Niagara Motel (16 page)

22

When the blue light of dawn glowed through our window, I gave up trying to sleep and got up to go see what Las Vegas was all about and find something to eat.

I saw a woman asleep in a doorway wearing only a bra and a skirt. I saw a haggard-looking man who shoved me and asked me a question, but I couldn't understand what he was saying. His front teeth were missing. I saw a beefy looking guy in a grey suit talking into a huge telephone that didn't have a cord. I saw a fat woman wearing a green sun visor that read Slots-A-Fun counting out change on a bus bench. I saw a redheaded guy with his arms around two pretty ladies who were wearing high, high heels. I saw a Native American guy looking in the window of a western-wear store. I saw a guy who looked just like Fabio and maybe even
was
Fabio leaning against the side of a bank. I saw an Asian woman in a black dress-suit smoking a cigarette with a cigarette-holder. I saw a guy in a dirty pinstripe suit drinking something out of a paper bag. I saw two women kissing each other. I saw a man in an Adidas track suit smashing his forehead against a brick wall, again and again. I saw a bald man with a patch over his eye. I saw someone like Dee, a D.R.A.G.

The D.R.A.G. was wearing a short silver wig and a purple sequined dress with blue, green, and gold waves up the sides. It reminded me of this dancing costume Gina bought after some guy in Vancouver tipped her 500 bucks one night. It's a sequined butterfly costume with full-length wings. She can put her arms through the slits and make the wings stretch out and the tips of the wings go all the way to the floor. She wears it only on special occasions, and when she does, she looks so glamorous I can't believe she's my mother.

I went to Denny's and ordered a Moons Over My Hammy and a
chocolate milk. After I ate, I felt better. I went back to the motel and wrapped a T-shirt around my head to block out the light. I got into bed and finally slept. When I woke up again, Meredith was leaning over me saying, “Rise and shine, monkey-butt.”

23

The next ride we got was with Relvis. Relvis drove a Buick Roadmaster station wagon with wood panelling on the sides. It was loaded up with blankets and cardboard boxes and garbage bags and smelled like a hamster cage. Relvis wore a white suit with tassels on the sleeves because he was still in costume. Or maybe that's how he always dressed, I'm not sure. Relvis was an Elvis impersonator. He looked pretty much the same as Elvis except that he had pitted acne scars on his cheeks. He wore tinted glasses and talked out of the side of his mouth. I guess if you impersonate someone for long enough, you eventually
become
that person. Or at least a version of that person.

“You kids like music?” Relvis asked as he flipped through the radio stations.

“Yeah, of course,” I said. “Who doesn't like music?”

“Some people don't,” he said. “I try not to associate with those people, though.”

“I like lots of different kinds of music,” I said.

“I like Elvis, personally,” Relvis said.

“No kidding,” Meredith said.

“Don't be cruel, baby,” Relvis said.

I glanced back at Meredith and she rolled her eyes.

Relvis checked her out in the rear-view mirror and jammed his tongue into the side of his cheek. Meredith turned her head to watch a scuffle on the street. A cop was arresting a young black guy, shoving him hard against the hood of a police cruiser. Relvis clucked his tongue and slowed down as we passed them. He caught the eye of the cop and pointed to his own eyes and then back to the cop.

“Is this place a hole or what?” Relvis said.

“Or what,” I said.

“Huh,” he said. “You don't know Vegas.”

“I don't know anything. I'm eleven years old.”

“And you know what?”

“What?”

“The older you get, the less you know.”

“I figured.”

“It's just the way it goes.”

“I don't even
know
what I don't know,” I said.

“That's right, kid.” Relvis shut off the radio and started humming “In the Ghetto.” “You want to know the truth?” he asked.

“Sure,” I said.

“The truth is, I hate Vegas. I'll always be Relvis, but do I have to do it in Vegas?”

“If you don't want to live here, then you probably shouldn't live here,” I said.

“That's right. That's exactly right. This damn city's killing me. That's why I'm moving. This is me moving.” He gestured to his garbage in the back. “It's now or never. Time to stop talking about it and actually do it,” he said.

“A little less conversation, a little more action?” Meredith said.

“You got it, sweetheart!”

Meredith and I laughed.

“I just have one small problem,” Relvis said.

“What's that?” Meredith said.

“I don't know where to go.”

“You could go to Canada,” I said.

“Canada!” Relvis said the word
Canada
like it was a disease. “Why would anyone want to go to Canada?”

“That's where we live,” Meredith said.

“Oh,” Relvis said. “Sorry.”

I shrugged. “It's pretty nice. And there aren't too many Elvises.”

“Huh.”

“Plus, we have Tim Horton's,” I said.

“Who's that?”

“It's a donut shop. They have the best donuts. And they're everywhere. All over the country.”

“You want some advice, kid?”

