Dupree’s mother finished high school and enrolled in nursing school shortly after. She loved her studies and she seemed to be born to care for the sick. Her nurse’s uniform was always the whitest and crispest of any girl in her class.
It was nursing that brought her together with his father. Dupree wished she’d become a teacher.
“More coffee?” The waitress’s words brought Dupree back from his thoughts.
“That would be wonderful,” he replied.
As he placed two strips of bacon in a pancake and rolled it up, the woman’s phone in the next booth rang.
“No, I’m still stuck in Modesto.” She frowned as she spoke. “Three hundred. No, they declined my card. Where would I find a Western Union? I’m in some edge of the highway diner. This neighborhood is really scuzzy.” She paused and took a sip of water. When she looked up, Dupree saw tears streaming down her face. “No, I know you can’t. I’ll figure something out. I have no idea where a Bank, or Western Union, or anything is. I’m scared to death of what a taxi would cost. It would wipe me out. Huh-uh, I’ve got enough for food for the kids and the motel for another night. I know Gran. It’s Okay. I love you too. Yes, as soon as I know.”
She looked up and caught Dupree watching her. “Sorry.”
“No, excuse me. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. What’s happened?”
“My transmission. It’s in the shop up the street. They charged three hundred dollars to fix it. For some reason, my credit card was declined.” She teared up again. “The creepy guy at the shop offered to make me a trade if you know what I mean.” She looked at her children.
“Seriously?” Dupree was stunned. “Did you call the police?”
“He said, she said.’ Right?” She looked down at her plate. The conversation was over for the moment.
Once again the personal space between strangers lifted like a curtain. Dupree pondered how he could help. There was more than enough money in his pack. He could pay for the repair and not feel it. But under what guise could a strange man in a greasy coffee shop offer help?
“Where is home?”
“Down by San Diego, but this is as far as we made it.” The woman smiled and shrugged.
“I see. Where were you going?” Dupree tried to sound friendly and concerned.
“Nampa, Idaho. My family is there.”
“Quite a fix you’re in. Maybe we can help each other.”
“No thank you,” she said firmly.
“Hear me out,” Dupree answered. “I need to get to Washington, I don’t have a car. I do have some money. Enough to pay for the repairs. I could help drive.”
“That’s very kind, but…”
“What’s your other option?”
“I could walk to the Western Union. I Googled it. It’s an hour and fifteen-minute walk.”
“They’re going to love that.” Dupree smiled and nodded toward the children. “Think about it. It would be worth it to me to not have to hitchhike anymore.”
“Thank you but…”
“Where is your car?” Dupree pressed.
“Jerry’s Transmission, just up the street.”
“When I finish, I’ll go talk to him.”
“And say what?”
“What was it the guy in the movie said? I’ll make him an offer he can’t refuse.” Dupree smiled reassuringly. “At least let me do that for you.”
“Well, I…”
“I insist.”
“Okay.” The woman looked at Dupree for a long moment. “I’m Krista Engels.”
“I’m Dupree. It’s going to be fine.”
“Who did you speak to at the repair shop?”
“Jerry, the owner.”
“Alright, let me see what I can do.” Dupree picked up the last piece of bacon and stood up. “Sit tight, I’ll be right back.”
On the way to the door Dupree stopped at the register and paid for his breakfast, and Krista and her kids. The waitress got a healthy tip, too.
Out on the street, the sun was glaring down from a clear azure sky. Dupree looked down both sides of the street. Krista was right, this neighborhood was nasty. Off to the left Dupree spotted Jerry’s. The sign was blue and the lettering was peeling away.
Lots of people were roaming both sides of the street. As he passed the first man, the stench fouled the late morning air. As he looked closer, the man leaning against the wall of an abandoned building was passed out. His grey work pants were stained down the inside seam of both legs where he soiled himself. Dupree winced and walked a little quicker.
A man with long tangled hair sat in the doorway of the next building. He wore a filthy white ball cap that read ‘99% Unicorn.’ His beard was grossly uneven and down to his chest. It was clear he couldn’t focus, and his eyes drooped and his head nodded as Dupree passed.
