In his Notebook that night, Colin wrote:
Today I told my mother “I love you.” I am not sure if this was correct because she cried and threw away her ice cream. Dad says women do that when they are “overwhelmed,” but I do not understand what is overwhelming about a fact my mother already knows. Investigate.
“He is so lying to you,” Danny said. He slammed the refrigerator door shut and moved to the cupboard.
“Don’t be silly,” she replied a little too quickly. “Colin doesn’t lie.”
“Yeah, right.” Danny stomped out to the living room with a pack of string cheese and an apple, leaving his mother alone, the groceries still unpacked.
“The library?” Wayne repeated. “That had to be the weakest story ever. How did you get her to fall for it?”
They were four miles from Colin’s house now, aboard a grimy orange MTA bus, one among a fleet cruising the wide, twenty-mile-long streets that connected the San Fernando Valley from west to east. Colin rode with arms and legs pulled tight against his body. He was surrounded by strangers and presumably unfriendly faces, all packed into a space designed to comfortably carry far fewer passengers than the maximum allowed by law. It smelled strange too—acrid and sickly sweet, somewhere between the school locker room and a gas oven, now that the MTA had switched entirely to alternative fuels.
It was a near miracle that Colin had managed to board the bus at all. Only the fact that Wayne was behind him, gently urging him forward, got Colin inside. “It’s like the Mos Eisley Cantina in here,” Wayne had noted as they took their seats.21 Colin was too busy counting and thinking about the call he had to make to agree or not.
Now, Colin checked the battery level on his cell phone as he returned it to its place in his backpack. He tried not to think about the incidental contact with Wayne that resulted from shifting his belongings around. Colin looked up and saw his reflection staring back at him from the tinted glass of the bus window. His expression was blank.
“I think it was the Kuleshov Effect,” Colin said. He looked down at the scrawl in his Notebook, more uneven than usual from the bumpy bus ride.
I just realized that I need to do more research, and I wanted to let you know. (SHE WILL ASK A QUESTION, OR EXPRESS CONCERN.) The book I need isn’t at the Chatsworth Library, so I’m taking the bus to Northridge branch. It shouldn’t take long.
“The what?”
“I kept a blank voice when I lied. And because the only context my mother has is me telling her the truth, she chose to believe me.”
“You mean you never lied to her before.”
The interior of the bus darkened as it passed beneath the huge concrete expanse of the 405 freeway, heading east through endless miles of strip malls, bungalows, and crumbling, stucco-sided apartment buildings. The suburban wasteland stretched from Panorama City to the Verdugo Mountains. Colin watched it pass by through the blue-gray tint of the bus window, thinking about the coyote, and how coyotes had been here since this was all just rocks and trees and grass.
“Yes,” Colin said, realizing he had just crossed a Rubicon.22 “It was…easy.”
18 A little-known outpost of the Space Race of the 1960s, the Santa Susana Field Laboratory was the site of rocket-engine tests and experimental nuclear reactors. In 1959, an experimental reactor suffered the world’s first nuclear meltdown, a fact known by few of the homeowners in the immediate area.
19 GSR, or “gunshot residue,” is the burnt and unburnt particles left on the skin and clothes of a shooter and his weapon, and the victim if the gun is discharged at close range. It can also be detected on the persons of nearby witnesses. Forensic scientists can use GSR to positively confirm someone’s presence at a crime scene, where they were standing, or even if they fired a particular gun. It is not a perfect analytical tool because sometimes particles from other sources so closely resemble the GSR that they confuse the results.
20 The San Patricio Battalions were American deserters of Irish Catholic descent, who fought on the side of Santa Ana in the Mexican-American War. They served with distinction and were considered elite artillery units. During their final losing engagements, however, they refused to surrender for fear of being punished as traitors and went so far as to shoot Mexican regulars who attempted to lay down arms. Their motives are generally ascribed to religious sympathy with fellow Catholics against a largely Protestant US Army.
