Cadillac Chronicles

by Brett Hartman

  ALEX FELT like a sinner late for church as he entered the courtroom while the judge was speaking. He slid into the back row—twenty or so feet directly behind Lester and his lawyer.

  Randy Burgess, in full cop regalia, sat on the other side. He was smiling and whispering something into his attorney’s ear.

  “Mr. Bray,” the elderly judge said. “You’ve been charged with third degree aggravated battery. How do you plead?”

  Lester’s attorney said, “We plead no contest, Your Honor, with full intention of counsel.”

  The judge looked directly at Lester. “Are you aware, Mr. Bray, that a plea of no contest gives up your right to trial?”

  “I am,” Lester said.

  “Are you aware that your record will show a conviction?”

  “I’m aware.”

  “Mr. Bray,” the judge went on, “have you been coerced in any way to enter this plea?”

  “No, Your Honor, I’ve decided to go along.”

  “Do you wish to say anything to the court before we proceed?”

  Lester looked over at Randy Burgess, scowled for a moment and then said, “No, Your Honor, I’ll pass.”

  The judge pointed toward both lawyers and said, “I’ll speak with you two.” The three men exited through a door behind the witness stand.

  Alex focused on the back of Lester’s head, wondering if the old man’s ears had always been so big. But then he remembered from biology class that ears were cartilage, and cartilage—unlike the rest of your body—kept growing until you died. Lester’s head was downcast. If Alex hadn’t known better, he would have thought the old man was praying.

  Then Alex looked over at Randy Burgess who was staring straight back and smiling. It was the kind of smile that attracted itself to blood. Suddenly, Alex felt like he should be the one praying. He looked down and closed his eyes.

  The judge resumed his bench while the lawyers returned to their clients.

  “Mr. Bray,” the judge said, “this court accepts your plea of no contest for the charge of third degree aggravated battery. I’ve heard from you, your attorney and the prosecution, and I’ve given close consideration to the facts of this case.” He put on a pair of low-slung glasses and looked down at a sheet of paper. “I hereby sentence you to thirty days incarceration, or ninety hours community service. You’ll be required to take part in an anger management class, and you’ll pay a fine of $2,000.” He looked straight at Lester. “Do you understand the terms of this sentence?”

  “I do,” Lester said. The words came out flat.

  “Good,” the judge said. “Since you’re from out of state and therefore a flight risk, your release is contingent upon you paying the fine. Furthermore, if you elect community service, you’ve got seven days to meet with your probation officer.” He picked up his gavel. “This court is adjourned.”

  Alex felt winded even though he hadn’t done anything. He remained seated while everyone else got up. There was a sliver of Lester between two men who helped him out of his chair. Then Randy Burgess came strutting up the aisle. He had stitches angled across the length of his left temple.

  He looked down at Alex and said, “Watch your step, pervert.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Alex’s return walk to Freedom Bonds was bogged down by the fear of Randy Burgess and the complexities of the judge’s sentence. Even if he had the money to pay the fine, Lester would still need to stay in Georgia, see a probation officer, take a class and do a stint of community service. The whole thing felt overwhelming.

  He opened the door and entered the office. There sat Clyde at his desk, hovering over a half-eaten sub. He dabbed his mouth with a napkin and said, “Alex, have a seat. You hungry?”

  “No, I’m fine.”

  “You gotta be hungry.” Clyde reached for an additional sandwich. “Here, this is good. You’ll be doing me a favor.” He explained that it was a pork chop sandwich from Willie’s and that his wife always brought him two, which was one too many if he ever hoped to shed pounds. He placed the thing on a section of newspaper and ushered it forward. “You’ll like it, long as you’re not a vegetarian.”

  “Thanks,” Alex said. He felt unworthy of the kind gesture and was afraid of not liking the sub.

  “So how’d it go?” Clyde asked.

  “Not so good. Lester pled no contest, and the judge gave him thirty days in jail or ninety hours community service. He has to pay a fine of $2,000. And since he’s not from Georgia, they won’t let him out until he pays. Plus, he has to take an anger management class.”

