Triage: A Thriller (Shell Series) (10 page)

I did. I’d seen some signs.

I said, “His grandmother and grandfather should—”

“Agreed,” Nevada cut me off. “But they’re old and may not realize what’s happening.”

“I don’t see why I need to get involved.”

“To whom much is given much is required,” she said.

“Can’t do it, Nevada.”

“Won’t do it,” she said. “That’s what you mean.”

I nodded. “I won’t argue that point. That’s a more than fair assessment. I don’t like getting into other people’s business, just as you said. I have enough trouble handling my own.”

“That’s for sure,” she said bitterly.

“We’re not going down this road, Nevada. I’m tired of every argument turning into an indictment of me. I won’t stand for that.”

“Shell has spoken,” she said.

“Damn right he has.”

She narrowed her gray eyes. “What did you think I wanted to talk about? Why were you so tense?”

“I wasn’t tense.”

“You break my heart sometimes, Dashiell.”

“Ditto,” I said.

“What can I do to have you talk to him, Shell? Whatever you ask, I’ll do.”

“Nothing you can do. Neither a bad breakfast or good sex will move me.”

“Good sex?”

I smiled. “The one room in the house where you can cook as well as Taj. The bedroom.”

She fell back against her seat cushion. “You could be so much more.”

“Ditto.”

She eased out of the booth without a further word. Didn’t look in my direction as she left. If it were a scene in a movie she would have glanced back at me at least once. I didn’t call after her, either. I have no idea, remembering it now, why it is exactly that I didn’t. When the waiter came back to the table I ordered an omelet. I had it built with ham, provolone cheese, and diced tomatoes. I ate it alone, as though nothing in my world was askance. I ate a side of pancakes, as well. I don’t know how Nevada got back to the 100 block of Elm Street. Walked, hitchhiked, cabbed it. And I didn’t ask her when I got there, later that night. She was in the bedroom, under low light, pretending to read a romance novel. Dark covered the kitchen. Nevada made no pretense of preparing dinner. She pulled the blanket up to her neck when I walked in the bedroom. No dessert, either.

We didn’t speak.

I went and showered away all of the day’s sins. Then I changed into a sleeveless T-shirt, pocketed khaki shorts, and Roman sandals. Comfort clothes. And I headed out again.

I found Renny at the basketball court just around the corner, his usual spot. The thwack of his soccer ball filled the night air as he kicked it against the brick wall at the side of the court. Two shadows fell across the wall, as well. Renny wasn’t alone.

The boy with him was Renny’s polar opposite. Tall, packed with manufactured muscle, probably had spent some time in youth detention, maybe even jail. He had the stereotypical jail physique, a Superman upper body, but Olive Oyl legs. His voice didn’t immediately disappear inside a stiff wind like Renny’s, his idea of fun would never be solitary nights kicking a soccer ball against a brick wall. My mind processed him as bad.

“Pure,” the bad boy was saying. “Ain’t even been stepped on.”

“That’s some bullshit,” I heard Renny reply.

I have never heard Renny curse, I thought, as I eased closer under the cover of night.

“You gonna disparage my shit,” the bad boy said.

Disparage
, an SAT word.

Our lost generation wasn’t nearly as lost as we’d believe.

“Lemee see it,” Renny said.

It grew quiet. I eased forward some more.

“Don’t even know what you’re looking at,” the bad boy said.

I wished I could agree with him, wished that deep in my marrow.

That’s when I stepped out of the gloom. Renny noticed me first and tried to run for it, soccer ball under his arm, but found himself boxed in by a chain-link fence too high to scale. His shoulders sagged and he turned back to me, resigned to his fate. The bad boy’s lopsided smile stoked the increasing fire in my gut. I moved to him so quickly he couldn’t adequately prepare, aimed a punch that connected with his nose and shattered it like balsa wood. His legs buckled and he fell in a heap. Blood dribbled between the fingers he had pressed to his face. Foolish, I thought to myself. My hand would require a bath in a bucket of ice. My knuckles would swell. I’d lived but hadn’t learned a thing.

