Who in Hell Is Wanda Fuca?

by G. M. Ford

  "If you don't' mind, Leo, we'll eat in here." Runnels of sweat trickled down my back, soaking the elastic of my shorts. Serving food in this room probably saved the cook a great deal of time. By the time he got the stuff carted over to Tim, it was probably poached. I took a pull of my drink, trying to will myself to stop sweating. No go.

  Tim turned his attention to me. "Been a long time, Leo." When I didn't respond, he went on. "Your father's funeral was the last time, wasn't it?" I agreed. "We come a long way together, me and him. From Hooverville to the halls of power, he liked to say." I had heard all the stories before, but was determined to be polite. I didn't want to end up fertilizing one of the palms.

  Tim seemed to find new strength as he selectively rooted through the past. Now, more than fifty years later, even the rain-soaked nights spent in a reeking board shack on the tide flats seemed to hold a certain romantic appeal for him. He seemed to pine for the long nights spent huddled around a bark-fired cookstove, the inevitable smoke filling the upper half of the shack, the sopping bedrolls and mattresses serving as the only furniture.

  He recited the oft-told tale of how he and my father had first made their mark as part of Hooverville's vigilante Sanitation Committee. To Tim, the building of the privies and catwalks seemed to be the perfect dinner conversation. He reached full animation as he recounted how, on a particularly foul night in December - 1933, he thought it was - a dissolute stonecutter named Herman somethingorother had slipped on one of the greasy catwalks, tumbled headfirst into a privy, and unceremoniously drowned amid the collected effluent in the hand-dug pit below. Yessir, bring on the food.

  "Well, Tim," I interjected the first time he came up for air, "you've gone to a bunch of trouble to get me here. Frankie's been spending more time in my favorite hangouts than I have. As much as I enjoy talking about old times, I don't figure that's what you got me down here for. What can I do for you?"

  His face crinkled into a smile. At least I hoped it was a smile.

  "You always were a cheeky kid, Leo. Always."

  "It's genetic."

  He nodded approvingly. "You're probably right," he agreed. He got serious. "It played better on your old man than it does on you though, Leo. Something about him put people at ease, the same way you put people on edge." I waited.

  He rearranged himself, sitting up straighter, leaning on the arm closest to me.

  "I got troubles, Leo. Troubles I can't handle in the usual way, if you know what I mean." I waited for him to elaborate. He fixed me with a stare. His black eyes were covered with a thin, blue, rubbery film.

  "None of this leaves this room. You understand me?"

  I understood. "Don't worry about it, Tim. For you or for anybody else, I sell discretion. It's all I've got to sell."

  He smiled again. "I'm not worried, Leo. Besides that, it's the better part of valor, right?" He laughed. I had to agree.

  "Not that you've been short on valor, Leo. You do nice work. You're quite a local celebrity, you are. I been following you in the papers. I even saw you on the TV during that court battle over them frozen babies."

  "Embryos. Frozen embryos."

  "You did good there, Leo. What was it the papers called it?"

  "The Leggo My Eggo Trial." Frankie chuckled.

  Although that particular episode was never going to appear on my résumé, I let them have their fun. Compliments from Tim flood made me nervous. My angst was interrupted by the arrival of dinner. The bruise brothers materialized with a lap tray for Tim and a stand-up tray fro me.

  We ate in silence. Tim's tray looked more like an artist's palette. Dabs of variously colored pastes were arranged about the plate. He worked methodically from one to another. Mine was a steak, a baked potato, and an assortment of parboiled vegetables, probably from a nearby restaurant. By the time I'd finished, I was in a full runner's sweat. Tim's tray had disappeared. He was leaning back, apparently napping.

  Frankie removed my tray. "You want coffee?" he asked.

  "No thanks. I try to move in one direction at a time."

  I watched as he left the room. When I looked back at Tim Flood, he was sitting with his legs over the side of the lounger, his hands on his knees, leaning in close to me.

  "It's my granddaughter, Leo," he whispered. "Gene's girl."

  "What about her?" I asked. His daughter Gene, I remembered. We'd been stuck at a lot of public functions together. It had been important to our respective fathers that we get along. We'd been unable to oblige. I hadn't seen her in over twenty years.

