Bully

by Gonzalez, J. F.

  Danny nodded, his knees rubbery. “We won’t, I swear!”

  Then, with one last threatening look, Raul Valesquez vaulted the fence and was scampering along the dirt path to Crenshaw Boulevard.

  Danny burst into tears as Raul left. He couldn’t help it. He didn't care. He sensed Jerry struggling to his feet and scampering to peer over the edge of the drainage ditch. The tears flowed and they were tears of fear and gratitude that Raul’s violent rage had once again passed him by.

  “Fuck, I think he’s dead,” Jerry said.

  Danny looked over to where Jerry was kneeling at the edge of the drainage ditch, peering down. Jerry retreated back, his face dirty and sweaty and bloody. He was pale. “I think Bobby’s dead. He’s not moving.”

  Danny was still crying, but he tried to control it. “We gotta tell somebody, we can’t let him get away with this! We—”

  “He’s right, Danny,” Jerry said. “The cops aren’t going to believe us and there’s no physical evidence except what we saw. And even if they do pick him up for questioning, I have a feeling they’re not going to hold him. They’ll let him go back to his mother and she doesn’t fucking control him. He’ll kill you and your family. Do you want that to happen?”

  Danny burst into tears again and shook his head.

  “Trust me, man, I don’t want to lie to the cops either, but we have to.” Jerry shuffled over and kneeled down beside Danny, who had crumpled into a sitting position on the concrete path. “Raul is bad news, and if the cops haven’t put him away before, they’re not going to do it now. If he really did kill that family, that means he’s very well capable of doing what he’s threatening to do.”

  “That’s why we have to tell the police!” Danny said through his tears. He wiped his eyes; his vision was blurry. “Shit, man, we can’t just let him do this!”

  “We’re not, but we have to be careful. I’m scared of that little fucker, aren’t you?”

  Danny looked up and saw that Jerry was genuinely frightened. The fact that a much younger and smaller boy could instill so much fear into Jerry Valdez, who was sixteen-years-old and could drive, scared him and brought the whole seriousness of the situation into deadly light, and he burst into uncontrollable tears again. “Fuck!”

  “I know,” Jerry said. He patted Danny’s shoulder, trying to comfort him. “That little bastard is a fucking psycho, man.” Jerry’s voice cracked. “That motherfucker almost killed me, and he killed Bobby. He’ll find out where I live; I know he will. The cops aren’t going to believe us, even with his police record.”

  “Why not?” Danny said, sobbing. He was looking up at Jerry, trying to gain some sense of understanding from the older boy. “I mean...everybody knows what he does, why can’t—”

  “Because the cops protect his mom, okay?” Jerry took off his shirt and wiped the blood off his face and neck. He winced as he pressed it to the top of his head. “Shit, that hurts.” Holding the shirt to his head to staunch the bleeding, he kneeled closer to Danny, their foreheads nearly touching. Jerry’s voice was a shaky whisper. “I know his mom deals drugs and is a hooker, man. The cops protect her, and that means they look the other way when her kids do shit. I know, I’ve seen it happen. If we call the cops, they’ll make an appearance for official purposes, but they won’t investigate it and Raul will find out, and then you and I will be fucked. Do you want that to happen?”

  Danny shook his head, trying to control his sobs.

  Jerry continued. “We have to call the cops, but we have to tell them Bobby fell and that Raul got scared and ran off. They’ll believe that.”

  “What if we tell them Raul wasn’t around? I mean...nobody but us knows he was here?”

  Jerry appeared to think this over. “I’m sure Raul would love that. But he’ll know if that’s the story we tell because then the cops won’t even show up to question him. He’s expecting them to at least ask him why he ran away from an accident. If they don’t at least question him about running away from an accident, he might think something is up and he might decide to carry out his threats. Call it our insurance package for the next few days.”

  “Our what?”

  “Never mind.” Jerry looked quickly up the path, then back at Danny. He looked much older than his sixteen years at that moment. “Promise me you’ll stick with this story, okay? Bobby fell. It was an accident. Raul was here, but he got scared and ran off. That’s all that happened.”

