by Johnny Shaw
Axel had driven past the abandoned restaurant in Lemon Grove a dozen times on his way to the Spring Valley Swap Meet. It was one of those businesses that had always been closed, the building empty for decades.
Hawaiian Shirt helped Axel and Kurt out of the van. “No funny business.”
If Axel hesitated for too long, the situation would only get worse. He and Kurt had to make their escape. They couldn’t wait a second longer.
“Now!” Axel shouted and ran toward the line of hedges that hid the lot from the street. The massive parking lot stretched for fifty yards. He made about twenty of the fifty before something hit the back of his head, causing him to fall forward. His chin hit the asphalt. He bit his tongue and tasted blood. Rolling onto his back, he saw what hit him: a five-pound bag of birdseed busted at one seam. Hands grabbed his ankles and dragged him back to the van.
“What am I going to put in my feeder?” Hawaiian Shirt said, lifting Axel to his feet.
“‘Now’?” Kurt asked, standing exactly where Axel had left him. “Was I supposed to know what ‘Now’ meant? No wink? No head nod? No signal?”
Axel wiped his mouth, smearing blood across his face.
Hawaiian Shirt handed Axel a handkerchief and dug a finger into Axel’s mouth. “I’ve seen worse. I told you not to do anything stupid.” He wiped his finger on Axel’s shirt and walked toward the front door of the German beer hall. The sign in front said “Closed,” but Hawaiian Shirt never lost stride, pushing the door open.
Axel and Kurt followed.
The massive beer hall looked like a church. Leaded glass windows depicting German maidens and griffins gave just enough light for Axel to make out the surroundings. Oversize steins, coats of arms, and alpenhorns decorated the opposite wall. Axel half-expected to be greeted by the lederhosen-clad cartoon character from the sign.
“It’s like being in an abandoned German amusement park,” Kurt said.
Something exploded. Axel screamed and dove for cover under one of the big wooden tables.
Confetti and balloons rained from the ceiling. Men, women, and children jumped out from every conceivable hiding place yelling, “Surprise!”
A big hand-painted banner unfurled. It read, “Welcome to the Family.”
“I knew it,” Kurt said.
Gretchen walked out from a side door, her hands in her pockets. She wasn’t restrained but didn’t look happy.
“I bith off the tip of my tongue for thith,” Axel said.
Fifteen minutes later, Axel—untied and pissed off—sat across a big wooden table from a smiling Mother Ucker. Gretchen sat next to him, equally perturbed.
“I see where you get your name,” Gretchen said.
Two stout German women in traditional garb filled the table with food: all manners of sausage, sauerkraut, spaetzle, potatoes, and white asparagus. Their cleavage spilled out as they leaned over to set each plate down. Big, frothy steins of beer sat untouched in front of them.
“Dig in,” Mother said, picking up a sausage with her bare hand and taking a bite. It made a loud snap and spattered fat onto the table.
“You’re like a female version of Henry the Eighth,” Gretchen said. “Only bigger.”
Mother laughed. “I could rock a turkey leg.”
“I would eat,” Axel said, “but my tongue is so swollen, I’m afraid I’d choke.”
“Is he always such a baby?” Mother asked.
Gretchen nodded.
Axel looked around the room to check on Kurt.
Kurt stood in the middle of the hall, surrounded by a dozen relatives. He shook hands and introduced himself to each of them, including the children. Kurt looked as happy as Axel had seen him. A little girl held Kurt’s thumb in one hand, his pinky in the other. Kurt curled his arm and lifted her in the air. She squeaked and laughed and asked him to do it again. One of the older men said something. Kurt laughed like it was the funniest thing he had ever heard.
“Where’s the guy who drove us here?” Axel said. “I’d love a brief word with him.”
“Fritzy had to pass on the party,” Mother said. “Some bad blood. He didn’t want to overshadow your arrival. He’s a little nutty.”
“No shit,” Axel said.
