Li gripped Reuben’s shoulder with steel wrists and pulled him back. Reuben squirmed against his restraints. Li glared at Monkey Face, his eyes like titanium. “I’m not going to tolerate you making those kinds of insults. All you’re doing is baiting him. If that’s what you want to do, leave. I refuse to help a racist.”
His voice carried bright and cold through the store, as firm and unshaken as a battle cry.
Monkey Face chuckled and twirled his cane. “You bore me.” And to prove it, the man unlocked his jaws with a huge yawn. “I was going to suggest that you dismantle this monstrosity and construct something more … circular.” His cane whirled over Li’s heart as if reminding the boy what a circle looked like. “And try to keep the diameter on the small side. We don’t need you to show off your building skills, however limited they are. Just replace that repulsive pyramid. Don’t you agree that would be the best solution?”
He didn’t linger for a reply. Turning on the heel of his wing tips, Monkey Face swept away from the pyramid and down an aisle, spinning his cane in his hand like a drum major. Li watched him go. It was a splinter in the eye, the idea that he didn’t even need the cane. He just used it to intimidate, maybe even engender a sick form of pity he didn’t deserve.
Li’s thoughts were so uncharitable that they left the taste of vinegar on his tongue.
Reuben wilted, plastering still shaking hands to his face. Li thought he heard a smothered sob. “I have never come so close to assaulting someone in my whole life. I’m scared how far that went. Oh God. Why did he have to come here?”
“Reuben, who is he?”
“O-Oscar the Grouch.”
The nickname almost made Li laugh. It didn’t seem to fit the monster that came into the store. He swallowed the impulse. “Who’s Oscar?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“But he implied that he knew your family. What does he mean to—?”
Reuben dropped his hands, tears flooding the planes of his face. “I said I don’t want to talk about it!”
No cane twirling today. Oscar thundered down Shorewood Avenue, entertaining the notion of tripping any kids who passed him. That smug little snot in the grocery store would learn a lesson from speaking to him like that. Oscar would bury him, plant him in an early grave. Furry knuckles cracked and popped as he squeezed the head of his cane.
He paused. His scowl eased into a smirk. Oh yes. That mouthy punk with the crybaby eyes would earn a special education courtesy of Oscar Lindstrom. He knew how to make people writhe in their own skin.
He started to twirl his cane. And this time, he whistled.
A jet-black sedan with tinted windows, conspicuous by its attempts to look otherwise, crawled up to the curb next to Oscar. The driver’s side window rolled down, and Oscar was not at all surprised at the person behind the wheel. The woman had the resources and the privilege to have a paid driver, but she insisted on retaining her independence. It was one of the things Oscar did not like about her.
The woman removed her sunglasses, revealing eyes tinted to match the windows of her car. Her hair, swept into a French twist, drew inspiration from a thunderhead, deep purple-black slashed with lightning bolts of gunmetal gray. An amused smile touched the wide mouth that held definitive court over the lower half of her face.
“You’re a ways from home, Oscar,” she said, her voice rich and throaty, a baritone Bea Arthur could appreciate. “Taking an afternoon stroll?”
“Ah, Constance Henderson. Are you having me followed?”
“If I did, I certainly wouldn’t waste my energies announcing my presence to you, would I?” Her lips, colored a deep rose, parted in a grin that showcased the best teeth orthodontia could provide.
“I should hope not. That would be a waste of the taxpayers’ hard-earned income if their mayor’s wife spent it on counterproductive espionage.”
Constance tilted her head and graced him with a slight titter. “Still using big words hoping someone will think you’re smart?”
“Oh no, my dear Constance. Only trying to impress you. It worked once.”
“Thankfully, it didn’t take.” Constance turned her head to look down Shorewood Avenue and the streets that branched off it like legs on a centipede. “Heading home to that little chippie that calls herself your wife? Or heading off to see the little chippie who knows that’s all she means to you?”
Oscar gave her his famous sneer. “I didn’t think you had it in you to be jealous.”
Constance let a laugh—cultured, refined, the laugh a politician’s wife is supposed to give—tumble from her lips. “Jealous? Of you? Of them? Oh sweetie, I learned a long time ago not to be jealous of people like you. As for them”—she lifted her shoulders in an offhand shrug—“I just feel extraordinary pity.”
