Pennies from Burger Heaven

by Marcy McKay

  “I’m telling you that bear ate it.”

  He throws his hands on his hips. “You said it ain’t right to lie.”

  “Don’t say ain’t. The truth is I left it in our motel room.”

  That’s true, but still a lie. It’s in Eddie Loco’s hands, where he wants the rest of me.

  Turdmouth stares from outside the glass door, his hands cupped around his eyes looking inside. He doesn’t spot us, huffs, then disappears from view. His pitiful face makes me want to kick myself. He may be a turd, but he’s better than most today.

  Salt says, “What was Turdmouth doing out there?”

  “Nothing. How’s your mama?”

  They both watch her stone-faced and shrug, so I let it go. What’s there to say? She’s still shivering like she’s trapped in her own haunted house. I swear, she’s Diablo’s biggest customer. My insides twang for her boys. They’re used to this, but she’s still a crap-sandwich mama.

  I ought to talk to her right now, but want to get the scoop from the boys first. I lead ’em to wait in the plasma line. It’s my backup plan in case Miz Jesus doesn’t come through with more cash at dinner chunch. We’re standing behind two other folks. I say, “So, tell me what you told Turdmouth. When’d you see Mama?”

  Pepper yawns. “Early this morning at the motel.”

  He makes me yawn, too. “Okay. What happened next?”

  Salt says, “Me and Pepper were standing outside when your mom tore out of your room, screaming rape. Some guy hauled after her and that made her holler worse. He chased her down the stairwell.”

  “Was it Diablo?”

  “Nah. He didn’t look like none of the Barrio Brothers.”

  “What about that new cop, Noblitt?”

  Salt says no as Pepper says yes, then Pepper giggles. “We saw your mommy’s titties, too.”

  “Don’t talk like that.”

  Salt nods. “She had on pants, but no shirt. She kept yelling, “Rape! Rape! Rape!”

  That word sets fire to me. The kind of flames that destroy lives forever. Once, a long time ago, I turned the TV on after Mama went to sleep. I didn’t know that channel cost nineteen bucks or I wouldn’t have pushed the button. Plus, I’d never, ever want to see what those men did to that poor lady. Mama made sure my butt never forgot that lesson again.

  Rape. I bite my lip and say, “Where’d Mama run to?”

  Salt shrugs and looks away, but Pepper says, “We had to hurry inside before Mommy caught us out there. Your mama woke up the whole motel with her yelling and screaming.”

  More people come into the Plasma Center now, and a chill blows through the door. The rest of the crowd starts to rile up from the weather and the people. I need to hurry before some junk-bag starts a fight. Turdmouth still isn’t out there.

  It’s our turn in line.

  An older lady sits at the front desk behind the sliding glass window. She’s got skin blacker than a funeral car and short, snowy white hair. She smiles. “May I help you?”

  “Yes ma’am, I want to sell my plasma.”

  “Me, too,” says Pepper.

  She laughs and pats his hand. “That’s cute, but you’re all too young. Eighteen and older only.”

  “See, but that’s a mistake. Our juices are way better than anyone else here ’cause ours isn’t poisoned yet. We’re talking pure gold.”

  “True, but we still can’t. It’s the law.” Her grin leaves.

  “But, I’m desperate. I really need the cash.”

  “Next.” She motions to the man behind me and glides the window shut. She meets him at the side door.

  “Your loss,” I say.

  Time to deal with Bird. She’s rocking herself back-and-forth in the far corner. Winding my way back there, my gut screws up worse. I try to tell myself it’s ’cause I’m hungry, but my body doesn’t buy it. The boys stop following me, and I don’t blame ’em. She’s easily spooked, so I keep my distance.

  I smile and crouch down nearby, talking extra slow. “Hey. Bird. It’s me. Copper.” She doesn’t see me she’s so messed up, so I say louder, “Bird, you seen Mama?”

  Her eyes stare past me, trying to follow my voice, but can’t quite find it. My insides start getting panicky that I’ve hit another dead end. I turn sweaty all over, then her gaze lands on me and flickers brighter.

  She shivers, then says in her raspy voice, “Damn, Copper. What happened to Corrine? I’ve heard all sorts of rumors. What the hell?”

