by R C Barnes
Luther snorted.
“You DO!” I insisted. “Can’t you have someone look into him? At least find out what the guy really does.”
Luther sat in front of me, undaunted. He looked into my eyes as if I was telepathically sending him answers. He was thinking. I could see I was getting to him. I delivered the coup de grace.
“He brings all kinds of friends over. People from clubs. Not just musicians and artists, but wannabes. Folks like that.”
Luther continued staring at me.
“Strange guys. Weird guys.”
Luther kept looking at me, not breaking the visual connection. I could see he was processing what I was saying. Luther could see where I was heading, and he was bracing himself for what he thought I might say. What he hoped I wouldn’t say.
“I have a lock on my bedroom door.”
Luther remained stoic, but I could see the silent anger working into the muscles of his shoulders. He already knew I had a lock on my door. I then delivered the stinging blow.
“Echo does not.”
Luther sighed and hung his head. The fight was out of him, all at once, just like that. He remained still for a while, resigning himself to the situation and his continual role in the tortured drama of our lives. “I’ll see what I can find out,” he said softly.
It’s all I ask. I thought to myself.
He then lifted his head and gave me a wicked grin. “Change of topic. How come you are not dating anyone?”
“Are you serious?” I cried in outrage. I fixated my patented look of mock fury and anger on him. I could hold that expression for a long time, and sure enough, I won the contest. After two minutes of trying to keep his teasing expression, Luther broke into a grin and shook his head, laughing.
“I knew that would shut you up so I could finish eating,” he said. Luther looked down at the platter, and his eyes widened. “Damn, girl, you ate all my french fries!”
COOPER HAWKS
Rodriguez drove his beat-up pickup truck down the quiet residential neighborhood. Neat and attractive. Modest homes, but ownership was apparent, not renters. University students didn’t live down here.
He slowed his truck at an intersection where flyers were posted on telephone poles asking the residents not to use rat poison. Interested in reading the fine print, Rodriguez got out of the truck, leaving the engine running. The notice was about the Cooper’s Hawks in the area. They were nesting in the trees in the neighborhood. The hawks ate the rats, and if the residents used rat poison, then the birds would ingest the poison and die. Rodriguez gazed up at the lush, full trees lining the blocks in the area. Hawks were cool. He was down with the concern of the local residents.
He got back in his truck and searched for the address. The address was the home of the teenage daughter’s friend, and Nick had said to leave the backpack somewhere on the property. The girl’s bag had to show up to keep her from searching and asking too many questions.
Rodriguez wanted to return the backpack to the tattoo shop. He didn’t like the fact the school bag was still in his possession. It was evidence and the wrong kind of evidence as well. Not only was it a direct example of a big mistake on his part, but it was also a link to the tattoo shop, and the police were already sniffing around.
Nick had stopped him from going back to the shop because everyone had searched the area. “You can’t suddenly have the girl’s bag appear in the place where people have been looking for it. You’ve already compromised the operation.” Nick mocked Rodriguez, “What kind of idiot are you?”
A few days later, Nick handed him a slip of paper with an address written on it. “Get rid of it,” he hissed as he slammed the paper into Rodriguez’s palm.
Rodriguez found the tiny, green, house near Gilman. There were steps headed up to the house, with an entryway with boots and clutter in the front. It looked like an area where outdoor things were deposited and judging by how far back the driveway went to the house, the occupants used their back door more often than the front. He could put the backpack here and have the girl believe she had left it. Or she could just wonder what happened. He was okay with an element of mystery. People question their actions all the time.
Rodriguez hopped out of the truck and ran up the porch. He tossed the backpack so it would land behind a pair of gardening boots, but he overshot, and it tumbled into the rose bushes. Good enough. Rodriguez hurried back to his vehicle. Getting that condemning bag out of his possession gave him an immense feeling of relief. Rodriguez had left the engine running again on his truck. Sometimes restarting the vehicle could be a challenge, and he didn’t want to draw any more attention to himself. In a neighborhood that posted flyers about taking care of the Cooper’s Hawk, they would notice and remember a beat-up truck, creating a lot of noise as it overturned its engine.
