Eleven and Holding (10 page)

S
witch ducked way down into the booth until I could just barely see his eyes over the tabletop. “We gotta get out of here,” he whispered.

I scootched down with him, my heart banging.

“Out the back,” he mouthed. “Stay down, though.”

I nodded dumbly.

“Ready?” he asked. “Let's go!”

“Wait! We haven't paid yet,” I whispered.

Switch rolled his eyes at me and shot out of the booth. I pulled a wad of cash from my pocket and slapped it on the tabletop. I followed his path through the kitchen, keeping my head down, just waiting for someone to grab the back of my neck. Old Beach Boys music blared over the hum of dishwashers.

Switch eased open a rickety screen door and took
a quick look back for me.
“Hurry!”

We closed the door quietly behind us and looked around the back. All clear.

“Now what?” I peeped.

“Shhh! Listen!” He froze.

Heavy boots crunched in the gravel to the left of us, along with the unmistakable sound of walkie-talkie static, coming closer.

“C'mon!” he said, and raced toward the Dumpster.

I sprinted after him and ducked behind the back of it with him. He peeked around the side.

“Quick, get in!” He grabbed me below my bottom and hoisted me up. I did an ugly swan dive right into the middle of Drive 'n' Dine's garbage. Switch landed smack on top of me. He muffled my yelp with a tight hand over my mouth and rolled off me.

“Don't-move-don't-make-a-sound,”
he said slowly into my ear. His breath was hot and tangy, like the hamburger he'd just inhaled.

Switch put his head down into my shoulder. He kept his hand over my mouth, like I might burst into song or start shouting any moment.

The screen door banged, and muffled voices came from the back of the restaurant. And a lot more footsteps kicking around in the gravel.

I peeled Switch's hand off my mouth and took
a gulp of air. Big mistake. It stank way, way bad in Dumpsterville.

Switch lifted his head and tried to listen to what they were saying. The music from the kitchen was too loud. But one of the cops kept talking into his radio. Switch looked at me a moment and then squinched up his face in pain. He put his mouth next to my ear again. “My board! I left it inside.” He shook his head and muttered a cussword I would never repeat.

The screen door banged again, and it got quiet. The music cut off abruptly.

Switch shifted a bit in the pile of garbage. Then whispered the cussword again.

“Did you steal Ginger's bike?” I hissed.

He shook his head. “No! I already told you that.”

“Then why are we hiding?”

He clapped his hand over my mouth again. “Shhh!”

The back door banged, and footsteps crunched toward us. We both froze, and I squeezed my eyes so tight I almost crushed my eyeballs.

A large box came over the top of the Dumpster and was set gently next to us. I opened one eye one-quarter to peek.

Busboy grinned down at Switch. “Brought your wheels, dude,” he said softly, pointing to the box.

“Thanks, man!” Switch said. “Those cops gone yet?”

Busboy glanced over his shoulder. “Naw, they're back out front, nosing around your bike. Guess they wanted to ask you about it, what year it was and everything. When you guys split out back, they got, like, totally curious 'bout it, man. But Mac the owner was cool. Said you'd paid your bill and everything, so no sweat with him.”

I elbowed Switch in his side.

“But if you leave your bike there all day, Mac'll probably tow ya.”

“Thanks, bro'. Think we'll hang here for a while. Will you come tell us when the cops leave?”

“Course, man. But these guys are regulars. Good eaters, too. They're gonna knock back a couple of burgers and about a tank of coffee before they leave.”

“Oh, great,” I groaned. I pinched my nose shut a minute and took a deep breath from my mouth.

“Does the city bus come by here?” Switch asked.

Busboy nodded and motioned with his head over his shoulder. “Yea, every half hour or so. Picks up across the street about three blocks down.”

The screen door squeaked open. “CAL-VIN! Quit squirrelin' around and get back in here, will you?”

Calvin reached into the Dumpster and rapped knuckles with Switch.

Switch waited until he heard the door slam again, and then sat up. He took a quick peek at his board in the box. As if to make sure Calvin hadn't accidentally brought him an inferior model.

I tried to rearrange myself into a semicomfortable squat. And tried hard not to look at what I was squatting on. But I couldn't help notice that it smelled like I was perched on top of a dead sea lion.