Oscar showed no anger or resentment. In fact, he seemed pleased by her judgments. “As I pity your husband, my dear. I don’t think Mayor Henderson quite understood the storm he got himself into.”
The extreme tips of her smile tweaked downward. “Yes, well, we’re all entitled to a few mistakes.” She slid her sunglasses onto her face, camouflaging her dark, glittering eyes. “I suspect you are up to your old sins again, Oscar. I feel compelled to remind you what my Mama’s Bible used to say about that. ‘Be sure thy sins will find thee out.’”
Oscar allowed a small snicker. “And I feel compelled to remind you that ‘old sins cast long shadows.’ Your past will come back to haunt you. Especially since I’m in it.”
The window scrolled up too quickly for Oscar to catch her reaction. But he knew down in his soul that he had her crushed under his thumb. He watched as her sedan merged into traffic and sped off for the safety of City Hall.
Another win for Oscar Lindstrom. Another victim caught in his coils.
The office phone, irritable, inconsolable, shrilled at Frank Dixon, clawing at the dense fog of gloom and misery he closed around himself. He mumbled a rainbow of swear words, the first hooks of a headache tunneling into his skull. Massaging his left temple, he straightened in his leather desk chair, contemplated letting voice mail take the call, and then clenched the receiver in his fist.
“Dixon speaking.” He wondered if his greeting sounded as dead to his caller as it did to him.
“What are you doing in your office on a Saturday, Frank?” The man’s voice, rich with bonhomie, started to chuckle. Frank wished he could see the humor just as easily.
“Thinking, Tom.”
Tom’s voice sobered. “I guess you do have a lot to think about. Heard Oscar practically skipped out of your office, doing that thing where he twirls his cane. We all know that means bad news. What did he do?”
“He resigned from the paper.”
“Then shouldn’t you be the one skipping and twirling?”
It hurt to smile, but Frank couldn’t help it. “If the man wasn’t such a snake, I might.”
“Uh-oh. I don’t like the sound of that. What is he holding over you?”
Words, Frank thought.
“It’s nothing.”
“Which is exactly what you said when Cindy divorced you. Come on, Frank. We’re fishing and hiking buddies. Maybe I can help.”
Frank felt a spear of migraine nail him between the eyes. He pinched his eyelids shut and massaged the acne-pocked bridge of his nose. “I just think it was a mistake to let him go.”
“How do you figure that?”
Frank hesitated. “Well … he is a main draw to the paper. I can’t ignore the sales spike on Wednesdays when his review comes out.”
Tom cleared his throat, working a little injury into his words. “Ahem … I’ll remind you that my sports column has a pretty damn strong following, Frank.”
Frank was floored by the laugh he heard tumbling out of his mouth. “Ease up, Delancey. You’re still batting a thousand for us.” He sank back into a frown. “Oscar has too much influence. He’s turned The Shorewood Gazette into a pamphlet for witch hunts. I keep remembering that new h
olocaust he stirred up after the Bauer incident.” Bauer … the name brought a sour glaze to his tongue.
“And you think he’s going to turn his weapons against you?”
Frank decompressed with a sigh, relieved to hear someone else voice his dark, twisting terrors. “Uh-huh. Can’t you talk to him, Tom? You’re his friend.”
Tom Delancey chuckled. “Whoa, back up there, Frank. I don’t think anyone can claim to be Oscar Lindstrom’s friend. More like neighbors by accident, colleagues by choice, acquaintances by necessity. You’d be better off getting a girl to talk to him. Is Juliana still around?”
Frank winced. “Had to let her go.”
“Damn. She’d be a winner. I never underestimate the drive of a ginger to get a job done.” Another chuckle.
All this good-natured ribbing made Frank want to throw his paperweight again. He glanced at it. The brass football was dented and smudged with dirt. He wished it was blood.
“I’m sick of being cooped up here, Tom. I think I’ll head up to Harper Lodge for the weekend. Take Maryann with me. Why don’t you come along and bring whoever the latest lodge bunny is this time?”
“Her name’s Staci, and I don’t think they appreciate being called lodge bunnies.”
