Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
Julian succeeds in acquiring even more weirdness
The next day, Julian told his crew he was meeting with Ramon in South Philly and would be in later. Ramon was currently in a chest freezer in Julian’s storage room, but he was still useful as an excuse to be out of reach.
He drove around to check all the Bruce Hunters from the previous night’s work. After discovering that the two guys from the diner had followed him home, he did an image search from the picture he’d snapped.
His computer skills were mediocre at best, so finding the purple-haired guy on social media had been a total fluke. From there it was a simple address search, ruling out other races and ages until he’d narrowed it down to three possibles.
The third house he checked felt like a bust. No way purple-haired Bruce Hunter could live in a house this quaint. The older neighborhood was well kept and teeming with ordinary folk.
The little blue house sat like an artist’s watercolor plein air in the middle of the block. Flowers in the window boxes, the patchy hedge bordering the front walk.
Julian checked the address again. This was the number.
He parked his Volvo on the cross street and walked the half block to the house.
No car in the driveway, but he already had his story set as he made his way up the walk.
A well-worn path to the side of the cement driveway diverted him through the side yard.
A set of cement stairs led to a basement door. Yeah. This was better. A basement apartment fit young Purple Hair. He descended and knocked.
There was someone home, more than one someone, judging by the voices.
He knocked again, going over his story. Deciding to go with his private investigator ruse, he pulled out an official-looking card from his wallet.
These days, he had no reason to use it—people came to him or were brought to him.
But when he was first starting out, he’d found that while folks were suspicious of salesmen and cops, they were fascinated by private investigators.
The door opened. A small, exceptionally ugly man looked up at him.
“Uh, hi.” Julian forced himself to smile. His eyes shifted from the oddly shaped growth on the guy’s wide forehead to the inside of the house. “Is Bruce Hunter here?” The protuberance on the guy’s face pulsed an ugly purple. “He’s a witness to an accident.”
“Hunter ain’t here.”
From inside, another voice called, “Eric, hurry, the show’s about to start.”
“I’m not sure I have the right place. He’s late twenties, sandy hair with a purple streak. Is that who lives here?” Julian asked.
Knotty-headed Eric looked at Julian. “Yeah, that’s him. Come in if you want to.” He gestured into the house.
Julian wasn’t sure he wanted to, but maybe this guy knew something. He followed him down the narrow hall and into a green-carpeted living room/kitchen area. The room held only a love seat, a small armchair, and an ottoman. The kitchen was defined by a high-top table that served as a counter.
“Who’s this?” The guy on the love seat squinted at him.
“A friend of Hunter’s,” Eric said. “Name’s…”
“Julian.” Damn. He hadn’t meant to give his real name. Eric’s pulsing growth distracted him. He also hadn’t said they were friends, but he went with it.
“Cool. I’m Derek.” The guy on the love seat was easier on the eyes, tall, slender with longish dark hair and blue eyes. “Eric, get me a beer, would ya? You want a beer, Juli?”
“Julian,” he said. “But sure, that would be great.” These guys had to be college jerks. Beer at eleven in the morning? He sat gingerly in the small armchair, pleased that he’d picked up on the use of Hunter’s last name. “Do you know if Hunter will be here? Anytime soon?”
“Gods, if I know, dude. We’re crashing for a while,” Derek said. He had an easy grace in his movements, almost hypnotic. He squinted again at Julian. “You looking at something?”
“Ah, no. Sorry. I—” A can of Bud Lite was handed to him. “Great thanks. So you guys friends of Hunter’s?”
“Friends of friends,” Derek said, his voice mellow. Once again, Julian was drawn in by the man’s almost perfect symmetry.
His mind drifted, floating to a place he hadn’t been to in a long time.
A hillside above the town of Hoboken, the view of the factories belching out black smoke, the stink of the oil refineries.
His arm around the blond girl from government class, Julian hung languidly in the memory.
Her hair smelled of stale cigarettes and citrus shampoo.
What was her name? He couldn’t remember.
