Layla's Score

by Andy Rausch

  “Oh yeah?”

  Lefty grinned. “Best enchiladas I ever had.”

  “I like tamales,” said the cop. “So your auntie, she still live in Tulsa?”

  “Nah, she's gone now, goin' on twenty years.”

  The cop nodded, understanding.

  Lefty leveled his gaze at him. “Cancer.”

  “Cancer's a bitch,” said the cop. “My old man died of cancer.”

  “I'm sorry to hear that.”

  “So was he. But you know what? He was a miserable old sonofabitch, so maybe it was karma. You believe in karma?”

  “Not really.”

  The cop didn't even acknowledge Lefty's answer, he just kept on talking. “He didn't even know he had the cancer. He started feeling bad and then one day, out of the blue, he fell down and hurt himself. They took him in to get checked out. They ran all kinds of blood tests and we waited for days to get the results. When they finally came back, they said he had cancer. It had spread into his brain, lungs, and kidneys.”

  “No shit?” asked Lefty.

  “And you know what?” The cop paused for effect. “My old man died the next day, I shit you not. The very next day. It all went South that quickly.”

  “That's horrible.”

  “I was at work, staked out in front of some meth dealer's house. My old man went into a coma, and they called and said he wasn't gonna wake up again.”

  “So you didn't get to say goodbye?”

  “Well,” the cop said, his eyes watering just a bit, “they put the phone up to his ear and let me talk to him. I don't know if he heard any of it. I suspect he didn't, but they said it was good for me to do it anyway. I couldn't even get through it without crying. I got embarrassed and hung up the damn phone before the nurse even got back on the line.”

  “I'm sorry, man,” said Lefty, trying to figure out how he'd gotten into the curious predicament of consoling a white cop in the middle of nowhere.

  “With all the money they spend on weapons to fight the sand niggers—” The cop caught himself. He looked up at Lefty, an awkward expression on his face, and then tried to pretend he'd never said it. “You'd think, with all the money they got for other things, they would figure out a cure for cancer.”

  Lefty nodded. “I suppose there's more money in it if they don't find a cure.”

  The cop started to say something else, but Layla interrupted. “When are we gonna go, Daddy?”

  Lefty looked at the cop. “Are we good here?”

  The cop nodded. “Yeah, I think we're good. But next time the little girl's gotta pee, try to find a bathroom.”

  “We will. What happened was, she waited until the last second, and there wasn't time. If I had waited, she woulda peed in the car.”

  The cop nodded. “Trust me, I've been there. Just do your best, friend.”

  He climbed back into his cruiser and drove away, giving a small wave as he did.

  They had just passed St. Louis when Lefty decided to converse with Layla. For the past couple hours she'd been playing some kind of robot game on her tablet. The only way he'd been able to get her away from the thing for any small amount of time was to ask her for details about the game. She took a break to tell him about it, but damned if he didn't understand a single word of what she'd said. After that, once she'd finished describing the game, she'd gone right back to playing it, seemingly transported to somewhere far, far away.

  To keep himself busy, Lefty listened to Parliament on the stereo. He played the greatest hits album all the way from “Up for the Down Stroke” to “Black Hole (Theme)” without Layla saying a single word. Finally he said, “Hey, Tator Tot.” He looked at her in the rear-view mirror. Layla said, “What?,” without even looking up from her game.

  “We're gonna take a break from the tablet.”

  That got her attention. She looked up, a startled look on her face. “Really?” she asked, sounding pained.

  Lefty nodded. “Really, Tator Tot.”

  “But why?”

  “Just turn it off,” he said. “We're gonna talk for a little bit. God forbid you actually have to talk to your daddy some.”

  She slumped unhappily. “But I was just getting to the good part.” This meant nothing, as Lefty had learned from previous conversations that she was always just getting to the good part; seemingly every part of her game was the good part and she didn't like being interrupted.

  “Turn it off, baby.”

  Layla was displeased, but being the good girl she was, she did as she was instructed.