“Sure,” I said.

“Keep your eye on the donut, not the hole.”

I thought about that for the rest of the trip.

No one said anything for a while. Then Relvis said, “You know what, I don't think Canada's the place for me. I'm looking for something particular, and Canada ain't got it.”

“What are you looking for?” I said.

“I'm looking for the American Dream,” Relvis said.

“Where's that?” I said.

“I'm not sure exactly. Could be Alaska. Could be Hawaii. Could be Hackensack, New Jersey. But I'll know it when I see it,” he said. “I can tell you that for sure.”

When we stopped for gas, I called Gina from a payphone but no one answered. I was sort of relieved that I didn't have to talk to Gina because she probably had some elaborate plan all worked out where she would make me fly home that day or take a direct bus from Las Vegas or something stupid like that, that did not involve me getting to Hollywood and meeting Sam Malone. I knew it was hard on her, what I was doing, but it was hard on
me
not knowing who my father was. Gina should've thought of that one of the five billion times I'd asked her to tell me about him.

I sat in the car and waited for Relvis and Meredith to finish up in the store. I wasn't hungry or thirsty, I just wanted to get there.

They got back in the car and Relvis set a plastic bag by my feet and then we were back on the freeway. “You hungry, kid? You can have one of them candy bars.” He nodded toward the bag.

“I'm okay. Thanks.”

He took one and tore the wrapper open with his teeth and spit it out onto the floor. “How you doin' back there, baby girl?” He eyed Meredith in the rear-view.

“Fine,” she said. “Good.”

“When are you scheduled to pop?”

“A few months still,” she said.

“Going to be one beautiful baby, that's for sure.” He winked at her in the rear-view mirror.

Meredith stared at him for a second, then turned her head to look out the window.

“Thinking of names yet?”

“Not really.”

“You could name him Relvis if you want,” Relvis said. “If he's a boy. For girls, I like Priscilla and Lisa Marie.”

“Yeah,” Meredith said. “I'll think about it.”

Then Relvis lit two cigarettes at once and smoked them both at the same time. I stared at him. He glanced over at me and shrugged. “Sometimes one just ain't enough,” he said.

Meredith laughed and rolled down her window and I did too.

“Want to pick a tape, kid?”

“Sure,” I said.

He opened the cover of the arm rest and there were about fifteen cassettes lined up in there. In alphabetical order. Mostly Elvis. Some Lisa Marie. Some other country stuff. I picked Johnny Cash and stuck it in the tape deck.

“Excellent choice,” Relvis said, nodding. He licked his finger and smoothed his sideburns down.

The clock on the car stereo was the wrong time so I pushed the button to try to set it. But the numbers just kept going and never stopped.

Relvis shook his head. “Sometimes, things get broke and they can't ever be fixed again,” he said.

I punched some more buttons but the clock numbers didn't stop. All four of them raced from zero to nine and back, again and again.

“Doesn't matter what time the clock says anyways,” Relvis said. “It's only ever now.”

By the time both sides of the tape had finished, Relvis had decided that he was going to drive north. Maybe even all the way to Alaska. “See if I can meet any cats as cool as you two up there,” he said, grinning. He dropped us off where the I-15 intersects with the I-40 so we could keep heading west.

“I have to say it,” I said, as Meredith and I got out of the car.

“Go ahead,” Relvis said.

“Thank you, thank you very much.”

Relvis laughed and gave us a wave, tapping the horn to the tune of “Shave and a Haircut” as he drove away. We watched until the station wagon disappeared into the great, yawning sky.

“Relvis has left the building,” Meredith said.

Then we both cracked up. We stood at the side of the Mojave Freeway, giggling, as the traffic rushed past us.

24

The next person who stopped for us was a transport truck driver named Zane. He was hauling water bottles and told us he had about a million bottles of water in the back of his truck. I don't know why anyone pays to drink water out of a plastic bottle when you can drink it out of the tap for free, but that's one of life's great mysteries. Zane wore a brown mesh Hooters hat and drank coffee out of a red Big Gulp mug. He had light-brown eyes and a five-o'clock shadow.

It was kind of squishy with all of us sitting up front, and Zane had to reach around my knee to work the stick-shift, so Meredith said she'd sit up in the back cab where Zane had a bed and a mini-fridge and a microwave and even a little TV with a Nintendo system hooked up to it.

“Sure, hop on back there,” Zane said. “Don't mind the mess.”

“This is cool,” Meredith said, admiring the back cab.

“It ain't much, but it's what I got,” Zane said. Zane was like a snail-turtle too and carried his house around behind him.

“Do you mind if I have a nap back here?” Meredith asked, lying down on the bed.

“Knock yourself out,” Zane said.

