Before that, it was Nick and Auntie Reba and me.
Before that, before I could really remember, there was Mom and Dad and Mikey and me.
But, when I was six, Mom and Dad and Mikey died in a car crash. Well, Mom and Dad did, instantly. My brother Mikey died in surgery a couple hours later, though it was the same thing. I’d been with them and survived, even though I’d been in the hospital for three months.
Then I went home to Nick and Auntie Reba.
Auntie Reba was Mom’s only sibling, much younger than Mom. My Dad had no siblings and all the grandparents were dead except my Mom’s dad and, at the time, he had Parkinson’s and was in a home (now, he was dead too).
Auntie Reba and Nick had only been together a few months when my family died. They got married a few months after I got out of the hospital.
Then when I was fifteen, Auntie Reba died. She’d had a routine surgery, all went well, and then, a couple of days later, she just died.
A blood clot dislodged in her leg and lodged in her heart and then… gone.
Nick, who wasn’t even my real family, didn’t turn me out.
Something happened between us, losing Auntie Reba like that.
The only love I knew growing up (or remembered, really) was Auntie Reba and Nick’s love for me.
And I knew Nick’s love for Auntie Reba.
He loved her in a way that was indescribable. It wasn’t like she walked on water or was the earth and moon and stars.
It was different.
It was breath.
It was necessity.
She was the last of my blood and she was life to him.
So we hung on to each other. It was the only thing we could do.
Nick put up with me, which was saying a lot. I was a difficult child, an even worse teen, always on a mission to save a broken-winged bird; a shy schoolmate; a forest in Brazil I’d never even see. I didn’t party or get out of control in any normal way, but I was out of control just the same.
I became a social worker which had Nick worried. He didn’t think I needed any more causes.
“Christ, you’ve saved the trees, you’ve made the wilting violet into the prom queen and you’ve marched to take back the night. You can’t save the world, Jules,” Nick said.
“Maybe not, but I can try,” I retorted, full of youthful bravado.
“Then I hope the Lord saves us all from you trying to save us all,” Nick finished.
After graduating from college, I had a few jobs and kept my boundaries. Nick was surprised, he was certain I’d run amok in my quest to save the world.
This unfortunately put Nick at his ease. He’d thought I’d settled down.
Then I got the job at King’s Shelter for runaway kids.
This went well, for awhile. The kids responded to me and I’d found my niche.
That was until about four months ago when I walked into the Shelter and Roam and Sniff were looking funny.
* * * * *
I walked back into the kitchen opened a bottle of red wine and poured myself a glass in one of my big bowled, red wine glasses. I went back through the hall to the living room and threw myself on the chaise lounge.
Boo jumped up and settled in my lap.
“Meow,” he said to me.
“Quiet, Mommy’s thinking,” I told him and then slid my finger under his jaw and rubbed.
He purred.
I looked out the window and, even though I didn’t want to, I remembered.
* * * * *
Roam, Sniff and Park were my boys, we were close. It took months but I worked hard and got them to trust me.
They’d been on the street for years but none of them was over sixteen. I’d rounded them into the Shelter, going day in and day out to 16th Street Mall, where they hung out, and talked to them. I got a lot of kids from the street into the Shelter, then into counseling, then to reunions with their parents (if it worked), then family counseling, then home (if it really worked).
Roam, Sniff and Park were never going to go home. They told me about their homes. Their homes were evil and there was no way I’d finagle that kind of reunion. So, I just worked at keeping them clean, safe, fed and educated.
That day, that, shitty, awful day when I arrived at King’s, I noticed Park wasn’t there and I knew that Roam and Sniff knew something.
I cornered Sniff, the weakest of the pack, and asked where Park was.
“Dunno,” Sniff said.
Park had a crush on me, I knew this and used it. It’s not that I thought I was all that, even though Auntie Reba and Nick told me I was, in Nick’s words, “extraordinarily beautiful”. He said this because he loved me. I did have a mirror, though, and even though I didn’t think I was the hottest of the hotties, I was nothing to sneeze at. I had Dad’s black hair but, on me, because I wore it long, it had a bit of wave. I had Mom’s violet blues eyes and pale skin and Mom’s curves too. I wasn’t going to win any beauty pageants but no one was going to hand me a bag to put over my head either.
To be honest, I had a crush on Park too, but obviously not the same kind as he had on me.
He was funny, sweet and smart as hell. He made me laugh so hard my stomach ached and he looked at me in a way that made me know I was making a difference.
I was beginning to realize I wasn’t going to save the world but I sure as hell was going to save Park, even if it killed me. I knew I should have boundaries but I loved that kid. I loved all three of them.
Park knew I’d be at King’s that day. He wouldn’t miss a chance to see me.
“Sniff, no pudding cup for you if you don’t spill,” I threatened.
Sniff liked his pudding cups.
“Dunno, Law. Just, not here.”
The sacrifice of the pudding cup was a surprise and heralded bad tidings. Sniff knew something was going on and Park could be problematic. He was too smart for his own good and needed challenges to keep his active mind moving, especially moving away from a life that was pretty much shit. He got in trouble a lot, searching for adventure and release and a way to get away from it all. I had my hands full with him; I had my hands full with all three of them.
