Young Americans

by Josh Stallings

  • • •

  She spent the rest of the day on the phone calling rockers. New Year’s Eve was a hard night to find a decent singer.

  CHAPTER 12

  * * *

  “You can’t trust anybody, not even yourself.” —Pat Garrett & Billy the Kid

  As her plan came together it became clear she would need a demolition man. “I’m thinking of calling Jinks.”

  “No,” Valentina said. “You two are a bad combination.”

  “That was years ago.”

  “You broke his heart.”

  “He broke mine. He was embarrassed to be seen in Chinatown with a gwai lo.”

  “My fab little bunny, it doesn’t mater who did who. Do you want to trust him not to blow you up?”

  “I trust him. Set it up, please.”

  “Please? Oh you must want and or need him.”

  “For the gig, sister, the gig. Period.”

  “Whatever you say.”

  • • •

  Walking into the Golden Pot, Sam spotted Jinks instantly. He was leaning against a fish tank. Black jeans, black Converse high tops, a skintight black Velvet Underground tee shirt that showed every rippling muscle. Sam heard herself gasp, then reeled it in. She strutted to him, keeping her sunglasses on.

  “Jinks.”

  “Sam. You look good, always did.”

  “So do you.” They just kept staring at each other. The chemistry was undeniable. Finally Sam broke the moment with a laugh. “You want to fight or fuck or talk business?”

  Jinks let out a laugh, shaking his head. “Man, I missed you.” He held up his left hand, a gold wedding band caught the light.

  “So that leaves fight or do business, right?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Don’t give a girl hope and leave her hanging.”

  “Business first.” He led her into a back room and closed the door. She could smell his scent. She reminded herself to get this done and move on before something bad happened. And it would end bad. Besides, she didn’t do married men.

  “What’s the gig?”

  “Your part is to blow up a Pinto.”

  “A Pinto? Couldn’t I just rear-end it?”

  “Cute. It needs to go up in flames but not hurt any bystanders.”

  “A controlled burn.”

  “Exactly. A distraction.”

  “What’s the job?”

  “You get an equal split. Your take could be two grand.”

  “Could be? I need a guarantee that two is the floor.”

  “A guarantee?”

  “Sorry, doll, way it is.” He added a wink, trying to come off more cool and less desperate.

  “You don’t want in . . .” Sam said, shrugging.

  “I didn’t say that. What’s the job? You can trust me.”

  Sam looked at his face, searching for any changes, found none. “Taxi Dancer, we’re taking down the disco New Year’s Eve.”

  “Oh, bad fucking idea. I hear it’s mobbed up.”

  “Gossip. One of the owners is a closet case, who happens to be related to Jimmy the Hat.”

  “Mobbed up.”

  “No macho Italians are going to be involved with a gay disco. If Maurizio gives us any shit I’ll threaten to tell his uncle he’s a rump ranger who takes black dick up the ass.”

  “You kiss your moms with that mouth?”

  “No, but I used to kiss you with it.”

  He grabbed a handful of her hair and pulled her face to his. The kiss was a lightning strike, electric, and it just kept going. Sam couldn’t have pulled away if she wanted to. His tongue danced into her mouth and she sucked, pulling it deeper. Without stopping the kiss, he lifted her easily onto the table. She had forgotten how strong his hands felt on her waist. She heard him unzip his jeans, felt him lift her skirt and push her panties to the side. She was wet. Ready. He entered her fully in one thrust. She groaned as he pounded in and out. It was furious, a mixture of rage and lust. He came in minutes, ending the kiss with a grunt. He withdrew and zipped up. He left her sitting on the table and started to leave.

  “This, um, this mean . . .” Her voice was rough and raspy. “Are you in?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “I have to pick my kid up at Ma’s. Kimmy is working at her father’s shop.”

  “Kimmy? Cute Kimmy? Bleached blonde pageboy Kimmy?”

  “Hair is black again. I have missed you.” Then he was gone, leaving Sam to clean herself in the women’s room. Looking in the mirror, she wondered who was staring back at her.

