Shakedown on Hate St

by Matthew Copes

  All 18 tons of asphalt poured out, a large portion of which found its way into the car through the missing windshield.

  62

  GINO REFUSED TO MAKE eye contact with the forlorn creatures slumped in wheelchairs in the nursing home's tiled hallway. A morgue-like, antiseptic funk lingered in the lifeless air. He entered the last room on the left and sat on the tiny stool beside his mother's bed. Her pretty green eyes rested on his, revealing a total absence of familiarity. A picture of her as a pretty young woman with her handsome husband and baby boy rested on the night table next to dusty vase filled with blue plastic flowers. Gino caressed the old, dry skin on her restrained arm. He told her how much he loved her and what a wonderful mother she'd been. He sat for just a few moments, then rose and walked out without looking back.

  THE FOLLOWING MORNING the three man crew arrived at his apartment at eight-thirty. They worked more efficiently than he'd expected, and by ten o'clock they'd loaded the last carton. He watched from the window as the faded yellow box-truck pulled away from the curb and chugged down Eastern Avenue toward Mount Carmel Cemetery, destined for some depressing charity thrift-shop. The rest of his worldly possessions fit snugly into one suitcase and one duffle bag.

  On the street he hailed a cab.

  “Where to?” the driver asked.

  “The airport.”

  INSIDE THE TERMINAL he removed the letter from the pocket of his blazer. It was written in block-style letters on a crisp, white sheet of copy paper that had been neatly folded twice. The envelope had no return address, but was postmarked Flagstaff, Arizona. It was short and to the point.

  G,

  We didn't harm anybody. I can't explain. You'll have to trust me.

  You're a true friend. I wish you the best.

  M

  Puzzling. He already knew they hadn't. That night at The City Club just after the limo had turned the corner toward the exit gate, he'd hastily removed the battery from the detonator. He'd smashed it against a rock and thrown the pieces into a creek before making the long trek back to his car. It wasn't his nature to go through with it.

  When the boarding announcement roused him from his thoughts he rose and walked to the gate casually. In five hours he'd be in LA. He'd never been, but he'd seen pictures. Lots of sun and palm trees. He figured it'd be the yin to Baltimore's yang.

  63

  STANLEY STEINMAN LAY on his cot at the Pediatric Burn Center, his head rolled to the right facing his daughter. She was on a cot too, but he couldn't see much of her. A semi-clear, plastic shroud hung over her body. A dizzying array of machines and tubes were humming, clicking, and dripping, creating the conditions she needed to live. Ironically, Gaetano's assessment of the wastefulness of so many fully furnished rooms at a burn center for children had been flawed. When Megan had arrived all of the rooms had been occupied. A mad scramble was made by the staff to accommodate the new patient, but during that time she'd suffered badly and had nearly died.

  Stanley's right leg had been amputated above the knee and his right arm below the elbow. Lois was already in the ground. At eight o'clock the usually jolly and talkative nurse brought him a copy of the morning paper. She was uncharacteristically stoic and silent, and he was sure he detected disgust too.

  The photograph was on the front page. The shirtless scumbag and his two young, black playthings. He wondered why they'd even bothered.

  64

  WHEN I WALKED INTO the lobby of the rental car place the girl behind the counter gave me a nervous smile. She asked my name and if I had a reservation. I pulled out the manila folder that contained my important papers and handed her the confirmation. I'd reserved the car weeks before, and it wasn't the only reservation I'd made. Hotels and plane tickets too. Lots of little details, and now things were falling into place. At least I hoped they were.

  She told me there was a slight problem, then pointed through the window that separated the office from the shop. My car was suspended high in the air on one of those tree-size hydraulic pistons, and two mechanics in blue uniforms were knocking around under the right, front wheel well. The guy who had the car before me had returned it at closing time the day before, and they hadn't discovered until that morning that the suspension was damaged. I wondered if he'd plowed over a curb making a fast getaway from a political rally like Gino had. She assured me it'd be done within the hour and suggested I wait at the diner across the street. She even said if I kept my breakfast receipt they'd reimburse me. Sounded like a good deal, though I was in kind of a hurry. I grabbed the Arizona Daily Sun off the counter and headed across the street.

  The booth I slid into was all chrome and red vinyl. The big rectangular window on my left gave me a panoramic view of the wispy clouds hanging in the uniquely blue Arizona sky. A curvy young redhead in a '50s style waitress getup asked what I'd like. I ordered a western omelet with home fries, bacon, and coffee.

