The Wonder Bread Summer (20 page)

“We’ve got to figure out what to do with our two hostages,” Frank said, before biting into his cracker.

“Trade them for the coke?” Allie said.

“We have to find the man with the coke to trade them for it,” Frank said.

“I’d like to beat the shit out of that mouthy surfer,” Luis said.

“Sweetheart, no violence, please,” Jorge said, and he took a cracker and some cheese from the plate.

“Has anyone fed the hostages?” Hans asked.

“They can go without food, but we do have to give them water,” Frank said.

“Why don’t we water the hostages and leave them here while we go to Zuma beach and find Mike. His gas-station friend said that that’s his beach,” Allie said.

“Would be safer than keeping them in the cars,” Jorge said. “If we got pulled over there could be big trouble.”

“Yeah,” Luis said, “a Mexican with a taped-up Filipino in his van would not look good to the police.”

“I think the black dude with the taped-up surfer in his trunk looks even worse,” Hans said.

“I believe you’re right about that,” Frank said, and his shoulders lifted and fell as he took a deep breath.

“Can we dump the bird here with them?” Allie asked. “The smell’s starting to seep toward the front seat.”

“Of course,” Frank said, and he surprised Allie by patting her on the head.

A
llie went to Mike’s bedroom and yanked off the pilly green blanket that was tucked into his bed. She looked at the pale blue sheets, perfectly folded and cornered military-style at the ends of the bed. They were probably clean but there was a softness about them, a shininess, that made Allie think of the oils in Mike’s skin, his shedding hair, the beach tar that was probably stuck on the bottom of his feet. To touch these remnants of Mike felt the same to Allie as touching Mike himself. And after everything he’d done to her (dumping her in the restroom alcove at Tambor’s, holding her up at gunpoint, stealing the bag of coke), Allie did not want to touch Mike in any form.

Allie reached down anyway, and pulled off the sheets as quickly as possible while keeping her head pulled back as if something sharp and evil would fly off of them. She wrapped the sheets in the blanket and carried the whole laundry-load-size ball into the living room. Frank was waiting by the broken door.

“Should we get rid of our fingerprints?” Allie asked. “In case he calls the police?”

“The advantage of dealing with dishonest, degenerate druggies,” Frank said, “is that you never have to worry about them calling the police. Now move along.” He put his hand on Allie’s back and escorted her, like a bodyguard, along the rickety rail.

“Dad, what am I supposed to do with that gun you gave me?”

“Nothing. I’ll teach you to use it as soon as we get a chance.”

“What if it goes off and—”

“Allie! Forget about it. At the moment it’s no more dangerous than your lucky rabbit foot.”

F
rank carried a jerking, jolting green-blanket-bound Vice Versa into the apartment, then into Mike’s closet, where he dropped him. Allie watched the tiny blanketed man gyrating below the three hanging wetsuits and the polyester pale-blue tuxedo Mike must have bought to wear to someone’s wedding.

Hans and Luis together carried Topher, wrapped in the soft blue sheets, up to the apartment. Like Vice Versa, Topher was squirming.

“Why don’t you put him under the couch?” Allie suggested.

“It’s not a bad idea,” Jorge said. He went to one end of the couch, Allie went to the other, and they lifted it and moved it back a couple feet. Where the couch had been were dimes, pencils, a few Cheerios, and several floaty, cloud-like dust balls. Allie was somehow relieved to discover that Mike wasn’t clean enough to vacuum under the couch.

Hans and Luis picked up either end of herky-jerky Topher and placed him on the dusty outline, then Allie and Jorge put the couch on top of him. Topher’s body was bulky. The couch teetered forward. Frank looked down and shook his head.

“The bird!” Allie said, and she grabbed the throw blanket from the couch and ran down to the car. She opened the trunk and looked at the bird. It was stiff and boney, more like a contraption than an animal. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, and then she wrapped the bird in the blanket and picked it up. It felt like a load of weighted, folded yardsticks—all angles, claws, and bones. The mucky, oceany smell reminded Allie of the six crates of rotten oysters once delivered to her father’s restaurant at the end of the night and left to ferment until morning. Allie was thirteen that year and happy to spend her Saturday morning hanging out with the kitchen crew as they tried to Lysol away the stink.

