by Marcy McKay
He hollers, “I should’ve known you’re the troublemaker.”
I scream, “There’s blood everywhere, but I had to. The preacher deserved to die. It’s better than Cops.”
He hurries to our room, leaving his office open to me. Red bleeds across the sky as I rush down the breezeway, a swirl of orange, gold and purple spilling onto the marshmallow clouds. What a pretty ending to such an ugly day.
Sunset glows the CAUTION tape electric yellow across the street. No-Brains still isn’t there. I don’t spot Turdmouth around, but can’t look for him now. Time to take the money and run.
The TV blasts up ahead. Tank Top must’ve left the door wide open.
Perfect.
My gimpy legs move quicker. Rushing inside, I’m as surprised to see Carmella as she is to see me. We both squeal together. She’s standing behind the counter. Tank Top must’ve told her to hold down the fort.
My plan just got better, ’cause she’s getting a drive-by ass-chewing. I jab my finger at her and walk straight back towards that money bag on the shelf. “You knew they were going to kill me.”
Carmella follows behind, all weepy. “Lo siento, lo siento, lo siento.”
“Who cares if you’re sorry? That doesn’t cut it. Look what they did to me.” I point to my bruised face and raise my plastic-bag foot.
“I no want to see what she show me.”
“Who?”
“Tu madre.”
“What’d Mama show you?” I grab the cash bag and pause. It’s as heavy as I thought with both change and bills. The maid reaches for it, but I swat her hand away. “Stop it. You owe me.”
“Not so fast, sister,” he says behind me.
I turn, then freeze to Tank Top pointing his pistol my way.
His yellow teeth gleam. “You’re right. This is better than Cops.”
CHAPTER 12
The TV blares in front of me as I sit in Tank Top’s recliner, his gun poking me in my face. The chair still feels warm from his butt sweat. I keep telling myself he’d never shoot me, but he’s probably trigger-happy from watching too much Cops.
Speaking of, why aren’t the cops here yet? Are they on a donut break?
My eyes scan the room for an escape. There are no windows inside and there’s the front door behind me. I’m not as fast as normal, but I could outrun Tank Top if he doesn’t shoot me first. The blue cash bag sits back on its shelf, proving my failure. I plan my next move.
“Stop!” Tank Top jabs his pistol deeper at me. “No funny business.”
The wall clock says 3:37 p.m. Dinner chunch starts at five. I’ll miss more cash from Miz Jesus if I don’t get going soon. Her husband probably wouldn’t let me have it anyway.
The TV must hear my brain ’cause a commercial pimping The Lord’s Power Hour plays now. Their theme song sings, “What a friend we have in Jesus, all our sins and griefs to bear …,” while it shows Mr. and Miz Jesus grinning their Hollywood smiles and building orphanages, leading chapel services, and hugging different colored babies from around the world. For just forty-nine bucks a month, we can all help ’em spread the good news.
The only one he’s helping is himself to more monkey pie upstairs in my room right now. Poor Miz Jesus. I wonder if she knows she married a rat bastard. He’s a total cheater, while she gave me a hundred bucks from God. I can feel her goodness by how angels fly from her mouth when she sings and all her Bible talk.
Sometimes, when it’s extra cold or I’m starving, I let my mind wander and pretend Miz Jesus is my mom instead. She cooks me spaghetti every night, reads me books we checked out from the library and plays with our dog named Sugar.
Shame floods me that I can’t find Mama anywhere. It’s like I didn’t appreciate her enough and now she’s a Disappeared. It’s all my fault. I didn’t love Mama enough and I complained too much.
Tank Top yells over the TV. “Quit. I can tell you’re scheming something.”
“Who got killed across the street?”
“Some whore.”
I swallow extra hard, my mouth still bitter from bad thoughts. “Did the Street Killer do it?”
He shrugs.
Grabbing the remote, I turn down the volume. He hollers for me to stop, but I do it extra fast before he shoots me. We can hear now, though I’m not sure I’m ready for it. “Who was Mama here with last night?” Tank Top gives me a dead-fish face, but I keep trying. “Was that cop with her? How long was he there? What’d you see?”