“What time is it?” Switch whispered.

“Ten after two,” I said.

“Okay, here's the deal. We gotta split up for a while.”

“What?”

“Look. You need to get to town and see your old man. I've got to stay with the bike. We can't take a chance of them towing it. I'll wait here. You grab the next bus.”

I bit down hard on my lip. The bus? I didn't like the sound of this.

“Or you can walk into town instead,” he said. “Which is gonna take most of the afternoon. Or you find a phone to call a cab. But that's probably going to cost twenty bucks or so.” He paused. “It would be a pretty short bus ride. It's okay, Macy. You can do it.”

I counted out the bills left in my pocket. Eleven
bucks. Looks like I'd accidentally left the waitress and Calvin about a fifteen-dollar tip. Between gas, snacks for the trip, and the load I'd just left inside, I'd pretty much blown my whole trip fund.

“Sorry,” he said, watching me fold the bills back. “I've only got a couple of ones with me.” He reached over and flicked a pickle slice off my arm. “It's like this. It's your deal, you call it. You can either take the bus now or hang out here until the cops leave, which could be another hour. And there's a chance we're gonna get towed even before they leave. Then we're
really
stuck. So, if you need to see your dad today, I'd take the chance and bust out of here now.”

“How are we going to find each other later?” I asked.

“You're going downtown, right?”

I shrugged. “That's where I'm starting. It's the only address I have.”

“There's a big music store right downtown called Boomtown Sounds. Meet me there at six o'clock,” he said. “That'll give us two hours or so of good daylight to drive. If we haul it, we could be back by ten p.m. It'll be tight, but we can do it.”

“What if I can't get there by six?” I said, a lot of worry and a little whine creeping into my voice.

“Then call Boomtown and leave a message there
for me. And if you get there, but I can't, I'll leave a message for you.”

I nodded. I knew he was right. Time was wasting, and I couldn't sit in this Dumpster all day. . . . But splitting up? I didn't like it. Not one bit.

“Okay, then! Hit the road, kid.”

I crawled up to the front of the Dumpster and took a quick peek over the top.

“Careful—don't let those cops see you!”

I crept to the far side, threw a leg up, and pulled myself over. Dropped to the ground as quietly as I could. Then ran like hell.

I folded in two over the top of the bus bench, my lungs heaving, like I was about to give birth to a calf. The “three blocks” to the bus that Calvin promised was only technically true. Three city blocks are very different from three small-town blocks I'm used to. Felt like I'd just run a marathon. As it was, I'd arrived only in time to suck up the fumes from the last bus, which, gauging from my watch, was the two-thirty p.m. run. Now, I was stuck another half hour.

A bearded guy wearing an old camo jacket in a wheelchair gave me a long look. I retucked my shirt, dumped some coffee grounds from the cuff on my shorts, and stared back at him. He didn't have any
room to be looking down his nose at me. Neither of us was going to win a best-dressed contest any time soon.

He pulled a half-smoked butt out of an empty pack of cigarettes and lit it up. Took a deep drag from it and held it in. Then drank from a beat-up Styrofoam cup. I watched a moment, temporarily fascinated. He finally blew the smoke out in a big, stinky gust, stubbed the butt out with care, and put it away in his little empty pack.

“Um, excuse me,” I said. “Was that bus that just left going to downtown Los Robles?”

Smokey ignored me.

I stepped up closer. “Sir, could you at least tell me if the next one coming is to Sixth Avenue? It's kind of an emergency that I get there.”

He dumped out the rest of whatever was in his cup and dried it out carefully with a filthy bandana.

I crossed my arms and cleared my throat—neither of which inspired him to speak to me.

Looking at my watch, I did the math. I had just three and a half hours left to get downtown, find my dad, convince him to come home, and get back to Switch by six. Hopefully, provided we still had Ginger's bike, that would put us in Constance by ten p.m. If I was any later, my mother would have every cop in the state out looking for me.

I needed a back-up plan in case we didn't make the ten p.m. cutoff. I chewed the underside of my lip, and the knot of scar tissue that lived there from years of me gnawing at it.

