The Midnight Men

When I stepped out my front door, I found Jed Palmer standing on the porch next door. He was leaning on the rail and smoking one of his unfiltered cigarettes, observing the goings-on up the road with his usual weary expression.

“Hey there, Ben,” he said. “Some weird shit going on at the Robinsons.”

I nodded. “I was just going to go over and see what was up. Fancy the walk?”

Jed took a final drag on his cigarette and then tossed it into the rose bushes. “Let’s mosey,” he said.

We were both wearing our pyjamas, slippers and bathrobes, but found the evening surprisingly warm. The full moon, shining brilliantly in a cloudless sky, lit the street in an eerie silver glow. Despite the steady rumble of the huge car, no one else in the street seemed to be interested in the Robinson’s business. I wondered if we were sticking our oars in where they weren’t wanted.

As we approached down the middle of the road, Jed called out: “Hey, Phil. What’s the rumpus?”

Robinson seemed not to have heard, only turning in our direction when one of his daughters alerted him to our presence with a nudge. His eyes were sunken and red-rimmed, like he hadn’t slept in days. There was no response to Jed’s probe, not even a friendly acknowledgment.

“Phil,” I said, raising my voice. “Is everything all right, buddy?”

Again he didn’t respond, but his wife stepped up to the picket fence then, wiping tears from her cheeks.

“No, everything is not all right,” she said. She began to sob again, and I realised she wasn’t about to elaborate.

“Lea,” I said, “is there anything we can do to help?”

“No,” she told me, her eyes burning into the side of her husband’s head. “No, there’s nothing anyone can do.”

The man in black opened the rear passenger door and stood back, hands clasped together in front of him like a funeral director, silently urging the Robinsons to climb in.

There was a long pause. None of the Robinsons moved. The youngest girl moaned loudly and hugged her father even tighter than before. Robinson threw a desolate look in his wife’s direction, then raised his chin and began to move towards the car, his daughters clinging to him like limpets.

“Phil!” I cried out. “What’s going on? You’re going to leave just like that?”

He stopped, and looked back.

Jed pointed at the Mercedes-Benz in the driveway of his immaculate house. “What about the Benz?”

Robinson’s eyes flicked over to the gleaming car. “Where we’re going we won’t need it.”

“But Phil,” I protested. “You can’t just up and leave-”

He looked me in the eye then. I’ll always remember that look. The look of a defeated man. “I have to,” he said. “I made the choice.” He kissed the top of his youngest daughter’s head. “For them.”

Before I could quiz him any further, he and his beautiful daughters had vanished into the back of the car. Lea Robinson waited a little longer before succumbing to the same fate. She looked over her shoulder at the house which they had occupied since the year their eldest daughter was born. Then she dropped her head, marched towards the car, and disappeared inside.

Jed and me stood in the street on that balmy evening, and watched the giant car thunder away down Cedar Road. A hundred questions were rolling around in my head, but when I looked at Jed to start voicing them, I realised it was pointless - he had no answers. He was as confused as I was. Without another word between us, we shook our heads and wandered back home to the warmth and safety of our respective beds.