Hell's Nerds and Other Tales Read online

  “Dougie!” they all cried, and leapt out of their seats.

  Herb looked up the stairs and there was Dougie, all 400-plus pounds of him, both sides touching the stairway walls, his face nearly as red as his hair from the simple exertion of standing upright.

  “Hail, fellows!” he called down as he took the stairs slowly, carefully, putting both feet on each one before moving on to the next. He reached the basement floor and exhaled so hard his lips flapped.

  “Too many . . . stairs,” he wheezed, but his face broke into a wide grin as he reached out and hugged everyone in turn.

  “So glad you could make it, Dougie,” Herb said. “It’s been way too long.”

  “Indeed it has,” said Dougie, looking around the basement. “And I’ve missed you all. Well, except Willie.”

  “Oh Margaret Thatcher’s left tit, not this again!” Willie cried.

  “When a young man, i.e. me, invites his closest friends over to wish him farewell as he is forced to attend a different junior high because of his ZIP code, and one of those friends, i.e. Willie, eats the last pudding pop in the house, it leaves an indelible mark on the soul which will color the relationship between those two boys through adulthood and beyond.”

  “Okay, it’s been thirty years since that happened,” Willie said, “but if it’ll shut you up about it, I’ll buy you a goddamned pudding pop.”

  “Deal,” Dougie said, smiling. “Now, gentlemen, if you would be so kind as to fetch me my throne?”

  BooBoo and Norbert hoisted the old plaid sofa from the far wall, carrying it across the room and placing it next to the table. As Dougie settled his massive girth into it, the others reshuffled their chairs so everyone could fit.

  “So Dougie,” Herb said excitedly. “You’ve got a quest for us?”

  “I hope it’s better than Herb’s Black Cauldron quest,” BooBoo said. “It stinks.”

  “Hey!” Herb cried.

  “My friends,” Dougie said dramatically, “the quest I have conjured for you tonight is, I assure you, unlike anything you have ever experienced before. In all our years of role-playing games, this is the ultimate experience.”

  “Whoa,” said Norbert softly.

  “But I warn you!” Dougie said, holding up a fat finger. “It is intense. It is extreme. It is not for the faint of heart. No one will think any less of you if you choose not to participate. But I need to know, here and now, before we begin . . . are you in or out? And know that if you are in, you are in until the end.”

  “In,” said Herb immediately.

  “In,” said Norbert.

  “In,” Willie said.

  “What are we doing?” BooBoo asked.

  “He’s in,” Herb said.

  “Very well,” Dougie said, unpacking his dungeonmaster equipment from his backpack. “Let us begin.”

  The ancient cuckoo clock over the disused fireplace chimed midnight. With no windows or doors to give them any indication of the outside world, it was the only way the group had of knowing that they had crossed over from Saturday night to Sunday morning. And still they played on.

  The lockbox containing their cell phones vibrated. The men paused and cocked their heads to listen. Faintly, the theme music from Game of Thrones could be heard.

  “That’s me,” said Herb, raising his hand. “I request of the council that I be allowed to pause the game to answer it.”

  “Denied,” said Willie.

  “Denied,” said BooBoo.

  “Denied,” said Norbert.

  “But,” Herb began to protest, but stopped himself. “Okay. All right. The council’s decision in these matters is final and binding. Let it go to voicemail.”

  An hour later, Herb had just finished making a list of notes on his character sheet when there was a pounding coming from upstairs. The men all looked at the staircase leading up from the basement.

  “Is that someone at the door?” Willie asked.

  “It can’t be,” Herb said. “What time is it?”

  He squinted at the cuckoo clock. The hands stood at 1:15.

  “Maybe it’s those Harrington kids, screwing around again,” Norbert offered up. “They rang my doorbell at three in the morning last week. Nearly gave me a heart attack.”

  They heard the pounding again, more strident this time, and all eyes turned to Herb.

  “Well, I guess there’s only one way to find out,” Herb said. “Gentlemen, if you’ll excuse me for a moment?”