“Stop talking.” He waves the gun at my nose.
“I just want to find her,” I mumble. “I saw Spook and Eddie Loco in our room this morning, then that preacher in there naked just now. That’s weird happening all in the same place. Don’t you think?”
His gray eyes narrow on me like a bull’s-eye. “I don’t know a thing.”
“That preacher’s wife would probably like to know her husband is cheating on her and would be pretty upset that you’re the one who sold him the room.”
“I’m not getting into trouble with Diablo for the likes of you.”
“Diablo? What’s he got to do with this?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You just did. How do he and that preacher know each other? Did they do something to Mama?”
“Shut up. Talk again and I’m pulling the trigger.” Tank Top cocks the gun to show he means business. He starts pacing in the small office, his boxers drooping more as he walks back-and-forth in front of the TV. He’s so nervous he’s pitting out. “I didn’t do nothing wrong. I was just doing my job.” He waves his pistol through the air like an invisible exclamation point. “Brother Sanborne was probably just trying to save your mom’s wicked soul anyway, but good luck with that one.”
“So, the preacher was with Mama.”
“That’s not what I said.”
“Yeah, it is. I still don’t understand how everyone fits together.”
“Shut your damn mouth.”
A deep voice behind us says, “Put the gun away now.”
I know him even before I turn around to that mountain-of-a-man. It only took knocking off a motel to find him.
No-Brains. One of the last few people to see Mama.
Darkness hangs in the late afternoon air outside the Shangri-La office. Winter has stolen another day. My breath twists through the cold as I hold my hands behind my back and No-Brains slaps the cuffs on me.
Click.
“Are you kidding me?” I say, trying to ignore Tank Top’s laughs.
He’s not. No-Brains snaps ’em as tight as they’ll go.
Tank Top says, “Lock her up and throw away the key.”
I glare at ’em both. No-Brains towers over us like a ginormous shadow and smells like the leather chairs at the library. His feet are longer than both mine put together.
He tells Tank Top, “Give me five minutes, then I’ll take your statement.”
“Roger that.”
The air turns colder as No-Brains walks me to his car, parked on the street. At least it’s not a cop car. It’s a white Crown Victoria. I don’t know if it’s the same Victoria they name houses after like the library, or what.
What streetlights aren’t busted out above us are lit for another night of hell in Paradise. The plastic bag on my foot crunches with each step, but I shuffle on proud like it’s the most normal thing. I hope Turdmouth’s not around to see this.
No-Brains frowns at me. “What happened to your face?”
“I fell.”
“What about your shoe?”
“It fell, too.”
As he unlocks the back door to his car, I see the dark outline of the sunny CAUTION tape, blowing death through the breeze. Tears pool deep inside me. He seems to read my mind and says, “It’s not public information yet, but that victim wasn’t your mother.”
I’m not sure I believe him, but my insides still sigh with relief. “Is the Street Killer real?”
“I’m not at liberty to discuss cases, but more seems to be happenin
g around here than usual, beyond the gang wars.”
“’Cause you’re an expert two weeks on the job.”
“We’ll wait in the car for a female officer to arrive.”
“Is that so you won’t grope me?”
“Get in.”
I slide into the seat, and that’s not easy to do with no hands. He locks me in and walks to the other side of the car. My cardboard sign pokes out from the top of my jacket, but I can’t fix it. I sniff, but won’t let myself cry in front of him. My hands tug a bit against the cuffs and I realize even with ’em snug tight, my bony wrists still slip through the holes.
For once, too skinny helps. I’m still probably headed to juvie, where they keep you locked in cells forever. No food. No water. No toilet. I’ll never find Mama behind bars. My throat lumps up worse how I’ve lost my family. It’s all my fault.
The car light stays on even after No-Brains sits in the driver’s seat. I hate breathing the same air as him, but at least I’ve got the glass wall between us for protection. His dark eyes drink me in like I’m the last drop of people on earth. I think that look means more, but my mind doesn’t want to go there. Tears choke me up worse.
