His shoulders hunched forward and his arms drew in like a turtle shrinking into its shell. “I don’t pay any attention to that. It’s not real.”
“Not real? They melt like sherbet every time you walk by.”
He laughed. “You sound like Bud. Maybe it’s genetic.”
“Seriously, Rod. They’re all crazy about you.”
“That’s only because they don’t know me. If they knew me, it would be different. So I don’t pay attention.”
“Who exactly are they’re confusing you with?”
He hesitated. “You know …that guy. The one who’s confident and cool. I’m not what they want.”
“But you’re confident and cool.”
He cast a skeptical glance at me.
“Except for the giggling-when-you’re-nervous thing …and having panic attacks in the van before a shoot …and probably lay off the Star Trek references.”
“Exactly.” Rod drained the remainder of the pink liquid from his glass.
“Hey, the football game’s starting.” The old man sitting down the bar from us pointed at a TV mounted above him. “Turn it on. The Patriots are playing the Falcons.”
The bartender reached up and turned the channel to KKRN, our main competitors. On the TV a bright logo animation accompanied by intense yet uplifting music led into a wide shot of their anchor desk.
“What’s this?” the old man complained. “That’s news. I wanted the football game.”
I gripped Rod’s arm. “The police may have released our pictures.”
The bartender spoke patiently to the old man. “They must have shown the West Coast game. You want to watch the news or should I turn it off?”
“Turn it off,” Rod called down the bar. “I’ll play more music from the jukebox.”
The old man raised a hand toward the television. “No, I need my sports scores.”
The bartender smiled and handed the man a candy cane from the jar. “How about you watch, but only until you get your scores. That’s a good compromise.”
I started to step off the stool. “We should go.”
Rod stopped me. “I haven’t paid. Running out now will only draw more attention to us.”
The television-picture cross faded to a two-shot of the KKRN ten-o’clock anchors. “Good evening, Kern County, thanks for being with us.” The male anchor’s voice quickly changed gears to somber and serious. “Tonight we have breaking developments in last night’s shocking murder. Sources in the Kern County Sheriff’s Department are indicating members of our rival station, KJAY, are wanted for questioning in last night’s gruesome homicide.”
I closed my eyes and tightened my hold on Rod.
“We’ll bring you the developments as they unfold.”
I exhaled and opened my eyes. Rod looked even more relieved than I felt.
“And in other news”—the female anchor took over from her partner—“we’ve obtained exclusive video of additional shocking behavior from the KJAY news staff.”
Our heads shot back to the TV. “You’re looking at amateur video taken this morning at Drillers stadium by the mother of the girl you see here.” The anchor’s voice continued over handheld video of the little sick girl throwing out the first pitch. “The girl is blind and was the Drillers’ special guest of honor this morning.”
I cringed when the grainy image swung around to reveal me squatting next to the camera and tripod. I wore the blue jacket that even now sat next to me on the bar stool. At least I had my back to the camera and my face wasn’t visible.
“That’s you, isn’t it?” Rod asked quietly. “What happened this morning?”
“The fun came to a sudden and disturbing stop,” the anchor continued, “during an interview with our rival station KJAY.”
“No, no, no,” I chanted under my breath.
The anchor’s voice was slow and deliberate. “We warn you the following images are difficult to watch.”
The entire bar stared as my hand reached for the baseball. I heard my own voice coming out of the television, and I knew it sounded normal to everyone else, but to me it reverberated in the deep distortion of slow motion.
“Caaaaaaaaaaaaatch.” My arm pulled back and the ball went sailing. I think Rod may have said something, probably a swear, but all I could hear was the monstrous pounding of my heart.
The ball made contact and the little sick girl fell over.
Sounds of shock and outrage came not just from the bartender and the old man, but also the crowd in the corner. Several of them stood and pointed at the TV.
“Did you see that?” one of them shouted.
The old man slammed his fist down on the bar. “That’s evil. Pure evil.”
