Barry Grey
He was really tired the next morning. It didn’t matter though — he had $0.97 cents in his pocket and was glad the new comic books were in.
Ken wasn’t working. It was some young red headed girl. She was pretty but wasn’t going to let him get four comics. Ken would have. He should have asked Gram for a dime but didn’t. Three will have to do.
The kitchen smelled great. Gram was making sauce and he just finished the latest Silver Surfer. She looked tired this morning too. And maybe a little uneasy. She kept looking down at the stove.
Gram and Pa just told him about the box underneath the left drawer last night.
When she makes sauce Gram always stirs it with the same wooden spoon. It’s the only thing that spoon is for and no amount of washing would ever remove the tomato stains.
“Don’t you want to go out and play?”
“I will. After I finish these” he replied, spreading the three comics in a fan on the table.
* * *
The screen door creaked.
Just about all the houses on his street had a side door that opened to the kitchen. Nobody except company used the front door.
The screen door creaked, the boy looked up from his comic, and a young woman stepped inside. Her clothes were dirty and she looked worn out. Gram kept stirring the pot and for a second the boy wasn’t sure Gram even knew someone came in.
“Whore!”
Gram threw it in one, smooth motion. The wooden spoon, the special sauce only wooden spoon, flew out of the pot and toward the woman. Sauce spattered the walls a bit and the spoon hit her on the cheek. The boy didn’t think it hurt her.
“Ma! We have to talk! Barry!”
The boy felt time slow down. Everything became a little brighter.
Gram reached for a frying pan. The woman walked toward the table. A guy that looked like a short hippie biker walked in with his hands up, palms out. Real deliberate. Right toward Gram.
“Stop. Sit down.”
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Everyone sat. The boy’s back was to the wall, gram to his left, the guy — Barry — to his right. The woman across from him. Barry smelled a little. His beard needed a shave and Barry needed a shower. The boy saw that Barry had on boots and a chain hanging off his belt.
The sauce was going to bubble and boil if someone didn’t get the spoon and stir it…
“I have nothing to say. And he doesn’t need to be here. And you can…” Gram jabbed a finger in the boy’s direction, making him flinch.
“Stop. He stays,” said Barry as he slipped his left hand down his leg and reached into this boot.
Barry put a small gun on the table. It was white with a pearl handle and was really small. The boy never saw a pistol before and he asked himself if this was all about the box under the stove? He knew not to say anything.
Gram was fast. Her hand shot across to the gun. Barry was faster and he slapped his hand on top of hers.
“Stop.”
* * *
“Ma. You don’t…”
“Get. Out.” Gram hissed through clenched teeth. Her eyes locked on the gun. Her hand still trapped.
“Enough!” Barry’s free hand slammed a flat thing onto the table.
Gram slumped back when she saw the badge.
“I’m a cop. So is Sandy. We’re undercover. She couldn’t tell you.”
The boy was confused. The badge wasn’t as shiny as the ones he’s seen before. Everyone else just deflated. Like someone let the air out of a balloon.
They all started talking and time started to return to normal. The boy was still confused but it was starting to make more sense. The woman’s raspy voice was familiar. She wasn’t here with Barry for the box. She is a cop. Undercover. That’s why they smell and need a shower. Gram isn’t as angry anymore.
And then he understood more. “Hi mom,” he said.
* * *
It was a rainy morning. No playing outside today and he had a big breakfast with French toast and bacon. Gram was chopping vegetables when the phone rang.
He doesn’t remember how long the phone call lasted but could hear his mother’s voice on the other line. Eventually, Gram hung up.
“They cut Barry Grey’s brake line last night.”