“All families have a lunatic or three. The kidnapping was Fritzy’s idea, and once he gets an idea in his head, it’s best to give in. What was the harm really?”
Axel pointed at his mouth, incredulous. “This was the harm.”
“Everyone here, all these people,” Gretchen said, “these are all Uckers?”
“A good chunk of the Southern Cal contingent, at least. There are Uckers all over. It’s something that we got this crew together today. We might be family, but there’s some animosity in the room. A couple blood feuds had to be truced out. Fritzy and a few others stayed clear.”
As if on cue, a commotion started at the other end of the hall. Axel turned to see two men wrestling on the ground.
“It’s about time,” Mother said. “They can finally work it out.”
One of the men grabbed a fondue fork and stabbed the other one in the leg. The stabbing complete, the stabber stood up, dusted himself off, and reached out a hand to help the stabbee up. The stabbed man pulled the fork out of his leg and accepted the hand.
Show over, everyone in the room went back to what they were doing. It didn’t appear to be their first fork stabbing. Even the children didn’t seem to care.
“What kind of family is this?” Axel asked.
“Michael will be the first to admit he had that coming,” Mother said. “He pulled some shit. Bertha never told you about us?”
“Nothing at all,” Axel said.
“She did what she thought was best for you,” Mother said. She picked up another sausage, thought about it, and tossed it back on the plate.
“Why are we only meeting you—everyone else—now?” Axel asked.
“Your mother and father cut us off,” Mother said. “We’re a bad influence. After she died, that coupon expired. You’re all grown up. It’s time you know who you are.”
“Can we get to the part where you tell us what you want?” Gretchen said. “My mom warned me never to trust an Ucker. That’s where you’re starting with me.”
Mother lifted her stein, held it up in an unspoken toast, and drank its entire contents in one tilt. She wiped her mouth with her forearm, let out a big “ah,” and motioned to one of the hausfraus to have it refilled.
When she got her fresh beer, she took a sip and said, “Your Holy Roller mother knew Henry was a thief when they married. He promised to reform. The only way for him to stick to that vow was to break from the family.”
“Is this like a family of criminals?” Axel asked. “Are the Uckers travelers or something?”
“The Uckers are thieves,” Mother said. “Have been for centuries. We dabble in other arenas, but that’s the nature of being a crook. We’re professionals. Like a guild.”
“A guild of thieves?” Axel said. “A little Game of Thrones-y, don’t you think?”
“You’re saying our father never stopped stealing?” Gretchen asked.
“He stopped,” Mother said. “For a while.”
“Did our mom know that he had started again?” Gretchen asked.
“At the end, yes, maybe,” Mother said. “I don’t know. When she found out, I’m sure it was the lie that hurt the most.”
Axel remembered that day. The world turning upside down. Everything going to hell.
He watched Kurt play cards with some of the Ucker kids. They had a three-card-monte game going. Kurt lost and laughed about it when they showed him how they manipulated the cards.
“Everyone here is a thief?” Gretchen asked.
Mother shrugged. “It ain’t like the movies. Where everyone has a single skill and that’s all they do. Being a criminal is about two things: opportunity and willingness. When you read a real thief’s rap sheet, it’s a recipe of leftovers: a few cups of B and E, a helping of mail fraud,
a pinch of theft, and a healthy dollop of confidence scams. We got our hands in everyone’s pockets. There’s a place for the three of you. If you’re interested.”
“You want us to join your criminal organization?” Axel asked. “And do what? Steal?”
“That job at the bank wasn’t any better than what we do,” Mother said.
“How do you know about—I quit that job.”
“Your sister is a thief.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Gretchen said.
“Of course you don’t, sweetie.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Aunt Mother, but we aren’t joining a cabal of thieves,” Axel said, standing.
“Let’s hear her out,” Gretchen said, a hand on Axel’s arm.
“You aren’t serious?” Axel said. “Oh yeah. Of course you are.”
“You’re living under the ridiculous notion that stealing is wrong.” Mother smiled.