  Herb rose from the table as the others yawned and stretched. He ascended the stairs and into the small kitchen, his eyes fixed on the back door. The porch light was on, and Herb could see two silhouettes framed in the roll-up curtain.

  He crossed to the door, and just before he opened it, he called out, “Who is it?”

  A deep voice called back. “Bellmoral police.”

  Herb opened the door slowly and saw two officers standing in the doorway. The one on the left was an older gentleman, heavyset, with a silver crew cut and a flushed complexion. His partner was an unusually tall Hispanic woman with piercing, light brown eyes. Both officers were holding their hats in their hands.

  “Herb Dunkelberger?” the male officer asked.

  “Y-yes,” Herb answered. “What can I do for you?”

  Herb was dimly aware that Willie, Norbert, and BooBoo had come up from the basement and were standing in the kitchen.

  “Herb?” Willie asked. “What’s going on?”

  “I don’t know,” Herb said over his shoulder.

  “My name is Officer Steinway. This is Officer Shaw. May we come in?” the officer asked. Herb nodded, and the two officers crossed the threshold and entered the kitchen.

  The female officer withdrew a notebook from her jacket pocket and consulted it. “Sir, are you the husband of Katherine Dunkelberger?”

  “Yes,” Herb said.

  “And the father of Emma Dunkelberger?”

  “Yes.”

  The female officer closed the notebook and turned to her partner. The officer looked down at the floor, and then right into Herb’s eyes.

  “Mister Dunkelberger . . . your wife and daughter are dead.”

  The light in the kitchen was suddenly much too bright. There was a high-pitched ringing coming from somewhere. He couldn’t swallow properly. Herb could feel hands on his shoulders, steadying him as he attempted to process what he’d just heard.

  “Wh-what?” he heard himself say, as if from another galaxy.

  “Their bodies were found at a cabin on Lake Dunedin,” the officer said with what seemed like genuine tenderness. “I’m so sorry to have to bring this news to you, Mister Dunkelberger. Truly I am.”

  “How?” Herb managed.

  The officers exchanged a meaningful glance, and then the male officer continued.

  “We’re looking into it now,” he said. “But from what we can tell, it appears that they were murdered.”

  “Murdered?” Herb heard Willie whisper at his elbow.

  “It looks that way,” said the female officer.

  There was a horrible moment where silence spun out like an eternity and no one had the words to move any of them forward in time. Then the male officer cleared his throat and reached into his shirt pocket.

  “Mister Dunkelberger, here’s my card. Feel free to contact me if you need anything. We’ll be in touch. Once again . . . I’m terribly sorry.” He nodded toward Herb, then he and his partner placed their hats back on their heads and let themselves out.

  Herb sat down hard on one of the barstools next to the kitchen counter. His friends encircled him, like seconds surrounding a punch-drunk fighter. They all looked as though they’d had the wind knocked out of them.

  “Herb,” Willie said, but that’s all he could manage. Herb knew Willie was thinking of his own wife and kids, and of the rest, he alone could imagine what news like this would do to a man.

  “I need a drink,” said Norbert, and he hurried out of the kitchen and into the adjacent dining room. Her
b could hear glass clinking on glass, and when Norbert returned, he was carrying a decanter filled with amber liquid and four dusty tumblers. With trembling fingers, he pulled the stopper and poured each of them three fingers of whatever it was.

  “Here, Herb,” Willie said gently, offering Herb a glass. Herb took it automatically, not seeing, not comprehending, and slugged it down in one swallow. The others did the same.

  “Murdered,” Herb said wetly. He looked from one face to another, as if challenging them to contradict him. “Who would murder my wife? Who would murder my baby?”

  “I don’t know,” Norbert said softly.

  Herb began to shake his head. “This can’t be right,” he said with sudden conviction. “This can’t be right. There’s been some kind of mistake, some kind of mix-up. I’m going up to the cabin. I’m sure they’re there. I’m sure they’re fine.”

  Herb was off his stool and halfway to the coat rack before he felt hands grabbing him, pulling him back.

  “Herb, don’t,” Willie said, guiding Herb back to the stool. “You don’t want to do that.”

