Trashed: An Eastside Brewery Novel

by Mia Hopkins

  I ignore him. I just sit there, trying not to boil alive in my own anger.

  Something has been bothering me since he told me the story of his run-in with Ruben. A suspicion has been tickling the back of my throat all day. Right now, my nerves are worn down. My head aches. So I decide to ask him, flat-out.

  “Dad, what really happened that night with Demon and Ruben?”

  The expression on his face changes slowly from angry to confused. “What do you mean? I told you everything.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “What? Why do you say that?”

  I stop for a minute and think about what he’s just said. Not, “It’s all true,” but, “Why do you think I’m lying?” As if Dreamer Rosas can admit that he lies, but he can’t believe he’s been caught.

  “The money,” I say. “You told me you took some off the top and put it away. But I’ve known you my whole life. You don’t have the discipline. You can’t save for shit. Tonight, I watched you flash money left and right. You bought Lisa Jo a new fridge and a new TV.” I save the biggest argument for last. The nursing home invoice was how Sal and I first discovered Dreamer was still alive. “You’re even paying for our grandmother’s nursing home back in California.”

  He laughs. “What, your old man can’t work for a living? I was employed at the slaughterhouse for thirteen years. A union job. How do you think we got that house you grew up in? I earned it. Every nail, every board. I bought it.”

  I shake off the anger that rises inside me. “I know how a dollar spends, Dad. Driving a forklift? You’re not making money like this. Not like this.”

  “That’s your argument? I don’t know how to make money like this? There’s a lot you don’t know about me, kiddo. A lot.”

  “I know enough.” For example, I know my father’s pressure points, so I use that knowledge now. “Sal and me, we’re not kids anymore. You can’t fool us into thinking you’re a hero. You’re not smart enough to figure this out. So what’s the truth?”

  “What? ‘Not smart enough’?” He bangs the dashboard again. “‘Not smart enough’? This is how you talk to your father?”

  I don’t like making him angry. I don’t want to hurt him. But I need to get to the bottom of this. So I keep pushing. “You don’t know how to run a con like this. You don’t have the connections. You don’t have the pull.”

  “Mi’jo, let me remind you of something you seem to have forgotten.” He speaks slowly, deliberately. “I am an OG. You know what that stands for? Original gangster. I earned my stripes. I’m not some peewee, some foot soldier. I’m not some pinche leva. I’ve been running and gunning since I was in middle school and you have the ganas to tell me I don’t have the connections to take care of me and mine?”

  The answer to that question is a NO so big and obvious neither one of us has the heart to say it out loud.

  “You and Sal were locked up,” he continues. “I was getting clean, taking care of business. Then I saw some things that made me wonder.”

  “Like what?”

  “Ruben. Going around town, talking to people he shouldn’t be talking to.”

  Now we’re getting somewhere. “Talking to who?”

  My dad glances into the back seat. Larry’s out cold. Still, my dad drops his voice and switches to Spanish. “Shot-callers from Las Palmas.”

  That surprises me. “What?” Hollenbeck’s leader talking to a rival gang? This is some heavy shit. “Are you sure?”

  “I didn’t believe it at first either. So I followed him. Learned his patterns. Spent some money on a camera. Got all James Bond and shit. I wanted proof I wasn’t crazy. And then I got it—Ruben having a conversation with some Las Palmas, out by the railroad tracks and the warehouses. Talking about setting up a joint operation with them, separate from his dealings with Hollenbeck.”

  “Do you mean what I think you mean?”

  My dad nods. “Ruben wanted out of the Organization. He was going directly to the cartel.”

  Twenty-Six

  The temperature of my blood drops several more degrees.

  Forget the truth—shit, forget the lie.

  The conversation my dad and I are having right now could get us killed.

  “What did you do then?” My voice is dry.

  “Me? Shit. I prayed. I got on my knees and prayed for guidance.” He shakes his head. “I thought about not saying anything. There’s power in having dirt on someone. You can play the card later if you need to. I thought I’d tell the big homies locked up in Pelican Bay. They’d order the hit out on Ruben to protect the gang’s interests. And he’d deserve it too—fucking traitor.” My dad rubs his arms again. It’s a tic. “But what good would those two options do me? Nothing. So your dad did something smart.”

