Damaged Amazon

by Kim Pritekel

  Alone on the stage, LJ looked out over the crowd, which was hard to see due to the intense light shining on him. He was, however, able to see Nora, which helped. He cleared his throat and turned his attention back to the crowd.

  “Um, hi.” He waved, feeling lame and totally alone. “I’m LJ.” He wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cringe at the catcall sent his way.

  “Take it off, frat boy!” someone yelled from the darkness.

  “Oh, uh, no. Um…” He swallowed. “I tell stories.” His heart fell when the audience began to complain and jeer at him.

  He looked to Nora. Her unwavering look of adoration and pride gave him the courage to continue on. He swallowed hard; then, with a flourish, he whipped the letterman jacket off broad, muscular shoulders, revealed by the tank top he wore, as well as muscular, well-built arms as the leather sleeves slid down them. Finally, the jacket fell with a heavy clang to the floor, weighted down by endless achievement patches and pins.

  The crowd went wild, cheers, whistles, and more catcalls raining down on him. He grinned. Though not particularly his crowd, he was beginning to have a good time. He decided on the very short story—more like a vignette—that he’d scribbled down earlier that afternoon.

  “This is a story about Joel, a guy sitting in his room, trying to decide what he wants to be, who he wants to be, and how he wants to do it.”

  “Doggy style!” a woman’s voice yelled out from the darkness, laughter following.

  LJ laughed along with them, sending out a salute in the general direction of the suggestion. “You see, all of Joel’s life,” LJ began, a bit more comfortable as he moved around the stage, “he’s felt like he had a world of expectation on his shoulders. He felt, why, maybe even like there was no acceptance, no place for him, and nowhere to be. So”—he raised a finger for emphasis— “maybe I’ll become a singer!” With that, he belted out a terribly off-key C note, making the crowd laugh. “Or, maybe I’ll become an All-Star hitter.” He used the microphone to mimic the motion of a swinging baseball bat. He scrunched up his face and brought the microphone close to his mouth. “Fuck sports.”

  He grinned over at Nora who was laughing wildly with everyone else, considering he was Mr. Sports in the flesh and he knew it.

  “Maybe, just maybe,” he said, falling to his knees, sending up a whole new round of cheers. “Maybe I’ll be Father Joel.” He pressed his palms together and spared a glance out into the audience. “Praying for all you sinners.” He was loving the playful energy of the crowd. He stood. “Maybe—”

  “A drag queen!” someone yelled.

  LJ put a hand on his hip and did his best “gay man’s” voice. “Honey, I ain’t that lost.” Even he lost it on that one. He got his laughter under control and pretended to be looking in the air for the pigskin spiral coming his way. “Maybe,” he said, running toward the edge of the stage, misjudging the end as he flung himself right off, landing hard on his shoulder. Stunned for a moment, he put the microphone to his lips. “Maybe I’ll be an All-American like my dad.” He purposefully filled his tone with pain. A scary bull dyke and scrawny bleach blond twink helped him to his feet and, as he climbed back up on stage, hurting and out of breath, he plopped down, legs dangling over the apron. “Or, maybe I’ll just be me.”

  The roar of applause was deafening as every person in the place shot to their feet, Nora yelling and whooping loudest of them all. LJ grabbed his jacket, grinning as he got to his feet. “Thank you,” he said and handed the microphone back to the MC, who was applauding as he stepped up onto the stage.

  ****

  With one too many offers for a drink or a dance for comfort, LJ and Nora had opted to leave. LJ whooped and ran his way through the parking lot to Nora’s car.

  “Holy shit, that was so much fun!” He pumped his fist in the air, excitement and adrenaline thundering through him.

  “You rocked it, dude,” Nora said, unlocking her door before opening it and leaning over to tug on the lock pin on the passenger’s side door.

  LJ climbed in and shut his door. He looked over at his little sister before leaning over and leaving a kiss on her cheek. “Thanks for believing in me, sis.”

  “Of course.” She slapped him on the thigh. “Let’s get something to eat.”

