Traverse, Inc.

by Sells, W. G.

  “How did you know I was in AA?” I asked. “It’s an anonymous program.”

  “Not to me,” she said and chuckled. I could tell the beer was loosening her up. Her face flushed slightly, her movements more fluid, and her eyes had a translucent sparkle that shown with life…and death. Alcohol, mainly beer, had almost killed me in college, to the point where I couldn’t live with it or without it. I knew its effects – the enjoyable and the addictive - at least to me.

  “Who are you?” I asked again.

  “I’m Ruth Elliott, Julie, and I’m the Director of Traverse, Inc.”

  “What?” This doesn’t make sense. “Stop playing bullshit games with me!” I rose from my seat and started for the exit. Before I could get there, Tree came from the kitchen with a plate of food. Behind him was Scooter. You prick!

  “Oh, hi Scooter, or whatever the hell your name is, ha ha, another prank played on Julie Peters on her first day of work!” I went to pass them, but they blocked the way.

  “I didn’t know, Julie, I swear,” Scooter said.

  “Sure, whatever, just move out of my way.”

  “He didn’t know, Julie,” Tree said, and I could tell he was being sincere (I somehow knew Tree was always sincere). I stopped and looked at them and then back at Ruth. She sat drinking her beer.

  “So why the big game?”

  “It’s not a game,” Tree said. "When Herman found out you were in danger, he fired the shots and set off the alarm so you’d get out of the building the way we wanted you to get out – go to six and walk down and out through the stairway lobby doors and not the elevator to the parking garage. We wanted our boys to pick you up and make it look like the feds had you. Herman also wanted you to look scared.”

  “Glad I could oblige.” I said. This was all too much. “Those were our boys? They sure had me fooled. They told me they had a job for me too.”

  “They felt sorry for you and really didn’t know what to say,” said Scooter. “Me too, by the way.”

  “Shut up,” I said quarter-joking. “I’m not done being mad at you, Scooter.”

  My emotions were at war though I didn’t feel the rush of battle or grandeur of a loudly singing, brightly colored, flag-bearing cavalry charge, as much as a cold, grim, shell-shocked foxhole feeling of despair. I wanted to laugh crazily or cry or scream or hit something, but tears would just start digging the foxhole a little deeper and shout for a medic. Bring more bandages… and morphine! I had to pause for a moment. Tree handed me a tissue.

  “Thanks,” I said, and took a deep breath. “So, who the hell is Herman?”

  “My son,” said Ruth. “You know him as Peepers - the Acting Director of Traverse, Inc. He’s the day-to-day, nuts and bolts, keep everything running smoothly and make everybody happy type, while I’m the retired, consultant, backroom, get to drink beer for breakfast type.” She laughed, and took another gulp.

  “Don’t forget the ‘send people to jail type too,’” I added.

  “Ever heard of Tony Scalisi?” asked Scooter.

  “Sort of,” I said.

  “Yeah, I didn't know it, but his boys were waiting in the lobby and by your car in the garage.”

  “Why?” I asked, no longer feeling like Alice in Wonderland, but more like Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz. Why does the witch want me? I looked at my Gucci’s. Click, click, click.

  “He wants all of us,” Ruth said. “But it’s partly because of the work we did for you.”

  Tree took my hand and held it in the gentlest way. “Remember, when Myron, I mean Peepers, had Queen Bee break into the senator’s house, and Cracker opened the safe and took the money?” I shook my head yes. “Well, he took some folders too and they…”

  “That’s enough,” Ruth said, as she rose from the table and walked towards me.

  “No, it’s not!” I shouted. “You took me out of the frying pan and threw me into the fire! I go from a debased, sleezeball senator to a debased, sleezeball, killer Mafia guy, but first I’m going to jail to hold an AA meeting!?!?!” What the hell is going on?”

  “Welcome to Traverse, Inc., dearie,” Ruth said matter-of-factly, and then burped. “’Scuse me.”

  Jesus and his little brother

  [Previously in Traverse, Inc. – Julie Peters learns that Mafia leader, Tony Scalisi, is after her (and the rest of the team) because of papers that had been removed from Senator Hughes’s safe, and that the gunfight at Traverse, Inc.’s headquarters was all a ruse to get her out of the building safely.]

  I watched as Tree got behind the wheel of Ruth Elliot’s Buick. The commanding old lush of a director had sworn she was able to drive, but the two large steins of beer had taken their toll on her tongue, her legs, and her ability to find her keys. Tree literally caught her before she fell down in the parking lot, and had to pour her into the car, but not before she turned to Scooter and said “breesh herbow t’night.” Scooter didn’t understand, but Tree broke the German code.

  “Brief her about tonight.”

  “Oh, okay, boss,” Scooter said.

  Scooter and I sat on the front steps of the beer hall as we watched them drive away. He cleared his throat and picked through the box of AA books and pamphlets. I could tell he was trying to sort out his thoughts to tell me what to do. I didn’t wait.

  “How did this Tony guy figure it was us?”

