On the Other Side of the Bridge (5 page)

“Why don't they just call it the resolution?” Lonnie asked. “Or better yet, the ending?”

“I don't know. I guess teachers want to fancy up the words 'cause we're in middle school.”

They passed by the Ice House skating rink and the post office. Both were closed. Down the street stood El Farolito, a Mexican bakery shop.

“You want to pick up some
pan dulce
to eat on the way?” Lonnie asked.

“Nah, I just ate. But you go ahead, if you want.”

Lonnie was hungry, but he didn't want to buy Mexican sweet bread if Axel wasn't going to eat it with him. “Maybe on the way back,” he said.

“So what book do you have to read for your project?” Axel asked.

“It's called
The Dumfrees Move In
by Violet Sparks.”

Axel stopped and gaped at him. “Dude, that's a baby book!”

“Yeah, I know,” Lonnie said dully.

“I read that book when I was like, in the third grade.” Axel started to tease him about it, but he sensed Lonnie's mood, so he held back. “Is that the kind of stuff they give you in Progressive Reading?” he asked, now sounding serious.

“Well, school just started, and I think my teacher wants to give us something easy to read so we won't get discouraged and not read at all.”

“I don't get it,” Axel said. “What are you doing in Progressive Reading, anyway? You read way better than I do, and I'm in an advanced reading class.”

“I don't know. I just can't seem to get my work done,” Lonnie admitted. “And I doubt I'll have my project finished by tomorrow.”

“What do you have to do?”

Lonnie told Axel about the story elements that needed to be included in his report, as well as the questions he had to answer.

“Look, all your teacher wants is for you to tell what happened at the beginning, the middle and at the end of the story, so you can show that you read the book,” Axel said. Cracking a smile, he added, “And don't forget to include the dee-now-ment.”

“What about the questions?” Lonnie asked, ignoring his dumb joke.

“Have you finished reading the book?”

Lonnie let out a sigh of frustration. “Torres, trying to get through that stupid book is harder than swimming in quicksand. I just can't keep my mind on it. It's so boring.”

“Don't worry about it,” Axel said. “I've read
The Dumfrees Move In
. Call me tonight, and I'll help you with the answers.”

Lonnie appreciated Axel's offer, but he felt he was demeaning himself by accepting his help. There was no logical reason for him to be struggling with a third-grade level chapter book. Running into Mr. Treviño had reminded him that he was capable of making much better grades. When Lonnie was in his class, he made the A honor roll once and the B honor roll three times. And he had the ribbons and certificates to prove it.

It was after he left Mr. Treviño's class that his grades began to tank. In fifth grade, students were departmentalized, and Lonnie was assigned to Ms. Menchaca for reading, which made him feel apprehensive because he
had heard kids say she was a lazy teacher. The rumors about her weren't far from the truth. Their reading consisted mainly of following along in their basal reader, while a voice on a CD read the text to them. When they weren't doing that, Ms. Menchaca handed out reading comprehension worksheets so her students could practice answering questions in preparation for the standardized reading test they would take at the end of the year. They didn't read chapter books, and she never read aloud to them. It wasn't long before Lonnie started bombing out, not only in her class, but in his others, too.

In sixth grade, he was placed in Mr. Dreyfus' class for reading. His lessons, much like Ms. Menchaca's, consisted primarily of a basal reader and reading worksheets.

Mr. Treviño used to have a bulletin board in his classroom with book covers stapled on it and a caption above that said: DISCOVER THE JOY OF READING! Lonnie's problem was that basal readers, reading worksheets and baby books didn't bring him any joy.

As they neared the paper company, Lonnie groaned. “Aw, man, look who's there.”

Slurpee was yanking on the chain and padlock that held the wire gate shut, cursing and grunting, because he couldn't get the gate open.

Herman “Slurpee” Gilmore was in Lonnie's Progressive Reading class, and he easily fell into all three categories that qualified him to be there: he had flunked the seventh grade, he was a low reader and he definitely had “reading motivation” issues.

In class, Slurpee would rock back and forth in his desk, making heavy, snorting sounds, and Ms. Kowalski constantly had to tell him to be quiet.