21 The Mos Eisley Cantina was the famous bar from the original Star Wars film, in which Luke Skywalker and Obi Wan Kenobi first met Han Solo. Colin puzzled at people who referred to the film as “Episode IV” or “A New Hope,” since it was clearly the first movie in the series, and “Star Wars” was bombastically presented in the main titles. He also didn’t understand the argument over whether Han Solo or Greedo shot first, since Greedo never actually shot anyone at all.
22 The Rubicon is a river in Italy, famed for Julius Caesar’s crossing in 49 BC. Because Caesar’s action plunged the Roman Empire into war, the phrase “crossing the Rubicon” is meant to suggest a point of no return. Ironically, the shifting course of the Rubicon makes it impossible to determine where the real, historical “point of no return” actually lies.
CHAPTER NINE:
THE PARKING PROBLEM
Life is math.
We know this because mathematicians can reduce anything to a system of equations. Sometimes, the solutions tell us things that seem “intuitively obvious.” This means that we do not need math to figure them out. For example, the Parking Problem.
Some mathematicians at a university wanted to know how people could minimize the time it takes to find a parking spot and get into a store. Here is what they found: The optimal strategy is to take the first space you see and then walk.
When I told my father about this, he asked why it took mathematicians at a university to figure it out. I explained that while the conclusion seems intuitively obvious, it runs counter to standard human behavior. Most people will not take the first space they come across. Instead, they will seek out a better, theoretical spot that could be more convenient, incorrectly believing it will save them time.
I used to think people did this because they’re bad at math, but actually it’s because they’re gamblers. They pass up good opportunities that are right in front of them in exchange for imagined improvements that almost never materialize. This is why I trust math and I do not trust people. Math makes better decisions.
Colin and Wayne stood on the walk outside a stucco box of a house with a weed-choked lawn and a heavily fenced-in backyard that had never seen a clump of sod. Two pit bulls snarled and hurled themselves against the sturdy wire mesh with an angry, metallic rattle. Their job was to deter visitors, and for the most part, they did it well. Colin didn’t see danger; he merely stared back at the would-be monsters, cocking his head to one side. The dogs licked their lips, sighed, and sat back on their haunches.
“How the hell did you do that?” Wayne asked, IMPRESSED.
Colin shrugged.
“Whatever,” Wayne said. He pointed at the house. “Here’s the profile: I’ve dealt with these guys before, so let me take the lead here.”
“Okay,” Colin said, writing this down.
“Don’t mention the cops or the school investigation.”
Colin nodded, writing this down too.
“And if they ask you questions, just be cool.”
“Cool,” Colin repeated. He wrote I’m cool in his Notebook.
“And put your Notebook away. Don’t let them see that.”
Colin considered this a moment, then stuffed his Notebook in his backpack. He would have to record the particulars of the experience later from memory.
“You know what?” Wayne said finally. “Just don’t say anything.”
Wayne took a step in front of Colin and drew a deep breath, then started up the walk. Colin followed, silent as a mouse. Wayne rapped on the front door.
For a moment, it seemed like no one was going to answer. Then the doo
r swung open, answered by a boy who couldn’t have been older than ten. The boy looked at them.
“Hello,” Colin said.
Wayne shot him a withering look, but didn’t touch him. Colin fell silent, making a mental note to put aside his usual social scripts. Wayne turned back to the boy at the door, taking charge. “We’re here to see El Cocodrilo,” he declared.
Colin tried not to betray his surprise at Wayne’s use of the name. If Wayne knew who this El Cocodrilo person was, he hadn’t mentioned him before. Colin resisted the impulse to search his Notebook for an earlier reference—successful mainly because he knew there could be none. What else was Wayne not telling him? Colin was determined to investigate the matter later. For now, the danger before him was more than enough.
The boy didn’t answer. Instead, he turned back inside, leaving the door open. It was a non-answer and an invitation, all in one. Colin was impressed with his efficiency.
Wayne and Colin followed the boy into the house.
