Young Americans

by Josh Stallings

  Behind them Jo Jo was laid out on the couch snoring. A rerun of Gilligan’s Island hummed on the TV. Terry was lying in a fetal position, headphones on, eyes scrunched shut. Valentina hadn’t moved from her vigil guarding the door.

  “Looked in the mirror a minute ago and I scarcely recognize myself,” Sam said. “That’s kinda bullshit. I can see me—I know it’s me—but in the eyes . . . I don’t know her. Fuck it. Maybe I’m just tired.”

  “Kid, no one plans to grow up and shoot someone. No one. It don’t make you bad or evil or broken or whatever story that lovely mind of yours is cooking up. Just means you did what you had to do to stay on this side of a dirt nap.”

  “Dirt nap? You’re so hard boiled.”

  “Yes, ma’am, I am. Tough as nails and twice as sharp.” Callum winked.

  “You ever shoot anybody?” Sam asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Kill them?”

  Callum paused for a long moment. When he spoke his voice was flat. “Once. Nogales. A counterfeit ring. I was FBI then. A good old boy decided he’d rather try to kill my partner than get arrested. Shot him twice in the back. He bled out before the medics arrived. It was him or my partner. I made the right choice.”

  “You ever think about it?”

  “Not much. Time helps.”

  Sam reached out and took his hand, squeezing it. “I still think you’re a duplicitous dick.”

  “Fair enough.” He looked from her eyes down to her lips and back to her eyes. “You take the bed.”

  “I will.” She released his hand and stood up.

  “Any chance I can join you?”

  “Not a one.” At the door to the bedroom she turned back to him. “We’ll talk again, if we survive tomorrow.”

  “Yes we will, kid, you’re not shed of me yet.”

  Sam kissed him on the cheek and slowly closed the door.

  Lying on the bed she pulled a pillow to her chest. She could smell him in the sheets. She wasn’t screwing him, that had to be progress. His rich musk called to her. She would be strong. She would prove Jacob wrong.

  When she opened the bedroom door Callum was still standing there, as if he knew she would cave in. She found his self-assuredness very sexy. That and his damn Burt Reynolds mustache. He was no Thin White Duke, he was . . . a man. She needed to lose herself in need. She led him to bed. He started to speak but she put a finger on his lips.

  “One word and the fuck’s off,” she said without even a hint of a smile.

  CHAPTER 30

  * * *

  “Here she comes, you better watch your step.” —The Velvet Underground

  Sunrise found Jacob in the Firebird, his sweaty face pressed against the glass, clearing a face-sized space in the condensation that blocked the rest of the windows.

  In the dream he was in a dark forest. He had the M16 and was turning in a circle trying to see where the danger was coming from. An animal screamed behind him. He spun and let rip. Bullets lacerated leaves and branches, tore into a shadowed form. Candy fell from the brush. A bullet hole in her chest gushed blood. Jacob dropped the gun and tried to run to Candy. His legs were stuck in quicksand, unmoving. He fought to scream but he couldn’t make a sound. He was forced to mutely watch as Candy bled out into the rotting leaves that covered the jungle floor. Behind him the animal growled again.

  Jacob’s eyes popped open. Where was he, where was Candy? Fuck. Dead. No. He was in the Firebird. As the dream receded his heart slowed. His neck hurt. And then reality set in. He remembered the day before, and the day ahead, his heart started to pound again. He dug a crumpled pack of Marlboros from the pocket of the brown velvet blazer Candy had stolen for him. He straightened out a bent cigarette. Rolling down the window, he sparked his Bic and sucked in the blue smoke. Slowly, the nicotine calmed his nerves and brought on the numbness that made reality almost bearable.

  Jacob was on his second cigarette when the Humboldt County Sheriff’s car pulled to a stop in front of the apartment building. He slid down in the seat. A potbellied older officer in a khaki uniform and campaign hat lumbered out. He reminded Jacob of Ernest Borgnine in The Wild Bunch. Climbing the single flight of stairs winded the lawman. At Callum’s door he adjusted his Sam Browne gun belt. One hand on his pistol, he used the other to knock. Even from across the street Jacob could hear the powerful blows on the door.