  The steaming coffee showed up in a heavy brown mug. I dumped in a splash of cream and gave it a stir, then picked up the paper and scanned casually, not too interested in what was going on in the world. In the local news section a splotchy black and white photo showed a beaming boy of 14 hugging a 41 inch monster of a northern pike he'd caught a few days before at a reservoir called Upper Lake Mary, just a few miles up the road from where I was sitting. That was the kind of news I wanted to read for the rest of my life. Local and uncomplicated. The next bit that caught my eye was in the national section. It was about a big fish too. A big fish named Stanley Steinman who lived 2,000 miles away in a pond called Baltimore. Turns out his car had recently blown-up with him in it. According to the article, investigators determined that an explosive device had been planted in the limo's undercarriage, below the passenger compartment. The blast killed the mayor's aid, a man named Evan Parr. The mayor was mangled, badly burned, and lost a few limbs, but it looked like he'd pull through. It went on to say both men were under indictment for racketeering other sordid charges.

  After breakfast I headed back across the street. The car was ready to go. It had a full tank and a complimentary Arizona state map lay open on the passenger seat. I traced my route with the index finger of my right hand, lit a Winston and slipped the transmission into D. It'd be a two hour drive if I took my time. I'd heard the scenery was breathtaking. I'd seen pictures too. La Lena had shown them to me.

  It was brisk and overcast in the high country. It couldn't have been a better day for a drive through the mountains. The San Francisco Peaks were snow-capped. La Lena was right. It was a mesmerizing place.

  Sure is beautiful up here ain't it?

  He was right too. It was beautiful. I'd been driving nearly an hour but I'd barely noticed.

  Sure is Jimmy.

  Think your lady friend and her cute baby girl made it up all right?

  I don't know. I hope so.

  You be careful. Don't space out and drive off a cliff. I've been watching you. You haven't moved your head or blinked once since you left Flagstaff.

  I'll be careful.

  This'll be the last time you'll hear from me Dutch. You need to put all this silly ass shit behind you. Get on with living your life. Leave the past in the past. Take care of that pretty girl and her daughter the way they deserve. You can't do that if you're always thinking about me. Thinking about Vietnam. Fuck that place. Now don't go getting all bent out of shape. Ya, I remember saying that. And ya, you were an easily offended punk back then, no doubt about it. But you're not that guy anymore, and don't forget it.

  So this is goodbye Jimmy?

  Yup, it's goodbye.

  OK. I'll miss you brother, and thanks again.

  Don't mention it. Over-and-out. See you on the flipside.

  In typical fashion Jimmy had beaten me to the punch. Before I'd even left the diner I knew after that day I'd never talk to him again. The whole thing had me on pins and needles. How did you tell a guy who'd given up his life for yours that you didn't think it was a good idea to keep in touch? That clinging to the
past was preventing you from moving forward, and you just needed to let go. He must've read my mind and decided to make it easy on me. Bless him.

  Jimmy's wasn't the only chapter I closed for good on that slow ride through the mountains. I never talked to my dead brother the way I did to Jimmy, but I thought about him often. I'd never be sure what the poor guy had gotten himself mixed up in. I'd never know if there was a connection between Veronica, Stein and him. None of that mattered anyway. There were a few things I was certain of. First, that he'd taken his own life because he knew he never could've coped with life on the inside. And two, no matter where his soul had ended up after that ghastly ordeal, it was certainly a better place than this world had been.

  An hour later I eased the Ford into the parking lot of the El Tovar Hotel. I grabbed my duffle bag out of the back seat and walked straight to the reservation desk, never taking my eyes off the entrance.

  “Good afternoon sir, may I help you?” asked Julie, the pretty Native American girl at the front desk.

  “I'm Dutch Jameson. I have a reservation,” I said. I was playing it cool, but inside I was dying.

  “We've been expecting you. Here's your key. Would you like someone to show you to your room?” she asked.

  My heart sank.

  “No thanks,” I said. “I'll find it.”

  I paused, wanting her to say something, anything, but she just smiled. An elderly couple sidled up to the counter next to me. They looked like they'd been married for 50 years. Bless them too I thought. Julie greeted them with the same warm smile she had me.

  “We're Bob and Lucy Taylor from Akron, Ohio,” the gentleman said. “We've got reservations.”

  I turned and walked but I'd only made it a few steps.

  “Mr. Jameson! Mr. Jameson!” Julie said loudly. She ran around the counter. Something was in her hand.

  “I'm so sorry, I forgot to give you something.”

  She handed me a small, folded note. It was on the kind of paper hotels leave by the phone for their guests to write the phone numbers of pizza and Chinese places that deliver. On the front was one letter only. A capital D, written in bold, feminine cursive.

  65

  AFTER DINNER WE WALKED to the rim and peered out over the majestic canyon. The moon illuminated the ravines and arroyos creating an earthbound moonscape, and a coyote howled somewhere far away, its voice floating in like a dream. I held Soul's hand and La Lena's arm was looped through mine. The high country wind was dry and brisk and swept across the indescribably vast expanse triggering a flashback. I was leaning against a pole smoking a cigarette. La Lena was walking toward me. Beautiful and mysterious. “Hey Englishman, you made it,” she'd said. Such a long time ago.