Only that they’d fooled around in the back seat of his old Camry before he dropped her off, and even that was hazy.
But this moment—sitting on this hill, watching the night sky, the feel of her warmth under his arm—this tiny second of time filled him with a euphoric high. He wanted more of it.
Eric’s voice jerked him to the present. “Derek, stop it. Here he comes.”
Julian blinked. He looked over where Eric and Derek sat together, watching the TV. The flat-screen was on, but it was the streaming company’s screensaver. A rumble sounded upstairs.
“What was that?” Julian asked.
“Oh dude, wait. You’re in for a treat.”
The rumble increased to a dull roar, and the building started to shake. Julian gripped the arms of the chair, hoisting himself up.
“It’s okay, man. Relax. It’s just Barry.” Eric’s growth pulsed again as he pointed to the door facing them down the hall.
Julian realized the two had been watching the door, not the TV.
The door cracked open and then slammed shut, muffled curses emanating from behind it.
The two guys grinned like kids about to get on a carnival ride.
The door opened again. Closed again. Then with a vicious crack, it opened all the way.
The cursing was louder now, clearer with the door open, but Julian couldn’t see who it was. The doorframe was stuffed with clothes from floor to ceiling.
Eric hooted in laughter and slapped his knee. Derek’s grin was wide as he leaned to the side to see better. “Come on, Barry. Do it,” Derek said.
“I cannae do it.” The pathetic words drifted from behind the clothes and blankets blocking the door.
“Yes, you can,” Derek said. “We showed you how last night, remember? One step at a time.”
“What’s wrong with him?” Julian asked.
“Who’s that?” Barry said, suddenly suspicious. “You dinnae call Abraham, did you?”
“We wouldn’t do that. It’s a friend of Hunter’s. Come out and meet him.” Derek spoke in a coaxing voice, and once again Julian fell under the lull of it.
Suddenly he was ten, and his Uncle Jack had taken him up in a glider out of West Jersey. Nothing but air and wind and the scenery below. Julian was flying, his laughter ringing out in the tiny cockpit.
Another loud crack brought him back to the living room.
But the peaceful calm he’d felt in the plane, the joy of being so high up and yet safe lingered in his mind.
He felt his lips quirk up, and when Derek smiled at him, he smiled back.
He liked these guys. The beer was the best thing he’d ever tasted.
Finishing off the can, he noted it was regular light beer, but he’d stop and get some on his way home.
Why was he here again? It didn’t matter. He was having a great time.
“Barry, go slow. Don’t destroy Hunter’s house, just, yeah, that’s it,” Eric said.
Julian looked toward the door, a smile plastered on his face.
The clothes started to move from the doorframe, tumbling forward into the hallway.
No. Not the clothes but Barry. At the base of the clothes was a boot.
A boot the size of a footstool. So large it didn’t seem real.
It was an illusion. He looked at the empty can in his hand, sure that they’d drugged him.
The foot moved; a crash and more cursing sounded from behind it. One knee was out now, clad in sweatpants stretched to their limit. The leg bent into a crouch, and a gigantic, hairy arm reached out to grab the edge of the wall. “Pull,” the guy pleaded. His fingers waggled.
The two on the love seat howled with laughter. Eric turned to Julian. “This happens every time Barry has to pee. The bathroom is the size of a keyhole, and he can barely get in there.”
“Or out,” Derek said and eventually got up to aid Barry. Derek was average-sized, yet his hands looked tiny as they clasped around Barry’s.
The extrication went on for another few minutes, and Julian feared the wall would come down before the giant exited the bathroom.
Deciding that he could check back later, he shifted his weight forward.
He wasn’t even sure what he was going to do with Hunter when he found him, but he knew he didn’t want to meet Barry.
The ceiling was only seven feet, like most basements, and he wondered if the giant could even stand up in here.
His hands clasped the arms of the chair, but he stayed seated, transfixed. Eric had gone to help, and now Barry was sideways in the doorway, one leg and arm on this side.
“Sit down, Barry,” Derek said. “Please sit on the floor and scoot.”