Allie humped the heavy, jagged bird up the steps, where Hans was waiting for her, on the lookout. Back in the apartment, she placed the bird on the couch. She cranked out each wing. They opened like stiff shuttered doors on hinges. Allie tilted the bird’s bald head up, so that its hook-nose beak looked menacing and ready to hammer down on something. Then she stood back and admired it. “I wish I had a camera,” she said.

“I saw a camera in the bedroom,” Hans said.

“Really?!” Allie ran off to the bedroom. Sure enough, a camera was sitting with some coins on top of Mike’s plain wooden dresser. Allie grabbed it and returned to the bird. She clicked off four pictures, each one getting closer and closer to the bird’s scabby head.

“Let me take a picture of you guys,” Allie said, and Hans and Luis each took a step in, toward Frank. Jorge stood beside Hans and threw his arm around him. Hans threw his arm around Frank, and then Luis did, too. Allie snapped a couple of shots.

“Now you get in,” Hans said, and he stepped out of the lineup and took the camera from Allie while she slipped in beside Frank. She put her arm around her father and could feel the tension in his back. Hans shot off a couple of photos.

“Now just Allie and her dad,” Hans said, and he waved one arm so Luis and Jorge would move away.

“For goodness sakes,” Frank said. “Do we really have time for this?”

“Come on, Dad,” Allie said. “One quick shot.”

Allie and Frank put their arms around each other, the bird on the tilted couch behind them, while Hans stood poised in front of them with the camera. He fiddled with the focus, turning the wheel around the lens in, and then out, and then in again.

“Let’s hurry this up,” Frank said.

“Smile, Dad,” Allie said. “You can use this for the Christmas card next year.”

Frank looked down at Allie and smiled just as Hans hit the button.

A
llie and Frank were alone in the Prelude, following Jorge and Luis in the van.

They were on their way to Zuma beach, with a quick stopover at the hospital. Allie wanted to update Roger on their progress and Luis wanted to pick up the switchblade he had left tucked in the bag of Roger’s personal goods. Everyone agreed that with the crowds at Zuma, a switchblade would be much stealthier than a pistol. Hans had stayed behind in Mike’s apartment to guard the hostages and deal with Mike, were he to show up.

“You know I saw Mom in Santa Barbara,” Allie said.

“I know,” Frank said. “You told me. And that little turd showed you his private parts.”

“Yeah, that’s right, I forgot I told you.” Allie wanted to laugh. She’d never heard her dad say “turd.”

“How was your mom?” Frank looked out the window, as if he were checking out the scenery.

“She seems to have married that turd.” Allie looked at her father, and he looked back for just a second before pointing at the road ahead of them.

“Change to the left lane,” Frank said. “And put on your signal.”

Allie did as she was told. There was silence in the Prelude for a minute, and then she said, “Dad, do you have nothing to say about the fact that Mom and that turd are married? I mean, you’re not even divorced.”

“We aren’t divorced,” Frank agreed. “We were never married.”

“You never got married? Why didn’t I know that?”

“No reason for you to know it. We didn’t want you to feel ashamed,” Frank said.

“I can’t believe I’m just finding this out now,” Allie said.

“We assumed you’d eventually figure it out. Have you ever heard about a wedding or seen a wedding picture? Get in the center of the lane. You’re too close to the yellow line.”

“Why didn’t you ever get married?” Allie asked.

Frank took a deep breath, looked at Allie for a moment, then stared back out the window again. “Wai Po wouldn’t let your mother marry me. She didn’t like
the blacks
.”

Allie could feel the conflicting truths shifting against each other like tectonic plates in her brain: Wai Po was a great woman, Wai Po was a racist. Allie felt older with this knowledge, saddened by it, but also enlightened. The
pretend you are white
instructions made even more sense now. “She always seemed to like me,” Allie said.

“Oh yes, she loved you. She loved you more than she loved Penny.”

“You don’t think she loved Mom?”