No-Brains talks through the small window between us. “What were you thinking, robbing a motel?”
“What were you thinking, following Mama into this motel last night?”
His face turns stop-sign red as his glance cuts away. He stares out into the darkness like he’s searching for her, a darkness he helped make.
“That’s what I thought. You love her.” Folks smart enough to get Mama adore her. The men want to marry her and the women want to be her best friend. She still hasn’t found someone special enough for us yet. It makes sense why he keeps sniffing after her. He wants her all to himself.
No-Brains says, “It’s not like that between your mother and me.”
“Sure, sure.” The car light goes off and I’m glad ’cause it’s harder to see his gawking. Plus, a tear breaks free and trickles down my cheek. I can’t even reach up to wipe it away. What if they fought and he handcuffed her naked in his basement? What if these are the same cuffs? What if she’s lying there, bleeding to death?
Picturing all that horribleness knocks loose a sob in my throat. I choke it back, but still make an ugly snorting sound. I can’t even wipe my snotty nose. I’m gulping to not bawl. Be strong for Mama.
“Calm down. Let me explain.” He reaches his barrel arm through the small window and tries to dab my face with a tissue.
I pull away. This glass isn’t protecting me enough from him.
No-Brains must be thinking up new lies, ’cause he doesn’t explain one thing. I sniff and stare out into the night, up to Room 207. Mr. Jesus must be getting ready for chunch. They’re all fakes and phonies—the preacher, this pig, even Diablo. That gangbanger acts like he’s your best buddy, then lets the others do his dirty work for him.
The street shines onto the side of No-Brains’ face, lighting up his pointy nose. “I saw that your mother wasn’t with you today at the library and Miss Gerald said she was missing. I’ve been looking for her all day, asking around. I’m worried about her.”
The yank in his voice says he’s got it for her way bad. I just hope she doesn’t love him back.
He pulls a little notepad and pencil from his jacket. “Have you looked for her?”
I don’t look at him, but nod.
He says, “Do you suspect anyone?”
“Diablo.”
“Why?”
No-Brains sighs. “She owes him cash. A lot.”
“How much?” I don’t answer, then he says, “Anyone else?”
“Yeah, you.” My glare digs into him.
“Me?”
“I found your business card in her jacket, so that doubly proves you were together.” I can’t shove it in his crappy face. I also don’t mention the Barrio Brothers in our room, the coat stealer, or Mr. Jesus naked in our room. Why should I do his job for him? He’s still my #1 suspect, so I say, “You haven’t explained about you and Mama.”
He sighs and runs his fingers through his hair. “I think your mother needs help.”
“Is that why you chased her from here last night while she was half naked?”
His head pops back. “My God, no. Never. What makes you say that?”
“Two friends said they saw you two. She was also screaming rape through the motel parking lot.”
His breath sucks in hard, then he grits his teeth. “Who are these friends?”
“Let me out and I’ll take you to ’em right now. They’ll tell you everything. Besides, I’m late for meeting someone. It’s really important.”
“I’m afraid your immediate future has had a change of plans.”
My gut hiccups at that. “You aren’t going to book me, are you?”
“I most certainly am.”
“Why? It’s my first offense.” It’s lucky I’m sitting ’cause my legs give way and wobble. That’s not fair. Mai Wong’s cousin got caught slinging weed, but got off since it was his first time. Besides, I watch TV, so I know stuff.
No-Brains reaches through the window and pulls my sign out from my jacket. I think he’s going to grope me next, but he holds it up and reads to himself:
NEED MONEY FOR FOOD
GOD BLESS
He stares me down so hard I can’t handle the pressure and look away, but still feel him watching, like he knows secrets about me. I hope he doesn’t want me like he does Mama. I need out of this car now.
Sighing, he tosses my sign beside me on the seat and points to it. “This is no life for anyone. You deserve better. Your mother deserves better, too, but if she won’t listen to reason, then I have to do what’s best for you. It’s my responsibility. It’s my job as an officer of the law, as well as—”
“I’m not going anywhere with you, and I’m sure not leaving without Mama. I just need you to tell me abo—”
A knock at my window makes me yelp.
