by Teri White
“Okay with me. If we can dodge the bastards from vice.”
“No problem. It’s a big park.”
Tom smiled and lifted his beer again.
Chapter 16
Fat Jack’s turned out to be just the kind of place Spaceman was expecting it to be. Greasy burgers, watered-down Cokes, and a lot of loud noise that wasn’t even a reasonable facsimile of music, as far as he was concerned. In addition, a flourishing trade in controlled substances was being carried on in the parking lot.
He left his car, which was making some funny noises anytime he went over thirty, on the street and braved Jack’s. He realized that every person in the crowd made him for a cop instantly, but that didn’t matter. In a place like this, it didn’t pay to be subtle.
He reached out at random and plucked a skinny waiter by the arm. “The manager?” he shouted.
The pimple-faced kid stared back at him stupidly. “Huh?”
“I want to see the boss.”
That got him a nod in the direction of a closed door. Spaceman didn’t bother to say thanks; he also didn’t bother to knock on the door.
It could only have been Fat Jack himself in the office. The man couldn’t have weighed less than three hundred pounds, and that was probably guessing low. He had a television turned on, the volume blaring so that it could be heard above the noise in the restaurant. Several cheeseburgers were on the desk in front of him.
When Spaceman came through the door unannounced and uninvited, the fat man was busy pouring orange soda from a quart bottle into a large glass of ice. His tiny eyes studied and dismissed Spaceman with one scathing glance. A hand reached for the remote control device and the volume on the television vanished; the picture flickered on. “I already made my cop drop for the month,” he said. The voice was rusty, as if it didn’t get much use.
“Did you now?” Spaceman pulled a chair closer to the desk and sat down.
“If you’re trying to raise the ante, go screw yourself.” He spoke and bit into the burger at the same time.
“I don’t give a flying fuck about your sweetheart deals with vice or the narcs,” Spaceman said almost lazily. Which wasn’t exactly the truth, because he had never believed that anybody else should be making more at the job than he did. He made a mental note to snoop around a little and find out who was making his scratch from this dump. “You Jack?”
“Mr. Feldman, to you.”
“Whatever. I’m looking for someone. A kid. I’m told maybe he hangs out here.”
With one more bite, the first burger was gone. “Half the little pricks in Southern California hang out here, but I don’t pay them any more attention than I have to.”
Spaceman reached into his pocket and pulled out the picture of Robbie. “This face look familiar?”
“None of them look familiar,” Feldman said, not raising his eyes.
Spaceman leaned closer, practically shoving the picture into Feldman’s face. “Look again, maggot.” His voice was very soft.
The eyes flickered. “Shit,” he said, reaching toward the desk drawer.
Spaceman tensed a little, moving one hand in the direction of his shoulder holster.
But all Jack removed from the drawer was a pair of glasses, old-fashioned bifocals. He perched them on his moon face. “Oh, that’s Rob,” he said.
“You do know him then?”
“I recognize my employees when I see them.”
“Robbie works here?”
“Worked. As in, I canned him about two weeks ago.”
“Why?”
The fleshy shoulders moved a little. “He had a case of sticky fingers. Nothing big, but it happened.”
Spaceman felt like he’d been gut-kicked. This creep was telling him that Robbie, his son, was a thief? “You sure about that?”
“I’m sure, but it was no big deal. They all do it. Kids. A certain expectation of loss is built into the prices I charge.” Feldman didn’t seem much bothered by the wholesale theft apparently going on around him. “Rob’s problem was, he was stupid enough to get caught. That meant I had to let him go.” The second burger had somehow vanished. “What’d he do to get you guys on his case?”
“He’s missing.”
“Runaway?”
“Looks like.”
Jack shook his head. “Makes a man glad he never had no kids.”
“Can you tell me anything about Rob?”
“What’s to tell? These punks are all alike.” Feldman seemed to reach deep inside and pull out a thought. “Maybe Rob had something bugging him lately.”
