Howard's Secret

Roy rubbed two nickels together in his pocket and leaned back against the front wheel well of Dan Cresswell’s blue Plymouth convertible. He wore a red cardigan sweater from Boise High School and jeans because jeans didn’t show the dirt. He glanced over at Dan, who was fulfilling his role as the entertainer for their dates while Roy mulled over his strategy.

Soda pop roulette.

That’s what Roy called it. Five cents for a coke. Five cents for the bus ride home. Seven cents if you got a Cherry Coke. He wasn’t thirsty, not thirsty enough to trade a bus ride home for a drink, but if Marsha ordered a Cherry Coke, he’d be walking home again.

Dan would drive him and the girls to the modest brick house and Roy would play the part right up until Dan’s headlights swung around the corner onto Washington Avenue. Once the hum of the engine died down, Roy would scurry back down the front steps, across the yard, and walk five miles back across the train tracks to a three-room shack. Home sweet home.

He often longed for the home they had in Emmett, but that was before his dad had followed the logging company to Oregon. Roy and Billy stayed behind with their mother because she wanted the boys to have some stability. Moving from apartment to apartment just ahead of the monthly eviction notice was a funny way to define stability. So was shacking up with Howard Morgan.

Howard was a small-time criminal in the area, always looking to make a buck only if no work was involved. His modus operandi was typically to bully weaker, hard-working folks out of their wages. Business had been slow of late, but over the last year Roy had heard Howard bragging about a big job he’d been working on. Just another scheme to get a free meal while Roy’s mother figured out a way to put food on the table.

Dan sauntered over and Roy stopped rubbing the nickels together, folded his arms, and became enthralled by his shoelaces.

“If you’re waiting for Rudy’s to start serving coffee, we might be here a while,” Dan nudged Roy’s shoulder, “I’d stay up with you, but I promised Jackie’s father she’d be home by ten.”

“I’m not in the mood for a Coke.”

“You’re in luck, cowboy -”

“I mean I’m not thirsty. Let’s take the girls home.”

Dan turned and leaned back against the front grille of his Plymouth. Roy knew that he was weighing how it would look if he, Dan Cresswell, went home at this early hour.

“C’mon. You may not be in the mood for a drink, but Marsha is. What if some Sophomore buys her a drink, huh? I know for a fact that you’re not gonna let that happen.”

The subtle emphasis had the effect Dan was hoping for. A smirk etched its way across Roy’s face, like a crack in the sidewalk.

Dan nudged him again, “C’mon.” The car creaked as the boys pushed off and strolled across the parking lot.

“What’ll it be, ladies?” Dan put his arm around Jackie, “Roy says he’s all set, but I’ll bet you girls are ready for a drink,” he winked at Roy, who narrowed his eyes before conjuring up a smile.

“Marsh? Want a Coke?”

“I’d like a Cherry Coke very much, Roy.”

***

The Plymouth bumped the curb before humming down Washington and out of sight. Roy hadn’t even reached the porch before turning around and sauntering in the opposite direction. He was never in a hurry to get back. Howard typically barged into the shack in a drunken, angry stupor around 10:00, if he even made it back home at all. Howard would curse the state of the place and then give Roy’s mother a black eye before passing out and pissing himself. Howard was a bull of a man both in size and temper. He was tall, heavy, bald, and knew how to throw his weight around against more defenseless creatures. Roy wasn’t afraid of him, no, but he felt much better sleeping with a baseball bat under his mattress.

Roy crossed Washington and slunk up against a wooden fence on that side of the street. He stopped at the edge of the fence and peered around the corner. The dim lights of Hemmy’s Bar cast blurry shadows across the sidewalk and silhouettes moved across the windows like ghosts. A dull babble of conversation seeped through the walls. Hemmy’s was both Howard’s domain and Roy’s checkpoint to determine whether he should stay out a bit longer or head straight home. If Howard was still there, Roy would linger on the streets until midnight.

Roy stepped into the dark alleyway and crept over to the garbage cans lined up under the back window. He was just about to hoist himself up to peer inside when the back screen door swung open. The hinges shrieked as Roy ducked out of sight and threw himself up against the wall under the window. From his darkened hiding place, Roy looked on as a short man in an oversized suit tumbled down the back steps. The man teetered on his feet and then plopped down into the mud. The door had only just slapped shut when it sprang open again and was almost thrown off its hinges as a hulking figure stomped out.

“...when I’m damned good and ready!” Howard Morgan spat over the threshold as someone from inside slammed the wooden door behind him, throwing the alleyway into murky darkness. Howard swore and turned on the spot, a more urgent need winning him over. He thundered down the stairs and across the alley. The little man let out a soft whimper and got to his feet.

“What’ve you done?!” Howard burped, grabbing the smaller man and slamming him up against the fence, “You’ve meddled in my business!”

