W Is for Wasted (10 page)

The only thing lacking was an indoor flush toilet. The smell in the air suggested weeds and bushes had been adapted to that use. I supposed being downwind of the zoo had its advantages. There was scant time to marvel at the wholesale thievery because Pearl and Felix were busy trashing the place. It was a sorry impulse with gleeful undertones. Felix had overturned a large metal footlocker and the contents were now strewn across the ground. He bent and picked up an item that he secured behind his back in the waist of his jeans, moving so efficiently I didn’t have a chance to see what it was. He shoved other items in a second canvas duffel, apparently intent on packing Terrence’s belongings along with anything else of value, whether Terrence’s or not. He was as methodical as a soldier stripping the enemy dead.

My attention snapped to Pearl, who had kicked over an oil drum that now lay on its side, heavily dented where she’d stomped it dead center. This was a makeshift incinerator emptied of half-burned logs. Firewood from a nearby stack had been supplemented with books, which must have made good tinder. The blackened spines of once whole texts had tumbled out of the drum like bones, doilies of charred paper spilling over the hard-packed dirt.

“What are you
doing
?” I asked in a hoarse whisper. I’d meant to warn them, but I was so taken aback, I couldn’t gather my wits about me. The big guy was probably already making short work of the hill.

When there was no response, I hissed, the sound harsh and unexpected. Pearl scarcely seemed aware of me, but Felix lifted his head abruptly. As it turned out, even the hiss was pointless because the bum in the red flannel shirt chose that moment to stride into the camp. He knew instantly what was going on and his rage was a sound that started low in his throat as he crossed the littered ground. He grabbed Pearl’s jacket and shoved her. Off balance, she fell backward with a thud. Any other woman would have had the air knocked out of her, but Pearl was made of sturdier stuff. She tried to sit upright so she could get to her feet, but the bum kicked her squarely in the side and then landed on her chest with both knees.

Felix bent and picked up a piece of firewood, which had been hewn from a young tree with a diameter about the size of a dinner plate. The log had been split into four sections, the raw wood visible in a wedge as sharp as a fixed-blade machete. He moved toward the bum with a measured pace, his face blank. Gone was any suggestion that he was mentally slow. I saw now that his thinking was straightforward. Subtlety wasn’t high on his list and he lacked the facility for reflection. He was practical. He saw what needed to be done and he did it. In this case, the bum attacking Pearl needed to be hit with a hunk of wood, which Felix managed with dispatch. The bum toppled over in exactly the manner you’d expect for a man who’d just been hit with a hunk of wood.

I didn’t wait to see what happened next. I made a quick run to the tree, where I snatched the backpack from its resting place. I was surprised to find it nearly weightless, offering little or no resistance. I’d imagined having to drag it along behind me, but while it was unwieldy, it was easy to carry. I grabbed the nearby canvas duffel and dragged it into the dense shrubs, pulling it in one hand while I held the backpack in front of me like a shield. Advancement was almost impossible. I plunged through the path of crushed and snapped undergrowth created by our approach. I broke out of the woods and began to struggle up the hill toward the fence. I was breathing hard and sweating, and my shoulders burned. I like to think I’m in good shape, but clearly that was not the case. Behind me, I hoped Felix and Pearl knew how to protect themselves. The last I’d seen of them, they were doing okay. Rescuing the backpack had been the goal, and if we failed at that, then the venture was all risk with no payoff. Once I’d tossed the backpack and the duffel in the trunk of my car, I’d go back and offer what I could in the way of help.

When I reached the fence, I dumped the duffel temporarily and shoved the backpack through the hole, irritated when the frame got caught in the chain link. I jerked to free it and shoved again, all the while talking to myself, murmuring, “Come on, come on.” This time the canvas got snagged on a sharp hook of raw wire. I tried again, pushing the flap of fence with the pack itself until the gap was wide enough for the frame to pass through. I dragged the duffel bag to the hole, sat down, and kicked it through to the other side.

Behind me I heard a rustling on the hill, dead leaves and twigs responding in a series of pops and whispers. I’d hoped to slide through the fence myself so I could throw both items in the trunk, but there was no time for that. I turned as Pearl staggered into view, her face a livid pink with exertion. Behind her Felix charged out of the woods and loped up the hill. Neither had managed to snag the second duffel from the camp. Felix lost his footing every third or fourth step, which made progress agonizingly slow. Pearl seemed to run without forward motion. Felix was clearly moving faster, but the distance between them appeared the same because of the angle of my view.