  Jacob turned over the Firebird’s engine. He was about to lay on the horn, figuring he could draw the cop off, hoping he could outrun him. Before his hand hit the horn, he looked up and saw the apartment door open. Callum stepped out dressed in only a pair of jeans. They spoke for a moment. The lawman jabbed Callum in the chest and he raised his hands in a sign of placation. After a short conversation Callum went back into his apartment. The lawman waited on the balcony. Five minutes later Callum came back out, dressed and carrying his leather jacket. They didn’t speak as they walked down the stairs, got in the police car and drove away. Jacob waited until they rounded the corner, then stepped out of the Firebird.

  • • •

  “I don’t trust him,” Jacob told Sam. She was in Callum’s bed, a sheet pulled up over her naked body.

  “I do.”

  “You trusted Jinks.”

  “This is different. He’s a cop.”

  “Oh, he’s a cop, right. When exactly did you start trusting cops?”

  “He’s . . .” Sam struggled to find any logic to back up her gut.

  Jacob looked down at her and the bed. “You boned him. Un-fucking-believable. He has a goddamn mustache.”

  “Jake—”

  “No. Don’t want to hear it. Don’t care. Where did he go? I care about that. That is germane to digging our way out of this massive shit pile you put us in. Boning him, not germane. So, where did he go?”

  “To Rapunzel’s, to see Breeze. The phone was off the hook, so the sheriff came to take him up there.”

  “Leastways that’s what mustache told you.”

  “I got the number that will get us clear of this clusterfuck.” She plucked a matchbook off the nightstand and tossed it to Jacob. The matches had a silhouetted girl bending over on the cover.

  “Brass Rail. A strip club. This helps us how?”

  “Inside.”

  “Oh.”

  “For a genius you can be kind of thick.”

  Under the flap Jacob found a handwritten number. “And?”

  “For the DEA, Callum’s field office. Once we know where and when the meet is, I’ll let him know. That way he can be there, watching. We put Breeze with the dope, he’ll ride in with enough feds to sew the whole hillbilly crew up.”

  “But he’ll let us skate, right?” Jacob gave a mirthless laugh.

  “We’ll be his CIs.”

  “What about Binasco? He doesn’t get his weed, we’re still on the hook.”

  Sam flashed her bother a smile. “Got it handled.”

  “If mustache doesn’t show?”

  “We play out the deal with Binasco and Breeze, hope neither are holding homicidal grudges.”

  “I don’t like it,” Jacob said, “but I’m out of ideas.”

  “You? You are out of ideas?”

  “Shooting blanks. So . . .”

  “We trust Callum.”

  “No, we hope like hell that you have made a correct assessment,” Jacob said, then pointed out they were no longer safe in the apartment. Sam had to agree. It wasn’t worth risking their lives on her gut feeling. While Sam got dressed, Jacob woke Terry and Jo Jo. Valentina hadn’t slept and looked a little crazy around the eyes.

  Breeze, Callum . . . hell, any of the players out there would recognize the Firebird, so they all climbed into the Ford Galaxie and headed down the highway. Jo Jo bitched about wanting breakfast, but no one paid him any attention so he let it go.

  Terry rolled a joint and fired it up without a word. When Jacob suggested he ease off on the dope Terry just asked him to turn the radio up and took another deep toke. Elton John and Kiki Dee
were singing a love song when they drove past the Humboldt County line marker.

  At a payphone outside the ‪Ukiah Natural Foods Co-op,‬ Sam called Maurizio Binasco.‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬

  “You got a lovely mother,” Maurizio said. “Shouldn’t leave her all alone.”

  “Do you go a day without threatening someone’s family?”

  “No threat, Sam, just pointing out a simple fact of life. You got my pot?”

  “Soon.”

  “You gonna screw me?”

  “No.”

  “Right. You even gonna think of screwing me?”

  “Never.” Sam pushed the receiver down, killing the connection. Through the window she could see her crew eating and drinking coffee in the Co-op. She dropped a dime and dialed the number for Rapunzel’s. It took less than a minute for the bartender to give the phone to Breeze.

  “Just got off the phone with Binasco, deal is set.”