“What? Do you know?”
“What the hell do I look like? Dear fucking Abby? I don’t listen to what they say. I ain’t a father.” The third and final burger was disappearing fast.
Spaceman tried to ignore the crack; Feldman didn’t know that he was the father in question. “Is there anybody around here who might be able to help me?”
“He came to work with another kid. Lom. I think maybe they’re friends.”
“Lom here tonight?”
Jack redonned the glasses and consulted a hand-drawn chart on his desk. “Should be. In the kitchen. Short, slanty-eyed kid.”
“Okay, Jack.” Spaceman stood.
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
“You might let it be known that I cooperated, you know.”
Spaceman smiled slightly. “Hoping for a discount in your monthly ante?”
“Can’t hurt to try.”
The smile broadened. “Sure thing, Jack. Just tell me who you’re in bed with at the department, and I’ll see what I can do.”
Jack stared at him for a moment, then shrugged. “Fuck you.”
Spaceman shrugged and left the office.
The kitchen could never have passed a health department inspection, so Feldman must have been greasing a few palms down there, too. There was certainly enough grease on the stove, the walls, and the floor of the kitchen for a liberal coat on every greedy palm in the state.
Two kids, one black and one who looked Vietnamese, were standing over the stove. “Lom?”
The boy glanced his way. “Yeah?”
“Let’s talk.”
“I’m busy.”
Spaceman reached out and gently pulled the spatula from his hand. He gave it to the other boy, who muttered something under his breath about white men who liked to perform unnatural sex acts with their own mothers. Spaceman smiled at him. “Let’s talk,” he said again to Lom.
They walked over to stand in the doorway. The screen was propped open in the foolish hope of attracting a stray breeze. All that had been attracted so far were a lot of flies.
“If you’re from Immigration, all my papers are in order. I’m legal.”
“Glad to hear that. Where’s Rob Kowalski?” he asked abruptly.
The bright black eyes wavered a little and then a mask seemed to drop over Lom’s face. “Rob? Beats the hell out of me. I’ve been wondering the same thing. We were supposed to go to a movie the other night, but he never showed.”
“What kind of problems has he had lately?”
“Problems? The same ones as the rest of us, I guess.” His English was very good. “Who the hell are you anyway? Why are you asking me about Rob?”
Spaceman swatted away some of the flies trying to lick the salty sweat from his face. “I’m his father.”
There was a slight drawing away. “The cop?”
“Right.”
“Well, man, I don’t know where he is. Maybe he just dropped out and went to live on the beach. He was really tired of the scene around here.”
Spaceman stared at him for another moment.
Lom returned the look. He lifted one shoulder. “Maybe he went to San Francisco.”
“Why?”
The boy seemed to lose patience with him. “Maybe he wanted to see if there are any hippies left. How the hell do I know?”
“So you don’t know where he is?”
“All I
know, man, is flipping the fucking hamburgers.”
Spaceman looked at him, then gestured. “Okay. Get back to it.”
Lom went back to what he knew.
Spaceman went home. It was late and he still hadn’t had any supper. He didn’t really want to call Karen, but he knew that she’d call him sooner or later. So he dialed her number while peering into the fridge and trying to find something to eat.
“At last,” she said when she heard his voice. “Well?”
“Well what? I haven’t found him yet.”
“Do you think that something’s happened to him?”
“I don’t think anything yet.” He found some Hebrew National bologna and pulled it out, along with some bread and an almost empty jar of French’s mustard. He was trying to forget what Lom had said about Robbie going to San Francisco. The memo about the dead boy in Lompoc crackled in his pocket.
“What next?”
“I keep looking. He’ll turn up.”
“You don’t sound very concerned.”
Spaceman sighed. “I’m concerned. But it’s just been a real long day.”
Karen asked him to keep in touch and he said he would. They hung up.
