Pennies from Burger Heaven

by Marcy McKay

  All I see are some icicles starting to melt from the roof. It’s clear, so I say, “Okay, go now.”

  Mai Wong speeds across the street and doesn’t even look back as she ties her red bandanna around her neck. Her legs move faster than mine ever could. It was three years ago that we first ran across that street together …

  It was summer, so me and Mama had the opposite problem of today—burning up from the heat. Our jeans and coats were rolled up and hidden back home with our sleeping bags. I wore fuzzy, blue shorts, and she wore cutoffs, with a backless, silver top. I love it when the whole world can see her blue angel wings inked across her back.

  We held hands and walked down the street toward the liquor store, a few blocks from here. I was going to play in my phone booth while she did her shopping. Up ahead, we saw Eddie Loco’s younger brother, Spider, and some other wannabes standing in a circle, screaming at someone. When we got there, we didn’t know who the little girl was stuck in the middle with the black licorice eyes, but saw right away that her red bandanna didn’t belong over here.

  Poor Mai Wong looked so tiny and scared, frozen solid under their shouts. She’d followed Zhi Peng as usual across the street, but lost him. Spider had caught her in his web, and wanted to jack her up to impress Diablo.

  Mama knew that, too, and stepped in the center of their fight, not one bit afraid. “What’s going on here?”

  Spider cocked his head to the side. “Move on, skank. This ain’t none ’yo.”

  “Whoo, big words from such a fatty.” She poked his chubby gut. “Let the girl go.”

  The others started to laugh, ’til he stop-signed his hand to shut ’em up. He wasn’t even as tall as Mama’s shoulders, but got all up in her chin. “She’s ours.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Oh, I know so.”

  They talked more trash to each other, flinging mouthy jabs ’til out of nowhere, Mama hollered to me, “Get her!”

  My legs snapped to attention. I grabbed Mai Wong’s hand and tugged her away, racing off together toward our phone booth. As I glanced back, I saw that Mama held onto Spider and the others didn’t know what to do without his orders. By the time he hollered for ’em to chase us, we had a pretty good lead.

  We kept running. Her palm fit perfect in mine. The clouds blocked the hot sun, and even felt a little cooler. A soft breeze kissed our faces, and we giggled, even though we weren’t exactly sure what was so funny. As we rounded the corner to my phone booth, we didn’t know it would become our hangout. A special spot in an ugly place. changed me forever. Strangers who turned into best friends. That was huge, ’cause I hadn’t had one since Egypt disappeared years ago …

  A Disappeared.

  Staring at the street now, Mai Wong’s gone again, along with the memory. Maybe she’s right. Maybe the Street Killer isn’t real. Maybe it’s just Diablo being Satan himself. I’m not sure if that’s better or not since folks are still supposedly missing.

  The graffiti across the street reminds me, God hates the poor.

  My feet don’t want to go deeper into Paradise, but the folks on CSI would’ve already broken the case wide open by now. I limp on to the Shangri-La now, one hobble at a time.

  Trash covers the road, so I kick an empty paper cup to keep my mind off these scary thoughts. Someone’s wash hangs on a clothesline at that rundown apartment complex—undies, long sleeve T-shirts and jeans. They’re wasting their time. You could scrub forever, but still not get the Paradise funk off you.

  Me and Mama have walked miles up and down these streets together. When there’s not enough food, and that’s a lot, she gives me hers ’cause she’s the best mama ever. She always says she’s not hungry, even though I hear her tummy growling like mine. I try to share some of my bread or bologna when she’s down, but it never works.

  I try a lot of stuff.

  Up ahead, a naked black dude crawls out from his cardboard condo then scoots around back. I’ve seen him go to the bathroom behind there. It’s disgusting, but he doesn’t get to change spots everyday like us. When I want to feel sorry for myself, Mama reminds me how lucky we are. We get to do what we want, when we want. I step over a street-sleeper and keep going.

  I pass a pawn shop, a thrift store, there are no mirrored-buildings over here. All the windows got bars on ’em, too. Two blocks from our motel, I round a corner and Turdmouth Tucker ninjas me from nowhere. Seriously, the boy just appears.

  I almost pee on myself, then shove him extra hard. “I’ve told you, stop doing that.”