Several people shuffled and stumbled past Dupree as he made his way along the street. Coming toward him was a figure pulling a makeshift cart. As he approached, Dupree could see he was wrapped head to toe in black garbage bags, round and round and held tight with silver duct tape, like a twenty-first-century mummy. His huge gray beard, nose, eyes, and forehead were the only part of his humanity that was exposed. The cart was loaded with bundles of black garbage bags and rolled unevenly on bent bicycle wheels.
“What are you lookin’ at?” the man growled as Dupree moved to one side letting him and the cart pass.
“What kind of hell is this place?” Dupree mumbled to himself as he continued up the street.
There was an empty lot next to the transmission shop. Just on the edge a man with a cart similar to Tape Man, and a woman with a huge clear plastic bag of water bottles slung over her shoulder, were talking as Dupree approached.
“Where were you?” the man asked her.
“Just up there. They took my cart and my recycles,” the woman shot back.
“Who did, Dude?”
“I don’t know. I was takin’ a sip with some of the guys.”
“They took everything?”
The woman was dark, Mexican probably, dressed in a pair of tight jeans and a western-style shirt. A large roll of fat extended over the top of the jeans, nearly covering her large belt buckle. “This is what I got left!”
“Let’s go find ’em. I’ll help. Nobody can be stealin’ from you. Not when I’m around.” The man didn’t look right or left and took off across the street pulling his cart. Cars honked and swerved to miss the man and cart. The woman trotted along behind but was much more mindful of the traffic.
Jerry’s Transmission Repair was, in a word, filthy. It was as if it were repeatedly sprayed with grease, layer upon layer covering years of dust and dirt. The floors were black, the walls showed running oily trails, and the work area was a gooey collection of greasy tools.
Dupree stood at the open roll-up door and waited for signs of movement. He was hesitant to walk on the greasy floor of the shop and positioned himself just short of the mess. After several minutes passed, Dupree was growing impatient. He cleared his throat with a blustery attempt to be noticed. Finally, he couldn’t stand the wait any longer.
“Hello, is anyone home?” After a few moments, he tried again. “Hey! Anybody here?”
From a side door near the back of the shop, a shadow of a man entered the shop. “I’m here! Whatcha need?” the voice called out.
“I need to discuss a job you did,” Dupree replied, louder than he intended.
“Thirty days or three thousand miles. Got a receipt?” The man belonging to the voice came out from the shadows.
Jerry was about forty. Like his shop, he was greasy head to foot. The color of the blue overalls he wore was only detectable in the creases and around the collar. The t-shirt under the jumpsuit looked like it was as permanent as his skin. He was unshaven and his hair was slicked back, in desperate need of washing.
As Jerry approached the front of the shop, Dupree reached in his hip pocket and got his wallet. He quickly retrieved a business card.
“S
o what can I do for you?” Jerry’s tone was not friendly. It was obvious he was not pleased to have been interrupted from whatever it was he was doing.
“We have a problem.” Dupree switched to his best litigator posture and tone.
“I don’t remember ever meeting you,” Jerry bristled.
“You haven’t. You met my daughter Krista. We have a real problem.” Dupree thrust out his business card.
Jerry looked down at the card, looked up and read the card again. “You don’t look like no lawyer.”
“That’s because I’m on vacation. A vacation that was interrupted by my daughter’s call for help. Now, Mister…?”
“Buckner,” Jerry replied.
“Mr. Buckner. This shop doesn’t look like it is worth all that much. I am presuming.” Dupree paused for effect. “Isn’t worth much at all. It is, from the looks of it, your sole source of income. Is that correct?”
“What does that matter?”
“I’ll take that as a yes. Now, my daughter was humiliated and embarrassed by your suggestion she trade sexual favors for the work you did on her car. You made that obscene offer, I am certain, in front of my grandchildren.”
“I didn’t…” Jerry tried to show bravado but his voice gave him away.
“Now, now Mr. Buckner, Jerry, we both know that’s not true. Here is my proposal. You tear up the bill, give me the keys to my daughter’s car, and we get on with our lives.”
