Joe Greathouse
Dan, straight shooting manager on duty from three to nine five days a week at the Food Village, diligently counted the last of the coins in the deposit envelope from the climate controlled comfort of his so-called office. The phone on his desk indicated a call had been on hold for five minutes or so by emitting a high pitch from within lasting less than a second. He quickly taped the drop envelope shut and set it jingling aside then picking up the handset, stamped the flashing led for office line 2, stated his name and followed with a courteous “how can I help you today?”
“Well” said the girly voice on the other end with accompanied frustration “I overheard my little brother just a few minutes ago talking to his friends saying how they were gonna go down to the Food Village and buy a shit load of beer. The thing is, he’s only 14 years old and he’s friends with one of the cashiers down there so I wanted you guys to make sure he doesn’t get away with it.” Dan twisted his chair 180 degrees and staring into the monochrome security camera monitor started scanning the checkout aisles for what looked like a minor purchasing alcohol.
“I see, can you tell me what he looks like?”
“Well” she said again with an exertive sigh, “he’s wearing a dark blue baseball cap and light jeans, I’m not sure what kind of shirt he’s got on but I do know that he’s with his girlfriend and his buddy.” It didn’t take Dan long to spot them in the express lane, and there was the accused among them in his ball cap holding a 40 oz bottle in each hand.
“Okay I think he’s already here”
“Oh thank God, could you do me a favor and just make sure nobody sells to him and I’ll make sure my parents know you were cooperative…no wait, give ‘em a little scare while you’re at it would ya?” Her worried voice turned giddy at the possibility of her troublesome sibling feeling the hammer coming down on him.
“Absolutely, and…” the receiver clicked “hello?” the line went dead and his attention returned to the monitor where he studied the faces of the teenagers in question. None of them appeared old enough to buy beer, but none looked 14 years old either. For a moment he suspected some sort of trick, he put the phone at rest and left his seat to visit the cashier lane.A few minutes later the three teens where being sat down in the same office across the desk from Dan by the intimidating Polynesian butcher who’d been asked to participate in scaring these kids straight. The lecture went on for 10 minutes until Dan could tell by their sweet, scared young faces that these teens would never try to pull such a stunt at Food Village again. “I have a good mind to bring your parents down here and show them what their kids do with their spare time!” said the grocer manager in a fit of power “Now get the heck out of here before I change my mind!” He’d sat the two 40 oz bottles on the desk for visual aid. Staring to the floor, the teenagers filed out of the room and toward the exit escorted by the butcher.
The three maintained silence until they’d walked around the northeast corner of the parking lot where a lonely LTD surrounded by abandoned shopping carts awaited them. The kid in the blue hat pulled out a set of keys and after carefully scanning the area for spectators opened the trunk and stepped aside while a Mexican man in a hooded sweatshirt hopped out from it.
“Jesus fucking Christ what took you guys so long?” he asked the three, now relaxed and grinning at the contents of the trunk. “I thought I was going to spend the night in there.”
“Sorry Enrique” said the kid in the blue hat, as he put his arms around the shoulders of his two companions. “We were just letting Dan unwind, Cookie and Lucas here were pretty fucking apologetic if I might say so myself.” The blonde girl giggled and nudged him with her elbow. He closed the trunk lid and made his way to the driver door, still attentive to Enrique as he keyed the lock. “You did good though buddy, nobody saw I hope?”
“Naw” said the Mexican as he started walking towards another lonely vehicle, a rusty blue Volkswagon beetle nearby the LTD pulling out his keys. “You know me” grinning with his attention on the bug bearing the appropriate bumper sticker which said in bold letters “silent operator.”
Lucas buckled himself in the backseat leaving Cookie with shotgun, the car started and they began pulling away inconspicuously, Enrique caught up with them in his Volkswagen at the intersection in front of the store “Yo Video,” he said smiling after rolling down his window “we going rabbit hunting again soon?” Video, the kid in the blue hat reached up and tipped the brim of his cap with a slight nod and a smile.
