Who in Hell Is Wanda Fuca? (5 page)

Tim turned his attention to me. "Been a long time, Leo." When I
didn't respond, he went on. "Your father's funeral was the last time,
wasn't it?" I agreed. "We come a long way together, me and him. From
Hooverville to the halls of power, he liked to say." I had heard all the
stories before, but was determined to be polite. I didn't want to end up
fertilizing one of the palms.

Tim seemed to find new strength as he selectively rooted through the past.
Now, more than fifty years later, even the rain-soaked nights spent in a
reeking board shack on the tide flats seemed to hold a certain romantic appeal
for him. He seemed to pine for the long nights spent huddled around a
bark-fired cookstove, the inevitable smoke filling the upper half of the shack,
the sopping bedrolls and mattresses serving as the only furniture.

He recited the oft-told tale of how he and my father had first made their
mark as part of Hooverville's vigilante Sanitation Committee. To Tim, the
building of the privies and catwalks seemed to be the perfect dinner
conversation. He reached full animation as he recounted how, on a particularly
foul night in December - 1933, he thought it was - a dissolute stonecutter
named Herman somethingorother had slipped on one of the greasy catwalks,
tumbled headfirst into a privy, and unceremoniously drowned amid the collected
effluent in the hand-dug pit below. Yessir, bring on the food.

"Well, Tim," I interjected the first time he came up for air,
"you've gone to a bunch of trouble to get me here. Frankie's been spending
more time in my favorite hangouts than I have. As much as I enjoy talking about
old times, I don't figure that's what you got me down here for. What can I do
for you?"

His face crinkled into a smile. At least I hoped it was a smile.

"You always were a cheeky kid, Leo. Always."

"It's genetic."

He nodded approvingly. "You're probably right," he agreed. He got
serious. "It played better on your old man than it does on you though,
Leo. Something about him put people at ease, the same way you put people on
edge." I waited.

He rearranged himself, sitting up straighter, leaning on the arm closest to
me.

"I got troubles, Leo. Troubles I can't handle in the usual way, if you
know what I mean." I waited for him to elaborate. He fixed me with a
stare. His black eyes were covered with a thin, blue, rubbery film.

"None of this leaves this room. You understand me?"

I understood. "Don't worry about it, Tim. For you or for anybody else,
I sell discretion. It's all I've got to sell."

He smiled again. "I'm not worried, Leo. Besides that, it's the better
part of valor, right?" He laughed. I had to agree.

"Not that you've been short on valor, Leo. You do nice work. You're
quite a local celebrity, you are. I been following you in the papers. I even
saw you on the TV during that court battle over them frozen babies."

"Embryos. Frozen embryos."

"You did good there, Leo. What was it the papers called it?"

"The Leggo My Eggo Trial." Frankie chuckled.

Although that particular episode was never going to appear on my résumé, I
let them have their fun. Compliments from Tim flood made me nervous. My angst
was interrupted by the arrival of dinner. The bruise brothers materialized with
a lap tray for Tim and a stand-up tray fro me.

We ate in silence. Tim's tray looked more like an artist's palette. Dabs of
variously colored pastes were arranged about the plate. He worked methodically
from one to another. Mine was a steak, a baked potato, and an assortment of
parboiled vegetables, probably from a nearby restaurant. By the time I'd
finished, I was in a full runner's sweat. Tim's tray had disappeared. He was leaning
back, apparently napping.

Frankie removed my tray. "You want coffee?" he asked.

"No thanks. I try to move in one direction at a time."

I watched as he left the room. When I looked back at Tim Flood, he was
sitting with his legs over the side of the lounger, his hands on his knees,
leaning in close to me.

"It's my granddaughter, Leo," he whispered. "Gene's
girl."

"What about her?" I asked. His daughter Gene, I remembered. We'd
been stuck at a lot of public functions together. It had been important to our
respective fathers that we get along. We'd been unable to oblige. I hadn't seen
her in over twenty years.

"She's a wild one, Leo. In all my years, I've never met anybody like
this kid. She's into some deep shit. I can feel it."

