Wheels (Tabor Heights Year Two)

by Michelle Levigne

  "Did anybody get the license of that car?" Toby asked, as a woman in an orange shirt pulled napkins and a water bottle from the backpack hanging from her chair and approached him. He grimaced as he unbuckled his false leg and pulled it off to examine the knee joint.

  *****

  The two-screen cinema, one of the oldest buildings in that part of downtown Tabor Heights, sat on Main near the sharply angled multiple intersection of Main, Hafner and Trough. Tommy, Natalie and a mixed group of fake disabilities sat in the shade of the old-fashioned awning and marquee, laughing and swapping stories of encounters. Natalie limited herself to listening, with her recorder and her notebook ready to capture everything she could. She had already snapped several dozen photos, and blessed the day America's Voice upgraded all equipment, so she could keep taking pictures without worrying about running out of film. With extra batteries and a spare memory card in her pocket, she could go on all day. She knew she had enough material to fill several editions of the magazine. Maybe she should consider doing a book about just this day, all the stories and experiences of the people involved?

  Paul and Franky pulled up to the curb in front of the theater in Tommy's van. A loud chorus of cheers erupted when they opened up the van, pulled out two coolers of drinks on ice and passed them around to the group sitting there.

  "So, how's it going?" Paul asked, settling down on one of the plastic benches placed outside the cinema.

  "Fine. You aren't here to make us come in for supper, are you?" Tommy said.

  "Nope, just checking up on you. How you surviving all this, Natalie?"

  "I'll let you know when I get out of the chair tonight -- if I can get out of the chair," she added with a chuckle.

  As the others in the group laughed with her, Toby and his group appeared at the far end of the strip of shops and moved down the sidewalk to join them.

  "He's not trying to talk you into going inside, is he?" Paul asked.

  "Why?"

  "This theater lets people in wheelchairs in for free," Tommy said with an innocent expression that immediately made her suspicious.

  "What's the catch?" she asked.

  "The bathrooms aren't wheelchair accessible," Paul said, when Tommy just shook his head. "You have to go through a dog-leg turn in the little hall. Like a mousetrap for gimps."

  "The owner says he lets wheelers in for free because they provide their own seats," Toby said, sliding up to join them.

  "He knows we won't complain about the accessibility problem in the bathroom, just to keep our free movies," Tommy added.

  "Does anybody?" she asked.

  "Hey, we ain't stupid!" Toby said.

  "If you don't speak up, things won't get fixed."

  "Aarrggh!" Tommy said, raising his hands to his throat as if choking. "She sounds like Claire! Paul, quick, get her away before the damage becomes permanent!"

  The others laughed, but Natalie wondered how much of the laughter was discomfort, maybe a little guilt, from those who deliberately didn't push for improvements simply because they knew they would lose freebies and perks, like free movie tickets.

  "Hey, I happen to like your sister, and I would consider it a compliment to be compared to her," she declared, and gave the wheelchair a hard push, straight for the theater doors.

  "Where you going, Nat?"

  "To try out this death-trap bathroom. It can't be that hard to manage."

  "Hey, is that the jerk who nearly flattened me?" Toby called, pointing at a passing car.

  "I might as well get some games of Centipede in while you're in there," Tommy announced, setting his chair in motion after Natalie.

  "She might not take that long," Paul said. He got up to open the door for both of them.

  "I don't know," Toby called over his shoulder as he and several others moved down the sidewalk, visibly following the car that had driven past. "Brad went in there once and the movie had changed by the time he got out."

  Natalie decided to ignore them. The safest way of dealing with Tommy and his friends -- especially the ones who approached the world with his warped attitude -- was to assume they were joking at least three-quarters of the time, but to always be ready for them to turn serious, no matter how bizarre the truth might seem. Maybe if she had about ten years of practice, she could perfect the technique.

  Ten years in the future, still hanging around with Tommy? She could go for that.

  No, be careful, it's just that stupid pre-adolescent crush acting up, she warned herself, as she slid through the door into the shadowy interior of the cinema.