  All my fears sucker punch me. I even flinch. “L-Like what?”

  “I need some. You got any?” Bird buries deeper into herself, talking gibberish.

  “What’d you hear about Mama?” Bird knows something, and she better give it up. Her holding out takes my worry, then flashes it into mad. I’d like to punch her, but try to keep my voice nice and soft. “What’d she mean yesterday when she told you she was ready to take what’s hers?”

  Bird stares into space. Her quiet freaks me out again. I want to slap answers from her right now, but can’t. I don’t want the boys to see me do that, and I’m racking up a list of people I’ve hurt—Corn Dog, Turdmouth …

  Salt pats Pepper’s shoulder beside me like a good big brother. They’ve got a long day ahead of ’em with her.

  What a long life.

  Bird gets a faraway look and rasps out, “I heard death wanted Corrine for his bride … so the godlies married them … she flew straight to the sun to perch on the light with the godlies … the godlies.”

  My whole body goose bumps watching her blank face. I try to tell myself it’s just more of her crazy nonsense, but every word she just said fried itself to my heart. That burn won’t let go of me. “What’s a godlie?”

  She stares beyond me and laughs, sort of high-pitched and insane like the hyenas from The Lion King we watched once at the library. Scared shivers through me at what Bird might mean. I look to her boys for an answer, but they just cling to each other. Their eyes grow wider.

  Pepper whispers extra soft, “Where’s your mama?”

  His simple question undoes me.

  The room starts to spin.

  CHAPTER 11

  I sway back and forth. If I faint, Turdmouth isn’t here to catch me. I sent him away. Maybe I ran Mama off, too. Maybe she left for California without me ’cause I’m bad.

  No. She’d never do that. Still, without her, I’ve got nothing in this world. She is my whole world.

  That’s the only thing I’m sure of. Bird makes me want to bawl. I don’t want to cry or black out in front of the boys, but they start to look wobbly to me.

  I give ’em a quick hug goodbye before I keel over. “Take care of each other and go to dinner chunch. No matter what your mama does. You hear me?”

  “We will.”

  The room jiggles worse. My heart and head pounding in equal, scary time with Bird’s craziness. I’m in a complete sweat. What’s a godlie?

  It’s nothing. That’s not real, but what if it is? ’Cause …

  Mama keeps doing stuff I never thought she would, so why not perch onto the sun, too? Whose bride is she, anyhow? No-Brains? I hate picturing her blue angel wings flying herself up to the sky without me. I hate picturing her anywhere with him.

  Outside the Plasma Center, I tumble out the door and start walking. My mind goes blank as Paradise tumbles all around me. I almost make it around the corner before crashing onto the cold sidewalk.

  The hardness jolts my shoulder. I try to looking up at the sky for Mama, but the sun’s silverness blinds me. Everything blurs. A constant knock hammers against my brain. I’m cold. I’m hurt. I’m alone.

  At some point later, I heard someone yelling my name. Closer.

  Turdmouth appears all fuzzy through the crowd around me. He hands me a rolled up tortilla from lunch. “Eat this.”

  I do and my fingers are empty before I know it.

  That helps my belly some, but only Mama can fix this broken heart.

  He shoos the gawkers away, then helps me
sit up. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” I close my eyes.

  “What’d the boys say?”

  “Pretty much what you already know.” I wipe my wet cheek and pretend it’s from falling.

  “What about Bird? You look upset.”

  “Give me a sec. Will you?” I wish he’d back off, but of course, he doesn’t. I don’t want to hear Bird, either, but she’s whispering in my ear, “I heard death wanted Corrine for his bride … so the godlies married them … she flew straight to the sun to perch on the light with the godlies … the godlies.”

  It’s like she’s talking in code.

  That, or it’s messed-up nonsense.

  I try to push myself up and Turdmouth helps me to my feet. I hobble around him and on down the street. Scratched and bruised from chasing buses and falling out windows, limping with just one shoe, but not much else. I hate knowing this knot in my gut might be forever if she’s really gone.

  Don’t think like that. Breathe. Get back to your clues.

  Turdmouth follows me. “Where are you going now?”