Behind Pearl I saw the bum. Blood trickled down the side of his cheek, already darkened by a bruise. Felix flew at the fence like a chimp. His feet created toeholds, one above the other, as he propelled himself upward, climbing with surprising agility. He would have reached the top and tumbled down on the other side if Pearl hadn’t cried out. Her exclamation was rendered in the ancient language of panic. Felix released his hold on the fence and dropped back to the ground.

The Boggart had gained on Pearl, and it was clear she couldn’t move fast enough to outrun him. He was a good ten years younger and perhaps not physically fit, but in better shape than she was. In a canny way, she knew her weight was an advantage, the sheer mass of her being a force to contend with. Breathing hard, she turned to face the bum and planted her feet. As he reached for her, she pulled her fist back and punched him without ceremony. His head barely moved as he absorbed the blow. He shook himself like a wet dog while Pearl started up the hill again. The bum lunged forward and grabbed her by the foot. She kicked at him repeatedly, forcing him to release her. Before she could scramble out of his reach, he grabbed her again and pulled her feet out from under her. I saw her sprawl forward and then he was on her.

Felix moved toward the two. He was operating on autopilot, converting raw adrenaline to action. He approached with deliberation, his arm out straight, his hand extended in front of him. Pearl was still down. The burly man swung an arm up, a knife gripped in his fist. Pearl managed to turn to one side as the blade came down, slashing the tough faux leather sleeve of her jacket. Felix stretched forward and the bum recoiled, uttering a harsh cry. Belatedly, I realized Felix had hit him with a shot of pepper spray. The panhandler rolled away from Pearl, blinded and howling. Unfortunately, Pearl had inhaled the same irritant. Her cough was sudden and relentless, as debilitating as the spray that caught the bum in the face.

Pearl got herself up on all fours, coughing uncontrollably. Felix pulled her to her feet. Behind them, the bum bent helplessly from the waist. The pepper spray had created a fiery distraction, excruciating pain that might have stopped a lesser mortal but wouldn’t delay him for long. Felix grabbed Pearl under one arm and the two of them lumbered toward the fence. I slid under the fence in one continuous motion, knowing I didn’t dare pause for fear of getting myself snagged. I came up on the far side, rose to my feet, and hauled up the curl of fencing far enough to allow Pearl to hunch herself under. Her jacket caught in a stretch of raw tines that tore into the dense fabric like fishing hooks. Felix was, by then, on my side of the fence, having scaled it and rolled over the top before he thudded to the ground. Pearl’s jacket was impaled and she was stuck halfway under the fence with little room to maneuver. She backed up abruptly, shed the jacket, and rolled over onto her back, this time head first. She dug her heels into the soft ground as I had, kicking her way through while Felix and I raised the raw chain link as far up as we could. We hauled her by the arms and pulled her to safety. She was breathing heavily and she moaned, more from fear, I suspect, than from pain. Her eyes were pink and swollen from the cloud of pepper spray, and her cough picked up again. Her nose ran as steadily as the trickle from a hose. We urged her toward the car, but she stopped where she was, hands on her knees. “I gotta get my jacket!”

“No, you don’t!”

She ignored me, dropped to her hands and knees again to rescue the garment, which she managed with one quick jerk. Felix and I each grabbed one of Pearl’s arms, supporting her on either side while she stumbled between us. Once we reached the car, we left her sitting sideways in the passenger seat with the door ajar. I opened the trunk. Felix snatched the backpack and the duffel and tossed them in. I banged the trunk shut.

Together we lifted Pearl’s feet and swung them into the car, slamming the door on her side. Felix came around to the driver’s side and squeezed into the back. I flung my shoulder bag in after him. I got behind the wheel, slammed the door shut, and released the emergency brake. I felt the car move slowly. I started the engine as the Mustang picked up speed and we continued rolling down the hill, gathering momentum.

I directed my comment to Felix by way of the rearview mirror. “Cool move. I didn’t know you carried pepper spray.”