“Saturday.” he responded as the light turned green and he sped off straight leaving the Volkswagon behind in the turning lane. Meanwhile at the store Dan was returning the 40 ounce bottles to their respectful place in the beer aisle and noticed that the Tecate cases had sold insanely well that day, as did the Heineken. In fact, every last case of the premium domestic brands was gone, noting to himself to have someone restock them first thing in the morning, he returned to his so-called office to count more money.
The LTD pulled up to the security booth of the Oakwood apartments where the gate had been closed for more than an hour, which was the standard evening procedure at the time. The guard on duty glanced at the passengers, nodded slightly, flipped a switched and returned his attention to his Cabela’s catalog while the gate swung open and the vehicle passed through. Oakwood was a slum in and of itself, once a respectable community at the heart of commercial Fresno, long since turned ugly after the local businesses had done the same thing. Cookie never liked coming to Oakwood, she played with her cell phone paying no attention to the on-looking scum made of all race and walk of life loitering the parking lot. A low rider Chevy truck pulled up next to the LTD going the opposite direction, the LTD stopped and the hydrolic lifters on the truck brought the driver to the appropriate height for a conversation.
“Wassup Video?” The driver was shirtless, bald Mexican covered from head to toe in tattoos. The passenger was a black man in a wife beater, layered with gold chains and rings, as he rolled a joint in one hand the other hand was holding a cell phone to his ear. “Tay-Tay’s just got flipped homes” said the driver “cops just rolled outta here with him and his old lady about an hour ago.”
“It’s all good” said Video with little change of expression “We’re just looking for some smoke before we go out to the tracks. The Mexican mumbled something to his passenger who took the phone off of his hear momentarily.
“How much you want homey?”
Video looked ahead in thought for a moment. “Oh zee” he said with hint of inquisition. “Regs if you got ‘em.”
“Yeah um” said the passenger as he fumbled through the glove compartment. “I got regs but they bomb so, one fitty?” The two men stared on at Video waiting for a response, he started shaking his head and smiling, he shifted into drive saying “Adios amigos” then began pulling out when the lower rider threw itself in reverse to catch up with them. Lucas and Cookie payed little attention to the ordeal, as if they’d been through it many times before.
This time the driver did the talking “I’m doing you a favor homes this shit is the best man, I got it straight from my cousin Chewy out in Pismo. Don’t be a fool!” His passenger had returned to dealings on the phone but the joint was lit now, he passed it to the driver “Go ahead man, fumar homes, es fucking bueno man” with that he took a hit himself and extended it to Video who took a quick puff himself then passed it to Cookie who toked from it quickly while it was still in his hand. Lucas showed no interest in smoking it, and Video offered none to him. He blew out the hit and handed it back to the other driver.
For a moment he stared into space and studied the taste of the weed, contemplating the aforementioned deal of one hundred and fifty dollars an ounce. “Aight,” said Video “I tell you what, I’ll give you a bill and two Tickle-Me Elmo’s. That’s more like a hundred seventy five bucks, and I guarantee you won’t find another one of these until after Christmas.
The Mexican started laughing hysterically as he passed the lit joint back to his passenger, still chatting away miscellaneously on his cellphone. “Chale homes, lemme see ‘em real quick.” Lucas handed forward the Sesame street doll from the backseat, brand new and still in the package. He squeezed the belly as he handed it forward which set it off giggling and dancing electronically. “That’s cool man,” he said still amused with the idea “but what am I gonna do with the second one? I only got one nina, damn second one on the way but alotta good it does in the womb you follow me homes?”
“Take it or leave it man” said Video dangling the package outside the window. A Jeep was pulling up patiently behind the LTD, and a moment later a motorcycle pulled up abruptly behind the lowrider and started laying on it’s horn. The Mexican grimaced at Video and shook his head a few times before putting the car in park and reaching for the glove box. A minute later the same security guard nodded again at the LTD as it exited through the opposite gate and pulling into traffic headed towards the freeway.
Video threw in a CD, Cookie’s current hits as he called it, and handed her the baggy for safe keeping, which she stuffed in her denim purse in a hidden pocket. She had her feet on the dash with her sandals off. She wore cut-off jeans, not quite shorts and not quite pants. Shpants more like. Her hand on her hair and the window down she stared at the sunset over the polluted horizon, now set ablaze by the dusk.
