Free Mason by Thomas Pendleton

and checked himself in the mirror. His shirt had a few small drops of blood on it. Hardly noticeable. He searched his face and neck but found them clean. Gene looked at the gloves. They were a mess. Small trickles of crimson veined the ghostly pale latex. He would take them off outside and burn them when he got home. He’d burn all of his clothes. Even the shoes.
    Footprints?
    Gene hurried back to the bedroom and eased his way inside, checked the floor for any telltale marks. But he’d gotten lucky. Very lucky.
    â€œAm I supposed to get away with this?” he wondered aloud.
    He spent another five minutes in the house, thinking and looking. He tried to remember every cop show he’d ever seen to make sure he left no clues for the authorities. It would be days before anyone noticed a punk like Dusty was missing. It could be weeks before anyone found the body.
    Just a bad drug deal, the police would think. They probably wouldn’t spend more than a week checking into it.
    Gene walked through Dusty’s living room. Hecarefully turned off the sound system and the overhead light. A lamp still burned in the corner. He’d leave that on so the place looked inhabited.
    At the door, he did a final mental check and considered himself free and clear. The thrill of swinging the bat returned to him in a high electric wave.
    The back door , his mind told him. Go out the back. Slip through the yards .
    â€œYes. Excellent.”
    But when Gene reached the back door and the window beside it, he saw the error of this plan. No fences separated Dusty’s house from his neighbors’. A group of rednecks in trucker caps and jeans were having a cookout in the backyard of one of the houses. Gene looked at them angrily as if they’d planned their party to ruin his night. They were probably the only people in town who hadn’t gone to the carnival. Bastards. The minute Gene opened the door, all heads would turn his direction. It would look suspicious, even to those Neanderthals.
    Gene returned to the front of the house. He took a deep breath and opened the door. He walked out onto the porch casually as if just leaving from a friendly visit. He even waved at the opening as if saying good-bye before pulling the door closed behind him.
    Perfect. Just visiting.
    He turned to the street and stopped.
    There, on the sidewalk, in front of the house on his left, was Rene Denton, his retard brother’s little friend. She was walking alone and had barely paused, but she’d looked at the house. Had she seen him? Were the shadows of the porch enough to shield his identity?
    Gene didn’t know. But he wasn’t going to take any chances.

9
Still Life
    Rene Denton was uneasy because she was embarrassed. Yesterday she’d invited Mason out for ice cream to make him feel better, and she’d kept her word, but now, sitting across the table from him at Frank’s Grill, she hoped no one from school saw her. Especially Cassie.
    And of course she felt bad for thinking such a thing.
    Frank’s was busy as usual. Strangers—folks from other parishes who were in town for the carnival—occupied most of the chrome stools and the booths with their red vinyl upholstery.
    â€œThis is really good,” Mason said, driving his spoon into the mushy ice cream.
    â€œI’m glad you like it.”
    â€œThank you.”
    â€œYou’re welcome,” Rene said. She noticed a fat globof strawberry ice cream on the corner of his mouth. She reached out with her napkin and wiped it away.
    Mason’s cheeks turned bright red. He pulled back and scrubbed his face dramatically with his own napkin.
    â€œI think I got it.”
    â€œThank you,” he repeated.
    â€œAre you going back to the carnival tonight?” Rene asked. “Maybe Molly will take you out.”
    Mason looked worried. He shook his head and shoveled more ice cream into his mouth.
    â€œI’ll bet that nasty woman won’t be