by Johnny Shaw
“Did he say when the next fights would be?” Bobby asked.
“He didn’t know. Or didn’t say.”
“Then, on your approval of course,” Bobby said, “we gather all the violence we can rustle up and hit Plaster City with everything we got before Tomás goes Nagasaki on the place.”
“The front door ain’t the only way into a house. Didn’t you learn anything from getting shot? We got to be cleverer.”
“Lay it on me then. What’s the plan?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “Hell, our last plan used model fucking rockets. It’s not like we’re good at coming up with plans. We’re a desperate, dumbass bunch of dumbasses. See, I can’t even insult us good.”
Bobby adjusted his back in the beat-up lawn chair, one hand on his wound. He winced and immediately caught me reacting to his expression.
“It’s fine. I’m fine,” Bobby said.
“Peak of health. You got shot, stupid.”
“Whatever slapdash high jinks, I’m coming along. Don’t even open your mouth to argue, I’m going to be there. You went on your last mission to Plaster City without me and look how that turned out. You need my chaos. And it’s my daughter, remember.”
“First we have to figure out what the hell we’re doing.”
“What about ninjaing in there at night? Sounds like they’re more posers than threats. Probably not that diligent about security. We shimmy in, get Julie out.”
“There’s too many of them to risk. We need a distraction. Something that will get Los Hos out of their compound. Then we could look around and avoid any head-on fighting.”
“I know you prefer the backdoor, but I like head-on fighting. It’s my forte.”
“The e is pronounced at the end of forte,” I said. “The best distraction would be the fights. They’re on the factory grounds on the other side of the highway. That means the fenced-in area would be emptier.”
“Didn’t you just finish telling me that Tomás was waiting for the fights to go all Ragnarok?”
“He said he wanted a big display of power or something like that. So he’ll wait until there’s a good crowd and then hit the factory. We’ll be safe on the other side of the highway.”
“That’s a lot of guessing and wishful thinking, bro. Plus, we don’t know when the next fights are going down.”
“That’s what we got to find out. But that’s the time to go. With all those people around, it’s more likely they wouldn’t notice some extra strange faces wandering around.”
“I’ve always thought of your face as extra strange.”
“The strangest.”
“I hate to sound like I’m backing out of a battle,” Bobby said, “but isn’t that cutting it a little close?”
“No matter when we do this, we only get one shot. We got to take the best one.”
“So we get Buck Buck, Snout, Gris . . .”
“We have to keep Griselda out of this.”
Bobby turned to me, already shaking his head in disapproval. “Why?”
“I made a deal with Tomás. No police of any kind. Specifically Griselda. He called her out by name. She can’t know anything. Besides, it puts her more in the shit if she knows what we’re doing. This is going to get straight-up illegal.”
“Bro, don’t make me lie to her. I got this whole one hundred percent honesty thing going on. I told her I was going to be straight up from now on. That was like two days ago. You’re killing me.”
“I made a deal. It might be a bad deal, but it could’ve been worse. It’s the one I made. You got to back my play. With Tomás, there’s always an ‘or else’ attached to everything, even if he doesn’t say it.”
“Okay. I won’t lie to her,” Bobby said. “I just won’t tell her anything.”
I stood up and stretched my back. “I’m going to grab another beer. You want one?”
“No, I better not.”
“Yeah, you’re right. Maybe I shouldn’t either.”
“That was a joke, dumbshit. Of course, I want another beer.”
An hour, the rest of the beers in the fridge, and a dozen bad ideas later, Bobby and I weren’t any closer to constructing a decent plan. It mostly came down to waiting for the fights and then slipping into the compound, but the details never gelled. Tunnels, hang gliders, and smoke bombs were all discussed seriously.
My phone rang. Rudy. It occurred to me that I had forgotten to tell Bobby that I’d gone to see his father. I stood up, walked a few yards away, and answered the phone.
“Veeder, I got something that might help you. Been asking around to the locals. See who knows what about up the highway.”
“And?”
“I want to see Bob.”
I looked back at Bobby scratching at the edge of his bandage. He threw me a nod, curious about who was on the phone.