  “I’ve been looking for you and your mom everywhere. What happened?” He points at my scratched-up hands and cheek.

  I fan away his breath. “Long story.”

  Turdmouth’s got wavy blonde hair to his shoulders and Hershey-Bar brown eyes. He’s twelve and taller, but I’m still faster, so that yanks his chain. He always wears a blue-and-silver Dallas Cowboys stocking cap to fly his colors. I’m forced to be friends with him ’cause our folks are buds. One-Leg Larry isn’t a client, just a forever friend. They go in halfsies sometimes at the Party Palace for Boone’s Farm (Strawberry Hill is their favorite). One-Leg’s a bazillion times nicer than his son. I pointed out Turdmouth once to Mai Wong. She thinks he’s cute, but I don’t see it.

  He looks all around me. “Where’s your mom? Is she okay?”

  “Why?” My insides tumble, unsure.

  He looks at me, looks away, then stares at his ratty combat boots. “I, umm, saw your mom with that cop last night.”

  There’s nothing in my gut, but hurl still rushes up my throat. “Tell me.”

  He glances this way, then looks off again.

  “I said, tell.”

  He shrugs. “He followed her into your room really late. That’d make it early this morning.”

  “Officer Noblitt?”

  “Yep.”

  “What time?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “How long were they together?”

  “I’m not sure. Pops wasn’t feeling good, so we left.”

  Seems there was a lot of that going around with our folks last night. Still, that mountain-of-a-man flashes those sirens through my brain again. Red-and-blue lights screeching down the highway after me.

  Why would Mama be with him? I don’t care how much we need the cash, she hates that detective way worse than me. That invisible fist rams me in the gut again. I just ran away from my #1 suspect.

  Turdmouth says, “You don’t think she’s one of the Disappeareds, do you?”

  He’s got a knack to say exactly the wrong thing. My insides don’t want to hear this, so I hurry off the other way, but that doesn’t stop him. He just follows right along, almost stepping on me he’s so close.

  A horrible thought shakes me to a stop. “What if he’s the Street Killer?”

  “Who?”

  “That cop.”

  “No way. Noblitt’s a total snoozer.”

  “Yeah, and that’s the perfect cover.”

  “I thought you didn’t believe in the Street Killer.” His grin widens.

  “You saw her with him last night and now Mama’s missing.”

  “You’re right about that.”

  “Think about it … folks weren’t disappearing before No-Brains started working here.”

  “That’s true.”

  “I was headed to the Shangri-La anyway. I’ll ask around to see who knows what, but it sounds like I need to search our room. I want answers about that cop.”

  “Sounds good.”

  We both watch each other, waiting. He doesn’t offer to help me and I sure don’t ask. We’re not friends like that. The quiet grows bigger and weirder between us, but I don’t know how to change it.

  Turdmouth turns to go. “Well, I guess I’ll see you at the shelter for lunch.”

  “’Kay.”

  “Good luck.”

  “Thanks.”

  He walks on down the street, looking all around him as he goes. You’ve got to stay rea
dy 24/7 in Paradise. My insides stir, hating the aloneness filling me up more. I miss being Mama’s sidekick. Mai Wong’s second best, but even lame-os like Butt Munch O’Dell and Turdmouth are better than nothing right now.

  When I look back, Turdmouth is gone. Oh, crap. Here comes trouble, instead.

  I see Diablo headed toward me, moving extra slow and grinning extra wide. That’s never good. Especially if he’s the Street Killer.

  The rest of the Barrio Brothers trail behind him, at least a dozen of ’em. They always dress alike, even their ball caps—Dallas Cowboys’ blue-and-silver and it’s not ’cause they love football. I only know a few of ’em by name, but they’ve all got enemies six feet under. They probably know something about Mama, so I command my feet to go question Diablo.

  They refuse and haul me out of here. The Barrio Brothers are always trouble. What if Mai Wong’s right? What if Diablo is the Street Killer? Why should I hand myself over to be murdered?

  Those homies just laugh. I hobble harder, but they don’t even bother to chase me. They just walk along like never-you-mind.