HOT WATER
“What is this, Missy?”
Ollie was standing outside my bedroom with my bookbag hanging from his outstretched finger.
“It’s my bag. Where did you find it?”
“I tripped over it as I was heading out the front door just now to go food shopping. Do I really have to comment about leaving your things…?”
I interrupted him. “Ollie, you KNOW I didn’t leave it there. I’ve been looking for the bag for days. Besides, I don’t even come in through the front door.” The moment I finished the statement, my cell phone buzzed. I looked down and read the message from Joanie saying she had left my book bag on at the doorstep, and why did I throw it in her mother’s roses?
My face must have been screwed up every which way as Ollie’s tone shifted to concern. “Who was that?’ he asked.
“Joanie,” I replied. “Her dad found the bag in their yard, and they just drove it over here.”
“Okay, mystery solved.” Ollie handed me the backpack like it was a dead animal. “You’re going to need to wash this it smells like smoke. And your mother will have a fit if she smells this. When did you start smoking?” He threw up his hands to stop me before I could protest, causing his kimono sleeves to flutter out like butterfly wings. “Don’t tell me. I don’t want to know. The less I know, the better in this household.”
Ollie exited out the front with his recyclable bags and turned left. He didn’t take his truck, so I guess he was headed for the Berkeley Bowl. I was left with my stinky backpack and tons of questions. I stared at the bag, which, in its absence, had become unfamiliar. The awful smoky odor wasn’t helping the situation. I opened the backpack and confirmed my possessions were inside. A now overdue library book sat nestled in a side pocket. My hot sauce packets were tucked in a little zip-up area. It appeared nothing was missing, but wherever my bag had been, it was the home of a smoker. It definitely hadn’t been sitting with Mrs. Whittier’s rose bushes. I sent a message to Joanie asking why my bag smelled like smoke.
I went inside to dump the contents on my bed and give the backpack a ride in the washing machine - maybe two cycles. When all the items were laid out on the covers, the smell of tobacco hovered in the air. The smoke had permeated the interior of my bag. Joanie sent me back a text stating she was going to ask me the same thing, and she added an angry face emoji.
The smell was overpowering in my small room. Ollie was right, my mother would freak over this. I hoped everything would air out over time. I couldn’t very well wash a library book and my folders. I sprayed my room with air freshener and cracked a few windows open to catch a breeze.
The minute I did so, the smell of marijuana filled the air. Shit, this was all too much.
I opened the back door that led out to the porch and saw Nick Ryder standing below on the sidewalk, enjoying a doobie. He was just standing there, smoking a joint outside my bedroom. I hated the fact he was hanging out on the street waiting for Todd. My body rumbled with anger.
“Do you mind?” I said. “The smell is coming into my room.”
“I’m almost done,” he responded. Not sorry, mind you.
“Can you take a few steps away from the house, so it
doesn’t come through the window?”
“Shut up,” Nick said. “I said I’m almost done.”
I think it was “shut up” that tipped me over the edge.
I closed the door, walked into the kitchen, took out a plastic pitcher, filled it with water, reopened the door, stepped to the edge of the porch, and threw the water onto Nick, hopefully dousing his smoke.
“You’re done now,” I yelled, and then I slammed the back door and locked it with the double bolt. I then rushed to the front of the house and double bolted the front door. Outside I could hear Nick screaming obscenities and calling me a bitch. He came up the front steps and begin pounding on the door, demanding I let him in.
Was he out of his mind? There was no way I was opening that door.
Echo came running out of her bedroom. Her eyes were wide and fearful. “What’s going on?” she asked. “Who is that?”