Slurpee lived at 711 Laclede Street, so Axel nicknamed him “Slurpee” because of his 7-Eleven address. Before that, Lonnie used to call him Renfield, after the mental patient in
Dracula
, but a lot of kids didn't get the reference.

Slurpee hated his real name, so it didn't matter to him which nickname he was given. “I don't care what they call me, as long as they don't forget to call me for supper,” he would joke.

Slurpee hadn't gone to the Martex Paper Company to find something to read. The piles of paper products included lots of porn magazines, Slurpee's favorite type of literature.

He looked up at the barbed wire that spiraled across the top of the tall fence, wondering if he could climb over it without getting cut.

“Hey, Slurpee!” Axel shouted. “You'll never get in there that way.”

He turned around, not surprised to see Axel and Lonnie, because they had run into each other at the paper company before. Tugging at gate, Slurpee said, “They got the door locked.”

“Yeah, they do that when they close the place,” Axel said. “But we know another way to get in.”

Lonnie wished Axel hadn't mentioned anything about their secret entrance. He was the one who had discovered it, and Axel should have left it up to him to decide if he wanted Slurpee to know where it was.

Slurpee wiped away streaks of sweat that had trickled from his bald head down to his pimply face. He turned to Lonnie and nudged his chin. “Wassup?”

Lonnie smiled awkwardly, then looked away. Slurpee reminded him of the creatures in the movie
Mutants from the Abyss
that had crawled from beneath the earth to
attack innocent cavers. The creatures had pale skin, oversized foreheads and little beady eyes, just like him.

The boys walked along the side of the fence until they found a section with a large tear that had been repaired with baling wire. A warehouse truck had backed into the fence, causing the damage.

Lonnie shot Axel a dirty look to let him know he didn't appreciate him letting Slurpee in on their secret. Then he unwound the wire and pulled back the chain-link fence, leaving an opening big enough for the three of them to squeeze through.

Once inside, they rummaged through the mass of paper products. But as Axel had suspected, even though the sun was out, everything was sopping wet.

“Maybe we can find some stuff inside the warehouse,” Slurpee suggested.

“We can't go in there,” Lonnie told him. “The place is locked.”

Grinning shamelessly, Slurpee said, “The fence was locked, too, but we got in, didn't we? I'm gonna try the door.”

When he left, Lonnie blasted Axel for letting Slurpee know about their private entrance.

“What was I supposed to do? It was either that or go home and come back later. And I can't do that. Remember? I told my mom I wouldn't be gone too long, so—”

Axel was interrupted by the sound of shattering glass.

Lonnie looked up and gasped. Slurpee had used a cinder block to smash the small window on the warehouse door.

“What are you doing, man?” he yelled, then peered about, wondering if anyone had seen him.

Slurpee didn't answer. Reaching through the window frame, he turned the inside knob and opened the door.

Lonnie's jaw dropped as he watched him disappear inside the warehouse. “Aw, man, that idiot's going to get us in big-time trouble!”

Axel's face lit up. “You know, I've never been inside the warehouse. Come on. Let's see what's in there.”

Before Lonnie could protest, Axel ran toward the door steps. Lonnie whirled around again to see if anyone was watching before joining him.

The warehouse was dark, lit only by the sun's rays seeping from the skylights above. The air was stagnant and smelled of must and mold. Huge bales of paper were stacked in rows throughout the cavernous room. Although the building was hot, a chill crawled up Lonnie's arms. He imagined a murderous fiend lurking in the shadows, ready to pounce on them at any moment. From the corner of his eye, he spotted a rat, the size of a 'possum, dart between two bales of paper.

“Let's get out of here,” he told Axel.

“Wait, I want to look around first,” he said, marveling at his surroundings.

Slurpee climbed on top of a bale of paper and savagely tore at it, grunting and snorting. Then he stopped. A green button on a pole caught his attention. He jumped off the bale and pressed the button, turning on an electrical motor. The sounds of wheels and bearings reverberated as a conveyor belt rolled upward, coming to an end above a concrete pit.