Despite the distance, Frank could still picture Tom’s charming, cavalier smile stretching from cheek to cheek. Oh, to be a bachelor again. “Anyway, I’m sorry I can’t help you, Frank. Taking Staci out to a ballgame at Jordan Field tomorrow. Sort of a last hurrah for the baseball season. We won’t be back until late. I promise to have my article about the game ready on Monday.” Tom’s tone sobered again. “Hey, listen. Whatever it is Oscar has on you, it always seems worse than it really is. Don’t let him get to you. That’s the part he loves the most. He wants to see you squirm. Take care, buddy.”
The line went dead, just like Frank’s hopes for his career.
Was it his career he worried about? At the moment, he would gladly surrender the editorship for the chance to dump his problems on some other sap. Or was he afraid of Oscar’s influence, the way he could manipulate people into believing anything he wanted? He had a strong core of followers. They had faith in every lie he told them. A new, paralyzing realization caught at Frank’s chest, stopping his heart. Oscar Lindstrom was nothing more than a modern Adolf Hitler.
Frank should have killed him when he had the chance.
Li hitched a raisin of a backpack higher on his shoulder, waiting for a response to his knock. He bobbed on his feet, trying to shake off the aches that came from walking all the way to Reuben and Noah’s apartment. He had heard the duct tape he used to hold his sneakers intact crinkle with each step.
The door flew open, and Reuben was all smiles. “Hey! You made it!”
“Yeah. Sorry I’m late. I missed the bus, so I had to walk over here.”
Reuben’s glance dropped to Li’s feet. “In duct-taped sneakers? Your feet must be killing you. Come on in! Don’t need to loiter in the hallway.” He hollered over his shoulder. “Hey, babe! Our guest is here!”
Reuben pulled Li inside the apartment. It was a cozy place, meant for two. The living room, kitchen, and dining area all opened onto each other. All the furniture had a lived-in, hand-me-down feel, an eclectic collection of loaned pieces to help furnish a young couple’s nest. Li could sense all the family dinners, game nights, reunions, and story times around the tables, sofas, and chairs. His heart twinged. He started to calculate how long it would take to save up for a bus ticket to visit Mom and Anna in Jefferson.
Reuben strolled into the love nest kitchen and pecked his boyfriend’s cheek. “Smells delicious, honey.” He turned back to his guest. “Li, this is my boyfriend, Noah Larsson. Noah, this is the guy I told you about.”
“I heard Reuben was picking up strays again.” Noah wiped his hands on a dish towel and shook Li’s. The sparkle of welcome in his emerald-green eyes complimented the shimmer of his blond hair. His smile, wide and generous, sat a little off-center on his face. “I’m glad you could make it, Li. Make yourself at home.”
Reuben nudged Li in the ribs. “Yeah, don’t stand around. Take a load off. Here, let me help you with that.” He slid Li’s backpack off his shoulder. “Why’d you bring a backpack anyway?”
Li, his head spinning from the ocean of hospitality, shuffled into a chair at the dining table. “Sorry about that. I’m taking an English class at Shorewood Community College. I have an essay due in a few days, and I still have a lot of work to do before I go to the library to type it up.”
Reuben sat next to Li, waving aside the explanation. “No big. We were students once. I remember bringing my laptop on a date with Noah, so I could finish a business model for class. Boy, I’m lucky that he gave me another chance after that.” His eyes softened as he watched his boyfriend cook. “I’m the luckiest guy on the planet.” Then they swiveled back to Li, bright and glistening. “I have an idea! Instead of going to the library, why don’t you type up your essay here? I’ve got the computer and printer. It’ll save you on printing costs.”
Li’s cheeks flushed pink. “Oh no. I couldn’t impose on you like that.”
“Don’t be silly. It’s not an imposition. We want to help you get your education.”
Li felt a strange bubbling in his chest. Did he dare call it happiness? He had never met such nice, open, friendly people before. He had to think of some way to repay them for all their generosity.
Noah called out from the kitchen. “I hope you like fried chicken, Li.”
Li’s stomach, deprived of a big meal for so long, went insane. It’s like they knew his one weakness. “Fried chicken is my favorite meal ever. Can’t get enough of it.”
Noah flashed one of his half-smiles. “Awesome. Must have been intuition.”
Dinner was amazing. The chicken, juicy but not greasy, warmed his whole body. The skin—his absolute favorite part—was crisp and spicy. It was paired with creamy mashed potatoes, rich scratch gravy, buttery corn on the cob, homemade coleslaw … the list stretched on forever. Li ate far more than he should have.