Rudy said, “I’m not threatening to hold back nothing, mind you. I’m not holding information ransom. I’ll tell you what I heard. But I’d rather tell it to Bob in person. You coming out here got me thinking. I got fences to mend, sorrys to say. Bob’s my boy. He likes it or not, that means something. And if a bunch of Mex thugs got my grandchild, I can’t let that stand.”
“Hold on.”
I pressed the phone to my chest and walked back to Bobby.
“You ain’t going to like this,” I said. “I went to see your old man. When you were in the hospital, I was looking for any angle, asking all kinds of help. He’s out by Plaster City, Coyote Wells, that part of the desert. Knows people out that way. Knows the area.”
“Okay, so why’s he calling?”
“He wants to see you.”
“Yeah, fuck him.”
“He says he heard some things. He wants to help get Julie back.”
“And he won’t tell us nothing unless I go see him? Fucking like him to put what he wants first.”
“No, he specifically said the opposite. I know you two got issues, but if he honestly wants to help, it’s you that has to put your shit aside, get in my fucking truck, and drive out there.”
“You don’t know him.”
“Neither do you. At least, not who he is now. He ain’t pulling some trick. There’s no trick to pull.” I shook my head. “You can’t see the irony in all this? You’re trying to save your daughter, who shot you, but you still want to save her, have her forgive you, or whatever the fuck. But you’re not willing to forgive your own old man? Look at the hypocrisy of it.”
Bobby stared at me, not hiding his anger. “The last time I saw him, I stabbed him in the hand with a fork. And that was our best Thanksgiving. I know he’s not drinking or found God or whatever the fuck, but he’s still a mean son of a bitch who did a bunch of awful shit. Keep the silverware away from me, because I can’t make any promises that my behavior has improved.”
I put the phone back to my ear. “Rudy, you still there?”
“I’m here.”
“We’re on our way. It’ll give you time to make us some Arnold Palmers. You still owe me from last time.”
Rudy made an entire pitcher. And just to be a dick about it, he had dug up some cocktail umbrellas and bendy straws and put them in the glasses. I didn’t give him the satisfaction and ignored the flourishes, but it actually pissed me off how good my Arnold Palmer was. Most people make them too sweet.
At first, Bobby stayed in the truck. I sat with Rudy on the slanted deck.
“He going to just sit there?” Rudy asked.
“He wasn’t exactly excited about coming out here. If he gets out of the truck, he has to talk to you, and I think he’s concerned about what he’ll say.”
“What he’ll say or what I’ll do?”
“Look, I did my part. He’s here. I need to know what you found out. You know what’s at stake.”
“Big party or something out in Plaster City on Friday. That’s what I’m told. I’ll give you the details when—Why ain’t Bob getting out of the truck?”
“How do you know? What kind of party
?”
Rudy gave Bobby a big wave. Bobby shook his head, but opened his door, got out, and slowly walked toward us. I helped Bobby up onto the deck, doing my best to avoid aggravating his injury. Rudy stood not to shake or hug, but to avoid being at a disadvantage. Bobby and Rudy sussed each other out, circling each other, eyes locked. Curious and cautious. Two fighters prowling the ring. Protect yourself at all times.
“How’s your shoulder?” Rudy asked.
“There’s a hole in it.”
“One in your head, too. But you never let that slow you.”
“That’s genetic.”
Rudy nodded. “Don’t matter the caliber, a bullet stings for days.”
“A man of experience.”
“In my long-past days.”
I grabbed my drink off the small table. “You two got things to talk about and it’s none of my business. If what you say is true, Rudy—and I still need to hear the details—Friday gives us time. But I’m going to admit, I’m concerned about leaving you two alone together. Should I be?”
“I’m busted up and he’s old,” Bobby said. “What are we going to do?”
“I need you both to promise that if I leave you alone for ten minutes nothing stupid is going to happen. Do I have to pat either of you down for weapons?”
“I’m trying to make amends here,” Rudy said. “I got no bad feelings. Bobby’s the one with the chip.”