  They drove back to Pueblo with LJ going on and on about the experience, shocked that first of all, he was able to do it and second, he was able to do it in a gay bar.

  “We’re not monsters, ya know.” Nora laughed.

  “Yeah, yeah. They actually seemed pretty cool.”

  An hour later, they sat in Denny’s, one of the few restaurants still open. Dinners eaten and plates taken away, the two sat drinking coffee.

  “I think you should write more, LJ. You absolutely are a good storyteller.”

  “God, can you even imagine what Dad would say? ‘Not manly, son,’” he said, imitating Larry, Sr.’s voice. He glanced over and saw a lovely brunette with long, curly hair sitting alone. She was eating a piece of pie and looking over what appeared to be a textbook. As though she sensed she was being watched, she looked up, meeting his gaze. He smiled, and she looked back at her book.

  “Oh, she so dissed you!” Nora crowed.

  He glared at her before getting the attention of the waitress. “I’d like to pay for that young lady’s pie and soda,” he told her, nodding in the brunette’s direction.

  The waitress walked over to her table, and they spoke for a moment before the waitress returned. “I’m sorry, sir, but she’s refused your offer.”

  LJ felt like an idiot. He cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck.

  “However, she did say,” the waitress continued, placing a folded napkin and pen on the table, “if you write your phone number down, her words, she might call you.”

  Glancing over at the young woman, who quickly looked away, he picked up the pen and scribbled down his phone number and his pager number before handing the napkin and pen back to the waitress. “Thanks.”

  A few moments later the young woman packed up her books, sliding them into a backpack before standing. To LJ’s delight, she walked over to his and Nora’s table.

  “Well, I figured it might be a good idea to ask your name, I mean, after all, in case I manage to find some time to perhaps call, it would be a good idea to know who I’m asking for,” she said.

  LJ leaned back, running an arm along the back of the booth, as casual and suave as he could make it. “I’m Larry, but everyone calls me LJ. This is my sister, Nora. And you are?”

  “Adrienne.” She glanced over at Nora. “Nice to meet you.” Back to LJ. “And, nice to meet you, Larry.”

  With that, she was gone.

  ****

  LJ lay on the living room couch in the dark, one hand resting on a more rounded belly than it had been in those days, the other resting casually above the throw pillow where he leaned his head. He was smiling, as he hadn’t thought of that night in a long time.

  He tore his mind out of the past when he heard a car engine and saw the wash of headlights sweep the front of the house. A moment later, the engine grew silent and footfalls up the rocks that bordered the grass could be heard. Key in lock, door opening then closing.

  LJ glanced at the clock on the mantel, barely making out the numbers in the dim light. “You’re late,” he said softly to the dark figure heading in his direction.

  “I know, I’m sorry. The movie got out late,” Kristie said, flipping on a lamp before she sat on the coffee table in front of the couch where LJ lay. “It did!” she exclaimed to his raised eyebrow. “Some kid had a seizure or something, so they had to stop the show. When they started it again, it was like, almost forty minutes later.” She extended her hand to him, a medium-sized Dairy Queen cup in it with a long, red plastic spoon sticking straight up. “But, I did get you your favorite.”

  LJ sat up with a groan, his knees bothering him from entirely too many football and wrestling injuries. “Oreo Blizzard?” he asked, taking t
he icy cold cup.

  “Is there any other kind?” she drawled. “Though I guess in all honesty”—she uncapped her own Peanut Buster Parfait—“technically you bought you an Oreo Blizzard.”

  LJ chuckled, enjoying his first bite. “Well, then I thank myself.” He glanced over at his daughter, noting what looked to be yet another earring in her left ear. He didn’t understand it, but at least those could close up when it came time for her to get a real job or career.

  “How’s Julia?” he asked, licking a large chunk of cookie off his spoon.

  “Good,” Kristie said simply, no additional information offered.

  LJ studied her for a long moment, sizing her up. “Good. That’s good.”

  Chapter Ten

  “Sarah!”

  “Hola, abuela.” Sarah smiled as she was taken into such a tight hug, she was positive her much-shorter grandmother was going to pull her head right off.

