Plaster City (A Jimmy Veeder Fiasco) (18 page)

I stopped by Becky’s place on the way out of town. I could have called, but that felt too impersonal. I hadn’t discussed it with Bobby, but I felt like she had a right to know what had happened. It wasn’t going to be easy, but she was Julie’s mother, and she deserved to know the truth more than I did.

Russell walked me into the living room and called for Becky. She came into the room, gave me a quick hug, and sat with Russell on the couch. Russell’s hand unconsciously and rhythmically rubbed her back. I sat down in the big chair in the corner.

“There’s no good way to tell this, so sorry if I jump around. And this has to be between us. Nobody else can know any of this. You’ll know why in a second.”

Becky and Russell looked at each other. They both nodded to me.

“Bobby and I found Julie.”

“Where is she?” Becky sat up halfway out of her seat. “What happened? If you found her, why isn’t she here?”

“Let him finish, Beck,” Russell said.

“The gist is this. We found her. She didn’t want to go with us. Worse than that, she shot Bobby.”

“She what? With a gun?” Becky said. “She doesn’t know how to shoot a gun.”

“She learned. It happened right in front of me.”

“Is Bob okay?” Russell asked.

“He will be. Hit him in the shoulder. He’s over at JFK in the police detention area, but you should be able to see him by tomorrow. Speaking of, if you go, he asked me if you could bring Julie’s journals.”

Becky rocked slightly in her seat. She breathed heavily and audibly through her nose.

“I think you need to tell the whole story,” Russell said. “It’s like reading the last page of a book. It doesn’t make any sense if you haven’t read everything before.”

So I told them. I figured if anyone should know what was going on, it was them. I laid out the whole tale, beginning to end. Everything Bobby and I had done and everything we had found out.

“Holy shit,” Becky said under her breath. “While we were putting up posters, you were running around like two crazies?”

“That’s kind of our thing.”

“Shouldn’t we report all this to the police?” Russell asked me, but looked at Becky.

“Do we really want to tell them that Julie shot Bobby?” I asked. “And Bobby and me would be in a ton of shit, because that’s not the story we’ve been rolling with. From the moment he got shot, still bleeding on the ground, Bobby was adamant about protecting Julie. Don’t know how it would help them find her either.”

“Makes sense,” Russell said. “Though what do I know? This is all new to me.”

“Hey, me too,” I said. “The only thing I’m more used to is getting into trouble and making shit up as I go.”

“What happens now?” Russell asked.

“For me?” I said, “I’m going home. If I knew where she was, had a clue, it might be different. But I got to get back to my life. I might talk to some friends in the police. Not report it, just chat. People I trust. See if they have a take.”

“That little fucking bitch,” Becky shouted. She hit the armrest of the couch three times in rapid succession.

Russell and I didn’t say a word. The air became harder to breathe. Becky seethed, one streak of eyeliner running down her cheek. I couldn’t think of anything to say, which only made me feel like more of a dick. I hoped that she’d hit me, just to feel useful.

Becky stood up decisively. “I’m going to put a pot of coffe
e on.” She walked out of the room, leaving me and Russell to stare at each other. Russell was the one to finally break the silence.

“It’s the shock of it, is all. She’ll calm down,” Russell said. “And don’t think Beck doesn’t appreciate everything you’ve done, or at least tried to do. She does. I can’t imagine dealing with that level of violence. This business is so far outside my bailiwick.”

That statement confirmed my previous assertion, the word
bailiwick
sounding perfectly natural coming out of Russell’s mouth.

Loud banging and broken dishes erupted from the kitchen. The cacophony was followed by a volley of impressive swearing.

“I’m going to help Beck with the coffee,” Russell said, standing up quickly and heading into the kitchen.

I considered sneaking out while their backs were turned, but I reached for the newspaper on the coffee table and settled in. Of course, the front page of the
Desert Sun
was all about Driskell’s murder and upcoming funeral. Big news. Millionaire murders don’t happen every day in La Quinta. I read the article and when I got to the end and the accompanying obituary, I read them both again.

After the storm passed in the kitchen, I drank two cups of coffee with Becky and Russell, sitting mostly in silence. After a half hour, I tucked the newspaper into my armpit and said my good-byes. The desert night was cool and humid, a cold sweat forming and coating my skin like a film.

I stood next to my truck and lit a cigarette. I took another look at the newspaper.

“Fuck,” I yelled too loud.

I couldn’t be positive—I would have to check a few things out—but after reading the paper, I was pretty sure I knew where Julie was.

I didn’t know what I was going to do with that information, but I knew it wasn’t over. And I wasn’t done.

When I walked in the front door, Angie stood up from the couch and crossed her arms. That was her scolding pose. I knew that from past idiocies. Angie wasn’t a nag, in fact she hated when I put her in the position to be the grown-up. Her posture must have been instinct, because she quickly relaxed, her arms falling to her sides.

“Juan’s asleep,” she said.