  She looked at him up in the mirror. “What now, Daddy?”

  “I wanna talk to you,” he said. “That okay with you?”

  “What do you wanna talk about?”

  “We can talk about anything.”

  The broadness of his reply seemed to pique her interest. “Anything?”

  “Sure,” he said. “What do you wanna talk about?”

  “Can we talk about NASA?”

  He looked at her, blinking as he did. “NASA? That's what you wanna talk about?”

  “I like NASA.”

  “Okay,” said Lefty. “NASA's good.”

  “Did you know I was two-years-old when Neil Armstrong died?”

  “Hmm. Does that make you sad?”

  “Yes,” she said matter-of-factly. “Now I'll never get to meet him.”

  “What would you have done if you had gotten to meet him?”

  “I'd have told him he was my hero,” she said. “Someday I'm gonna be an astronaut just like Neil Armstrong. Is that okay? Do you think I would be a good astronaut?”

  Lefty nodded. “Sure, I don't see why not. But I wouldn't want you to get hurt.”

  “I wouldn't get hurt, Daddy. I promise.”

  “Pinky promise?”

  Layla said solemnly, “Pinky promise.”

  “Well, then I guess it's okay.”

  “You know what else I'm gonna be when I grow up?”

  He humored her. “What are you gonna do, Tator Tot?”

  “I'm gonna be a police officer, like Jim back there,” she said. Lefty's heart sank, and he could feel his features twisting into a disapproving expression. “You're gonna be what?”

  “I wanna be a cop,” she said proudly.

  “Why do you wanna be a cop?”

  She looked at him, beaming. “I wanna help people.”

  “Is that what you think cops do?” he asked. “Help people?”

  “Of course, silly. They help everyone.”

  “I don't know,” he said. “It seems to me like there are other jobs you could be that might be better.”

  She frowned. “Better than being a cop?”

  “Sure,” he said.

  “What's wrong with being a cop?”

  “Well,” he began weakly, “some cops are good, and some cops are bad.”

  “There are bad cops?” she asked, amazed by the thought. “I thought all cops were good. I thought they help people.”

  “Sometimes,” said Lefty. “But some cops are mean. Some of them don't like black people.”

  Her expression was one of genuine interest. “I'm a black person, right Daddy?”

  “Yes, Tator Tot. We're both black.”

  She looked at her arm, studying it. “Actually, I think I look more brown than black.”

  Lefty grinned. “That's true. We're both more brown than we are black, but that's what they call us—black.”

  “Who calls us that?”

  He thought about it for a moment. “Society.”

  “What's society?”

  Lefty recognized this was a rabbit hole he might never get out of, so he gave her a simple explanation. “Everyone. Society means everyone.”

  “Oh,” she said, taking it in. “And cops don't like black people?”

  “Some cops don't like black people. Not all of them.”

  “Daddy, why don't they like us?”

  Lefty turned it over in his head for a moment before answering. That was a good qu
estion. “I don't know,” he said. “I guess you'd have to ask them.” He looked at her contemplating this and added, “We probably shouldn't really ask a cop about that.”

  “We shouldn't?”

  “Probably not.”

  “Why's that, Daddy?”

  “Well, if it's one of the cops who don't like black people, we wouldn't wanna make them mad. They might hurt us.”

  She looked up at him, her eyes big now. “Hurt us?”

  “Yeah, baby,” he said. “Sometimes cops hurt black people.”

  “How?”

  “There's all kinds of ways. Sometimes they beat black people up with those hard wooden sticks they have, and other times they just shoot them.”

  “Shoot them?” she asked, horrified. “With guns?”

  It was horrific, to be sure. “Sometimes.”

  “Well, I don't wanna hurt anyone,” she said. “I wanna be one of the nice cops.”

  Lefty nodded. She was only seven, so the chances of her actually mapping out her future right at this moment were pretty slim. So he let it go. She thought for a moment and then said, “You know what else I'm gonna be?”

  “You're gonna have more jobs?”