  “Your friend must’ve made quite an impression,” Clyde said. “Or he had one shitty lawyer.”

  Alex took his first bite of sandwich. It was packed with chunks of spicy pork, mustard and sautéed onions. He chewed it down to the point where he could speak. “I don’t know where I’ll get $2,000.” He chewed a little more—incredibly tasty. “But I’ve gotta find a way.”

  “That’s what friends do.” Clyde ate his last bite, balled his food wrap and napkin into a tight clump and sky-hooked it ten feet into a wastebasket. “Listen, Alex, there’s no bail, so you don’t need me anymore. But I’ll make it easy. You get whoever’s gonna pay the fine to call me. That could be Lester himself, if he has the money.”

  Given the way Lester had talked about his financial situation, he could have easily paid the fine. But Alex hadn’t come all this way to take the easy road. He needed to carry part of the burden. He said, “I can’t let him pay.”

  “So you’ll find someone. Have that person call me. I’ll take care of it from there. Assuming Lester would rather not spend a month in jail, I’ll contact you at the motel when he’s ready to go.”

  “Sounds easy when you put it like that,” Alex said. Finding someone to fork over that kind of money was anything but easy. But he wanted to stay positive. After he finished the sandwich, he thanked Clyde and said, “Hope I can find someone.”

  “You will. Just put some thought into it.”

  ALEX’S NERVOUS system was nearly maxed out as he drove the straight line to the motel. At every intersection and with every stray noise, his brain conjured images of raging Randy Burgess in a squad car.

  Finally, he was able to pull into the motel parking lot without police accompaniment. It was just after two o’clock. Dale would be on duty. He deserved thanks for his help.

  Just like the previous day, Dale was on the phone. He held up a finger and smiled. Today’s tie was an array of colorful balloons—the kind you’d see at a kid’s birthday party. He hung up and said, “Well if it isn’t Noble Alex, back from his day’s errands.”

  Although he liked the moniker better than Alexander the Great, he still wasn’t worthy of it. “I’m not the noble one,” he said.

  “Details,” Dale said. “You’re pretty noble.”

  “Actually, I came in to thank you for the note. I sat down with Clyde and got some good information.”

  “Glad he could help. Clyde is wonderful. Poor man had a career waiting for him in the NFL.”

  “I saw his knee-brace,” Alex said.

  Dale pushed aside his keyboard and sat in its place. “So what’s next for Noble Alex?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve got to find someone who’s willing to pay $2,000 to get Lester out. That won’t be easy.”

  “Hmm, that is asking quite a lot of someone.” Dale caressed his chin. “If you’re thinking of asking me, you can march yourself right out of here.”

  “No,” Alex said, “I’d never ask that.” It occurred to him that he was having a perfectly respectable conversation with a gay man. And it didn’t bother him. In fact, he was pleased with himself.

  “You look like you just swallowed a fly,” Dale said. “What’s on your mind?”

  “Nothing really.”

  “Go on, what is it?”

  “It’s just this weird thought I had.” Alex looked down at a crescent stain in the carpet, like someone had left a leaking bucket of battleship gray paint. He m
ustered the courage to speak. “I was wondering if you thought you’d make a good father.”

  Dale made a kind of whiplash maneuver. “Now that’s an interesting question! Good Lord, you surprise me.” He arched a bit forward. “You know how rare it is to get asked a question like that?”

  “I was just wondering.”

  “No, really,” Dale said. “Most folks ask about the weather.” He looked back at the clock on the wall. “By the way, we’re expecting a hell of a storm in about thirty minutes. Or they ask for directions or extra towels. But you come in here with a question like that. I’m telling you—”

  “You don’t have to answer.”

  “Actually, I will,” Dale said. “In fact, this is something that’s been on my mind. I’m not getting any younger, and neither is Chip, my partner. We’ve been thinking about having a couple of foster kids in the house and then maybe adopting one of them.”

  Alex put the two names together and chuckled.

  “All right,” Dale said, “laugh it up. His real name’s Charles, but ever since we’ve been together, it’s been Chip. If I had a dollar for every Chip and Dale joke.” He crossed his arms over a cluster of balloons. “Well, I wouldn’t be working in this place, that’s for sure.”