  “Let's go back to the room,” she said. “I think someone is tired.”

  After a shower Soul put on some new flannel pajamas and got under the covers. La Lena's travel magazine was on the night table. The one she'd bought the night we ate barbecue. Soul picked it up and paged through it, studying the beautiful pictures, and a few minutes later she was out cold. I took the magazine off her chest and pulled the blanket up to her chin. She didn't stir when I kissed her forehead.

  “So who's Curtis, and why did he knock me out?” I asked.

  “He's my uncle, and I asked him to.”

  “May I ask why?”

  “Well, he didn't exactly follow my directions. I love him to death, but he's not the smartest guy in the world. He's a petty criminal, and not a very good one. He spends a lot of time in prison. I told him to stop you from going into that garage at all cost. To do whatever it took, but to talk first.”

  “You lost me.”

  “Dutch, I was nervous and scared. I wasn't thinking clearly, and neither was he. The bomb was a dud, so there was no reason for you to risk putting it in the mayor's car. But, I needed to let you think it was real right up to the last minute. It was the only way I could do what I needed to do without you interfering. So I told Uncle Curtis to hang around the garage, and when he saw you, to tell you I sent him and not to go in. I described you to him so he'd be able to spot you.”

  “It's getting clearer,” I said.

  “But like I said, he's not very bright or dependable. I told him what time to be there, but he was late. He didn't see you until after you planted the dud bomb. He was just supposed to talk to you, but when he saw you he panicked. He'd just gotten out of prison. He said you looked crazy. He didn't want an argument or altercation, so he hit you over the head and took you home. That's it.”

  “He almost killed me for God's sake.”

  “Poor baby. It's a good thing you're so rugged and manly or he might have.”

  “If we didn't blow Stein up, then who did?” I asked.

  “Your guess is as good as mine,” she said. “Probably a long list of suspects.”

  “You sure that bomb was a dud?” I asked, thinking of the article I'd read that morning.

  She took my hand and looked at me with her honest brown eyes. “Trust me.”

  “So where's Jefferson?” I asked.

  “He's in lots of places, and I can tell you with complete certainty we'll never hear from him again.”

  “Good enough for me,” I said.

  She got up from the bed and went to her suitcase. Two newspapers lay under the first layer of clothes. She brought them over and handed me one. It was folded neatly and open to page seven.

  Jefferson Washington Davis, 31, killed in explosion...

  I read the first line. It was enough.

  “Why'd you only ask about Jefferson? Why didn't you ask about Arnold too?”

  She got me. I deliberated.

  “I love you,” I said.

  She handed me the second newspaper. The article was on page eight.

  Arnold James Johnson, 58, found strangled in an alley...

  “That was some dinner we had huh? That was the first time I've ever had elk. It was delicious. Very lean.”

  Next La Lena asked the question I knew would come eventually.

  “Who is Jimmy Barnes?”

  I'd been dying to tell her the whole story. To finally open up to her the way she deserved. To finally empty my closet of its skeletons. I told her how Jimmy was a black man who'd taken me under his wing in Vietnam. How he was older, and had been like a father to me. How he'd looked past the obnoxious, young punk that I was. How he'd seen something in me. How he'd died for me. I also told her after I got back stateside I'd gone to see his mother, wife and baby boy in Alabama. How I could barely look at them. How I'd broken down, wept, and told them how sorry I was. That Jimmy was the best, most decent and bravest man I'd ever met. How I wished he hadn't done what he did. How it was me who should've come back in a box. How they'd taken me in, accepted me, loved me as if I was family.

  “Was it Jimmy's mother that my grandmother reminded you of when you came to dinner?” she asked.

  I told her it was. We both sat for a bit, just thinking.

  “Maybe you should take another trip to Alabama,” she said. “Sounds like it's long overdue.”

  I'd been thinking the same thing. But I wanted us all to go as a family.

  “So, what's next?” she asked after a long pause.

  “Not sure,” I said. “You think two people like us from different sides of the tracks can make a go of it?”

  She shrugged.

  A Personal Request

  Thank you for reading Shakedown on Hate Street. Please consider posting a review on the website of the retail outlet where you purchased it. It only takes a few minutes and can be as short as two or three sentences.

  The success of independently published books like this one largely rely on word of mouth from readers like you. The number and content of customer reviews can have a huge influence on a book’s success, and will help me improve my writing in the future.

  Sincerely,

  Matthew Copes

  Copyright © 2019

  hew Copes, Shakedown on Hate St