Munch had a quick memory of how wet and cold it had been in Oregon that October seven years ago, and her eight months off the antifreeze. Boogie running through Deb's little cabin to fetch his mama her pipe. Deb and their other friend Roxanne, smoking bright green Oregon homegrown, drinking cheap wine, and snorting speed at the kitchen table as the logging trucks barreled down the highway outside.
Munch had flown up there to find Sleaze John's killer and Asia—his orphaned baby. Back in the day Sleaze John aka John Garillo had been many things to Munch. Lover, co-conspirator, friend. He had been shot to death within hours of visiting Munch at her work. He had stopped by to tell Munch about his baby and the death of that baby's birth mother, Karen. And, of course, being Sleaze, he had come in need of a small "favor."
Munch came close to losing everything in the week that followed: her newfound sobriety, the baby she hoped to save, her freedom, even her life. With all that at stake she should never have been tempted to get loaded with her old friends, but old habits die hard and the good ones are the easiest to break. Dope had a funny way of screwing up an addict's memory even before he or she used any. Ruby said that's why alkies and druggies needed meetings, because everybody together didn't forget the same things at the same time.
The trip to the great Northwest that long-ago autumn ended happily enough. Munch stayed sober, Asia became her daughter, and the extra bonus was that a longtime friend and using partner, Roxanne, found the program and moved to Sacramento. Deb, being Deb, found a new ol' man as the old one was carted off to prison. As Ruby would say That Old Boy upstairs works in mysterious ways.
"Nathan," she repeated. "I like that. This is my daughter, Asia." She didn't qualify the nature of their parent/child relationship. Asia knew she was adopted, but it didn't need to be mentioned every time either one of them turned around.
Nathan shook Asia's hand and said, "Hey Asia."
"Actually you two have met," Munch said. She turned to Nathan. "Remember when I came up to Oregon for your seventh birthday? Asia was just a baby and I had about eight months of sobriety."
Nathan stared at Asia for a second and then said, "You're Sleaze John's kid?"
Asia nodded and looked skyward. "He's dead. So's my other mother. She took too many drugs."
"I remember," he said.
"So you're fourteen now?" Munch asked, wondering what else his memories held.
"Yeah," he admitted somewhat grudgingly "but I've got ID that says I'm eighteen."
She could see he passed for that easily. Fourteen was a long time ago, but she couldn't remember any of the boys she knew in her adolescence who weren't puny little geeks. Maybe if she had gone to high school, she would know different.
"Where's your mom?" Asia asked.
"Amsterdam."
Deb had called Munch last month from overseas wanting what she termed "a small favor." Her current boyfriend, Aaron, was a parolee fugitive, and had taken Deb with him to Amsterdam. Apparently there was no extradition treaty. between the two countries. Deb wanted to send some letters to friends stateside and she didn't want them postmarked abroad. She was hoping to mail Munch a package to divvy up and forward. Munch told her no and chewed her out for even asking. Deb's voice had sounded hurt after that, and it was all Munch could do to not take her words back.
"Don't you go to school?" Asia asked. "I'm in third grade."
"Nah," he said, "I'm through with all that. I've been working since last summer. What's high school going to do for me?"
"Asia wants to be a vet," Munch said.
"Or maybe an astronaut, like Sally Ride, I haven't decided."
"Either way she wants to go to college," Munch said.
"That's cool." Nathan looked around him, his expression neither approving nor disapproving, just taking it all in.
"Have you eaten?" Munch asked. "Are you hungry?"
"Sure." He sat down at the table and waited for her to serve him. She wondered if that was the adolescent in him or the man. Deb did backflips for the men in her life, always trying to prove what a standup, perfect ol' lady she was. Observe, ladies and gentlemen. She cooks, she cleans, she gives head, and always looks cute doing it in her tight jeans and heels, bangles on her arms, rings on every finger; long brown hair down to her ass.
Deb also had a way of putting on her Southern accent and saying, "Oh, g'wan," as she laughed at some guy's stupid jokes. Munch had spent years watching her charm the leather off the bikers they had both known. Yet how many times had one of those same bikers turned to Munch and asked, "What's your friend doing with a nigger kid?"