“Your mother disappointed her. Wai Po gave up on her.”

“Did Mom disappoint you?”

“A long, long time ago,” Frank said. “But I’m over that now.”

“So you don’t care that she’s married to the turd?”

“Nah.” Frank smiled. “They deserve each other. Couple of twerps.”

Chapter 15

A
llie stepped into the hospital room first, her father right behind her, Luis and Jorge behind Frank. Mike was sitting on the plastic mold-form chair next to Roger’s bed, his arm tucked behind Roger’s back as if he were almost holding him. Roger began trumpeting up and down, his pointer landing on the letter G. G for gun, Allie assumed.

“You must be Mike,” Frank said, and Allie could feel the men positioning themselves around the room, circling in on Mike.

“What are you doing here?” Allie asked.

“Well, Lumpy, for one, I’m looking for my man Topher, who didn’t show up at my house when he was supposed to. And, two, I want the name and address for your source.”

“My source?” Allie asked. She kept her eyes strong on Mike’s, as she could feel on the surface of her skin that her job now was to distract him long enough for someone to get to the gun that was being pressed into Roger’s back.

“The coke, Lumpy. Where did you get that bag of coke?”

“Oakland, I told you.”

“I want a name and an address. I want more of that coke.” Mike’s head bounced with emphasis.

“Don’t you want Topher?”

“Do you have Topher? If you have him, I’ll take him. But first I want your source.”

“Okay, fine,” Allie said, and she slouched on the end of Roger’s bed. Everyone was quiet around her. “Do you have a piece of paper where I can write it down?”

Mike patted his left hand on his shorts, then looked toward his pocket for a slice of a second. And in that tiny moment, Frank dove on Mike, swiping him to the ground the way a bear might paw down a raccoon from a tree.

All was silent as everyone took in the scene: Frank’s massive body completely covering a writhing Mike, Mike’s gun lying menacingly on the floor near his head, Luis with his pistol out pointing at Mike, Jorge guarding the door, Allie on the bed, and Roger trumpeting in the air.

A
llie called Beth’s house while Mike’s hands were being bound with the duct tape Jorge had retrieved from the van. His feet remained free so as not to draw any attention from the nurses or doctors.

The phone was picked up on the first ring. “Hello?” It was Jonas. Allie was surprised by how much his voice rattled her interior. She hung up. “Jonas,” she said to the group.

Roger tapped on the C, then A-L-L.

“Call back?” Allie asked.

“I’ll call back,” Frank said, and he hit the intercom button so he wouldn’t have to hold the receiver against his ear. Allie dialed.

“Jonas,” Frank said, when Jonas answered the phone.

“Who the fuck is this?” Jonas said.

“It’s Frank Dodgson.” His voice was stern.

“Frank!” Jonas sounded jovial, friendly. “How’s it goin’, man?”

“Jonas, you didn’t pay my daughter for the hours she served hawking garments in your shop. Additionally, you showed her your genitalia when you were supposed to be showing her how to run a business.”

“She was showing me her bits and I was showing her mine. It was tit for tat, get it?” Jonas started laughing. “TIT for—” The idea that her father might find out that what Jonas was saying was more or less true made Allie feel like her blood was made of nails.

“Jonas, you are putting me in a mind to actually murder you,” Frank said calmly.

“Yeah, yeah, you always were a thug, weren’t you, Frank? Running off to hard-core-nasty-badass college—” Jonas interrupted himself with laughter. “Where’s my man Vice Versa, anyway? Only took him, what? Five minutes to find you in L.A.!” Jonas laughed again.

“Vice Versa is resting comfortably in an apartment next to an In-N-Out Burger,” Frank said.

“Topher’s there, too,” Allie added, looking at Mike.

“Are they in
my
apartment?” Mike asked and Luis waved the duct tape in front of his mouth. Mike rolled his eyes like he wasn’t afraid of anything, even a man in a sport coat holding duct tape. But he did shut up.

“Now listen, Jonas,” Frank said. “We are bringing back your bag of cocaine. You will take the bag and you will never contact my daughter again.”

