W Is for Wasted

by Sue Grafton

  I opened the door. “What are you doing here?”

  I knew I sounded accusatory, but I was dismayed by his showing up at my residence.

  He didn’t actually shuffle his feet, but he shifted his weight, looking down at my welcome mat, where I could still see the mouse parts the cat had left.

  “I seen your car out front and thought you might be home.” His shorts were the sort that basketball players wear, a flabby black material, extending well below his knees. The fabric was perforated with tiny holes that were probably meant for ventilation in the heat of hard play.

  “How did you know where I lived?”

  He glanced over his shoulder and then down again, anything to avoid making eye contact. It was the first time it occurred to me that Felix might be slow. It was also possible he was stoned or drunk. I made a mental note to find out the nature and extent of his substance abuse.

  He lifted one shoulder. “Other day you said you jogged, so I waited until you went by this morning and followed you home.”

  “You saw me this morning? I didn’t see any of you.”

  “I was down at that bathhouse when you run by. I left the shelter early because I was curious where you lived. Dandy and Pearl stayed in and had breakfast. They won’t hardly miss a meal. Bacon, eggs, and biscuits the church ladies cook up. I watched you turn around and I fell in behind when you passed the second time.”

  “Why would you do that? This is my home. You want to talk to me, you don’t show up here. You go to my office like everyone else.”

  “Something I thought you should know.”

  “I can hardly wait.”

  “Pearl knows who stole Terrence’s backpack.”

  I stared at him briefly while I sorted through my responses. I was offended at the intrusion, but I wasn’t sure he understood the concept of personal boundaries. At the same time, it wasn’t my place to lecture him about social norms. More to the point: my curiosity took precedence. “You want to come in?”

  “Naw. That’s okay. I’m fine out here.”

  “Well, it’s chilly and I don’t want to stand around letting the heat out.”

  I stepped back and he inched his way into my living room. He exhibited no interest in the place. He scarcely lifted his gaze from the floor, so I took heart that he probably wasn’t casing the joint. I closed the door behind him and gestured at one of my canvas director’s chairs. Sitting was apparently outside his comfort zone.

  Since he remained standing, I followed suit. “What’s the story?”

  “Pearl was at the liquor store and she saw one of them fellas that hang out at the off-ramps with cardboard signs. She saw this one guy toting Terrence’s backpack plain as day. She recognized it from the frame and even the same color bungee cords. She knew where he was headed. Bums have this hobo camp up the hill from the bird refuge? She waited ’til he was out of sight and then followed him and hid in the bushes to have her a look—”

  “Pearl hid in the bushes and no one spotted her?”

  “I guess not. She said there was no sign of Terrence’s cart, probably because they couldn’t have drug it up the hill. But she saw his cookstove and waterproof bags where he kept his gear. Also, his camo box.”

  “Camo as in camouflage?”

  “Like different color spots painted on to look like leaves. She’s wanting to get his stuff back, but there’s too much to haul even if I help out.”

  I said, “Uhn-hun.”

  “She said she just wisht she knew someone with a car and right away I thought about you.”

  I said, “Ah.”

  “She was wondering what you’d think about lending her a hand.”

  “I’d think it was dumb. Pearl can’t stand me so why would I help her?”

  “She said please.”

  “She did not. I’d bet you a dollar she doesn’t even know you’re here.”

  “Naw, not really. Way I figure it, she couldn’t ast no one at Harbor House and you’re the only other person we know that has a vehicle.”

  “Well, I’m flattered you thought of me, but the idea is lame, not to mention dangerous. You can’t raid a hobo camp and hope to get away with it.”

  “I told her the same thing, but she’s made up her mind. She’ll get caught if she tries doing it on her own.”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake,” I said, crossly. “I’m not going to participate in her harebrained scheme.”

  “Whyn’t you just talk to her?”

  “I don’t want to talk to her.”