Meredith zonked out right away, and Zane and I listened to talk-radio. After a while an announcer came on and said, “The verdict is in.” And Zane turned the radio up loud. “The four LAPD officers accused of beating Rodney King last March have been acquitted,” the announcer said.

“Fuck-damn,” Zane whistled through his teeth. “That city's gonna burn.” Then he rolled down his window and snot-rocketed onto the highway.

“We're going to L.A.,” I said.

“Well, kid, you've got bigger balls than me.”

I laughed.

“
Ooh, doggies!
Gonna see all hell break loose in the City of Angels tonight.”

“Zane?”

“Yeah, kid?”

“What does
acquitted
mean?”

“Not guilty,” Zane said.

“Oh,” I said.

“You seen the video, though?”

I nodded. If it was the same video that had been on the news for a year, I knew the one he meant. It was a home-video of four white cops beating up a black guy real bad.

“So?” he said.

“So, what?” I said.

“So everyone's seen the video! So everyone knows those cops are guilty as charged!”

“Oh,” I said.

“Think I'll head on over to my buddy's place in San Bernardino, lay low for a while. I suggest you do the same,” he said.

“No way,” I said. “We've got to get to Hollywood. Tonight.”

Zane glanced back at Meredith. Then he looked at me hard for a moment. He sighed. “Well, I'll put a call out on the radio for you, see what I can do.” Zane picked up the CB radio from its holder attached to the roof. “Breaker one-nine. This is Zane the Main Vein hauling the water train, headin' south on I-15, just comin' up to Baldy. Got an anklebiter and a YL with me, looking for a lift into Shaky Town. Can anyone nearby give them safe passage?”

There was only static over the radio for a long minute. Then a man's voice came on and said, “Ten-four, Veiner, this is Big Red,”
and he spoke in the same strange code as Zane had, but I figured out that he said he could give us a ride all the way into Los Angeles and that Zane should drop us at the Shell on Santa Fe Avenue and he'd collect us there.

“It worked!” I said, my heart ballooning inside my chest.

“Of course it worked,” Zane said. “It's CB radio.”

“That's the best thing ever.”

“Yep,” he said, nodding. “It pretty much is.”

Then I put my hand up for Zane to give me high-five and he gave me a really good one and laughed and said, “You're all right, kid.”

“Zane?” I said.

“Yeah?”

“How'd you learn to talk like that?”

Zane laughed. “Well, if you ever get to be a truck driver, you'll find out.”

Then I thought that maybe trucking was something I
could
do when I grew up. I like to travel. I'm good at it, and I'd get to carry my house around behind me, plus, I'd get to learn a whole new secret language. I hated it when people asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up; I never knew what to say, so I always just told them the truth and said, “I don't know,” but then they'd look so disappointed, like I'd done something wrong. Then they'd usually walk away because who wants to talk to a kid who doesn't even know what he wants to be when he grows up? So right that second I decided to start telling people that I wanted to be a trucker when I grew up. And it felt good.

Not too long after I'd decided to be a truck driver, Zane pulled into the Shell station, and we saw a guy with long dirty-blond hair wearing jeans and a white T-shirt leaning up against the front tire of a red dump truck, smoking a cigarette. He gave us a nod as Zane pulled his truck around. We all got out and the man walked over to us and Zane and the man shook hands. The man's name was Reginald
but he said we could call him Reggie.

Meredith used the bathroom inside the Shell and I did too. I bought a Coke and a bag of dill pickle chips. Zane said to Reggie, “Watch out down there, my man, it's gonna be a mad, mad city tonight.” And Reggie nodded like he wasn't too concerned one way or the other. We said goodbye and thanks to Zane and he said, “I hope you find what you're looking for in Hollywood.” And I said, “Ten-four, Good Buddy,” and he laughed and climbed into his rig and on the way out he pulled his air-horn and it was so loud that I wished I'd had time to plug my ears, but I was happy because Zane really was my good buddy, and now I had a pretty good idea of what I wanted to be when I grew up.

Reggie drove an eighteen-wheeler tandem axel semi dump truck that carried twenty-seven tons of sand. We climbed up into the cab beside him and put our backpacks behind the front seat. He didn't play the radio or a tape and he had the CB volume turned so low you couldn't really hear what people were saying over it, but I didn't care because Reggie was nice and he was going to take us straight to Los Angeles without passing go or collecting 200 dollars. He answered all of my questions about his truck.

“I'd say the whole rig weighs about 80,000 pounds, all told,” Reggie said.

“Whoa,” I said. “That's like hauling an elephant!”

“That's like hauling five or six elephants.” Reggie laughed.

“Whoa.”

He smiled at me and handed me half of his sandwich.

I had a few bites and it was good but I could hardly eat because we were entering Los Angeles City Limits and I was so excited I thought
I'd pee my pants, even though I'd just peed at the Shell.