  “Yeah,” she said. “I'm gonna have lots of jobs.”

  “How are you gonna work all those jobs at the same time?”

  “Not at the same time, silly,” she said. “I'll work them at different times. When I get done with one job I'll go to the next.”

  Lefty grinned. “That's how it works?”

  “Of course.”

  “So what other jobs are you gonna have?”

  She was excited now. “I'm gonna be a pizza chef.”

  “A pizza chef?”

  “Yeah,” she said. “I'm gonna make pizzas and I'm gonna have my own restaurant where I make them. And do you know how much they're gonna cost?”

  “Two dollars?” he asked, kidding her.

  “My pizzas are gonna be free, Daddy.”

  He grinned. “Free pizzas, huh?”

  “That way everyone can have some,” said Layla. “But they won't all be free.”

  “They won't?”

  “Nope. Some pizzas will cost more.”

  “Why's that?”

  “Because they're the ones made with the special ingredient.”

  “There's a special ingredient?”

  “Yep,” she said, feeling proud of herself.

  “What's the special ingredient?”

  Layla looked up at him, barely able to control her enthusiasm. “Love.”

  Lefty chuckled. “You got it all figured out.”

  “Yep.”

  They drove for about a mile in silence before Layla asked, “Can we listen to some music, Daddy?”

  “More Parliament?”

  “I don't like Parliament very much,” said Layla.

  “Then what kind of music do you wanna hear?”

  She didn't hesitate, answering right away. “I wanna hear Al Green.”

  “You wanna listen to Al Green?”

  “I wanna hear 'Love and Happiness.' That's a good song, isn't it, Daddy?”

  “It sure is, Tator Tot.” He smiled proudly with the knowledge that he was raising the girl right. The fact that Layla requested Al Green on her own was a good sign. He picked up the case from the floor and opened it, removing the CD. He slid it into the stereo and a moment later “Tired of Being Alone” came to life, filling the car. “Love and Happiness,'” she reminded him. He preferred “Tired of Being Alone,” but skipped to track five per her request. The song began, and she sang along verbatim, stopping only to ask, “I sound as good as Al Green, don't I? Our voices really go together.”

  Lefty agreed with the assessment, and they continued driving.

  Lefty stopped the Caddy at a McDonalds in Springfield, and the two went inside for lunch. “Daddy,” Layla said, “can I have a Happy Meal?”

  Knowing full well the whole Happy Meal deal was a scam, Lefty frequently said no to this request. Today he was feeling good, perhaps inspired by the positivity of Al Green or maybe just feeling good about the trip, so he allowed Layla to get the Happy Meal. His positive response caused her to celebrate, and she was literally jumping up and down with excitement. “Chicken nuggets, Daddy,” she said. “With yogurt.”

  Of course he already knew all of this as Layla always requested the same thing, but he said nothing. When she didn't specifically point out that she wanted Hi-C to drink, he asked her if that's what she wanted, knowing full well it would be. And, of course, it was. He went to the counter and ordered the food. He then sat down with Layla, waiting less than two minutes for the food to be delivered to them.

  Lefty made quick work of his two cheeseburgers, eating them in the same peculiar manner he always had, which was to lay out seven or eight French fries on top of the patties and under the bun, then dipping the sandwich in barbecue sauce. Layla, per usual, ate her nuggets very slowly—Lefty would have sworn she was the slowest eater on the planet—without dipping sauce of any kind.

  “How far is it to Tulsa?” she asked.

  “We're close now,” he replied. “Only a couple more hours and we'll be there.”

  Layla nodded and went about eating her chicken nuggets, occasionally stopping for a sip of her Hi-C.

  When they were finished, she asked, “Now what?”

  “I figure we'll take a break for a bit. How does that sound?”

  “That sounds good,” said Layla. “Can we go to the park?”

  “I don't know where the park is here.”

