Transcontinental

by Brad Cook

  Jordan clapped twice. “Here, girl! Let’s go.”

  Sheila’s old legs strained as she stood, then she tenderly slid off the seat. Rubbing up against Jordan, she followed him to the rear of the cabin. He slid his arms under her and lifted her onto the bed. She circled and sat at the far end. Jordan curled up with her on his side, then closed the curtain.

  “Wake me up in Folsom!”

  In the driver’s seat, Ant turned on the radio and static floated out of the speakers. Leroy moved up front, too.

  “I have not driven in years, but I believe I am still better equipped to do so than Jordan is currently,” Ant said as he scanned the stations and settled on mellow classic rock. He increased the volume just loud enough to drown out their voices, but not too loud to keep Jordan awake.

  “Why’d you make that poor dog move?”

  “I am a cat person,” Ant replied flatly, looking out the window for a gap in traffic. “Now you get to be a big boy and sit in the front seat. Besides, there is something I must speak to you about.”

  “You keep saying that. Just spill it all, get it over with.”

  “You cannot visit your father in prison.”

  Leroy was taken aback. “You gonna stop me?”

  “I do not have to. The law will.”

  Ant pulled into traffic and accelerated hard.

  “What d’you mean?”

  “You are a minor, and need adult accompaniment to visit an inmate.”

  Uncertainty rocked him, steadily giving way to the realization that Ant was right. Minors couldn’t do anything alone. How could he have been so stupid?

  “Wait, you could come with me. Couldn’t you?”

  Ant stared off. “Yes, but you run the risk of being caught regardless.”

  “No, I told you I didn’t run—”

  “I assume Ms. Stacey is a state-appointed caretaker of some sort?”

  “Yeah. Foster care.”

  Ant winced. “You know she is required to report you, right?”

  “She won’t know yet. I got till friday!”

  Ant motioned for Leroy to keep it down. “I would be willing to bet that you are already in the system as a runaway.”

  Dammit. Why did this have to be so difficult? It seemed like every time he made progress, some tiny detail came along and halted it.

  “I have decided to speak to him for you,” Ant noted.

  And there it was. Leroy’s way out. All he needed was a name. It didn’t matter who went in to get it. “All I need is her name.”

  “And I will get it for you,” Ant assured him, weaving the huge camper between cars and lanes like it was a Ferrari.

  Chapter 4

  Folsom, CA

  Jordan held the steering wheel with one hand, using the other to rub his bleary, bloodshot eyes as he watched Ant and Leroy exit the van.

  “I hope the radio did not keep you awake,” Ant said.

  “You kidding?” he chuckled. “I had the sultry sounds of the Steve Miller Band to lull me to sleep. Sheila isn’t their biggest fan, though.”

  Ant smiled and looked down. “Give Sheila my sincerest apologies.”

  Through the open passenger window, Leroy scratched Sheila right in front of the tail. She pointed her nose in the air and kicked her legs out. He’d known her less than an hour, but Leroy already knew he’d miss her.

  “Where’re you headed next?” Leroy inquired.

  “Dunno. That’s what makes it exciting,” Jordan said, fluttering his eyebrows.

  There was a contentedness in Jordan’s face, his eyes, that sent jealousy through Leroy. Here was true freedom. Just a man and his dog, doing what they wanted, when they wanted. One way or another, Leroy decided, he was going to find his own true freedom. But there were more pressing matters at hand.

  “Thanks again for the lift. Make sure to stop and get a good night of sleep at some point,” Ant said. “If only to reassure Leroy and I.”

  Nodding, Jordan put the blocky camper into gear.

  Leroy begrudgingly pulled his hand away from Sheila. “Bye girl.”

  “Be safe!” Ant called out as the van pulled away, leaving them with nothing more than two honks of a dying horn.

  Ant shook his head with pity as the van faded from sight. “Such self-destructive tendencies. That man is heavily depressed.”

  Leroy furrowed his brow. He had Jordan pegged for just about the happiest man on earth. The guy had everything. “How do you mean?”