  “Why not?” Herb said, suddenly perfectly reasonable. “It’s the only way to prove there’s been a mistake. You know what? I’ll zip right up there and get them and bring them back here with me. Emma was telling me earlier today that she wanted to go on one of our quests. You guys wouldn’t mind if Emma sat in on our game, would you? She’s small. There’s room at the table.”

  “Herb,” Willie said with infinite tenderness. “Emma’s gone.”

  Herb was on his feet and shoving Willie against the far wall before anyone could react. Willie’s head hit the spice rack and small glass bottles dropped to the linoleum floor and shattered.

  “Don’t you say that!” Herb was screaming, his hands full of Willie’s shirt collar. “Don’t you say that!”

  “Herb!” BooBoo shouted as he and Norbert tried desperately to pull Herb off of Willie. “Herb, stop it!”

  Willie grabbed Herb’s wrists and pried them off. Herb pitched forward into Willie’s chest and collapsed into wretched, agonized sobs. Willie held him tight.

  “My baby,” Herb wailed. “My baby. My Emma Bear.”

  A little while later, despite it being the wee small hours of the morning, Herb’s house was full. Willie’s wife and children had come over, as had several neighbors, Father White from the parish, and Kate’s mother, who was absolutely disconsolate. Herb accepted their company, not really knowing or caring one way or the other, not bothered by the fact that everyone looked at him as though he was a bomb about to go off.

  They had all brought food and more booze, and Herb was throwing back drinks with robotic regularity, trying to make the pain dull, trying to get under it or away from it, or at least reach a state where he was blacked out from it.

  Everyone was in the living room, talking softly. Herb could hear Father White offering words of solace to his mother-in-law, Diana, whose whimpering made his heart hurt even more. Willie’s oldest son Brad, whose crush on Emma had been the worst-kept secret in town, wandered from one side of the room to the other with a completely blank expression, like a shellshocked soldier.

  Gathered tightly around Herb were Willie, Norbert, and BooBoo. None of them spoke, but Herb was immensely grateful for their presence.

  Dan, the neighbor from next door with whom Herb had always had a nodding acquaintance, passed in front of the couch where Herb sat and took a seat on the coffee table in front of him.

  “Herb,” Dan said, “I just want you to know that if you need anything, anything at all, Lindsay and I are here for you. Okay?”

  Herb nodded. Dan and Lindsay were there for him. That was good to know. Dan rose and left the living room for the kitchen.

  Herb turned to Willie, who was seated on his right.

  “That guy,” Herb said softly, nodding his head toward the door Dan had just passed through, “can’t grow tomatoes worth shit.”

  Norbert and BooBoo heard this proclamation too, and leaned in closer from their seats.

  “What?” Willie asked. His eyes were a bit unfocused. He’d had a tremendous amount to drink in a short period of time.

  “That guy,” Herb repeated, a drunken grin twitching his lips, “can’t grow tomatoes worth shit.”

  Willie appeared to try and process this information, but to no avail. “The hell you talking about?”

  “He has this tomato patch in his back yard,” Herb said in a low voice. “He’s been trying to grow tomatoes for years. But he can’t. They all come out looking like little hemorrhoids.”

  Herb could tell Willie was trying to maintain a dignified expression, but that a great big belly laugh was building up inside him. He turned to look at Norbert and BooBoo, who both had unsure smiles on their faces.

  Then Willie burst forth in gales of drunken laughter, and Herb joined him. Soon Norbert and BooBoo were laughing as well, to the shocked and horrified expressions of everyone else in the room.

  They laughed and laughed and laughed, until finally the dark void that Herb had been drinking toward claimed him, and everything was silent and still.

  The wake and the funeral passed in a haze. Willie had procured a bottle of his wife’s Ativan, and Herb took them with clockwork regularity. Willie, Norbert, and BooBoo stayed with him around the clock, making sure he was eating, sleeping, and not harming himself. If he’d been able to feel anything, Herb would have been immeasurably thankful.