Even the bartender, who had seemed so nice and mellow, looked ready to join a lynching mob. “How about the way she taunted that little angel. Telling the poor kid to catch it.”
“What were you thinking?” Rod whispered. “The kid’s blind.”
The image on the television was now sideways and on the ground because the mother had dropped the camera, but the audio track still ran. The little sick girl’s sobbing filled the bar.
Rod eyed me with a mixture of shock and suspicion.
I grabbed his arm. “It was all a misunderstanding. I thought she could catch it.”
Behind us the party in the corner was getting more and more worked up.
“They should lock that witch up so she can’t attack anymore cripples,” shouted a man.
“The kid wasn’t even hurt,” I explained to Rod. “The mom was fine with it.”
“I only wish we could’ve seen her face,” said the bartender. “’Cause if she ever comes in here, I’m going to do more than spit in her drink.”
“I believe you,” Rod whispered. “But if they show your face and these people recognize you, I’m going to be the only one who does.”
Rod put an arm around me and turned to the bartender. “We sure wish we could get our hands on her.”
“You’re all a bunch of talk,” a woman threatened from the corner table. “If you were real men, you’d go down to that TV station and do something about it.”
“She’s right.”
“Let’s go down there.”
The bartender grabbed his head as if in agony. “If only we knew her name or what she looked like.”
The entire room turned to the television. Someone had picked up the camera from the grass and, judging from the height and angle of the picture, didn’t realize it was on.
The old man stood up and waved an angry fist at the TV. “Show her face, show her face.”
The crowd in the corner joined his chant.
As if answering an angry and drunk prayer, the camera swung upward and stopped on a low and crooked close-up of my face.
SIXTEEN
We have yet to identify this particular KJAY employee or discover if the mother of the victim will file charges for assault.” The anchor’s voice radiated with the kind of disgust reserved for war criminals and child murderers.
“Everybody take a good look.” A man in the back stood and pointed at my frozen image on the monitor. “That’s the face of evil.”
“El diablo, el diablo,” a woman chanted.
The bartender turned away from the TV, and I knew it was all over. He was going to see me, seconds after looking at my image, and he’d have to make the connection. Frantically I tried to find somewhere to hide, but short of ducking under the barstool there was nothing.
Rod looked at me. Helpless panic spread all over his face. I don’t know what terrified him more, our situation or what he was about to do. In any case, he took me completely by surprise.
I felt arms tighten around my waist and his body move toward me. I tried to ask what he was doing, but he swooped down and covered my mouth with his. His tender and intimate kiss sent a shock of sensation through me. My arms instinctively reached for his body. My hands moved slowly along his back exploring the surprisingly hard muscles under the expen
sive fabric.
An awkward quiet descended on the room and I knew everyone was watching us.
“Hey, bartender? Is that on the menu?” a man asked.
“I’ll have some of what she’s having,” a woman added.
Laughter erupted from every person in the room. In the background the anchor’s voice changed from somber outrage to giddy fun: “And in other news …”
“You mind gettin’ your tongue out of my niece’s mouth?”
Rod pulled away, but I kept my face buried in his chest. I saw Bud’s bare legs standing nearby.
“Cut the lovebirds some slack,” the bartender said. “You’re embarrassing them.”
Rod put his arm around me and further blocked my face from view. “Glad you made it, Bud. We were worried about you. But I guess you know how to take care of yourself.”
“Sure as the world, son. Sure as the world.”
“Maybe we should get out of here,” I mumbled into Rod’s chest.
He turned to the bartender. “How much do I owe you?”
“Fifteen.”
Rod paid while still managing to hold on to me. “Keep the change.”
The three of us exited the bar in silence. Rod kept his arm around me, but once inside the main dining room, I pulled away and turned to Bud. “They showed my picture on TV. Not about the murder, but it was bad. Rod was trying to hide my face.”
Bud nodded. “Then we’d better get a move on.”