  “He had not slept in three days, yet has kept himself occupied by driving non-stop. He is practically begging for a car accident.”

  “I think he was just tired. Probably had too much fun.”

  “Well yes, he was tired, but it is more than that. He is weary.”

  Leroy considered this for a moment, but as soon as he turned around and saw the guard tower in the distance—tall, green, pointed, like a witch’s hat—all thoughts of Jordan and Sheila melted away.

  Ant had insisted Jordan drop them off far outside the prison. They stood in the Folsom City Zoo parking lot, a giant elephant sign with googly eyes beckoning them inside. Leroy wished he could oblige.

  Ant scanned the surroundings, walking like Sherlock Holmes in the old black-and-white TV series, leaning forward with his hands together behind his back. All he needed was the Deerstalker hat and Calabash pipe. Leroy let out a stale laugh.

  Once they had circled the perimeter of the zoo, Ant scowled, then continued down the road. Leroy wanted to ask him what he was looking for, but with each step he took, he felt more sheepish, a turtle without a shell in which to hide. Speaking seemed like a monumental task at the moment.

  They strolled around the public library and Folsom community center to the same result. Continuing down the road, Ant glanced at the local police station and said “No need to go near that.” Leroy agreed.

  A hospital emerged ahead of them, its white walls bright in the unrelenting sunlight. As Ant noticed it, he clapped his hands together and sped up. “Bound to be one there.” Leroy had to jog to keep up with his long stride.

  By the time they reached the grounds of the Kindred Sacramento Hospital, Leroy was out of breath. Ant wasn’t, and began a sweep of the facility like a hound sniffing out its target. He rounded the front of the hospital, consternation on his face, then moved out toward the parking lot until at last he seemed to have found what he was looking for.

  “Ah-hah!” he said, pointing to a pay phone. He hurried over and set his bag down, then rummaged through it haphazardly, occasionally tossing out an old food wrapper or a particularly worn out sock. Finally he let out a sigh, closed the bag, gathered up the discarded materials, and pocketed them.

  “What’re you looking for?”

  “Something to write with and on. A napkin and a crayon, for all I care.”

  “I got that.”

  “Crayons?”

  “Will a pen work?”

  Ant pretended to pout. “I suppose.”

  Leroy fished the materials out of his bag.

  “Thank you,” Ant replied, and held the paper against the broad side of the pay phone as he scribbled down a phone number. “My memory is not what it was, and I dare not leave this to chance. And what is your father’s name?”

  “Roy. Smiley.”

  “I think I can remember that,” Ant said, pocketing the paper.

  “Can we get going now?” Leroy asked, afraid again that desperation was creeping into his voice. The situation was an emotional ball and chain, and as soon as it passed, the real journey could begin, however distant the destination.

  “I will go. You will wait here.”

  “Why? Isn’t there a waiting room or something?”

  “Perhaps. Even if there is, it is likely after the check-in point, which, if you recall, would defeat the purpose of you not coming.”

  “So, what, I just wait here?”

  “Please.”

  “Fine. They probably got a TV in there, anyway.”

  “No,
no. You must wait here. In this spot, by the phone.”

  “What? Why?”

  “I will tell you when I call.”

  “But it’s hot as hell out here!”

  “Trust me.”

  “I don’t know if I do!”

  “Calm down. If you want the information you seek, you must allow me to get it the only way I know how. And that entails you awaiting my call.”

  Leroy crossed his arms, scowling.

  “I know it seems unorthodox, but believe me. I will explain later.”

  Leroy glanced around. “Fine. I’m sitting over there, though.” He pointed to a bench in the shade beneath the hospital’s awning.

  Ant rubbed his stubbly chin a moment, then relented. “That is acceptable.”

  Leroy headed to the bench, muttering under his breath. “Better be.”

  “Leroy!” Ant yelled out from behind him.

  He turned to see Ant striding toward him.

  “Promise me one thing.”

  “Look I told you, I’m not waiting out here if I can’t sit on the bench.”

  “Promise me you will always choose option B. Choose freedom.”

