Eldorado (2 page)

Richard stared as he paced around the ancient vehicle. Finally he said, “So that’s what you’ve been hiding in here all this time?”

“It was no big secret, really,” said Keller. “I just didn’t want anybody to see it until it was finished. I inherited it when I bought this place. The owner had been fixing it up for years – kind of a hobby. He’s the one that built the shed and all. He got too sick to live here by himself and moved in with his daughter.”

Richard ran his fingers over the gleaming front fender. They left a tiny grease spot and he drew his hand back, embarrassed.

“The daughter handled the sale,” continued Keller. “She found out I was a mechanic and agreed to sell to me, but I had to promise to finish her father’s work on the car. I guess it was pretty important to him. He’d found most of the parts – God knows where from – but I don’t think he’d ever gotten it running.”

“And you did?”

“Damned right I did! She purrs like a kitten now. I call her the ‘Black Cherry’.”

Richard looked at him.

“You know,” said Keller, nodding at the vehicle, “because of the colour. It cost a fortune in gas to get her up to scratch. There’s still a bit left in the tank, I think. I can start her up if you want.”

“I don’t want you to waste your gas just for that.”

“I don’t mind. Hell, if I can’t show her off to anybody, what’s the point in having her?”

With a boyish grin, Keller opened the door and jumped into the driver’s seat. He shoved a key into something on the car’s steering column, turned it, and the Black Cherry roared to life. Richard was shocked at the noise; its entire frame vibrated and billows of smoke blew out the exhaust pipe.

“That’s incredible!” Richard yelled over the din.

“Get in,” Keller yelled back. He reached over and opened the passenger door. Richard climbed in and sat with his hands on the dashboard, feeling the vibration.

“Now, we go for a drive,” said Keller. He pulled down on a lever on the steering column, pressed the gas, and the car rolled ahead a few yards. He pulled the lever in a different direction and again pressed the gas. It moved back about the same distance. “There,” he yelled. “Now you can tell people you’ve driven in a sixty-three Galaxie.”

He turned the key and the engine abruptly stopped.

“Sorry,” he said. “That’s about all the gas I can spare.”

Keller got out and Richard followed his lead.

“So it’s finished?” Richard said as he helped Keller replace the tarp. They headed back to the RV.

“Yeah – a bit of a letdown in a way,” said Keller, “‘cause I can’t drive it anywhere - I can’t afford the gas. What’s frustrating is that the daughter told me the old man claimed he had a stash of something like ten gallons buried right here on this property. She didn’t know where, and I asked her if she could find out. I guess the old guy was pretty far gone by then. She said he wasn’t making sense anymore, and not long after that he died.”

“And you never found the gas?”

“Nope. I looked damned hard, too. She might have been mistaken. I keep looking – maybe someday.”

The RV was small, but cozy, with a table built into a nook, a tiny bedroom, and an even tinier kitchen. Keller said there had once been a gas-powered stove, removed long ago and replaced with additional counter space. They slid into the benches surrounding the nook.

“Danny and I had another fight last night,” said Richard. “He took off and he hasn’t come home. I was hoping he might have shown up here.”

“Danny? Haven’t seen him since the last time you were out.”

Keller got up and put two cups on the table. “He’s been gone for one day? I don’t think I’d worry too much at this point. He’s probably acting out – teaching you a lesson. Teenagers are a little bit nuts. You know – hormones and all that.”

He stepped outside and returned with a steaming kettle of hot water, which he poured into a small teapot.

“So things haven’t improved between you two?” he said as he poured the tea.

“Same as always – he’s never around, and if I ask where he’s been he’s evasive – or hostile. When he’s home he hides in his room and barely speaks to me. But all the times we’ve fought before he’s always come home – it’s not normal behaviour for him.”

“’Normal’ doesn’t apply at that age,” said Keller. “You were born grown up, Richard,” he laughed. “Some people are just like that. That’s why it’s hard for you to understand. Danny’s a free spirit – immature, irresponsible. He’s only seventeen after all. He’s going to take a while to find himself, but at heart he’s a good kid.”

“I swore I’d look after him.”

“Come on,” scoffed Keller. “You were nineteen years old when you made that promise. Danny’s wild and reckless – he would have been wild and reckless even if your parents were still alive – he was born that way. Don’t beat yourself up about it.”

Richard opened his mouth to say something, but decided against it.

Keller continued. “You’ve both been through the wringer big time. Let’s face it – we all have. It was the same for me when your aunt Sophie died. You figure the pain will fade as the years go by. And it does…” He shook his head and stared into his teacup. “But you can’t believe how long it takes.”

Keller put a hand on Richard’s shoulder. “I wouldn’t be surprised if Danny was asleep in his room when you get home. If he’s not, let me know, and I’ll do anything I can to help.”

Danny wasn’t asleep in his room, or even in the house, when Richard got home, and there was no sign that he’d returned during Richard’s absence. When he finally went to bed late that night there was still no trace of his brother, and Richard’s internal alarm bells began to sound.

Danny Meets a Gangster

The center of an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of town had been cleared of debris, and furnished with torn up couches and armchairs scavenged from the disintegrating buildings nearby. The remnants of broken-down machinery of long-forgotten function lined the periphery.

A tattoo-laden gang leader named Crack lounged against the back of one of the armchairs. Danny Hampton stood before him, desperately trying to stop his hands from shaking. Danny’s dog, Zonk, sat on the floor by his feet. A group of rough looking men sat talking and joking some distance away. Their talk and laughter echoed off the metal-clad walls.

“You want to rent a truck,” said Crack. The arrogant sneer on his burn-scarred face made Danny nervous. “What for?”

“I can’t tell you,” said Danny.

