Authors: Jenny Mounfield
The Ice-cream Man (11 page)
A sob caught in Rick’s throat. Forget it. It didn’t matter. None of it mattered!
He moved away from the wall and pushed open his mother’s bedroom door. ‘Mum, you asleep?’
The room was dark and suffocatingly hot. He crossed to the window and pulled open the curtains, expecting his mother to start yelling. When she didn’t, he turned back to the bed, blinking in the muddy haze of early evening.
Her face resembled stone, or white chalk that had been carved by a sculptor with blunt tools. How could someone change so much – age so much – in such a short time? Rick shuffled over to the side of the bed, his uneasiness growing by the second. Why was she so quiet? His mother always snored when she was on her back like this. He used to tease her about it, tell her that he’d once heard the exact same sound on a wildlife documentary.
Rick’s heart thudded so hard he jumped. His eyes slid off his mother’s face, down the arm that was flung out across his father’s side of the bed and came to rest on a packet in her hand. On the bedspread beside the hand lay five blister packs. Each one had held ten tablets. All were empty.
His mother wasn’t sleeping.
She was dead
.
He should try to revive her, try to do something, but he couldn’t bear to touch her cold, clammy skin. He turned and ran blindly from the room, rebounded off the doorframe and stumbled into the bathroom where he threw up in the tub. How could she do this to him? She’d gone and left him, just like his father had done. A spasm caught Rick in the midsection and he retched again.
When he was done he balled his fist and pounded the wall beside the medicine cabinet until the plaster cracked and his knuckles bled. It was too late to save her, but he had to do something. Then he had to get out of here.
He crashed into the lounge room, kicking and hitting anything in his way, searching for the phone through a veil of tears. Strange hitching sounds came from deep in his throat and he couldn’t stop them. He swiped at his burning eyes and picked up the cordless phone on the side table. With trembling fingers he stabbed at the emergency number.
‘H-hello? I-it’s my mother. P-please –’
‘Which service do you require?’
‘Geez. Any – all of ’em. I don’t c-care. Just get someone. P-please.’ Rick’s hand shook so badly the phone beat a tattoo against his ear.
‘If you’ll just stay calm I will –’
‘SHE’S DEAD! DO YOU HEAR ME? SHE’S FRIGGIN’ DEAD! SHE’S DEAD. SHE’S DEAD!’
Music.
Rick’s head snapped around.
Half a pound of tuppenny rice; half a pound of treacle; that’s the way the money goes. Pop! goes the weasel
.
His mother was dead and now the Grim Reaper had come for him – the Grim Reaper in his shiny pink ice-cream van.
‘Are you still there? You must give me your address,’
the voice on the other end of the phone line said.
A numbing calm swept over Rick and he embraced it gladly. He couldn’t face this, not now, not ever. With a thunk the phone hit the floor. Rick walked towards the door.
11
When Rick failed to show up on Thursday night as he’d said he would, Aaron feared the worst. The ice- cream man had done something to him, Aaron was sure of it.
The following day he was surprised to see Marty at school. His friend looked like he’d been thrown around the ring a few times by a two-hundred- kilogram wrestler on speed. Aaron was desperate to tell him about Rick, but he didn’t get the chance until after school. By then Aaron was wound tighter than a yo-yo.
‘Where were you at lunchtime?’ Aaron called to Marty, who was waiting by the bike compound, hunched in his chair like an old man. Aaron jogged towards him, almost colliding with a group of kids, which earned him a mouthful of abuse.
Marty threw a nervous glance over his shoulder.
‘Had to see the physiotherapist.’
Aaron stopped before him and wiped the sweat off his forehead with the back of a hand. ‘I hate to tell you this, but if you’re trying to hide from someone, that chair isn’t exactly invisible.’
‘My mother’s over there, in the car park,’ Marty said. ‘If I don’t hurry, she’ll come looking for me. I tell you, she’s driving me mad.’ He gave Aaron a lopsided grin, which did make him look slightly unhinged.
‘Did you see the police?’ Aaron asked.
‘What? No. Why?’
‘Mrs Miller said they were asking about Rick. She wanted to know if I’d seen him today.’
‘And have you?’
‘No. You?’
‘Nope.’ Marty frowned. ‘I don’t get it. Why would the cops be looking for Rick?’
Aaron readjusted his backpack and blew hair out of his eyes. ‘Come over here. I want to tell you something.’
‘Make it fast, my mum’ll spot me in a minute,’ Marty said, taking another quick look over his shoulder.
Aaron moved towards the rear of the compound where they wouldn’t be overheard. He turned to face Marty, pressing his back to the chain link. ‘Rick was supposed to come round to my place last night and he didn’t show,’ Aaron said in a low voice.
‘That’s not so unusual.’
Aaron shook his head. ‘Yeah, but he did something really stupid, which might be why the cops are looking for him.’
‘What?’
Aaron licked his lips. ‘The ice-cream man’s been going up Rick’s street every night, sometimes two or three times. Rick was really mad when he heard the creep rang you up, so he . . . he waited for him and then painted the word FREAK on his van.’
Marty let out a low whistle.
