Revoltingly Young (20 page)

6:47 p.m. More bad news. Sheriff’s Detective Lloyd Moroni dropped by this afternoon to put the screws to me some more. Thankfully Grandma was up at the clinic getting her blood checked. He has a daughter in my class named Ruth Ann, who I once had a crush on for about five minutes. I think I was just feeling sorry for her because everyone called her Rough And Moronic. Her dad sat on the sofa, removed some papers from his briefcase, and got down to business.

“
OK, Noel, you know some girl named Veeva Saunders?”

“
Uh, I don’t think so.”

“
Well, that’s interesting because she’s left four messages for you on your cell phone.”

“
Oh, right. Veeva lives in L.A. She doesn’t know Carlyle.”

“
So you say. Of course, that’s the area where Carlyle was last seen.”

“
She has nothing to do with him. Carlyle is not the type of person she would be caught dead associating with.”

“
OK, Noel, you know some girl named Uma Spurletti?”

“
Yes, she’s, uh, she’s a girl in my class.” A ray of hope. “Has she been leaving messages for me too?”

“
I’ll ask the questions, Noel. We sent your computer to Carson City. They peeled your hard drive like an onion. You made some incriminating statements about those two girls, did you not?”

A very unsettling feeling rippled across the base of my scrotum.

“
It was all a fantasy! None of it was true!”

“
So you say, Noel. But I don’t think their parents would enjoy reading it, do you?”

“
Uh, no. I guess not.”

“
Right. They wouldn’t. So why don’t you tell me where Carlyle is?”

“
Believe me, I would tell you if I knew.”

“
I’ve dealt with you gang types before, Noel. I know you think it’s a macho thing sticking up for your homies, but how would you like to go back to Vegas to answer a charge of statutory rape?”

I totally lost it then. Wailing, shrieking, the works. I think even Detective Moroni was taken aback. He got me some Kleenex from the bathroom and told me to pull myself together.

“
If you read my blog,” I sobbed, “then you know I had nothing to do with Carlyle stealing that hearse.”

“
I thought you said it was all a fantasy? You can’t have it both ways, Noel.”

“
All I can tell you is Carlyle really wants to be black. If he’s anywhere in L.A., it would be in some black neighborhood. He would probably be going by the name of Jamal.”

“
Yeah, well we got that much from his foster parents. You need to tell me something I don’t know, Noel.”

I wracked my brain and finally thought of something.

“
The body of his father’s murdered partner! Carlyle told me they ditched it up in Bluebird Canyon.”

“
What? I’m not interested in the whereabouts of some deceased lowlife, Noel. You think about it, kid. You produce some useful information on Carlyle, or I talk to Mr. Saunders and Mr. Spurletti. They might not be as nice to you as I’m being.”

If there’s a color worse than the bleakest black, that is where my life has now sunk to.

FRIDAY, August 12 – Some disturbing phone calls last night. The first was from my sister Joanie in L.A. The cops had just hauled away Tyler for questioning, and she was going off the deep end. She said if her son got in trouble with the law, he wouldn’t be able to play high-school sports, wouldn’t get an athletic scholarship to USC (his intended college), wouldn’t go on to have a highly lucrative career in the pros, and would wind up a Skid Row failure like our father. All because of my pernicious influence. I told her Tyler wasn’t in very deep, and she should just relax and not worry. Then she called me some very unsisterly names and hung up. So much for that precious fraternal butterfly about to take wing.

While I was still shaking from that call, Veeva phoned demanding to know why I hadn’t returned any of her calls. I explained my many reasons and inquired why she hadn’t thought to call on our land line sooner as we were in the book.

“
Not being stupid, I thought of that, Noel, but I couldn’t remember your damn last name. I just think of you as a Twisp. Finally, I called Tyler and got your phone number from his mom. She’s rather hysterical you know.”

“
I know. The cops got Tyler for being in our gang.”

“
Two rather cute and young L.A.P.D. officers were just here asking me about your idiot pal. I don’t know why they imagine I’d be clued in on your Glocca Morra criminal associates.”

“
That’s Winnemucca, Veeva.”

