happy. With him was Harry Doolin, who would not be able to sit in an uncushioned seat for a week or more, and his mother, Mary Doolin. Harry mounted the porch steps like an old man, with his hands planted in the small of his back.
When Liz opened the front door, Bobby was by her side. Mary Doolin pointed at him and cried: ‘That’s him, that’s the boy who beat up my Harry! Arrest him! Do your duty!’
‘What’s this about, George?’ Liz asked.
For a moment Officer Raymer didn’t reply. He looked from Bobby (five feet four inches tall, ninety-seven pounds) to Harry (six feet one inch tall, one hundred and seventy-five pounds), instead. His large moist eyes were doubtful.
Harry Doolin was stupid, but not so stupid he couldn’t read that look. ‘He snuck up on me.
Got me from behind.’
Raymer bent down to Bobby with his chapped, red-knuckled hands on the shiny knees of his uniform pants. ‘Harry Doolin here claims you beat im up in the park whilst he was on his way home from work.’ Raymer pronounced work as rurrk. Bobby never forgot that. ‘Says you hid and then lumped im up widda ballbat before he could even turn around. What do you say, laddie? Is he telling the truth?’
Bobby, not stupid at all, had already considered this scene. He wished he could have told Harry in the park that paid was paid and done was done, that if Harry tattled to anyone about Bobby beating him up, then Bobby would tattle right back — would tell about Harry and his friends hurting Carol, which would look much worse. The trouble with that was that Harry’s friends would deny it; it would be Carol’s word against Harry’s, Richie’s, and Willie’s. So Bobby had walked away without saying anything, hoping that Harry’s humiliation — beat up by a little kid half his size — would keep his mouth shut. It hadn’t, and looking at Mrs Doolin’s narrow face, pinched paintless lips, and furious eyes, Bobby knew why. She had gotten it out of him, that was all. Nagged it out of him, more than likely.
‘I never touched him,’ Bobby told Raymer, and met Raymer’s gaze firmly with his own as he said it.
Mary Doolin gasped, shocked. Even Harry, to whom lying must have been a way of life by the age of sixteen, looked surprised.
‘Oh, the straight-out bare-facedness of it!’ Mrs Doolin cried. ‘You let me talk to him, Officer! I’ll get the truth out of him, see if I don’t!’
She started forward. Raymer swept her back with one hand, not rising or even taking his eyes from Bobby.
‘Now, lad — why would a galoot the size of Harry Doolin say such a thing about a shrimp the size of you if it wasn’t true?’
‘Don’t you be calling my boy a galoot!’ Mrs Doolin shrilled. ‘Ain’t it enough he’s been beat within an inch of his life by this coward? Why — ‘
‘Shut up,’ Bobby’s mom said. It was the first time she’d spoken since asking Officer Raymer what this was about, and her voice was deadly quiet. ‘Let him answer the question.’
‘He’s still mad at me from last winter, that’s why,’ Bobby told Raymer. ‘He and some other big kids from St Gabe’s chased me down the hill. Harry slipped on the ice and fell down and got all wet. He said he’d get me. I guess he thinks this is a good way to do it.’
‘You liar!’ Harry shouted. ‘That wasn’t me who chased you, that was Billy Donahue! That
— ‘
He stopped, looked around. He’d put his foot in it somehow; a dim appreciation of the fact was dawning on his face.
‘It wasn’t me,’ Bobby said. He spoke quietly, holding Raymer’s eyes. ‘If I tried to beat up a kid his size, he’d total me.’
‘Liars go to hell!’ Mary Doolin shouted.
‘Where were you around three-thirty this afternoon, Bobby?’ Raymer asked. ‘Can you
answer me that?’
‘Here,’ Bobby said.
‘Miz Garfield?’
‘Oh yes,’ she said calmly. ‘Right here with me all afternoon. I washed the kitchen floor and Bobby cleaned the baseboards. We’re getting ready to move, and I want the place to look nice when we do. Bobby complained a little — as boys will do — but he did his chore. And afterward we had iced tea.’