The Bum's Rush

by G. M. Ford

  "I'm driving," she said. "Where to?"

  "The Zoo."

  21

  George and Selena sat at the far end of the bar, an empty stool between them, half-finished beers and empty shot glasses arranged in front of them like the pieces of some alcoholic board game. The usual collection of eight or ten neighborhood stiffs lined the walls. Three couples were trading off playing pool at the extreme rear table, while a pair of aging bikers, in black leather vests and pants, their long hair and beards streaked with gray, tried to work their fading outlaw magic on a couple of secretaries barely old enough to be their daughters. Like the secretaries, I had my doubts.

  Rebecca and I were nearly at her left shoulder before she noticed we were there. By that time, George had already slid off his stool and stepped back from the bar.

  "Oh. Rebecca ... ah ... Miss Duvall," he stammered. "Nice surprise. I didn't know ... What can I get for you?"

  "Hello, George," she said, holding out her hand. George polished his hand on his pants, checked it twice, and then offered it up.

  Duvall said, "I'm fine, but you better get a double something or other for Leo. He's had a real hard day."

  George blinked and focused in on me. "She's right, Leo," he said after a minute. "You look like sh--" He caught himself. "Sorry." He nodded to Rebecca. "You don't look so good, is what I mean."

  As George raised his hand to order me a drink, Selena started for me, her bleary eyes ablaze. "You dumb son of a bitch," she slurred, loud enough to stop the bar. "You got any idea what the fuck you been doing? What the hell is the matter with you, anyway?"

  She came around George in a staggering lope, her right fist cocked and doubled. Before my battered nervous system could react, Rebecca stepped between us. "Smacking Leo doesn't work," she said pleasantly. "Believe me. I've been hitting him for years. He's way too hardheaded."

  Selena stopped in her tracks and waited for her vision to catch up with the movement of her neck. "Who in hell are you?" she demanded. "Rebecca Duvall."

  Selena looked from Rebecca to me and back. "You with old bird dog here?" she asked.

  Rebecca turned her gaze toward me. "Funny, we were just discussing that. But, yes, I am."

  "Selena's my name," she said. "Selena Dunlap." She made a small, crude bow. "I sure hope you don't mind if I knock this stupid son of a bitch silly. After that, you can have what's left of the carcass."

  "That's already been done this evening." Duvall shrugged. "What?"

  Rebecca related the fascinating fable of the flying phone booth.

  "This ain't the first time, you say?" George asked. "He tried to get me a couple of days ago," I said. "I'd like to buy the son of a bitch some goddamn driving lessons, is what I'd like to do," Selena offered.

  "Perhaps I'll pitch in," said Duvall without a smile.

  "You are lookin' a bit ragged, Leo," George said, handing me a double of something brown.

  "What seems to be the problem?" I said to Selena.

  "Problem?" she bellowed. "The goddamn problem is that 'cause of your big, dumb, stupid ass, there's people out there lookin' for me. Bustin' heads and looking for me. They busted old Rodney's nose. Spread that sucker all over his face. That sucker heals, they ain't gonna be no space 'tween nose and ears. One just gonna flow into the other." She spread her arms in an expansive gesture. "Stomped on his only glasses, too. Hit Hot Shot Scott so hard he talks funny. Sounds like some goddamn fag from up the hill."

  She started for me again. Rebecca put an arm on her shoulder. The two women sized each other up. Whatever advantages in experience and general hardness Selena might have had were more than outweighed by Rebecca's three inches and thirty pounds. Besides that, I could tell that Selena was unaccustomed to dealing with women who were even larger than she was. Her usual unbridled courage was waning.

  "He deserves it," Selena said.

  "I don't doubt it," Duvall said sincerely.

  "You don't understand," she said, stomping in a small circle. "I lost my roof. They went down there and busted the place up. You know how long I was on that damn list. I waited nine months. Nine egg-suckin' months till somebody give the mission a bunch of new mattresses so there'd be room for more folks to sleep. Now " She waved her long arms. "They gonna gimme the minute I show up down there. My ass is back on the street." She waved a finger at me. "I told you to cut it the hell out."