Video never looked directly at her, just smiled and pictured her as he stared at the oncoming broken lines on the freeway, picturing her sitting next to him, thinking of how this very moment might look from an outside perspective. The beat up LTD, Lucas nodding his head and tapping his feet to the music doing his own thing in the back, himself laid back in the pilot seat with his hat rocked slightly to the side with the bill facing the intruding sunlight, and her, his lover seated within reach equally submersing herself in the moment. That’s what he loved about her really, is her attention to the moment itself and nothing else, much like him.
Shortly after dark they arrived at the said destination, the railroad tracks. This was their little short-term vacation spot near the airport where trains would often speed aside them, then planes would swoop in so low before landing that it almost seemed as if one could hop on the roof of the car and run their fingers along the landing gear. Lucas hopped out of the car first and headed for the high weeds to relieve himself. Cookie grabbed some rolling papers out of the glove compartment and broke up some of the acquired weed on a Tu-Short CD case while Video made way to the trunk which was filled to capacity with cases of cool beer with exception of the small corner where Enrique had hidden.
Before leaving the car with a fat spliff Cookie set the radio to their favorite hip-hop station and cracked the windows for maximum listenability. Lucas positioned a 30 caliber bullet he’d brought from home on the tracks pointing it away from the car, and the three of them sat on the hood of the car double-fisting beers with a satellite joint moving amongst them. Lucas said little as always, but this time said nothing, both Cookie and Video new something was bothering him, but Lucas was not the sharing type, perhaps with a few more beers in his blood.
The tracks were unusually void of train traffic that evening, while the planes seemed mostly to be coming into the airport from obscure directions, very few of them jetting overhead. Everything was quiet in all directions with the exception of the three friends, the bumping rap music from the LTD and the crickets in the distance, only noticeable during intermittent periods between songs. Then there was the commercials; radio seemed infected with them, outweighing actual songs two to one.
“Dee doooo bop deeeeeep…I listen at work!” at the sound Cookie turned to see Video’s reaction only to find him staring into space, seemingly oblivious. “I listen in my car…Deeeeee dooooo beeeep bop deeeeeeb bop…Vroooom…I listen in my room…I listen EVERYWHERE! Everywhere! everywhere….Hi…” said the voice of a friendly and professional adult. Lucas, watching Video’s face while he sat there sipping a beer paid close attention to the commercial and to his friend “…I’m Cyrus Johnson, president and owner of Mega Music, no matter what you listen to, your local music Mega Music is committed to bringing the music you want wherever you want it.” The catchy dance jingle ensued “Mega Music, booo bah deee dooooo, Where you want it, booo dee bah deee…” The music faded and for a split second was replaced by crickets and distant train whistles before the next commercial began.
Cookie looked at the ground and flipped away the still burning roach into the rocky train tracks ahead of the car, waiting patiently for Video to say something. He didn’t, just laid back against the hood and stared at the now visible starlit sky overhead. Cookie flipped a loch of hair back over her ear, leaned back onto her elbow and kissed Video tenderly on the lips then slid off of the side of the hood and walked down the tracks towards the lights of the city, carefully balancing herself on one side of the track.
“Where’s she going?” asked Lucas, breaking the long silence.
“Dunno.” Video tilted his head sideways to watch her go, then tossed his empty beer into the weeds. Lucas sat Indian style on the hood watching the distant lights of cars moving along the freeway, and said nothing. Video returned his attention to starlight, seemingly undisturbed by Cookie’s abrupt exit. She’d never done this before in the previous dozens of visits to the same spot, she wasn’t spontaneous or a loner, but obviously something stirred her up pretty good.
Lucas fell asleep across the vinyl bench in the backseat along the way home. The radio still played, but now the music was quiet, Cookie hadn’t said a word to him since her 45 minute unprovoked disappearance at the tracks so Video took the opportunity to instigate a conversation knowing full well her house was only 3 exits and a few quick left turns away. “I have to poo.”
Her unbroken relaxation kept her staring out the window as she spoke “What are you going to do Video?” She spoke in a soft, nurturing whisper, partly to keep Lucas from waking, and partly to convey feeling however possible.