  “Well…,” he said, pausing to find the right words. “…Peepers thinks we have a traitor in our group.”

  “No way!?!” I said out of reflex, but then thought, oh yeah, I’m working with ex-cons. I raced through the team lineup and immediately thought of BS. He seemed to be the weak link, at least in my mind.

  “Any idea who it might be?” I asked.

  “None. I’ve worked with these guys for a long time and I can’t imagine any of them giving up the others – at least not for gain.”

  “No one has hurt feelings, you know, like wanting to be the leader or wanting more respect? It seems like BS takes a lot of ribbing.”

  “Yeah, but he brings that on himself, and he knows it’s coming. It’s like a ‘badge of dishonor’ with him.”

  “He wears it well,” I said with a chuckle, but inwardly mused, maybe too well. "So, what do I do tonight? Who is in this meeting I’m leading?”

  “Ah, you’re catching on nicely. It’s a job for one of our new clients - a Ukrainian mail-order-bride. Her ex took their daughter and disappeared. The creep’s new girlfriend is in jail for another month after breaking parole for drunk driving. The plan is to become her new BFF then maybe we can track down the creep and find the daughter.”

  “Okay,” I said, and breathed a sigh of relief. At least I don’t have to mess with gangsters or killers. “How do I get in? What time is the meeting?”

  “Seven-thirty. We already forwarded your name and social security number to the jail so they could run a background check on you. You go through the main entrance and sign in. They’ll lead you from there, Peggy.”

  “Peggy?”

  He handed me a fake ID and Social Security card.

  “Yeah, you’re Peggy Lipton for this assignment. Peepers said it’s the name of an actress from an old television show – ‘The Mod Squad.’”

  “Great, I’ll go home and put on my flowery peasant blouse and hip-huggers.”

  He looked at me for a second or two and then took my hand. His touch was warm and sincere and I found myself leaning in to it.

  “I really am sorry for this morning,” he said, “I didn’t know.” I started to tell him it was okay, but then he added, “But please don’t hit me, cause, um, well, you can’t go home to change. We had to move you again and you don’t have a place yet.”

  “What? So where am I supposed to stay?”

  “With Queen B.”

  “What if she’s the traitor?”

  “She’s not.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  He gave me a wry smile.

  “I know her very well. You’re staying w
ith me too.”

  “Oh,” I said blankly, and let go of his hand.

  I hadn’t thought about Scooter being with anyone, let alone with Queen B. I realized, obviously too late, that I kind of had a crush on him – or at least on his phone voice that first day back in the thrift store. I had never really checked him out either, but now all of a sudden I wanted to. A day late, a dollar short, Julie. Story of your life. I decided to whine instead of pine.

  “So, what am I gonna do about my stuff and my car?” I said with a high-pitched shrill straight out of seventh grade. “I just fixed the place nice, and just got my car back.”

  “Well, as we speak, Cracker has a crew packing your apartment and putting most of it into a storage unit until things blow over – he’ll bring your personal stuff later, and Big and Little Toe are moving your car.”

  “Geesh, you guys make my head spin. I need an AA meeting.” As the words came out I immediately felt apprehension about being the leader of a meeting that was supposed to be a venue of honesty. Honesty? I wouldn’t know honesty right now if it ran up to me in a hockey mask and slashed me in the face with a machete. I haven’t had an honest moment in days, and now I’m supposed to lie and weasel my way into a relationship with some drunken chick, that picks loser boyfriends…

  I had to pause, knowing I was turning defensive. The AA program had taught me to stop when I point my finger at others, and when I don’t want to take the blame for my own actions. She’s you, Julie. Except for the grace of God, there go I…my lofty moral idea that I was somehow better than this person – a woman I didn’t even know, was clipped before it took to flight. I’m better than she is, but I’m going to lie to her? And who are you calling a drunken chick? Look who’s leading the meeting, you hypocrite? My internal wrestling match didn’t go unnoticed.

  “Are you okay?” Scooter asked, while looking at me as if my head was spinning and spewing pea soup. I felt just the opposite though, having quickly come to grips with my own inner failings.

  “I’m fine, thanks.”

  “You are very welcome,” he said and then picked up his phone as a call buzzed in. “Hey, yeah, we’re heading over to Queen’s place,” he said to the caller. “I briefed Julie on the…what?”

  He stopped speaking and nearly ran off the road and into a ditch, as he suddenly braked the car to a halt onto the shoulder. “How? When?” He was shouting into the phone and as he turned to look at me his expression was one of shock and pain. I waited till he finished listening to the other end.

  “Okay,” was all he said and hung up.

  What now? I thought.

  “Jesus and his little brother, Cristobel, were shot dead getting your car.”

  Oh, Lord.

  Anyone Else?

  [Previously in Traverse, Inc. – Julie Peters is given the assignment of leading an AA meeting inside the jail in order to befriend the girlfriend of a child abductor. She also learns that the Brothers’Tow, Jesus and Cristobel, have been killed while retrieving her car.]