“I'm just going in to South Central to drop something off for my boss,” Reggie said. “Then I'll show you where you can catch a bus over to Hollywood.”

“Great!” I said.

“I can't believe it,” Meredith said.

“Believe what?” I said.

“That we actually made it to L.A.”

“Where are you two coming from?” Reggie asked.

“We're from Niagara Falls, but our car broke down near Albany, New York, so we've been hitching since then,” Meredith said.

Reggie nodded. “Pretty big trek. Clear across the country. How many days it take you?”

“Five,” I said, counting on my fingers.

“Hey, that's pretty good,” Reggie said. “Couldn't have driven it much faster than that with only one driver,” he nodded at Meredith.

“And we didn't even get kidnapped,” I said, grinning.

“That's good,” Reggie said. “No one wants that.”

“Reggie?”

“Yeah, kid?”

“Do you like being a truck driver?”

He nodded. “Yeah, I'm pretty much living the dream,” he said.

“The American Dream?”

Reggie laughed a little. “You could say that.”

The sky in Los Angeles was as blue as a swimming pool and the sun shone high and bright in the sky. Tall, tall palms lined the streets and stood so straight and proud, as if to welcome us, as if to say,
We're glad you made it
. There were thousands of glass buildings
scraping up against the sky and more cars and people and stores and billboards than I could count. As we drove further into the centre of the city, the houses got smaller and so did the lawns. The cars got older and rustier too. Meredith asked Reggie if he had an extra smoke, and he said, “That shit'll kill ya,” and Meredith said, “Not if something else does first.” Then Reggie laughed and took one from his pack and handed it to her and they both smoked. I rolled my window down and let my arm hang out the side of the truck and the sun glinted off my side mirror so I couldn't see what was behind us anymore.

Then we were driving through this one neighbourhood and I thought,
People in Los Angeles are kind of weird
, because they were doing weird things like running into the middle of the road and yelling and throwing rocks at cars and waving bottles over their heads and flipping everyone the bird.

Then I started to get a bad feeling. A thick, heavy feeling way down in the bottom of my stomach. And I knew that something was wrong and something bad was going to happen, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.

Little white dots popped out all over Reggie's knuckles as he gripped the big steering wheel. “Something's up,” he said. “Maybe get in the back.”

So we climbed into the back cab. It wasn't set up all cozy like Zane's was. There was just a tool box, a hatchet, an old grey army blanket, a pile of candy wrappers, and a bunch of empty coffee cups back there. Reggie stopped at a red light and there was a
thunk
and a
craaaack
as a brick hit the windshield, and then another one, sending a million spider webs across the glass.

“Get down!” Reggie said.

“Oh, this is not good,” Meredith said. “This is not healthy.”

Then Reggie's door opened and a mad-looking black guy grabbed
Reggie and ripped him out of the truck. I crouched behind the driver's seat and could see a little bit through the space between the seat and the door. Meredith smushed herself up against me so that she could see too. Two men hurled what looked like a fire extinguisher at Reggie's head, and then the first guy hit him three times in the face with a claw hammer. “Oh my God,” Meredith said as Reggie fell to his knees. She bit down on her knuckles. We watched through the crack in the door as four black guys took turns kicking Reggie. They kicked him in the head so hard, his head bounced off the pavement, again and again. I could hear him saying, “Stop, please, stop.” But I knew that they wouldn't. One guy stepped on his neck while the others kicked him in the head. My hand closed around the hatchet. I could do something. I could chop their nuts off, I could save him. But those guys were so big and angry, they were men, and I was only a kid, and small for my age. Meredith put her backpack on and handed me mine and I put mine on. Then there was a noise so loud above us it sounded like the world was caving in, but I could feel the hard wind blowing through the door and realized it was a helicopter. Probably a police helicopter, I thought, come to save Reggie, to save us. But it didn't.

One of the guys took a huge slab of concrete, held it up high, then dropped it on Reggie's head. Then he danced a little jig over Reggie and pointed and laughed at him and gave the helicopter the finger. Meredith turned away from me and puked. Cherry-slush vomit flooded the back of the truck and soaked through my jeans. I didn't know what to do. I didn't know what to say. For a minute, I thought I was having a terrible dream. I slapped my cheeks and pinched my arms, but I couldn't wake up no matter how hard I tried, so I knew it must be real. A guy spat a big loogie on Reggie's face and then he and the guy who dropped the concrete on Reggie's head left. They just walked away, whooping and laughing and slapping each other
high-fives. Where were the police? Where was the ambulance? I saw some people take out cameras and take pictures of Reggie lying there on the ground. Some people threw beer bottles at him and they exploded in bright brown bursts around his head. A man came up and rifled through Reggie's pockets and took his wallet, but no one did anything to help him. Not me, not Meredith, not anyone. Then we heard gunshots and the
ping
of bullets hitting the truck.