  “Back to the Shangri-La. It’s the one place I know Mama was last night, even if I don’t know with who. I need inside our room again, whether Spook and Eddie Loco are there, or not.”

  “Whoa.” He stops. “Did you have a run-in with the Barrio Brothers?” I realize my mistake and just nod. He catches up and machine guns me with questions. “Are they the ones who stole your shoe? Did they hurt you? How’d you get away? What’d they want? Do they know anything about your mom?”

  I keep going, but he says with a softer voice, “None of this sounds safe.” I don’t talk, but he still says, “I’m coming, too.”

  I should say I’m sorry for earlier, but my mouth doesn’t. That tortilla filled me up more than I thought. Turdmouth stops talking and I’m glad. We walk together through the cold quiet and it’s not too bad. I reach into my coat pocket for the Shangri-La key card.

  It’s gone. I groan.

  “What’s wrong?” says Turdmouth.

  “Nothing.” I try to make myself feel better and picture that blue cash bag sitting inside the motel office like a pot of gold.

  A bus passes by with Mr. and Miz Jesus’ Hollywood smiles plastered across it. She gave me one hundred bucks today just ’cause. He didn’t give me jack. They both supposedly believe in the same God, so what’s up with that?

  Turning the corner to the Shangri-La, me and Turdmouth slam on our brakes together. Across the street, bright yellow CAUTION tape marks off the parking lot at the Cockroach Castle (the sign says it’s the “Camelot Inn,” but trust me). That wasn’t there earlier.

  A crime scene. A murder. A black body bag lays on the ground by an ambulance and two cop cars. About half a dozen cops move around, but I don’t see No-Brains.

  I can’t breathe. I’m gulping mouthfuls of air, but can’t calm down. The whole world spins and I almost buckle over again, hoping the Street Killer didn’t strike. Mama can’t be in that body bag. It’s not her. That’s not our motel, but she could’ve been running through that parking lot with whoever chasing her. Last night’s mystery man is probably the Street Killer.

  Turdmouth turns me away from the crime scene. “It’s not your mom.”

  “You don’t know that.” Tears clog my throat.

  “Want me to check it out? I could see if Noblitt is there now? I’ll talk to him, then meet you at your room.”

  All I can do is nod my thanks. Turdmouth starts to run off, so I grab his arm. I can’t seem to let go. I don’t want to be alone with these dark, ugly thoughts, but I want to find out what’s happening over there. “Before the Plasma Center … the way I acted … I, I …” Nothing else follows. If I open my mouth again, I’ll start wailing and may never stop. I don’t want him to think I’m a crybaby, so I try to smile. It’s not big, but it’s all I’ve got.

  Turdmouth pats my hand and grins a smile that could light up the city. “Don’t try to be nice. You might hurt yourself.”

  I laugh. My sorry, my thanks, my fear—everything wells up inside me. He’s really not so bad once you get used to him. I don’t let myself watch Turdmouth run off ’cause then I’ll see that body bag again. Shadows spread across the Shangri-La. It’ll be pitch dark here by 5 p.m. when I need to head back to chunch.

  Trembles start in my toes and jitter their way up. What if Spook and Eddie Loco are still in my room? No matter what Mama did, she’d rip through every inch of Paradise for me. She didn’t run off to California without me. I command myself to our room ’cause it’s got clues and that’s what I need most now.

  Please, don’t be dead, Mama.

  As I tiptoe by the motel office, of course, Tank Top Teddy sits on his lazy ass watching TV. Cops blares from inside. More importantly, that blue cash bag still sits on the middle shelf. Waiting for me.

  Not for much longer. It’s about to do a disappearing trick.

  Disappearing, the Disappeareds, Mama … I wish I hadn’t thought of that.

  Carmella isn’t anywhere on the first floor. I don’t spot her cleaning cart, either. All along the breezeway, that sunny, cheery yellow CAUTION tape keeps poking into the corner of my eye. Following me.

  I officially decide that can’t be Mama across the street and believe it. My body would feel her goneness if something bad happened to her. It’d be screaming dead inside me. A daughter knows her mama better than that.

  As I shuffle up the outside stairwell, I don’t see anyone on the first or second floors. The crime scene made this a ghost town. There’s just me, the cold, and death across the street. I keep dragging myself along.

