Boulevard (15 page)

“Abso-fucking-lutely,” Jumper said, “Burt and Ernie are def' butt-boys.”

“Come on,” Dream said.

“What? They just sleep in the same bedroom, take baths together and sing to each other while they wash each other off—and they're not queer?”

Casey jumped in. “They could just be friends.”

“Sure, friends who shower dick to butt.”

“Then, close friends,” Casey added, starting to enjoy herself. “
Very close
friends.”

“And look at the other freaks they got there, too, “Jumper said. “You got Kermit who's after Miss Piggy's ass. He's gotta be some kinda chubby-chasing fat-chick freak. Right?”

“And Cookie Monster,” Dream said getting into it, “the dude eats and eats and eats and eats, and never gains any weight. They got a word for that—”

“Bulimic,” June Bug said.

“Right, bulimic. We just never get to see him toss the cookies.”

“And Oscar the grouch,” Casey said, “he's
always
going off crazy on something.”

“Guys going off—that describes half the Boulevard,” June Bug said.

“See,” Jumper said, “Sesame Street—the Boulevard. It's all the same thing. Every place is fucked-up.”

“Every place but the Fountain,” June Bug said.

“Got that right,” Dream said. She reached her hand high over the table and June Bug slapped it.

Casey wondered what the Fountain was, when out the window, she saw Dennis. Beside him was a new girl. Not dressed like she was doing dates, but wearing jeans and a red Land's End down jacket. Dennis was talking a mile a minute. Casey slid low in the booth—the last thing she needed was for him to see her now, ruin the one break she finally got. She could see the other kids looking at her. She wanted them to keep talking—ignore her somehow. But they didn't. Dennis walked past. Casey pulled herself up and stared down into what was left of her coffee. She didn't want to talk about it. She rolled the last thin pool of liquid around and around again.

“Who's that?” June Bug said.

“Long story,” Casey said, not looking up.

“That's Dennis, right?” Jumper said.

“Yeah.”

“He's slime,” Dream said.

“You know him?” Casey asked.

“Lot's of people know him,” Dream answered. For a second their eyes met. Casey wasn't sure, but Dream's eyes seemed the tiniest bit shiny. Same thing?

Dream broke the look and stared out the window. Then she turned back.

“When I first came onto the streets,” Dream said, “I was thirteen years old. I was very scared. My first night out, I slept on a bench on La Brea. That first night, you don't know whether you're gonna wake up. You don't know if you're gonna die. You don't know what's gonna happen. It's bad for any kid, but it's a lot worse for girls. The street guys all come up to you. 'Cause you got virginity written all over you and they all want it. When I first got here, my friend and me, we go down to Sunset. And like fifteen minutes later, that dude Dennis is all over us. Buying us food, a jacket, Starbucks. But it ain't free. And by the end of the next night he's our pimp. I'm getting dressed up and getting into a car. After the first one, I tell myself, I don't want to do this. So what if I'm hungry, I'd still got my pride. I'd rather be dead. I told Dennis, I ain't gonna be doing this no more. Dennis tells me he wants to talk about it. We go back to his place, and bam—he ties me up. I was raped for a whole week. No food. Coupla sodas a day to drink, that's all. I got lucky and when he was gone, I twisted my wrist over and over until it slipped out and I busted outta there. I told the police what happened. They said they knew all about him and that he was also selling the drugs and they was gonna bust him for that too. That was two years ago. Think anything happened to him? Fuck no. Nobody cares.”

Casey looked across the table. She felt like there was a bungee cord connecting her to Dream. She leaned forward, and softly touched her hand.

Jumper turned to Casey, “He treat you like that too?”

“Yeah. But she's right. Nobody cares.”

“No. I care. We care.”

27

T
he lights from inside Wing's 24-hour liquor store burned against the first hints of daylight. Through the plate glass window of the store, just off the Boulevard, Casey saw an old guy, who must have been Wing, watching the Weather Channel from behind a counter-to-ceiling wall of bulletproof Plexiglas. There, slipping money through the cash slot and receiving a pack of Salem's, was Dennis. Behind him, his new girl was holding a bag of Fritos and drifting back and forth in front of a long refrigerator, trying to pick a soda. She looked sixteen, maybe a little younger. Casey felt sorry for her. The girl took a Mountain Dew to the counter, Dennis paid for her stuff, and they came outside into the parking lot. Dennis stopped short, seeing Casey standing by his jeep in the otherwise empty lot.