  "Hey, good luck. Don't be afraid to call for help," Tommy called, as she wheeled through the open doorway of the women's restroom.

  *****

  "Gotta tell you something," Paul said, holding Tommy back with a hand on his shoulder. He stayed in the doorway, looking out at the van, where Franky sat in the doorway and handed out drinks to more awareness walk volunteers who approached.

  "Something with Franky?" Tommy guessed.

  "He contacted Donovan, who sent Hess to pick up the package those two guys made him pick up at the VA."

  "I knew it. Franky was getting too tense. He was scared." Tommy exhaled loudly. "Good for him."

  "Yeah, and then, maybe not. Donovan wants to set him up with a wire when he goes to the drop tonight, get them to talk enough to incriminate themselves."

  "Dangerous?"

  "Turns out those creeps were threatening you and people at the Mission, if Franky didn't cooperate. He told Hess a lot of stuff that he did, that these guys were holding over his head to force him to cooperate. Brock has told me some things that he saw done, when he was working for those drug runners. The ripples from this…" Paul shook his head. "Be careful out there, okay?"

  "The drop is tonight, right? The walk will be over and everybody will be safe at home and I'll be off the streets when it all goes down." Tommy shrugged. "No problem."

  Chapter Thirteen

  Natalie moved down a section of hall barely wide enough to fit her hands against the wheels of the chair. The entryway turned after four feet, with barely enough room to pivot the chair. She amended that estimation a moment later when she managed to get halfway turned -- and got stuck.

  *****

  Chuck and Simon approached the Mission's van from across the street and came around the front, waiting until everyone had taken a bottle of cold drink and moved on. Franky settled down in the open passenger side, eyes closed, visibly worn out and relaxed. The two men stood and watched him for a few moments, until Franky visibly stiffened and opened his eyes. The faint smile that had softened his mouth vanished and he sat up, gripping the side of the seat and the dashboard in front of him.

  "Gee, buddy," Simon said, "you don't look too happy to see us. Something wrong?"

  "What do you two want now?" Franky said, keeping his voice low. He glanced over Simon's shoulder at the doorway of the cinema beyond him.

  "What do you think we want?" Chuck said.

  "I don't have it with me."

  "We know," Simon said. "We're just checking up on our partner to make sure he's all right."

  "Yeah, and make sure he didn't get some dumb ideas since we talked to him," Chuck said, turning to Simon.

  "We're not supposed to meet until tonight," Franky said.

  "Just making sure you remember. Where's the stuff?"

  "I'd be pretty stupid to drag it around with me, now wouldn't I?"

  "I don't know. Something tells me you can be pretty stupid." Chuck's eyes narrowed when Franky flinched at his words. He glanced at Simon.

  "Maybe our good buddy is trying to pull a fast one on us," Simon said slowly. "Maybe you were thinking of selling our stuff and not sharing the profit?"

  "Why would I do that?" Franky said.

  "Yeah, Simon," Chuck sneered, "why would he do that?" In a swift strike, he grabbed Franky and yanked him to his feet. When he resisted, Chuck pulled a knife and made a few threatening passes close to his throat with it.
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  "Maybe because that reporter isn't a reporter, like you claim," Simon said. "Maybe she's a buyer. Maybe someone with a lot more connections than us. Maybe she promised to take care of you?"

  "Yeah, but we're going to take care of you first." He pulled Franky out of the passenger seat, only partially holding him up, so the younger man's knees hit the pavement before Chuck hauled him to his feet. "Maybe you didn't chicken out on us, old buddy. Maybe you went into business for yourself."

  "You're crazy!" Franky protested, his voice cracking.

  "Maybe. But we have the gun," Simon said, tugging up the edge of his shirt to show a nasty-looking, gleaming pistol tucked into the waistband of his jeans.

  "Hey!" Toby shouted from the corner, thirty feet away. "What do you guys think you're doing?"