With a groan, Barry edged to the floor and his shoulder emerged. He ducked his ottoman-sized head and leaned out of the door. His expression was morose, even humiliated. Julian felt a moment of sympathy. Having been ridiculed for his size in the past, he knew what it felt like.
The head swung around, eyes the size of duck eggs, bloodshot and baby blue as they spotted Julian half out of his chair.
Barry’s nose was a fleshy lump of skin jutting from his face, his mouth wide and full and curved downward.
He started to say something, but both Eric and Derek were pushing and pulling at him.
With a shake of Barry’s hand, Eric flew off and landed at Julian’s feet.
He roared with laughter. “Good old Barry.” The little man scrambled to his feet. “Come on, dude. We’re funning with ya.”
Yeah, Julian had heard those words and tone often enough in his childhood. Always the butt of a joke. Eric walked back to the big man. Not big. A giant. An actual giant.
Barry’s leg took up most of the room. Julian edged over, visually measuring. He couldn’t seem to help himself—he’d never seen anyone this size. Barry’s boot rested on its heel, and the toe came to under Julian’s knee.
“Where do you get boots this size?”
Barry frowned at him, his face squashed under the door jam. “That’s a rude question.”
“Sorry,” Julian said. He was going to say more, but Barry lifted his giant leg, grunting with the effort. Julian stepped out of the way. The house shook as Barry scooted into the room on his butt.
Finally he cleared the tiny doorway and stood, or rather, stooped. He had to be over eight feet tall, with hands that could crush Julian’s head. His forehead formed a fleshy shelf over his eyes, adorned with a unibrow the size of a cat.
Uglier than a mud fence. His grandmother’s saying came to Julian. He did what he always did in times of stress. He smiled. Not a usual thing in his business, but he found that it worked far more often than pulling a gun, which he’d also thought of doing.
“What do ye want?” Barry leaned down.
“Ah. Nothing, looking for Bar—no, Bruce. Looking for Bruce.”
The head full of dark shaggy hair turned to Derek. “Who’s Bruce?”
Derek smiled at the giant. “Hunter. He means Hunter.”
The smile widened to include Julian, putting him immediately at ease. His shoulders relaxed. His hands unclenched at his sides.
Safe and comfortable. Like he’d felt when he was at his mother’s old kitchen table, eating pierogies and listening to her talk about the neighbors.
And Jeanne said that her nephew got a job down at the railroad.
A good job too, mind you, not cleaning the toilets or sweeping.
But then Jeanne lies like a rug most of the time.
You can’t trust her. Did I tell you about Sandy?
Julian felt himself nodding, the spicy meat and silky dough of the dumplings offering contentment he’d not had in a long time.
He wanted to stay there, at the Formica-topped table, the light filtering through the yellow chintz curtains, his mom in front of the stove, the familiar apron tied around her thick waist.
“I bet he’d taste good.” A deep baritone invaded his thoughts, his space. “I’m a bit peckish.”
Alarm zinged through Julian. He wanted to stay in the old memory, but something told him he needed to run.
“There, Julian. It’s okay. He’s teasing.” Derek’s voice wrapped around him like a fur-lined coat. His mom was looking at him oddly, then her face changed into Eric’s.
“There he is,” Ugly Eric said, grinning. “He’s here with us now.” The purple knob on his head pulsed and split open. Julian jumped. Under the purple skin, an eyeball gazed at him.
“Holy shit.” A hand pulled at him, threatening warmth and safety.
He jerked away, falling, scrambling around one of Barry’s enormous boots.
He got to his feet and down the narrow hallway, yanking open the door and racing up the stairs.
Not looking back, he slowed to a jog as he rounded the corner and found his car.
Inside, he gripped the steering wheel and breathed out. His windshield fogged. A giant. And a cyclops guy. And he didn’t know what Derek was, but he got the idea that of the three, Derek could be the most dangerous.
“Damn you, Ramon. What have you gotten me into?” This was just as weird as what he’d seen last week at the Fulbright. The whole damn world been invaded.