Video looked away from the road to read her a bit, then shrugged and returned his gaze to the traffic ahead. “Probably hold it ‘till we get back to the casa, or there’s a Frisbee here somewhere I could make a rudimentary chamber pot I think.” She didn’t laugh.
“You know what I mean.” This time she sounded much more serious, Video had seen that the commercial was too much for her. He knew she’d wanted him to react, to show her something about how he felt, but in this regard he never had, and probably never would, or could. “What are you going to do with your life?” still looking out the window.
“I dunno, but I won’t do that.”
She turned her eyes at him “He’s your father Video, he’s your fucking Dad. You didn’t just grow out of a God-damn cabbage patch their your family and you need to just fucking start accepting it.”
“I told you, I won’t do it.”
“Why? People have families y’know! Even Luke goes to basketball games and camping and all that shit with his dad.” Lucas laid asleep and slightly drooling, the bumps from the vehicle’s poor suspension jostled his head atop his scrawny neck. “People need families.” She spoke with genuine concern, her tone conveyed a subtle seriousness which demanded reciprocation.
He thought of something funny to say, thinking maybe a change in the subject wouldn’t hurt things, then he caught glance of her beautiful blue eyes half ready to cry, her pity for him was unmistakable.
“It’s been too long.” He tried to think of the last time she had her period. Could this be some kind of reaction to the weed? She never behaved like this, Cookie was not the sensitive type. They’d known each other for years, made love a hundred times and spent the greater part of every single day together and she’d never, ever showed this kind of concern. Cookie had always been the pusher away, the sequestered and untamable stallion not to be broken by just any cowboy, why was she suddenly so concerned he wondered. “I don’t need them…I don’t need that. Fuck, what do you think I should do?” Video never knew what to say in these situations, all day he’d felt like an adult, and now he was 5 years old at the dentist trying desperately to get out without being drilled.
“I think you should do something with your life.” She uncrossed her legs and lifted the armrest separating them, moving closer to him she rested her body against his “I think you should stop trying to be something your not.”
The exit was approaching, this conversation would be over soon enough, then he could go back to listening to Lucas say nothing, which was neither awkward or dangerous. “What am I not Cookie?” he said with a whisper as he put his arm around her and stroked her shoulder.
“Your not Video baby.” This was not what he wanted to hear, he held her close with one arm while impressing the pedal as much as possible. “You’re Cyrus Ramshackle Johnson the second” Her head was poised on his shoulder, he could tell she was ready at any moment to fall asleep “and I love you.”
“I love you too darling…I love you too.” Trying to clear the bugs from the windshield with the automatic wiper fluid only smeared them worse. Lucas whimpered for a moment as if suffering from a bad dream. The door closed after a quick goodnight kiss and Cookie snuck in the back entrance of her home in the suburbs, the sound of the dog next door barking as the beat up LTD sped away woke Lucas who asked “Where’s Cookie?”
“She’s home.” Then they took the trip across town to Video’s basement apartment where Lucas slept on the living room fouton after guzzling some vitamins and a liter of bottled water. Video kept drinking on the recliner in front of the television, paying little heed to Lucas. Eventually the broadcast day ended, the test pattern came on, that bizarre rainbow of magenta and white shades with a dash of color. He kept staring into it, thinking about the things she’d said. What was it that she’d said? “You are not you? that’s impossible,” he thought “Who the fuck am I?” He hadn’t an answer and it was almost dawn.
He’d accomplished so much in the last two years, despite everything. After all, he wasn’t even eighteen and all that time since he’d ran away he never once needed help from his parents. Not Cookie, she’d never make it on her own, not in a million years, after two days on the streets she’d be running back home in tears begging Daddy for a new boxter. “Fuck that” he said to himself, still staring at the frozen picture screen.
Then there was Lucas, the son of Hitler. Trained and educated like a prize winning Shi-Tzu, Lucas could survive perfectly well on his own, if only he could tie his shoes without first receiving direct orders to do so. Lucas was due for boot camp in less than 4 months, and Video pitied the enemy he’d be unleashed on someday. These thoughts eventually put Video to sleep on the recliner, the beer slipping gradually from his hand and onto the shag carpet, creating a slight stain amongst dozens of others in the exact same spot.
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