  I sat on Queen Bee’s couch for the rest of the day and gazed out the living room picture window watching the cars go by. I didn’t really see the cars or anything else, but I knew they were there. Scooter had taken Queen back to the bedroom after breaking the news about Jesus and Cristobel, and her sobs were only now lightly heard over his comforting words.

  I felt out of place. I was here, but I wasn’t here – no more cognizant of my surroundings than the tiny throw pillow I sat squeezing over and over again in my lap.

  I suddenly had the urge to run and hide in the booth-in-the-back-in-the-corner-in-the-dark of the nearest dank watering hole and order a double keg of Dr. Pee-a-Lot. Keep ‘em comin’ bushter! I’m right by the ladies room! My senses whirled with the fizzle of the foam; the aroma of the hops and barley; the glistening drip of condensation gliding down the mug, and the refreshing satisfaction of…

  “I’ll get it, Julie,” Scooter was saying as he breezed out of the bedroom and headed for the front door. I was so lost in suds I hadn’t heard the knocking. He looked through the window and opened the door. BS stood in the doorway with his eyes cast down in sadness. Was he faking? He took three steps inside and saw me. His expression quickly changed from anguish to anger.

  “What the hell are you doing here!?!” he yelled.

  “Whoa…” Scooter raised his hands and tried to calm BS down. “She needed a place…”

  “It’s her freak’n fault we are in this mess in the first place!”

  “No, it ain’t, BS! Shut up!” Queen said as she came out of the bedroom. “It’s the Senator’s fault for raping her. He practically begged us to put him out of commission, and it was his mafia business shit in the safe.”

  BS calmed down immediately and I could tell his mind had been slapped.

  “He raped you?” I shook my head. He closed his eyes and exhaled. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know. They only tell me what to do in a job and not why I’m doing it.”

  “So, what are you doing here?” Scooter asked BS. “Nobody told you to come here.”

  “I don’t know,” he shrugged. “I figured you guys knew what happened and I just didn’t know what to do or where to go. It ain’t safe, you know?”

  He moved into the living room and sat in the lounge chair. Queen sidled up on the sofa and put her arms around me. Scooter was heading for the floor by Queen, when there was another knock on the door. We all tensed up – our eyes darting to each other. Queen clutched me so closely it felt like the skull tattoo on her arm was eating one of my freckles. Scooter ran to the window.

  “It’s cool,” he said and opened the door. Cracker and Cheese came in, but not before Cracker turned to look back out onto the street. They both had frightened looks on their faces.

  “So, what’s up?” BS asked.

  “Office is off-limits,” said Cracker, and then looked at me, “and so is your stuff – for now.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “I was packing your apartment and saw them pull up outside – two carloads full of mean heat. Me and my crew left everything, even the truck, and beat-feet out the back. I told them to go home as best they could, and called Cheese to pick me up. We headed over to the office and saw they had a ring of heavies staking the place out. It looks like they got 5-0 there too.”

  “Damn,” said Scooter, and picked up the phone.

  “Don’t call Peepers,” Cracker quickly warned. “He said just take care of Julie and lay low. He said he was gonna handle this Mafia guy’s file.” Scooter dialed the phone anyway.

  “I’m calling Tree,” he said.

  As the others sat back and tried to catch their wits, I watched each one and tried to guess who the traitor was. Maybe it wasn’t any of them. Maybe there were some other team members I didn’t know about. Tree isn’t here, but I don’t think it’s him. What about Sister Boom or Mr. Freeze?

  “Is there anyone else on the team I don’t know about?” I asked.

  “He’s not picking up,” said Scooter and then quickly left a message. “Tree, call me!” He turned to me. “What did you say?”

  “She asked if there was anyone else on the team?” said Queen.

  They all looked at each other and I got the feeling they had rather I not have asked. No one moved, except Queen who moved her arms from around me to cradle herself by the knees. They didn’t even seem to be breathing.

  “Well?” I said forcefully.

  “Why do you want to know?” asked Cracker. I looked at Scooter as if to say, “Are you going to tell them what Peepers said about a traitor or am I?” Scooter sighed.

  “Myron thinks there may be a traitor among us,” he reluctantly said.

  “What?” said Cracker with a look of total disbelief.

  “Bullshit!” yelled BS. “Why didn’t he say anything to us about that?”

  “Cause you could be the traitor,” said Queen. “Damn, you is thick sometimes, BS.”

  “Fuck you, Queen!” he yelled, and
immediately wished he hadn’t as Scooter turned and nailed him with an uppercut to the jaw. BS fell to the floor with a thud almost at the spot where he had been standing.

  “Uwww,” he moaned. “At werz sheep shot, bra,” he said as best he could with a stunned jaw.

  “Watch your cheap words, bra,” Scooter said as Queen got up from the sofa and kicked BS in the gut. BS rolled on the floor in spasms.

  “Now, now,” Cracker said and raised his hands. “He got the message.”

  “I doubt it,” said Cheese, who to this point had been silent since coming inside. “Anyway, I’m outta here. Anyone need a ride?” He looked at me.