  • • •

  “You boned Jinks fucking Kang?”

  “Yes, little brother, I did. Gonna shoot me?” They were driving back from the city. Jacob had stood lookout in an alley across from the Golden Pot, in case Jinks set them up. It was a long shot, but long shots got you just as bad as sure shots.

  “Might shoot him.” He’d taken to carrying the .38 wherever he went. He took it out of his pea coat pocket, spun it once then returned it.

  “Don’t. We need him for the score.”

  “You brought Jinks fucking Kang into the score?”

  “Why did you think I was meeting him?”

  “I don’t know, catching up, fuck do I know.”

  “We need an explosion. He’s the best.”

  “You’re writing the script, cut the explosion. Problem solved.”

  “I am writing the script. The plot calls for an explosion. End of discussion.”

  “Jinks fucking Kang.”

  “Don’t think that’s his actual middle name.”

  “Should be.” Jacob had been there when Jinks broke up with her. He’d sat up until dawn smoking Marlboros and listening to her cry and moan too many nights. Sam knew he of all people knew what it had done to her. On the other side of the pain she emerged hardened. She stopped brooking any shit from men, or at least put a time limit on it. She had always been tough, but not with men she was seeing.

  “You still love the creep?”

  “No, not like that. No hearts and baby cupids bullshit. But . . .”

  “You boned him. Was it your way to hook him in to the gig? You have an angle?”

  “Look Jake, it just happened. No more than that.”

  “Whore.” He was grinning.

  “Prude.”

  “I’m not a prude.”

  “Then it’s because he’s Chinese. Racist.”

  “Could be that, or maybe, just maybe, it’s the fact the fuckhead broke your heart and will do it again if you give him half a chance.”

  “Then I won’t give him a chance.”

  “Your word?”

  “My word.” Even as she said it she knew it was a promise she might not be able to keep. Jinks had been her first. Not her first lay—that was Jeff Greenstone under the bleachers at school. No, Jinks was her first real lover. Maybe humans imprinted on their first real love, like hawks. Maybe Jacob would, or had, on Candy. Time would give up the answers when it was ready and not a millisecond sooner.

  CHAPTER 13

  * * *

  “The last thing I want to be is some useless fucking rock singer.” —David Bowie

  Three days before the heist.

  “Who puked on my new jeans? Benny Boy? I can’t believe this.” Brian was junky thin, hair a long black shag, handsome in a rock star way. “A five minute shower and . . . Jan, did you see any—”

  “Ariana. Name’s Ariana, asshole. ‘Ariana, do it harder.’ ‘Oh yeah that’s it, baby, that’s it, Ariana.’ Ariana.” Candy was dressed in a black satin, red-ribboned bra and was pulling on her matching panties.

  “No need to scream.”

  “Just reminding you of twenty minutes ago. I am not Jan.” She zipped up her leather skirt and looked for her shoes.

  “I know it’s Ariana. The puke on my new Sticky Fingers set me off. Ariana, did you—”

  “No I didn’t. We were a bit busy.”

  “Aeeeee! W
ho did it? No. Story of my life. Audition for a gig and I go in smelling of—”

  Candy sprayed a double load of Glad Mountain. “You will smell like an alpine meadow. Now run. Already earning my fifteen percent.”

  Brian struggled into his implausibly tight jeans and the silver lamé shirt he cadged from her the night before. A six foot pink feather boa and zip-up platform boots finished the look. He blew her a kiss and was gone. Candy zipped up her leather jacket over her bra and followed him out.

  She walked down the cracked sidewalk, feeling every imperfection through the thin soles of her ballet slippers. It wasn’t two blocks before the rocker spun and ran back. She handed him the scrap of paper with the address of the audition and he was gone again.

  The night before had been so romantic. He had been singing “I Am Woman” standing on a table at Mabuhay when she first saw him. He had a hell of a voice. Even the band on stage started backing him up. He was doing Helen Reddy proud. When he fell off the table no one even tried to break his fall. Candy helped him into a seat.