Noah shared details about their lives, how they met, their respective families. Li filled Noah in on his life. Reuben entertained them both with stories about work that made Li nearly bust a gut from laughing.
Reuben took a big bite of his drumstick. “I’m not saying Leo’s a bad guy, but where did this guy learn about work ethic? Must have charmed his way through high school and peaked at college. Good schmoozer, but don’t ask him to stock anything. I once found him putting overstock milk on shelves in the breakfast aisle. He said it made it easier for customers to get their milk when they bought their cereal. With that megawatt grin of his, you could almost believe it.”
Noah smirked at his boyfriend. “Don’t go falling for a fancy smile, babe.”
Reuben settled a long kiss on Noah’s cheek. His voice softened. “I already did that.”
“Did you tell Noah about that customer today, Reuben?” Li asked.
Walls were thrown up. Every muscle in Reuben’s body tensed. Like a runner anticipating a starter’s pistol. “We’re not going to talk about that.”
Tiny wrinkles furrowed the space between Noah’s eyes. “Honey, what’s wrong?”
“We’re not talking about it.” He mouthed a single word to his boyfriend. Oscar. Noah’s eyebrows lifted in unison. He rested a hand on Reuben’s and stroked it with his thumb. Reuben gently squeezed Noah’s fingers.
Noah deflected the tension. “So, Li, how’re your mom and sister?”
Li pushed the remains of his dinner around his plate. Now he felt like the one throwing up walls. “They’re … fine. I think.”
“You think?” There were whispers of concern in that emerald-green stare.
“Well … I haven’t seen or spoken to them in months. I don’t have a phone, and neither do they. It’s too expensive.” He sighed. “Everything is too expensive.”
“Isn’t there someone who could get in touch with them?”
“There’s our neighbors, the Watsons. Family friends. Sometimes we use their phone.”
Noah fished a cell phone out of his jeans pocket and held it out to Li. “Here. Call them.”
Li’s eyes, wide and disbelieving, bounced between Noah’s face and the phone. “Oh, I couldn’t—”
“Seriously, call them. I think it’ll do you some good.” He pressed his cell into Li’s hand. “I know my mom loves to hear from me. You can use our bedroom for privacy. Go on. Don’t worry about the cost. We’ll take care of it.”
Li shambled into the bedroom, the phone weighing tons in his hand. Why was he so scared to call his family? Did he have this premonition of disaster? Was his family in even worse trouble than before? With his fingers like lead, he dialed a number he knew by heart and waited as the rings stretched for centuries.
“H-hi, Mrs. Watson. It’s me, Li Johnson. Oh … yeah, I’m okay. Um … I-I was wondering if I could talk to Mom and Anna. That is if they’re not too … Oh, they are home. Great! I mean … if it’s not too much trouble. Yeah, I’ll hold.” His throat started to ache. “Anna Banana? It’s LiLi. Have you started terrorizing pedestrians with your driving yet? Well, I’m your big brother, so I can tease you if I want, baby sister. Yes, I know you hate it when I call you that.” A smile pulled at his lips. “Your seventeenth birthday is coming up. Got any ideas what you want? Uh-huh … Uh-huh … Well, I’ll see if I can make it up there. Yeah, I moved to Shorewood, so I might be able to visit you soon. I miss you too, sis. Hey, put Mom on. I love you too, Anna Banana.” Li felt his cheeks grow moist. “Hi, Mom. Mom, why are you crying? Oh … I miss you too. I told Anna that I moved to Shorewood, and I might be able to make it up to Jefferson for her birthday. Yeah, I’m okay, Mom. Yes, I have a place to live. Yes … Yes, I’m still eating. Mom, I’m okay. Really. I made some really cool friends. You and Anna take care of yourselves. Watch that arthritis of yours. Well, someone has to look out for you, Mom.” He sniffed heavily, brushing away a loose tear. “I love you, Mom. I miss you guys a lot. I-I’ll come home for a visit. I promise. Talk to you again soon. Oh, and Mom …” His mind drifted to the ashes in the little urn on his mother’s mantle. “Tell … Tell Dad I love him.”
Cleanup on Aisle Six Page 3