  She was stomping again. "But noooo, you just couldn't let that goddamn thing go, could ya, Lucky dog? Just couldn't keep from pokin' your nose up just one more porkypine's ass."

  "It's in my blood," I said. "Once I start on something, I've just gotta see it to the end. I've always been that way."

  Duvall confirmed. "Thick as a brick. He'll stay at it until he bleeds."

  Selena leaned back against the bar. "That's it. That's exactly what you do-gooders never understand." "What's that?" I said.

  "Blood gets spilled, all right. No doubt about that. Surely blood gets spilled." She paused. "And ain't none of it ever theirs. Not ever. Not once. It's always us that does all the bleeding."

  I didn't realize that the bar had gone silent until someone behind me with a gruff voice said, "Goddamn right."

  "I watched friends go into the ground this winter, Mr. Busybody. You know that? Froze to death, and nobody give a shit. Watched the backhoe push mud into the holes after 'em. Where in hell was any of you do-gooders then? You tell me, huh, where?"

  "Fuckin' A," somebody rumbled. She collected her thoughts. "Met a guy on a train once who put it this way. I ain't never forgotten it. He said that the difference is in the difference between livin' in the moment and livin' for the moment. He said Mr. and Mrs. John Q Public, they live in the moment. Like they just visit the here and now, 'cause they're always really looking toward the future. It's like they live their whole lives for the future. They keep their noses down and get it done, so they can get them a motor home and then tool all over the country with those cutesy little signs plastered all over the damn thing. You know, like 'Grandma and Grandpa's Playhouse,' that sort of shit."

  I tried to lighten the moment. "I have days lately when that sounds pretty good to me," I said.

  No go. From somewhere in the bar came, "Let her talk, dammit."

  Selena accepted the appointment. "People like me, now, we live for the moment. I don't have no needs or concerns that get much past right now. This is the whole damn shootin' match. I'll worry about breakfast when it goddamn well gets to be breakfast time." She looked at me hard. "That's what I tried to tell you the other day. Right now is all I got. You wanna help somebody like me, you give me your money. That's all. Just slip me your cash. Or maybe give the mission some dough for more mattresses, so's I can sleep inside. I need religion or a jobs program, I'll let your ass know."

  A gentle ripple of applause spread to the walls. Sensing that the mob was with her, she raised her voice an entire octave. "So what the hell am I gonna do now, Mr. Detective? You wanna tell me that, huh? Now that you fucked up my whole gig, what am I gonna do? They gonna find me froze up like some TV dinner or what?"

  I longed for the feel of a holster.

  "Well?" a shrill voice rose from my left.

  I took a long pull on my drink. Bourbon. The good stuff. Heady and tasting of wood. My mind was a complete blank.

  Rebecca said, "For this evening at least, Selena, I think the least I can do is offer you a place to stay until you can find something more perma to your liking," she amended. "I've got this huge house. Lots of room. What do you say? You can hang around until Leo gets this thing sorted out."

  "You got your own place?"

  "Yep."

  Selena threw a glance my way. "You don't bunk with Fido here?"

  "Certainly not," Rebecca said seriously. "He snores and picks at his feet. I live with my mother, who happens to be out of town for a couple of weeks."

  Selena turned back my way. "Now that you got the cat out of the bag, how you gonna get it stuffed back in? Ya wanna tell me that, Mr
. Busybody? I gotta life to lead, ya know."

  "It's not going back in," I said. "This can of worms is open, and it's gonna stay that way until we get some answers. I probably best find out who's trying to run me over. That's probably a real good place to start. Chances are it's the same people who are out looking for you."

  "He is a clever one, isn't he? Not much gets by old Leo," Duvall assured Dunlap. They shared a short laugh. "Leo will get it sorted out. Whatever his other failings, he's good at what he does. It's that thing in his blood."

  Selena pinned me with a red-eyed stare.

  "What do you say?" prodded Rebecca.

  Selena looked around the bar. George piped in.

  "Was me, I'd take her up on it in a New York minute," he said.

  "Oh really?" said Rebecca.

  He looked over at me. "You know what I mean," he started. "You know--" He shot a glance at Duvall. "Not like that," he assured her. "If I was to be--then--" He looked to me for help. "Leo?" he said.