I closed the door as quietly as I could, walked to her, and kissed her.

“You should poke your head in his room,” she said. “Make sure he knows you’re home. I’m sure that’ll help him to sleep through the night.”

I nodded. “It’s good to be home.”

I held out my arms to the side. Angie walked in close and let me wrap them around her. We stood in the middle of the living room and held each other for a while, her squeeze getting tighter and tighter.

“What happened to your face? You look like the Toxic Avenger.”

“The doctor said it would heal in a week. It’s a funny story,” I said.

“But it’s always more of a laughing-at-you than laughing-with-you kind of funny.”

“I tried to keep it under control, Angie. Really.”

“But.”

“But Bobby. Fucking Indio. The whole thing. It got away from me. Almost from the start, it got away from me.”

“Is this a break or are you done?”

“We found Julie,” I said.

Angie looked up at me, not letting go but loosening her grip. “That’s great news. It wasn’t a complete disaster. Where was she?”

“We found her but she didn’t want to go. She was the one who shot Bobby.”

Angie pushed off me. “Get the fuck out of here.”

“She shot him and took off again. Left him on the ground bleeding. Saddest thing I ever saw. Stupid and sad.”

“And you were there? You saw that?” Angie said.

I nodded.

She took my hand and headed toward the hall in the direction of our bedroom. “Check in on your son and then let’s go to bed.”

“That sounds perfect.”

She took a few more steps, stopped, and looked me in the eyes. “Bobby’s sixteen-year-old daughter shot him.”

I didn’t know if she was asking me a question or saying it out loud, so I didn’t say anything.

“That’s seriously fucked up,” she said.

I opened the door to Juan’s room as quietly as I could, but old houses don’t do quiet. The door creaked and moaned and generally gave the impression that it was in some kind of pain from the few inches it had moved. A bit overdramatic for a door.

Juan blinked open two very sleepy eyes and stared up at me. I gave him a smile. It took him a second to register that it was me.

“Pop?” he asked sleepily.

“It’s me,” I said, walking into the room. I sat on the bed next to him, leaned down, and gave him a kiss on the head.

“You came back,” he said, sounding a little surprised.

“That’s right.”

“Are you going away again?”

“I don’t think so, but if I ever do, I’ll always come back.”

“People don’t always come back,” he said.

“I do.” I kicked my shoes off and stretched out on the bed next to him. He hugged up against my chest. I wanted to enjoy being with my son, but exhaustion caught up with me and in less than a minute I was out.

I woke up the next morning alone in Juan’s bed. The sun was up and if animated bluebirds had flown in the window to dress me, I wouldn’t have been surprised. I hadn’t slept that well since the time I ate some suspect “chicken” in Mexicali and then accidentally took an Ambien thinking it was Imodium. A great night’s sleep, but I had to throw away the sheets the next morning.

Angie appeared in the doorway, holding two cups of coffee. “This is as close as I get to breakfast in bed.”

She sat on the edge of the bed and handed me one of the mugs. I took a sip, burning my mouth and spitting it back in the cup.

“It’s hot,” I said.

“It’s coffee, Jimmy.”

“Thanks.”

“It’s just coffee.”

“No, I mean for everything. For being cool. I know it’s hard sometimes having two children.”

Angie climbed in the small bed next to me. I set the mug on the nightstand and sat up with my back against the headboard.

“I’m looking at this whole mess,” I said. “I’m looking at Julie. She might’ve been raised by Becky, but she turned into the teenage-girl version of Bobby. Whether example or genes, who knows? But she’s him. Or parts of him.”

“And you’re thinking about the example you’re setting for Juan?”

“It’s hard. I want him to see that I’m a loyal friend. That I help the people I love. But it’s also my job to protect him, to be his father. If I run off with Bobby doing a bunch of half-assed dangerous moronics, get myself killed, what then? This father stuff is still so new to me, scares the shit out of me some days, but if nothing was going on, none of this Julie shit, I know the place to be is here. I know what I’m supposed to do is take care of this family.”

“Life ain’t one thing at a time, babe. There’s always something else going on.”

“Bobby wants me to keep looking for Julie. He still wants to save her. And I think I might know where she is.”

“When you go away again, make sure that Juan understands.”

“Are you telling me to do it? To help Bobby? I don’t even know if I want to.”

“I’m not telling you to do anything. I’m telling you that you already know what you’re going to do. You might want to debate the pros and cons, make it feel like you’ve given it due diligence, but you know what you’re going to do.”

“How do you know—?”

“Because I know you. And even if I don’t agree with some of the shit you do, none of it surprises me. I know who I’m with.” Angie kissed my cheek. “I hate to point you toward danger, but I know you well enough to know that you don’t want to set the example of abandoning your best friend when things got bad. Even if it’s the right thing to do.”

“I don’t know. It could be dangerous.”

“Do you need me to give you permission for something you’d do with or without my permission?”

“Yeah. I do.”