  I could see his gaze track across the floor, a rough approximation of his tiny mind at work. Finally, he said, “If you want, I can fix that.” He was pointing to the injured vacuum cleaner.

  “What do you know about vacuum cleaners?”

  “I can see where the belt’s come off. Won’t take a minute to fix, if you want me to. Only . . .”

  “Only you want me to talk to Pearl in exchange.”

  “That’d be nice. Maybe you can argue her out of it.”

  “I’ll get my jacket.”

  I crossed to the coat closet, watching him over my shoulder as he dropped to one knee. He had the belt back on in a jiffy, making me wonder if I’d sold out too cheap.

  • • •

  Thus it was that late afternoon on Tuesday, I found myself driving along Cabana Boulevard with a dreadlocked white boy in baggy shorts seated to my right. I was hungry and slightly cranky, which is the only way I can explain the lack of foresight. In my own mind, I wasn’t committed to the idea of helping Pearl. I was giving the appearance of cooperation, reserving the right to back out if she gave me any guff.

  I swung by Harbor House and sent Felix in to find Pearl. “And put some clothes on,” I said as he closed the car door. He responded with a foolish grin and I watched until he disappeared from view. Even out at the street, I caught a whiff of their supper. Chili or lasagna or spaghetti and meatballs—something that smelled wonderful. Sitting down to a home-cooked meal three times a day must be like having a mother, someone who genuinely cared about seeing that your plate was cleaned and your tummy was full. The shelter provided the equivalent of a family home and an ever-shifting supply of siblings.

  I wondered what it would take to feed 150 homeless people three meals a day. Dandy, Felix, and Pearl didn’t seem to question the fact that bed and board were theirs for the asking. In exchange for what? While I was growing fond of the three, I saw them as perpetual adolescents who’d never leave home. I’d seen the residents performing various chores around the place, but what incentive did they have to go out on their own? Their basic needs were provided for as long as they behaved. To me, the bargain seemed off-kilter. I was taught the virtues of hard work, and the trio’s complacency chafed at me. I could understand the needs of the infirm and the mentally ill. The able-bodied? Not so much. I’d heard the issue argued both for and against, but I’d never heard an equable solution.

  It was still full-on daylight, but the air was taking on that odd cast that signals the gradual fading into twilight. The outside temperature was almost imperceptibly cooler. I turned on the heater and pressed my hands between my knees for warmth. I was hoping to see Dandy, thinking that if he’d gotten wind of the raid, he might be able to talk some sense into them.

  Ten minutes passed and Felix emerged in black jeans and a black sweatshirt, as though prepared to knock an old lady on the head and snatch her pocketbook. He had a black rag tied around his dreads like a ninja or a sushi chef. Pearl followed in his wake, packed into blue jeans the size of those featured in the before photos in articles about weight loss of gargantuan proportions. She also wore jogging shoes, her black leather jacket, and her black knit watch cap.

  She came around to the driver’s side of my car, and I got out and stood there, not wanting her to have the advantage of towering over me. Felix had opened the passenger-side door and he was about to slide into the back when he realized Pearl and I were going to have a powwow. Not wanting to miss the fun, he scampered
around the front of the car and took his place at her side. I thought at first this was to show unity, but when she took out a cigarette, I realized he was only interested in bumming a smoke. She held out the pack and he took one, then pulled a Zippo from his pocket and lit both cigarettes. The two inhaled with such satisfaction, you’d have thought they’d just made love.

  “He tell you about the backpack?” she asked. She still sounded belligerent, but maybe that was her normal tone.

  “The gist of it. Why don’t you fill me in?”

  “Man, I was PO’d. I go up to that minimart for a pack of smokes? There stands one of those Boggarts with Terrence’s backpack.”

  “Boggarts?”

  She fixed me with a look of disbelief. “Bad fairies. Like Knockers, only worse. My Scottish granny used to tell me stories about Boggarts when she tucked me in at night. This lot has taken over a camp in the woods where they live like hooligans. They’ll steal anything that’s not nailed down.”