  Danny nodded. He was starting to cry again. “What will we do if he comes after us? What am I going to do to protect my mom and...m-m-ma-my...s-s-s-sister!”

  “I don’t know, man,” Jerry said, looking as troubled and hopeless as he sounded as he patted Danny’s shoulder, trying to calm him down. “I don’t know, but we’ll think of something.”

  When Danny’s sobs trickled away, Jerry helped him stand up, and then they headed back to Crenshaw Boulevard, jumped the fence, and headed to Bob’s Liquor store half a block away to call the police.

  Thirteen

  DANNY HERNANDEZ DIDN'T want to meet him at a bar. He told Jerry he was afraid the ex-cop who threatened him at his job might show up. He wanted to go over to Jerry’s house instead. Jerry protested. “You ain’t showing up here, motherfucker. If you think you’re going to come over here and lead them to my house, you’re out of your fucking mind.”

  “You know, I haven’t said anything about you to Tom,” Danny said. Jerry’s grip on the receiver tightened. “I could call him with your address and phone number the minute we get off the phone and tell him everything else.”

  Jerry was so angry he could barely speak. “You want to fuck yourself over, too?”

  “I’m already fucked. Somebody doesn’t want Tom to pay attention to what happened at the Valesquez house. Don’t you get it? Doug Archer was set up to divert attention from whatever was happening there. If I tell them the truth, they’ll get what they want. What would you rather have me do?”

  “Fine, come over,” Jerry spat, trying to control his anger. “But make sure you aren’t followed, you understand me?”

  “I understand,” Danny said.

  “And this is the last time I want to see you or talk to you. After this meeting, we’re done, okay?”

  “Even if we don’t come to an agreement?”

  “You got it.”

  “See you in an hour then.”

  Danny had contacted him twice since the news of Doug Archer’s so-called suicide. The first had been to tell him of the suicide itself after Tom informed him about it last night; this second time was to talk about a plan to extract himself out of the hot seat. Jerry didn’t give a shit what Danny did to save his ass, so long as it didn’t involve him. For the most part he was safe; nobody knew where he was. He’d always been careful to make sure that the utilities and rent were under the names of roommates and lovers, and now his wife—although Chrissy screwed up during this last move when she got their phone hooked up at the new address. She’d gone ahead and listed both their names on the bill and neglected to decline the option to omit their listing from the phone book.

  Jerry pulled his long hair back into a pony-tail. He was nervous. Danny was a numbfuck. He couldn’t take care of himself and he still expected Jerry to solve all his problems for him. Now he’d gone and told that cop Tom Jensen almost everything, and he was nervous because Tom was asking more questions. What did he think Tom would do? Take everything Danny said at face value and go away? Jerry had a feeling things would be bad when Danny originally called to tell him the cop had come nosing around. He’d felt even worse last night when Danny revealed he’d spilled the beans on what happened that day at the drainage ditch.

  Jerry went to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. He’d called in sick today at work so he could stay home and think things over. He’d bought a six pack of Corona the day before. He pulled one out and opened it, then looked at the tiny rear bathroom at the end of the kitchen. He set the bottle down and went into the bathroom, knelt down and op
ened the cabinet. He reached inside and brought out a plastic baggie he’d hidden beneath the sink containing what looked like sand. He held the bag in his hand, hefting its weight.

  He still had connections with the glazier he used to work at in the early eighties. Buddy Easterman, the owner, still let him work on his vehicles. He called Buddy a few days ago and asked if he could come in to do a windshield replacement on an old Subaru he had and Buddy said, sure, come on over! Jerry arrived twenty minutes later with a new windshield in the back of the vehicle and set to work, taking off the old one. When Buddy left for a quick trip to the bank, Jerry broke off a chunk of the old windshield and ran it through a compactor, grinding the glass into a consistency like dust. He poured it into the baggie and stowed it in the pocket of his jeans and finished his work. By the time Buddy returned the new windshield was in place, the old one in the dumpster at the rear of the building to be taken out with the rest of the trash.

  Now he hefted the ground glass, feeling nervous and scared over what he was contemplating.