He flashed me a metallic smile. “I don’t. I stole it from them.”

At the bottom of the hill I gunned it through the parking lot and took a squealing turn onto Milagro, only belatedly checking to make sure there wasn’t a cop car in range. I didn’t for a moment imagine the Boggart was hot on our tail, but I was shot through with adrenaline and couldn’t suppress the urge to flee. A block farther up on Milagro, I took my eyes off the road long enough to look at Pearl. “Why did you tear up the camp? What were you thinking?”

“They burned his books. They were using them as fuel—”

“So what? He’s dead. The books don’t mean anything to him. Who knows what they’ll do to get even with you.”

Pearl held up a hand. “Stop. I gotta get out.”

“Are you going to be sick?”

“No, I’m not going to be
sick
,
you dumb shit. I need a smoke.”

Felix said, “Hey, me, too!”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” I snapped.

I searched for a stretch of curb that would allow me to ease out of the flow of traffic. In truth, I didn’t trust myself to drive at that moment. I was wired and needed time to compose myself. Milagro was a busy thoroughfare, and I felt distracted and out of sorts. I activated my left turn signal and took the side street that bordered the McDonald’s parking lot. The light had faded and the few trees on the grassy strip between the street and the sidewalk created a shadowy haven. I spotted a long gap between two parked vehicles and did a nifty job of parallel parking, which I notice is usually better done without too much thought.

I killed the engine and listened to the tick of hot metal while Pearl got out. Felix followed her out the passenger-side door. I emerged on my side and leaned against the door frame, legs extended behind me as though to loosen my hamstrings. I rested my cheek on my outstretched arms and waited for my heart to slow. Ten feet away, I could see Felix’s hands shake. Beads of sweat appeared on Pearl’s forehead in response to the unaccustomed physical exertion. Her eyes still watered from the capsicum and tears trickled down her cheeks. She sniffed and then leaned to one side and blew her nose through her fingers, which she wiped on her jeans. I don’t know why I expected anything more from her.

A quick look at my watch told me it was 7:10—too late to take them back to the shelter, which by now would be locked for the night. In theory, they would have been safe at Harbor House, but I knew it was the first place the Boggarts would check if they decided to retaliate.

Felix fumbled a pack of cigarettes from his shirt pocket.

I said, “Why’d you bum a cigarette from her when you already had a pack?”

“She don’t mind.”

“The hell I don’t.”

Felix’s pack of cigarettes was smashed and the first two cigarettes he pulled out were broken in half. He tossed the first away.

“Gimme that,” Pearl said. She snatched the second cigarette, which was little more than a stub with strands of tobacco hanging out. He offered her a light and then extracted a third cigarette and lit it for himself. Almost simultaneously they inhaled, sucking smoke so far down into their lungs I thought they’d hyperventilate. I experienced a brief flash of what it felt like to light up in times of stress, but I don’t think I actually whimpered aloud.

“You two are nuts,” I said. “Cigarettes are expensive and they’re bad for you.”

Pearl scowled. “What’s it to you? Clearly, you never smoked a day in your life.”

“I did,
too
. I smoked for two years before I gave it up.”

“Then you ought to be more compassionate.”

“I’m not the warm fuzzy type. I thought that’s why we got along so well.”

She smiled, exposing her four bottom teeth with wide gaps between. “Lord help me. I think I’m getting attached to you.”

“God forbid.”

She took a final drag from her cigarette and crushed the butt underfoot. “Whoo! Better. Whyn’t we take a look at what we got here?”

“By all means,” I said.

I grabbed my shoulder bag from the backseat and dug through the contents for my penlight, which I flicked on. I closed the car door and walked around to the rear, where the three of us convened. I popped open the trunk and removed the backpack. I handed it off to her, then reached for the duffel and set it on the pavement between us.

Pearl flipped the backpack upside down. The frame was constructed of hollow lengths of aluminum tubing, each of the four ends capped with a rubber shoe. Pearl removed one and turned the frame right side up again. She gave it a couple of shakes and I heard the tinkle of metal on pavement. I shone the light down on the long flat key that had fallen out of the frame. She leaned over with effort and picked it up. I held out my hand and she placed it in my palm. I studied it in the beam of my penlight.

