Young Americans

by Josh Stallings

  “Girly, you and me, we’re Siamese twins, sharing the same heart.” He smiled at her. “You think if they come after me yours won’t be the first name they hear? Clip me now and Jo Jo does your brother and then hands your name over. We are appaiato significato. Partners. Only way we make it out is together.”

  “Partners.” Sam reached out and Maurizio took her hand. “Now, get me my brother back and I’ll start figuring a way to get your bread back.”

  “He’s at the disco. Basement storage room.”

  “You gonna let Jo Jo know we’re coming?”

  “He’ll know. I’d lend you the key to the back door, but with you that seems both redundant and insulting.”

  “True. Let’s jet, Val.”

  “Right behind you, princess.”

  As they left, Ricky sat down on the chaise, sticking out his lower lip in an obvious pout. Maurizio waited until they were gone before he moved to appease his comare.

  CHAPTER 26

  * * *

  “Sometimes you have to lose yourself ’fore you can find anything.” —Deliverance

  “Boss said I’m supposed to roll with you,” Jo Jo said to Sam.

  “Not going to happen, big guy.”

  “Mr. Binasco said you’d be resistant. He said you should think of me as your surrogate Siamese twin.”

  “And if I say fuck off?”

  “Then I’m supposed to hunt you down and take out someone you love. I don’t want to do that. But . . .”

  “You will,” Jacob said.

  “Come on, Princess Samantha, our own personal queer ogre is just what this freaky luau needs.”

  “Fine. Anyone else want to climb onboard the suicide train? Toot toot, all aboard, next stop, the gates of hell.”

  Squeezing into the back of the Galaxie, Jo Jo smiled at Jacob. “I really am glad I didn’t wind up having to kill you. Friends?”

  Jacob looked at the large outstretched paw. “Why not. Just don’t break my hand, I may need to use it some time.”

  • • •

  It was after 2 a.m. when they arrived back at the Creekside Apartments. The headlights sweeping across his windshield woke Detective Pahk. “What a freak show,” he said to Sam as he looked at Jo Jo and Valentina.

  “Jacob, take our friends inside, get them something to drink.”

  “You got it.”

  Sam waited until the other three were in the apartment before she gave Pahk her attention. “What is it this time, Detective, you come to tuck me in?”

  “Cute trick, Judy S.”

  “I have no idea what you’re rambling about.”

  “The Humboldt address tipped me. I don’t like being jerked around. I had the state boys check out your paroled felon.”

  “They didn’t find him?”

  “They found him. He was clean. Doesn’t have a record. Not even a jaywalking ticket. They don’t like being jerked around any more than I do.”

  “Well shit, take me in then.” Sam held out her hands to be cuffed. “Arrest me or walk away, I mean it.”

  “Oh, you mean it. Well that’s a horse of a completely different color. You mean it. I think I’ll go for door number three.”

  “What?”

  “Yes, it gets better. I put your whole crew on the wire. Got flagged. Your girl Candy is in the hospital. Took a high-caliber round to the chest.”

  “You think I shot my best friend?” Sam kept her face neutral.

  “Could be. Doc thinks I can talk to her tomorrow. You and I both know that bullet in her chest leads back to you and that he-she Amazon.”

  “You have nothing.” Sam sounded less than sure.

  “Accessory to a felony or two I’m sure. From where I’m looking, you are circling the drain. Want a hand? Talk to me now and we’ll see, maybe we can swing a deal with the DA. Once Candy starts spilling, it’s out of my hands.”

  “This is bullshit. I’m calling my lawyer.” She started to turn away. Pahk grabbed her biceps, pulling her close.

  “You don’t walk away until I say so.” She could smell the whiskey on his breath. “Be smart. Don’t think I’m above bending the law to nail you. It gets dirty, your smart-ass little brother may get splashed.” He released her with a shove that sent her stumbling back. “You got my number. Clock is ticking.”

  • • •

  In the apartment, Jacob was passing around rum and Cokes. He handed one to Sam when she came in. “What did Detective Dick Weed want?”

  “Candy woke up.”