  “Pensé que no ibas a poder venir?” the ninety-year-old said accusingly, pulling back enough to look up into her granddaughter’s face.

  “Y perderme tu cumpleaños? Nunca.” Sarah endured another hug before she was released.

  “Sarah?” You came!”

  Once word got out that she’d arrived, Sarah was inundated by her family in her grandmother’s tiny home, which consisted of her mother, four brothers, and two sisters and a small army of nieces and nephews. But, what made her smile was when she saw the twinkling dark blue eyes of the man with mostly gray strawberry blond hair. He held his arms open to her, and she immediately went to him.

  ****

  Pueblo, Colorado – 1979

  A seven-year-old Sarah was curled up on the couch holding her little sister, Ernestine as their mother, Paola, answered the front door. Two policemen stood there, one a short African-American man with a graying mustache and the other, a younger, tall white man with bushy strawberry blond sideburns and kind blue eyes.

  “Hello, Mrs. Sanchez. I’m Officer Gaines and this is Officer Browne. May we come in, ma’am?” he asked, removing his peaked cap by the shiny black bill.

  “Yes, come in. What is this about, officers?” the young mother of two asked, stepping aside to allow the men to enter.

  The fair-haired officer glanced over at Sarah and Ernestine and gave the girls a kind smile before returning his attention to their mother.

  “What’s happening?” four-year-old Ernestine whispered.

  Sarah shook her head as the two men spoke quietly to their mother in the entryway of their small home near CF&I, the steel mill where their father, Ernesto, worked. All of a sudden, Paola let out a howling cry and began to fall, but Officer Gaines caught her before she could fully collapse.

  “No!” she wailed.

  Sarah held Ernestine a little closer as the young child began to cry, too. Sarah remained strong—she had to. She watched her mother and the officer closely, noting as again, Officer Gaines glanced over at the girls again, a warm smile on his lips.

  After a moment, their mother, with the two officers helping her on either side, walked over to the couch. Sarah looked over at her mother with big, dark eyes.

  “Something bad happened, didn’t it?” she asked.

  Paola nodded, tears still streaming down her cheeks.

  ****

  Sitting next to Chuck Gaines, the man who had been in her life since she was seven and held her heart since she was eight, she glanced over at him. They’d enjoyed a wonderful early dinner with the entire family, including homemade tamales and of course, Chuck’s favorite, Texas-style baked beans. It always made for an interesting combination.

  “You know,” she said, watching as he eyed her. He took a swig of his Coors as they sat on the back stoop. “I used to be so confused why this policeman stuck around so much. My teachers taught us you guys were supposed to protect and serve, but it seemed a little extreme.”

  He chuckled. “Yeah, well, initially I felt so bad for your mom, a young mother, her husband doing something so innocent as walking home from an honest day’s work.” He lowered the beer bottle, letting it dangle between spread legs by two fingers around the neck. “Coward bastards and their gang drive-bys.” He shrugged. “Somewhere along the way, guess I fell in love with all you girls.”

  “Yes, the Gringo and the Salsa Mamma,” Sarah said with a grin, playfully shouldering him.

  He chuckled and took another sip. “Gringo, indeed. Man, the way your grandma used to look at me like I was a cockroach.”

  Sarah nodded. “Yes, I’m glad you won her over, though. I think especially once you and Mom had the boys and Kylee.”

  He smiled. “And, it only took nearly fourteen years,” he added, his gold wedding band glinting in the setting sun.

  Sarah smiled, sipping her own beer.

  “You know, Sarah, your dad would be so proud of you and Ernie. Here she is, working with babies at Parkview Hospital every day as a pediatric surgeon, and then there’s you.”

  She met his gaze. “And then there’s me.”

  “Finding the bad guys.”

  Chuck’s pride in her meant everything, and she sensed a slight tug in her chest for a moment. “Well,” she said, clearing her throat, “it is because of you that I became a cop, ya know.”

  He leaned over and reached a hand up, steadying her head so he could leave a kiss there. “So,” he said, releasing her. “How’s this case going? I know you’ve said you’re struggling with it. Why?”