“It’s Nick,” I told her. I was watching the door and hoping it would hold and not splinter. Nick had picked up something and was smacking the door with it, screaming at the top of his lungs.
“Don’t let him in,” Echo whispered. “He sounds like the Big Bad Wolf.” My sister moved over to my side and took my hand. In her other hand, she held a plastic fairy doll. There was a ton of blue glitter in her hair. “Is he going to break the door?” she added.
SHIT. I had really done it. We were alone in the house, and a crazy man was screaming for my blood outside. I looked down at my sister. She was visibly shaking. My mind raced as I tried to think about what I could do to make the situation go away. I didn’t want Nick to move to the back door as it was not as fortified as the front one. If he went around to the back, he would get inside. I had to act fast. I pulled out my cell phone and called 911.
The dispatcher, on the other end, took the information quickly. Once she heard the address, she told me a call had already been placed about the disturbance, and a unit was on its way. She told me to stay inside. I responded she didn’t have to worry about that. And then I asked for Officer Lopez. I don’t know why her name popped into my head, but I had liked her when she had come into Cosmic Hearts. And I don’t usually like cops. The dispatcher said she would notify Lopez, but Lopez handles robbery, and this was a domestic dispute. I bit my tongue, not wanting to correct the lady. Nick Ryder screaming outside my home, was not a domestic dispute.
I could hear the unit pull up outside the house while Nick was still banging in his fury. There was a tussle as they must have secured him, but the level of his rage was frightening. He kept screaming I was a bitch over and over.
“He doesn’t like you,” my sister said. Six-year-olds always state the obvious.
The 911 dispatcher signed off after she learned the police were there, and she had left a message for Lopez. Within minutes there was a knock on the door, and the police were identifying themselves. I told them I was coming, and when I pulled back the curtain to peer out the front window, I could see two officers standing outside the door with their weapons drawn, waiting. I motioned for Echo to move back, and then I said again I was opening the door before doing so.
The officers showed me their identification and quickly entered the house. Outside I could see Nick sitting in the backseat of a police car, agitated and his mouth moving. He probably was still calling me a bitch.
I sat on the couch with Echo next to me. My sister was clinging to my torso and hiding her face. All the officers could see of her head was a mass of red hair with two fairy dolls tangled in the glitter splattered curls.
The officers asked me for my name and my sister’s and then asked if there were adults in the house. I mentioned my mother and Ollie and told them Ollie had just gone to the store. They asked if I knew who Nick was, and I said yes. When they asked if he lived in the house, I said no. They asked if he had a connection to the house, and I said no. One of the officers got up and went outside. I didn’t move from my seat. I only rubbed my sister’s back as she pulled on my clothing, keeping her face away from the police. When they asked her questions, she would shake her head, showering glitter all over the couch cushions.
“Is she okay?” The officer who asked was young and black, clearly uncomfortable with the interrogation we were receiving. He stood across from us, waiting for his partner to return from outside.
I wanted to respond with, “Of course she’s not okay, you moron.” But I counted to five (ten has always been impossible for me to reach) and looked at the officer and replied: “She’ll be fine.”
“She looks scared.”
Another count to five. “She is,” I replied. Dumbass. A scary man was pounding on the door outside our house. Looking down at Echo’s hair, I kept wondering who was going to be in more trouble; me for throwing water on Nick and causing the police to come or Echo for spraying glitter in the living room.
The other officer returned from outside. He was older, clearly the veteran of the pair, with silver hair and a bit of a paunch over the belt. He sat back down in the comfortable chair across from us, but on the edge, so he wouldn’t have trouble getting back up.
“Nicholas Ryder, the guy we have outside, says he is friends with the man who lives at this house, and he was waiting for him to return.”
“He’s not Ollie’s type,” I responded.
The officer looked at me, confused. “Olliver DeMatteo is the only male at this house,” I said. I was thinking “legally,” but I didn’t add the word. I knew I was treading water in a sea of sharks. My status as a minor was the only reason they were tossing me softballs.
