by P G Loiselle
Mr. Cobble approached me last. “Sure I can’t help, son?”
“Maybe if it’s no trouble, I’d like to use your phone.”
“Not a problem,” he said as he reached over and gripped my shoulder.
Without saying a word, I walked towards him. He led me to his home with his arm around me like an old man would do with his grandson. It didn’t feel strange but rather comforting. Mrs. Cobble fixed me up a coffee milk while I called Stevie.
“It’s m…me.” I could barely get it out.
“What’s wrong? You ok?”
“You know who. They…they trashed my place. Ruined, everything’s ruined.” I had to fight back the tears with all I had. I worked so hard to make it a home, and now it was a wasteland.
“Where are you? I’m coming to pick you up.” He came across so forceful and in control.
“Mr. Cobble’s. Lives across the street from me. The house with the plastic reindeer out front.”
“Be there in five.”
Besides the coffee milk, Mrs. Cobble decked the table with sugar cookies and Clark Bars. The older couple sat with me until I was picked up. I stayed at Stevie’s house, and the next day, none of us from the band went to work except for Tommy, who must have been behind the mysterious noon-time pizza delivery.
The rest of us spent Thursday cleaning up the rubble and getting my home into an acceptable shape to live in. Dale had a locksmith friend install some heavy-duty deadbolts. He also put in a so-called panic button that would trigger super loud sirens, inside and outside, in case I was in dire straits. I rescued a few things like my bed and mattress, but for the rest of the furniture and other necessities, everyone gathered old hand-me-downs from cellars, attics, garages and other storage places, where used up items await their final departure to the junkyard, the incinerator or to be pawned off at a yard sale. All of them, the neighbors and especially my bandmates, pulled through for me.
The showdown with Stone’s hooligans and cushioned aftermath couldn’t have turned out better. It was a perfect culmination of another sad attempt to break our wills, well, almost perfect. There was one odd incident between me and Stevie. It was probably nothing, and I shouldn’t be anything but grateful. However, it still irks me even though I made light of it to keep the peace. At least Dale stepped in, like he often does, and helped regulate the stink. Here’s how the scene in my parlor went down.
“Stevie, you guys rescued me,” I said. “Sitting at the Cobble’s, I was a broken man about to lose all hope. But after you took me in last night, and got me back on my feet today, it feels good again. Well, kind of, since Stone’s still after us.”
“No problem.” He was busy playing arpeggios on the guitar he loaned me. I wasn’t even sure how much he was paying attention.
“Incredible what’s possible when buds stick together. You know I’d do the same for you.” I gazed at his fingers move nimbly up and down the scales, mesmerized by the speed, cleanness and feel with which he dominated those frets. “Know what else helped?” I said as an afterthought.
“What?”
“Amy, last night, her comforting words on the walkie talkie. Gave me a huge boost.”
His face illuminated as he lifted his head to speak. “When I’m in doubt, it helps talking to her too.” He was as soft-spoken as usual but donned a foreign gleam in his eyes. “We’ve been talking a lot lately.”
“A lot, huh?” I swallowed down the small lump that emerged in my throat. “Say, Stevie…think I could hold onto the walkie talkie for a bit? You know, being able to reach Amy now and then without the hassle of sneaking over to the warehouse would make me feel, you know, more secure.”
“My walkie talkie?” He said it as if I was demanding his first born.
“Only a few days,” I said, qualifying my request.
“Nope. I told her I’d be there when she calls. I can’t let her down.”
“Dude, you won’t let her down. If she calls on the thing, I’ll answer it. What’s the big deal?”
“No way,” he said, firing his voice at me. “No frickin’ way. I promised, and I won’t break it. And that’s it, period.” He put his head back down and went back to his finger exercises.
That’s when Dale stumbled over. “What’s going on, girls?”
“Nothing,” I said.
Stevie wouldn’t look up.
“Well, I was eavesdropping from over in the kitchen, and it sounds like our little Stevie’s got a boner for Amy.”
“Mind your business, Dale,” Stevie said, still concentrating on his playing.