Once, tired of the question, Munch had told a guy that Deb had picked him up on her travels to Zimbabwe. Daxrmed if the idiot hadn't believed her. Without looking up, Nathan cleaned half the plate Munch set before him. Asia sat opposite him, utterly fascinated. Munch wondered how long it had been since his last meal.
Asia looked at the duffel bag by the couch. "Are you going to stay with us?"
"For a couple days, if that's all right," he said. Munch didn't hesitate. "Of course it's all right. You're still my little Boogieman."
"Your ace boon coon?" Nathan asked, a funny half-smile turning up his dusky lips while his brows met in a frown. It was the sort of expression people make when someone they care about hurts their feelings.
Munch winced, recalling the little jingle she used to recite to him. "You're my ace boon coon, my pride and joy, an ugly motherfucker but you 're still my boy." What kind of a jerk uses that kind of language with a little kid?
"Nathan—"
"Yeah?"
"I, uh . . . I'm . . . You want to clean up, maybe take a nice bath?"
"Sure," he said, standing up, not bothering to take his plate to the sink.
She fetched him clean towels. He met her in the hallway She was aware of his height again. The small boy she used to know was almost a man. Fourteen going on twenty-five. It seemed like yesterday when she had held his little hand as they crossed the street.
"I'm doing a load of laundry if you have any dirties."
"Thanks," he said, smiling shyly "They're in my bag."
Munch felt another urge to hug him, but they were alone in the doorway of the bathroom, and she was suddenly gripped with a shy attack of her own. Seven years is a long time in a kid's life. She wanted to reestablish a connection, but recognized that she would have to tread slowly She contented herself with giving his arm a motherly pat.
The phone rang, and Asia jumped up to answer it. A moment later she was spelling her name loudly to the caller; then she rolled her big brown eyes saying, "It's Rico," and tried to hand the phone to Munch.
Rico. Munch took her time with the plate she was washing and then carefully wiped her hands dry Asia wiggled the receiver in the air, bulged her eyes, and pressed her little lips together in frustration.
"I'll be there in a minute," Munch said.
Asia liked the idea that her mom had a cop as a boyfriend. Munch suspected it made for good show-and-tell. What Asia didn't know was that Munch and Rico had agreed to keep their romance quiet until his current girlfriend, Kathy transferred to her new job in Boston. Rico didn't want Kathy to know he'd found someone else. He wanted her to leave town believing that he just wasn't ready for a serious relationship instead of knowing the more hurtful truth.
Munch had agreed to the terms. The alternative would have been never to see him again and that, as far as her heart was concerned, was unthinkable, or at least it had been in January But now she had to ask herself what she was doing pining away for a guy who had spent Valentine's Day with his soon-to-be-ex-girlfriend, who was supposed to be moving away?
Soon-to-be-ex-girlfriend. Not a term that exactly rolled off the tongue. What had she bought into? It wasn't a great concept to begin with, and it was feeling shakier all the time.
Munch took a deep breath and accepted the phone from Asia. "What's up?" she asked him, trying not to sound as if she cared.
"I was thinking about you," he said.
"What were you thinking?"
"l want to see you."
"Are you sure you can squeeze me into your schedule?" Munch looked over at Asia. Asia had a glass of milk to her lips, but wasn't taking a drink. Munch picked up the phone and moved into the hallway
"Don't be like that," he said.
Munch looked at her watch even though he couldn't see her and said, "Gee, is it March yet?"
"I'm sorry we couldn't get together the other night," he said. "I just need you to be patient a little longer."
"l know."
"I can be over there in twenty minutes."
"Not tonight," she said, fighting the part of her that wanted him above anything else. The mother inside at war with the lover. "I have company "
"What kind of company?"
"His name is Nathan. He's the son of a friend of mine."
"Oh, a kid. "
"Not so much anymore. He's in town looking for work." As she said the words she figured they were probably true. She also wondered why she felt the need to promote Nathan's virtue to Rico. She never felt she had to explain herself before. "He needs a place to stay for a few days."