“
Whatever. I didn’t even know you guys were in a gang with that hearse hijacker. It came as a complete shock to me.”

“
Well, it’s not much of a gang.”

“
No, you’re just splashed across the front page of every newspaper in the state. Fortunately, everything’s in a big uproar here. My mother hardly noticed the cops.”

“
What’s going on?”

“
My parents had a monster fight. Daddy said he had to go to Vegas on business, but my mother accused him of wanting to see Nick’s Czech girlfriend.”

“
What did he say?”

“
I’m not sure. Daddy tends to mumble during fights, and it’s hard to hear him over Mother’s screaming.”

“
Did he go?”

“
Oh, he went. Last night. My mother’s been totally insane ever since. She was so distracted, I got her to give me my credit card back early.”

“
Damn, Veeva, your father and my brother might be stuck on the same woman.”

“
I know. It’s all very unsettling. I’m feeling almost as jealous as Mother.”

“
You’re such a daddy’s girl, Veeva.”

“
Well, that’s no secret. That’s why it’s such a positive step that I did it with you. Speaking of sleeping with Twisps, I heard back from Aunt Sheeni.”

“
About her kid? What did she say?”

“
She said and I quote: ‘You must have been watching too much American TV.’ How’s that for a copout?”

“
Yeah, Veeva, if it wasn’t true, you’d think she’d be denying it more vigorously than that.”

“
Exactly my feeling, Noel. Now tell me all about jail!”

We discussed my prison experiences, declared our mutual regard, and promised to keep in touch. I didn’t tell her about the cops finding my blog and threatening to expose our affair. There’s no point in everyone in the Saunders’ household coming unglued. And I want to keep Veeva on my side as long as possible. A guy needs at least one friend in his life.

5:12 p.m. Despite the scorching weather, I had to get away. Grandma packed me a bag lunch and I took a long bike ride out of town. One good thing about Winnemucca, you don’t have to travel far to find Total Solitude.

If you take the time to look closely, I suppose the landscape is not as desolate as it seems. I ate my lunch beside a dried-up stream. The best way to end it, I decided, would be to hike far out of town with a small collapsible shovel, find a tall sand bank, and tunnel into it until it collapses down on top of you. It would all be over in a few minutes, and chances are nobody would ever find you. You’d just disappear. In a few thousand years the sand bank might wash away, and some future Future Civilization would discover your bones and speculate on your demise. Probably they’d never suspect you were escaping a rape charge and a love affair that went bad. If I copied my blog onto a CD and stuck it in my pocket, do you suppose they’d be able to read it in 5009? Most likely it would be way too obsolete by then.

SATURDAY, August 13 – The phone rang in the middle of the night. It was Jamal Bogy himself. All in all, the fugitive seemed pretty cheerful.

“
Jesus, Jamal, why’d you steal that hearse?”

“
Shit, Noel, you ever tried hitchhikin’ as a black dude? Man, you could grow old and die waitin’ for a ride.”

“
What were you doing in Sacramento?”

“
Well, bro’, first I hitched to Reno ’cause you weren’t givin’ me no bus money.”

“
You saw Rashilla?”

“
Yeah, man. It didn’t work out with that bitch. I didn’t tell her I was white, but she didn’t tell me she was fat. So I figured I’d come that far, hell, I might as well go to Disneyland.”

“
Yeah, well, you chose an odd way to get there.”

“
You watch me on TV, dude? Man, that was a blast haulin’ down the road with all those ‘copters chasin’ my ass. That Cadillac had some balls! I mean it could go! I gots to get me one of those cars!”

“
So how’d you escape the cops?”

“
Piece of cake, dude. I rolled under some parked car, wiped off my paint, and stuck my afro in my backpack. Then I hooked up with this family, said I got separated from my parents, and they gave me a lift to Pasadena.”

“
So you’re in Pasadena?”

“
I was. Man, that’s a white bread town. Got my black ass out of there in a hurry.”

From my experience only his underwear was dark, but I didn’t contest the point.

“
So where are you now?”

“
I hooked up with these dudes. They invited me to share their crib.”