  At Room 207, the curtains are pulled tight. I hear laughing inside … sounds like a man and a woman. She’s got a silly giggle, so it’s not Mama. She’s got a deep, belly laugh. I don’t hear Spanish, either, so I don’t think it’s Spook or Eddie Loco again. My shoulders unknot, just a little, though whoever’s in there is still in my way.

  The handle is locked. I stare at it, not sure who’s inside, or what they’re doing, but I start knocking. Softer at first, then I remember I need answers now, so I bang louder. This is our room, so we’ve got dibs.

  The laughing stops. I add kicking to the door, along with my whooping and hollering. I make such a racket that I’m surprised that Tank Top hasn’t already shown up here to bust me.

  The door creaks open. A pretty Mexican teen blocks herself behind it. She’s just wearing a man’s white dress shirt and is barefoot, with her long, black Cher hair tussled around her.

  She gives me a shy smile. “Hola?”

  I smell him before I see him. It’s that woodsy stink. I shove the door away to see if I’m right.

  Yep. A man lies in the bed with nothing but a sheet covering his privates and a cigarette dangling from his mouth.

  It’s Mr. Jesus.

  There’s a reason it’s called the naked truth, and that just passed between me and the good preacher now. His man perfume smothers me worse than it did before ’cause he’s mixed it with sex. I know that rank stench.

  The girl squeals and rushes to the bathroom, her tan booty swishing under his shirt. She slams the door shut where I hid earlier. The room’s been cleaned up since Spook and Eddie Loco trashed it this morning—all the drawers closed and hangers back in the closet again. The bed’s the only thing still unmade, and it looks like Mr. Jesus and his monkey-pie girl did some serious damage to it.

  He pulls the sheet up to his chin. His fiery red hair is smooshed with bed head as he yells, “Get out.”

  I march to his side, but stay out of his reach. “I thought you said your wife’s the most Godly woman you know.”

  “I’m calling security.” He picks up the phone.

  “So, this is how you thank her?” I open the nightstand to the red Gideon’s Bible I know stays in there and toss it at him. The book lands on his lap and I hope it broke his wanger.

  Mr. Jesus complains to Tank Top about me now. Miz Jesus deserves so much better than
this rat bastard. He’s the one always showboating on TV, but he wouldn’t even give me cash to save my family. That woman is a saint. I knew all men were scum, but should’ve remembered that preachers are men, too. She’s probably home with their three perfect kids, while he’s banging some girl who doesn’t look eighteen.

  I hear Tank Top’s gravelly voice on the line. This might be the best plan for me. That cash bag will be sitting all alone in his office downstairs. It’ll take him two or three minutes to get up here, but I’ll be long gone with it by then.

  Thank you, Mr. Jesus. You may have saved me after all.

  The preacher slams down the phone, so I start the countdown. He glances at the plastic bag on my foot, then points to the door. “They’re on their way up now.”

  “I’m scared. How’d you know my name earlier?”

  “You told me.”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  He looks around, with his shoulders all hunched up. “I guess my wife told me. Now, go.”

  “No, she didn’t. You said it before I met her.”

  “I’m calling the police.” He picks up the phone again.

  “I’m here ’cause my mama was in this very room with someone last night. Now she’s missing and you’re here naked. That’s sort of weird, don’t you think?”

  His mouth stays in a flat line, while his emerald eyes glare knives this way. He’s slicing me to pieces.

  “You know Corrine Daniels. Don’t you?”

  His glare flickers at her name.

  “How do you know her?”

  No response.

  Tank Top will waddle up here any second and I’ve got a date with his cash bag, so I better go. “I’m telling your wife!” I leave the door open to give everyone a good look.

  He yells, “You won’t get another cent from her.”

  I keep going, but his threat unravels me more. I need that cash. My insides ache ’cause nothing hurts worse than wanting something that’ll never happen. I’ve got no choice but to take that cash bag now.

  Tank Top hurries up the faraway stairwell, while I hobble down the other steps across the parking lot. He’s faster than he looks with his recliner-shaped ass. He’s got to be freezing in those boxers and wifebeaters.