Lucky's Girl (13 page)

“I’d rather just have a job, like a steady job or something.”

Lucky’s nose crinkled. “Yeah. No.
What?
Anyways, what’s been eating you, man? Did I catch you giving yourself the five finger discount earlier?”

Kenny had been sitting on the little pier, staring out over the lake trying not to think. At church it had felt like the walls had been closing in on him so he he’d been the first out the door, and the first out of the parking lot, gunning the engine of his uncle’s old pickup all the way home.

He didn’t want to look at Lucky, Mary, Christie, the Rev, or any of them.

It was like one of those old science fiction movies where everyone in town gets taken over by aliens. Except his best friend was the alien and he’d taken over years ago. But Kenny had somehow failed to notice. Failed to notice that everyone lived by one set of rules, but Lucky lived by another.
How could you live your entire life up to this point and not have noticed this?

He’d heard the tires of the truck crunching up the gravel of the driveway. Lucky was going to show up sooner or later if he wasn’t answering the phone, but hadn’t thought it would be this quick. Kenny just wanted time to pull his head together. He’d never faced big questions before, had never had the foundations of his world threatened. And when he’d heard those tires he’d wanted run off into the woods to wait until Lucky went away, but had stopped himself when he realized he didn’t even know what he was running from.

Yeah, Lucky’s attitude towards Mary and Christie was disgusting, but it almost made sense. Any man with that kind of success with women was going to get cocky. And what he’d said about the Rev being a fool? That was just the inevitable result of the pressures of being the son of the minister of a big church.

But the part about his shooting animals and…

That was weird.

It would be one thing if he shot the animals dead, but his uncle said he’d injured them then taken them over to fucking Grove Island. That was freaky. The only way to explain it away was to call his uncle crazy.

“So, Lucky, ummm, what are you doing tonight?”

“What are you changing the subject for? And it’s what are
we
doing tonight not what am
I
doing tonight. Or maybe even
who
are we doing tonight? Yeah, huh, buddy?”

Mason was holding up a hand expecting a high-five in return.

Kenny obliged and forced a big phony grin. “Okay, what are we doing tonight, oh man with the master plan?”

“Christie’s folks are in Milwaukee for some bullshit, we’re gonna have Castle Tellefsen all to ourselves, Tonto! We’re talkin’ champagne an’ gay French cheese an’ shit like that.”

Kenny had to stop and think about this one. He’d never been in a house like that, but right now he just wanted to be away from Lucky. For the first time in his life, he didn’t want to be anywhere
near
Lucky. Kenny realized he wasn’t saying anything, just staring straight forward with a confused frown, shaking his head.

Lucky was looking at him like he’d lost his mind. “Dude, you do know what I’m talking about right?”

Kenny didn’t know what to say or to think about anything. “What about Mary?”

Lucky shrugged like Kenny had said the least relevant thing ever. Then he grinned really big. “That’s mighty ambitious of you, son. But I think we’re gonna have to break Christie in a little slower than that.”

Lucky pulled into the big dirt lot, mostly full because the church picnic was in full swing. Lucky put it in park. “But first, it appears that the unwashed masses still need to be hosed off. You ready for some seriously questionable casserole?”

Kenny sniffled and said, “You know, ordinarily I’d stick around bud, but if we’re going out tonight I really gotta get back home and take a nap. Either last night’s brews or the flu is knocking on the door, you know what I mean?”

***

After a whole lot of protesting from Lucky, Kenny had hoofed it back home. Lucky had seemed hurt by the whole thing. Kenny was starting to get a glimpse of something else now; Lucky didn’t like it when he was disagreed with. Lucky hadn’t liked it when Kenny hadn’t wanted to hang around. Lucky didn’t like Kenny doing his own thing.

Kenny trudged along the side of the highway he’d just driven down not even an hour earlier. He shook his head, looking at his feet in the tall grass. Lucky had pulled up in his truck and he’d run out, and had gotten in. He’d put aside everything he’d been thinking and had gotten in that truck.

Like a girl.

No.

Like a dog.

Is that what I am? Am I Lucky’s fucking dog?

A couple of cars passed but he was so far into his own thoughts that he hadn’t heard the car slowing down and pulling up beside him. The loud whoop of the police siren jacked him back into the world.