  “For one magic moment, right?” he asked.

  “It was beautiful.”

  “Then it wasn’t. Buy me a drink . . . please?” He gave her that grin, a combination of wolf who just ate granny and a little boy seeing the circus for the first time. The grin that must have had a million girls dropping their knickers.

  Candy was no different.

  She bought him a drink. A Jack and Coke. Candy was at that tipping point—one more drink and she would be going home with this boy. “Sloe Gin Fizz, please.” It was Friday night. He was cute. She was on the pill.

  Now she was following him down Mission. Hanging back she gave him space. Nancy Drew would be proud of her tailing technique.

  “I found a singer,” Candy said into the payphone.

  “Just like that?” Sam said.

  “He sort of fell into my lap.”

  “You fuck him?”

  “And I enjoyed it.”

  • • •

  She gave the band time to audition Brian. When she got to the room the band was on a Top Ramen break. Chi Chi took her outside.

  “He smells like puke.”

  “Fair enough.”

  “But man can he sing. Fast learner too.”

  “So are you happy?”

  “Close as I get.”

  “Good. One more surprise. I hired two roadies to load you in and out.”

  Chi Chi let out a squeal then rushed in to tell the others. Through the door Candy watched them hugging and laughing and wondered what it would be like to really make a person that happy with no rug pull just around the corner.

  CHAPTER 14

  * * *

  “You’re gonna eat lightnin’ and you’re gonna crap thunder!” —Rocky

  One day until the heist.

  “Play, don’t worry.” Was easy for Mick Ronson to sing. Sam was up to her ovaries with dread worry. She was driving up the 101, headed for the city with her crew onboard. All but Jinks and Valentina, who would meet them at the Golden Pot. Jinks made sure the back room was open. Candy was riding shotgun. The boys were in the back.

  “The new singer?” Sam asked.

  “Brian,” Candy said.

  “Doesn’t sound like a rocker’s name.” Jacob tried not to sound as petulant as he felt.

  “Brian Eno,” Terry said, “Brian Wilson, Brian May, Brian Jones.”

  “Shut up, Terry,” Jacob said.

  “OK, Jake, whatever.”

  “Is Brian going to keep it together?” Sam said.

  “Sure,” Candy said, but she didn’t look sure.

  “You didn’t choose him because he was well-hung and made you come?”

  “No, although he is and he did, twice. He has a great voice and he’ll do what I tell him.”

  Jacob looked out the window, pretending none of this meant squat.

  “Unless he gets too high and misses the gig.”

  “After the meeting I’ll go check out the rehearsal. Make sure he’s there. I’ll take Jake and Terry with me. Introduce the band to their new roadies.”

  “Fine. Midnight, we need this junky singer to do his job.”

  “He’ll do it.”

  “No fuck ups.”

  “No fuck ups.”

  • • •

  In the back room of the Golden Pot, Valentina and Jinks were midstream in a conversation about explosives. They were arguing the relative merits of C-4 versus old-fashioned dynamite. Valentina said C-4 could be molded into a shape charge and was much more stable. Jinks liked dynamite because it was easy to find and hard to trace and he knew exactly what it would do.

  Sam came through the door, looked through Jinks, then gave Valentina a warm hug. Candy and the boys positioned themselves around the table. Jacob burned laser beams into Jinks. Jinks gave him a friendly smile then looked at his hands.

  “Midnight, they drop confetti, scream and light firecrackers across the city,” Sam said. “Midnight, we hit. With force. Shit goes twisted on us, hit the crowd and blend. We’ll meet back here if we get separated. Jinks, you pull the Pinto gag and vapor. I’ll get you your end next week. That work for you?”

  “Any chance we can do it the morning after?”

  “Fine, yes, the morning after.”

  “It’s just I have—”

  “I said it’s fine. Now, one more time, you young dudes and dudettes.” Sam laid the maps of Taxi Dancer on the table. She went over every inch of the plan. Made Terry and Jacob repeat their tasks. No one joked. This shit was serious. Fucking up meant death or jail. It was complicated way beyond Sam’s comfort zone.

