Billy and the Bearman. David A. Poulsen

occasional spot of light from a distant farmhouse.

      Billy hadn’t spoken since they’d left the camp. He didn’t want to disturb Bearman’s concentration. But mostly, he was afraid. Thoughts piled up on top of each other as he listened to the pick-up’s tires crunch over the gravel road, carrying them closer to a place Billy didn’t want to go.

      What was he doing here? He’d never done anything illegal in his life. He’d never even been able to bring himself to snitch a package of baseball cards or a black licorice pipe like some of the other kids regularly did.

      He wished he wasn’t the way he was — wimpy about stuff like that. But he couldn’t seem to help it. He felt guilty when he swore, though he didn’t do it often. He’d never before played hooky from school, even though it was another common practice of some of his friends. And he didn’t steal.

      It wasn’t because he was religious; he wasn’t. He hadn’t been to church in the seven years since his father had died. At least, not that he could remember. And Billy doubted that the way he’d been brought up had much to do with it. His stepfather certainly wasn’t what people would call a “good man” and his mother, dominated by his stepfather, was pretty much in the background when it came to the raising of her children.

      So Billy couldn’t explain it, but he just didn’t feel good about doing things that he considered wrong. Yet here he was about to rip off — that was the term Bearman had used — things that belonged to someone else. Billy hadn’t really accepted the argument that it was okay because what they were taking was partially Bearman’s anyway. It was stealing, plain and simple.

      And if all that wasn’t enough, what about the violent behaviour of the man they were going to steal from? Even though Bearman had assured him that his “old man” would be too drunk to do much more than stumble around and swear if he did catch them, Billy wasn’t convinced.

      Besides, if Bearman was so sure it would be that easy, why were they scuttling around the countryside without headlights and behaving like coyotes moving in for a chicken house raid? Billy didn’t have any more time to think about it as Bearman found what he was looking for and suddenly cranked the steering wheel to the right and pulled into what appeared to be an approach.

      “We’re here,” he said as he killed the engine.

      Billy stared at the wall of darkness that surrounded them.

      “We’re in luck,” Bearman said as he opened the driver’s side door and climbed out of the truck. “There’s a cloud cover and that means no moon and no stars.”

      “Yeah,” Billy murmured as he slid across the seat and scrambled out Bearman’s door. It was quieter to use only one.

      When they were both out of the pick-up, Bearman gently closed the door and flicked on a flashlight. “Come on,” he instructed, heading off down what looked like it may have once been a path or maybe an animal trail.

      For a few seconds Billy followed, then stopped as Bearman held up his hand. Billy could make out the shadow of a large woodpile beside them.

      Bearman handed him the flashlight and leaned close. “The house is over there through the trees,” he whispered and pointed. “There’s a shed out back. That’s where the tools are. I’ll go for them. You start loading these two-by-fours and I’ll be back in a few minutes to help you with the bigger stuff.”

      Billy intended to say something, although he wasn’t sure what, but it didn’t matter as Bearman had already disappeared into the darkness.

      Billy focused the beam of the flashlight on the stack of wood. “Terrific!” he hissed to himself. “Just what I always wanted to do. Spend a few years in reform school for lumber theft. Billy Gavin, Young Offender. Perfect.”

      He began by taking a couple of two-by-fours. The sound of his own voice had calmed him a little, so he spoke again.

      “Nothing to worry about,” he whispered. “Everything is going to be fine. Besides, what could be better than stumbling around the woods in the dark every night?”

      It seemed that time had slowed almost to a complete stop. When Billy finished loading all the two-by-fours, it felt as if Bearman had been gone an hour or more though that could hardly be true. Twice he rearranged the lumber in the back of the truck and still Bearman did not appear.

      At last, there was a rustling sound in the trees. Finally. But what if it wasn’t Bearman? What if it was his father?

      Billy flicked off the flashlight and crouched down behind the lumber pile. The sound was definitely that of someone approaching. He strained his eyes to see some sign of movement in the darkness.

      “Turn that damn light on!” a voice suddenly hissed from almost beside him. “How am I supposed to see anything?”

      It was Bearman. Billy who had been holding his breath, exhaled at last and turned the flashlight back on. Bearman stood in front of him, flushed and grinning in the glow of the flashlight’s beam.

      “I got ’em!” He triumphantly held up a large wooden tool kit. “I’ll put these in the truck, then I’ll give you a hand.”

      Bearman returned quickly this time and the business of loading the truck went along smoothly. First they stacked several sheets of plywood on top of the two-by-fours; then more boards, two-by-sixes this time, were placed along one side. Finally Bearman pointed to a stack of cedar slabs which they loaded in last. “Perfect for siding,” he told Billy.

      At last they were done.

      “Let’s get out of here,” Billy whispered.

      “No sweat!” Bearman didn’t bother to keep his voice low. “Just like I told you, a piece of cake.”

      Billy eased the driver’s side door open and climbed quietly into the pick-up. Bearman didn’t get in right away, pausing to roll a cigarette. He was leaning against the side of the truck. Billy could see only a silhouette as Bearman’s shape blended with the darkness.

      “How’s this?” he heard Bearman say. “Not only can I roll this baby with one hand, the way the old-timers used to, but I can do it in the dark.”

      “Nice. Great, in fact. But couldn’t you do that a little later? Why don’t we get going?”

      “I could even teach you to roll ’em, if you like.”

      Billy knew Bearman was showing off, proving he wasn’t scared. “Please?” He tried not to let his voice sound too much like he was begging.

      Bearman lit his cigarette and shook the match out. “Okay, Kid, I’m ready to go.”

      He climbed in and closed the door of the pick-up and took a couple of drags on the cigarette before turning the key. “You worry too much.”

      “Yeah.”