Plaster City (A Jimmy Veeder Fiasco) (17 page)

Hector Costales picked up the only item on the desk, a clipboard. Using the pen tied to it, he wrote on it and handed it to the cop. No words spoken. The cop read the clipboard, gave us both a look, and nodded. He handed us each small plastic bowls. Following Hector Costales’s lead, I emptied the contents of my pockets into the bowl.

Once we were through the metal detector, another cop took over. He conferred with the desk cop and then escorted us down the hall. When we reached the door to number 113, we stopped and the cop unlocked the door. The whole thing was done as efficiently and impersonally as possible.

The room looked like a standard hospital room, except there were locks on the cabinets and bars over the windows. There was no television either. Bobby lay on his back in bed, an IV running into his arm and his left shoulder patched up thick with gauze. He turned when we entered, a goofy smile on his face.

“Hey, buddy,” Bobby said, slurry as a ten-beer night. “Can you check and see if this hotel has a pool? The mean waitress won’t talk to me no more after I asked her for a handie.”

“Maybe we should come back,” I said.

“Why’d you bring Luis Guzmán with you?” Bobby pointed at Hector Costales. “I loved you in
Pluto Nash
.”

“We’ll come back later,” I said.

Bobby’s distinctive laugh filled the room. “I’m fucking with you, Jimmy. The painkillers are good, but this ain’t my first demolition derby. My body has built up a tolerance to most forms of not-sober.”

“Ain’t really a time for jokes,” I said. “I thought you might die. All that fucking blood. Cops and ambulances and doctors later, and everything is still double-fucked. I spent the day in a jail cell when I need to be home. You spent the day in a hospital—the detention area, I might add. Which is essentially hospital jail. Not very funny.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Bobby said. His voice shook a little. “I just can’t cry no more. Spent the last hour, thinking and bawling. Like watching the end of
Rudy
or
Old Yeller
over and over. I couldn’t stop.”

“It’s okay to cry.”

Bobby shook his head. “You think I don’t know that? Shit, man, when have you ever known a drunk that don’t get weepy? You take me for one of them dumbasses thinks crying ain’t manly? Crying ain’t weak. Crying means you care. Means shit matters. What’s manly about not giving a shit? Or caring what other people think? I’ll make a fucker cry that thinks crying is stupid, see how he likes it to cry.”

Bobby stopped, shut his eyes tight, and then opened them wide. “Okay, maybe the painkillers are a little stronger than I thought. My brain took a back road there.” Bobby nodded toward Hector Costales. “You going to tell me who the Mayan is?”

“He’s our lawyer.”

“No,” Hector Costales corrected me. “I am Mr. Veeder’s attorney.”

“What about Bobby?” I said.

“What about him?”

“I’m sure that Tomás meant for you to represent both of us.”

“I am sure that he did not, as he told me specifically that I was not to represent Mr. Maves. ‘That estupido Bob Maves is on his own.’ His words.”

“Why does Morales hate me?” Bobby asked.

“He thinks you’re trouble,” I said. “I don’t know where he got that idea.”

“He’s a fucking super-villain.”

“You did attack him the other night.”

“He’s always had a problem with me.”

“When we were kids, you used to fuck with him a lot, call him Tommy Teto and
Where’s Waldo
. Could still be mad about that.”

“You forgot Mexinerd. In my defense, he was a ten-year-old that wore giant cataracts glasses and carried a briefcase around. Also, I was a dick back then.”

“Even crime lords have feelings.”

I noticed Hector Costales’s eyelids drop a little on my use of the phrase
crime lords
. Lawyers preferred discretion. I didn’t.

“If you’re not here for Bobby,” I said to Hector Costales, “then why are you here?”

“I am here because you wanted to be here. This was the best way to make that happen. Even family can’t see him in detention. Only his lawyer. The men outside believe you are my associate. Not a lie, but not the truth.”

“But you’re not going to help Bobby?”

“No.”

“Tomás said you’re here to do what I want?”

“Please do not try to play the genie in a bottle game, wishing for three more wishes. I have strict instructions.”

“He must have some serious shit on you.”

“You have no idea.” For the first time, his smile wilted.

“Can you grab me some coffee then? Is that within the parameters of your purview or whatever you call it? Bobby and I need to talk.”

“Cream or sugar?” Hector Morales asked, his smile returning.

“Black.”

“Can you ask him to bring in some doughnuts or bear claws or something?” Bobby asked.

“And a bear claw,” I said.

TWELVE

“Okay, now that he’s gone, what’s your plan to bust me out?” Bobby said. “Climbing through the air ducts is a classic. I’ve always wanted to do that.”

