"Did Mike find out?"
"Of course he did. He's a cop. He could smell larceny down the street. I returned the watch."
Carter frowned. "Then where does the lying come into it?"
I took a long drink of my beer as I remembered the series of events.
"What the fuck is this?" asked Mike as he held out a brown velvet box I'd stuffed into the back of the bureau in the bedroom.
Looking up at him, I could feel the dread that always hit me whenever his monster face was staring down at me.
"Dunno," was the best I could say.
Grabbing me by the arm, he yanked me over to the bed and shoved me down. He was just off work and still dressed in his motorcycle patrol uniform. As always, I was excited by the uniform and scared by it, all at the same time.
"Look here, you punk. I'll toss you out on your ass if you keep pinching stuff. Where were you plannin' on wearing this anyways?"
I shook my head.
"Come on, kid, tell me the truth."
"It's for you. For Christmas."
Mike stared down at me for a long moment before squatting on his haunches. His leather squeaked like it always did. A waft of sweat mixed with bay rum and the aroma of a cigar smoked earlier that day floated over me. His face relaxed as his electric blue eyes stared at me, unblinking. "That the truth, Nick?"
I nodded. "Yeah."
Tossing the box on the bed, he pulled me into his arms. Kissing me gently on the lips, he murmured, "Thanks."
I nodded. "Sure." Whenever he held me, I always froze a little. He was so big and so scary that I was never sure what to do. He'd never once hit me, although he'd yanked on my arm more than a few times and shoved me in the back in frustration. Considering he was a big, hulking cop, he was usually gentle with me.
Pushing me back against the bed, he sat on the floor and shoved himself against the wall. "Take care of that for me, will ya?" That was what he said when he wanted me to untie and pull off his boots. So, I sat on the floor, leaned against the bed, and started on his right boot. "Where'd you pinch it from?"
Keeping my eyes on the laces, I mumbled, "Gump's."
Mike chuckled. "I'll give it to you, kid. Better Gump's than Woolworth's."
I nodded and began to pull on his boot. It popped off pretty quickly. I pushed it to the side and quickly moved over to his left one. I hated the way his socked feet stank.
"Tell you what. You and me, we'll get dressed up in our best five-dollar suits and head over to Union Square. You go in, find the store manager, and tell him the truth. If they call the cops, I'll bail you out. But, my guess is they'll cut you some slack as a first-time offender." I popped off the left boot and stood. I put the two boots over in the corner where they stood next to his second pair.
Mike stood, patted my shoulder, and then began to unbuckle his big leather belt. "Let's get dressed. We'll put on the dog and make a night of it. Wadda ya say to that?"
I nodded and smiled up at him. "Sure."
. . .
We stood outside the main door of Gump's on Post Street. It was dark already and there was a nip of cold in the air. After he lit up the remaining half of the cigar he was carrying, Mike said, "Go on, Nick. Go take care of business. You'll be fine."
I nodded and hesitated.
He reached down and straightened my tie. Patting me on the shoulder, he grinned at me with his cigar hanging out of his mouth. "Go on. I'll be right here."
I took a deep breath and made my way up the steps and into the store as the doorman tipped his hat at me.
The watch was in my coat pocket. I pulled it out and looked at the box. It was plain but inside there was a blue silk lining and the silver watch. As I stood to the side, next to a counter, I looked at it again and wished I had the money to buy it. Mike deserved to have something that nice. He'd been so good to me and, besides sharing his bed, had become my best friend. Ricky, who until the summer, had been my number-one pal, had made himself scarce after I'd been kicked out of my old man's house. Except for a couple of the kids I worked with, Mike was my only friend.
An older woman walked up and, with a friendly smile, looked up at me and asked, "May I help you, young man?"
I nodded. "I need to see the store manager about this." I offered the box for her inspection.
She took it, opened the box, and looked it over. "Is there a problem with the watch?"
I shook my head. Before I could stop myself, I said, "I found it, just like this, and I think someone probably stole it."