  “I didn’t mean to laugh.”

  Dale smirked and said, “Back to your question. Yes, in fact, I think I’d make a good father.” His face turned dreamy. “There’s so much compassion and knowledge inside me that I’ve never been able to share. I could share that with a child on a daily basis. I’d make sure he or she grew up to be something special. That’s what I think.”

  As Alex listened to these words, he imagined a barometer of truth registering the full hundred percent. “I hope you get the opportunity.” It was all he could think to say.

  “Now I’ve got something to ask you, Noble Alex.” His face wasn’t dreamy anymore—it looked baffled. “What on earth would lead you to ask such a question?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Utter bullshit.” Dale was scowling. “There’s a reason for everything. I’m willing to bet you know exactly what it is.”

  Alex’s face felt like a barbecue grill. “Okay,” he said, swallowing his nerves. “The thing is, my father’s gay.”

  “Hmm,” Dale said. “I knew there was something about you.”

  “When I found out, I hated him for it. I left town, haven’t seen him since.”

  “That’s not an unusual reaction. For two years, my parents didn’t speak to me. So don’t beat yourself up.”

  “Yeah,” Alex said, “but he was never there, even before I found out. He left when I was a year old. I was the one who hunted him down.”

  “Now that sounds like a reason to hate him,” Dale said. “I’m sure I’d feel the same way.”

  “I don’t think I really hate him, at least not anymore.”

  “Your dad made a bad choice. If he’s got a conscience, I’m sure he’s suffering right about now.”

  “So why am I the one who feels bad? I stood him up for breakfast and just split town.”

  “You feel bad because you’ve got a conscience.”

  A family of three entered the lobby, but Dale kept talking. “Forgive yourself,” he said, far too loudly. “In time, maybe you’ll be able to forgive your dad.” Then he looked at the two parents and said, “May I help you?”

  Hearing advice like this in front of strangers was totally embarrassing. Alex slunk back and sat in the middle of a lumpy couch. Dale seemed to have questionable boundaries when it came to dealing with people, but his advice was pretty solid. He checked the family into a non-smoking room with two queen beds and told them the best place to park. Each of the parents took a key, and they were gone.

  Alex returned to the counter. “I’ve been thinking about what you said.”

  Dale was at the computer. “Good,” he said. “You keep it in mind until it doesn’t mean anything.” He stepped away from the screen. “So what does your father do for a living?”

  “He owns a restaurant down in Fort Lauderdale. I think he’s pretty rich. He lives right on the ocean.”

  “Mercy,” Dale said. “I think you’ve got your answer.”

  “What answer?”

  As if to check for blindness, Dale waved a hand in front of Alex. “Hello,” he said, “seems like two grand wouldn’t be much of a stretch for your dad.”

  “Yeah, but I couldn’t ask him for that.”

  “Why not? He’s your father. That’s the kind of thing a father does for his son.”

  “Yeah, but he doesn’t even know Lester.”

  “Yeah, but, yeah, but, yeah, but….” Dale’s voice was a playful melody. “You’re full of excuses.” He pointed a finger. “I think you’re scared.”

  It was true. Alex was petrified at the thought of calling his father for such a weighty favor. Dale pressed on. “What are you afraid of?”

  “I don’t know. It’s a lot to ask.”

  “You’re right about that. But if my calculations are accurate, he owes you. Fact, he owes you big. Let this be an opportunity for him to start leveling the scale.”

  “I don’t think he owes me,” Alex said.

  “It’s honorable of you to say that. You’re not a spoiled brat. But when a man fathers a child, it’s his duty to raise that child the best he can. Your dad failed all these years. Two thousand dollars is nothing compared to that.”

  This whole line of reasoning was altogether foreign to Alex. He said, “I hadn’t thought about it like that.”

  “Well, you better think of something, while your friend sits in jail.”

  “Okay,” Alex said, not sure whether he meant it.

  “Tell you what, you call him right back there.” Dale pointed to the little office behind him. “Dial direct. I’ll cover it.”