"What's she into, Tim?"

"That's what I want you to find out, shamus."

I was wary now. Tim could fix just about anything. If he needed me, it must
be a humdinger. Tim was shaking his head, reading my mind.

"There's only Frankie and the brothers now. She knows them all, Leo. Up
until a few months ago, she lived here in the house with me. She was here
almost a year. No, it's gotta be somebody from the outside." He thought
for a moment. "Besides that, she'd family, Leo. You know what I mean? I
don't want to be mixing her up in any of this. It's gotta be from the
outside."

"Maybe you better tell me about it." I don't know why I said it.
It was stupid. I regretted it the minute it passed my lips. Probably the
bourbon. I'd been planning to refuse gracefully. Now it was going to be tough.
If I let him tell me the story, there'd be no backing out. I tried to head him
off. Better now than later. He started to speak. I stopped him.

"Just so we understand each other, Tim. I haven't agreed to anything
yet. If you want to tell me this, tell me. I'll respect your confidence. But I
haven't agreed to anything. Understood?"

"Understood," he said quietly.

He searched my face. I felt like he was going through my pockets. I
remembered the stories my old man used to tell me about Tim's style. How he
used to advise people not to borrow money from him. How he used to make sure
they were every bit as desperate for cash as they thought they were before
lending them any money. How he'd advise them that unless they were absolutely
certain they could at least make the vig payments every week, this was going to
be the worst mistake they'd ever made. No threats. Nothing specific anyway. He
let the customer's imagination do the rest.

"Caroline Nobel - that's my granddaughter - she come back here to live with
me a little over a year ago. She and Gene just couldn't stand each other no
more."

He waved himself off. "Wait, you need some background here so's you'll
understand. Gene, she's  . . . well she's . . .Hell, she's working on
either her fourth or fifth husband now, I've lost track. Some fag of an
Englishman. Claims to have a title. Spends most of her time commuting between
Europe and Palm Springs. Fancies herself a real jet-setter. Never wanted the
kid. She's been farming the kid out to private school since Caroline was
six."

He wiped the corners of his mouth with his thumb and forefinger.

"This mess is probably my fault for giving Caroline that damn trust
fund, but you know, I figured she didn't have nothin' you could call parents,
so I figured she might as well have some money. So what does she do? She gives
the fucking money to these Save the Earth assholes."

He shook his head sadly.

"It probably would have been better if I'd let her find her own way,
like your old man did, but you know, Leo, we all want it to be better for our
kids than it was for us."

I gave him the reinforcement he was looking for. He continued.

"Anyway, about a year ago, she calls me one night. She's been kicked
out of her fancy private school. Asks if she can come and live with me, go to
high school here. I almost shit. I mean, I don't need no high school kid
running around, you know what I mean, I was still heavily into things then, not
like now. But she's family, so what can I say? I tell her if it's all right
with Gene, I guess it's all right with me. I'm figuring Gene will put the
kibosh on it, but Gene she don't give a damn. She wants to get rid of the kid
as bad as the kid wants to go, so what am I gonna do? I tell her, okay, come
one." He leaned back to his former reclining position as if gathering
himself.

"I figured it was time to scale back anyway. Hell, I was damn near
eighty. So I let most everybody go. All that's left is Ricky and Nicky."

"And Frankie," I amended.

"Frankie's like family. He don't count as help." He sat up again.
"She did okay for a while. Got pretty good grades. Hell, I even went to
one of those parent-teacher conferences once." I looked at him
quizzically. "Frankie waited in the hall," he said immediately. The
image held a certain manic appeal.

"Then, about four months ago, it all changed. She started getting
political. Started hanging out with scumbags. Rallies, demonstrations. Got
herself arrested a few times. Seemed like she had a new cause every week."
He spread his gnarled hands. "No problem, you know, I figure it's all part
of growing up. Your old man and I spent a few nights inside together." He
smiled as remembered. "The last time she got busted was for throwing blood
on some old lady wearing a fur coat down at Westlake. Animal rights, some shit
like that." He was having trouble finding an end to the story. I tried to
give him a hand.