Dale shrugged. “She’ll break your heart, pal. That’s all I’m saying.”
“Don’t worry about it,” I said, deescalating. “I totally understand where Stevie’s coming from. It’s a serious promise. You don’t break those. Right?”
“Just don’t want anyone else getting hurt,” Dale said. “Whatever kind of hurt it could be.”
“In our situation, we could get more than hurt,” I said.
Stevie rose and without a word, moved into another room. We must have been disturbing his practicing.
Dale stared at him walk away before sitting down on the couch next to me. He placed his right arm up atop the cushions as if he were coddling an invisible lady. “Speaking of hurt,” he said with his head cocked towards me, “I’m still wracking my brain about what happened to Amy’s father. Unbelievable how that shit could be left unchecked. Talk about a kick to the scrotum.”
“Probably, no one had the guts to stand up to Stone like Amy’s doing.” Another lump, a bigger lump, appeared in my throat. It was much harder to swallow it down. “You know what happened to my mother and father, right. No villain behind that. Was an accident, pure bad luck.”
“Tragic, Luke, frickin’ tragic. You really got shafted. They did too, I guess. But you at least came back a fighter. Look what you’re doing for Amy. And you’re unrelenting with the music thing.”
“A fighter, huh?” It hit me out of the blue that I knew nothing about his family besides Uncle Rick. “What about you, Dale? What’s with your parents? You never mention them.”
“What’s to say? They’re your typical, everyday sort of parents. See them every Sunday with my sister, Merry, for dinner and a game of canasta. Mother’s a grade school teacher, father’s an engineer or something like that, at Wang Labs up in Mass. As a kid, they were way too straight for me, nerdy even, how you expect parents would be in the nineteen-fifties or something. I love them to death, but I used to get so embarrassed. Probably why I took up drums so I could stand out, go wild, be hip. Besides, I’m not book smart enough to get into that crazy-ass math gunk like my father.”
“That also why you got into the car thing?”
“Guess so. It was always cool hanging out with Uncle Rick, the grease monkey. First, he showed me how to fix the damn things, then he let me sell them. Didn’t take long for me to realize I had a knack for making a deal, convincing people of a good thing. Uncle Rick was thrilled. Selling ain’t his thing. He likes to tinker under the hood, very predictable. Me, I love the challenge of tough bargaining. Trust me, I only screw someone if they deserve it.”
“So, what’re you going to do if the music thing doesn’t work out? Expand the shop?”
“Who’s giving up so easy? I like being in the spotlight. And if that doesn’t work out, maybe I could be a talk show host, or politician. Do something where I can get people on my side.”
“Big dreams, Dale.”
“Big balls, big dreams,” he said, and his fists drew together as he sat forward and flexed his biceps in a muscle man pose. He leaned back and rested an ankle on his opposite knee. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m scared shit about lots of stuff, all of what’s going on with Amy, for example. But my pride overpowers my fear, turns it off, or at least tones it down low. Besides, with Amy it’s the right thing to d
o. And I’d expect the same from you if I was in trouble.” He smiled, showing off his trophy-ripe enamel. “Otherwise, I’d have to kick your ass.”
“What a tough guy,” I said.
“Only on the outside, buddy. Only on the outside.”
We carried on conversing until everyone was ready to go. The house had been whipped back into livable condition, and we were all beat. I couldn’t have thanked them enough, and after they had left, the only thing I regretted was not being able to check in with Amy. That’ll have to change, and quick. I used the final hours of the day to at least jot down the whole saga in my journal. Another day, another close call. The funny thing is, the whole time, including during my asylum at Stevie’s, my journal was stowed away down the front of my pants. The smart thing to do would be to get rid of it, burn the thing. If the enemy finds it, we’re screwed. But I can’t quit now. I only need to hide it somewhere where it can’t be found. Yes, where you can’t be found…
Thursday, July 23, 1987
Stopped over at Radio Shack this morning and scored my own set of communication devices. They’re not quite military grade like Stevie’s but still top of the line and better than the Fisher Price kiddie brand. The sales guy claimed they could span at least a mile, the approximate distance from my home to the warehouse.
