Song of the Red-Legged Birds: Chapter 26: Spies like us
What happened to Seamus?
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With gratitude, Bill
Last week, in chapter 25, Christo opened the crate from Boston
Chapter 26: Spies like us
Holly called Kyle immediately after reading the story about Seamus. It was short. Takeda heard her say, “Kyle, I... we’re so very sorry. We just saw the news.” A long pause. “No, I don’t think he’d do that either.” Her eyes widened. “Oh really, he was? Sure, please call if there’s anything we can do.” Then she patted her pockets and said, “Shit, I must have dropped my cigarettes talking to mister mysterious at The Center.”
“Did Kyle have any idea why the story said it was suicide? That seems hard to swallow for a guy like Seamus.” Takeda squinted as if trying to see the truth.
“No. He only said, ‘My brother wouldn’t do that, he had PTSD, but he wasn’t suicidal.’”
“You never know what battles a person is facing inside themselves, do you?” Takeda said while scratching at crumbs on the table.
“No. No, you don’t. There’s this though; Kyle mentioned that the police asked who he might have been out drinking with. Apparently, a bartender recognized Seamus’s photo from the news and called them. He’d had been drinking until the early morning with some random person, and they left together. The barkeep also said Seamus’ looked to be a man drinking with purpose.’ The police aren’t ruling out homicide. But they’re leaning toward ‘drunk guy fell or threw himself off a bridge.’”
With that, Holly turned away.
Takeda stared at the table for answers, arranging crumbs in a neat row.
A nearby couple cast sideways glances at them.
Triscuit licked Holly’s leg, inspiring her to talk again.
“He must have seen my missed calls and texts–if he’d only answered. Maybe, I could have helped.” She tried to hold back tears that escaped regardless. He moved closer and threw an arm around her. She pulled him in, and they held each other for a while. Their embrace turned onlookers’ attention back to their own lives.
“Poor Mrs. Emerton, It’s so sad… At least Kyle is there. I hope he’s a good guy. He seems like one, right?”
“He does, H. Do you want to stop by before we head out to our late-night meeting? Might give us a chance to change clothes and eat something too.” Triscuit made a questioning sound at eat something.
“Sure, I guess. The other thing that’s upsetting me is that I’ll never get to talk to Seamus about what we saw. Now it’s only me. It felt safer when I knew that I wasn’t alone. “I couldn’t be crazy because Seamus saw it, too,” she choked out.
“I don’t think you’re crazy.”
“You know, I’m tired of telling myself I’m not crazy. It seems like something a crazy person would say.”
“I don’t know about that. In most stories, the person who thinks they’re going crazy has been right all along.”
“Yeah, but this isn’t a story, Tak. It’s happening.”
Triscuit farted loudly and fell over.
“Now see, that isn’t believable!” Takeda laughed, Holly laughed, and Triscuit struggled to right herself.
The rain turned to a slow drizzle and stopped. The roads and sidewalks that had been empty were filling back up with people and vehicles. The National Weather Service sent an all-clear message, and they left the shop. They scanned their phones for the nearest Flyer pickup spot and paused to let Triscuit take care of her business with a scraggly tree that struggled for life through the concrete walkway.
Takeda squinted. “Hear that? It sounds like bees. Like a billion bees coming this way. What is that?”
“I hear it,“ Holly said, looking for the source of the sound.
The high-pitched screaming hum grew louder. Triscuit grumbled a question.
“Oh shit, look!” Holly pointed.
Coming over the horizon was a swarm–of mopeds. A moped gang. None of the faces in the moped swarm were ones that you wanted to fuck with. Tatted up muscled arms, helmets with Viking horns, flames shooting from tailpipes, and thrash metal echoed from mounted speakers painted with the face of the devil. Well-heeled, heavily made-up hangers-on with tight leather pants clung to the backs of some hell riders on the tiny screaming machines. They furiously buzzed past Takeda and Holly, some snarling at them for effect and others cackling with joy. It wasn’t possible that this many mopeds existed, but there they were.
And then there was the last rider, separated from the formation as if securing the rear from attack. He flew a tattered hot pink flag affixed to a pole that bent in the breeze. A screaming black skull was emblazoned on the bright background. The bike’s color matched the flag and the many skulls that covered it. The rider sported chunky bomber-style goggles and massive arms tattooed with thick black letters that said, ‘I’M GAY.’
Holly recognized him as he passed. “HEY! HEYYYY!” She screamed, running out into the road after him, but the herd drowned out her voice. She saw him turn his head momentarily as if something caught his attention, and then he focused on the road. The pack’s sound receded and faded, music echoing against the buildings, the smell of gasoline mixed with oil lingering in the warm damp air of the city.
Holly walked back to Takeda, smiling, and punched him in the shoulder.
“What’s that for?”
She pointed at the receding pink-skulled warrior.
“That was him? Hell, I’d get a tattoo if he told me to!” he laughed.
“I’m happy that you got to see at least one of my odd things,” she beamed.
Next week in Chapter 27, “Gearing up,” Holly and Takeda take a meeting across town