King of Murder

“Hi, Herculeah, it’s me. You won’t believe what happened. Remember I was going to the dentist’s office? Well, when I got there, the office was closed, and there was this girl there—she’d had an appointment, too, so my mom—you know how she is—took pity on her and insisted she ...

“Hi, Herculeah, it’s me. Guess what happened? My first cousin from Atlanta—I’ve probably mentioned her—came to town and on the way here she got a toothache, and Mom—you know how she is—insisted that she take my dental appointment and on the way home she—my mom—said...”

Meat was stretched out on the sofa working on some lies. From the TV in the corner of the room came the muted noises of all-star professional wrestling. Meat’s dad, Macho Man, was in a life-and-death struggle with the Cyclone.

Usually when Meat watched this tape—even though he knew the outcome—he became anxious for his dad.

Today, however, he was in a life-and-death struggle of his own.

He knew it was Steffie wanting to do something tomorrow. And although he’d been practicing lying all evening, he still hadn’t mastered the art, and even if he did think of an excuse, his mom would be there to yell, “That’s not true,” into the phone. His mother had proven she could not be trusted.

Also, Steffie was used to getting her way. Herculeah might overlook his having one date, but it would be hard for anybody to overlook two. That was practically going steady.

“I won’t lie for you,” his mother warned from the kitchen. She came into the room and turned off professional wrestling as she always did. Apparently his mom preferred live entertainment.

Meat got up from the sofa quickly and stepped out on the front porch. “Now you don’t have to lie,” he called before he shut the door. “I’m really not here.”

He waited on the porch for what seemed like an unusually long time, but then again, Steffie was a talker.

As he stood there, he went over his lies, and then a sudden thought stopped him. He did not need to lie. After all, Herculeah didn’t know that he knew that she knew about the date. Or something like that.

And! Uncle Neiman was his uncle. His own uncle! She had gone to his uncle’s shop. Therefore it was his right, as a nephew, to find out what had happened.

He would take the straightforward approach. None of these confusing tales of girls in distress.

“How did it go at Death’s Door?” he would say. “Did you get the Mathias King books from my uncle?”

He was fine-tuning this approach when his mother opened the door. “It’s safe. You can come in now.”

Meat entered the living room, turned on the TV, rewound the tape, and threw himself down on the sofa in his original pose.

“You have to understand right now that I am not going to lie for you on the telephone.”

She put her hands on her hips—a pose Meat did not care for. But, hey, he told himself, you owe her. She prevented you from having a phone conversation with Steffie. The only person he liked to talk to on the phone was Herculeah.

“I know, Mom. I don’t expect you to. If it happens again, I’ll go back out on the porch.”

He certainly agreed with that statement. “Steffie’s the epitome of that type.”

To himself he began practicing. “Hi, I was curious about how it went at my uncle’s shop.”

It wouldn’t hurt to stress the words “my uncle.” He was repeating the phrase when his mother paused in the doorway.

“Steffie’s mom is here. I called Dottie to find out what Steffie had said about the date, and Dottie said the wedding was off. That was why Steffie was here in the first place—because her mom was getting married for the third time.”

Meat stopped practicing his straightforward approach. He sat up. His whole body was rigid with sudden alarm.