  That freaks me out worse. Each breath pounds my chest. I feel both hot and cold. My brain shrieks as I stagger across the sidewalk. I’m usually faster. Cutting down an alley, I try to scramble over a chain-link fence.

  Spook grabs me.

  Diablo smiles even bigger.

  I’m about to be a stiffer, for sure.

  CHAPTER 5

  With one fast yank, Spook jerks me down from the fence, then slams me against it. My head thuds, then rattles across the cold links, the gate digging into my back. Spook is giraffe tall and bald, with dark eyes that say he’s sorry for hurting me, but not enough to stop. He just does what he’s told.

  I only know Diablo, Spook, Eddie Loco, Turkey and Little J.J. (who’s not little), but it feels like a bazillion more Barrio Brothers crowd around us now, all different shapes and sizes. Some of ’em are older teens, others in their early twenties. They’ve all got swirly letters tattooed on their knuckles, so when they hold their fists together, it spells:

  B-R-O-T-H-E-R-S

  Diablo is their leader. He’s named after the devil, but he’s got the face of an angel. Not just okay-looking, either, but movie-star beautiful. Tan skin, eyes the color of syrup and a smile that melts girls’ hearts. He wears gold loops in each ear with his black hair long and flowy just past his shoulders.

  He was born into this job. His daddy ran the gang until he got stabbed to death when Diablo was six. The next day, he became man of the house and joined the Barrio Brothers, then worked his way up the ranks. I heard he gives more cash to his church than almost anyone else in Paradise. He’ll kill you with kindness, but you’ll still be dead in the end.

  Him and Mama aren’t buds, even though we see his people almost every day. He’s sure not my friend. He’s nothing to me. I don’t care how much of a pretty-boy he is, his junk ruins her and I hate what she does to get it.

  He holds me by my chin and watches me extra close. “Que pasa, Roja? Who hurt you?”

  Ro-ha. That means Red. I say, “I fell.”

  “Good, because I’d hurt anyone who hurts you.”

  Liar, or you wouldn’t be in the game.

  “Donde está tu madre?”

  “I don’t know where Mama is. You tell me.”

  He laughs and I try to break away, but Spook grips me tighter from behind. His veins are popping out purple lines against his arms like he’s trying to squeeze the truth out of me. I may explode since I don’t know a thing.

  The empty warehouse flashes through my brain again. God hates the poor spray-painted in red, then I remind myself I’m doing this for my family. I hope I sound tougher than I feel, “Are you the Street Killer?”

  All the Barrio Brothers laugh at me. Diablo chuckles and waves off Spook.

  He lets me go and my arms feel better right away. My legs want to bail now, but there’s no escaping this wall of trouble.

  I hear the flick of knife, then see Diablo’s switchblade at his side. That’s not his regular blade, the fancy one with the pearl handle. Most of the Barrio Brothers carry guns, but Diablo’s always been a knife guy.

  He uses it to clean his perfect fingernails now, slow and careful. “See, I really need to find tu madre. She took something of mine, and I want to give her the chance to give it back.”

  “What’d she take?”

  He grins like that’s the sweetest question, but doesn’t answer. He hangs his arm around my shoulder, pulling me closer. His blade dangles beside us. I can’t stop staring at it. “Find her fast, Roja. Before something bad happens.”

  “Like what?”

  “I know you’ll make this right para tu familia. Family is everything.” He gives my unhurt cheek a soft pat. “Gracias.”

  “I still don’t understand.”

  Diablo puts the knife back in his baggy jeans that look brand new. He nods, then gives me one last smile. He and Eddie Loco fist-bump each other, then the circle of Barrio Brothers breaks away to let him out.

  Diablo walks off like he owns the city.

  In this part of Paradise, he does.

  Everyone else follows him ’cept for Spook and Eddie Loco. I’m stuck between ’em both. Eddie Loco barks Spanish to Spook, who snatches me back up. He’s gripping tighter this time, even though his hands shake.

  My thoughts kick and scream. I don’t want to die in Paradise. I don’t want to die at all, and I sure don’t want to get killed before finding Mama. I try not to let these homies know how hurt or scared I am.

  Eddie Loco’s got black tattoos all over him: two devil horns on either side of his forehead, plus a stream of tears down his left eye. He wears his black hair short and slicked back. What freaks me out the most is his wandering eye. One always watches you, while the other travels away like it’s looking for more trouble.