She frowned for a moment and then looked at the bottom of the box where the name of the store was stamped. "Well, perhaps one of our customers lost it." She smiled up at me. "And aren't you kind to return it to us?" She thought for a moment. "Wait right here, young man, and I'll find Mr. Walker. He'll be so glad to meet you."
I nodded as she smiled again and walked away. I felt like such a heel. I'd come in to admit to being a thief and, instead, had made myself into a liar. As I waited, I could feel the heat of my face burning from the shame. I tried to figure out if there was a way to admit to being the one who stole it without making a fool of myself.
I imagined myself saying different things:
"Well, the funny thing is, Mr. Walker, I'm the one who stole it..."
"I lied to this nice lady. I'm the one who stole it..."
"What I meant to say was that I stole it..."
"Do you know how easy it is to pick up a watch like this from your store? I did it last week. You see..."
A thin man who stood just a little taller than me interrupted my reverie. He had a thin mustache and thinning black hair. With a thin smile, he said, "I'm Mr. Walker, the store manager. Am I to understand you may have found a stolen watch?"
I nodded and handed him the box.
He looked for the store's stamp just like the lady had. He then removed the watch from the silk fabric and turned it over in his hands. He seemed to nod in satisfaction and then looked at me. "Where did you find this?"
"On the grass over in the park."
He nodded. "And when was this?"
I could feel myself sweating under my shirt collar. "Last Wednesday. I was on my lunch break." That part was true. I'd planned my pinching of the watch during the lunch rush. From past experience, I knew it was the best time to just grab something off the counter.
"And it was just sitting out in the open during the busiest time of the day?"
I blinked. At first, I thought he was referring to the watch on the counter. Then I realized he was talking about the watch on the grass. I nodded. "Sure. But there had just been a group of kids sitting there. Negroes." I felt a knot forming in the pit of my stomach as I said that last word. Every kid in town knew that if you needed a good scapegoat, blaming a Negro or a Chinaman would get you out of a scrape every time. I thought about my buddies at the factory, John and Pete. They were both Negroes. I wondered what they would do if they knew I'd just kicked the can down the road that way. They'd probably give me a slug or two and I knew I would deserve that just as much as I deserved whatever Mike was gonna do to me as soon as he found out that I'd lied. Unlike my old man, who never saw anything, Mike knew. He saw. He could smell trouble. It was scary.
The thin man gave me another thin smile. "Well, I did have a report of one of these watches being stolen during the lunch hour on Wednesday. I suppose we'll have to be more diligent in the future." He put the box on the counter and pulled out a card and a fountain pen. Writing something on the back of it, he said, "For your trouble, here is my card." He handed it to me. It had his name on the front. On the back he'd written a number twenty in a circle next to his initials. As I looked at it, he said, "Hand this to any of our cashiers and they will take up to twenty dollars off your next purchase."
I could feel tears trying to get out as he said that. I blinked a few times to fight them back. Then I shook my head. "Oh, no, mister. I couldn't do that." I pushed the card back at him.
"Nonsense, young man," he replied with a
slightly broader grin as he recapped his pen and put it back in his coat. "It's Gump's pleasure to have such a fine and upstanding customer as yourself. Now," he said as he picked up the box, "I hope you will excuse me while I return this to its rightful place." With that, he was gone.
I stood next to the counter for a moment. I was terrified to go back outside. Mike would sniff me out in a minute. I wondered if I could chase the man down and confess. At that point, I figured that being arrested and spending—
"Did you really say that?" asked Carter.
"Which part?"
"About it being a colored kid?"
I nodded and sighed. "Yeah." I looked down at my half-eaten plate. As I'd told him the story, the waitress had brought out our food. I'd been so caught up in the telling that I'd stopped eating after a while. "It's one of those things I still wish I'd never done."
Carter nodded thoughtfully. "I did something like that once."
"Really?" I asked.
"I'd been out playing on the red plum trees in the back. I broke off one of the big limbs. When Mama asked me if I'd done it, I lied and said I saw some colored kids come running through the yard and that I'd chased them down. I don't think she believed me."