  *****

  Tommy looked up from the handful of change Paul held out for him, the two of them trying to find enough quarters to play a couple games of Centipede on the ancient video game in the theater lobby. He saw two big guys facing Franky, and the bigger one holding him by his collar, dragging him out of the van. Two details struck him.

  First, it had been a stupid idea, challenging Paul to a Centipede match while they waited for Natalie to get stuck and call for help. He should have let Paul leave and take Franky and the van back to the Mission, getting them both off the streets. Any idiot would have realized that those two gangsters who had been hassling Franky would be looking for the van if they suspected something had gone wrong with using him as a courier.

  Because second, those two goons shoving Franky around were the gangsters he had glimpsed spying from the woods in the back yard -- the same ones who blackmailed Franky into acting as a courier and returning to his criminal life.

  Paul cursed, and Tommy barked shocked laughter as he put his wheelchair into overdrive, going from zero to sixty in three seconds.

  "Call Donovan!" he shouted as he aimed for the swinging doors. Thank goodness the doors swung out.

  He hit the panic bar with an extended arm in a move a linebacker would have envied, shoving the doors open with a bang-crash sure to wake the dead.

  Chuck and Simon -- he wasn't sure which was which, and right now they were interchangeable -- caught a firmer grip on Franky and started around the van, into the street.

  "Stop them!" Tommy shouted. Toby and several others appeared, racing up the sidewalk, all of them on foot and shouting.

  The thinner gangster -- the one not dragging Franky off his feet -- turned and extended his arm in what seemed like slow motion, pointing a gun at the rescuers.

  "Banzai!" Tommy shrieked, and leaned forward, shoving on his wheels with all his might, aiming for the man's back.

  "Tommy!" Paul shouted behind him.

  *****

  Natalie refused to get onto her feet to maneuver her chair around and get out of the jam. She tried to lever herself up in the chair, balancing on the armrests, to hopefully fold it up underneath herself. The plan was to reduce the width of the chair so she could turn around.

  A gunshot echoed into the bathroom from the theater lobby. She froze, hovering in seeming mid-air. Another gunshot. People screamed.

  That wasn't coming from a movie -- that was coming from the street outside.

  Blindly, Natalie turned and scrambled over the chair, tipping it backwards, managing by some miracle not to trip on it as she ran down the short hallway.

  In the blink of an eye she was outside, half-blinded by the change from shadowy lobby to bright afternoon sunshine. Tires screamed, burning rubber as a car screeched away, engine roaring. She watched a car speed down Main, heading toward Sackley, then turned back, and screamed once. She felt as if she had been stabbed when she saw Tommy's wheelchair lying on its side, and Tommy crawling, pulling himself along on his arms. She ran to him and nearly threw herself on him, positive he was injured.

  "Paul!" Tommy's voice shattered.

  Natalie turned and saw Paul lying in the street in front of the van, curled up, with Franky leaning over him. Franky sat up, his face twisted in terror, and held out his hands, covered with blood. Paul's blood.

  "Get some help, will you?" Tommy snapped, when she stepped back to get his chair. The others gathered around. "Do I have to do the thinking for everybody around here? Stupid able-bodies -- your legs work so your brains shut down? Get the police! Call 911. Do something!"

  "Already did," Paul gasped. He let Franky turn him onto his back. "Was talking to Donovan -- when you decided to -- make like a battering ram."

  As if his words were a signal, sirens wailed from only a few blocks away. Natalie looked down the street and saw a police car, lights flashing, pull up to the intersection of Main and Span and streak through without waiting for oncoming traffic to stop. A fire engine siren wailed, coming from her right.

  "Guess it's a good thing we live in a really small town," Tommy said. He shuddered, curling in on himself. Natalie went to her knees and wrapped her arms around him.

  Wet soaked into her shoulder and she pulled back, positive he was bleeding too. But those were tears.

  *****

  Tommy held onto Sammy, who was far too quiet, and watched Claire clutch at Natalie's hands, her eyes wide and face pale. For the moment, they had the waiting room at the hospital to themselves. That would change as soon as word spread through Tabor and through their church about what had happened to Paul. Tommy honestly couldn't figure out if that was a good thing or he should resent what he knew was coming. Part of him wanted to block the world out. As long as nobody was there, talking and offering comfort and trying to help, it wouldn't be quite real.