  "She's a wild one, Leo. In all my years, I've never met anybody like this kid. She's into some deep shit. I can feel it."

  "What's she into, Tim?"

  "That's what I want you to find out, shamus."

  I was wary now. Tim could fix just about anything. If he needed me, it must be a humdinger. Tim was shaking his head, reading my mind.

  "There's only Frankie and the brothers now. She knows them all, Leo. Up until a few months ago, she lived here in the house with me. She was here almost a year. No, it's gotta be somebody from the outside." He thought for a moment. "Besides that, she'd family, Leo. You know what I mean? I don't want to be mixing her up in any of this. It's gotta be from the outside."

  "Maybe you better tell me about it." I don't know why I said it. It was stupid. I regretted it the minute it passed my lips. Probably the bourbon. I'd been planning to refuse gracefully. Now it was going to be tough. If I let him tell me the story, there'd be no backing out. I tried to head him off. Better now than later. He started to speak. I stopped him.

  "Just so we understand each other, Tim. I haven't agreed to anything yet. If you want to tell me this, tell me. I'll respect your confidence. But I haven't agreed to anything. Understood?"

  "Understood," he said quietly.

  He searched my face. I felt like he was going through my pockets. I remembered the stories my old man used to tell me about Tim's style. How he used to advise people not to borrow money from him. How he used to make sure they were every bit as desperate for cash as they thought they were before lending them any money. How he'd advise them that unless they were absolutely certain they could at least make the vig payments every week, this was going to be the worst mistake they'd ever made. No threats. Nothing specific anyway. He let the customer's imagination do the rest.

  "Caroline Nobel - that's my granddaughter - she come back here to live with me a little over a year ago. She and Gene just couldn't stand each other no more."

  He waved himself off. "Wait, you need some background here so's you'll understand. Gene, she's . . . well she's . . .Hell, she's working on either her fourth or fifth husband now, I've lost track. Some fag of an Englishman. Claims to have a title. Spends most of her time commuting between Europe and Palm Springs. Fancies herself a real jet-setter. Never wanted the kid. She's been farming the kid out to private school since Caroline was six."

  He wiped the corners of his mouth with his thumb and forefinger.

  "This mess is probably my fault for giving Caroline that damn trust fund, but you know, I figured she didn't have nothin' you could call parents, so I figured she might as well have some money. So what does she do? She gives the fucking money to these Save the Earth assholes."

  He shook his head sadly.

  "It probably would have been better if I'd let her find her own way, like your old man did, but you know, Leo, we all want it to be better for our kids than it was for us."

  I gave him the reinforcement he was looking for. He continued.

  "Anyway, about a year ago, she calls me one night. She's been kicked out of her fancy private school. Asks if she can come and live with me, go to high school here. I almost shit. I mean, I don't need no high school kid running around, you know what I mean, I was still heavily into things then, not like now. But she's family, so what can I say? I tell her if it's all right with Gene, I guess it's all right with me. I'm figuring Gene will put the kibosh on it, but Gene she don't give a damn. She wants to get rid
of the kid as bad as the kid wants to go, so what am I gonna do? I tell her, okay, come one." He leaned back to his former reclining position as if gathering himself.

  "I figured it was time to scale back anyway. Hell, I was damn near eighty. So I let most everybody go. All that's left is Ricky and Nicky."

  "And Frankie," I amended.

  "Frankie's like family. He don't count as help." He sat up again. "She did okay for a while. Got pretty good grades. Hell, I even went to one of those parent-teacher conferences once." I looked at him quizzically. "Frankie waited in the hall," he said immediately. The image held a certain manic appeal.

  "Then, about four months ago, it all changed. She started getting political. Started hanging out with scumbags. Rallies, demonstrations. Got herself arrested a few times. Seemed like she had a new cause every week." He spread his gnarled hands. "No problem, you know, I figure it's all part of growing up. Your old man and I spent a few nights inside together." He smiled as remembered. "The last time she got busted was for throwing blood on some old lady wearing a fur coat down at Westlake. Animal rights, some shit like that." He was having trouble finding an end to the story. I tried to give him a hand.