“My plan for busting you out is to wait for a few days until both the police and the doctors release you. Not as fast, but foolproof.”

“You’re no fun,” Bobby said. “What are you going to do now?”

“Go home. All I want to do is hold my son. Be with Angie. Get back to being a
boring farmer.”

“I meant about Julie.”

I parked a cheek on the corner of the bed. After the last few days, even standing felt like a chore. I rubbed my eyes with my fingers.

“What is there to do? I know she ain’t home, but I thought we were done.”

“We still need to find her,” Bobby said.

“We found her, Bobby. We found her and she shot you. Not on accident, either. She thought about it and she shot you. I get that she’s still not in a good situation, but she’s not tied up in the back of a van. She might be into a bad thing, but she wants to be there. She had a choice back at the garage.”

Bobby tried to sit up, but abandoned the idea. “Just ’cause she don’t want to be saved don’t mean she don’t need to be. She’s running with a dude that gladiators her out for pit fighting. He’s got her turned around. Making bad decisions is part of a teenager’s job description. Don’t mean you let them do any old shit. If you looked out the window and Juan was building a bike ramp to jump over the Ash Canal, would you let him or stop him before he killed himself?”

“He doesn’t know how to ride a bike yet.”

“You know what I mean. When a kid’s doing something stupid, it don’t matter if they want to do that thing. What matters is it’s stupid. So as a parent, you forbid the shit out of that shit. I’m forbidding Julie from doing what she’s doing. She just don’t know she’s being forbidded.”

“You find her, what do you do? Drag her back?”

“If we have to. She’s sixteen. Shooting me is the last bad decision I want her to make. If I don’t find her soon, she’s going to make an even bigger mistake. She ain’t safe. I know it. You know it.”

“We don’t know where she is. How would we find her?”

“Not we, brother. You. I know it’s a big ask, but you have to look while I’m in here.”

I pushed myself off the bed. For the briefest of moments, I considered walking out the door. It would have been easier than saying no, which is exactly what I wanted to say. At that moment, not only did I not know how to help, I didn’t want to.

“I’m putting you on the spot,” Bobby said. “But I need your help, bro.”

“You’ll be out of here in no time.”

“Even then, I can’t do it alone. My shoulder’s going to slow me down. Muscles is all tore inside. You got to get on this. Before the trail goes cold.”

“What trail? There is no trail.”

Bobby looked away for a moment. “When have I ever asked for anything, Jimmy?”

I felt my face get hot. I let out a dry laugh. “Are you fucking kidding me? You call me at four in the morning all the damn time. Two nights ago I got my tooth knocked out. Which I’m sure you’ll be happy to hear I passed this morning. Saw the gold crown just as I flushed. Not enough time to grab it before it went on its undersea adventure. When do you ask for anything? Every time you get drunk and half the times in between. And now you’re asking for everything. I’ve kicked down my last door for you.”

“I’ve helped you with plenty of shit. Big shit.”

“Maybe I ain’t as good a friend as you. Maybe I got limits that you don’t have. I can only jump off so many cliffs before I hit the one that’s too high.”

Bobby turned to face me. “She’s my daughter, bro.”

“She is. But this trip hasn’t barely been about her. This whole adventure’s had less to do with Julie and more to do with your guilt. Or just something to do. Like a fucking quest. You’re worried that if something happens to her, you’ll blame yourself, won’t be able to handle it. I know she’s your daughter and maybe you care, but you don’t barely know her. It’s why you’re not upset about getting shot. You think you had it coming.”

Bobby looked like he was about to get out of the hospital bed and throw down. “Pretty harsh.”

“You’re putting me in a fucked position, Bobby. I have to be home. For my son. You’re asking me to fail you or fail my family. Can’t you see that?”

“Your family will be there. My daughter is missing.”

“She’s only missing to you, Bobby. Julie knows exactly where she is.”

Bobby took some deep breaths. I waited for a response, but it didn’t come.

“I’m going to go,” I said and took a couple steps toward the door.

Bobby nodded. “Can you do one thing for me?”

“Bobby.”

“Can you ask Becky to bring Julie’s journals by? I want to keep reading them, try to understand.”

“Yeah, I can do that. I’ll stop by her place before I head out.”

“It might not look it, Jimmy. But I’m trying.”

The look on Bobby’s face broke my fucking heart. Saying no is hard for me to do. Saying no to a friend even harder. Saying no to Bobby crushed me.