I grabbed the material of Sniff’s overlarge sweatshirt at his arm and dragged him to Roam.
“Let’s go boys. We’re finding Park.”
They came with me mainly because it meant they could ride in Hazel.
We found Park, it took hours, we searched all his places, and there were a fair few, but we found him.
I’ll never forget it.
The syringe was resting in the alley by his lifeless hand.
Bad dope.
He was stiff, rigor mortis had set in. His eyes were open, his usually beautiful skin was pale.
I took one long look at him and then shouted, “God dammit!”
Sniff puked.
Roam put both of his palms to the top of his head, his eyes never leaving the dead body of his friend.
I cursed a bit more (okay, maybe a lot more) then crouched low by Park and stared at him.
It didn’t even look like him. I’d never met a person with more life than Park. Seeing him lifeless was like looking at another human being.
I dropped my head and cursed some more.
Then I pulled out my phone and called the police.
When I was done, I stared at Park again.
After awhile, when the vision of him was burned on my brain, I closed my eyes and found the vision of him was burned on the insides of my eyelids.
That’s when I knew what I had to do.
It just came to me.
I got out of my crouch and looked at Roam.
“Who sold him the stuff?”
Roam was black, tall, gangly and when he filled out, would be a looker. Sniff was white, overly-thin, short and had acne. Park had been Mexican-American, medium height and already handsome, if he’d reached an age, he’d have been a knockout.
I knew from my work with him that Roam was sliding across the edge. I never knew if I was goin
g to get through to him. Every day I went to King’s, I held my breath, hoping he’d be there as that was the only indication that what I was doing was working.
Roam’s black eyes stared at me but he didn’t say a word.
I put my hand to his chest and shoved him against the wall of the building, next to Park’s body. Then I got in his face.
Roam was fifteen, but five inches taller than me and, if he tried, he could take me.
He didn’t try.
“Who sold him the fucking dope?” I demanded.
“Don’t know his name.”
“Can you take me to him?”
Roam’s eyes moved, quick as a flash, surprised but not wanting to show it.
“Law,” he said and that was all he said and I knew he could.
“Tonight. You take me to him,” I said.
Roam’s face went hard and I knew why. Roam and Park had been friends since they could remember. They knew the bad times at home and the better-but-still-shit times on the street. Sniff had come later. New on the street, Park had taken him under his wing. The three had been inseparable ever since.
Until now.
“Yeah,” Roam agreed and I knew why he did that too and that wasn’t going to happen.
“You aren’t getting involved. You show me who it is and then you’re a shadow.”
“Law,” Roam repeated.
“No, Roam. This isn’t a discussion.”
“Ain’t no place for white bitches. These people’ll fuck you up,” Roam told me.
“Don’t worry about me. And don’t call me a bitch, it’s rude.”
What could I say? I was still the adult in the situation.
That night, Roam showed me who it was.
I didn’t go after him. I wasn’t that stupid.
Instead, I followed him and I planned.
I also went to Zip’s Gun Emporium and bought a gun.
Zip was as old as time, white, short, wrinkled, skinny and mostly bald except for about a dozen long, white hairs that were attached randomly to his skull.
Zip watched me as I handled the guns in his shop, making my decision.
“You ever held a gun?” he asked.
“Nope,” I answered.
“You buyin’ it for protection? To put in your purse?”
“Nope,” I repeated.
Zip watched me some more. “Goin’ after your ex?” he asked.
“Nope,” I said again.
Zip’s eyes got wide for a fraction of a second then they narrowed. “Goin’ after someone else?”
I looked at Zip.
Then, I don’t know why, maybe I needed to talk about it, maybe I needed someone to talk me out of my plan, but, for whatever reason, I told Zip about Park.
Then I told him about my plan.
Then he stared at me for what seemed a long time.
Finally, he walked down the display case, opened one up, pulled out a black gun and said, “Glock 19, nine millimeter. It’s light, it’s dependable and it’ll fit in your purse.”
Hallelujah.
“Sold,” I said.
“Got a shooting range out back. Every day, you’re in here for at least an hour. Every day, I’ll give you the hour free and I’ll teach you. You don’t go on the street until you can handle that gun. Then I got some boys I want you to talk to. They’ll show you how to handle yourself. Be here tomorrow at six.”
I was a little shocked but I wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth so I nodded.
“Let’s fill out the paperwork,” Zip finished.
Zip made me practice shooting until my arms ached. Sometimes, one of his boys, Heavy or Frank, would come get me and take me out and they’d show me other things. They taught me about knives (mostly, how to avoid them, but also how to handle them). They also taught me how to scrap; how to punch; how to duck; how to drive; how to use stun guns, tasers and mace; how to be quiet; how to be invisible; and how to disappear.
Most importantly, Heavy taught me, “You get in a tussle, go for the gonads. Always.”
It was good advice but I didn’t expect to get that close.
I expected to be a nuisance.
I was going to use guerrilla tactics.
And I did.
I followed Park’s killer and, while he was off making a sale, I used one of Zip’s knives and slashed all his tires.