I think it’s the lady cop, but it’s Tank Top outside in a brown ski coat. His bare legs stick out like chubby toothpicks beneath it. I’ve never seen him wear so many clothes. He salutes us. “Reporting for duty to give my statement.”
No-Brains sighs. “I’m sorry, Copper, but this is what’s best until we find your mother.” I feel like he wants to say more, but he just shuts the tiny window between us, then steps out and closes his door extra quiet.
He didn’t tell me jack about Mama. He says he doesn’t love her, but it oozes all over him like a drunk fool. The inside light is still on while him and Tank Top talk outside my door.
I try to listen to their conversation, but it’s hard to hear through the glass. They both just mumble.
The cop radio starts squawking up front, too. It pulls my attention there as the lady’s voice says, “There’s a 10-88 at …”
That’s when I see it taped to his dash.
A picture of Mama.
CHAPTER 13
My world turns topsy-turvy sitting handcuffed in the backseat of this cop car. I see Mama, my mama, taped up front to No-Brains’ dash. It’s small enough to fit in his pocket wherever he goes.
Mama looks younger there, like an older teenager. She’s standing outside by a tree in a short, white dress and church shoes. Her long, black Cher hair gleams. I can’t believe how perfect and straight her teeth were back then. That smile should’ve been famous. It should’ve been on the cover of magazines. It should’ve been on TV.
Instead, it’s missing.
The overhead car light cuts off and I can’t see her anymore. This is proof No-Brains doesn’t just know her, but he loves her. He carries around Mama’s picture like I do my lucky penny. She gave me mine as a gift.
Did she do it for him, too?
I explode insane, ready to skin this pig. I scream and bounce on the seat, kicking and cussing. I want to yank my wrists through the cuffs and bang on the window at No-Brains, but I need to sit tight to escape in just a minute. I chec
k to make sure it still works. Yeah, even on the tightest notch, my skinny hands slip through the cuffs, no problem.
He owes me that explanation.
Now.
I’ve got to get his attention, but it’s not easy with a name like No-Brains. He’s still standing right outside his car talking to Tank Top. I almost knock my head on the glass when the streetlight shows No-Brains turning this way.
His scrunched-up face peers into my window, frustrated. “What’s wrong?”
His badge and his nametag flash at me—Officer Noblitt.
Who cares? He’s a liar. I shout, “Mama’s picture! Why’s she taped to your dash?”
He flinches like I double-whammied him, and I wish I had—a punch to the left, then a fist to the right. Even Tank Top watches on curious. It may be night, but I see one thing clear as day. His guilt.
No-Brains hurt Mama. I feel it, but …
Did he kill her?
For a split second, I know she’s really gone.
Gone, forever. That sureness twists in my gut like a knife. Worse than Diablo cutting me. Panicked, I shriek, “What did you do to her? Bring her back now, ’cause if you don’t, you’ll be sorry.”
He taps the window. “Calm down.”
“Quit saying that.” I can’t stop the sob that sputters out. “Let me go.”
“Let me finish with his statement, then I’ll explain everything. I promise.” No-Brains turns back to Tank Top and pulls him aside on the motel sidewalk, out of listening range.
Twice he said he’d tell me the truth, but hasn’t. I’m a blubbery mess back here and almost start banging on the window when I hear the cop radio squawking up front again.
This time, the lady’s voice says: “I’ve got a 10-88 at the Eternal Peace Cemetery chapel.”
She says more, but I don’t know what it means. I’m not sure what a 10-88 is, but I do understand Eternal Peace.
That’s home. Maybe it’s got something to do with Mama. I need to knock the truth from No-Brains, but he’s not going to help, and I’m sure not going to juvie. The night darkens outside, but I still hear No-Brains and Tank Top yabbing, so I take my cuffed hands and slide open the glass window between the seats extra quiet. It’s about the size of our motel bathroom window. I’ve already jumped through one today, so this’ll be easy. Plus, I won’t have to drop two floors this time.