“Look at that,” Dennis said.

Casey didn't say a thing. She just stared at him, thinking about what he did to her and Dream, and what he'd do to the new girl.

“Your timing's not the greatest here, but we can hook up later on. How's that?”

“That's what you think? I'm here to hook up?”

“It's okay. So it took a little time to realize what you got.” He stripped the cellophane off the cigarette pack. The girl looked at Casey, not sure of what was going on.

“Really,” Casey said.

“It's okay. I'll let it slide.”

“
You'll
let it slide?”

She turned and walked towards the street. Dennis followed.

“Hey. Hey! Man, where you going?” he called after her.

Casey glanced over her shoulder at him and kept on walking. Dennis crushed the wrapper up into a ball and threw it to the ground. He jogged after her—when springing out from between two parked cars were Dog-Face and Jumper. Dog-Face thrust his arms around Dennis' waist, as Jumper threw a paint-splattered blue plastic tarp over his head. Dennis swung his fists up, trying to break free, but Dog-Face—the toughest kid on the Boulevard—instantly pinned Dennis' arms down to his side.

“What the fuck!” he screamed, flailing, trying to break free. The tarp started sliding off, and fell so far down Casey could see Dennis' face—covered with dirt from the tarp, twisted with fury. Dream raced over to help. She swiftly pulled the tarp back down to Dennis' waist.

Dennis fought like a monster to get away, but Dog-Face and Jumper were in control now. They dragged Dennis down the alley that ran alongside the liquor store.

Casey looked around for trouble. Wing was still stuck on the Weather Channel, not seeing, or not wanting to see. The only person on the street was the new girl who stood frozen in place, silent and stunned.

“Go! Get outta here!” Casey yelled. The girl stared at Casey, confused.

“Do it! Go! Go!”

She took off, and Casey raced after the others. Dog-Face and Jumper had dragged Dennis to the end of the alley. He was still fighting, still trying to get away.

Casey ran up to them, and Dog-Face jerked the ratty tarp off Dennis' face.

“Who the fuck are you?” Dennis yelled at Dog-Face.

“I'm the taxman, motherfucker,” Doggy shot back. And with that he drove his huge fist straight into Dennis' left eye. Dennis dropped to the ground and Jumper scrambled on top of him, trying to pin him down. Dennis managed to throw Jumper off and came up, swinging. But Jumper smashed his cheek below the other eye, instantly followed by Dog-Face sending another fist into Dennis' stomach, dropping him again. As he hit the ground, Dog-Face muscled Dennis onto his back and Jumper stood over him, his boots pressing Dennis' forearms to the concrete.

Jumper turned to Dream and yelled, “He's all yours.”

Dream ran over and screamed, “Remember me?”

Dennis glared at her.

“Come on. You don't remember?”

Dennis turned his head and spit on the ground. And Dream drove a kick straight into his balls. Dennis yelled out, and curled up on his side. Dream circled around and sent another kick between his legs and then kicked him even harder in the stomach.

“Don't hear your rap now. Where is it?” Dream said, kicking him again. She was possessed, almost dancing, taking one kick after another. And every time Dream connected, Casey felt a jolt of satisfaction. She could watch Dream kick him all day.

“Hey—don't hear no sweet talk no more …” Dream said, trembling, “I'm such a pretty girl. I need a friend here. You gonna be that friend. Come on. Give it to me. Give it to me! Gimme that sweet talk.” And she landed another kick straight into his balls. Dennis screamed.

Dream turned around, and Casey could see she was shaking with rage … and crying.

“Your turn,” Dog-Face called over.

