Her statement hangs in the air and I look at her, mesmerized. It's almost as if he expected Duckworth himself to suddenly appear and exclaim, "Just kidding... I'm here!" Needless to say, that never happened. I look around me, but I see everything blurry. It just can't be. Not after all this...
"So he's really dead?" Charlie asks, showing the first signs of panic.
"I'm sorry," the woman says, catching her expression. It was not my intention...
"Okay," Charlie says. You couldn't...
"Did you know him?" -I ask. -Forgiveness?
"Duckworth, did you know him?"
"No," he stammers. But... "How does he know then that he is dead?
"It's just... I remember his name from the property deed," he adds. It was a testamentary sale.
"Do you have an address?" Can we get in touch with him somewhere?
The woman shakes her head, not knowing what to say, obviously overwhelmed by the situation. I don't care, we haven't traveled this far to not get answers.
"I'm sorry her," he repeats. There is no address...he is dead.
Her words don't make sense.
"It's impossible," I tell him, and my voice shakes. What does he tell me about...
"He's very upset," Charlie says. She leans over and pinches my back. We should go," she adds through gritted teeth. Giving the woman a fake smile, he waves to her. Thanks again for his help...
"I'm so sorry," she says as we walk away. I'm sorry for the loss of him.
"Yeah," Charlie says as he pushes me up the street. We are already three.
-What about you? Charlie asks me as we cross our little yard. He steps over the hose lying on the grass and the sprinkler that is spraying as far as the eye can see. After checking that the coast is clear, he makes a beeline for our new apartment. Why have you harassed her like that?
"It's possible that woman knew something."
"Are you really that freaked out?"
Charlie asks, slipping into the apartment. He watches me with a concerned expression as I pace between the living room and the tiny kitchen. Didn't you see her reaction, Ollie... that woman was overwhelmed. Informational advance of the eleven: Duckworth is dead. End of story.
"It can't be," I insist. As I speak those words, I can hear my own stutter.
Charlie senses it too.
"Ollie, I know you always had a lot more to lose, but…
"And if we've missed something?"
"What could we have missed?" In New York we were told that he was dead...we traveled here to see for ourselves...and she tells us exactly the same thing. Duckworth is dead, brother. The show is over, it's time to find a new drummer.
Pacing up and down, I stare at the ground.
"Maybe we should talk to her again...
"Olly..."
"Duckworth could be hiding elsewhere..."
-Are you listening to me? That man is dead!
-Don't say that! I burst. "Then he stops behaving!"
like a lunatic! Charlie yells back. The world doesn't end on Marty Duckworth!
"Do you think it's just about that?" From Marty Duckworth? I don't give a shit about Marty Duckworth... I want my life back! I want my apartment, and my job, and my clothes, and my old hair…" I grab a lock of black hair from the back of my head. I want my life back, Charlie! And unless we figure out what's going on, Gallo and DeSanctis are going to...
Something crashes against the window. We both crouch. The noise continues, something intermittently knocks against the glass as if someone wanted to break in. I look up to see who, but all there is is a star-shaped pattern of water sliding down the glass. The sprinkler... it's just the garden sprinkler.
"Someone must have tripped over the hose…" Charlie says.
I'm not taking any risk.
"Take a look," I insist.
I run to the small window in the kitchen; Charlie walks over to the one by the door. The sprinkler continues to pepper the glass. I tear off a piece of the calendar and look out—just as a dim figure quickly disappears below the window sill. I jump back and am about to fall to the ground.
-What? What's going on? Charlie asks.
"There's someone outside!" -Are you sure? "I just saw you!"
Charlie staggers back, doing his best to hide his fear, but even he's not that good.
-You have the...?
"Right here," he replied, pulling out the pistol I'm hiding under my shirt. I take the safety off and slide a finger over the trigger.
Crouched in the kitchen, Charlie goes through the drawers looking for a gun. Knives, scissors, anything. From top to bottom, he opens all the drawers. Empty. Empty. Empty. The last one slides out and Charlie's eyes widen. Inside is a rusty machete, split in half so that it fits perfectly in the drawer. —Blessed be the camels—
he says, pulling out the rusty blade.
When he gets up, I follow him through the main room to the bathroom. Exactly as we calculated last night. These apartments may be too small for a back door... but they still have back windows. Standing on top of the toilet, Charlie opens the window and breaks the screen with one blow. I jump on top of the toilet and stand next to it.
"You first," Charlie says, clasping his hands to propel me up. -Not you.
He won't move.
"Charlie..."
The tone of voice and the authoritative look are Mom's. He knows that they have been fixed from birth: protect your little brother.
Realizing that this is a fight he can never win, he throws the machete out the window and propels himself onto my hands. Up and out...he's gone in a second. Another perfect landing. I follow him, although I almost kill myself when I fall to the ground.
"Ready to run?"
—He asks me, checking again the narrow cement alley created by the building that adjoins ours from the back. To our left is a revolving metal door that leads out onto the street; to our right a path opens up that winds around the main patio, right where they hide. We looked at each other and began to crawl towards the metal door... and discovered the chain and padlock that keep it securely closed.
"Shit," Charlie whispers, banging on the lock.
I signal with the gun.
"I can shoot it open." Charlie shakes his head. "Are you crazy? They would hear us! Without thinking twice he heads to the other end of the alley and I take his arm.
"You're going straight for them," he whispered.
"Not if they've already entered... besides, can you think of another way to escape from here?"
I look around, but you can't argue with the impossible.
"Come on," Charlie tells me. He runs down the alley, stomping on the grassy patches to keep quiet. At the end of the building, he stops and turns to me. "Prepared?"
I nod, and Charlie quickly walks around the corner. "All clear," he points out, waving me over.
Like thieves in our own backyard, we slip out the back ducking under
of the Windows. To next corner is:
I can hear the stream continues to wet the window. The sound drowns out our footsteps... and those of whoever is waiting for us.
"Let me go first," I say. Charlie shakes his head and
of the building, from the windowsills around the one where we saw him. of the sprinkler that he pushes back. He's sick of letting me play protector. I do not care. Pressing myself against him, I scan the ground for scattered shadows and slowly stick my head out. There is a jump rope on the grass, right next to a deflated beach ball. I scan the place from tree to tree, but I can barely hear my thoughts. The sprinkler keeps watering the window. Charlie breathes heavily next to me. There's no one in sight, but I can't shake the feeling that something isn't right. However, we have no alternative. It's the only way out. Charlie licks a film of sweat that has formed on his upper lip and raises his fist. Counting on his fingers, he motions in my direction. One... two... We left our hiding place at full speed, ducking as we passed the sprinkler. My heart is pounding in my ribs... all I can see is the street... we are almost there... the metal gate is a few steps away...
"Where are you going, Cinderella...are you late for the ball?" a voice asks from the front steps of our apartment.
We stop dead and turn. I raise the gun; Charlie does the same with the rusty machete. "Easy, cowboys," she says, holding up her hands.
Forget Service. This is the woman who was at the Duckworth house. "What is she doing here?" Charlie asks.
She does not answer. Her eyes don't leave my gun.
"Do you want to tell me who you really are?" she asks.
"This has nothing to do with you," she warned him.
"Why did they ask about him?" "So he knows Duckworth?"
-I ask.
I have asked you a question...
"Me too," she replied. I wave the gun to get his attention. She doesn't know us well enough to decide if this is a bluff.
"How did he meet you?" Charlie asks. She lowers her hands, but she doesn't stop looking at me.
"Do they really not know?" - Question-. Marty Duckworth was my father.