The man in shades behind the wheel smiled out at him. “Morning, Mr. McCord. What makes you think you can just hike up the side of my highway like this?”

It was Sheriff Jerry, bane of bar fights and broken tail lights. One of the guys who’d come out regularly to spend time with Uncle Frank. They’d go fishing about once a month or would just sit on the porch and chat for a few hours.

Kenny was so deep in his thoughts he just stood there gaping at Jerry, not able to verbalize an answer.

“You want a lift or you just gonna try to catch flies all day?”

It was hot, and it would be poor form to turn down an offer from the guy who handed out traffic tickets.

Kenny quickly nodded. “Yeah, thanks. That sounds good.”

Kenny walked around and got in the passenger’s side while Jerry lit up a smoke. He hit the gas and they were on their way on the short hop to Kenny’s uncle’s cabin.

A quizzical look came over Jerry. “So what are you hoofin’ it for? Your uncle’s gonna be out on the lake fishing, and you’d be driving his truck. It ain’t broke down is it?”

Kenny shook his head. “Nah, just a mix-up. I was riding with Lucky and he’s gonna be stuck out at the church picnic for a while. I’m just not in the mood.”

Jerry nodded, putting the pieces together cop-style. “Lucky. Not in the mood. Hmmm. So you’re walking down the side of the road with an ugly mug on shaking your head. Looked like you were having a full blown argument with yourself.”

“Sorry, man, just got stuff on my mind, kinda feeling under the weather.”

Jerry didn’t even glance over. “So would that weather be of the Hamm’s, Schlitz, or Molson variety?”

A silly panicked sputter. “What?”

Jerry still hadn’t turned his head. “I’m a cop. You were drinking last night.”

Kenny tried to apologize but felt silly as soon as he said it. “Oh. I’m sorry?”

Jerry took a drag on his cigarette and blew it out the window. “You’re sorry? I don’t care, just don’t let me catch you doing it. Or smoking weed with Captain Fabulous or I will put both your butts in the drunk tank with all the rest of the turds.”

Kenny really was confused. “Captain Fabulous?”

Jerry looked at him over his shades. “You’re not a turd, Kenny. But kids your age, it’s too easy to let your dick do the driving.”

Kenny nodded, getting it. “You mean Lucky?”

Jerry let out a little laugh and shook his head. “Yeah. Boy wonder. You know. He walks on water and the women get wet?”

Kenny sputtered again. “What?”

Jerry took on a more direct tone. “He’s a little shit, Kenny. Parents are fucking saints, but that kid?
Damn
.”

Kenny managed a trifecta. “What?”

Jerry laughed full on. “Kenny, you’re sounding like a broken record.”

Kenny was just about to ask ‘what’ again when Jerry pulled into his uncle’s driveway. They sat there a moment: Kenny was still speechless, still looking mightily confused.

Jerry flicked his cigarette and smiled. “Damn kid, you look like you’re taking a shit or flunking a math test. What’s with the big puzzle face?”

Kenny tried to put the confused expression away, but only ended up looking more perplexed. “How did you know that we’ve been… doing what we’ve been doing?”

Jerry shrugged and smiled. “Like I said, I’m a cop. It’s my job to know people
before
they start telling you who they are.”

Kenny sighed and sat back. “I’m not a big pothead. We’ve only smoked a few times really. I like it but not enough to get into trouble over it.”

Jerry took off his shades and rubbed his eyes. “Weed’s just a part of it, Kenny. The things you do at this age follow you into life. You’ve gotta decide who you are, and you’ve gotta decide soon.”

Kenny thought about it. “I think I’m a good person.”

Jerry put his shades on and looked at Kenny hard. “So does the drunk guy who punches his wife and runs over a kid. Everyone’s a good guy, everyone’s got a good reason for what they did. At least in their own heads. They justify everything until they don’t even question their own actions.”

Kenny asked quietly, “What do you want me to do, Jerry?”

Jerry pointed right in his face. “I want you to think about
getting away with it
.”

Kenny looked at the finger in his face. “Getting away with it? What’s
it
?”

Jerry pointed his finger out into the woods. “It’s not just smoking dope and sneaking a twelve pack. It’s a way of thinking about life and how you live it. Your buddy Lucky?
He gets away with it
. He’s been getting away with it all his life, and that’s how he plans to live his life. Is that who you want to be?”