  “How do you know the backpack was Terrence’s?”

  “Because he’d wrote his name on the front with a waterproof marker pen. I saw it with my own eyes less than two hours ago. I followed the guy and watched him hang it on a tree branch like the bears might be after it. I intend to go up there and get it back. So what do you say?”

  “Why don’t you just leave well enough alone?”

  “Because it belongs to Terrence.”

  “But you can’t just go in there and take it.”

  “Why not? If they stole it from Terrence, why can’t I steal it back?”

  “What if they catch you?”

  “They won’t. They’re out panhandling at this hour. It’s like regular shift work—five to seven except they don’t punch a clock. Besides, there’s only three of ’em.”

  “And three of us,” Felix pointed out.

  Pearl ignored his observation. “First, we check to make sure they’re all at work. If Boggarts are busy, we go in, get the stuff, and take off. No big deal.”

  “If it’s that easy, what do you need me for?”

  “It’s not just the backpack. It’s his cookstove and all his books. Terrence loved his books. He kept them in this waterproof box so the weather wouldn’t get to them. Plus, he’s got two big bags packed with stuff. Me and Felix together can’t carry that much.”

  I nodded toward the shelter. “Aren’t you going to miss supper?”

  “Well, yeah, but that’s not the worst of it. We’re not back by seven the place is locked up and we got no place to sleep unless we have a good excuse, which we do in this case. Otherwise, they put us at the back of the line and we have to start all over waiting for a bed. Might take months.”

  “What’s your excuse?”

  “I told Ken at the desk Felix and me were going to church.”

  “Really. You said that? And he believed you?”

  “Naw, but he knew better than to call me a liar. I’ve punched the lights out of guys for less. Anyway, don’t worry about it. Place closes, we’ll go somewheres else.”

  “Pearl, be reasonable. You know what’s going to happen. The minute one of those bums sees you with the backpack, they’ll know you took it and they’ll come after you. And then what?”

  “‘Then what,’ who cares? They can’t complain when they stole it off Terrence in the first place. Robbing a dead guy? How cold is that? They sure as hell won’t be filing a police report. All I’m asking is you stand by with your car and help put the stuff in the trunk. Then we take off.”

  “Where is this place? Felix said it was over by the bird refuge.”

  “Up that nature trail. The path snakes back in there until it butts right up against the zoo. There’s a service road runs along the hill at the property line. We go in that way, from the backside.”

  “How do you know this?”

  “Everybody knows. Bums been camping there fifty years or more. Started as a hobo city during the Depression. Guys out of work hopped on trains and went clear across the country, riding the rails. They used to elect their own mayor and everything. Access road is their escape hatch, in case the cops bust in.”

  “How do you know there aren’t twenty guys up there?”

  “Because the Boggarts invaded the place and that’s how it is now. Everybody else took off. Nobody wants to mess with them three. They’re bad news,” she said.

  “What if they happen to be there?”

  “They won’t be. I just got done telling you. They’re busy manning the ramps at this hour because people are coming home from work, happy to pass out dollar bills to bums claiming their car’s broke down. Can’t they figure it out? There isn’t a car. Bums don’t have cars.”

  “I love your confidence,” I said.

  “Fine. You don’t believe me? We can check the off-ramps first to make sure all three Boggarts are accounted for. Camp’s deserted, we go in and grab the stuff. Ten minutes max and we’re outta there.”

  I could feel a roiling anxiety rise through my body like nausea. “This is a bad idea.”

  “You got a better one?”

  When I didn’t reply, she went on in a warning tone. “You don’t help, we’ll just turn around and find someone else. I want that backpack and I mean to have it.”

  “Come on, Pearl. Would you cut it out? This is ridiculous. If you’re that desperate for a backpack, you can buy one at the nearest army-navy store.”