  Alex’s anxiety jumped into a new orbit. “I should think about what to say.”

  “Right, you keep thinking.” Dale shook his head slowly. “You happen to know the statistics on jailhouse violence?”

  The mere suggestion of danger caused him to picture frail old Lester, minus his protective stick, fending off a pack of gangbangers, pimps, drug addicts and sexual predators. “All right,” Alex said, retrieving the card with his father’s cell number and Clyde’s business card.

  “Go back there and sit down. Don’t even think about it. Just dial the number.”

  This was perhaps the most terrifying thing Alex had ever done, worse than having his twelve-year molars yanked out. But why was it so scary? He picked up the phone and pressed the sequence of digits.

  There was a ring…a second…then a third. No one was there. The prospect of leaving a message instead of actually having a conversation was liberating, and it helped lessen the fear. The greeting said, “Hi, you’ve reached the private line of Scott Riley. I’m not available right now. Leave a message. Thanks.”

  Alex cleared his throat and said, “Hello dad, it’s me, Alex.” He cleared his throat again. “I’m calling to ask for a really big favor.” Pause. “It’s my friend Lester. He’s in jail, and it’s my fault.” Pause. “I’ve gotta get him out, but I don’t have the money.” Pause. “I was hoping you could come up with it.” He went on to give Clyde’s name and phone number. He ended the message by saying, “Thanks a bunch, dad,” just in case his father actually came through.

  He hung up the phone.

  “That was pretty good,” Dale said. He’d been standing at the door listening the whole time. “Now we’ll see what he does.”

  “I was so nervous,” Alex said.

  “Perfectly understandable.”

  “Yeah, but why?”

  “Because you just put yourself at risk for more rejection.” He poked a finger at Alex’s chest. “And that, Noble Alex, is one of the hardest things there is to do.”

  A new feeling crept over him. It was sadness, and it ran the risk of turning to tears. He got up from the desk and made his way out of the office. From the other si
de of the counter, he said, “Clyde knows to call here if anything happens.”

  “Good,” Dale said. “Soon as he calls, I’ll transfer him to your room.”

  “Thanks a lot.” Alex knew there was something more he wanted to say. And he knew exactly what it was. He sniffed hard and forced himself to look at Dale.

  “You’d make an excellent father.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  He had planned to go for another run at Coffin Park, but when he looked out his motel window there were branches of palmetto trees blowing sideways and the first gusts of rain speckling the pool. A flash of lightning pulsated to the east. Dale had been right about the weather. So he turned on the television and channel-surfed from one program to another. There was nothing to watch, and he didn’t feel like drawing. He fast-forwarded through a dozen songs on his iPod. None of them held his attention. He shut it off, preferring the violent sounds of the storm.

  He got down on the carpeted floor and sped through a series of push-ups. He managed twenty, pressed on to twenty-five before converting to girl-style then finally collapsing. He repeated the cycle four times, managing only eight reps by the final excruciating set. His arms and chest were throbbing.

  He spread a towel on the floor and did stomach crunches, imagining all the while bands of muscle complimenting the heft of his chest. Next came jumping jacks, which looked ridiculous no matter how buff you were. So he closed the curtains and turned on all the lights. He jumped and counted in rhythm, sweat flying off of him. The percussive noise would have been annoying if someone occupied the room below, and that complaint would come back to him via Dale. It was enough to make him stop.

  The noise of rain and wind and thunder filled the room. The scale of it was enormous. Yet he was protected from it all, nestled in a cocoon of comfort and safety. It made him feel humble and small.

  He looked at the clock—just after five, and it was Friday. Which meant no more leniencies from his mother. If she was ever to call the authorities, now would be the time. And there would be no more second chances for Lester with Rebecca and Elder Spring. More immediately, Clyde had probably left his office and wouldn’t return until Monday. Even though the motel room felt comfortable now, two more days of waiting loomed like a purgatory of boredom. He opened the curtains and checked the sky. The rain was still thrashing. If he didn’t hear from Clyde soon, he’d go downstairs and ask Dale if he could use the phone. He’d call the jail for visiting hours.