Kenny had to think about that one. Any male of the species, especially one his age, would kill to be like Lucky. To be Lucky.
To get away with it
.

Kenny shook his head, this was all too much. “Have you been talking to my uncle or something?”

“Of course, Kenny, we’re friends. Why?”

“Well he’s…” Then he stopped. It occurred to him that maybe this was a setup, that his uncle had asked Jerry to talk to him about the beer and the weed but it had somehow become about Lucky.

Kenny exhaled hard. “It just seems like you guys don’t like Lucky.”

Jerry turned the keys in the ignition. “I haven’t talked to him about you or Lucky or any of the above. Now get out of my car, I’ve got vacationers to ticket.”

***

Jerry Kaminsky had regrets. A lot of people would have said that he’d earned a life of penance, but he didn’t see it that way. He saw this little town not as Purgatory, but as a true second chance. The people weren’t much to look at, but Jerry valued them just as much as he’d come to value himself.

He had wrongs to make right, and this was a town
full
of wrongs.

Serious wrongs, too, the kind of wrongs he could relate to. This town existed solely between the poles of dead drunk or born-again Christian. Very often these poles switched on a daily basis. Unemployment was a constant, as was welfare dependency, and all the sickness that came along for the ride. Elton was his second chance, and there was no shortage of people who needed help.

Jerry was three years sober. He’d quit drinking during the first six months after he’d arrived in Elton. He was a daily at the big Alcoholics Anonymous meeting in the church basement. Sometimes he even chaired the meeting, handing out those chips that signify a desire to get sober to the same guys he’d just let out of the drunk tank, i.e., a ten by ten cell usually occupied by two or three guys.

He’d read about towns in America with serious alcohol problems, but didn’t know if there were any as bad as Elton. In many ways the village didn’t make any sense. There’d never been a mine here. It was as if the founders had just picked it because it was on a lake. The lake was pretty, but there were absolutely no fish in it. It was a town with no jobs on a lake with no fish. No one had ever seemed to leave, though. He couldn’t know for sure, but by his count only three people in ten had a job.

But life could have turned out far worse for Jerry Kaminsky. God had given him a second chance, and second chances have to be earned.

Jerry had started with the Detroit PD in 1979 and had been suspended without pay eight years later. He’d been well liked on the force so things had been quietly swept under the rug, but you can only hide so much. Jerry had shot a kid while off-duty. He’d been so drunk he couldn’t even remember doing it. He’d fired six shots from his duty revolver, one hitting the kid, who was only thirteen. He’d broken into Jerry’s car outside a bar and was trying to hotwire it. Jerry was white and a cop, the kid black and a wannabe gang member. But nothing could hide the fact that he’d been so drunk he couldn’t remember shooting the kid while giving his official statement later that night.

The system had closed ranks around him, so he’d gotten placed here. He hadn’t gone to prison, where the county prosecutor had wanted to send him. If he had, he’d have never walked out of there alive. So he’d come to Elton Township instead, put on the badge, and had fallen right back into the bottle.

Then he had met the Rev and Abby.

They hadn’t preached at him, he hadn’t become a born again Christian, but he
had
rediscovered the idea of goodness. Jerry had discovered that he’d always believed in right and wrong, but as far as good and bad went, he would only see the bad. He really, fundamentally, did not believe in Good. It’s easy to say these things but to discover them in yourself is a whole other matter. He realized he’d seen the world in black and white ever since he could remember, and after just a few short days with the Rev and Abby the world was in color again. He’d come to the most destitute place in America to find that he could be happy and live a life with purpose.

It was this thing called
Grace
they’d kept talking about – the idea that God gives second chances all the time, second chances which people neither wanted nor earned, or deserved. The only condition was that the person met him halfway. And the way to do that was to help others. And Elton never stopped supplying opportunities for Jerry to do that.

***

Jerry lit another cigarette as he pulled into the lot, parking in between two rust-pitted station wagons of indeterminate color. He looked out over the crowd to the picnic tables nearest the side doors of the church. The picnic was winding down, with the lot half empty. Pretty soon the volunteers would start packing up the grills and the leftovers, and putting away the folding tables and chairs.