The Caretaker of Lorne Field

“For being such a kiss-ass. Oh, daddy, please let me do it instead of Lester.” He clenched his fist tigher, muttered “asshole” under his breath.

“You better not hit me again.”

“Oh, no?” Lester raised his fist to deliver another blow but Bert stood his ground. “You better not,” Bert said, his voice changing to something threatening enough to stop Lester from following through with his punch. “I lied to Dad downstairs. I know you were one of the boys who threw tomatoes at him. You, Tony Morelli, Sam Parsons and Carl Ashworth.”

“Bullshit.” Lester’s color paled. He edged closer to his brother, his mouth pushed into a tiny circle and a sour breath came out of him. “Whoever told you that is full of shit.”

“Nope.” Bert shook his head. “I know it for a fact. Why’d you want to throw tomatoes at Dad?”

Lester’s eyes shifted away from Bert. He shook his head. He couldn’t articulate to his brother the frustration and humiliation that drove him to do what he did.

“You don’t want to tell me, don’t,” Bert said. “But you better be nice to me ’cause I know what will happen if Dad finds out what you did. I know because I snuck down to the basement this afternoon and read his contract. Want to know what will happen to you?”

Bert made a fist with his left hand and yanked it up while his head drooped towards his right shoulder, all the while his eyes bulging in a lifeless stare and his tongue pushing out of his mouth. He held that pose for a few seconds, then broke out laughing.

A red blush replaced the dead whiteness in Lester’s cheeks. “You’re making that up,” he said.

“Nope. According to Dad’s contract you’re supposed to be publicly hanged for what you did.”

Lester stood silently for a long ten-count. He edged several inches closer to his brother. “You’re lying. I don’t believe you know where his contract’s hidden.”

Bert shrugged and showed his boyish grin. “Don’t believe me,” he said. “But you better start being nice to me. Else I’m telling Dad.”

“You do and you’re dead.”

“No, not me,” Bert said with the utmost sincerity. “But you will be. Hung by the neck.” He again acted out being hung, then punched Lester as hard as he could in the shoulder.

Chapter 5

Jack Durkin wiped his brow, squinting towards Lorne Woods. Lester should’ve been at the field an hour ago. Durkin had already finished one pass of his weeding and was a third of the way into his second pass. How long does it frickin’ take to pick up a pair of work boots and gloves and ride your bike three miles? Can’t the boy be counted on for nothin’?

As he peered towards the woods and searched for any sign of his son, Durkin felt a sharp pain slice through his groin-almost as if someone had stuck a hand inside him and grabbed his guts and squeezed. The pain immobilized him. Sweat poured from his face, and he knew it was far more from nervousness than the heat and humidity-and he had a damn good reason for being nervous. In a corner of the field he had let an Aukowie grow to almost a foot in height. It was a violation of the Caretaker’s contract to purposely let that happen, but he couldn’t help it-he needed one that big so he could prove that these things weren’t weeds.

The pain cutting through his groin subsided and his stomach muscles unclenched to the point where he could breathe normally again. He looked over his shoulder and stared at the foot-high Aukowie and knew it was staring right back. At that size he could make out its face clearly. Others might confuse it for leaves and branches and thorns, but to him there was no mistaking its narrow slanted eyes and evilly grinning mouth. Those so-called thorns were sharp enough to cut a man’s hand off, and they’d get a lot sharper before the thing was done growing.