Colin’s nose twitched, detecting chicken, ham, and cheese cooking together. It smelled good, a welcome and comforting surprise. He occupied himself by wondering what could be on the stove as they passed through the living room. On the television, someone—probably the boy, Colin imagined—had paused a first-person shooter video game with something that looked like an alien or a demon caught in the crosshairs of a rocket-powered grenade launcher.
In the kitchen, three monstrous vatos with half-consumed beers watched them enter. The vatos’ expressions changed rapidly at the sight of them, from CONCERNED to CONFUSED to…well, Colin wasn’t sure, but it looked a little like AMUSED. There was laughter, a few words in Spanish that Colin couldn’t understand, and then they went back to drinking their beers. Colin surmised they were La Familia.
A tall, lanky man in his early twenties worked the stove, making what Colin now knew to be chicken cordon bleu. “If you’re selling magazines,” he said, “I get it cheaper at the newsstand.”
“Wow,” replied Wayne with a genuine enthusiasm that led Colin to conclude that he didn’t smell many expertly prepared meals in his own home, “that smells really good.”
“Yeah, but it’s coming out dry.” The lanky man frowned at his pan.
“You should turn it down to simmer,” Colin offered helpfully, “and cover it the last five minutes.”
Wayne looked at Colin again. His PAINED expression was lost on Colin, but it was enough to remind him of his promise to remain silent. The lanky man looked at him too, considering his advice. Then he opened his huge mouth to laugh, revealing rows of perfect white teeth. He turned down the stove and covered his pan as Colin suggested.
“El Cocodrilo,” Colin guessed aloud, unable to help himself.
“The very one, ese,” El Cocodrilo said. “So what’s your name, L’il Emeril?”
It suddenly occurred to Colin that offering his real name could be a strategic mistake. This was an undercover investigation, which classically required an alias. Colin decided to provide one. Lying was getting easier all the time.
“Tommy Westphall,” Colin said, trying very hard to keep a blank expression.
“You boys are a long way from Tarzana.”
“Chatsworth,” Wayne corrected. The last thing he needed was for El Cocodrilo to get caught up in a geography lesson, courtesy of Colin Fischer. “We heard this was the place to come if we want something.”
“Something, huh? Who says?”
“A friend,” Wayne answered.
“Which friend?”
“A good friend.”
El Cocodrilo stared Wayne down in what Colin recognized as pure animal assertion of dominance. Wayne refused to show submission, instead asserting himself as a social equal to the gang leader by meeting El Cocodrilo’s gaze and staring back at him evenly. A risky strategy, Colin surmised, unless Wayne believed he could back it up—or he simply didn’t care if he could or not. It was impossible to say. In the end, it was El Cocodrilo who looked away first. He shook his head in DISGUST, though it didn’t seem directed at Wayne. He turned to his vatos. “As soon as I saw the fool and that gap-toothed freak friend of his, I knew he’d shoot his mouth off,” he lamented.
“Truth,” one of the vatos said.
Colin realized immediately whom El Cocodrilo was talking about. The only “gap-toothed freak” he knew was Stan. Which strongly suggested “the fool” was—
“Eddie,” Wayne said, having figured it out on his own. Colin was impressed with Wayne’s unanticipated and welcome display of deductive powers. Wayne had now managed to catch Colin off guard three times in less than ten minutes. It was quite a feat.
El Cocodrilo shrugged at Wayne, as if to confirm his suspicions without ever going on record with a name. “Said he had someone he wanted to show it to. Was gonna make him piss his pants.” The way El Cocodrilo said it, Colin understood that he was consciously avoiding the word gun.
“You know Eddie,” Wayne pressed. “I asked him to loan it to me, but he wouldn’t. Told me to get my own.” Wayne’s response was so effortless that Colin was suddenly confronted with the possibility that Wayne had been telling him the truth, but was also a gifted liar. In a way, it made him more credible.
“That what you’re here for, ese? Your own?”
Colin recognized this as what his father called “put up or shut up” time.23 Either they would need to explain their purpose here (put up) or El Cocodrilo planned to show them the door (shut up). Wayne never got the chance to choose either. The sound of gunshots and explosions suddenly blasted through the house. Reflexively, everyone in the kitchen froze and turned toward the source.