The key to Dace’s safe deposit box had notches of varying depths along one side. I turned it over. No bank name, no address, and no box number. “This is blank.”

Pearl said, “Of course it is. You find that, they don’t want you to walk in and claim stuff that ain’t yours.”

I said, “You couldn’t do that anyway. To get into a safe deposit box, they ask for your ID and your signature, which has to match the one they keep on file.”

“No kidding?” Felix said. “Even if the box is yours for real and you got the key and everything? That don’t seem right.”

“I don’t suppose either one of you knows where Terrence did his banking.”

Pearl said, “Nope. Though you gotta figure it’s somewhere in walking distance. That limp of his, he couldn’t go far.”

“Unless he took a cab,” I said.

“Good point.”

I offered her the key. “You might as well keep this. You worked hard enough for it.”

“Hey, no. You hang on to it. Once you figure out where the box is, you can let us know. I’m curious why he’d keep his valuables in a bank when that’s exactly where a bank robber’s going to hit first.”

She set the backpack aside and loosened the mouth of the canvas duffel. She peered in and then upended it, shaking out the contents. A wad of old clothes tumbled out, drab, worn, and smelling of mildew. I flashed a beam across the pile. The only exception to the whole raggedy-ass collection was a neatly folded cotton shirt with a button-down collar and long sleeves, the fabric a brightly colored green-and-yellow plaid. When she picked up the shirt, a pair of glasses and a photo ID fell out.

“That’s Charles,” she said. “Terrence’s friend who died.”

“What was Terrence doing with his stuff?”

“Keepsake. Terrence had a sentimental streak and that was really all the fella had.”

The remaining items were a washed-out gray, cheap goods he probably plucked from a garbage can or a Salvation Army bin.

“What kind of world is it that when life ends all that’s left looks like junk?” she asked. She picked up the plaid shirt and rolled it around the glasses and ID, which she shoved back into the duffel, followed by everything else. I was waiting for further comment, but she was staring off down the street. I didn’t think we’d netted much for the risk we’d taken.

“That’s everything?” I asked.

“Pretty much.”

“So now what?”

She said, “You want, we can put our heads together while we have us a bite to eat. QP with Cheese would really hit the spot.”

I stared at her with interest. “What a truly fine idea.”

•   •   •

Pearl and Felix settled into a booth near a window looking out onto the side street where the Mustang was parked. I stood in line waiting my turn, then placed our order, paid the tab, and watched while our meal was assembled: three QPs with Cheese, two Big Macs, three large orders of fries, and three Cokes. The Big Macs were for them, though I’d have been willing to suck on the paper wrappers if they offered me the chance. I crossed to the table with the tray and distributed the food. I noticed Pearl kept the backpack beside her, the canvas duffel tucked between her feet.

We ate without saying much, each of us intent on the fragrant blend of meat and cheese, grilled to a fare-thee-well, tucked in a soft bun, and liberally doused with the ketchup we squeezed from little plastic envelopes. I’d picked up extra salt packets, and we spared ourselves nothing in the way of additives, preservatives, and sodium chloride.

I let Felix bus the table, after which we returned to the car and got in. “Where should I drop you?”

Pearl said, “Anywhere at the beach is fine. We’ll figure it out from there.”

I fired up the Mustang, cruised down one block and over one, eventually turning right onto Milagro. I headed for Cabana Boulevard. The combination of junk food and the sharp drop in my stress levels had left me logy and longing for sleep. In an attempt to make conversation, I said, “How’d you two end up on the street? That can’t be much fun.”

Felix leaned forward on the seat, inserting himself between the two of us like the family dog on an outing. “More fun than you’d think. I run off when I was fifteen and went to live with my dad.”

Pearl smiled at him. “This guy’s epileptic. Had a brain injury, didn’t you?”

“Yep. My mom come after me with a ballpeen hammer. Soft-faced instead of hard, which she said was a lucky break for me. She give me such a whack she knocked me out cold. When I come to I was seeing stars and didn’t have a clue where I was at. Didn’t bleed much, but my head hurt bad. After that, I started having fits—ten to fifteen a day.”

“She claimed he only did it to embarrass her,” Pearl said.