“You can’t tell me…” Crack shot a glance to the dark skinned man standing next to him. “Hear that, Mansur? He wants me to rent him a truck, but he can’t tell me what for.”

“That’s pretty funny,” laughed Mansur.

“You’re a real little tough guy, aren’t you?” Crack said to Danny. “You know, some of the boys over there would have a lot of fun with you.”

Danny glanced over at the group. One of them looked up, noticed him, pursed his lips and blew him a kiss. Danny shuddered.

“Let me guess…” Crack continued. “You don’t want to pay for this truck either.”

“I’d pay you when I sell what I want to haul,” said Danny, thinking how stupid it sounded as soon as it came out of his mouth.

Both Crack and Mansur fell into renewed spasms of laughter.

“Have you got any idea what it costs to rent something like that?” Crack said, still laughing. “Either you’re a lot richer than you look or you’re delusional.”

“I know how much it costs,” answered Danny. “I could pay after I deliver the cargo.”

Crack raised an eyebrow and straightened up slightly, “So what do you want to haul that’s so valuable?”

“I can’t tell you,” said Danny. “You’d just have to trust me…”

Crack’s sinewy right arm, hideously tattooed with coiling tentacles, shot out and grabbed Danny by the shirt collar. “Listen, you little fuck – I can get you anything you want –
after
you pay me the cash up front.”

“I don’t have any money,” Danny whispered.

“Too bad,” Crack said, releasing his hold and roughly shoving Danny away. “Maybe you should just fuck off then and quit wasting my time.”

Danny hesitated, petrified. He knew he should leave now, but instead blurted out, “I could cut you in on the profits.”

“What?” said Crack. “Ten percent of fuck all?”

“It would be a lot,” answered Danny, instantly regretting his choice of words. Crack leaned forward, suddenly interested, staring at him like he was trying to read his mind.

“Tell you what…” he finally said. “Normally I wouldn’t even consider a deal like that, but I like you, kid. You’ve got an honest face. Give me a minute. I’ll have to talk it over with my colleagues.”

Danny saw a suppressed smirk on Mansur’s face. Crack sauntered over and whispered something to one of the other men. In response, the man smiled and nodded his head.

Crack returned, saying, “Sorry, the guys aren’t convinced. I’m on your side, believe me, but we’ll have to do some negotiating. Have a seat.” He motioned with his tattooed right arm. Danny recoiled at the sight of it, but was afraid to say no. He sat down on one of the armchairs.

An hour later a pickle jar full of homemade hooch was still making the rounds. The men were all much older than Danny – some even had graying hair. Out of the corner of his eye he was sure he saw them nodding and snickering to each other. It was like they were all party to some joke that didn’t include him.

Zonk paced nervously around the room. On an almost imperceptible signal from Crack, one of the men jumped up and grabbed the dog by the collar. Zonk struggled to pull away and whined at being held by a stranger. Crack held out the jar and motioned for Danny to take another drink. Once again Danny was repulsed by the painted tentacles that squirmed with the movement of his outstretched arm.

Danny knew now that he should never have come here. He staggered to his feet. The crowd around him roared with laughter. He couldn’t see straight. Somehow he had to keep his head. If he could just put one foot in front of the other he could walk out of here and everything would be alright. He lost his balance and suddenly he was falling…

From somewhere behind him Crack’s voice echoed above the laughter, “Now, suppose you tell us exactly what you want to haul in the truck…”

The First Clues

On day two of Danny’s disappearance Richard took some more time off, and in the morning headed for Danny’s school. He made his way from the streetcar stop, pushing past a line of people that disappeared around the nearest street corner. Rounding the corner, he saw that they were the tail section of a breadline that, as usual, stretched all the way around the block. In the distance, at the head of the line, a pair of hands held out a bowl into which a uniformed official ladled food.

At the school he met with Ms. Kingsley, Danny’s counselor. He’d met her once or twice before when they’d talked about Danny’s problems in school. He remembered her as a confident career woman with meticulously coiffed hair and impeccable clothes. Today, she looked tired and disheveled, with loose strands of hair hanging over her eyes.

“Have a seat,” she gestured to a chair in front of her desk. “Excuse me, but I have to complete this form. Would you mind waiting a minute?”

“Sure,” said Richard, as he sat down. He glanced around the office. It was small and scented with the faint flowery odour of Ms. Kingsley’s perfume. Beside her desk stood a tall bookshelf lined with titles that included:
Motivating the Young: A New Approach
, and
The Effects of Poverty on Social Development
. Several posters adorned the walls. One showed a backyard garden with the caption:
Food – Everyone’s Responsibility
. In another a frightened youth faced a menacing gang of thugs. The caption read:
School Sanctuary – Here When You Need It
.

The largest, most striking poster hung on the wall directly above Ms. Kingsley’s head. Richard recognized it immediately, since it was plastered everywhere throughout his own College. It showed a stylized city of gleaming skyscrapers, the light from a rising sun glinting from their mirrored windows. The bold-print caption at the bottom read:
First Annual Innovation Day – Man’s Triumph Over Nature
.

Ms. Kingsley completed the form and dropped it decisively in her out-box.

“Thanks for waiting,” she said, turning to face him. “Good to see you Richard, though I wish it were under more pleasant circumstances. Any word about Danny?”

“It’s like he dropped off the face of the Earth,” Richard said. “I was hoping you’d have some idea where he might have gone.”

“I’m sorry, but I don’t think I can be much help. I’ve asked him in to see me several times – not for any infraction – just for a chat, and he always says everything’s fine, but won’t open up. He doesn’t say a word unless it’s to answer a direct question. Apart from that, he seems to be coping as well as could be expected – considering what he’s been through.”