I looked to Renny.

“Aww, Shell, dang,” he said. “This is bad ain’t it?”

I nodded. “
Isn’t
it? Yes, real bad, Renny.”

“This’ll kill Abuelo; you can’t tell him about this, Shell.”

“Your grandparents need to know, Renny.”

“I know, I know,” he said in a sing-song. “Abuela’s tough, she could handle it. Abuelo, though, come on, Shell.”

“You have a problem?” I asked.

He looked at me, started to lie. “No…I might…a little bit...probably.”

“I can get you some help.”

“What? Like rehab or something?”

“Help,” was all I would offer. I didn’t want him dictating the situation.

“I’ll set this right, Shell. Give me a chance to figure some things out.”

“How did you—”

“Get started on the shit?”

I winced at his minor profanity.

That was enough to elicit an edit. He said, “I mean…stuff.”

“How?”

“I don’t know. Trying to be… I’m different, Shell. You can see that. Quiet, mostly keep to myself. Girls think I’m a lame. Guys think I’m soft. And they’re right. I wish I was tough like you. Like practically everybody around here. I’m more like my abuelo. The guys tease me about that, too. They say my abuela has bigger nuts than me. I guess I started out trying to fit in or something.”

“These other boys are headed nowhere fast, Renny.”

He nodded. “You’re tough, Shell. You telling me you respect someone like me?”

I said, “Your difference is what makes you special.”

He smiled at that lie, said, “I’ll set this right. I give you my word.”

“What does your word mean at this point, Renny?”

“A lot, Shell, please. I ever lied to you?”

He hadn’t. That meant something to me. I was a man of honor with no honor. Funny how it worked out that way.

Despite my better judgment, I let Renny dictate the situation after all.

“I find you out here doing this again, Renny”—I head-nodded toward the rattlesnake slithering on the ground—“and that’ll be you next time. I promise you. And I won’t just break your nose. I’ll cause you some real pain. You have
my
word on that.”

Renny nodded. “Understood, Shell,” he said. “I’ll set this right. Thanks.”

“Don’t thank me. Get yourself together.”

“I will, Shell. I will.”

I left.

When I got back home all the lights were out. Nevada had her eyes closed, asleep.

Little did I know it, but my eyes were closed, too.

I REACHED FORWARD AND wiped tears from Mona Lisa’s eyes with the back of my hand. It was a surprisingly gentle gesture. Much of this visit had been surprising. We stood there, together on the sidewalk in front of Mrs. Rubalcaba’s unwelcoming home, saying nothing. Both of us were emotional, but under control. Barely. The need to vomit still cramped my stomach. Mona Lisa would have to wash her face and blow her nose.

“Where’s Renny?” I asked.

“We wish we knew.”

We.

Mona Lisa cleared her throat. “You didn’t tell Nevada what you had done?”

“No.”

“You should have told her.”

“I should’ve kept on Renny. I didn’t. Never said another word to him. And then I was gone. Away from…here.”

“Speaking of which. I must go,” Mona Lisa said. “Abuela is surely worrying.”

“Give her my condolences,” I said.

“I will tell her what you’ve told me.”

“Don’t.”

Mona Lisa’s eyes flashed surprise. “What? Why not?”

“Renny was a good kid. Let me take the weight.”

She watched me long enough to make me uncomfortable.

“I should go,” I said.

“The favor,” she said. “What was it?”

I’d forgotten that quickly. Emotional and off balance. I gathered myself and said, “Come follow me.”

We moved to my rental, the Acura, and I motioned to the items on the back seat.

“Enough dog food and treats for a while. Poland Spring water to fill her bowl. She won’t drink tap water for some reason.”

Mona Lisa was quiet beside me.