  I waved him off. "You're on your own, kid. Keep digging."

  Rebecca leaned over the bar and said something to Terry the bartender. George looked stricken. Selena clapped him on the back.

  "It's okay, Georgio," she said. "Hell, iffen I didn't come up with somethin' better, I was thinkin' about throwing a move on you myself."

  "What?" George stammered.

  "Probably ain't aired that thing out in years," she said to nobody in particular. A general titter ran about the bar. In the back, someone snorted. A moment of silence, and then, as if prearranged, the crack of pool balls signaled the end of the show. The bar settled in.

  "I don't know," Selena said quietly. "I don't like to feel beholden to people. I just can't do it."

  "It's Leo who's beholden to you," Duvall said. "He's the one who started this whole ball rolling, and now he's the one who's got to get to the bottom of it. The way I see it, he owes it to you."

  The front door opened. An Asian guy in a Sonics cap held the door open. "Somebody call a cab?"

  Rebecca waved at him over the crowd and then turned to Selena.

  "It's up to you," she said.

  Selena looked at the floor and then stuck her hands in her pockets.

  "I'll get my stuff," she said, heading for the back of the bar.

  "You didn't need a cab. I would have " I started.

  "Are you daft?" Duvall said. "People are trying to kill you. I'm not riding anywhere with you until you get this all cleared up." When I started to protest, she said, "We'll meet on street corners like in the movies. It'll be romantic."

  "You sure you want to do this?" I asked.

  "We'll get along famously," she assured me.

  The driver poked his head back in. Selena arrived. She had a blue sleeping bag, tied with thick brown twine, hanging from a sawed-off broom handle, which she slipped over her shoulder.

  "Thank Ralph for the loan of the bag," she said to George, who was still contemplating the general unfairness of his lost opportunity.

  Duvall pointed at the bag. "You probably won't be needing --Selena took her by the arm and started for the door. "Miss Duvall, I'll tell you what. You plan for your future, and I'll plan for mine."

  Rebecca's response was lost in the whooshing of the door.

  George and I stood alone at the corner of the bar. "Where's Ralph?" I asked.

  "Back home," he said. "Said he'd been spendin' too much time down here lately. Can you believe that shit?"

  It were fearsome strange indeed, but I was too dim to think about it. I polished off the bourbon and slid the glass across the bar.

  "Once more with feeling," I said to Terry. He looked dubious. "It's a special occasion," I said. "George almost got laid."

  22

  Midnight was way past my bedtime. All things being equal, I would never have checked my E-mail. I would have shuffled in and gone to bed in my domes. That was my fondest dream as I opened the door.

  But the damn thing was sitting right there twinkling at me as I passed the office. A bold-type banner running across the screen: 206-567-8980... 206-567-8980... 206567-8980... 206-567-8980. I shook my head and walked on past, rolling toward my beckoning bed like a stakes horse beaten by twelve lengths, headed for the paddock and the promise of oats. Inexplicably, I stuck out my arms and martyred myself in the doorway. Arrrrgh.

  I called Carl. "Yeah," he said on the first ring.

  "It's Leo."

  "Be still my heart."

  "How you been?" I started.

  "Sittin' down," was his answer.

  I hadn't known him before the accident claimed his legs. Some had assured me that he was every bit as caustic and argumentative before as after. I prefer to think not Carl had this cute little conversational habit, whenever he wanted to make your life difficult, of mentioning his hand leap, almost daring your acknowledgment of his predicament. I was ready.

  "Makes you a bunch easier to find," I said. "Cute, Leo. Real cute. Wadda you want?" "That finder program you gave me worked good." "Yeah, don't let it get around, though. Most of those yodels out there on the Web think they got privacy rights. They think they're out there in these chat groups and that they're the only one's listening." He gave a short, dry laugh. "Most of 'em would shit if they had any idea how public it all really was."

  "I've got the number where she is now. Looks like a Bellevue exchange to me," I commented.

  A long pause. No way Carl was going to make this easy | on me.

  "Lemme guess. Now you need the address."