  “And by deal you mean you getting to rape me, right?”

  “Actually, Breeze, that was the original plan. May still be, let’s see how this plays out. ‘Cash, grass or your ass,’ his words.”

  “I think I heard that before someplace.”

  “Me too. What’ll it be?”

  “I think, and I mean the wop bastard no disrespect, but I think he can blow me. Unless you want to do it for him?”

  “Breeze, no shit now. You do not want to go to war with these guys.”

  “I was just fucking with you, girl.” Breeze let out a pinched laugh. “You know the upper meadow off that fire road, leads past Jenny Tyrell’s place?”

  “Yeah, middle of goddamn nowhere.”

  “Close to it. Tell him to be there at five, I will make him a happy man.”

  “Him? That’s not part of the deal. You go through me.”

  “Trust you, right? Some humungo greaseball shows up and you say he’s from Binasco, and I what? Roll over and give you a small mountain of sinsemilla? Never, ever happen.” Breeze finished speaking and let the silence hang between them.

  “I’ll see what I can do. No promises.”

  “Only way this works.” Breeze hung up.

  Sam looked in again through the glass. Terry was staring at an onion bagel, stoned to the gills. Valentina was arguing with Jo Jo. Jacob was stoic. All Sam had to do was keep them together until they had the pot in hand and this would all be over. It should be a simple transaction. Should. The word rang in her head like a death knell.

  • • •

  Terry was numb. He knew he had a body, just couldn’t feel it.

  “I know you want some peach pie.” The hippy chick waitress slid the slice down in front of Terry. Her nametag said Star. She had long, shiny, chestnut hair in a thin braid with beads in it.

  “Thanks.” Terry forked a piece into his mouth. “Not bad.”

  “You have a nice smile,” Star said. “You wanna smoke?”

  “Oh, hell yes.” Terry followed Star through the store.

  Valentina watched as Terry disappeared past a row of granola, down the cereal aisle. Her eyes were stone cold.

  “I’m sorry, Val,” Jacob said.

  “I’m not. Great guy, hope he gets what he wants.”

  “He’s so wasted he has zero clue about what he wants.”

  “He’s pretty clear about what he doesn’t want.” Valentina took a drink from her coffee mug. Jacob wanted to say something, but Val was gone to some faraway private place.

  • • •

  Star sat down on the small loading dock. She patted the spot beside her and Terry sat down. “You are running with a very, um, different group.”

  “They’re alright. My friends.”

  “Oh yeah, totally, like, cool.” Reaching into her bra, Star took out a skinny joint. “Sinsemilla, like, takes you home. Almost better than sex, like, almost.” She giggled.

  Terry took out his Bic and sparked the joint for her. After a deep hit, she passed it to him. Terry looked at the joint. A pure connoisseur, he rolled it between a finger and thumb, sniffed the smoke, took a lungful and let it expand in his chest. He didn’t choke or cough. “Smooth. Where’s it from?”

  “Joey Shark. You, like, know him?”

  “No. Where was it grown?”

  “A dude up in Humboldt. It’s, like, amazing, right? Mellow and powerful, kinda like you.”

  Terry smiled and took another hit.

  Star looked at him, very serious. “We can do it if you, like, want. I have a station wagon.”

  Terry held the smoke in. Looking her up and down he smiled. She was hot and looking hotter with every hit.

  • • •

  Sam sat in the restaurant. Picking up a fork, she carved off a piece of the peach pie.

  “That’s Terry’s,” Jacob said.

  “I don’t mind sloppy seconds.” Sam took a big bite and smiled. Gulping it down with a swallow of Terry’s coffee, she turned to Jo Jo. “I need to know, for real, does Maurizio have any men, other than you?”

  “Have or can get?” Jo Jo said.

  “Access to, is that clearer? How many could he have up here in say, the next seven hours?”

  “Um, yeah, that would be mostly me.”

  “Good to know.” She looked at Valentina, shaking her head subtly. “Good news is, I don’t have to worry about him trying to take us down. Bad is, we are fucked if Breeze goes bush bandit on us. Consolation prize is, we won’t go down alone.” Sam stood and walked back outside. On the payphone she called Maurizio again. She gave him the address of the Co-op, told him he needed to be there by four if he wanted his weed. Yes, he bitched. Yes, he threatened. But faced with not coming up with the cash for his uncle he agreed to come.