"Why not?"
"Because it had happened the day before. She kept askin' me why I hadn't told her." He took the last sip of his beer. "Over and over again. I think she was expectin' to catch me in a lie." He shook his head. "But, I stuck to my story."
"How old were you?"
"Let's see." He thought for a moment. "I was 11."
I shrugged. "I had just turned 18. An 11-year-old doesn't know better. I did."
Carter nodded. "Can't argue with you there, Boss."
I took a bite of the cold lasagna. It was still good. There really wasn't such a thing, in my mind, as bad lasagna, even if it was cold.
"So what did Mike do?" asked Carter
After squaring my shoulders, I walked back outside and found Mike. He was done with his cigar and was leaning against a police call box, reading one of his dime-store novels.
When he saw me, he looked up. I saw an expression of mild disgust cross his face. I knew I was sunk. But, to my surprise, he asked, "You give the watch back?"
I nodded.
He walked over and clapped me on the shoulder. "Good. Let's head over to the Far East Cafe and have some dinner."
. . .
Mike had his usual dish of crab legs and asparagus. I just had a bowl of soup. I wasn't very hungry. The waiter, who knew us, kept trying to get me to try different dishes as if he knew I was feeling blue. But I turned him down each time.
Mike told me about his day. He had mostly been patrolling the areas around the beach, so he didn't have any of his usual funny stories to tell.
Once he was finished, he stood up and stretched. Tossing a five on the table, he walked out without waiting for me. I stood, grabbed my coat and hat, and scrambled after him. He was walking up Grant and then made a right on California, taking long strides. He didn't seem to have any interest in walking alongside me like he usually did. Dodging the other pedestrians, I followed him up to the top of Nob Hill. Once he had crossed Mason and was standing in front of the Pacific Union Club, he stopped and waited for me.
I'd run up and down that hill all of my life, but, for some reason, I was breathless that night. I knew I was in trouble. I could feel it.
As I crossed Mason, I could see him scowling at me. As I walked up, he reached out and boxed me on the ear. A couple of passers-by stopped to see if a fight was going to break out.
I just put my hand on my ear and stood there. I'd decided I was going to take my punishment like a man.
Mike crossed his arms and stared down at me. "So, what lie did you tell them?"
I took a deep breath. "I told them I found it in the park. That some Negro kids had stolen it."
He nodded but didn't say anything. Turning on his heel, he began to stride along California toward Huntington Park. I followed him, just as I'd done walking up the hill. Once he got to the park's entrance, he turned right and walked inside. He made his way to the center and stopped.
As I walked up, he turned and faced me. Behind him, I could see my old man's big pile of rocks. There was a light peeping from behind the draperies that covered the windows of his bedroom on the corner of the second floor overlooking Sacramento and Taylor Streets.
"What do you see behind me, Nick?" asked Mike in a deadly serious tone of voice, the one that made him sound like Boris Karloff as much as he could look like the man when he was angry like he was at that moment.
"I see the big pile of rocks that I hate and never want to see the inside of again."
Mike nodded and stuck his hands into his coat pockets. "Tell me one good reason why I shouldn't put you over my shoulder, carry you up to the door, ring the bell, and drop your sorry ass in the hallway as soon as someone answers?"
I couldn't think of a reason. He was right. I had nothing to say. In the dim light of the street lamps, his face remained frozen in anger and disgust.
"Well?" he asked, crossing his arms.
I looked down at the ground. The wind was blowing in from the ocean and it was getting cold. Neither of us was wearing more than a coat. I put my hands in my coat pockets and squeezed my shoulders. "There isn't one. You're right, Mike. I lied to you. I don't know why you even like me."
That seemed to take him by surprise. His face softened. In a very low voice, he said, "I don't like you, Nick. I love you. Don't you know that?"
"What did you say?" asked Carter.
I shrugged. "I don't remember. I was too surprised."
We were sitting over cups of coffee and some sort of dessert that involved chocolate cake, whipped cream, and strawberries in syrup.