Hector Costales returned with my cup of coffee. No bear claw. “That’s our time. My guess is that, as the victim, Mr. Maves will be transferred to the general area of the hospital by tomorrow. You will be able to visit more then.”

“Feel better, Bobby,” I said and left the room.

Hector Costales and I walked out of the hospital together. I reached to shake hands, but he held up a finger, pulled out his phone, and dialed a number. I shrugged and took a step toward the parking lot. Hector Costales grabbed my bicep and shook his head.

He spoke into the phone. “He’s here next to me.” He listened for a few seconds and held out the phone.

“Tomás?” I asked him.

Hector Costales nodded. I took the phone.

“Hey, Tommy,” I said.

“Making sure everything’s running smooth, that Hector is doing his job to your satisfaction and all that shit.”

“He’s been great. I’m not in jail and I just saw Bobby.”

“Good. Because if he hadn’t, I would’ve had to bust his kneecaps.”

I looked at Hector Costales, who had taken a few steps away to give me some privacy. “Seriously, Tommy. He’s doing a good job.”

Tomás laughed. “I was kidding. Killing lawyers is too much of a pain in the ass. You have to wait until dark and stake them in their coffins.”

I looked around to see if anyone was in earshot. “It’s different when you joke about maiming people than when other people do. You know, for obvious reasons.”

“I think it makes it funnier. What is it they say? It’s funny because it’s true.”

“Tell me how much everything costs. I’ll pay you back when I can.”

“Not necessary.”

“I’m not going to be in debt to you.”

“No debt. We’re good. Even. You heading home now?”

“Yeah. Home.”

“You and Maves are done running your own detective agency without driving each other crazy? You’re back to being on the farm? Because that’s where you should be.”

The tone of Tomás’s voice was sterner than just advice. There was something dark underneath. But there was usually an unconscious element of threat behind his words.

“This isn’t the first time you’ve pressed me to stay out of this. You know I don’t like to be told what to do.”

“I’m just saying that home is the safest place for you.”

“Then it’s a good thing that’s where I’m going.”

“Yes, it is.” Tomás hung up.

I walked to Hector Costales and gave the phone back to him.

“Everything okay?” Hector Costales asked.

“Nothing is okay.”

I wanted to help Bobby. I cared, but I cared about a lot of shit that I couldn’t fix. If it was my job to stamp out the world’s injustices, we’d all be screwed. This was a question without a correct answer. A problem with no solution. And all the attempts to fix it would probably make it worse.

Bobby was different than me. He believed that if you were in the right, if your motives were noble and good, everything would work out. He forgot about the ten or so John Wayne movies where the Duke’s character died at the end. Not a big percentage considering all his roles, but they’re out there. It’s a possibility.

I knew what I owed Bobby. And that debt could never be fully paid. I knew what he had sacrificed, what he had helped me do. Bobby was the friend who helped you bury the body without thinking twice, without any other option crossing his mind. And in the case of our past, that body-burying scenario was not purely theoretical.

Bobby’s loyalty knew no limits. And as shitty as it made me feel about myself, I was starting to really see the margins of my own allegiance. It was one thing to disagree with Bobby’s methods or be exhausted by his drunken shenanigans, but he had specifically asked for my help.

There were practical concerns, of course. I didn’t know where Julie was and wouldn’t have a clue where to start looking. I didn’t know anything about Chucho or his gang—how dangerous they were. There was a good chance they were involved in Driskell’s death, considering they were bad dudes and associates. They were definitely armed. With Bobby’s pistol, for one.

Even if I agreed that Julie’s future should not be jeopardized by the idiocy of her youth and the bad decisions that were inevitable in teenagerdom, she was mid-rebellion, not a hostage, not lost. Shooting your own father was one of the hallmark clues of a total disinterest in being rescued.

In short, the situation was fucked. And I wasn’t the guy to unfuck it.

I didn’t believe that it wasn’t important. I believed that it was impossible.

I wanted to go home, lock the doors, and cut off the rest of the damaged world. I wanted to play with Juan, tell him stories, watch him grow and change and learn. I wanted him to know that I would always be there, that I would never abandon him. That I would always come back. I wanted to wake up to Angie, look at her when she thought she looked her worst, but she looked her best, puffy face and sleepy eyes and all. Hell, I wanted to get out in the fields. Get my hands dirty in the right way, in the honest way. Shovel shit, not deal with shit. Pet a dog, not get mauled by one.

I needed to abandon my friend. It was the smart thing to do. For myself and for my family. But historically, when I had the choice between being stupid and being an asshole, nine times out of ten I chose stupid.