  “Is she OK? Is she going to—”

  “I don’t know. And, yes, it could be total BS, but Pahk said he was going to interview her in the morning.”

  “But she’s awake? Fuck yes. Fuck. Yes. I’m going to the hospital.”

  “Pahk, cops, they all may be there.”

  “Stealth is my middle name.”

  “It’s nice to see you smiling. Take the Firebird. And Jake?”

  “Yes?”

  “Tell Candy Pahk is coming after me. He wants to lay her shooting at my feet.”

  Jacob’s smile fell. “Should I be sure she has her story straight before or after I say how glad we are that she’s still breathing?”

  “That’s not what I said.”

  “Kinda is. But forget it. You’re in triage battle mode, that justifies everything, right?”

  “I’m trying to keep us all free and above ground. Got a problem with that?”

  “No, we’re solid.” Jacob walked away without meeting her eyes.

  Behind the wheel of the Firebird Jacob’s shoulders relaxed. Candy was alive. She of the captivating smile, the intoxicating fragrance. She of the one perfect kiss. Her lips soft, inviting, and tasting of cherries. She was alive. Everything else was crap he could deal with later. She was alive. A goofy grin spread across his face. With a deep rumble he pulled out onto the 101.

  • • •

  “OK, princess, what’s the real skinny?” Valentina asked Sam.

  “I’m just beat.”

  “Tell that to some ordinary girl. This is me, your ever-fabulous human lie detector. And you’re lying.”

  Sam looked over at Jo Jo, not wanting to be overheard. Jo Jo’s full attention was on the black and white TV, where ABBA was playing on Don Kirshner’s Rock Concert. They were performing “Dancing Queen.” Sam kept her voice down. “Pahk has our scent like a mad bulldog. Threatened to fabricate a case against us.”

  “Think he’ll do it?”

  “Maybe. He was sloshed. That man needs to get laid, or something.”

  “That man needs to have a bullet parked behind his ear,” Valentina said without a smile.

  “It may come to that.” Taking the glass from Valentina’s hand she took a long drink, then handed it back. “We sleep in shifts. Jo Jo you take the first shift.” He smiled and nodded but his eyes never left the glittering Swedes on the TV set.

  Valentina and Sam rested on Sam’s bed. Neither were sleepy. Both were exhausted.

  “This shit’s over, I’m going to Aruba,” Valentina said, “lie on a beach and have some cute cabana boy bring me drinks that look like a fruit cocktail and kicks like a mule.”

  “Over? You really think there’s any such day?”

  “I hope so, girl.”

  “You wonder who we’ll be when the credits roll on this one?” Sam asked.

  “All the time. Valentina? I fight to keep her here. Keep me here. Seems sometimes I’d, hell, we’d all be better off if I let the lady go and went back to being Henry. Bitch is, I know he ain’t me, not now. I’m a mess.”

  “You are a stone cold, beautiful mess, Valentina.”

  “Thank you, princess.”

  Sam took Valentina’s hand, squeezing it. There was nothing left to say. They would or wouldn’t survive the building war. And if they survived, there was no telling how intact they would be.

  CHAPTER 27

  * * *

  “It’s all bullshit except the pain.” —Mean Streets

  A t
hick fog blanketed the Kaiser hospital. Jacob was glad an alarm didn’t blare and rent-a-cops didn’t swoop down on him when he entered. An older Chicano man was pushing a floor polisher in swirls around the lobby. If he noticed Jacob he didn’t show it. A yawning woman at the information desk told Jacob that Candy had been moved out of the ICU to an intermediate room.

  “What does that mean, intermediate? I thought she was getting better.”

  “She may be.” The woman looked down at a binder. “It just says she was moved last night. An intermediate room is for seriously ill patients who don’t need as close supervision. It is better than ICU.”

  “Where is she?”

  “It’s too early for visiting. You her brother?”

  “A friend. I, we, thought we were going to lose her. Then I heard she was going to make it. Now this intermediate shi, um, stuff.”

  “I’m afraid you’ll have to wait until after ten.” The lady was older, her long gray hair loose down her back. She wore a simple muslin dress and chunky Navajo jewelry.