“There’s no Todd Mackey who lives at this residence?” The silver-haired officer was looking at his notebook, reading off the name.
“No,” I answered. There. I crossed the line.
“Nicholas Ryder claims you intentionally threw a bucket of water on him.”
“It was a pitcher of water, and yes, I did.”
“And why did you do that?”
“I wanted him to go away.”
At that point, there were some voices at the doorway, and Officer Lopez entered the room. She was not in uniform, and I had been right, she was better suited for bright tops and colorful skirts. She had on a yellow floral outfit with a denim jacket, and she looked pretty cute.
The silver-haired veteran stood up and spoke quietly with Officer Lopez. I could hear her say she had been requested, which was why she was there. I also heard her mention something about a bag being found. The veteran cop’s interest piqued, and he motioned for his young partner to go outside with him.
Officer Lopez sat down in the seat the silver-haired veteran had vacated. She looked at me, and there was a slight smile hinting around her mouth.
“That your sister?” she asked.
“Yes, this is Echo. She’s a bit freaked out. What’s going on?”
“I think I should be asking you,” Officer Lopez replied.
“Why’d they go running out like that?” I asked.
“A substantial amount of opioids and meth were found outside in the bushes. A couple of bags were a bit…waterlogged.”
My eyes went wide, and I think my mouth dropped open.
The young cop came back in, holding Nick’s black leather jacket. He held it up for me to look at. “Can you tell us who this jacket belongs to?” he asked.
“It’s Nick’s,” I answered. I had just figured out where the drugs were found. Nick wasn’t wearing the jacket when I doused him with water. The jacket was probably lying nearby and received a healthy splash. The drugs were hidden in the pockets. I’m sure when the cops asked him, he denied owning it, so they came in to ask me.
The young cop went back out with the jacket, and after a few beats, I heard one of the police cars drive away. I nudged Echo to get her to sit up. After a while, she did, but she just stared at Officer Lopez. I knew she wasn’t going to talk. Echo won’t speak to the police.
“We weren’t able to reach your mother,” Officer Lopez said. “No one is picking up at the tattoo shop. I
s that where she is?”
“I’m not sure,” I responded. “My mother has a big appointment tonight, so she may be taking a break. She likes to go to the park. When she is in her creative zone, she doesn’t answer the phone unless it’s me calling or the school.”
Officer Lopez nodded her head. “Is there anyone else expected to be here? I’m going to wait here until an adult arrives.”
“Ollie should be here soon,” I answered. “He walked to the store, so he’ll be back to make dinner.”
The three of us sat in silence. The squawk of a police radio outside reminded me of something. “Is there a police car out front?” I asked.
“Yes,” Officer Lopez replied.
“I better ring Ollie from my phone,” I said. “He may not come up to the house if he sees a police car sitting out front.” I took out my phone and hit the numbers to contact Ollie.
I heard Officer Lopez mumble under her breath, “What is it with you people and the police?”
I shrugged and answered, “We don’t like cops.”
She looked at me, quizzically.
“No offense,” I added.
“None taken.”
The phone rang a few times, and then Ollie picked up. “Shit! What’s happening?” were the first words out of his mouth.
Dear Jehovah, I had eight packs today. I’m stressed. You saw what happened.
A LOST CONNECTION
“My friend is in jail.”
“That’s not my fault.”
“You threw water on him.”
“I had a theory he would melt like the wicked witch of the west. I was wrong.”
Todd threw up his hands and turned to my mother. She was standing next to him with her arms crossed. We were in the kitchen, and I was sitting on the stools. They had me cornered in the breakfast nook. Todd’s face was red, and my mother’s face had this pinched look as she was pressing her lips together.
“Elizabeth…,” she started. Oh shit, she was leading with Elizabeth. This was the clue I was in trouble. But the fact is, I really didn’t care.