  “What?”

  “I went to Ruben and told him exactly what I had on him. The recording of him talking to Las Palmas and selling out East Side Hollenbeck.”

  My stomach cramps up. I’ve never trusted Ruben when it comes to his dealings with me, but I never thought he’d roll on the gang. He’s an OG, much more powerful than my dad. A leader.

  On top of that, I can’t believe my dad went toe-to-toe with him over this. “Why would you do that? And why didn’t he kill you when you showed him the recording?”

  My dad smiles. “I told you your father is smart. I made two copies of the file. I told Ruben I put the copies in safekeeping and if anything ever happened to me, my source would send one to Pelican Bay and one to San Quentin. All the big homies would see him dealing dirty. Ruben would be done. Green light.”

  I must be staring at him with my mouth open.

  He laughs and taps his temple. “See, mi’jo? I know that man. He’ll do anything to save his own ass. So I bargained with him. I said, ‘Fake my death. I’ll leave town. Pay me off and I won’t say shit.’ He agreed. Travel expenses, a nursing home for your grandmother, a monthly payment. It all comes from him. All for the freedom to run his business. And if you knew how much that motherfucker was making, you’d see that what I get is nothing.” My dad whistles. “Drop in the bucket.”

  My dad kicks back in the seat and looks out the window at the dark forest. He laughs to himself. “Drop in the bucket,” he says again.

  I should be happy to learn the truth. Instead, I’m shaking with anger.

  Dreamer Rosas is a sellout just like Ruben is, only worse—he’s a dropout too, faking his death and hiding in the woods.

  He didn’t mention my brothers or me—it didn’t occur to him to think of our safety when he did this. He took the money and ran, perfectly happy to let us absorb the pain, thinking our father was dead.

  Who does that? To his kids? To anyone?

  He didn’t reach out to us until we sniffed him out like bloodhounds.

  “What about Sal and Angel and me?” I snap. “Did you think about us at all when you did this?”

  “Mi’jo, the three of you, let’s be honest. You’re better off without me. You even said so yourself—you’re doing good. No more running and gunning. Staying straight. I was never able to do that. If I was around, all I’d do is fuck things up for you.”

  “So what?” I say. “So what? Do you know what hell it was to be locked up and learn your dad is dead? That you couldn’t be out there to protect him?”

  Instead of saying anything, my father shrugs at me. Shrugs—like I asked him if he wanted pizza or hamburgers for dinner.

  “We all do what we gotta do. You know that.” He folds his arms and settles into his seat. “And you and me—we’re together now anyways. So none of that matters. Right, Trouble?”

  My father—he’s wrong.

  It matters to me.

  Soon Dreamer is snoring, like Larry. Exhausted, I put the car in drive and circle around until I find some landmarks that look familiar. After that, it takes me twenty minutes to find Lisa Jo’s trailer. I am relieved and furious at the same time. We’ve been on a wild goose chase for no reason except my dad’s fucking stubbornness.
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br />   I half carry Larry through the front door while Outlaw sniffs him. My dad shuffles in behind us. He strips off his dirty jacket and shirt and leaves them on the floor of the mudroom.

  Lisa Jo comes out of the kitchen. She’s wearing flannel pajamas. “Are you all okay? I was so worried.”

  “I’m sorry,” I say. Lisa Jo doesn’t deserve this. I turn my head to avoid Larry’s death breath. “Things just got out of hand.”

  Lisa Jo looks between us. “I tried to call. Why didn’t you pick up?”

  “Everything is fine,” Dreamer says. “What’s the big deal?”

  I’m laying Larry down on the floor and throwing an old blanket over him when a shadow appears in the kitchen behind Lisa Jo. I jump back, my nerves still on edge.

  I blink.

  What the fuck?

  Maybe I got smacked in the head harder than I thought.