“Why don’t you listen to me, Frank,” Jonas said. “I have Allie’s friend Beth with me, and if you aren’t here at Beth’s apartment with my coke in six hours, the girl will be dead. After I kill Beth, you have one more hour to show up here before I send my entire motherfucking fuck-you-up-army down there to kill your daughter. Then, if I still don’t have my bag of coke, you’re next. I don’t give a fuck if we grew up three blocks apart. And I don’t give a fuck if you and my brother were best friends. I SO don’t give a fuck that I’d even seek out that chinky-chink so-called wife of yours and kill her, too, just for the fun of it.”

Frank hung up the phone.

“He knows Mom?” Allie asked. Was there anything about her life that Jonas didn’t already know?

“Everyone knows your mother.” Frank’s forehead held a deep vertical line of worry. His hairline glistened with sweat.

Roger trumpeted to get the room’s attention, then began tapping out a long narrative about gangsters being all about hype and bravado. Before he could finish this thought, there was a knock and the door opened.

Two perfumed women walked in. They both had white-blond hair. One had dark brown skin. Allie found it hard to look away from their breasts: bulbous, shiny, protruding orbs bubbling out of open cardigans, then cantilevered over identical skin-tight, acid-washed jean shorts.

Luis approached the women and kissed each one on the cheek. “Allie, Frank,” he said, “This is Jessie, also known as Juicy Blue, and this is Tracy, also known as Trixie Wallets.”

Frank didn’t say anything as he shook each girl’s hand. He barely looked at them—it was clear his mind and energy were elsewhere. Mike, however, had his mouth hanging loose from its hinges like a kid with a stuffed-up nose. His boney, square chin followed the women’s every movement: shaking Allie’s hand, kissing Jorge on the cheek, and kissing Roger on the lips.

“You going to be working for Roger?” Jessie asked Allie. Her dark skin was dewy-looking. Allie could understand how people would want to touch her, look at her, rub against her.

“Oh, no!” Allie imagined herself as a squat rectangle compared to these long, linear creatures.

“But you’re so pretty. Well, except for that bump. But it will go away, won’t it?” Jessie asked.

“Allie is in school,” Frank said sharply. “She’ll be doing schoolwork and if she gets another job it will be in a library where she cannot get herself in trouble.”

“I’m in school, too,” Tracy said, in a whispery feather of a voice. She then peeled off her cardigan and dumped it on the counter with her purse. Jessie did the same. Together they climbed onto Roger’s bed. Tracy straddled Roger’s lap. Her long, shimmering calves reached almost to the end of the bed. Jessie sat by Roger’s head with her tank-topped breasts jutting into his hanging cheeks. They chattered with him while stroking his shiny face.

Allie clicked her gaze back and forth between the women with Roger and her father. Frank was patting down Mike and removing everything from his pockets: car keys, a parking receipt from the hospital garage, five In-N-Out Burger receipts, some loose change, a tiny white shell with glittering pink nacre, and thirty-three dollars.

“You shouldn’t eat so much In-N-Out,” Frank said. “Not good for you.”

“Hans says it’s not even real food,” Luis said. “But I think it’s the best stuff out there.”

“Now where’s the coke,” Frank said to Mike.

“You have coke?” Tracy asked.

“It’s under the seat of my truck,” Mike said. “You can fucking take it, just let me go.”

“Where’s the truck?” Frank asked.

“In the parking lot.”

“Can we have some coke?” Jessie asked. No one answered except Roger, who was pointing out a word that Allie couldn’t see through the noodle-limbed bodies on his bed.

“It’s a red truck with a red toolbox attached to it,” Allie said. “I can find it.”

“What section are you parked in?” Frank asked.

“Three-B,” Mike grunted.

L
uis went with Allie to get the truck. They found it immediately. Allie opened the driver’s-side door, then climbed in and unlocked the passenger door for Luis.

Luis leaned in and searched under the seat. “Got it,” he said, pulling out a Wonder Bread bag.

Allie looked at it, tilted her head, and looked again. The smeared telephone number was there, a little more blurred now.

“Open it,” Allie said.