‘But the thing I don’t get is, some guy caught him and wanted to call the cops, but the ice-cream man said no. He told Rick he’d let him know when it was time to even the score.’
‘Maybe the ice-cream man only told him that to make him think he was off the hook and rang the cops anyway,’ Marty said.
Aaron frowned. ‘Yeah, I guess.’
‘You don’t sound so sure.’
‘It’s just that Rick not showing up last night and then today . . . I’ve got a bad feeling.’ Heat flooded Aaron’s face. He looked away.
‘So, you think the nut-job has done something to him?’
Aaron shrugged. ‘I don’t know. It’s possible.’ Marty looked towards the car park again. ‘Oh,
no, she’s headed this way.’ He turned back to Aaron.
‘Look, I’ll give Rick a call when I get home. Maybe he just wagged or something.’
‘But what if he didn’t?’
‘Well, we can’t do anything else right now,’ Marty said.
‘Maybe we should tell the cops,’ Aaron said. ‘If they know about the graffiti then they might listen.’
‘I say we wait till we have proof,’ Marty said. ‘If the cops do know about the graffiti, don’t you reckon they’ll think we’re making up stuff about the ice- cream man to pay him back for dobbing on Rick?’
Aaron sighed. ‘Yeah, you’re probably right.’
‘I’ll come round to your place tomorrow morning and we’ll figure something out.’ Marty turned to go.
Aaron grabbed his shoulder. ‘What’s Rick’s address? Maybe I can ride round there now and see if he’s home.’
Marty looked around. ‘Um, you can’t do that
’cause I haven’t got a clue where he lives. I’ve only got his number.’
‘Oh.’ Aaron’s shoulders slumped. ‘Well I’ll see you tomorrow then.’
‘Round ten,’ Marty called.
Aaron hung around the shop till late, serving customers and sweeping the floor, but mostly getting in his mother’s way. When it got quiet his mother went upstairs leaving him to take care of the last few people who usually dropped in for milk or cigarettes on their way home from work. Every half hour or so Aaron would wander out onto the footpath and scan the street for Rick. If the ice-cream man was involved then what had he done with him? Aaron decided there and then that he would go to the police if he hadn’t heard from Rick by tomorrow.
He moved through the shop, checking everything was in its place and then locking up. Muffled voices drifted down from upstairs. Steve’s music, not as loud as usual, pounded steadily in the background. Aaron turned off the lights and used the bluish glow cast by the row of fridges along the far wall to find the cash register. He wasn’t comfortable emptying the register of the day’s take with all the lights blazing – even though the door was locked. You never knew who might be watching from the street.
As Aaron opened the drawer, the phone rang. He stared from the phone to the open till then pushed the till closed with his hip. He leaned across the counter to turn on the answering machine but picked up the phone instead.
‘Kathy’s Korner Store. We’re closed right now, but if you –’
‘Hello, Aaron.’ Silence.
Aaron dragged his sticky tongue across his lips and swallowed. ‘I-it’s you.’
Laughter. ‘Aw, come on, Aaron, you don’t sound very happy to hear from me.’
Aaron’s mind reeled. He spun around, eyes scouring the dark street for any sign of life. He knew with eerie certainty that the psycho was watching him. Goose bumps marched up his spine.
‘What have you done with Rick?’ he hissed. More laughter. ‘Nothing – yet.’
Aaron had a sudden, horrifying thought: what if the ice-cream man was in the shop? He searched the shadows, looking up, down, left – and then his eyes fell on the answering machine. He could tape the call and take it to the police!
‘If you tell me where Rick is,’ he said, slowly pressing the record button, ‘I won’t tell the cops about you, okay?’ He held his breath, praying the psycho hadn’t heard the click.
‘No can do, buckaroo.’
Aaron gripped the edge of the counter so hard his fingers cracked. ‘Stop playing games and just tell me where he is, you weirdo, or I’m going to hang up right now and ring the police.’
Heavy breathing. ‘Now listen to me, mister, I’m the one in control here, not you. You’re nothing. Got that? NOTHING!’
‘W-where’s Rick?’
‘Ring the police and you’ll never see your little friend again.’
Aaron’s legs began to tremble. ‘Please, you can’t hurt him.’ He heard the desperation in his voice and felt sick. He had to keep it together, show the ice- cream man he wasn’t afraid.
‘I can do anything I want,’ the ice-cream man snarled into the phone.
‘If you hurt him I swear I’ll kill you!’ Aaron yelled.
The ice-cream man laughed and with a click, the line went dead.
The night dragged. Aaron spent the hours between midnight and dawn watching a trail of moonlight crawl across his bedroom floor. Visions of Rick being tortured played over and over in his head. Had he pushed the psycho over the edge? He shouldn’t have yelled at him. Negotiators never yelled at crazy people on TV. Aaron had a bad feeling the ice-cream man had completely lost the plot. Everyone knew that when someone crossed that line they were capable of anything.
By nine on Saturday morning the clouds had rolled back in again, causing the temperature to rise another couple of notches. Aaron worked in the shop until he saw Marty rolling up the path. He ran outside to meet him.