As soon as dusk set in, I made the roundabout journey to the warehouse to surprise her. To avoid unnecessary panic, we thought up a code in which we’d lob pebbles at the window in a tap, tap-tap pattern. I imagine that the first tap would bring her to her feet, and once that quick tap-tap followed, she’d be elated, knowing that a friend was on the way. As with each time there, the window slid open, the ladder down, and I climbed up and inside. The hue of the living area seemed coated with a tinge of gray, and the sofa was piled up with tawdry magazines, food packaging and other clutter. She stood to greet me.
“Luke, darling, you came to rescue me from this tower of tedium.” Her vocal inflection came across as being shallow, like a high society floosy compelled to recite a canned gesture of gratitude.
“You know I’m here for you. Can’t get on without me, can you?”
“Without you and Stevie who knows what state I’d be in by now.”
“That’s what friends are for,” I said, friendly enough, although annoyed she mentioned Stevie’s name when I was the one visiting.
She approached and wrapped her arms around my midsection, circling her right hand once in the center of my back before stepping away. With her arms fully outstretched and both hands clutching my opposing shoulders, she forced a closed mouth smile. The vibes felt awkward; I smiled in return. I disengaged from her stare and took a long gander around the room.
“Is it ok I came here? Kind of feel like I’m disturbing you.”
“Disturbing me? From what? Picking my ass? Stevie’s supposed to buzz me after. I can beep him back later.”
I sighed. “I am disturbing you.”
“Hush already. Not at all.” She squirmed and looked off to the far corner of the room.
“I’m not staying long. Only wanted to give you something. When Stone’s gang destroyed my house, I felt so much better after talking to you. So, I…I brought you this.” I took the walkie talkie out of my pocket and handed it over to her. My eyes drifted to a paint blotch on the concrete floor.
“Woohoo, another talkie thing. How wonderful,” she said, being sarcastic. “But I already have one.”
“Yeah, well. That’s so you and I, I mean we can talk. You know, if we have to talk, like something happened, and we need to talk, for your protection. Stevie might be busy, or not around or something.”
“I see,” she said and twiddled with the dials.
Amy and I were always upfront with each other, probably more than two people should be. But there was something in the air I didn’t quite get, and it needed to be brought into the open. Intuition told me it had something to do with Stevie, so I went for the jugular. “This feels odd, Amy. Something going on between you and Stevie I should know about?”
“Stevie?” She scoffed it off like it was an insult. “What would be going on between me and that Brillo-headed string bean? Like I’m doing him, you mean?”
“Yeah, like you’re doing him,” I said, gloating inside over her putdown. “You seem guilty of something.”
“Well, I’m not doing him, and if I was, it’s none of your stinking beeswax.”
“Stevie’s like a brother and if you two were a couple, I’d appreciate if you’d tell me, especially since we’re in this mess together.”
“Well, we’re not, and I ain’t, and that’s that. Everything’s fine,” she said. “I’m just going nuts here, and like I said a thousand times, feel totally helpless.” She placed the walkie talkie on the couch. “Besides, you’re the one acting all weirded out. I’m happy you brought me the little gadget, but you don’t need to present it to me like an engagement ring.”
“I didn’t present it like an engagement ring. I only thought there was something funny going on between us.”
“Lukey Monster,” she said, smoothing over her tenor from one sentence to the next. “There’s nothing funny. It’s all good. I just don’t know how much longer I can go on like this. That’s all.”
“Well, neither do I. How are we supposed to nab these crooks? It keeps getting worse.”
“It’ll get worse before it gets better.”
“Oh, wise words from a wise ass woman,” I said, teasing her.
“I’d rather be a wise ass than a dumb ass like you.”
“Better a dumb ass than a dumb…” I stopped myself and clenched my teeth together and fists as well. I took a deep breath, slowly releasing the tension, and continued. “Listen, this whole situation is insane. No wonder we’re both so revved. I only wanted to bring you the walkie talkie for your own safety, for an emergency. That’s all. I only want to be there for you.”