He remembered then that he’d never called Mandy. But he just couldn’t take any more tonight. He made a sandwich, poured a glass of milk, and went into his bedroom. Casablanca was on the late show, and he watched it, stretching out on the bed to eat the sandwich.
Chapter 17
He was a nice kid and they all had a good time.
Chris talked a lot, and he dropped the names of almost all the big stars in Hollywood, trying to make it seem like he knew them personally. Clearly it was all just a bunch of lies, but Tom didn’t mind. He thought it was kind of sad, in fact, that Chris felt he had to try so hard to make people like him. Tom liked him fine, just the way he was, without the lies.
They found a quiet corner in the park, behind a large stand of trees near the picnic grounds. The moon was up by then, and bright. Chris accepted a cigarette from Tom. “We didn’t talk about price,” he said hesitantly.
“Price?”
He nodded.
Tom shrugged. “Whatever’s fair.” He felt sorry that everything in life had to have a price tag attached, even friendship.
“Twenty?”
“Sure, why not?” He made the deal easily, not even stopping to think about it.
With that out of the way, Chris seemed to relax, but Tom could tell that Jody was still uptight. He kept looking around, although they were obviously alone. The whole park belonged to them.
Tom stretched out, relaxing, feeling number-one fine. “Why don’t you and Chris get to know each other better?” he suggested to Jody.
Jody licked the sweat above his upper lip. “What about you?”
“I’ll just watch for a while.”
There was an awkward moment, with Chris and Jody looking everywhere but at each other.
Tom felt a twinge of impatience. “Come on,” he said sharply.
Chris made a move, reaching out to unzip Jody’s jeans. He put a hand inside. Jody, his eyes locked onto Tom’s face, gave a sigh. Chris smiled sheepishly and bent over him.
Tom could feel the itch beginning again inside, and this time he didn’t fight it. He took a swallow of beer and thought about the first time.
He’d been sixteen and Jody just ten.
They’d had the house to themselves that day, because the old man was working for a change, and their mother was at the hospital visiting her sister, who was dying of some female thing. All the women in her family died of some female thing, and the stupid bitch was afraid that she would, too.
Jody was playing little league ball that year. He came in from a game, sweaty and dirty, and went to clean up. He’d hit the first home run of his life, winning the game for his team, and he was puffed up with pride.
A few minutes later he came into the kitchen where Tom was eating lunch. “You shoulda been there, Tommy,” he said for about the tenth time. Still wet from the shower and wearing just shorts, he poured a big glass of Kool-Aid. As he drank, he got a purple moustache.
“Next time,” Tom promised. He felt a sudden urge to hug his little brother, to let him know how proud he was. Jody needed to know that no matter how bad things got at home, Tom would always be there for him.
He crossed the room quickly and put both arms around him, pressing against the skinny wet body. “That was great, Jody,” he said in husky voice. “I’m real proud.”
Jody didn’t pull out of the embrace for a long time.
Tom sometimes thought that their whole lives were decided in that one moment when Jody didn’t pull away. The only thing he couldn’t ever quite figure out was whether he should love Jody for that moment or hate him.
Jody moaned softly. The sound pulled Tom back into the present. He blinked away the memories. Chris spit into the grass a couple of times, then took a gulp of beer.
It was Tom’s turn. He unsnapped and unzipped his jeans as Chris moved toward him. Jody was sitting up now, watching. Tom smiled at him, then closed his eyes and gave himself up to the wonderful feelings he was having inside.
It was real and it was a dream of the past all at the same time. He could almost believe that the practiced mouth of the hustler really belonged to somebody else. Somebody still ten years old with a grape-flavored tongue.
Tom really didn’t mean to kill Chris.
The knife was in his hand.
He didn’t know how it had gotten there or why he had it. Chris was flaked out on the ground, the jeans still tangled at his feet. Tom looked at him, then at the knife, surprised to find himself holding it.
“Tommy …” It was a whisper from Jody.