  She made a disappointed face, playing him like a fiddle. “Please, Daddy.” As was most often the case, she succeeded in playing to his desire to please her and he said sure. They drove a block down the street to the Get-It-Quick gas station, where Lefty asked for directions to the nearest park. He was directed to a place called Jordan Valley Park, which was only a few minutes away. They went to the park and Lefty sat on a picnic table and watched Layla swing and play.

  Finally, after a half hour had passed, he called her over. She sat down beside him and the two of them read a chapter from Stephen King's Pet Sematary, which they had been reading for the past week. Today they were reading about a zombie named “Paxcow” who had returned to pay a visit to the book's protagonist, Louis Creed. Once Lefty and Layla finished the chapter, he closed the book. “That's it for today, Tator Tot.”

  “That was scary,” she said solemnly. “Don't you think so, Daddy? Wasn't that scary?”

  “Sure, it's scary,” he conceded. “That's why we read it—to get scared.”

  “Really?” She considered this for a moment. “Why?”

  “Why what?”

  “Why would we wanna get scared? Isn't that silly?”

  Lefty grinned. “No, it's fun being scared. Don't you think?”

  “I guess.” She nodded and accepted his assertion unquestioningly.

  He looked at her. “Wanna go shoot?”

  Her eyes got big and her face lit up. “Really? I get to shoot?”

  “Sure.”

  “The Glock 23, Daddy?”

  As always, he sought to please her. “Of course,” he said. “The Glock 23.”

  He then drove out of town onto the highway in search of an out-of-the-way road they might take to get to a secluded area where they could shoot. It took a couple of bad turns resulting in subpar locations, but finally, on the third try, Lefty found a suitable road that was off-the-beaten-path. After driving a ways away from the highway, he then made another turn, now completely out in the country, ensuring they would be smack dab in the middle of nowhere.

  Once he was satisfied with the location, Lefty stopped the car. They climbed out and he retrieved some empty Coke cans and the previous night's empty Jack Daniels bottle from the trunk. He sat them on wooden fence posts, and then returned to the gravel road.

  “Can I hold the Glock, Daddy?” asked Layla.

  “In a minute,” he said. “Daddy's gonna shoot first.”

/>   He raised the pistol, leveling it, and fired on the whiskey bottle, shattering it.

  “Now my turn!”

  Lefty walked around behind her, put his arms around hers, and the two of them reached out towards the empty Coke can. Even though he was behind her and couldn't see it, he knew, knowing this child as he did, that Layla was smiling big from ear to ear.

  “Breathe in and out, slowly,” he said. “Okay…breathe out. Slowly.” She did as he instructed. “Now this time,” he said, “we're gonna squeeze the trigger when we get to the end of that breath, okay?”

  “Okay, Daddy.”

  The little girl calmly did what she'd been told to do, squeezing the trigger when she exhaled. The gun fired, making only a zip sound as it was muffled by a silencer. The shot went right, missing the can.

  Layla slumped, disappointed. Lefty knew she was about to cry, so he cut her off, comforting her before the tears could come. “It's okay, Tator Tot,” he said. “Everybody misses sometimes.”

  She twisted her head around to look at him. “Even you, Daddy?”

  “Even me,” he said, lying. “And you're still just learning. You're gonna get better every day.”

  “I will?”

  “You absolutely will,” he said. “You wanna try again?”

  The little girl became animated once more, nodding excitedly. “Yes, please.”

  He stood behind her again, putting his arms over hers, and the two of them aimed the pistol, training it on the can. “Breathe in slowly,” he said, then telling her, “now breathe out.” When she reached the end of her exhalation, they squeezed the trigger again, this time hitting the can, which shot back into the high grass behind the post.

  Layla got excited. “I hit it, Daddy! I hit the can!”

  He took the pistol back from her, saying, “You did good, Tator Tot. You did real good.”

  Two

  Tulsa City Limits

  It was just after five when they arrived in Tulsa. They were driving on Memorial when Lefty saw a Popeyes restaurant. Chicken sounded good and he was hungry. He pulled into the parking lot. Layla looked up from her tablet, curious about what was happening. “Why are we here, Daddy?”