  "So, what's she into now?" I asked.

  "God only knows."

  "What makes you think she needs any help?"

  "I was getting to that," he snapped. He was tiring. "So after I bail her out the last time, she announces that she's moving out. She's had enough of my meddling." Tim shook his head. "Like getting her ass out of jail is meddling, right? But, I can't say nothing. She's damn near twenty years old, if she wants to move out that's her business. Like I said, she gives all her money to the group. I figure I'll hear from her when she needs money, you know? Two months go by. Nothing."

  He slashed the air with the bony edge of his hand. "So I send Frankie out to see what's up. We don't have a hell of a lot going on anymore. I figured he'd enjoy the exercise. Nothing." He slashed the air again. "Even Frankie can't seem to find her." I started to speak. Only the dead could hide from Frankie Ortega. He stopped me.

  "About a week later Frankie gets a sniff from one of his sources that Caroline's hanging around with this Save the Earth group down by the square. He tools around a bit to see what's going on, but on the second day she makes him. She calls here in the middle of the night and tells me to keep out of her business. Tells me it's people like me who've ruined the planet and hangs up." He was out of gas. He motioned to the far side of the room. Frankie emerged from the mist and sidled over. "Tell him, Frankie," he croaked. Frankie patted his shoulder and turned to me.

  "I don't know what she's into, Leo, but it's not good. She lives like she's on the run." Frankie would know.

  "You sure she's not?" I asked.

  "Positive," Tim wheezed. "I checked. Nobody official wants her for nothing." Tim rested between outbursts, breathing deeply and pulling the covers close about him.

  Frankie jumped in. "This group she's with, now that's another matter. They're suspects in a whole lot of shit. You remember that Japanese fishing trawler that got rammed a couple of months ago?" He didn't wait for a response. "The heat is looking at them for that. Also all that damage a couple months back over at the research labs at the university."

  Two months ago someone had ransacked the research labs at the U, freed all the animals, and set the place on fire. The fire had spread to an adjoining campus building, causing damage in the millions. Every legitimate animal rights and environmental organization had decided the action as that of the terminally misguided. A couple had even posted rewards for the capture of the perpetrators. If Caroline Nobel was part for the capture of the perpetrators. If Caroline Nobel was part of this mess, things were ugly. Taking a case for Tim Flood was one thing, failing at it another.

  Turning to Frankie Ortega, I asked, "What makes you say she acts like she's on the run?" Maybe if I could put their collective mind at ease, I could get out of this. No go. Tim had been waiting for this part.

  "These screwballs have a whole building way down on First. I had Frankie take me down there. It's like Prohibition all over again. They got these assholes in green berets handing out on the sidewalk handing out leaflets. Nobody, but nobody, gets into the building. They live in there, for Chrissake. They eat there. When they want to leave, they back these vans up to the side door, everybody files out into the vans. They got other vans makin' sure they ain't being followed. They're just a bunch of kids. They think they're the fuckin' CIA or something. I never seen anything like it. They shouldn't be playin' at shit like that. They're a bunch of amateurs. They haven't got a clue. They're gonna get hurt." I'd never seen Tim Flood quite this riled.

  "I still don't see why you need me."

  "Frankie I need around, Leo. Nicky and Ricky, well - they have their talents but it's not for finding out stuff, if you know what I mean.

  "I want to know about this Save the Earth group. I want to know what they're into. I want to make sure she's not getting in too far, where even I can't get her out of it."

  "I don't know, Tim. I - "

  "Expenses, your daily rate, and a ten-grand bonus."

  Tim knew the way to my heart. No "for old times' sake." No playing on his relationship with my father. Just filthy lucre.

  "What's your daily rate, Leo?"

  "Four hundred and expenses" I shot back.

  "Bullshit," he said with a smile. "You get three. I checked."

  Before I could protest he stopped me. "I'll go the four hundred."

  He leaned back one again and closed his eyes. "You need anything, you call Frankie," he sighed. He was snoring softly before I could work up a clever refusal.