It was the boy, finishing his video game in the living room.
For everyone but Colin, this was a relief. The others chuckled and otherwise assumed relaxed postures, thinking the threat had passed, but Colin could feel his heart thumping in his chest. He covered his ears with his hands, breathing hard. “No noise, no noise, no noise…!”
One of the vatos pointed at Colin with his beer. “’Sup with Tommy?”
“It’s nothing. He just gets this way sometimes. Funny, right?” Wayne smiled like it was a joke. Like it was nothing. El Cocodrilo and his boys weren’t laughing.
“No noise, no noise, no noise…!” Colin didn’t stop.
Wayne shifted uncomfortably. He had no idea how to make Colin stop, or even why he had started. He only knew that the air had become tense and confused as a result and that tension, confusion, and gangbangers with weapons were a bad combination.
“There is definitely something wrong with that kid,” El Cocodrilo said. He turned down his stove. The vatos stood up as Colin’s shouts became high-pitched yelps.
In the yard, the dogs started barking again.
“Colin!” Wayne snapped.
It only took Wayne a moment to realize his mistake, but in that moment, everything changed. The boy in the living room paused his video game. The room fell silent. Colin stopped yelping and tried to compose himself. His breathing returned to normal as he took note of the expression on El Cocodrilo’s face: SUSPICIOUS.
“That was inappropriate, and I’m really very sorry for doing that,” Colin said, hoping that would be enough to defuse any potential awkwardness. It wasn’t.
“Sure you are, Tommy Westphall,” El Cocodrilo said with a frown. The gangbangers moved closer, slowly surrounding Colin and Wayne. “Or Colin. Or whoever, man.”
Wayne made a snap decision. “Run!”
He grabbed Colin by the arm and hauled him out of the kitchen through the living room. Colin could barely process what was happening now. He was caught between understanding the need to flee from El Cocodrilo and irrational horror at Wayne’s touch.
“Please don’t touch me!” Colin cried.
“Shut up!”
A split second later, Colin and Wayne sprinted out the front door to safety.
Colin and Wayne ran down an unfamiliar street.
As they raced by an endless parade of str
ip malls, Colin remembered what it was like to be six years old and running for his life across the playground. He remembered the slides and the swing sets and the monkey bars, passing in a blur. He remembered the pressure in his chest, the taste of blood and his own salty tears, the dull pain in his lip. He remembered how hard it was to breathe and scream, to urge his body forward as fast it would go. In his mind, Colin could still see the faces of the other children, who weren’t sure what to make of his terror. Some laughed and pointed, like chimpanzees in a zoo. Chattering. Then as now, he feared for his life. Then as now, Wayne Connelly ran behind him.
That night when he was six, Colin made the following entry in his Notebook:
Today I learned how to run very fast.
Only now, Wayne had probably just saved his life. This was yet another unexpected turn in a day full of unexpected turns, and yet another surprise from Wayne Connelly. Colin wished he had time to pause and record his thoughts, but that time would have to come later.
El Cocodrilo and La Familia were close behind. This was worrisome. However, the vatos were older, slower, and (from the distribution of weight on their bodies) clearly not used to running long distances. Also, they smelled like cigarettes, particularly El Cocodrilo. Colin calculated that he and Wayne had a reasonable chance of escape if they just kept running straight.
Wayne clearly didn’t agree with Colin’s assessment. He veered off sharply into a Vons grocery store parking lot. Colin followed him. There was no time to argue.
The lot was very busy. A car horn blared in Colin’s ears, and he realized that he and Wayne had barely avoided being run over. Colin covered his ears as the boys zigged and zagged through the rows of parked cars, occasionally doubling back. This had the effect of sowing confusion among La Familia, who split up to cut them off.
Wayne and Colin sprinted for the grocery store entrance, past a security guard who looked SURPRISED to see two boys blow by with an angry gang in hot pursuit.
Colin Fischer Page 10