‘Man, it’s hot,’ Marty said, reaching under his chair and pulling out his water bottle.
‘Sure is. Dark, too.’ Aaron glanced up at the leaden sky. ‘It’s finally going to rain. Can you smell it?’
Marty nodded. His expression turned grave. ‘I wasn’t able to reach Rick. There’s no answer at his house.’
Aaron walked over to the wooden bench beside the doorway and sat down. ‘He rang me last night – not Rick, the ice-cream man. I think Rick’s in bad trouble.’
‘Great. This whole situation is totally screwed.’ Marty squeezed water into his mouth and swallowed.
‘What did he say?’
‘It’s not what he said, it’s what he didn’t say that worries me. You should have heard him, Marty, he went right off his nut. I got most of it on tape, so at least we’ve now got something to take to the police.’ Aaron grunted as he got to his feet. ‘I’ll go get it.’
‘I want to hear it first. There might be a clue on it,’ Marty said.
‘Like what?’
‘I dunno. Maybe a sound in the background that will tell us where he was ringing from. Maybe if we listen hard enough we’ll even hear Rick’s voice.’
‘I don’t know about that, but at least now the police will take us seriously.’
Aaron ducked his head through the doorway.
‘Marty’s here, Mum. We’ll be upstairs if you want me.’ He led Marty through the gate at the side of the shop and around to the stairs. ‘Er, maybe you’d better not climb the stairs with that knee. I can get the tape and we can play it at your house if you like.’
A flicker of annoyance crossed Marty’s face. He gripped the rail and pulled himself out of the wheelchair. ‘I’m fine,’ he said, wincing as his foot hit the first step.
When Marty reached the top, Aaron brought the chair up. ‘Go through,’ he said, dropping Marty’s chair in the doorway. ‘There’s a machine over there we can play the tape on.’
Aaron did a quick check of the house to make sure his step-brother wasn’t lurking anywhere. Roger had taken Bernie to the races, so there was no need to worry about them listening in. He collected the tape from his room and hurried back to the lounge room.
Marty listened to it twice, his face screwed into a mask of concentration that bordered on constipation. Then he asked Aaron to play it back one more time. His head jerked up. ‘Geez. I can’t believe I missed it.’
‘Huh?’ Aaron glanced from Marty to the answering machine. He reckoned he could recite the conversation word for word by now. There was nothing there.
Marty pulled the machine towards him and rewound the tape. ‘Listen.’
‘No can do, buckaroo.’
‘Stop playing games and just tell me where he is you weirdo, or I’m going to hang up right now and ring the police.’
‘Now listen to me, mister, I’m the one in control here, not you. You’re nothing. Got that?
NOTHING
!’
Marty hit the stop button. Aaron frowned. ‘So?’
‘Didn’t you hear it? He said: “No can do, buckaroo” and then he called you “mister”. There’s only one person I know who says stuff like that – Mr Gunner. The day Rick and I had detention he used both those words.’
‘But that doesn’t make sense. We’ve seen the ice- cream man and it isn’t Mr Gunner.’
Marty considered this. ‘Ye-eah, but that doesn’t mean the guy on the phone is the same man, does it? He never actually called himself the ice-cream man. He said he was the Grim Reaper.’
‘So, you’re saying we don’t have one psycho after us, but two? What are the odds of that?’
‘Maybe . . . Oh geez, I don’t know. This is all too weird.’ Marty said.
Aaron shook his head. ‘Nah, Mr Gunner can’t be involved. That’s ridiculous.’ Aaron didn’t know Mr Gunner that well, but the relief teacher seemed okay, certainly not the type to make threatening phone calls and kidnap kids.
Marty sighed. ‘Look, I don’t know what’s going on here, but the more I think about it the more I reckon that voice on the tape sounds just like Gunner.’
‘Okay, we’ll take the tape to the police and let them figure it out.’ Aaron took the tape out of the machine and pocketed it.
‘How about we look up Gunner’s number in the phone book and give him a call? That way I’ll know for sure if it’s his voice on the tape,’ Marty said.
‘He’s only been at the school a month. Would his name be in there?’
Marty shrugged. ‘It’ll only take a sec. It’s worth a try, isn’t it?’
Aaron crossed the room and grabbed the phone book. It only took a few seconds to see there wasn’t a listing for Gunner.
‘We’re out of luck,’ Aaron said, slapping the book shut.
Marty held up a hand. ‘Hang on, I just remembered something. I saw Gunner leaving school the other day. He walked past me towards Turner Street. What’s the bet he lives down there?’
‘Good, we can tell the police.’ Aaron picked up the phone.
‘Hang on, why don’t we walk to the police station? They’re only gonna tell us to come down anyway. And on the way there we can take a little detour.’ Marty gave Aaron a grin. ‘Come on, mate. Maybe we’ll be able to rule Gunner out and that’ll save the cops some time, won’t it?’
‘Are you kidding? What if Mr Gunner is involved? He could be dangerous.’
‘All the more reason to get there soon. Rick might need us and by the time we explain everything to the cops and they get round to his house, it might be too late.’
Aaron licked his lips. ‘Yeah, yeah, all right. Let’s go.’