Casey stepped up to his head. This was going to feel
so
good. She looked at Dennis on the ground and thought, for once in her life, the tables had turned, and she was going to give Dennis back some of his own—make him taste the pain like she did. She could never make him know what it was like to be raped by him and his disgusting buddies—but she could drive her foot straight into his face. There was blood all over it, and she pulled back her foot back to make some more … And she stopped. She couldn't.

“Come on. Feels good,” Dream said.

“Let me,” Jumper said. And he did, driving two more kicks into Dennis' stomach. Dennis groaned in pain. Casey went to kick him in the same place. Again, she couldn't. She stood over his face and screamed, “Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you for everything you did to me!”

She stomped the ground beside his head, causing him to jerk back, and then she leaned down and spit in his face. She stared at his fucked-up face—that took so much joy in raping her—then turned away, never wanting to see it again.

They were back on the Boulevard. The sun was coming up and Hollywood was bathed in a crisp, lush blue light. Jumper and Dog-Face were walking ahead of Casey and Dream. Jumper raised his hand up and Dog-Face slapped it a high-five. The guys laughed. Casey smiled a little. She felt something good inside. Dream reached over and held her hand.

28

C
asey didn't make it to Joey's until almost eleven. Paul was sitting in a booth by himself.

“Remembered me after all,” he said.

“Come on.”

“No. You come on. That's the Boulevard, I guess. Gotta expect people to disappear.”

“It's not that, you know.”

“What then?”

“Just, things happened. Good things. Really good things. I'll tell you.”

“Can't wait,” Paul said coldly.

“Hey, it's not like you had a number I could've called.” She slid next to him in the booth and kissed his cheek. She noticed a battered brown leather bomber jacket on the seat next to him.

“Nice jacket.”

“Got it at Frenchy's thrift store.”

“Way cool. Looks warm.”

“Is. Have some fries,” he said. “How'd it go?”

“I decided something.”

“Yeah?”

“I'm not doing any more dates,” Casey said.

“Good. Do it.”

“And I think you should stop too.”

“And sit on the sidewalk begging nickels? No thanks. I liked the room we had.”

“That's the other thing I wanted to tell you. I got us a place we can live. A squat. Wanna go see it?”

“Can't. I got a date.”

“Now?”

“Yeah. It looks like real money.”

“Later?” Casey said.

“There he is.”

He headed for the door where a shiny blue Mercedes had pulled up outside.

“You forgot your jacket,” she called after him.

“No I didn't.”

“Sure you did.”

“Nah—I got it for you.”

She couldn't believe it. No one had ever given her something as great as this. She ran after him to give him a huge hug. He smiled to end all smiles, and went out towards the Mercedes. Casey thought, nice car, real money—things were improving.

29
Jimmy

T
he clock behind the security guard in the black marble Century City tower entrance read 5:55. Perfect. The mahogany paneled elevator flew up in a whoosh that made Jimmy's ears pop as he and Erin rode up to the forty-first floor. When the doors slid open Jimmy saw an enormous reception desk with Miller & Lodge, LLP across its front in brass letters. Behind the desk was a floor-to-ceiling window with a view all the way to Santa Monica. As they approached the desk, the receptionist, a tall, athletically-built kid with movie-star looks was stuffing a script into his bag. Jimmy told them who they were.

“Mr. Lodge's secretary is about to go home for the day,” the receptionist answered.

“Sorry, but can you let her know we're here?”

He noisily exhaled … but at 5:58, his first job was making it to the gym, yoga, acting lessons—anything but arguing with two cops.

Lodge's secretary was a nice-looking, well-dressed, Filipino lady. Her coat was already on and she was clicking off a game of FreeCell when they reached her desk. It made sense to Jimmy that she wasn't swamped with work—how many calls a day do you make for a boss who's dead?

Erin gave her a kind smile and said, “We know how late it is, but we've been completely overwhelmed and just haven't been able to make it here earlier. We were hoping to go through Mr. Lodge's things. See if there's something that could help.”

“Tomorrow would be much better. If you come in the morning I can stay with you all day.”

“Yeah … Tomorrow doesn't really work,” Jimmy said.

She looked torn.

Erin added, “We're really sorry. Can we buy you coffee at Starbucks downstairs? We'll try to finish as fast as we can.”

“It's okay.”