“I wonder fucking why.”
“Ain’t no swearing here,” Rudy barked.
Bobby shouted a fuck you that if typed out would have at least thirty u’s. He stared Rudy down, his expression daring him to do something about it.
“Show some respect, Bob,” Rudy said through gritted teeth. “Ain’t no excuse for that language.”
“Of course there is.” Bobby laughed. “It’s words. Every word’s got a reason to be said. If it didn’t, it wouldn’t be a word. Just ’cause you’re on God’s good side now or whatever the fuck, don’t mean you run the show. You may’ve asked and God may’ve forgived you, but he ain’t nearly as vengeful a dude as me. Give Mom her twenties and thirties back and we’ll talk about forgiveness. For now, I’m trying to work my way to fucking tolerance.”
They stared silently at each other for about five seconds.
“Okay, good,” I said. “Closer to a Middle East cease-fire than a European armistice, but I’ll take it. I’m going to wander the yard. Look at the animals. Don’t kill each other. Yell all you want, but no fisticuffs.”
I hopped off the deck—a good way to be reminded that I’d been mauled by a dog recently—and headed toward the graveyard of farm equipment, old cars, and scavenged satellite dishes. The animal smell rode the heat to the house. I was curious what kind of livestock could create that stench. I had money on a fusion of mule and sloth.
“Watch out for llama pies,” Rudy called after me. “Haven’t taught her to use toilet paper and Theresa thinks the world is her john. Very unladylike, even for a llama. And careful of Butthead. That goat can be a real hardcase.”
Staying in the rough path that wound through the acres of rusted junk, I tried to remember the last time I had a tetanus shot. Did they give me one for the dog bite?
I hoped that some of the anger between Bobby and Rudy was for show and without me there it would settle down. Bravado and trash talk needed an audience. There was a good chance they would only stare at each other instead of talk, but for them that would be a step in the right direction.
Rudy’s property was like other desert spreads. Nothing ever got thrown away. Or if it did, it got thrown out back. A junkyard of anachronistic farm equipment, gutted cars, a beat-up panel truck, fenced-in corrals, multiple sheds, and roaming animals. I was pretty sure I saw an iron lung. When you got all that space, it’s easier to abandon large garbage than haul it away.
I kicked at the chickens that got underfoot as I strolled toward a barn in the distance. I wanted to get a closer view at what looked to be a DeSoto parked inside. Unlike the cars baking in the sun, a tarp half-covered the chassis and it looked clean. Black with suicide doors, Rudy’s taste in vehicles was definitely better than Bobby’s and his Ranchero.
I hopscotched through the minefield of diverse animal shits, some recognizable, some exotic. A pig snorted at me from its pen. It didn’t bother to get up, lying underneath a slow running tap, letting the water drip onto its head.
“Hey, pig.”
It snorted again.
When I looked back up, a goat stood in my path, maybe ten yards in front of me. I hadn’t heard it or seen it, like it had appeared out of nowhere. Demonic creatures tend to do that.
“Hey, goat,” I said. A regular Doctor Dolittle, I was.
The goat stared back at me with its creepy lizard eyes, projecting simultaneous hate and apathy like only a goat can. I walked forward, pretending that I wasn’t intimidated. I wanted to take a look at that car and I was bigger than the goat was. I was higher on the food chain. Hell, I’ve eaten goat. I’d show no fear, demonstrate who was the evolutionarily dominant one, show that goat who was boss.
The goat was. The goat was definitely boss.
Within a few feet, the goat nut-butted me. Direct hit. He sunk my battleship. My own trademark move used against me. I leaned down, reflexively grabbing my groin, which only made it hurt more. The goat immediately tried to bite my face. I pulled my head away in time to avoid its teeth. It lunged again. I dodged, jumped onto the nearest fence rail, and leapt into the pigpen, my shoes sinking into what I hoped was mud, but was not.
The goat stared at me from the other side of the fence, calculating and patient, slowly chewing that way goats do. If there was a way to convince the goat to use his powers for good and not evil, I would have brought the goat along when we went into Plaster City. Unleash hell in goat-form on those bikers.