  “I get it’s your job to tell me that. Normally I would smile like Eddie Haskell, say I understood, then sneak up the back stairs. Fact is, the girl up there? She is the most amazing thing in my life and I didn’t know if I would ever see her again. I just want to look in on her, see her. Can you understand that?”

  “You love her, this girl?”

  “Like the moon.”

  “Room 247.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Love matters,” the woman said, then looked back down at the papers on her desk.

  Jacob took the elevator up. Candy was in the first bed in the room. Curtains hid the bed behind her. She looked pale, but now there was less of a gray tint to her skin. A tube ran from an IV bag down to the needle taped to the top of her hand. Wires snaked from monitors to her, spreading out into a spray of small sensors taped to her chest. A tube entered her ribs just under her arm and a pump hummed and gurgled as it sucked fluid from her chest cavity. An oxygen mask covered her mouth and nose. Jacob stood watching her chest move up and down. Even with all of this, she was still the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. It wasn’t that he didn’t see the sweaty sheen on her skin, or her oily hair or the tubes and wires—he could. But superimposed on her in the bed was every smile she’d ever given him. He saw her on the dance floor spinning in his arms. He could feel her breath on his ear. She was still alive and that meant anything, any future, was possible. Even one where they went out to the tiki bar for blue drinks and drove home eager and hungry for each other. After fifteen minutes he became aware he’d been lucky not to get caught by a nurse or security guard. He started to go, then turned back and took her hand. He needed to touch her, feel her warmth.

  Candy’s eyes fluttered open very slowly. She looked dreamy and doped as she worked to focus her eyes. Recognizing Jacob, her eyes widened. When she first spoke, her voice was a dry, raspy whisper. He couldn’t hear her words. Leaning down, he put his face very close to hers.

  “Jake, I’m sorry,” she said, floating from the painkillers.

  “Oh, Candy, what could you possibly be sorry about?”

  “I must look terrible.” She rolled her eyes and tried to smile.

  “You look amazing. What are you sorry about?”

  “Everything. I thought . . .” Her voice dropped to a low mumble. “. . . and all I wanted was . . .” She reached up and touched his face.

  The curtain slid open, startling Jacob.

  Candy’s mother was puffy with sleep and surprised to see a young man standing over her daughter. “Who are— I know you. You are Samantha’s brother.”

  “Jacob, Mrs. Harmon.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I had to see Candy. I heard—”

  He felt Candy squeeze his hand weakly.

  “Do you know who shot, what happened to my daughter?”

  “No. I just heard she was in the hospital.”

  “You’re lying. If you care about Candice—that is her name, Candice—if you care about her at all you tell me what happened.” She was moving closer to Jacob, a hard edge in her face.

  “I love your daughter.” Jacob looked from Mrs. Harmon to Candy. “I love you.”

  Candy smiled and then her lids got heavy and she drifted off.

  “You’re no better than your sister. I know you were involved.” She was hissing to keep her voice down. “Trash, your whole family. I warned Candice. Said sooner or later Samantha would ruin her life. Look at her. Look at my baby girl.” Angry tears rolled down her cheek.

  Jacob gave Candy’s hand one last squeeze. She had retreated back into her drug-induced haze. Turning, he walked out.

  “I will prove you and your sister did this. I will.”

  Mrs. Harmon’s voice was cut off as the elevator doors closed. Jacob could see himself reflected in the stainless-steel walls. He looked rough as hell. He’d been tied up and tossed in a trunk, hadn’t slept in twenty-four hours and he needed a shower. He looked like the trash Candy’s mom accused him of being. Even if he’d cleaned up and put on a suit before going to the hospital, it wouldn’t change the fact that if Candy hadn’t come with Sam and him on this ride she wouldn’t have been hurt. In the park, when she told him about Berkeley, he should have insisted she give up the heist and go to school. Was he selfish? Was the reason he hadn’t stopped her his desire to be with her? Or was it worse? Was he weak? Had he been afraid she wouldn’t think he was cool if he told her to stay away from the robbery? A man would have kept her safe.