  Looking at him askance, Leroy said “Yeah. Okay. Whatever.”

  “It is all that matters,” Ant pleaded.

  “Do me a favor. Ask him why he didn’t come. To the funeral.”

  Ant nodded, handing Leroy his bag.

  “See ya,” Leroy said, and continued to the bench without turning back.

  * * *

  See ya. Leroy’s two final words played over and over in Ant’s mind. The same two words the boy had probably spoken to friends upon departing their company, perhaps leaving school. He wondered if Leroy thought of him as a friend. It didn’t matter now.

  He watched the boy plod away under the weight of their two bags and lay on the bench, hugging his backpack, knees in the air, eyes closed. It dawned on Ant that it might be quite a while before he could truly relax in such a manner again. Ant headed toward the prison.

  He wanted to question his decision, to take back what he’d said about visiting Roy in prison. Hell, he could just run to the highway and hitch a ride back to Sacramento, then catch out from there.

  But Ant didn’t have it in him to do that. If life had taught him anything thus far, it was that he was an option B kind of guy. Like Leroy. Ant doubted the boy really meant it when he said it, not deep down. He couldn’t know for sure at such a young age. Ant, however, saw it clear as day. Leroy was a wanderer. It was in their blood, and impossible to escape. He’d find out soon enough.

  Back on the main road, he peered at the prison through the distant trees. The rattle of a diesel engine hummed behind him, and he turned to see a white bus, bars over the windows, pass by. In big red letters on the side, it said ‘Folsom City Prison—One way, no return.’

  Ant almost wished he could just hop on and get it over with. He stepped off the blacktop onto the grass beside the road, a pleasant cushiness softening his step. Might as well take in nature while he could. He curved away from the road and headed toward the tree line. It was a more direct route, anyway.

  Hadn’t he always said that life is about experiences? If nothing else, it was a digression from the life he’d been living for the past decade. At least it would be fresh. At least it would be new.

  Strangely enough, as the prison loomed larger in the distance, a sense of serenity overcame Ant, bolstered by the beauty of the foliage around him. He was doing the right thing. Antoine Bevilacqua was the past, and he knew it. Leroy Smiley was the future. Ant missed desperately helping to shape the minds of the future. By doing this he could get some of that back, if indirectly.

  The juxtaposition of the forest and the prison amused Ant. They were exact opposites; one was natural, unrestricted, owing its existence entirely to the freedom to grow at will, while the other was man-made, enclosed, and upheld the tightest of regulations.

  They had one thing in common, Ant mused. They were both born of chaos.

  Maybe he’d write a book. Plenty of lesser people had done it. Skinheads, murderers, Voltaire… If Hitler could write a book, why couldn’t he?

  Hitler had the advantage of a pure, burning hatred to fuel him, though. Ant had purged himself of those feelings long ago.In the trees, birds sang of freedom, or at least that’s what Ant imagined they were singing about. Nature was really trying to drive the point home.

  The hospital, and Leroy, were long out of sight as he glanced back. Ahead, trees blocked out the prison, and for a minute Ant pretended he was taking a leisurely stroll. Then, as he emerged from the forest, it came back into view, a fence of stone topped with concertina wire towering before him.

  Ant stopped and took a moment, sighing, before dragging himself over to the main building. Without thinking twice, he stepped inside.

  For a prison, the place was rather inviting. A blue and white berber carpet lined the floor, with wooden furniture in light hues and informational posters plastered onto the walls. A plump woman with brown hair growing in gray at the roots and an abundance of blush typed busily at the front desk.

  “Good morning. Visitor’s center, please,” Ant said.

  Eyes still on the computer monitor, she pointed to a sign on the wall, typing with one hand in the absence of the other. “Follow the arrows.”

  Ant obliged.

  * * *

  Leroy didn’t know how long he’d been laying on the bench, as he’d been drifting in and out of a light sleep, but if the amount of sweat dripping off him was any indication, it must’ve been a while.

