Flowering Judas

1

The first person to see the body hanging from the billboard on Mattatuck Avenue was Haydee Michaelman, and she wasn’t paying attention.

“It only stands to reason,” Haydee was saying to her friend Desiree, as the two of them stood by the side of the road, waiting to cross.

It was a hot night at the end of August, and the traffic on Mattatuck was insane. Later, Haydee would wonder why everybody had managed to miss that thing up there. She wouldn’t wonder for long. It was “The Billboard,” after all. It was that big sign asking if you’d seen Chester Ray Morton. It had been up there for twelve years. Nobody looked at it twice anymore.

Haydee’s backpack was heavy with books, and she had been walking. She and Desiree walked out here three times a week to save the bus fare. Then they took the bus back home, because Desiree didn’t like to walk in the dark. Haydee thought she was an idiot.

You were not supposed to cross Mattatuck Avenue right here. There was a crosswalk about three hundred feet down the road. The problem was that the crosswalk was nowhere near the entrance to Mattatuck–Harvey Community College, and it was another five hundred feet from the entrance to any of the actual buildings. Haydee wanted a car of her own. Lots of the other students had cars. Some of them had really impressive cars. Some of them even had trucks.

“The yard was dug up all around the place this morning,” Haydee said, “and then it was dug up over near the garbage shed. With a shovel. I know what digging with a shovel looks like.”

“I’m not saying you don’t,” Desiree said. “I’m saying it doesn’t necessarily have to be. Have to be Mike, I mean. I mean, I know you don’t like him, but—”

“It’s not that I don’t like him,” Haydee said. “It’s that he’s a prick, that’s what it is. Don’t ask me what my mother thinks she’s doing. Don’t ever ask me that. But he knows I’ve got it stashed someplace. He knows.”

“I’m sure he knows,” Desiree said.

“At least he doesn’t grab at me,” Haydee said. “That was the last one. Asshole. But Mike knows I’ve got it stashed, and he’s not going to pretend he doesn’t want to steal it. He stole it the last time.”

“I know he did,” Desiree said. She sounded a little desperate. “I know he did, but—”

“There aren’t any buts,” Haydee said. “Twelve hundred dollars I had that time. I was supposed to buy a car with it. Now what are we doing? We’re standing here waiting for the frigging traffic to thin out, and we’re probably going to be late for English class, and you know what that’s going to do. She’s going to give us that look when we walk in that says, well … whatever it says.”

“I don’t think she’s so bad,” Desiree said. “I just wish she’d be, you know. Stricter. Like high school. I get work done faster when they’re stricter.”

“It isn’t high school,” Haydee said.

Just then, a car went by with three boys in it. It was one of those fancy-ass small Jeeps, and Haydee knew all three of the boys in it. They were in the same English class she was going to. They were probably on their way there. Or maybe not. People with cars like that didn’t always come to class.

Of course, people without cars, people from the place Haydee was from herself—they didn’t always come to class, either. Haydee looked over at Desiree. Desiree was wearing cropped Lycra pants that hugged her big thighs and and a flowing, sparkly T-shirt that looked wrinkled all along the back. She was also wearing high heels. Haydee had given up wearing high heels the second week of the semester. They hurt her feet when she walked here.

“Anyway,” Haydee said. If anything, the traffic seemed to be getting worse. “I know he’s looking for it, and he knows I know he’s looking for it. I’ve got it someplace he won’t think of, because he doesn’t think. You’ve got to give it to Mike. Every time he goes to jail, it’s for a crime of opportunity.”

“What’s a crime of opportunity?”

“When people steal stuff because it’s just lying around. You know, when people leave their keys in the car or their purses on the picnic table when they go off to chase their kid, or something like that. Did I tell you he was in jail again last week?”

“I know he was in jail,” Desiree said. “The police came and arrested him in front of everybody. I thought that was a domestic disturbance, though.”

“Nah. He shoplifted enough beer to make a Budweiser river right in front of the cashier at the Quik-Go, and when does that make sense? He’s in and out of the place half the week. It’s not that they wouldn’t know who he was. And there was a tape. I mean, for God’s sake, the man is an idiot. And a prick. And he’s not going to steal my money this time. I’ve got a plan.”