“If you would walk her twice a day that should suffice,” I said. “I have a key to get inside Nevada’s. I’ll give it to you.”

Mona Lisa was still quiet.

“This is for Nevada’s dog. Do you understand?” I asked.

“Why are you here?” she asked.

“To ask this favor.”

She shook her head. “Bigger picture. Why have you come back?”

“They haven’t found a body,” I said.

Mona Lisa nodded.

“Back to this,” I said, looking at the items on my backseat.

“Nevada’s dog,” she whispered.

“That dog means the world to Nevada,” I said. “I’d take her myself if I could. But I’m never in one place for long. I don’t see that changing any time soon. A dog needs roots.”

“No,” Mona Lisa said.

“A dog doesn’t need roots?”

“I can’t…” She took a deep breath. “I can’t care for…Nevada’s dog.”

I nodded. “Thanks. You’ve been oh so helpful.”

She touched my arm as I moved to leave. “You don’t understand, Shell.”

“I think I do.”

“I’m certain you don’t.”

I looked at her, silent.

“Nevada did love her dog.”

“Misty,” I said.

“Misty, yes. Nevada did love her.”

I said, “But you won’t care for her?”

“Misty is gone as well, Shell. I’m sorry. She got old. Arthritis, other ailments. Nevada had her put to sleep. She was inconsolable about it for weeks. We sat together and drank into the wee hours of the morning at times. That’s when Nevada told me all about you, all about your relationship. Despite everything, she had much love for you. I do hope you know that.”

The lump in my throat wouldn’t allow any word but one.

“Croques-morts,” I managed.

Mrs. Rubalcaba’s granddaughter didn’t attempt to keep me from leaving this time.

As I reached the corner at the 100 block of Elm Street, I forced myself to look in my rearview. Mona Lisa had seen a corner of my life that few, if any, had ever witnessed. She’d seen me vulnerable, emotional, weakened, all my guards down. I didn’t know how I felt about that. Didn’t know if that was something I could handle. And then I caught a glimpse of her in my rearview, standing at the curb in front of Mrs. Rubalcaba’s house, something in her eyes I can’t describe. I swallowed hard, knowing that look would haunt me for days.

SEVEN

I HAVE KNOWN SOME wise souls—coaches and spiritual leaders and teachers—who delved in analogous thought. If the whole of Newark were considered a garden, they would define the Ironbound section as rhododendrons, azaleas, Chinese wisteria. The South Ward, contrastingly, would be a mixture of black dirt, compost, and horse manure. With so much unclear, one thing was certain: I liked wallowing in dirt more than the sweet aroma of fresh blooming flowers. If nothing else, the scene with Mona Lisa had sharpened my inner awareness. Emotionally, I needed to simplify my life before it folded in on me. This thing with Nevada was threatening to turn me into someone even I would not recognize. Simplicity was the order of the moment. But how could I grasp some emotional simplicity? I chose the familiar, a small battered storefront in the South Ward as my de facto church. There would be a price to pay at the altar, I knew, but it was a price that I was more than willing to forfeit.

I LEFT ELM STREET,  made a right on Union, then took Lafayette and crossed the McCarter Highway to Broad. That led to Lincoln Park and then Clinton Avenue, a straight shot toward my destination. I passed a glass and mirror place where bullet-riddled windshields were repaired on a nearly daily basis. The empty lot next to that belonged to a MissionaryBaptistChurch. At night, things that weren’t pleasing to God happened in the church lot. I crossed Seymour Avenue and passed by Guillermo’s Supermarket. Passed the tattoo shop where I’d gotten my right pectoral inked with a Latin phrase I wasn’t sure meant what I wanted it to mean. Then came a six-story, stone gray building that looked as though it could have been a library in another lifetime. Diagonally across from the building was the small battered storefront where I was headed, the lettering on its awning advertising the Panda House Chinese Restaurant. A crowd of boys, all of them either Latino or black, were congregated by the store’s entrance.