  He’d been tired a lot more than usual recently, he noticed, but he chalked it up to mental, not to mention physical, exhaustion. The upheaval of his old life was bound to take a toll, and if all it cost him was a nap now and then, well, that would be just about best-case-scenario.

  Sleeping while he waited for a phone call wasn’t the smartest idea, but whatever; he didn’t understand why Ant had to call him, anyway. If he missed the call, he’d just get the information when Ant got back, which for his hydration’s sake, he hoped would be soon. How long could it take to drag a name and maybe an address out of the man? Even if that man was Roy Smiley.

  Occasionally Leroy had glanced around in a half-asleep stupor and caught the receptionist glaring at him through the glass doors of the hospital, which ordinarily would’ve caused him to leave for fear of getting yelled at, but at the moment it didn’t bother him. He was still blissfully consumed by the fact that he didn’t have to see his father. It was the one aspect of the trip that had troubled him above all others, and as if by magic it was wiped off his to-do list. He could hardly believe it still. Should be smooth sailing from here, he thought.

  He felt so empowered, in fact, that he decided he was going to go right inside and ask if they had a water cooler. Hospitals had those, right? Sick people would certainly appreciate a cool glass of water, he figured.

  Leroy slung the bag over his shoulder and made for the door.

  * * *

  “Photo identification, please.”

  The security guard at the visitor’s center, another full-figured woman nearly as tall as he was, which oddly enough, Ant found attractive, held her hand out to him. He examined it, lost in the paper-thin grooves of her palm and the slender curves of her fingers, then snapped out of it and forked over his ID. Not the best time for his weakness for women to rear its head.

  She glanced alternately at Ant and his driver’s license, typed his name into the system, then handed the card back to him. “And Social Security.”

  Ant recited the numbers with which he’d been born, as the woman’s blue and white swirled fingernails, perhaps to match the office decor, clacked on the keyboard. He shifted his weight, standing before his very own Saint Peter. Unlike heaven, entering wasn’t the hard part—the problem was leaving.

  The guard scanned the screen as Ant awaited for the inevitable response of hostility that would begin the long process of his incarceration. Th
us, he wasn’t at all surprised when she lifted her gaze from the screen and planted it firmly on his face, giving him a full-on stink-eye. Better get used to it, he thought. It would likely prove to be the kindest look anyone would give him for years.

  His serene calm had dissipated into numb anticipation. He had to admit, though, that he was looking forward to meeting his cellmate. He wasn’t sure if prisoners got cellmates at Folsom, but he hoped so. Even a hulking murderer who liked to cuddle forcibly would be better than solitude.

  “And who are you here to see, Mr. Bevilacqua?”

  He wanted to tell her not to call him mister, that he didn’t deserve the title, that no one really deserved that title, but decided to forego it. He’d learned to choose his battles, and though he wished to engage her in conversation regardless of the subject, he knew being a smart ass wouldn’t get him anywhere. Perhaps he could do a little sweet talking if they ever crossed paths, maybe during his brief daily allotment of free time.

  “Roy Smiley,” Ant replied, feeling old.

  “That son of a bitch?” The guard snorted. “Good luck.”

  He’d been so focused on his own impending lockup that he’d practically forgotten why he was there. He was going to meet Leroy’s father. He looked forward to seeing where the boy came from, even if he was a son of a bitch. The notion brought a bit of feeling back to him.

  A loud buzz shot through the hallway, and the door opened. Ant stepped through, and another guard wrapped a paper bracelet around his right wrist.

  “Does this indicate that I am old enough to buy alcohol?”

  The guard didn’t find Ant’s joke amusing. Taking care to stay in front, the man silently led him down the hall. On the walls were pictures of wardens and other executives of the prison dating back nearly a century. The vast majority of them were old and white and male, Ant noticed as he passed. How perfectly fitting. He stared hard at the image of Rick Hill, the current warden, a clean cut man years younger than him. Better get used to that face.

  * * *

  Leroy shivered as a gulp of water cold enough to make his teeth ache splashed down his throat. It felt like it’d been forever since he had a drink that wasn’t warmer than room temperature.