  They also brought him to the funeral home, where the sight of two white caskets, one adult-sized and one child-sized, had threatened to crack the pharmaceutical fog he’d imposed on himself. But in his heart, he knew that if he were facing this moment without any numbing, it would surely kill him.

  Willie guided him to where he needed to stand on the receiving line, and Norbert introduced him to people he didn’t know. BooBoo made sure that people moved along once they paid their respects. Herb shook hands and spoke and nodded and hugged, but it was all meaningless, a badly acted play where he didn’t know any of the characters and didn’t much care.

  The morning of the funeral, Willie laid out Herb’s suit and BooBoo reminded him to shave. If not for the circumstances, Herb would have found it very funny that Boo was the one reminding him, but Herb didn’t find anything funny, sad, or interesting. It just was.

  His three friends rode with him in the limousine to the cemetery and stood around him to make sure he didn’t topple over from all the drugs in his system. It was a beautiful winter day, bright unseasonably warm sunshine coming out of a clear blue sky, and the spot where Kate and Emma were interred was on a small, rolling hill that overlooked a frozen stream. The priest who spoke talked of the fragility of life and the short time we have here on Earth, and Herb made the dim connection that this was the same guy who’d spoken words of comfort to his mother-in-law not that long ago. Now he was speaking words of comfort to all of them. The guy was a real bear for that comfort, all right.

  At some point, the funeral ended, though Herb couldn’t have told you exactly when. When he came back to himself a bit, he looked around and saw Willie, Norbert, and BooBoo still with him, but everyone else had gone. Herb took an unsteady step forward and was able to see a glimpse of white peeking out of the earth where his wife and daughter now rested.

  Herb turned to Willie.

  “That grave,” he said in a slow, low voice he didn’t recognize as his own, “was for Kate.” He pointed at the larger of the two plots.

  Willie nodded, willing to accept whatever Herb had to say.

  Herb then pointed at the smaller plot. “That grave,” he said haltingly, “was for me.”

  Then he cried, without any real notion of what he was doing, and felt three strong hands on his shoulders.

  Herb was in a deep, dreamless sleep when he felt someone shaking him awake.

  “Herb,” he heard Norbert say. “Herb, wake up.”

  Herb reluctantly opened one eye. He immediately spotted the misshapen crack in the bed
room ceiling that he had always tried to convince Kate was an “H” for Herb. He felt a sharp pang knowing that he’d never have the chance to try to convince her again.

  “What’s the matter?” Herb said thickly.

  “The police are here,” Norbert said. “They want to talk to you about . . . they want to talk to you. C’mon, get up.”

  Herb rolled over and snagged his glasses from the night stand. The bedside clock read 10:06. He realized he had no idea what day it was.

  “The what?” Herb said stupidly.

  “The police, Herb,” Norbert said patiently. “They want to talk to you.”

  “Okay, all right,” Herb said, stirring. “I’ll be right there.”

  Norbert left the bedroom and closed the door behind him. Herb instinctively grabbed for the bottle of Ativan near the clock. He stared at it for a minute. The police wanted to talk to him. He should probably have as clear a head as he could. Reluctantly, he put the pill bottle back where it was and swung his legs out of the bed.

  He dressed quickly, though a frustrating lag seemed to have developed between his brain and his body. The latter was obeying the former, but he felt like a computer with an ancient processor.

  Herb descended the stairs and found BooBoo, Norbert, Willie, and Officer Steinway gathered at the kitchen table, sipping cups of coffee. They all looked up as he entered.

  “Morning, Herb,” Willie said. “Coffee?”

  Herb nodded, and Willie got up to pour him a cup. Officer Steinway nodded toward Herb. “Mister Dunkelberger,” he said.

  “You wanted to talk to me?” Herb said, taking the cup of coffee Willie handed him. Officer Steinway gestured toward Willie’s empty seat, and Herb guided himself into it.

  “Mister Dunkelberger, I wanted to give you an update on the investigation,” Officer Steinway said. “Would you prefer to speak in private?”

  Herb looked around at his friends. “No. Please, go ahead.”

  “All right, then,” Steinway said. “Well first, we were able to secure the murder weapon.”