  • • •

  “Never too late to take a walk away. It don’t feel right, we stroll on and live to party another day,” Valentina said. She and Sam were in the ladies’ room.

  “I owe twenty large, no way around that.”

  “Maybe we kill this Breeze bastard.”

  “I would, but I’m a thief not a killer.”

  “You got no idea what you are until you start rock and rolling.”

  “It’s going to be copasetic.”

  “You say so, I believe it.”

  Walking out, they saw Candy and the boys had already left. Jinks was waiting.

  “I’ll meet you in the car, princess,” Valentina said. “Five minutes or I come blazing back in. Got that, Jinks?”

  “Why don’t you like me, Val? Ain’t I always been fair to you?”

  “You fucked with my girl. Water under the Pont Neuf, but do it again it won’t go down pretty.” And she was gone.

  Jinks looked at Sam’s face, fighting to keep from letting his eyes roam over her sumptuous body. “Are we just going to leave it like this?”

  “As opposed to letting you fuck me, then you go and pick up your kid? Did you hug your wife with your cock still stinking of me?”

  “It wasn’t like that.”

  “It was just like that.”

  “I never stopped loving you, Sam.”

  “Marrying Kimmy was an odd way to prove that.”

  “I got her pregnant first time we did it. I had no choice.”

  “Still don’t. I’m all kinds of bad, but homewrecker ain’t me.” She leaned in, kissing his lips, let her lips part for a moment then squeezed them closed. “Midnight go boom.”

  “Yeah, midnight go boom.”

  “I’ll call you tomorrow, set up a meet.”

  “If I broke up with Kimmy?”

  “Give up a sure thing for whatever the fuck it is we have? Dumb move, slick. I better book before Valentina comes back guns blazing.” She left him this time. Turned her back and just walked out.

  • • •

  On the rehearsal stage, Brian was rocking out. He still had the lyric sheets in his hands. Candy and the boys were in the corner, sitting in the shadows, waiting for the band to break. The side door swung open stabbing sunlight into the room. A backlit man walked in. He looked ragged. Before anyone could say shit he was across the r
oom. Grabbing Brian by the shirtfront, he ripped him off the stage. The microphone clattered to the ground screaming feedback. The man threw Brian across the room. He was wild, raging. He tossed Brian like a rag doll out the open door, skidding him across the parking lot. Closing the door, he moved back to the stage.

  “Cord?”

  “Chi Chi, I have had a real weird couple of days. Who was that puke singing my songs?”

  “That was nobody. Glad you’re back.”

  “I had to hop trains and hitchhike. Last I remember I was kissing that hot agent.”

  Candy stepped out of the shadows. “And a lovely kiss it was.” She moved up, stroking his sun-blistered face.

  “What’s your name?”

  “She’s Ariana Bend, Bend agency?” Chi Chi said.

  “That’s right. What happened to me?” He stared at Candy for answers.

  “You dropped me at my car and were gone. You looked crazed, but said you were fine.”

  “We found the van in the Kenny’s Shoes parking lot,” the fuzzy drummer said.

  “I always thought acid flashbacks were a joke. Nope. Powerful, wicked, over the rainbow shit. Did you have two heads?”

  “You said I did,” Candy answered. “Kissed me, scales and all.”

  “I remember that. That part was cool.”

  Chi Chi looked over his torn and tattered lead singer. The stubble beard, the twigs in the hair, it was all very not glitter. “Can you sing?”

  Grabbing the microphone, Cord stepped onto the makeshift stage. “Kick it and let’s find out.” Chi Chi counted them in. Cord had a slightly Rod Stewart growl to his voice. It was sexy. It was rock and roll.

  • • •

  “We are so fucked,” Terry whispered to Jacob.

  “You played ball.”

  “Yeah, so?”

  “So we punt.”

  Candy walked up to the stage, transfixed by Cord. He left a high school bandleader looking for a break. He came back the real deal. When the song ended she started clapping, the band joined in. Cord looked a bit lost, but happy.