“How silly of me,” Axel said, but he sat back down. “You’re going to convince me that thievery is good? This I want to hear. Just to see the inner workings of a delusional mind.”
“Is it wrong to steal something back that was stolen from you?” Mother asked.
“Trick question,” Axel said. “That’s not stealing. It’s still your property, even if it’s in someone else’s possession.”
“Touché,” Mother said. “What if you couldn’t retrieve the specific item but took something of equal value?”
“I don’t know,” Axel said. “Gray, but still about justice. It depends, I guess. You’re pretending that the police don’t exist and there isn’t a system to deal with this kind of thing.”
“Have you seen the clearance rates for property theft?” Mother said. “Let’s talk about your taste in women.”
“Oh yeah,” Gretchen said, clapping her hands theatrically. “Let’s talk about that.”
“Definitely not,” Axel said.
“Did you go to the police when Stephanie Holm conned you?” Mother asked.
“Who?”
“That’s right. You know her by the name Priscilla Hamilton. A.k.a. Missy Macklin, a.k.a. Felicity Monroe, and about fifteen other aliases. Her real name is Stephanie Holm. She makes a living by making smart people do stupid things.”
Gretchen nudged Axel with her elbow. “She called you smart.”
“I—” Axel said, but Mother raised her hand, quickly shutting him down.
“What if I told you that I could get your money back?”
“I—” Axel said. Again the raised hand.
“She made you look like an asshole. The money is small potatoes, but she made you fall in love. That was mean.”
Axel opened his mouth to protest but then nodded.
“Is it morally wrong to get your money back? Would it be ethically inappropriate?”
Axel thought about Priscilla. He thought about how she had made him feel. He thought about the note she had left. All the hope she had taken away. Axel thought about those horrible gluten-free muffins. “It’s not like she doesn’t deserve a little retribution, I suppose. It would be justice. Just not courtroom justice.”
“And it took all of a minute for me to convince you. Wait until we spend more time together. You’re going to see that there are enough people that need to be ripped off to keep a good thief busy. Your ex-girlfriend is a warm-up, a test run, a dress rehearsal. The beginning.”
“You want to go after Priscilla for real?” Axel said. “I thought we were hypotheticalling.”
“There are no hypothetical plans,” Mother said. “Only good plans and bad ones.”
“But after Priscilla,” Gretchen said, filling her plate with food. “You have something bigger planned, don’t you? What’s the score? The crown jewels? The Hope Diamond? I don’t care. Count me in. This is what I’ve been looking for.”
“What happened to ‘We can’t trust anyone’ and all that stuff?” Axel said.
“Come on,” Gretchen said. “You’re curious.”
“Priscilla is an easy sell,” Axel said. “Who else are you going to convince me to steal from?”
Mother leaned in, dropping her voice. “We’re going to rob your grandfather.”
“We have a grandfather?” Axel said.
“Oh, you most certainly do,” Mother said, “and he stole from you.”
“How could someone we’ve never met steal from us?” Axel asked.
“Because Dolphus Ucker no longer goes by that name,” Mother said. “For the last dozen years, he’s called himself Brother Tobin Floom.”
“Shut the front door,” Gretchen said.
“And he didn’t just steal your money and your house,” Mother said. “Fifteen years ago, he got your father killed.”
PART TWO
CHAPTER 11
Stephanie Holm foresaw a disappointing weekend. The pickings were thin, mostly professional women who looked like they leaned toward penis. She was on the prowl for a fortyish middle manager type with self-confidence issues.
Mark Land Symposiums never yielded the same caliber of marks that a Tony Rogers event drew, but she had fished those waters to depletion and needed to let that ecosystem regenerate.
There was time. It was only Saturday morning.
Stephanie reached the front of the coffee line. “Large black coffee. One hundred and twenty degrees. I’ll know. Are these muffins gluten-free?”
Before the barista could answer, she heard a name shouted behind her.
“Priscilla? Is that you?”