"How old is this kid?" Rico asked.
"Um, almost eighteen."
"So, he's a man."
"Just about."
"How did he find you? Where has he been living? Doesn't he have any other relatives?"
"Look, I didn't give the kid the third degree. He's tired, he was hungry I'm not going to turn him out into the streets."
"I don't like this," he said.
She didn't say anything.
"Munch?"
"I'm still here."
"I'm just saying that if this kid is on his own, then he shouldn't be mooching off you."
"I sort of owe it to the boy. I've known him since he was a baby And don't forget," she added, "if it wasn't for my generous nature I would have told you to take a hike a long time ago."
"You still can."
She sighed. "I know. A month isn't forever, but it sure feels like it sometimes."
"For me too," he said, his voice soft.
Yeah, she thought, but you made the schedule. "Look," she said, spotting Nathan's duffel bag lying unzipped by the couch, "I've gotta go. This kid has a ton of laundry."
"I'll call you tomorrow. "
"Good." She hesitated, bit her lip, looked down at the carpet at her feet without seeing it. "Miss you."
She took the phone back into the kitchen, told Asia to go brush her teeth and wash her face, and then started sorting through Nathan's clothes, astounded at the mountain of soiled laundry that the kid had managed to jam into his bag. She got a load of his jeans and flannel shirts started, and then went into her daughter's room to put her to bed.
Asia fought sleep as long as she could, hoping for another glimpse of their houseguest.
"He'll still be here in the morning," Munch assured her before kissing her good night and tucking in the blankets. When she closed Asia's door, she heard the shower shut off.
Nathan emerged from the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist. His arms were muscled and tattooed, his chest hairless.
"Do you have pajamas?" she asked.
"I usually just sleep in my underwear," he said.
"Not here you won't." She went to her room and returned a moment later with a set of men's pajamas.
"You can use these."
"Whose are they?"
"Um, leftovers." She felt herself blush.
When she heard him come out from the bathroom the second time, she joined him in the living room.
"Remember this?" she asked, handing him a framed photograph she'd taken off her bedroom wall. They were sitting together on the couch, which she'd made into a bed with sheets, blankets, and an extra pillow from her own bed.
He took the picture into his big hand, a hand roughened by calluses, Munch noticed.
The picture was a poignant black-and-white photograph Nathan had taken with an ancient Kodak camera when he was only six years old. It showed a group of black kids in front of the mural on Windward Avenue in Venice Beach eating sunflower seeds. Four were seated, the one in the middle was standing. Only one of the kids was halfway smiling, and he appeared to be the youngest. The others' expressions were in turn suspicious, wary and concerned, as if they already knew what the world had in store for them.
"You kept this?" Nathan asked, a big unexpected smile breaking over his face.
He really was a beautiful kid, she thought. He had Deb's dimples.
"I love this picture," she told him. "You really captured something here. Are you still interested in photography?"
"Yeah," he said. "I had a job last year, working at a film lab. It didn't pay much, but I got to use the darkroom."
"Are you looking for work now?"
"I already talked to some guy: I'm starting tomorrow."
"Oh, so you're planning to stay?"
"My mom gave me a list of people I can call."
Munch could only imagine who that group entailed. Boogie—that is, Nathan—did right coming to her first.
"Remember New York Jane?" she said.
Nathan scrunched his face in concentration. "Barely"
"You took pictures at her wedding?"
"What about her?"
"Nothing. I mean, she died, but if you don't remember her . . ." .
Nathan shrugged. "Sorry."
"Yeah, well, never mind. Get a good night's s1eep."
She waited while he climbed under the covers, hovered for an awkward moment, and then kissed him on the cheek. His forehead was pebbled with acne. Poor thing. Fourteen was an awkward age. He belonged in school.
"Good night"
"Thanks," he said.