Rod gestured to a sign marked RESTROOMS above a hallway next to the kitchen. “You two go ahead. I’ll be right out.”
Bud and I walked to the car and got in. Before he could quiz me about Rod, I said, “We got Sinclair’s phone number and found out what Sonoran Fancy is.” Bud didn’t react. “It’s a kind of almond, and the stolen ones belonged to Leland Warner.”
“Sounds like you two been busy.” Bud reached into his pocket for his lighter. “I called my fella again. We’re pickin’ up the new car later at Zingo’s—around eleven.” He lit a cigarette and blew out a cloud of smoke.
I resisted the urge to yank the cigarette out of his mouth. “Bud, this smoking thing is really bad.”
He laughed.
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.” He flicked some ash out the window. “It’s a real serious habit of mine.”
I made disapproving sounds, but let it go. “Is Zingo’s the truck stop across from the Crystal Palace?”
Bud nodded.
“That’s not exactly a secluded spot.”
“First rule of bein’ on the run, hide in plain sight.” He took a long drag on the cigarette and unleashed the noxious fumes. “Besides, I got a hankerin’ for a chicken-fried steak, and Zingo’s makes the best.”
“I can’t sit in this car while you smoke.” I reached for the door.
“Where you goin’?”
I paused. “Back inside.”
“Maybe not such a bright idea considerin’ your picture was just on TV.”
“I’m not going in the bar. I’ll come out when Roddy …”
Bud raised his eyebrows.
“ …when Rod’s ready to go and you’re done with that cancer stick.”
Bud chuckled. “If you want more time alone with the fella, why don’t you just say so?”
“If I did, I would, but I don’t.” I got out and slammed the door.
Truthfully, I did want time alone with Rod, but not for the reason Bud thought. The opposite, actually. I had to make sure Rod didn’t get the wrong idea about the kiss, and the sooner we had that conversation the better.
I walked back in. The hostess greeted me with the same friendly smile. “You want a cup of coffee at the counter or something?”
“I won’t be here long enough.” I gestured to the hallway where the restrooms were. “I’m just waiting for my friend.”
“Might be longer than you think. He’s on the phone now.”
I froze. “What?”
She pointed to an alcove on the opposite side of the kitchen. “He’s over there. Asked me where the pay phones were right after you left.”
I felt all the energy drain from my body. “Thanks.” I moved my legs, but it felt like running in sand. I knew what I’d find as though it had already happened. I took the last few steps and he came into view.
Rod, his face pinched and tense, spoke into the pay phone. “I told you she isn’t going for it. I have the tape and I’m prepared to negotiate, but you’ll have to come and get her yourself.” He listened, then nodded. “We’re at the Top Hat Café in Arvin. Her uncle is driving an old maroon Plymouth Fury.”
My legs moved backward, as if on autopilot, until I could no longer see him. Then I turned and walked out. I don’t remember getting to the car.
“Drive.” I slammed the door shut and pushed down on the old-fashioned lock.
Bud sat up. “But Rod’s still—”
“Drive now.”
Bud started the car. “Freeway or back roads?”
“I don’t know. Just get out of here.”
Bud made a right at the road.
After we’d gone a few blocks Bud took the cigarette out of his mouth and checked his mirrors. “Okay. We’re flown. You gonna spill it?”
“He’s been playing me …us. He’s been playing us.”
Bud’s voice was skeptical instead of outraged. “Rod?”
“Yes, Rod. He was on the phone with whoever he’s working for.”
He glanced from the road to me. “You heard him?”
“Yes. I heard the actual words coming out of his lying, scumbag mouth. He was cutting a deal to deliver me and the tape, which he now has because I was stupid enough to trust him with it.”
“Are you sure, ’cause he seemed—”
My hand flew out and landed on the seat between us. “I told you, that’s what he does. He makes people like him and then he uses them.”
Bud tossed his cigarette out the window. “You should get out of town.”