  Frankie Ortega walked me all the way to my car. I was freezing, shivering almost uncontrollably inside my topcoat. Frankie didn't notice. He was deep in thought. As I unlocked the car door, he put his hand on my arm. "Take care of this for him, huh, Leo? She's family. He's an old man."

  I said I'd try. He handed me an envelope. I opened the door.

  Frankie held the door as I got in. "Watch out for this kid, Leo. She's scary," Now he had my attention.

  Anything that would scare Frankie Ortega automatically put the fear of God in me. I started sweating again.

  "Why's that, Frankie?"

  "Something's loose in that kid," he said.

  "Oh," I deadpanned.

  "Tim, he wouldn't say so. He's too proud, her being family and all, but this one's definitely trouble, Leo. Nineteen, going on fifty. A wild child. Never seen anything quite like it, Leo. This one's a cross between little Miss Muffet and Debbie Does Dallas. One minute she's stomping her feet, acting like a baby; next minute she's offering to sit on your face."

  He stopped and cast his eyes furtively up and down the street, as if the old man's tentacles reached everywhere. Satisfied, he continued.

  "We couldn't keep regular help. You remember Tim never much liked women around since the wife died. We always had male help. You remember from when your dad used to bring you here." I remembered. "I had to let them all go. If she couldn't get what she wanted out of them one way, she'd get it another. We had guys threatening to shoot one another over her, for Chrissake. She'd fuck a snake if somebody'd hold the head still.

  "How'd you make out, Frankie?" I asked. He wasn't amused.

  "Don't fuck around," he said gravely. "Before this is over, you may need some help with this one, Leo. You need anything, you can call. I'll send you the twins, okay?" I said it was okay. I lied. Frankie was still musing about the dangerous Caroline Nobel. Almost sounded like professional jealousy.

  "She's a pretty package, all right. No doubt about it. There's a picture in the envelope. You'll see." He still held the door. "You been around, Leo. You know the score. You spend any time with her, you'll see what I mean. She plays men like some broads play the piano."

  He leaned down and got close to my face. "You know, Leo, years ago I learned to look in people's eyes. I needed to know right away whether they was reaching for their
wallet or they was reaching for a gun. This one, I don't see nothin'. Before you leap - take a good look in her eyes. It'll shrivel your dick up like a roll of dimes." He slammed the door.

  Chapter 5

  "Any of you still have a driver's license?" I asked.

  The question brought on another round of head shaking, foot shuffling, and staring at my living room floor. Buddy, as was his custom, took the lead.

  "You might as well ask a fish if he still has his bicycle," Buddy muttered under his breath.

  "Okay. Okay," I said. "For the time being, we'll take the bus."

  While Buddy was generally in charge of the bitching for this group, this particular suggestion even brought complaints from Harold, Ralph, and George. "How in hell can we be real operatives from the bus?" said George, jamming his hands into the pockets of his buttonless tweed overcoat.

  "Yeah, Leo, it just ain't right," whined Harold.

  "What if we have to follow somebody or something?" asked Ralph.

  "If you have to follow anyone, which I doubt," I added, "take a cab. It's expenses. I'll give it back to you later."

  "Won't work," said Buddy.

  "Why not?"

  "Most of the cabbies won't pick us up."

  Buddy had a point. I'd forgotten that once a guy was officially enshrined in the local Degenerate Hall of Fame, public transport was no longer a viable option. About the third time a guy puked, pissed, or passed out in a cab or a bus, the drivers spread the word.

  "Wave money at ‘em," I suggested.

  "Won't work," Buddy said again, shaking his head. "They'll just think it's old Ralph here waving his balls at ‘em again."

  I'd heard about that particularly sordid little episode.

  "They're both green," offered George.

  "Yeah, and if you fold the bills enough times, they're about the same size," Harold added. They yukked it up.

  This led to a prolonged round of accusations centering on the legendary personal hygiene deficiencies of each. I let them have their fun. They were right. I needed to come up with a car that we could all fit in. Renting one was out of the question. Anything new and shiny would get these guys arrested for car theft within four blocks. I decided to handle the problem once I'd gotten them all staked out.