  Sam made one more call, this one to the Drug Enforcement Administration. She left a message for agent Callum Stark, letting him know where the deal would go down. “Upper meadow, above Jenny’s place. Near where we saw the red-tail. And tell him I’ll signal once I’m sure it’s not lawn cuttings or bricks of oregano.”

  Having Binasco in on the deal was a big complication, but she was good at solving on the fly. The pieces were in motion now.

  No turning back.

  No calling quits.

  Olly olly oxen free.

  Win or lose no middle ground.

  All that was left was waiting.

  Maybe Terry was the only sane one. Maybe they should all get blazed to ride this wild pony of a plan home.

  Or die trying.

  CHAPTER 31

  * * *

  “Cry ‘Havoc!’ and let slip the dogs of war.” —William Shakespeare

  Deep in the Humboldt Mountains, Sardine and Cracker moved through the woods. They were dressed in hunting camo, rifles slung over their backs. They left the van on a fire road two miles downhill.

  “Poison oak.” Cracker pointed at the oily, bright green plant on the side of the animal trail they were walking on.

  “I can see that. I seem stupid to you?”

  “I was just tryin’ to . . . never mind.”

  “No, say it. You were trying to what? Help?”

  “Yeah, but no good deed . . . right?”

  Sardine stopped, snapped off a thin branch from a Scotch Broom and used it to scratch between his shoulders. “Why the hell are we tramping through the woods like a couple of hobos while Big Bob, Clem and them is riding with cousin Breeze?”

  “Maybe he blames us for not taking care of Sam and her people.”

  “You think? Been colder than a polar bear’s balls ever since we got back. He treats Big Bob like family and us’n like we was the help.”

  “We best get moving,” Cracker said, slapping a gnat on his neck. “Don’t want to piss him off more than he is.”

  “I ain’t his bitch, you know. We move when I say we move.”

  “When would that be?”

  Sardine waited for ten seconds, looking at the trees, casual. Then he started to walk again. Cracker followed without saying anything. Twenty more minutes and t
hey came to the upper meadow. Sardine took out his pocket watch, which was strung with a leather thong to his belt loop. He tapped the watch’s crystal as he spoke. “Thirty minutes early, just like I said we would be. Think cousin Breeze will think to give us a nod for that?”

  “I don’t know, maybe.”

  “No, Cracker, he won’t. This deal jumps the track, they start shooting, we should let him and Big Bob fry. Don’t lift a finger. That’s what we should do.” But even as he said it he was looking for a good tree to fire from.

  • • •

  Five on the dot, the black Lincoln and the Ford Galaxie entered the meadow from the east. The Galaxie pulled up and stopped beside the Lincoln. Sam stepped out of the driver’s side. Maurizio and Jo Jo joined her. They leaned on the hood of the Lincoln and waited.

  Somewhere in the tree line behind them Valentina was moving into position.

  Jacob knelt by the Ford’s trunk, rifle in hand.

  Terry checked the snubnose. Finding the cylinder loaded, he snapped it closed and slipped it into his pants, pulling his tee shirt over it. He joined Sam and Maurizio.

  No one said a word.

  A ’63 Dodge Power Wagon carryall bounced up a rutted mud track, entering the meadow from the west. It stopped a hundred feet away. Breeze climbed from the Dodge. He and three men in overalls and Pendleton shirts leaned on the hood of the Dodge, mimicking Maurizio. The men all held hunting rifles.

  Valentina wrapped the M16’s sling around her forearm. Leaning against a massive redwood’s trunk she took aim at Breeze. Cut down their boss and these hillbillies would fall apart. Least that was her thinking. Seemed right in theory. The redwood forest looked nothing like the Indochinese jungle, but it sure felt the same. The air was cool, yet beads of sweat bloomed on her brow and soaked her underarms. She flicked the fire control from safe to burst. A pull of the trigger would release three rounds at a time, conserving ammo in case the enemy didn’t head for the hills and instead stuck around for a firefight.