  Driving the Firebird out of the parking lot, Jacob took good measure of himself and found himself wanting. He hid in remembered sentences, phrases stolen from master wordsmiths. Wild Bill Shakespeare: Frailty, thy name is woman. No, frailty, thy name is Jacob the miserable pussy. A coward dies a thousand times before his death, but the valiant taste of death but once. Fuck Shakespeare.

  Dylan Thomas: I know we’re not saints or virgins or lunatics; we know all the lust and lavatory jokes, and most of the dirty people; we can catch buses and count our change and cross the roads and talk real sentences. But our innocence goes awfully deep, and our discreditable secret is that we don’t know anything at all, and our horrid inner secret is that we don’t care that we don’t. Thomas was no better.

  Jacob’s mind skipped to movies, struggling to avoid feeling by creating the distance of insignificant thoughts.

  “I’m God’s lonely man,” Travis Bickle said in Taxi Driver.

  “The pain in hell has two sides. The kind you can touch with your hand; the kind you can feel in your heart.” Charley in Mean Streets.

  Words.

  Mountains of words as he bounced from one thought to the next.

  “I’m mad as hell, and I’m not going to take this anymore.” Paddy Chayefsky wrote that in Network. He also wrote Marty starring Ernest Borgnine, who played Dutch Engstrom in The Wild Bunch. They died like men. All of this knowledge, this trivia, did him no good. It was noise. His ability to remember and synthesize facts earned him a 1450 on the SAT. He was smart enough to get into any college he wanted. And that did not one thing to help Candy.

  • • •

  “Man, you look spent,” Terry said. Jacob picked him and Esther up at the Glass Slipper motel. Entering the apartment, they found Sam crouched behind a sofa aiming an M16 at them. Sam laughed it off, saying she heard them coming. Jacob couldn’t deal with any of it. He took Terry back outside.

  “I am spent, Terry. Burnt crispy fried,” Jacob said as he sat down on one of the crossbars of the high-power tower. The freeway was full of cars stuck in morning rush hour. Terry fired up a joint then tried to pass it to Jacob, who shook his head.

  “Come on, this is no kind of day to give up the boo.”

  “I need to keep my head straight.”

  “Why exactly do you need to keep straight? Huh?” Terry licked his finger, touching the joint where it was burning unevenly.

  “Our shit is well and truly fucked up, Te
rry. Fucked. Up.”

  “No shit, Sherlock. So you want to think our way home? That it?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Ain’t going to work, man, no way. I mean it will, but not like this. You are the smartest cat I know.”

  “Then?” Jacob asked.

  “We need you. How long have I known you?”

  “Ninth grade—three and a half years.”

  “Three and a half formative years,” Terry said through tight lips, smoke escaping with every word.

  “I’ll give you that. Point?”

  “Point is, I know you better than any motherfucker, right? And I know when you’ve got your chain wrapped around your axle. You want to sink into your poor fucking me bullshit self-pity?”

  “Candy is in a hospital bed because I didn’t stop her, didn’t tell Sam to fuck off and solve her problems without involving everyone I love.”

  “History, all of that. ‘I never saw a wild thing sorry for itself.’ We need a wild thing about now.”

  “D.H. Lawrence? Dropping the big boys on me? OK, here.” Jacob took the joint from Terry and sucked in a deep toke. “Happy? I’m still thinking of jumping.”

  “Take another hit.”

  Jacob inhaled and held it. Slowly he jetted out the smoke. “I hate to admit this . . .”

  “What’s that, Jake?”

  “Fuck. You’re right. We need to find our way home from this shit.” He took a last hit, then ate the roach. “And I do my best thinking high.”

  “Truth, man. Now let’s go save the world. Only first we need to climb down without breaking our necks.”

  “That would suck dolphin dick.” Jacob started to climb down. “D.H. Lawrence. Surprising choice.”

  “You’re not the only honor student stupid enough to climb a high-power pole.”

  Jacob let the pot and morning sunshine work their magic on his tense muscles and mind. Terry was correct; they’d both written most of their truly inspired papers high. The only difference here was people died or went to jail if they got it wrong. No need to sweat that. Jacob’s foot slipped on the dew-slick girder. He stumbled into space.