"So, what's she into now?" I asked.

"God only knows."

"What makes you think she needs any help?"

"I was getting to that," he snapped. He was tiring. "So after
I bail her out the last time, she announces that she's moving out. She's had
enough of my meddling." Tim shook his head. "Like getting her ass out
of jail is meddling, right? But, I can't say nothing. She's damn near twenty
years old, if she wants to move out that's her business. Like I said, she gives
all her money to the group. I figure I'll hear from her when she needs money,
you know? Two months go by. Nothing."

He slashed the air with the bony edge of his hand. "So I send Frankie
out to see what's up. We don't have a hell of a lot going on anymore. I figured
he'd enjoy the exercise. Nothing." He slashed the air again. "Even
Frankie can't seem to find her." I started to speak. Only the dead could
hide from Frankie Ortega. He stopped me.

"About a week later Frankie gets a sniff from one of his sources that
Caroline's hanging around with this Save the Earth group down by the square. He
tools around a bit to see what's going on, but on the second day she makes him.
She calls here in the middle of the night and tells me to keep out of her
business. Tells me it's people like me who've ruined the planet and hangs
up." He was out of gas. He motioned to the far side of the room. Frankie
emerged from the mist and sidled over. "Tell him, Frankie," he
croaked. Frankie patted his shoulder and turned to me.

"I don't know what she's into, Leo, but it's not good. She lives like
she's on the run." Frankie would know.

"You sure she's not?" I asked.

"Positive," Tim wheezed. "I checked. Nobody official wants
her for nothing." Tim rested between outbursts, breathing deeply and
pulling the covers close about him.

Frankie jumped in. "This group she's with, now that's another matter.
They're suspects in a whole lot of shit. You remember that Japanese fishing
trawler that got rammed a couple of months ago?" He didn't wait for a
response. "The heat is looking at them for that. Also all that damage a
couple months back over at the research labs at the university."

Two months ago someone had ransacked the research labs at the U, freed all
the animals, and set the place on fire. The fire had spread to an adjoining
campus building, causing damage in the millions. Every legitimate animal rights
and environmental organization had decided the action as that of the terminally
misguided. A couple had even posted rewards for the capture of the
perpetrators. If Caroline Nobel was part for the capture of the perpetrators.
If Caroline Nobel was part of this mess, things were ugly. Taking a case for
Tim Flood was one thing, failing at it another.

Turning to Frankie Ortega, I asked, "What makes you say she acts like
she's on the run?" Maybe if I could put their collective mind at ease, I
could get out of this. No go. Tim had been waiting for this part.

"These screwballs have a whole building way down on First. I had
Frankie take me down there. It's like Prohibition all over again. They got
these assholes in green berets handing out on the sidewalk handing out
leaflets. Nobody, but nobody, gets into the building. They live in there, for
Chrissake. They eat there. When they want to leave, they back these vans up to
the side door, everybody files out into the vans. They got other vans makin'
sure they ain't being followed. They're just a bunch of kids. They think
they're the fuckin' CIA or something. I never seen anything like it. They
shouldn't be playin' at shit like that. They're a bunch of amateurs. They
haven't got a clue. They're gonna get hurt." I'd never seen Tim Flood
quite this riled.

"I still don't see why you need me."

"Frankie I need around, Leo. Nicky and Ricky, well - they have their
talents but it's not for finding out stuff, if you know what I mean.

"I want to know about this Save the Earth group. I want to know what
they're into. I want to make sure she's not getting in too far, where even I
can't get her out of it."

"I don't know, Tim. I - "

"Expenses, your daily rate, and a ten-grand bonus."

Tim knew the way to my heart. No "for old times' sake." No playing
on his relationship with my father. Just filthy lucre.

"What's your daily rate, Leo?"

"Four hundred and expenses" I shot back.

"Bullshit," he said with a smile. "You get three. I
checked."

Before I could protest he stopped me. "I'll go the four hundred."

He leaned back one again and closed his eyes. "You need anything, you
call Frankie," he sighed. He was snoring softly before I could work up a
clever refusal.