  "It's too new, man. It's not in my reverse phone book. Besides that, it's inside that big condo development up there by the crossroads. I'm gonna need building and apartment. Be a sport."

  "A sport, huh? A sport? Tell me, Leo, you generally call folks after midnight and ask 'em for favors? Is this a regular occurrence with you? You think maybe that explains your || vast and continuing popularity?"

  "I only call vampires like you this late."

  Within our mutual circle of friends, Carl was renowned for, among other oddities, apparently never sleeping. No matter what time of day you called or arrived, he was up, dressed, and sitting in his wheelchair.

  "I'll have to call you back," he said with a snort. "I've got all my lines except this one dedicated to something useful at the moment. And Leo--"

  "What?"

  "You okay? You sound a little "

  "Wasted," I helped him out. "I've had a few."

  "Careful," he said.

  "Always."

  Carl hung up. I shuffled into the kitchen and put together a pot of coffee. Just as I snapped the little basket into the machine, the phone rang. Carl with the address. I stood around until I could pour myself a cup, spent a few minutes with a map of the Eastside, then called Jed.

  "Hello," he answered immediately.

  "You're up late," I commented.

  "Trying to figure out what in holy hell I'm going to tell the library board tomorrow night."

  "You'll be pleased to know that may not be necessary."

  "You got something?"

  "Just Karen Mendolson."

  "You have her? Dammit, Leo, you're "

  "I know where she is," I amended.

  I could hear him gritting his teeth. "Where's that?"

  "Bellevue," I said.

  "You sure?" he said.

  Before I could answer, he said, "Have you ?"

  "I've had a few," I said.

  I gave him a detailed rundown of the night's activities. "You better find out who's trying so damn hard to off you," he said when I'd finished. "Seems like they're not going away."

  "Amen, brother," I said. "I hear you. What do you want to do about the girl?"

  "I'm thinking."

  "I don't suppose you want to just call the cops."

  "Are you crazy? The vote is less than a week away. No. No. The cops are out of the question. We've got to keep this thing under wraps. We gotta do this ourselves."

  "Do what?"

  "Confront her,
dammit. We've got to scare the hell out of that woman. Get back as much of the money as we can. I mean, if all she's been doing is hiding out over on the Eastside, she can't have spent a whole hell of a lot of it, can she? It's not like she's been shopping in Paris or something."

  "Then we better do it now," I said. "You want to put the fear of God in somebody, you roust 'em in the middle of the night."

  He heaved an audible sigh. "Hang on," he said, setting the phone down with a sharp click.

  I sipped coffee, hearing the sound of a distant conversation leaking over the line, a man and a woman, something about a wedding brunch, and under that, the electronic echo of a busy signal reverberated from some other wire somewhere on the planet. I was immersed in the electronic wonder of it all when Jed picked up. "You there?" he asked.

  "Rooted to the spot."

  "All right, come--"

  I stopped him. "You'll have to come get me. I took a cab home from the Zoo. Also, if you remember, the last time you rode in my car you ended up feeling a bit queasy."

  "Queasy?" he growled. "Hell, man, I blew chunks all over the azaleas. Sarah made me hose 'em off in the morning. She still busts my balls about it. Jesus, Leo, I can't believe you still haven't gotten that damn thing fixed."

  "It is fixed," I insisted.

  "I'll be there in twenty minutes," he huffed. "Have some coffee. Get yourself--"

  "Wear jeans and sneakers," I interrupted. "We may have to do a little climbing."

  "What climbing?"

  "I'll tell you about it when you get here," I said.

  I took my own advice, changing into a pair of gray jeans, a black sweatshirt, and an old pair of black basketball shoes from the seventies. I strapped the little Beretta .32 to my left ankle, standing, walking around the bed, finding it moved a bit, and then tightening the straps until I was confident it would stay put even at a dead run. I slipped the big 9mm into the shoulder harness and donned my old green canvas jacket over it. I shimmied my shoulders, allowing the big automatic to fall comfortably into place. Until further notice, I was only taking it off to shower.

  By the time I slid into the seat next to Jed, I'd had another full cup of coffee and was beginning to come around. Jed's deep blue Lexus seemed to move without effort or sound.