Tom looked up and met his brother’s gaze. There was a long moment, during which neither one of them seemed even to breathe. Chris broke the mood. He sat up suddenly and reached for the beer can. Without even thinking about what he was doing or why, Tom bent forward and plunged the knife into Chris’ spine. A faint scream, more a whimper than anything else, escaped the boy as he toppled over.
“Oh God,” Tom said to himself. Then panic seized him. If Chris told anyone what he’d done, they’d send him back to the hospital again. He yanked the knife blade free and pushed it into Chris again. Again and again. It got easier.
Finally he turned and handed the knife to Jody. “Now you,” he said.
Chris was still twitching, making soft mewing sounds.
Jody gripped the knife with both hands. “I can’t,” he whispered. “Please.”
Tom leaned very close to him. “For me,” he said softly. “Do it for me.”
Jody shook his head. He stared into Tom’s eyes, then glanced at Chris. “He hurts so bad.”
“Yes,” Tom said. “He hurts. I hurt.”
Jody nodded once. Then he closed his eyes. “I’m sorry.” He lowered the blade quickly into Chris.
Tom felt another hot wave of excitement wash over him. “Again,” he said hoarsely.
Jody did it again and then so many times that Tom lost count.
Tom stayed on his knees, his body wracked by an explosive climax, better than any he’d ever had before. Jody finally stopped. Tom crawled over to him and pried the knife free from a death-like grip. Then he held Jody’s hands until the sobs faded and died.
They were hungry.
“That’s the trouble with chink food,” Tom said. “It doesn’t stick with you long.”
They found a MacDonald’s and drove through the pickup window for Big Macs, fries, and shakes. It was only a short drive back to the motel.
They spread the meal out on one of the beds and ate in silence. Tom finally slurped the last of the chocolate from the bottom of the paper cup. “Tomorrow we get down to business,” he said.
“The cop, you mean?”
“Kowalski the pig.”
Jody crumpled his empty cup. “Does that mean no more parties?”
Tom grinned. “You like the parties?
”
Jody shook his head.
“Don’t lie. You like them just fine.”
“I feel sorry for Chris,” Jody said in a faint voice. “It’s terrible what happened to him.”
“Yeah.” Tom didn’t know why the evening had ended that way. “He might have been a famous actor someday.”
That was too sad to talk about, so they cleaned up the mess and went to bed.
Jody lay awake for a long time, listening to Tommy snore. There was an ache in his gut that wouldn’t quit. He felt like he had once before, way back, when his brother had taken him to a playground near their home. It was very late at night and nobody else was around. Jody got onto the small merry-go-round and held on tightly to the metal bar as Tommy began to push. The merry-go-round went faster and faster, blurring the world.
He closed his eyes and screamed for Tommy to stop, please, but the merry-go-round just spun more quickly. Above the sound of the wind crashing around his ears, he could hear Tommy laughing.
Jody pressed the heels of both hands into his eyes, wanting to scream again, wanting Tommy to stop what was happening. He kept thinking about the fortune in his cookie at the Chinese place. “Beware that your love does not lead you astray,” it said.
Beware, Jody thought. Beware.
Chapter 18
Blue was already out of bed when the call came.
He had finished twenty minutes of aerobics, showered and shaved, and was in the kitchen preparing a bowl of Grape-Nuts. The sudden shrill ringing startled him, causing his hand to jerk, splashing a puddle of milk across the counter. “Damn,” he said mildly, then answered the phone.
“Blue?”
“Yes?” He ripped off a paper towel and tried to wipe up the milk before it ran down the side of the cupboard to the floor. “Who’s this?”
“It’s me. Spaceman.”
He recognized the slightly raspy voice then, and wondered when they’d reached a first name basis. But what the hell. “What’s up?”
“My fucking car won’t start. Pick me up, okay?”
“No problem.” Blue shifted the phone to his other ear and fumbled for a pencil so he could write down the address. “Be there as soon as I can.”