Munch included Nathan in her prayers that night. The kid was due a break, but she didn't know where it would come from. Like her, he had no family to fall back on, not that Deb hadn't started out well. Boogie's first few years of life had been good. Deb was entirely focused on him then. She dressed her little man so cute, spent hours on his hair, really doted on him. Munch lived with Deb for a while back then. She'd been the same age as Nathan was now, and Deb a worldly sixteen. Munch saw Boogie take his first steps at only nine months old, her name was his first word. She had sworn then to protect him, a promise forgotten when drugs and alcohol shoved anyone and anything aside.
Deb and Nathan moved to the "country" in 1976, the year before Munch got sober. Deb's motives were good. She wanted the clean air and the small-town atmosphere. Unfortunately; she brought her alcoholism and love of the fast life with her, finding another
group of bigoted, mangy outlaw bikers to hang with. Munch knew the scene only too well.
"Quick, kill it before it gets big," was a common joke directed at Boogie. It always drew rough, drunken laughter.
Munch asked Deb once what Boogie made of the word nigger. Deb thought a minute and then said, "Asshole." As if that was okay that the kid wasn't getting scarred because he was oblivious to the word's racial connotations.
It would have been different if he'd grown up somewhere else or been able to spend some time with his daddy's people. All Deb had ever said about his daddy was that he was a musician named Walter. And a few times, when it had been just the two of them talking, Deb would say how fine Walter had been and how good in the sack. Munch might then admit that, if Walter looked like Billy Dee Williams, she wouldn't kick him out of bed either. But to have a kid with the guy? What were you thinking? Their mutual friend Roxanne's theory was that having a half-breed kid was Deb's way of thumbing her nose at her parents. They'd all been stupid. Stupid and too young to be making any judgments, especially about having kids they couldn't take care of, much less appreciate.
"Forgive me," Munch whispered now, before she dropped off to sleep, "and thank you for my life." She remembered the other thing then, the murders. What would God have her do? She'd call Roxanne tomorrow. If anyone checked her phone records she could always say that Nath
an's arrival prompted the call.
Chapter 6
Thor, 1974
Walking out into the alley, Thor heads for his Ford pickup truck. New York Jane is with him. So is Munch. It's twilight in Venice Beach.
It usually is.
The three of them form a loose pack, hanging together like abandoned dogs gone feral.
The trio are on their way to the liquor store to buy another six-pack for Thor and wine for the women. He has on combat boots, adding another inch to his six feet. He also wears jeans and a camouflage jacket over his long-sleeved thermal. His keys dangle from a hook on his belt loop. There's a hunting knife strapped to his right thigh, barely legal at a smidgen under six inches long and technically not concealed.
His hair and beard are long, like the guys in ZZ Top, but Thor doesn't sing, play an instrument, or work. No one gives him shit about how he fills his days, least of all his woman. They share everything, and Thor's all for that. He brings his muscle to the mix, his attitude, his utter disregard for everyone else in the world. Fuck 'em all but seven, he says, six pallbearers and a motorcycle cop.
As they get close to Thor's truck, they see movement in the cab. Some young hippie-type with long black hair has broken in and is rifling through the glove compartment. Thor doesn't shout; he doesn 't even break stride. He hands his keys to Jane and pulls back his own long hair with a rubber band. The women hang back, unsure of what will happen next. Thor sticks his head into the open door of his truck.
"You need any help, bro?"
The dark-haired guy jumps a little at the sound of Thor's voice, but quickly recovers. Thor is calm, relaxed, his smile friendly.
"No thanks, bro, " the hippie says. "I'm doing all right."
"Because I was thinking, " Thor says, reaching for the sawed-of baseball bat—his "nigger-be-good stick"—that he keeps behind the bench seat, "that you might want this."
The hippie knows he's in trouble now, but he has no idea how much. He looks at the women, then back at Thor.
Thor's mouth contorts into a frown before he brings the bat down on the guy's knee, then across the guy's arm when the would-be thief holds it up toward of the attack. Something goes crack. The hippie doesn't even scream, there isn't time before Thor drags him into the street. Thor doesn't want blood on his upholstery, so he waits until the guy is on the ground before he whops him across the nose. It makes a smooshing sound, a wet thud.
Unpaid Dues Page 4