“You’re right. This whole thing blows big elephant dongs. I’m totally stressed, bored, worried, and anxious all at the same time. I’ve been waiting years for this moment, and now it’s here and nothing’s happening. It all seems to be on hold.”
“Guess you’ll never be a doctor,” I said.
“Why doctor?”
“Because you’ll never have any patience.” I faked a laugh while slapping my knee.
“That wasn’t funny. That was sad.”
“I know. But you love me anyway,” I said.
“I’d love you more if you did something for me,” she said.
“I’m constantly doing something.”
“Something specific, I mean.” She reached for a day-old edition of the Providence Journal and threw it at my feet. “Page eight.”
I picked up the newspaper. It was already turned to the right page, and the main headline was circled. I read it out loud. “Private Detective in coma. Foul play suspected.” I gazed up at her. My eyelids felt heavy as I sighed.
“Foul play suspected?” she said. “How stupid can they be? My undercover guy was beaten to a pulp.” She walked closer and slipped her hands into mine.
“Sorry about that,” I said. “I know you were counting on him.”
“No, I’m sorry. That poor man…I doubted him the whole time, and he took a bullet for me. I feel so, so bad. I’ve been praying for the guy ever since. I never pray, Luke.” She looked up momentarily towards the ceiling like she was putting in another request for a quick recovery before luring me back in with her bottomless pupils. “Even if he recovers ok, I take it he’s out of the picture for good. Let’s face it though. The money would have gone right to Stone, that dick-stain, if I hadn’t listened in on that meeting. It was me that found out…not him. Carney’s office is still wiretapped, and the fake Walkman must be somewhere in the building, with the rest of my stuff.” She tightened her grip on my hands, almost crushing my knuckles. “I want
you to find it and eavesdrop any chance you have. You might intercept some conversation or message that’d be key to fixing this.”
“Yeah, right,” I said, pulling my hands away. “You’re so damn lucky you didn’t get nabbed. We’re not going to fool them twice.”
“Don’t be such a pussy boy, Luke. You’ll be fine. It’s not like you’ll be in a place you’re not supposed to be. They’d have no reason to suspect anything. Like you’d be savvy enough to bug an office.”
“You did it…well, had someone do it.”
“And they didn’t suspect a thing. You got to do this. You have to…have to, have to, have to. You got balls. Now use them.” She let go of my hands and started yanking on clumps of her own hair as she warped her face into a state of derangement. “I swear, Luke, if you don’t do it, I’ll take matters into my own hands.”
“What’s that supposed to mean? That you’ll do something stupid again?”
“Better than doing squat. Use your balls, Luke. Use your balls, use your balls, use your…” She wouldn’t shut up, and I couldn’t take it anymore.
“Okay, okay,” I said. “It’s totally insane, but if that’ll keep you from getting us all killed, I’ll do it on one condition. Only if you give me a kiss.”
“Seriously? A kiss?
“Yeah, a kiss,” I said. “Like after the Boston show.”
“That’s extortion and bordering on prostitution. If it means you’ll do the most sensible thing there is and listen in, it’s more than worth it.”
I moved my face in front of hers, puckered my lips like a schoolboy waiting for his first kiss, and was ready to surprise her with a face lick. Before I could strike, she beat me to it with a wide-tongued, slimy one going all the way from my chin up to the tip of my nose. She pushed me backwards and, with a hearty laugh, seemed proud that she one upped me.
The tension between us was lifted and I departed in good spirits even though the evening didn’t quite turn out as planned, and I got roped into playing James Bond after her own pro got taken out. As I jot this down, nothing bothers me anymore: not Amy, not Stevie, not Carney and not Stone. I’m only thinking about being on the Showroom stage twenty-four hours from now. My mind will be free of this whole damn conundrum, at least while we’re performing. For that speck of time in the vastness of forever, I’ll get to enjoy making music for normal people, who only want to have fun and hang out with us. Who knows if Stone’s going to try to sabotage the gig?