  “Not like this one.”

  “And why is that?”

  She broke off eye contact. “You don’t need to know.”

  “What, like there’s a secret compartment where Terrence kept his Sky King decoder ring?”

  “Go ahead and make fun. That backpack is valuable.”

  “I’m not moving an inch until you tell me why,” I said.

  Felix looked from me to Pearl and back. “Her lips is sealed,” he said, “But mine ain’t.”

  She squinted at him. “Would you shut your mouth? We’re having a conversation here that’s no concern of yours.”

  He leaned closer to me with a proud smile, like a little kid who swears up and down he can keep a secret when he can’t.

  Pearl banged him on the head, but it was too late.

  “Backpack’s where Terrence hid the key to his safe deposit box.”

  “A safe deposit box,” I said, making a declarative sentence of it instead of a question.

  “Like at a bank,” he said, as opposed to those at the laundromat.

  I closed my eyes and let my head sink in despair. If Terrence had a will . . . which Dandy claimed he did . . . he probably kept it in a safe deposit box. Which might also contain information about his ex-wife and kids and any final wishes he might have about disposition of his remains. This was exactly what I’d been looking for for the past four days. “I don’t know how I get caught up in shit like this.”

  Pearl said, “Atta girl! Now you’re talking.”

  8

  I slid in behind the driver’s seat. Felix squeezed into the back while Pearl crushed her cigarette underfoot and then settled into the front. I felt a flutter in my chest like I’d swallowed a hummingbird. I turned the key in the ignition, put the Mustang in gear, and pulled away from the curb. I took a right on Milagro and moved into the lane that ran parallel to the freeway, allowing southbound cars to merge with oncoming traffic. In the interest of being thorough, I took the first exit, which emptied just shy of the bird refuge. I’d never seen the bums work that area and I realized now it was because that particular ramp was too close to home. If a patrol car cruised by, there was no way to disappear without the risk of drawing attention to their camp.

  When cross-traffic allowed, I got onto the southbound on-ramp, which was clear of panhandlers just as the other on-ramps turned out to be. I suppose the reasoning was that people getting onto the freeway had a fixed destination and were therefore focused on the drive and less inclined to interrupt the journey for donation purposes, whereas those getting off the freeway, their progress halted by
traffic lights or stop signs, had more time to read the signs beseeching motorists for help and thus were more likely to haul out the old wallet or change purse.

  I drove an elongated figure eight nearly a mile in length, cruising the ramps where the Boggarts typically stationed themselves. I noticed I’d freely adopted Pearl’s term for the panhandlers, which seemed tidy and to the point. I didn’t believe they were “bad fairies.” I wasn’t even sure that they were bad, but the word “Boggart” had a certain air to it that seemed to encompass the minigang of thugs. By trekking back and forth, we spotted two of the three bums. I came back around to the Cabana Boulevard off-ramp, slowing as I exited. At the bottom of the slope, sure enough, the third Boggart was standing on the berm, holding a battered cardboard sign. Crudely lettered in pencil, it read:

  Down on my luck and hungry

  Any small donation appreciated

  God Bless

  Pearl said, “That’s the one had the backpack.”

  I gave him points for correct spelling. With just an occasional glance to my left, I kept my gaze fixed on the car in front of me. I already knew the fellow by sight. He was tall, with the muscle mass of an athlete whose trophy days were done. I placed him at six feet with a build that had probably been pumped up by steroids once upon a time. His head was shaved and he wore a red baseball cap that he removed from time to time so he could smooth his bald pate before settling the cap back into place. He wore jeans and a red flannel shirt, the nap worn thin at the elbows but otherwise looking like a proper safeguard against the chill. His expression was blank, revealing no negative reaction to those who passed without making a contribution. Maybe next time around the stingy ones would feel guilty enough to hand over a dollar bill. Meanwhile, he was prepared to stand there without complaint until some righteous driver passed money to him through the window.