  “I know the one missing and I know the family,” she said softly, taking a long swig.

  “Oh. That’s tough. Had that happen only once. It was the year before I retired when I was working Homicide. Went to school with the guy. Did you talk to Price about recusing yourself?”

  “Yup,” she said with a nod and a grin to him. “He told me to stop whining and get my damn ass to work.”

  Chuck laughed. “Sounds about right. So, what do you have?”

  “Nothing. Not a goddamn thing,” Sarah said with a sigh.

  “Nothing came back on the key chain?”

  Sarah shook her head. “Nope. We did get a print from one person and a partial from another, but no matches. No DNA, no security camera evidence of places nearby. I mean, Chuck, it’s like this poor girl just vanished.”

  “How well do you know the family?”

  Sarah met his gaze again. “It’s Nora’s little sister, Shannon.”

  “Oh boy.” He glanced away. “Well, as I’ve always told you, kiddo”—he turned back and stared her down—“sometimes you have no choice but to think outside the box.”

  ****

  Tired after a long day, Sarah pulled her ’68 black-and-chrome Mustang into the driveway of her townhouse, the classic car coming to a stop as she reached up to press the button for the electric garage door opener and waited to pull into the single-car garage.

  Letting out a tired sigh, she cut the engine and grabbed her phone and purse before climbing out of the car that Chuck and two of her brothers—Ray and Mac—had rebuilt for her as a congratulatory gift upon making detective eight years before.

  She loved her family dearly, but lordy they could be draining. Hitting the inside garage door opener, she unlocked the door to her home as the big door moaned into place.

  She stepped into the laundry room, which doubled as a mudroom and extra storage for the small townhouse. From there, she made her way through the kitchen, headed to the stairs.

  “Sarah? Is that you?”

  She paused two stairs up, eyes squeezing closed for a moment. “Yup. It’s me.”

  Leslie appeared at the top of the stairs, looking down at her with a wide smile. “I was cleaning today.”

  “Great,” Sarah said absently, continuing to climb. She gave the blonde a hard look as her path forward was blocked. “I’m tired, Leslie. I’m not in the mood for games.”

  “What are you talking about games, Sarah? All I said was that I cleaned. I thought you’d be thrilled.”

  Sarah looked the taller woman
in the eye. “You never gave two shits about cleaning when we were together. One of the many reasons why you’re living here until you can find a new place.” With that, she turned and headed to her bedroom, slamming the door behind her.

  Standing in the master bedroom, Sarah bared her teeth and screwed up her face, yelling silently in frustration. She rested her hands on her hips and raised her closed eyes to the ceiling.

  “How the hell did I let her move in here?” she whispered. “Jesus.”

  As if in answer, music suddenly blasted from below. She knew Leslie was pissed and was doing her immature passive-aggressive bullshit and Sarah had nothing to give, no desire to fight anymore. She’d spent far too many years—wasted far too many years—so decided to lock her bedroom door and grab her iPod and headphones.

  ****

  Sarah wasn’t keen on having to wash her baby once she made it back into town, but she was enjoying the long, country roads on her way out to Nicholson Road and the old farmhouse. She slowed the muscle car down to turn when she received a phone call. Stopping at the stop sign next to the small, white chapel on the corner, she picked up the phone.

  “Sanchez.” She listened, her heart beginning to race. “Okay. I’m on my way right now.”

  In a plume of dust, she whipped the car around, almost landing in the ditch, then sped back the way she’d come toward Highway 50 and the long drive to Canon City, roughly forty-five minutes away from Pueblo, proper. Keeping one eye on the road, she managed to find Nora’s cell number and called it.

  “Hey, it’s Sarah. Listen, change of plans. I had to turn around and am headed to Canon. I’ll call when I’m on my way back out, hopefully tonight.”

  ****

  Sarah slowed the Mustang as she headed toward Skyline Drive, a local hangout for teens who wanted privacy as well as those looking for a spectacular view and others for more nefarious acts. She pulled up beside the three police cars parked at the entrance, cutting off public access.