“I’m not…”
“Yes you are,” Dupree interrupted again. “Because if you don’t I will bring a suit against you and your establishment that will be far more than the three hundred dollars you intended to charge her. You will lose the suit, and will not only have to pay your attorney, but you will have to pay court costs. The sexual harassment of the daughter of a highly-regarded Los Angeles attorney won’t sit well with a judge, even here. Consider this, Jerry, she is a far more credible witness than you are.”
“Now, now, I was just havin’ a bit of fun. Just kiddin’ around. Ya know?”
“I’m waiting for the keys, Mr. Buckner.” Dupree had Jerry Buckner right where he wanted him. For the final blow, Dupree said, “It is a felony to give a false decline of a credit card. You really crossed the line there. I know for a fact her card has no limit.” The bluff worked.
“Look mister, I don’t want no trouble.”
“Keys?”
Jerry disappeared in a heartbeat. Moments later a gray Volvo station wagon came around the side of the building.
With the motor still running, Jerry stepped out of the car. “Here you are. I don’t want no trouble.”
“This is the last you will hear from me, you have my word,” Dupree said, walking to the car. He slipped into the driver’s seat and did a U-turn out of the shallow driveway and back toward Smitty’s.
As Dupree came back into the coffee shop, the waitress gave him a long unsmiling look. He just smiled and walked past her.
“How were the pancakes?” Dupree asked, sliding in next to Marcus.
“Yummy.”
Dupree slid Krista’s car keys across the table to her.
“Oh, that’s wonderful! I promise to pay you back as soon as I get home. Honest, I will repay you, this is a miracle.”
“There is nothing to pay back,” Dupree said softly.
“I can’t let you pay for the repairs, that’s not fair.”
“Like I told you, I made him an offer he couldn’t refuse. He didn’t charge you.”
“I don’t understand. You didn’t hurt him, did you?”
Dupree let go a laugh and tried to answer, but it felt so good to laugh, he couldn’t. “No, I would never hurt anyone. He wasn’t willing to call my bluff. Smart move on his part. Anyway, you are all repaired and ready to be on your way.”
“And you are going with us! That is the least I can do.” Krista smiled broadly. “But I’m going to hold you to your promise to drive.”
“I would expect nothing less.”
At that moment, Dupree brushed his chin with his hand. He was more than a bit shocked to feel the stubble of whiskers. He has not missed a day of shaving since the day he passed the bar. Some days he shaved twice, morning before leaving for the office, and evening before going out to one function or another. He stroked his cheek and smiled.
“What’s funny?” Krista asked.
“I just realized I haven’t shaved in several days. I never skip shaving. It’s like brushing my teeth. My room at the motel didn’t have a mirror in the bathroom, just a piece of metal screwed to the wall. I didn’t realize…” Dupree faded into a smile again.
“I thought you were going for the George Michael look.”
“Who?”
“The singer? Never mind. Blast from the past.”
Five minutes later, with kids secured in the back seat and Dupree’s pack between his feet, the aging Volvo pulled out of Smitty’s parking lot heading for Highway 99. Krista didn’t look as they drove by Jerry’s Transmissions, but Dupree did. Jerry was still standing in the big roll-up doorway. As the Volvo rolled by, Jerry defiantly raised his middle finger high in the air.
The highway was rough and bumpy. Potholes and truck ruts jarred and shook the car. NPR played softly on the radio until Merci started chanting Alvin! repeatedly. It seemed at first that Krista was ignoring her, focusing on her driving, passing the dozens of big trucks and dodging potholes. When Dupree thought he could bear the incessant demand for Alvin! no longer, Krista reached over and pushed a button on the stereo.
Merci squealed and her brother Marcus clapped excitedly as the thump-thump electronic beat was followed by the sound of the sped-up vocals of Alvin, Theodore, and Simon.
“They still make Chipmunk records?” Dupree asked in amazement.
“CDs? Yes they do, and they are a favorite with these two.” Krista said, looking in the rear-view mirror.