“No. We should pick up the car at Zingo’s, and then I should record Sinclair, and then we should go to the police and get his butt locked up, and when all of that is taken care of, I should go find Rod and beat the living …”
A new realization hit me. I lowered my head and cradled it in my hands. “I don’t believe it.”
Bud eyed me warily. “What now?”
I closed my eyes, counted to ten. “I have the camera, but Rod has the phone number.”
“That fella Sinclair’s?”
I nodded.
“That’s it then, Little Sister. It’s over. You got no tape. You got no way of gettin’ other proof. Your picture was on TV for somethin’ else bad.” While keeping one hand on the steering wheel, Bud pulled another cigarette out of his pocket. “You have got to get out of town.” He put it in his mouth and lit up.
He was right, of course. I was radioactive. Multiple bad guys, the police, and now a lynching mob of little-sick-kid groupies were all after me. But if I was going down, I wanted it to be in the middle of a fight and not running away with my tail between my legs.
I reached across the seat, ripped the cigarette out of Bud’s mouth, and threw it out the window. “You shouldn’t smoke …and I’m only saying this once. I’m not getting run out of my town by a jackass like Sinclair and a scumbag like Rod and a harpy like that kid’s mother. This will absolutely not end that way.”
Bud frowned. “What harpy mother? You’re bowed up so bad you’re not thinkin’ straight.”
“It’s too hard to explain right now, but she’s a bad person who exploits her kid. She and Sinclair are made for each …”
At first Bud didn’t say anything. His eyes swung from the road as he stole a frightened glance at me, but he remained silent. Finally, in a weary voice he said, “Lilly?”
“We have to go back to Bakersfield. I know how to find Sinclair.”
“Are you sure this is the place?” Bud looked up and down the street. “All these houses look the same to me.”
“I’m sure.” I pointed to the large, modern-looking complex on our right. “They live around the corner from Bimat Elementary, next to the lake. I remember because it’s named after my principal when we lived in Oildale.” I gestured to the stop sign ahead of us. “You can pull over here.”
“Why?”
“In case there’s trouble waiting for me, I don’t want you dragged into it.”
Bud ignored me and turned the corner. A small man-made lake appeared. It was the chief amenity of this neighborhood in trendy northwest Bakersfield. “No doin’. If you’re goin’ over the cliff on a wild hog, I might as well follow.”
“Bud …”
“No doin’, Little Sister. Besides, you’re not exactly on level ground. Mad as you are, you’re likely to go off and crap a bug with a button on its collar.”
I pointed at a peach-colored house two down from the corner. A series of decorative lights led up its walkway, and a ladybug flag hung next to the garage. “That’s it.”
Bud pulled the car into the driveway. I got out and made a beeline for the front door.
I rang the bell. From somewhere in the house chimes played “There’s No Place Like Home.” When I didn’t get an immediate response, I began pounding my fist into the door. My hand began to hurt, but I continued.
“I think after all that poundin’ maybe they got an inklin’ you’re out here,” Bud said behind me.
Before I could reply, the door opened.
At first I didn’t recognize her. The woman standing before me was so far removed from the chipper, fashionable publicity hound I knew and despised that I thought we were at the wrong house.
But she recognized me. “I guess you’re here about the video I sold to the other TV station.”
I shook my head. “Actually I need to get in touch with Tom Sinclair, but since you brought it up …” Barely suppressed anger bubbled up around my words. “How about that video?”
Her hand clutched the top of her faded denim shirt as though she were trying to keep the cold night air out. “It’s very simple. They paid me for it and my daughter needed the money.”
“Your daughter needed the money?” The echo of my voice reverberated across the neighborhood.
“That’s right.”
“Lilly, you goin’ to introduce me?” Bud’s lips spread into a half-smile and his forehead rose. His expression was unremarkable, but the effect on his overall face was amazing. The skin seemed to stretch itself out, removing wrinkles and making him look twenty years younger.
A Bad Day’s Work Page 18