I never got a chance to see the DeSoto. Just another reason to hate goats.
Bobby approached from the house, quick-stepping toward me. The goat looked at him. Bobby casually shooed it with one hand and the bastard, son of a bitch, jerk goat walked away. Just like that. Walked away from a shooing. What the hell did I do?
“What are you doing to that pig?” Bobby asked.
I climbed the fence without answering and did my best to scrape the muck off my boots on a low rail.
“That was quick,” I said.
“It’s time to go.”
“You guys work anything out? Reach any kind of peace?”
“This ain’t a movie, bro. We’re not going to talk for two minutes, reach some epiphany, and hug that shit out. We talked, agreed the past couldn’t be changed. That we both got some work to do. But for the grandkids, if he was willing to make the effort, I’d meet him halfway.”
“Did he tell you more details about what he found out? About Friday?”
My boots as clean as they were going to get, Bobby and I headed back to my truck.
“His buddy Lorenzo Silva runs Ocotillo Beer & Ammo, the only liquor store out in these parts. The closest other one is in Seeley. So Lorenzo’s is where the desert rats stock up on booze. He told Rudy that some of them Hermanos bikers came in and ordered fifteen kegs for Friday. Got to mean fight night.”
“Friday is two days away.”
“Yeah, I understand time.”
“We still don’t got a plan.”
“Rudy and I worked it out on this napkin.” Bobby held up a ragged piece of paper covered in ballpoint. “The two of us might got our differences, but when it comes to mayhem we’re of a same mind.”
“I’m afraid to ask.”
“You’ll like it. It’s clever and sneaky.”
We walked past the house and Rudy sitting on the deck. He gave us a wave.
“See you on Friday,” Rudy said.
I turned to Bobby. “Hell no.”
“Yep. He’s coming. If that old man wants to be the girl’s grandfather, his first act of good fucking faith is going to be helping pull her ass from the fire.”
>
SEVENTEEN
Friday.
The back of the panel truck felt like it was two hundred degrees. A steamy heat that drained my pores, slicked my skin, and made it difficult to breathe. Bobby and I sat facing each other behind the false wall at the end of the trailer nearest the cab. According to Rudy, it had been built by smugglers to sneak exotic animals from Mexico. I didn’t believe him, but there were all sorts of used vehicles sold along the border with unique modifications. I had a buddy who got stopped on the border because the dogs smelled cocaine residue in the door panels of his recently purchased Vanagon. Caveat emptor, sucker. Carfax don’t list that shit.
Having made an arrangement with Lorenzo at the liquor store, Rudy drove the truck to deliver the kegs to Plaster City. That would get us onto the grounds and, from there, everything would be improvised. The Maveses only plan to a point. Not really a plan if you think about it. More of a notion. But with all the random factors that could come into play, it didn’t make sense to plan too far. That’s how we ran. Slapdash, but not half-ass.
We had cut holes in the truck ceiling for air and light. The big bag of guns sat between us.
“Kind of ironical that we’d be in a truck full of beer,” Bobby said, “but we didn’t think to bring some back here to drink.”
“I got water,” I said, holding up my half-full bottle. “More I drink, the more I sweat.”
Bobby shook his head. “I’m good.”
“Are you? I really wish you would’ve let Buck Buck do this.”
Bobby looked down at his arm. It was still in the sling, but to limit its movement he had secured it tightly to his body with a thick bandage. “With one arm tied behind my back.”
“You already made that joke.”
We hit a big bump, both of us lifting six inches off the truck floor and landing hard. Bobby winced and caught me looking.
“It’s just pain, Jimmy. Me and pain, we’re old pals. I only need one hand to shoot a gun. My main health concern is Gris. If she finds out about this, I’m a dead man.”
“You didn’t have a choice.”
“I want good things for her, and I’m not a good thing sometimes. She makes me want to change, but I don’t know if I can. This old dog ain’t learned no new tricks. Wait, that’s not true. I learned from an old guy how to open a wine bottle with a shoe.”