Slurpee hopped on top of the conveyor belt with his arms outstretched. “Hey, look at me!” he shouted as he rode the conveyor belt. “I'm surfing.” When he reached
the top, he ran back down and rode it again. “Everybody's gone surfin',” he sang in a monotone voice, “surfin' U.S.A.”

After the third time, he jumped off and ran to a forklift parked near the office. He sat in the cab and grabbed the steering wheel with both hands, like a little kid playing in a toy car. “Hey, y'all know how to turn this thing on?”

From having seen the men operate forklifts at the trucking company where his dad used to work, Lonnie knew Slurpee wasn't going anywhere without the ignition key.

Then, as if he'd read Lonnie's mind, Slurpee said, “I need a key to this.” He swiveled his head in the direction of the office. “I bet they got it in there.”

He climbed off the forklift and tried the office door, but it was locked. Not about to let that deter him, he grabbed a pair of pliers from a leather pouch on the forklift and used them to shatter the glass window on the door. Once inside, he ransacked the office, pulling drawers from the desk and the file cabinet, scattering sheets of paper and file folders on the floor, while he searched for the forklift key.

Lonnie knew he should have gotten out of the warehouse, even if it meant leaving Axel behind. But he was too mesmerized, watching Slurpee tear the office apart, to move from his spot.

The sound of a car door slamming shut snapped him out of his trance. Lonnie ran to the door and looked out. Instantly, his face turned pale.

The gate was open. A security guard had driven his patrol car into the parking lot and was headed toward the steps!

L
ONNIE RECOGNIZED THE GUARD
as Otis Barnaby, a sixty-seven-year-old retired cop who was now employed by the Wyndham Security Company. When Lonnie's mother first started working at the Sherwood Forest Apartments, Mr. Barnaby had been assigned as her mentor.

“Torres, a security guard's coming!” Lonnie cried.

Axel saw Mr. Barnaby's shadow in the doorway. “Slurpee, let's go, man! A guard's coming!”

“Wait, I haven't found the key to the forklift,” Slurpee replied, unaware that Axel had said,
“A guard's coming!”

Mr. Barnaby stood at the warehouse entrance. He rested a hand on his gun and held a flashlight in the other. He aimed a beam toward the office window and said, “Hey! I see you. Come out of there.”

Slurpee spun around and froze.

Axel and Lonnie hid behind a bale of paper. Hearing their footsteps, Mr. Barnaby pointed his flashlight in their direction. He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and called 911.

Axel's heart quickened. “I can't get arrested, Lonnie!” he cried. “I can't go to jail!”

“Put your hands up and step out where I can see you,” Mr. Barnaby commanded them. He returned his flashlight to Slurpee. “You, too.”

Lonnie's mind raced for possible options. The first one was to turn themselves in. Mr. Barnaby knew him, so there was a chance he wouldn't arrest them. But he would surely tell their parents. Then again, Mr. Barnaby had already called the cops, and Lonnie doubted they would be as lenient, not after the mess Slurpee had made.

Mr. Barnaby stood his ground, blocking the only exit, waiting for backup. As a veteran police officer, he wasn't going to approach them alone since he didn't know how many suspects he was dealing with. Still, if Lonnie could somehow get him away from the door, there was a chance they could escape.

Axel was shuddering and spilling tears. “What are we going to do, Lonnie? What are we going to do?”

Slurpee raised his hands in surrender and walked out of the office.

“The rest of you, do the same,” Mr. Barnaby ordered.

Lonnie didn't care what happened to Slurpee. But even if he and Axel managed to get away, they would still be in trouble because Slurpee would tell Mr. Barnaby and the cops that they had been at the warehouse with him.

An idea came to him. He didn't know if it would work, but it was all he had. “Slurpee! The back door's open. Come on! Let's go! Let's go!”

Slurpee dropped his hands and bolted toward them.

Believing his suspects were about to flee, Mr. Barnaby left his post and cautiously approached their hiding spot.

While he looked for the rear exit, the boys rounded five bales of paper and ran out the front door, hoping a squad car wasn't pulling into the parking lot. Luckily, the cops hadn't arrived.

Lonnie's ruse didn't last long. Moments later, Mr. Barnaby flew out the door behind them. “The three of you, stop where you are!”