“That’s right. She didn’t take me to the doctor for two years. Said the fits was phoney-baloney I came up with just to bug the shit out of her. Couldn’t prove it by me. I’d be fine and then I’d be down on the ground pissin’ myself.”

Pearl said, “By the time she took him for help, the seizures damaged his brain.”

“She said I didn’t have much brains to begin with, so no big loss,” he said. “I’m fine as long as I take my pills.”

“That’s right. And don’t you forget,” she said, and pointed a finger at him.

He smiled, happily, grungy braces glinting on his teeth. “She’s tough. Her and Dandy watch out for me.”

“Better than your mom did, that’s for sure.”

I caught his eye in the rearview mirror. “Who paid for your braces?”

“My dad.”

“What happened to him?”

“He got tired of me, I guess. One day he went off and didn’t come back. After that, I was on my own.”

“What about you, Pearl?”

“I was afraid you’d get around to asking. I’m chronically unemployed. Never had a job my whole life. None of my family did. I take that back. Once my daddy was hired on a construction crew for two weeks and two days. He said it was way more work than it paid. He maintained it was just one more way to take advantage of the poor. After that, the state took care of us,” she said. “How about yourself? The business you’re in, what do you do all day?”

“It varies. Process serving, paper searches at the courthouse. Background checks. Sometimes I sit surveillance. Once a case is wrapped up, I write reports and send out invoices so I can pay my bills.”

“Now see, right there. That’s dumb. I don’t have bills. I don’t owe anyone a dime, so in that respect, I’m better off than you.”

I stared at her briefly, thinking she was pulling my leg.

“Up here is fine,” she said, indicating the intersection where Cabana Boulevard met State Street.

I pulled over to the curb across the street from the public parking lot near the wharf. “You have a place to sleep?”

“As long as the cops don’t hassle us,” she said.

I was skeptical, though in truth the only alternative I could think of was an invitation to stay at my place, and how would that play out? The two of them on my sofa bed? Felix on the sofa and Pearl in bed with me? “I can give you a few bucks for a motel,” I said.

“We don’t take handouts. Boggarts do that,” she said.

“Sorry. My mistake,” I said.

Felix said, “That’s all right. You didn’t know. Thanks for dinner. It was a treat. I kept me a couple packets of ketchup in case I get hungry later.”

The two of them got out, Pearl toting the backpack while Felix carried the duffel in his arms like a dog.

“Thanks for the help,” she said, holding up the backpack.

“You two better keep an eye out,” I said. “Those guys will be cruising to get even.”

“Doesn’t scare me,” she said. “Bunch of bozos.”

As I pulled away, I kept an eye on them in the side-view mirror. They waited patiently, clearly unwilling to move while I still had them in my sights. Wherever they intended to hole up for the night, they didn’t want me to know. What a pair: Pearl, round as a beach ball, and Felix, with his gummed-up braces and his white-boy dreads. Why did the sight of them make me want to weep?

•   •   •

Wednesday morning, having worked my way through my usual routine, I went into the office, where I put on a pot of coffee and opened the mail from the day before. Despite the fact that business was nonexistent, I’m happier at my desk than just about anyplace else. I took out my index cards, intending to jot down a few notes, when the phone rang.

It was Aaron Blumberg returning my Monday-morning call with apologies for taking so long.

“Don’t worry about it,” I said. “I know you’ve been busy. I figured you’d get back to me when you had the chance. Have you heard from Sacramento?”

“Not a peep,” he said. “What about you? Anything on your end?”

“Actually, I’ve picked up quite a bit,” I said. I gave him a quick summary of the blanks I’d filled in, including the dead man’s full name and the fact that he’d lived in Bakersfield for some years. I also told him about Dandy, Pearl, and Felix as my source for much of the information. “According to the scuttlebutt, Dace was sentenced to life in prison, but no one seems to know what he did or why he was released. I’d love to find out what that’s about.”

“Me and thee both. Give me the name again.”

“Last name, Dace. First initial, R—but I don’t know what it stands for. Richard, Robert. His beach buddies are convinced he had money because he went to the trouble to draw up his last will and testament with the three of them serving as witnesses. I didn’t see the document among his effects, but you might try his sleeping bag in case he sewed it into the lining or something of the sort. I have what they claim is the key to his safe deposit box, so that’s another possibility, and probably a better bet.”