Watching him, I could almost taste the things. Pretty soon, I said, *He owes us, you know.'

*Huh?'

*For all the c.r.a.p he put us through.'

*d.a.m.n right.'

*Besides, he ate our potato chips.'

*Sure did.'

I took the other package from Jim, gave him the bottle back, tore off the cellophane and started eating. I was about halfway through my first Twinkie when Jim took a drink of the wine.

He sighed. *Good stuff.'

He pa.s.sed the bottle to me. I had a couple of swallows. It made my mouth pucker. When it hit my stomach, it seemed to turn into fire. *Thlightly impertinent,' I said.

That got a big laugh out of Jim.

We walked along, taking slugs of wine and bites of Twinkie, swinging the bottle out of sight every time a car approached from either the front or the rear. Once we got away from Jefferson, there were a lot fewer cars. By then, the Twinkies were gone and the bottle was almost half empty. I was feeling pretty great.

*Let's save the rest,' Jim said.

*What for?'

*For us, stupid.'

We yucked it up.

After calming down, Jim said, *Hey, we don't wanta get polluted.'

*Speak for yourself.'

*Where's the cork?' I gave it to him, and he squeezed it into the bottle's neck. *We'll save it for the return trip.'

That sounded like a fine idea.

He carried it the rest of the way to Cyndi's house.

Except for a lamp at the end of the driveway, Cyndi's house was dark. Not even the porch light was on.

*What gives?' Jim asked.

*I don't know.'

*This is her house, isn't it?'

*Sure.'

We'd both been there before. Three times, we'd followed her home after school, first to find out where she lived, then later just because we liked to watch her walk, books clutched to her chest, hair golden in the sunlight, skirt swinging.

*Sure looks like her house,' Jim muttered.

*That's because it is.'

*Maybe they're around back.'

So we hurried across the frontyard and made our way alongside the house. The windows there were dark. So were those in the rear, and those along the other side. I was shaking pretty badly the whole time, scared of getting caught, thrilled by our search for the girls. I could see why a guy like George might get a kick out of sneaking around like that. It was a real charge. But the charge died when we got to the street.

*Well, s.h.i.t,' Jim said.

*We must've gotten here too late.'

*Thanks to George, the little s.h.i.t.'

*d.a.m.n it!'

*This is the right house, right?' Jim asked.

*Of course it'sa hey! Maybe we've got the wrong night! Maybe it's tomorrow night. All we did was guess, remember?'

*Yeah! Bet it is tomorrow night.'

*All right! So no big deal. We'll come back.'

We turned away from Cyndi's house, and started walking. *Tomorrow,' Jim said, *we won't have to waste time fooling around with George. He won't come anywhere near us from now on.'

*Right. And we'll get away earlier. Mom and Dad are going out. They won't be getting home till really late.'

*Man!'

*We can leave at like ten or something!'

*Fantastic!This calls for a drink!'

We pa.s.sed the bottle back and forth a couple of times. We probably would've polished it off and gotten ourselves really smashed, except the bottle got smashed first. Jim stumbled on a raised section of sidewalk. He went lurching forward and the bottle flew. It exploded on the sidewalk in front of us.

Scared that somebody might've heard the noise, we ran two blocks and didn't stop till we reached Jefferson.

When the guard rails of the bridge came into sight, my stomach went kind of cold. The last thing I wanted to do was go down to the underpa.s.s.

*Wonder how Georgie-porgie's doing,' Jim said.

*I guess we'll have to find out.'

*I bet he's already home.'

*Yeah,' I said. *I hope so.'

*I just hope he's learned his lesson. It'd sure be a pain if we had to go through this again tomorrow night.'

*When he sees us coming from now on,' I said, *he's gonna run the other way.'

"Less he liked it down there.'

*n.o.body could like it down there.'

*I don't know. He's a pretty weird kid.'

*No kid's that weird. It's too d.a.m.n creepy.'

Jim laughed. *Hope he c.r.a.pped his pants, the little s.h.i.t.'

At the other side of the bridge, we ducked into the trees and started down the slope. I only looked once at the underpa.s.s. The idea of George being tied up in that dark, awful place made me feel kind of sick.

Jim and I both fell on our cans a few times before we got to the bottom of the slope. The wine might've had something to do with that.

Finally, we got to the tracks.

We walked between the rails, our flashlights off. With every step, I felt shakier. I told myself that George probably had gotten loose and run home. We wouldn't need to go under there, at all, just shine our lights in, make sure he was gone, and leave.

He'd probably left my rope behind. It could stay right where it was. I sure didn't need the rope badly enough to go in after it.

Just where the tracks disappeared into the darkness, we stopped and turned on our flashlights. The shiny rails gleamed. About twenty feet ahead, the rail on the left was draped with rope.

My rope. It had to be.

George had worked himself loose.

Now, we could go home.

Jim's flashlight swung away from the rail, away from the rope, off to the side where we'd left George.

Just as I'd expected, George wasn't there.

But he wasn't gone.

Jim's light found him a couple of yards closer to the wall.

We both gasped. I felt like I'd been kicked in the belly.

We ran toward George, our beams jerking all around as we tried to spot who'd done it to him. We saw no one.

We stopped by his body but didn't look down at him. Darted our lights everywhere else. We were both panting, even though we hadn't run very far. Jim made these weird whiny sounds every time he sucked in a breath.

*See anyone?' I asked.

*Huh-uh.'

*Maybea they're gone.'

I swept my light across the center supports. Four broad, concrete walls. A crazy or two or three might've been lurking behind every one of them. I knew one of us should go to the other side for a look. I didn't have the guts to do it, though.

*Let'sa get,' Jim whimpered.

*Can't leave him.'

We shined our flashlights down at George. He lay sprawled on his back, his shirt wide open, his boxer shorts and Bermudas hanging off one foot. He was b.l.o.o.d.y all the way down to his knees.

*What'd theya do to him?'

I shook my head.

George's eyes were shut. One was swollen so it looked like a hardboiled egg with a slit across it. I'd seen a boxer on TV one time who had an eye like that after going eleven rounds with the heavyweight champ.

George's neck was shiny red, but I didn't see any wounds on it.

He was so fat and dumpy that he actually had t.i.ts. I thought about how the other guys probably gave him grief about them when he had to dress for gym cla.s.s. Then I thought how there wouldn't be any more gym cla.s.ses for him. Because of us.

I moved my light down his fat belly.

He looked so lonely and pitiful.

*Where'd all the blood come from?' Jim whispered. Stepping behind my back, he moved sideways past George's hips. Then he froze. The pale beam of his light slanted down between George's legs. He let out a terrible groan, staggered out of my way, whirled around and started to puke.

I pointed my flashlight at George's groin.

And knew where all the blood had come from.

Blood still trickled out of the raw open slot where his d.i.c.k should've been.

I went numb and started to sway. I thought I might pa.s.s out, and hoped I wouldn't fall on him. Then my arm got grabbed. I yelped. But it was only Jim.

I started to cry. *Looka look what we did.'

*We didn't.'

*They cut off his d.i.c.k,' I sobbed.

*No.'

*They did! Look! Didn't you see?' I pointed my light at the b.l.o.o.d.y opening.

*They didn't cut off his d.i.c.k, you dope. He never had one. George is a girl. They didn't cut off nothing. They banged her.'

*What?'