  I’m not going to let you hold me hostage, Danny. I’ve worked hard at rebuilding my life and you aren’t going to take it away from me. I don’t care what we did back then. It was Raul’s fault. We didn’t have anything to do with it, and I wish you’d get that through your skull. Why you want to feel guilty over something like that and let it ruin our lives, take your life down and separate you from your kids is beyond me. You want to fuck yourself over, fine with me. But you aren’t taking me with you.

  He opened the twist off that sealed the bag shut and walked into the kitchen. He opened a bottle of Corona, noting the time on the clock. Danny would be arriving any minute. He glanced out the living room window from the kitchen and then turned back to the task at hand. He brought down two beer mugs and slowly poured a full bottle of beer into one of them. Then he waited for the foam to recede and then, carefully, he poured a small amount of the finely ground glass into the beer. He stirred it around with a spoon, making sure that the glass fragments weren’t readily visible. Then he resealed the baggie and stuffed it back in its hiding spot. By the time he returned to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator for a second bottle, the doorbell was ringing. He placed the bottle down on the kitchen counter and quickly ushered Danny inside. “Come on. I got you a beer.”

  Danny followed him inside. He looked nervous. Jerry got a second mug down and began pouring beer into it, not paying attention to Danny as he rambled about not knowing what to do now that Doug Archer was dead and Tom Jensen was bugging the shit out of him and threatening to go to the FBI and the nattering made Jerry’s head hurt. He poured the beer, then picked up both glasses and turned around to face Danny.

  “I just don’t know what to do!” Danny said, pacing the kitchen, looking worried. Danny was dressed in blue jeans and a white t-shirt. “I shouldn’t have told Tom about that day, but he could tell Bobby didn’t just die from an accident. He’s smart enough to put two and two together and what else was I going to tell him? I mean, what—"

  “Have a beer,” Jerry said, holding out the mug he’d spiked with the freshly ground glass.

  “—was I going to tell him? I couldn’t just keep lying!” Danny stopped pacing and stared at Jerry, his eyes wide. “You know what I mean? He could tell I was lying to him every time I tried to change the subject. And then—"

  Jerry was about to offer the mug to Danny again when the phone rang.

  “—all I could think about was Tina and Chris and what that cop said ... that cop that came to my work! And then—"

  Jerry’s head hurt and the phone rang and Danny was pacing the kitchen, looking more worried and scared than he’d ever looked, and Jerry had to get him to shut up or he was going to go batty. The phone shrilled again and with an exasperated sigh, Jerry put the mugs down on the counter and scooped up the phone. “Yeah?”

  “Jerry, it’s Chrissy. Can you go to the store for me and get a few things? We’re out of bread and milk and—"

  Jerry listened as Chrissy rattled off her grocery list, not even writing it down. She knew he’d called in sick. He’d told her he was going to stay home and begin preparations for their move. He had to get her off the phone and deal with Danny, who was still pacing the kitchen. “How you feeling?” Chrissy asked when she was finished.

  “I’m fine,” Jerry said quickly. “I’m just on my way out. I gotta go.”

  “Okay. Did you get the van?”

  “Yeah, I got it. I’ll tell you about it tonight.”

  “Oh goody! Maybe we can pack this weekend!”

  “I was thinking more like tonight.”

  “Tonight is good, too. I can send Olivia to my mom’s.”

  “Good.” Convincing Chrissy that moving to his uncle’s beach house in Baja was the best move of his life and probably saved their marriage. “Listen, I gotta go. I’ll call you when I get home.”

  “Okay, bye!”

  Jerry hung up and when he turned around Danny had stopped his pacing and was drinking a beer. Danny was chugging heavily from one of the mugs and Jerry’s eyes glanced at the counter and his heart stopped in his chest.

  Oh fuck, which one did he take? Did he take the right one?

  Danny finished chugging his beer and licked his lips. “God that’s good. I needed that.”

  “Yeah,” Jerry said, his voice cracking. He couldn’t keep his eyes off the counter. He tried to remember where he’d placed the powdered glass-laced beer and his mind drew a blank. He wanted to believe that the mug Danny picked up and drank was the one intended for him, but now he wasn’t entirely sure. Jerry picked up the mug on the counter and looked at it, trying to see if it contained anything alien. He couldn’t tell. There were little yellow bubbles in it, normal for this brand of beer, and he glanced quickly at Danny, who had resumed his pacing of the kitchen, albeit at a slower rate. He couldn’t tell if the mug Danny held was the laced one, either.