  He gets in my face. “Find what tu puta madre stole in forty-eight hours, or you’ll owe Diablo one grand. You feel me?”

  I ignore him calling her my slut mother. “What’d she take worth that?”

  He grins and steps closer. “Let’s trade out instead. I can get ten Benjamins for you, easy. Hell, I’d hit that first.” His hand glides over my nothing boobies.

  Leaning away, fears skitters through my skin. Mama says a man’s lust is disgusting, and I believe her. I’m not sure what to do. Eddie Loco brushes one hand across my check, while the other runs along the edge of my jeans, then starts to dip into my panties.

  No! I bite his finger.

  “Puta!” He backhands me.

  That rips me from Spooks’ arms. Spinning, my scraped cheek slams against the fence and I see twirly stars. His sweat tastes gross in my mouth. Eddie Loco screams in Spanish and grips my throat. He’s choking me. My fingers try to pry him off, but he’s stronger and meaner. The world spins before me and my hope fizzles away. I was supposed to save Mama, but can’t even rescue myself.

  Spook’s eyes match the terror I’m feeling, but he just stands there, lost against Eddie Loco.

  My air disappears … can’t breathe … feel fuzzy. My eyes roll back and I fade away.

  Darkness closes in, then he lets go. I cough and sputter as he shouts, “You want to be like tu puta madre? Nobody steals from Diablo.”

  It takes me a sec to get enough air. I lean on my knees for support “Wh-what do you mean? Did you hurt her? Where’s she now?”

  Eddie Loco spits at my feet, then jerks Spook by the arm to go. They walk away together. Eddie Loco struts like Diablo did earlier.

  He turns back and yells, “Meet D at noon at the Shangri-La day after tomorrow.”

  “I still don’t understand.”

  “Bring the shit, or one grand, or I’m tricking you out. You feel me?”

  CHAPTER 6

  I sit on the alley curb, sticky-black scared glued to me from what just happened. I can’t stop shaking. Every bone in my body doesn’t want Eddie Loco near me or my panties again. Even through this jacket, Spook ga
ve me bruises, and they’re throbbing now. My heart may jump out from my chest.

  That chain-link fence betrayed me. If I’d just made it over, I could’ve escaped. Where do I find one grand? What happened to Mama? Did she really steal from the Barrio Brothers?

  I try to sort through the conversation and make sense of it. Diablo smiled syrupy sweet the whole time. “Tu madre … took something of mine … give her the chance to give it back.”

  I never saw an extra dime lying around the Warrior Angel or our room worth that much. I would know ’cause we’re together all the time. Besides, Mama’s not a thief. She would’ve told me.

  I still feel Eddie Loco’s fingers hungry for my panties and taste his sweat in my mouth. The way he screamed, “You want to be like your slut mother? Nobody steals from Diablo.”

  Is he the Street Killer? Is she dead in a gutter somewhere?

  I want to cry, but remind myself Mama has been spotted twice today. People worry about the Street Killer like he’s something new, but murderers walk around us every day in Paradise—the Barrio Brothers, Zhi Peng and the Asian Assassins, the Black Knights and the KKK. Basically, the Mexicans, the Chinamen, the Blacks and the Whites can’t get along. Nothing new there.

  Steam rises from a manhole beyond the fence, up and away. I wish I could disappear from Paradise like that, but I’ve got to find Mama or what she stole.

  As I stand, my head spins woozy between terror and hunger. I just want to go home, but force myself to head to the Shangri-La instead. I’m still not sure if that detective was really there with Mama last night. Turdmouth has no reason to lie, but who knows with that boy. He didn’t make fun of me today for gimping like his daddy, and that’s not like him.

  I pull my hoodie over my head again to hide from the Barrio Brothers and stay warm. Scanning the streets, there’s no Cher wannabes here, but that Dallas Cowboy gear up ahead flashes more trouble.

  Turkey and Little J.J stand on the corner together across the street, their hats cocked the same way. I’ve always wondered if they’re brothers for real, ’cause they both got the same beard patches on their chins and matching square jaws, but Little J.J. is Fat-Albert big, and Turkey is just normal.