  “I tried to call,” Lisa Jo says again, “but I couldn’t reach you.”

  Carmen stands in the doorway. She is wearing one of Lisa Jo’s sweatshirts and holding a mug of hot coffee.

  “My car almost didn’t make it up here.” She gives me a sad smile. “You should’ve warned me.”

  Twenty-Seven

  “Who the hell is she?” My father sobers up quick. His eyes harden as he looks Carmen over.

  I push aside my surprise and try to ignore the warmth that spreads through my body. “She’s a friend.”

  “What the fuck, Trouble?” he barks. “I said, don’t tell no one where you’re going.”

  “Calm down, Dad.” I hold up my hands. “I didn’t say nothing.”

  “Then how did she find you?” He frowns at Carmen before peeking out of the window at the empty street. “How do you know you can trust her?”

  He talks as if Carmen isn’t standing right in front of us.

  I stand up straight. I know I look like hell. I ignore my father, take Carmen’s coffee cup, and put it carefully on the counter. While everyone watches, I hug her tightly, pulling her body against mine. I know she’s angry with me. I deserve it. But by some miracle of miracles, she’s here. I kiss the top of her head and hold her tighter.

  “It’s good to see you,” I whisper.

  When she hugs me back, I can finally breathe.

  My father is complaining, but I can’t hear what he’s saying.

  Carmen pulls back to face him. “He didn’t tell me where he was going. I followed him. My battery died two towns back,” she says. “That’s how I got delayed. The sign on the bus said Wenatchee, so I drove here after my car was fixed.”

  Dreamer seems satisfied, even though the story doesn’t sound quite right to me. “Why would you do that?” my father asks. “Drive a thousand miles?”

  “I was worried about him,” she says without hesitating. She looks at me. “You—I was worried about you.”

  “Watch out, mi’jo.” Dreamer laughs to himself and twirls his index finger at his temple. “She’s already crazy.”

  Lisa Jo sees the spark of violence in my eyes and stands up between my father and me.

  “Come on,” she says to him. “You must be tired. Let’s go.”

  He puts his arm around her and takes her into the bedroom.

  I stand in the living room and stare as they close the door behind them.

  It takes a second for the truth to hit me.

  I think of Daisy back in LA, keeping my dad’s secrets for him. I’m almost certain she’s the one with the recordings. If Ruben finds her, she’s in serious danger. He’s ordered the killings of people for much, much less.

  She’s taking big risks for Dreamer, I’m guessing because she loves him.

  But does she know that he’s sleeping with her mom at the same time?

  It’s easy for women to fall in love with Dreamer. It’s a disaster for them to stay in love with him.

  Two women, both devoted and kind—how could he do this to them?

  To my mother?

  To any of us?

  “Are you okay?” Carmen asks.

  My stomach turns. I rush to the bathroom, shut the door, and puke into the toilet. Disgusted, I flush it. I take off my shirt and look in the mirror above the sink.

  Trashed.

  I look—and feel—like shit.

  When I was a kid, I idolized my dad. Tough, street smart, good looking, always running one game or another. But now I’m a man. And nothing can keep me from seeing the flaws in his character. The carelessness. The self-centeredness. The addictive personality—for drugs, for booze, for women, for status.

  He was willing to trade away everything meaningful in his life for shit that didn’t matter.

  An ugly truth rises inside me.

  What am I doing here?

  Am I chasing the real Dreamer Rosas? Or am I chasing my idea of what our story should be? What was I expecting up here? A happy ever after? A warm reunion with my long-lost father? For years I felt guilty that I couldn’t protect him. Now all I feel is angry that I wasted those years on guilt.

  I scrub away the dirt that’s caked in my beard. In the light, I see my knuckles are scratched up and swollen. I wash my face and towel it dry. The cut on my eyebrow isn’t big. It’ll close up soon. There’s some swelling, but it’ll go down in a couple days.

  Behind the mud and the blood, my face is still intact.

  I am still intact.

  I walk out to the living room where Carmen sits on the sofa, waiting. Larry snores under his blanket, warm and oblivious.