Carter licked his fork and said, "Don't keep me in suspense, son."
I just stood there, looking at him, tears rolling down my face. I felt colder than I could ever remember. He put his arm around me and we headed back to the apartment.
. . .
Neither of us spoke during the long walk home. Once we got inside, he headed into the bedroom and closed the door on me. I sat on the sofa and picked up the newspaper, looking at it without reading it. I didn't know what else to do. That was one of the few times when I felt like I was a stranger in Mike's home. And it was as much of a punishment for what I'd done as anything else.
After about twenty minutes, Mike opened the bedroom door and walked into the living room. I looked up. He was in his BVDs. His hair was wet. He'd been in the shower. I'd been so wrapped up in feeling ashamed and sorry for myself that I hadn't heard the running water. "Come on in here and get ready for bed, Nick."
I stood and did just that. He followed me into the bedroom. The air was damp and it smelled like Lux soap, which was what Mike used in those days, even though it was supposed to be for ladies.
As I began to strip, hanging up my clothes in the way he'd taught me to do, Mike stood against the wall with his arms folded and watched. Once I was down to my BVDs, he said, "I've been trying to figure out what to do, other than go down to Gump's and rat you out."
I stood by the bed and looked up at him. He was obviously upset. I couldn't blame him. I was a thief and a liar and deserved whatever he decided to do.
"What do you think I should do?"
"Dunno," was the best I could come up with.
He shook his head. "Look, Nick. You're just barely 18. I'm only 24 and I feel like I'm your daddy. But I'm not. I'm your friend and your lover. I'm also a cop."
I nodded. I could feel the tears coming up again.
Mike sat on the bed and, oddly, patted his leg. "Come sit with me."
I did that. It felt reassuring to press up against his warm body and feel his arm wrapped around me. I leaned against his shoulder and said, "I'm really sorry, Mike." I sat there, knowing I had to say the rest, but afraid to admit the truth.
"I know you are, Nick. It's all over your face." He squeezed me tightly. T
he sound of his voice resonated through his chest and I could feel it as much as hear it.
I sighed. "I'm also a thief and a liar."
He nodded. "Yes, you are, Nick. How does that feel?"
"Bad. Real bad."
"Not only that, but you blamed some poor Negro kids for something you did. That makes it worse."
I nodded. "I know."
We were both quiet for a long moment. As I sat on his leg, I could feel something happening inside of me that I didn't understand. I was feeling warm and secure for the first time I could remember in a long time.
He began to rock me. "Maybe you've learned a lesson." He paused and sighed. "But, I ain't your daddy."
I dug my head in closer. "I know."
"You gotta take care of yourself, Nick."
I nodded. "I know."
He suddenly pushed me away. I fell on the ground and looked up at him in surprise. It was as if he'd pulled the rug out from under my feet.
Looking down at me like a vengeful god, his face as angry as I'd ever seen it, he said, "Don't fucking sit there and just agree with me." He pulled himself up into the bed, reached over, and turned off the light on the bedside table. The curtains were drawn but the flashing red and blue lights from the neon signs out on the street were still making their way into the room.
I lay on the floor for a long moment, confused and wondering what to do. I was beginning to get angry. How dare he tell me he loved me and then push me away? As I sat up, I heard him say, "I should put you over my knee and whup you until your ass is black and blue. But I'm not your fucking daddy. I'm your lover. Now get up in this bed and make love to me, you goddam punk-ass kid."
I suddenly realized why he'd pushed me away. I was playing up to him. And Mike hated that. I didn't blame him. Even at 18, I felt pretty much the same way. I pulled myself up from the floor and slipped under the covers next to him.
He turned and faced me. Pulling me into his arms, he whispered—
"I don't think Mike would like it if he knew you were revealing his pillow talk," said Carter.
We were walking into the motel room by that point. As I closed the door behind me, I said, "You're right, Chief. He wouldn't."
Carter eyed me for a moment and then sat down on the edge of the bed. He patted his thigh.
The Rotten Rancher (A Nick Williams Mystery Book 16) Page 8