Sure, it might seem silly and immature but you make a drug sale, you want to get away and make another sale, not call AAA.
Then during one of Park’s killer’s sales, while hidden, I threw a smoke bomb at them, interrupting the sale and freaking everyone way, the hell, out. I didn’t expect he lost his customers; drug addicts would get over a freak out when they needed a score. Still, it would aggravate the dealer and that was what I was after.
Then I followed Park’s killer some more and saw his supplier.
Then I followed his supplier.
Then I slashed his tires.
I did this a lot, messing with their heads, doing stupid, annoying shit that got right up their noses. My favorite was the plastic wrap I attached back and forth on the doorway when the dealer was taking a break from destroying people’s lives and banging his girlfriend. When he was done, he walked through the plastic wrap on the door and, for a second, had no idea what he’d walked through. He’d started yelling and carrying on, throwing his arms everywhere, plastic wrap clinging to him.
I watched the whole thing and nearly pee’d my pants laughing.
During the day, I listened to the kids.
At night, I eavesdropped on the dealers, the suppliers and the junkies.
This was how I learned the street, or part of it anyway.
I paid attention, I memorized faces, names and places and I spent a lot of time with Zip, Heavy and Frank.
And I widened my net.
Sal Cordova was my first mistake.
Cordova was a small time supplier and part-time dealer and I got up his nose too, just for the hell of it, mainly because he was a swaggering jerk who thought he was God’s gift to women. Following him, hiding in the shadows in bars and watching him, I noticed he seriously thought he was God’s gift to women, even when the women didn’t agree. I worried that Sal Cordova was the kind of guy who would make a woman agree.
One could say Sal was good-looking. He was a couple inches taller than me, decent body (not Vance Crowe-esque but then again, who was?), light brown hair, blue eyes.
Problem was, Sal was a jerk, he was a letch and he was so stupid, I got cocky.
One day I got close, sliding into the opposite side of a booth in front of him at a greasy spoon.
He looked at me, surprised then he smiled, thinking I was coming on to him.
“Hey darlin’,” he said and winked.
Um… pu-lease.
“I’m Jules,” I told him, trying not to vomit.
“Hey Jules.” His smile widened.
Okay, so that was all I could take.
I didn’t waste any time and told him why I was there.
“Sell dope to kids, any kids, including the runaways, you’ll be out of business. Remember, I’m watching.”
Then I got up and left.
As I said, cocky.
And cocky was not good.
That’s when people, not the right kind of people, found out who I was.
Zip was not pleased.
“Girl, you got a screw loose,” Zip said.
When I told Nick (I told Nick everything, I did this because he’d find out anyway, I learned that a long time ago), to say Nick was not pleased was an understatement.
“Are you out of your flippin’ mind?” Nick yelled.
I didn’t answer. I learned a long time ago too that silence was the best way to go with Nick.
It was Roam and Sniff who spread the name Law.
Roam knew me, he knew what I was like and he’d heard about my antics on the street. He figured out it was me right away and he made a mistake. He told Sniff.
Sniff could never keep his mouth shut about anything and he loved Park, they both did, so Sniff and Roam thought what I was doing was the shit.
By the time I talked Sniff into keeping his mouth shut, it was too late. I was Law and that was it.
Sal took my approaching him in the greasy spoon as a challenge. Not that he wanted to “shut me down” as Crowe did, but that he wanted something else entirely from me. Something icky when you thought about doing it with Sal (way not icky when you thought about doing it with Crowe, but I didn’t go there).
So, instead of coming after me to stop me from getting up his nose, if you could believe this, Sal Cordova was actually trying to get me to go out with him.
Yes, that’s exactly how stupid he is.
All of this brought me to my current predicament.
Sal had caught up with me and made his intentions clear.
I’d told him to go fuck himself.
He got a little excited and there was a bit of a car chase.
We ended up in a guns drawn face off in the middle of a busy, one way, four lane street, right in front of a used bookstore that was the known hangout for Lee Nightingale and his boys.
The rest was history.
* * * * *
“Meow?” Boo asked, staring at me and knowing with feline instincts that my life was fucked and probably wondering if something happened to me who would feed him.
“Yeah Boo. You called it. Meow,” I answered.
Chapter Two
Levitate
My phone rang and I got up, mentally shook away my memories, dislodged Boo on an angry “Meow!” and walked across the room to pick it up.
“Hello?”
“You’re fuckin’ loco. Loco!” Zip shouted in my ear.
I guessed word of my faceoff with Cordova had made the rounds.
“Zip –” I started.
“You’re off duty. You’re lyin’ low. Least a week, maybe a month, maybe forever,” Zip interrupted me.
“I’m not lying low,” I told him.
Zip talked over me, in full rant.
“It isn’t Cordova. You could handle Cordova, hell, a five year old could handle Cordova. We’re talkin’ Lee Nightingale now. Lee Nightingale. Do you know who was in fuckin’ Fortnum’s Bookstore watchin’ you be a hotshot, shootin’ out Cordova’s tires like you were in a goddamned Hollywood movie?”
“Um...” I said.
Rock Chick Renegade Page 2