“M-Mr. M-Morgan, I didn’t mean to - everybody in there knows about your b-book, sir.” the man blubbered, “P-please Mr. Morgan. Please don’t kill me.” The desperation in the man’s voice made Roy feel sick.

Howard slapped the man hard across the face. He fell back into the mud and whimpered on the ground near Howard’s feet. Howard ran a hand over his scratchy chin and squatted down next to his prey. He grabbed a chunky fistful of the man’s hair.

“Tell me everything you know,” he reached into his back pocket, “and everything they know about this!”

Roy didn’t need any light to know that Howard was brandishing his little black book. Howard always had it in his back pocket when he wasn’t scribbling on its pages. A few months ago, Howard had caught Roy watching him as he stowed the book away. He had thundered across the shack and lowered his face an inch from Roy’s nose.

“If I ever see you watching me like that again, I’ll kill her.”

The fire in his eyes was enough to convince Roy that he meant every word of it. That night Howard beat Roy’s mother to an inch of her life as a demonstration.

“It’s where you keep your… off the books business,” the man cried, “that’s all. I swear!”

“And what do they know!?”

“The same! No details!”

The alleyway fell silent.

Howard stood up and walked toward the garbage cans where Roy sat in hiding. Roy could feel his heart pounding in his temples, a rhythmic beat playing in time to the steps of the approaching monster. He prayed that the dark was enough to conceal him. Howard lifted the lid of the can closest to the back door of the bar, tossed the book in, and slammed the lid into place.

“Get up!” Howard barked as he lumbered back down the alleyway, “Follow me.”

The man got gingerly to his feet and followed Howard into the darkness.

Roy let out a slow breath, relief washing over him. He sat against the brick wall for what seemed like hours before getting to his feet. He took one step toward the street, eager to leave the scene, and then he froze.

The book!

He had almost forgotten about the book! An overwhelming sense of curiosity sprung into his body and he found himself rushing back and lifting the lid. There, resting on a pile of broken bottles, was Howard’s little black notebook. Careful not to cut himself, Roy reached inside and pulled it out. He returned the lid, bounded toward the sidewalk, and tore back down the road. He clutched the book tightly in his hand, wanting to put as much distance between himself and that alleyway as possible.

He ran until his lungs burned and his legs wobbled dangerously. He plopped down on the curb, his head pounding again, but this time it wasn’t out of fear for his life. He sat forward, held the book out in front of himself, and cracked it open.

Names were etched across the lined pages.

Richard Hall - $1,000

Leonard Pritchard -

William Prather - $1,000

Jacob Larsen - $1,000

The list went on to the bottom of the first page and continued to the second. His eyes began to dart from name to name. He was surprised to find that he recognized many of them. He had heard them mentioned by Dan Creswell’s father, some were the parents of kids he knew at school - wealthy people who had been robbed over the last year. He flipped the page. The list stopped halfway down the third page and Roy’s stomach turned.

Lyle Cresswell –

Dan’s father! He flipped the page again and a folded piece of paper fell out. Roy picked it up and unfolded it to reveal a hand-drawn map of Boise. There was a red line following a road out of town and up into the hills. It ended in a small area that was circled. Below the map was type-written instructions:

“HOWARD,

DEPOSIT FUNDS AT THIS LOCATION - WHEN ALL IS COMPLETE, YOU WILL HAVE YOUR CUT.”

Roy flipped back to the front and counted every name that had “$1,000” written next to it - twenty. He felt as if he had just plunged into a warm pool, his mind swimming. But it couldn’t be… he looked at the map again and an overwhelming sense of certainty hit him square in the chest: Howard had $20,000 hidden away at the location indicated on the map!

He knew it to be true as soon as the thought came to him. He closed the book and stumbled onto the sidewalk, his feet now following the trail his mind was blazing for him. He needed to move fast. He had to find a way to get there before Howard went back. His pace quickened as he began to think of what this money would do for his family. They could leave the shack behind them and move into a house! No more shack and no more…

Howard.

Roy stopped dead in his tracks, the victory at hand backfired painfully. Howard would suspect something, and when he discovered that the stash was missing, he would certainly kill all of them. His spirit deflated and his mind began to fill with the horrific consequences this money would bring down upon him. Then, the voice of the little man floated through his mind like a wisp of smoke,

“…everybody in there knows about your book, sir.”

That was it! This book contained a list of Howard’s crimes. Surely the robberies had been reported to the police, and he knew there were crowds of people at Hemmy’s Bar who could link this book to Howard. People who wouldn’t mind seeing Howard put away for a very long time, maybe even forever.

“That,” thought Roy as he began to jog toward the downtown Boise Police Station; he smiled for the first time in what seemed like years, “is worth all the money in the world.”