Stephanie turned. Axel Ucker stood at the café entrance. She pinched the bridge of her nose and softly said, “Overlap. I didn’t account for overlap.”
She turned and smiled, eyes sympathetic. “Axel? How are you? How have you been?”
“Lady, there’s a line,” the barista said, setting her coffee on the counter.
Stephanie held up a finger for Axel to wait and turned to the barista. “I’m saying hello to an ex. It’s a delicate moment. Nobody here is late to deliver a baby or anything important.”
“I care why?” the barista said. “Do you want a muffin or not?”
She put on a big smile. “Yes. Can you heat it up, put butter on it? Lots of butter. Really lubricate it. Butter the living shit out of it. Have you seen Last Tango in Paris?”
“Of course, I’m aware of Bertolucci’s seminal film.”
“So you know where I’m headed with that buttered muffin?”
“The coffee is three fifty,” he said. “Can you give me the money and get out of my life? I don’t get paid enough to put up with entitled assholes.”
“Good for you, coffee monkey. Don’t take any shit.” She dropped a ten on the counter. “Keep the change.”
“Fucking philosophy degree,” the barista said.
Stephanie walked to Axel. Before he could speak, she gave him a bear hug. She turned his body slightly to the right in order to get a better angle on the only exit and avoid getting boxed in.
“How long has it been?” Stephanie asked.
“Three months, twelve days,” Axel said.
“I’m so sorry about the note. I hurt you. I can see that now. I was in a vulnerable place.” She tried to cry, but her face froze in a strange grimace. She needed motivation, a trigger. She thought about the time she lost her phone—it had been a real bitch reentering her contacts.
Axel grabbed Stephanie’s shoulders firmly and held her at arm’s length. “Cut it out, Priscilla—if that’s even your name. I know you conned me.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Give me some credit,” Axel said, his voice loud enough to turn some heads. “I’m not particularly stable. After you left, I lost the house, my job. A perfectly good recycling bin got a kicking it didn’t deserve. My mother died. I got kidnapped by insane relatives. They tried to recruit me into a criminal gang. I’m running on fumes.”
“Whoa there, Hoss,” Stephanie said. “You can blame me for a lot of things, but I didn’t ki
ll your mother. Also, I didn’t do any of those other things.”
“You ruined my life,” Axel said. “I have proof. You’re going to jail. I’ve got evidence. I’m making a citizen’s arrest.”
“Is that a real thing?” Stephanie asked.
He grabbed her arm. Out of the corner of her eye, Stephanie saw someone pull out their cell phone. She did not need her face going viral on YouTube.
“You need help, Axel. I don’t know what to say, other than—” Stephanie kicked off her heels, dropping two inches in height, and shouted, “I can’t believe you fucked my sister!” She threw the coffee at his chest, kicked him in the nuts, and ran out the door.
The café in the convention center was on the third floor. Elevators were traps. Already bummed about the shoes she had been forced to abandon, she ran down the concourse. Looking over her shoulder, she caught sight of Axel about forty yards behind her. He lurched forward, one hand on his crotch, and ran for her like an angry prospector.
She hit the stairs and took two at a time. Axel’s shouts of “Priscilla!” followed her. After reaching the first floor, she darted through the massive lobby toward the front door. Ten seconds from safety. She looked over her shoulder. When she turned back, a young woman carrying eight cups of coffee in two paper trays stood directly in her path. They collided, coffee flying everywhere. Both Stephanie and the woman hit the ground—then the coffee hit them.
It took Stephanie a moment to get her bearings.
The coffee woman sat up, dazed and soaked, and looked at her with huge eyes. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”
Stephanie turned to the stairs. Axel hopped off the last step and headed with purpose toward her. He had his whole hand down his pants, adjusting his junk.
Stephanie, fear in her eyes, turned to the woman. “That man.”
“Is that guy chasing you?” the coffee woman asked. “What’s he doing with his balls?”
“He thinks I’m someone named Priscilla. He exposed himself to me upstairs. He said he wants to beat me to death. With his cock.”