  “I need some air,” I say quietly.

  Carmen and I put on a couple old jackets hanging by the door. Outlaw follows us behind the house and out to the river. The porch lights are just strong enough to light our path.

  “You didn’t follow the bus,” I say.

  She shakes her head. “No. I woke up at noon that day. You were long gone.”

  “So how did you find me?”

  “Rafa,” she says. “I didn’t want your father to know, so I lied.”

  I shake my head. “That old marijuano. Jesus.”

  “To be fair, he wouldn’t tell me, at first,” she says. “I had to get him raging drunk. He was trashed.”

  “How did you find out we were staying with Lisa Jo?”

  “I just asked around town.” She pauses. “Speaking Spanish helps a lot. People open up, start sharing.”

  “So my father isn’t the secret agent he thinks he is.”

  Carmen shakes her head. “Not up here, anyway.” She tucks her hands into her pockets. Her nose looks cold. “Rafa told me half of the story. Lisa Jo told me the rest. But why did you keep all of this a secret from me?”

  “Are you angry?”

  “I was, at first,” she says. “But more than that, I realized I was worried about you. Why didn’t you just tell me about your dad? I could’ve helped you. I could’ve done something.”

  I pull her close. The air is so cold it stings my nose, but Carmen’s soft breaths warm my neck and cheek. “I didn’t want you to get mixed up in any of this.” I pause. “I wanted to protect you.”

  “I can protect myself.”

  She is tough. A badass in lots of ways. But there are some dangers we can’t protect ourselves from, as hard as we try.

  “You drove a thousand miles,” I whisper.

  “More than a thousand,” she says.

  “Why?”

  “I had to know you were okay.”

  I don’t know what to say. No one has ever done anything like this for me. I stroke her hair and kiss her forehead and rub her arms. When we kiss, it’s almost shy, as if we have an audience. As if the strange trees are watching us. As if the old dog cares.

  “Eddie?”

  “Yes, baby girl?” I’m caressing her cheeks.

  “I’m fucking cold.”

  We start back to the house, but I forgot something.

  “Wait,” I say. “Hold up.”

  In the dark, I walk up to the edge of the water. I take the knife out of my sock and throw it h
ard. The river is so loud, I don’t hear the splash, only the nonstop roar of water rushing over rocks.

  “What was that?” Carmen asks.

  I hesitate, but it doesn’t feel right to keep secrets from her any more. “A knife.”

  She frowns. “Did you hurt someone with it?”

  “No. But I could have.”

  We go back inside. With Larry and the dog asleep on the floor, Carmen and I keep our clothes on. We share the narrow couch and hold each other very close. I kiss her and stroke her hair. Soon she’s drowsing on my chest and her gentle weight calms me down enough to fall asleep.

  In the morning, I pack my bag, get dressed, and say goodbye to Outlaw. I don’t leave a note, and I regret not saying goodbye to Lisa Jo. But I’m done here. There’s nothing left to say.

  When the sun comes up over the trees, we’re on the road. Carmen’s behind the wheel, and I’m at her side.

  We’re winding down the mountain when my phone gets reception at last. I watch the message alerts appear. Three missed calls from my brother. One missed call from Vanessa. Two voicemails.

  The first voice message isn’t a surprise. It’s from Sal. He’s mad.

  “Where the hell are you? Vanessa said that you skipped town. What the fuck—this is bullshit. Violating your parole? We talked about this. You can’t have it both ways, Eddie. Forward or backward. You can’t do both, you hear me? Call me. Just call me.”

  I hit the button. Next message.

  “Eddie.” It’s Vanessa. “Listen. Something just went down at the bakery.”

  I freeze. What?

  Vanessa’s voice cracks. She’s crying. “We’re at the hospital. There was a shooting. Your brother has just been admitted into the emergency room here at County General. I’ll call you when I know more. But…just…please call me.” Her voice breaks. “We need you. Come home as soon as you can.”

  Carmen sees the fear in my eyes.

  “What’s wrong?” she asks.

  Twenty-Eight