  "He's going to be okay," Natalie said. She had insisted on talking to the doctors while Tommy finished talking with the police about what he had seen and done during the rapid-fire fight. "No broken bones, not too much blood lost. The bullets didn't hit any major veins or arteries or organs. Despite all that blood, the worst injury is where he hit his head."

  "He'll be fine," he offered. "You know what a hard head Paul has."

  Claire choked, trying to laugh. The tears filling her eyes still refused to fall. "It wasn't just a parking lot mugging, was it? That's what they tried to tell me when the dispatcher called, but… I've just had this feeling all day. Paul's been doing a lot of talking with Franky, and that boy has been watching over his shoulder for the last three or four days."

  Tommy looked to Natalie. He wanted to tell Claire, but if Paul hadn't thought to confide in her about the mess that had followed Franky from his old life to the Mission, should he?

  "Paul and Tommy were protecting Franky," Natalie said. "Some creeps from his old life were trying to make him be a courier for drugs or something. Franky went to the police and gave them what he was given. They were supposed to meet tonight, and the cops were going to get them, from what I can tell." She offered a tiny shrug and flat smile when Tommy stared at her. "Franky babbles when he's scared, and some cop named Donovan gave me the lowdown while you were busy getting Paul in the ambulance."

  "Where's Franky now?" Claire asked.

  "Protective custody, basically," Tommy said. "Sorry, Nat, you're going to have to hang around here for a couple weeks, at least. I mean, with Paul in the hospital and Franky living underground, there's nobody to drive me to my gigs." He offered her a cheesy grin, and wondered what made her flinch at his lame joke.

  "You're performing tonight." His sister half-rose from her chair. "Tommy, there's all that decorating to do, and the food to put out, and your routine and the sound system--"

  "We'll take care of it," Natalie said, catching hold of her arm and guiding her back down into the chair. "You stay here with Paul. I'm sure when the cops are done talking to him, now that he's out of surgery, he's going to want to see you. And you need to stay with him."

  "I do." She swallowed hard. "Sammy--"

  "We'll take her." She winked at the little girl. "Want to help me keep Uncle Tommy out of trouble?"

  "That's a big, hum-un-guss job," the litt
le girl chirped, breaking her unnatural silence.

  "You bet."

  "Oh, great." Tommy wrapped his arms tight around Sammy, searching for her ticklish spots. "Everybody's ganging up on the gimp."

  "Mommy?" She wriggled free of his grip and reached out both hands to Claire, who slid her over onto her lap. "Where's Daddy?"

  "He's -- well, we're in a hospital. You know what a hospital is?" She helped Sammy scoot around so she was able to kneel on her thighs and look her in the eyes.

  "Uh huh. That's where people go when they're sick."

  "Well, Daddy got hurt protecting Franky from some big, mean men."

  "Did the p'lees catch him?"

  "They're working on it, short stuff," Tommy said, feeling like he would choke on the words.

  "Daddy is going to stay here for a while so the doctors can fix him all up. You'll be good for Uncle Tommy while I'm busy taking care of Daddy, won't you?" Claire wrapped her arms around the little girl and kissed both her cheeks when the child nodded. Then she stiffened and looked over Tommy's shoulder, to the door.

  He turned and saw Dr. Abrams beckoning for Claire.

  "Okay, that's our cue to leave." He held out his hands and Sammy let him take her from Claire and put her down on the floor. "We're heading back to the Mission and getting to work. You ready to work?"

  Sammy's happy little nod, her lack of concern for Paul -- her lack of understanding of what had happened to her father -- gave him a feeling like a clawed fist around his heart. But what hurt worse was the teary smile Natalie gave Claire, and the way she hugged her before letting her go talk to the doctor.

  As if Natalie really cared about them. As if they were more to her than new friends, like their problems had become her problems. As if she knew them for years.