grabbed me and threatened me—did you go to the store and kill him?”

“Of course he didn’t,” Mickey interrupted, speaking with unusual fervor. But he sounded more hopeful than convinced. “Tell her, Clay,” he urged. “Stop being so stubborn.”

Clay snickered. “She’s accusing me of murder, and you accuse me of being stubborn,” he said wryly. “I really don’t believe this.”

“Well, Mitch is dead,” Pam said heatedly, crossing her arms over her chest, refusing to retreat from her position, glaring down at Clay. “And he was murdered.”

“So?” Clay asked, his gray eyes flashing angrily. “You think I did it?”

“Yeah,” Mickey agreed. “What makes you think it was Clay who did it?”

“Because he said he’d do it,” she told Mickey impatiently. “Clay said when he found out who was threatening us, he’d kill him.” She turned back to Clay, who now had a smile on his face.

“What if I did kill him?” he asked.

“Did you?” Pam insisted.

He shrugged, his smile insolent, defiant.

Pam glanced over at Mickey, who was still standing at the lamp. In the yellow light he looked frightened. “Clay—?” He let the candy bar drop from his hand. It landed noiselessly on the worn carpet. Staring hard at Clay, he didn’t bother to pick it up.

Clay ignored him, continuing to smirk at Pam.

“You didn’t kill him— did you?” Mickey asked, his voice frightened and small. “Come on, man. Just say you didn’t, okay?”

“Okay. I didn’t,” Clay said, still smirking.

“I don’t believe you,” Pam said. She glanced over at Mickey. It was obvious that Mickey had changed his mind about Clay. He didn’t believe Clay, either.

“Hey, come on, guys,” Clay said, pushing himself up on his feet from the low couch. He took a step forward, rolling down the sleeve of his black Motley Crue T-shirt, forcing Pam to back away. “Get out of my face, okay? I’m telling you the truth. I didn’t croak Mitch—all right?”

He walked to the window and stared out into the tiny front yard. “I wanted to,” he said, his back to them. “When I found out he was in the store that night watching us the whole time, I wanted to kill him. But then I thought about it, you know. And I decided he wasn’t worth it. He was just a worm. Why should I mess up my life on account of a worm?”

Mickey picked up his candy bar and tossed it onto the low table by the wall. He and Pam exchanged glances. They were each trying to decide whether to believe Clay or not.

“I hope you’re telling the truth, man,” Mickey said, walking up close to Clay. “Because if you’re lying, we—”

Without warning, Clay spun around and grabbed the front of Mickey’s gray sweatshirt. He jerked it violently, nearly pulling Mickey off his feet. “I’m not a liar!” he screamed, his features hard and menacing.

At that moment Mr. Wakely stepped into the room from the dark kitchen. “Hey—” He seemed surprised by the violent confrontation across the room.

Clay immediately let go of Mickey’s sweatshirt, and Mickey stumbled backward quickly regaining his balance.

Mr. Wakely stood blinking in the light. Pam could see that his eyes were red rimmed and bloodshot. He was stooped and unsteady on his legs. It was obvious he’d been drinking.

He’s aged ten years in just the past week, Pam thought.

“Get out of here if you’re going to fight!” he screamed, shaking his fist at Mickey. “Get out! Get out!”

He lunged toward Mickey and nearly fell over his own feet.

He’s totally out of control, Pam thought. There’s no reason for him to be so angry at Mickey.

“We were just going out, Dad,” Mickey said, backing off. “Come on, guys.”

They grabbed their coats and a few seconds later were standing out front, shivering in the swirling winter wind.

“Sorry about Dad,” Mickey apologized, obviously embarrassed. “I don’t know what his problem is.” He kicked at a rock at the curb, shooting it across the street.

“I’m outta here,” Clay said glumly. “Unless you want to call the cops on me and turn me in for killing Mitch.” He glared at Pam and Mickey, challenging them.

“You didn’t do it,” Mickey said softly. “I know you didn’t do it, man.”

That odd smile returned to Clay’s face, the smile Pam couldn’t interpret, the one that sent a cold chill down her spine.

Дата добавления: 2015-07-20