Within minutes the socio-economic picture of Modesto changed dramatically. There were malls, restaurants, and names he recognized on businesses. Even the cars passing them were built in the twenty-first century.
“Look at that, a Holiday Inn!” Krista pointed.
“Slight upgrade from last night’s accommodations, wouldn’t you say?” Dupree chucked.
“Even that Super 8 Motel would have been twice as nice.”
“I’m thirsty!” Marcus bellowed from the back seat.
“No, you’re not. We just had breakfast and you drank lots of milk.”
Out the window, the nicety of the mall and surrounding area gave way to farmland and industrial shop buildings.
“So, where are you coming from? I don’t think I caught that part of the story.” Dupree felt he was unnaturally loud to compensate for the music, singing, and clapping.
“Camp Pendleton. We did get interrupted a few times.” Krista said pleasantly. “My husband Ezra’s in Afghanistan, third tour. So, we are going home!” She pumped her fist with victorious glee.
“I’m hungry,” Merci called out as the first song ended.
“No you’re not, we just had breakfast,” Krista replied over her shoulder.
“Do you have a lot of family in Idaho?” Dupree asked.
“Oh, yeah, five sisters and two brothers. I’m the kid in the middle. Tons of cousins too. Mom, dad, aunts, uncles, half the town is family. Then there are all the in-laws. Can’t go anywhere without some relative or other being there. You really have to behave yourself!” Krista giggled. “So how about you? Lot of family?”
“No, not really. Both my parents are dead. I have some cousins but I don’t have much contact with them.”
“What about your wife?”
“She has a brother. We aren’t very compatible.”
“It must be lonely. No family to celebrate the holidays with,” Krista offered.
“Can’t miss what you never had,” Dupree said solemnly.
What must be a favorite song brought wails of joy, and the loud singing began again, this time with the added irritation
of Marcus kicking the back of Dupree’s seat. The combination of the shrieking Chipmunks, combined with a toddler that didn’t know the words, and a brother who punctuated the choruses with single word shouts of the lyrics, was giving Dupree tension in the back of his neck. He knew the signs; usually, it came from a client or opposing counsel in a deposition. A migraine would soon follow.
Dupree tried changing up his self-talk. The seat was comfortable. He felt safe. The company, minus the kids, was nice. He was assured of a nice long ride. It didn’t help. The aura of a headache was beginning to flirt with the edges of his eyes.
“I got to go to the bathroom!” This time it was Marcus.
“Do you see a bathroom out here? You are just going to have to hold it until I see someplace to stop.”
“That’s funny!” Krista pointed at a road sign. “Manteca! That means lard in Spanish. Welcome to Lard!”
The kids, through all the racket, heard her comment and chimed in, first Marcus then Merci. They began to chant, “Welcome to Lard! Welcome to Lard! Welcome to Lard!”
Trying not to bring attention to himself, Dupree rubbed his temples. He felt like his head would explode. He had to get out of the car! The question was, how? Krista was a nice person, the kids were just kids, but he was years past the toddler and kindergarten age. He must come up with a plan. What was his reason? What was a reason to request he be put out? His thoughts were interrupted when the chant stopped and a plaintive cry cut through the music.
“I feel sick.”
That was the only warning. The sound of retching and splashing vomit in the back seat only preceded the acrid stench by seconds. Krista turned in her seat and looked at Marcus just as he heaved another load of pancakes, milk, and last night’s dinner onto the floor of the car.
“Oh, sweetie. Hold on, I’m pulling over.” Krista signaled and pulled off onto the shoulder of the road.
The car barely came to a stop and Dupree’s door was open and he leapt into the fresh air. He sucked in deep breaths of untainted air and let the cool wind soothe his face.
As Krista rounded the back of the car she called to Dupree, “Don’t you go getting sick on me too!”
“I’m fine!” he called into the wind.
Cleaning the mess took nearly fifteen minutes. Marcus stood next to the side of the car, an ashen white. He threw up once more, then began the painful spasms of dry heaving. Dupree, for most of the time, leaned against the front of the car facing away from the clean-up. He did not feel compelled to assist or comfort the child.
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