I'd have to call Twee and come clean about this. She'd find a way to help cover for me. That is, after she killed me. I couldn't stand to think about the hurt that was going to set up camp on her face once I told her I'd come to Los Robles with Switch instead of her.

A large blue van pulled up at the bus stop, and Smokey rolled over to it. The driver eased out of the front seat and came around to open the side door. He looked like a California version of Santa Claus. He had a long white beard and an enormous Hawaiian shirt that stretched tightly across his middle. But it couldn't quite cover the large hairy canyon that served as his belly button.

He threw out a casual salute. “Hey, Jerry. What's up?”

Smokey grunted.

Santa cracked open the panel door and slung it back hard. He flipped a switch inside the back, and a wheelchair lift came out. He helped the guy roll his wheelchair on it.

My eyes locked on the writing on the panel door.

DEPARTMENT OF VETERANS AFFAIRS

SOUTHERN COLORADO HEALTH CARE SYSTEM

PROUDLY SERVING OUR NATION'S VETERANS

I licked my lips. Put my hand in my pocket.

Santa tucked his passenger in safely. “You going back to the Dom, Jer?”

Smokey nodded, looking straight ahead.

The driver grabbed the door handle with a beefy arm. “Let's go, then!”

“Wait!” I shouted, lunging for the doorway. I put my hand on the wheelchair. “Uncle Jerry! You said I could go with you this time. I've never seen your Dome, um, I mean your Dom! Mom can pick me up there later. Please, please, please?” I stepped up into the van next to him. Put my hand over his, quickly stuffing my last ten under his hand. “C'mon, Uncle Jerry, huh, what'ya say?”

He looked down at the ten and closed his hand tight. Flicked his eyes over me and held them for a split second. His eyes were deepwater blue, set against a white backdrop that was covered in red, bloody trails. I looked down a second and held my breath.

“Okay. Just don't bug me,” he said in a voice all
raspy, probably because he never used it. He nodded at the driver and shrugged. “Dang niece.”

I collapsed into the backseat and drew a long deep breath. “Thanks, man,” I said.

“I
said
, don't bug me.”

I waited at least five minutes after the van pulled away before I leaned forward. I didn't want to blow our deal, but I did need to get some direction here. “What's a Dom?” I whispered near the back of his head.

Silence.

“Where are we going?”

Nothing.

“Can you help me get to the Department of Veterans Affairs?” I asked. “It's on Sixth Avenue,” I added helpfully. “Are we headed to Sixth Avenue?” I might as well have been talking to a corpse.

“Jerry, c'mon. I gave you ten bucks. That's going to buy you more cigarettes than you've seen in a long time.”

He stuck a long, dirty finger in his ear and dug around, like he was looking for something. I leaned back and closed my eyes. Afraid to see what he might pull out, and worse yet, what he might do with what he pulled out.

After a couple of minutes, I started up again. “Look, my dad is a veteran too. He was in Iraq. I'm
trying to find him. I gotta get to him this afternoon.”

He turned his head slightly and peered at me with one mean eye. “Be quiet, or I'll open that door and shove you out.”

“Could you just tell me one thing and I'll never speak again?” I pleaded. I took his silence as permission.

“Are we going to end up anywhere
near
Sixth Avenue?” I wasn't too familiar with downtown Los Robles. Usually, when Mom and me came, we went to the mall, which was north of town.

“Iraq was a field trip with big toys,” he muttered. “'Nam was a war.”

Not very helpful, but it was the most words he'd strung together yet. “So, I'm guessing you were in Vietnam?” I asked. “Do you ever go to the Department of Veterans Affairs on Sixth Avenue for reunions? You know, to look up old buddies or anything?” Truly lame, but I was desperate.

The van came to an abrupt stop. I whiplashed back against the seat and hit my head. “Sorry, guys!” Santa yelled over his shoulder.

I put my nose up to the grimy window and peered out. Looked like we were at some giant elementary school. Big redbrick buildings, lots of trees—a minicampus set back on a busy city street. It had a
big playground with basketball courts. But no kids. Just a bunch of guys in wheelchairs. I eased out of the back of the van after “Uncle Jerry” got lowered out.