“
Which is where?”

“
Damn, Noel, I gots to go. Just checkin’ in, bro’. Got to crash now. We’re making a big run tomorrow to pick up some reefer.”

“
A run to where?”

“
Hasta la vista, dude!”

Even though it was 3:12 by the clock, I immediately phoned Detective Moroni and told him that Carlyle Bogy might be trying to cross the border into Mexico tomorrow in the company of marijuana smugglers. He thanked me, but said I should never again call him at that hour unless Jesus Christ on a pogo stick had just cruised into the Silver Sluice looking for some action. Damn, how was I supposed to know my information could wait ’til morning? I thought it was a Vital Breakthrough.

11:14 a.m. I’ve hauled the battery from Grandma’s Honda out to the hippie bus to recharge my laptop. I hope she doesn’t mind.

A Federal Express truck arrived after breakfast and delivered an overnight package from Veeva. She’s lent me her spare cell phone until the cops return mine. Those assholes better not be running up a bunch of charges on my number. I tested out the new phone by checking in with Stoney. Her parents were pissed to hear she’d joined a gang, and she’s now totally grounded except for going out on dates with guys.

“
Not that Scott’s likely to phone after this scandal,” she sighed. “Are you grounded too?”

“
No way. Grandma knows I’m innocent.”

“
You’re so lucky not to have real parents, Noel. I’m thinking seriously of murdering mine.”

“
Don’t do anything rash, Stoney. Maybe you should give Scott a call.”

“
And say what? Invite him over to view my gang tattoos?”

Sure, it’s hard for guys to work up the nerve to ask chicks out. But it’s probably harder for girls to wait around hoping the guy they like wakes up to their existence.

4:14 p.m. My emasculated stepfather Lance Wescott just roared into the driveway. Things have gotten very ugly indeed.

SUNDAY, August 14 – I’m on the road. I’m putting the dust of Winnemucca behind me. I would like to have seen Uma one last time before I left, but that wasn’t in the cards. I left a note for Grandma and cut out early this morning. I have my backpack, my laptop, and $87.43 in cash. Not much assets to show for 15-1/2 years on this planet. Way too little to be splurging on bus tickets, so I walked down Main Street and loitered by the front gate of an RV park. When a rig with California plates was exiting, I tugged open the rear door of the trailer and hopped in. Fortunately, the guy was headed west. It was one of those giant rolling home on wheels where the front third extends up over the bed of the truck towing it. I think they’re called fifth-wheel trailers. Seemed oddly cramped inside, but then I figured out that was because all the slide-out sections had been sucked inside for moving. I sat in a recliner and watched my hometown retreating in the early morning light through the huge rear window. I poured myself a glass of water and later used the toilet in the fancy bathroom. Got a little nervous when the guy stopped for gas in Stockton. I thought they might come in for lunch, but they headed into the truck-stop restaurant instead (after nearly giving me a heart attack when they stopped to lock the trailer door). It was an old guy and his perky younger wife. I found some barbecued chicken in the refrigerator and some corn chips in a cupboard. The only thing cold they had to drink was beer, so I stuck with water. Finished it off with some great homemade chocolate cake. Beats standing by the highway in the heat with your thumb out.

We headed down Route 99 in the afternoon and got all the way to Bakersfield before they pulled off the freeway. I didn’t know where they were headed, so when they stopped at a light, I bailed out and walked back to the freeway interchange. I had a budget dinner in a truck-stop diner, then walked around the lot asking the truckers idling there if anyone was going to L.A. A younger guy who looked fairly unmenacing agreed to give me a lift. He’d been driving a long time (and fudging his logbook), so he needed someone to talk with to help him stay awake. We crawled up the Grapevine at about eight miles per hour, and I told him all about the events of the last few days. He said he left home at 16 and lied about his age to get in the army. He didn’t recommend that course of action, but said at least the army gave him experience driving big trucks. He was an on-call driver now, which he liked because it left him plenty of time to go surfing. He talked about surfing non-stop for the next three hours, which Tyler probably would have found fascinating. He dropped me off in West L.A., and I took a city bus into Santa Monica.