  Fuck me blind, Jerry thought.

  “I’m fucking nervous and confused, man,” Danny said. “I just need to get my head together, get some kind of action plan going.”

  “Then we need to talk. Why don’t you go sit down in the living room. I’ll be with you in a moment.” Jerry picked up the second mug of beer and headed toward the bathroom. His heart felt dead in his chest.

  “Okay.” Danny turned and headed to the living room.

  Jerry squeezed himself into the tiny half bath and poured the beer down the sink. Then he quickly went back into the kitchen and placed the empty mug in the sink and extracted a fresh one from the cabinet. He opened another beer and poured it, hoping Danny wouldn’t notice, and cursed himself for his lack of attention to detail. Maybe he took the right one. God I hope so, I hope he did and this can end tonight. Please let it end tonight, please just let Danny die tonight and leave me alone, just leave me alone.

  When Jerry returned to the living room with his beer, taking his first sip of alcohol in two years, which he had decided to do for the sake of silencing Danny forever, he sat down on the couch and hoped that his falling off the wagon wasn’t going to be in vain.

  And then as they sat on the sofa and drank their beers, they talked.

  Jerry calmed Danny down and told him everything was going to be okay.

  He got Danny to promise that he hadn’t seen Jerry in over twenty years.

  He told Danny that if Tom continued to press the issue on what happened to Raul he was to just claim ignorance. “These things take time,” Jerry explained. “If they decide to autopsy Doug, it could take weeks for the results to come back. If they find out it really was a suicide, the case will be closed. I can guarantee that. Tom will no longer be obligated to question you and if he does, play hardball. File a complaint with his boss.”

  Danny nodded. He had drained his beer quickly and retrieved another. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

  “Of course, I’m right. Just lay low. Let the case play itself out. In a few weeks, this will all be over.”

&nb
sp; That much was true. In a few weeks, Danny might be dead and buried and if he wasn’t, Jerry wasn’t going to be in the U.S. Even if Danny did squeal and U.S. officials located Jerry, they’d be unable to extradite him. He’d be a permanent Mexican citizen.

  Danny sighed. “I’m sorry for freaking out, man. It’s just...Tom is just so fucking relentless he makes me nervous. He’s got this way of questioning you that’s like ... he knows where to look and he can tell when you aren’t telling the truth.”

  “So far he hasn’t gone that deep and he won’t if you lay low,” Jerry said. He’d hardly sampled his beer. His will to not totally fall off the wagon was strong, but Danny didn’t recognize it. “Just lay low and everything will be cool.”

  By the time he’d gotten Danny calmed down and they’d gone over what he was going to do and say if Tom Jensen continued his investigation, it was time to leave for the grocery store for his shopping errand. He hustled Danny out the door. “Listen, I’m sorry I got pissed off at you before you came over. I was upset and I didn’t mean it. Lay low for a few days and then give me a call and let me know what’s going on. Okay?”

  “Yeah, okay.” Danny looked more relaxed. He offered Jerry a weak smile. “Thanks, man.”

  “Don’t mention it.” They shook hands, homeboy power-shake, and then Danny stepped off the narrow, cracked concrete porch and headed toward his car. Jerry quickly glanced up and down the street, checking out the traffic and for any signs of parked cars. All was clear. The few vehicles parked along the neighborhood were empty. Jerry quickly closed the front door and leaned against it, his heart suddenly hammering in his chest again, an adrenaline rush blossoming through his system, making him feel light-headed. Play it cool. If the beer he drank was the right one, he’ll be dead by midnight. Either way, you’re going to proceed as planned. Pick up the truck and start packing to get out of here by Monday.

  He visualized the moves he had to make: pick up groceries, pick up the truck, start packing, do heavy packing this weekend, drop off the keys with the landlord, pick up Olivia, get in the truck and the lone car they had and get the fuck out of LA by Monday and never come back.