“This shit’ll mess you up,” Luis said. “Look where it got you.”

“I don’t want to do it, I just want to see it,” Allie said. “Make sure he didn’t fill it up with something different.”

Luis untwisted the twisty tie, opened the bag, and stuck in a delicate pinky. He pulled out a little white heap of powder.

“What do you think?” he asked.

“Looks right,” Allie said. “Taste it.”

“My brother would kill me if I tried this. He’s Mister I’m So Pure I Only Eat Whole Grains.” Luis lowered his voice to mimic Hans, although he sounded nothing like Hans. The girliness in his tone still pushed through.

“All those years with Roger and you guys never did coke? Doesn’t he do it every night?”

“He does it every night. Man can’t get a boner, he does so much coke.”

“So he can get boners when he’s not on coke? In his condition?”

“Oh yeah.” Luis laughed. “You wouldn’t believe what he can do in his condition.”

They both looked down at the coke on Luis’s fingertip. Allie thought of her father. She thought of Wai Po. Even though it
needed
to be checked, she would not disappoint them and be the one who checked it. Her coke days, or day rather, was entirely behind her. “Rub a bit on your gums and see if they go numb,” she suggested.

“Why not,” Luis said. “I’m sick of my goody-two-shoes brother.” He rubbed the powder on his gums. They both sat quietly for a minute. Then Luis ran his tongue around the inside of his mouth. “It’s numb,” he said. “Like Novocain or something.”

“Good,” Allie said. “Can we not give any to the hookers? I really want to return the bag to Jonas with as little missing as possible.” Allie started up the truck and pulled out of the parking space. It felt clunky and heavy compared to the Prelude.

“They’re actresses, not hookers,” Luis said.

“Sorry,” Allie said, and she blushed, remembering that Luis’s mother had been an actress, too.

“No problem,” Luis said. “Common mistake.”

T
hey drove out of the parking lot and circled around to the hospital entrance.

Allie waited with the engine running while Luis went to gather the others. As Roger had pointed out in the hospital room, the shorter distance they had to transport Mike, the less likely they were to arouse suspicion.

Luis, Frank, Jorge, and Mike walked out of the hospital together. Mike was wearing a pink cardigan, buttoned at the neck and hanging over his shoulders cape-style to hide his hands taped behind his back. Tracy’s sweater, Allie realized. Frank got in the cab while the others climbed into the bed of the truck, Mike wedged between Jorge and Luis, their backs against the toolbox. Allie carefully drove back into the parking lot to where the van and the Prelude were parked.

Allie and Frank got out of the truck and waited by the Prelude as Jorge and Luis wrangled Mike from the bed and brought him to the car. Allie squeezed her lucky rabbit foot once, then clicked the button on the car key and unlocked the trunk of the Prelude. The smell of rotten bird and scared grown man darted out like a bad wind.

“Gross,” Mike said. “What do you keep in there?” Jorge and Luis pushed him down into the trunk. Jorge held Mike’s feet while Luis wrapped a few layers of tape around his ankles. As a final touch, Luis put one thick piece of tape over Mike’s mouth, and then he quietly shut the trunk. Allie turned in a full circle to check if anyone had noticed them. There were brake lights on, a few aisles away, too far for anyone to have seen.

“It really does smell in there,” Jorge said.

“I guess the condor baked a little,” Allie said. “It’s been a pretty sunny day.”

“Decomposition is a fetid process,” Frank said, and he took the keys to the truck from Allie and handed them to Luis.

“Allie, if I don’t see you again, take care,” Luis said, and he leaned in and hugged Allie.

“What do you mean
if I don’t see you again
?” Allie pulled away from the hug. “Why wouldn’t I see you again?”

“We’re going to pick up my brother and then head out to Oakland to deal with your boss,” Luis said.

“He’s not her boss,” Frank said to Luis. Then he turned to Allie and said, “You go to Jorge and Consuela’s and wait there for me to get you.”

“Consuela is making food for you right now, sweetheart,” Jorge said. “I called her from Roger’s room.”

“Why are you taking the van
and
the truck?” Allie asked. “Shouldn’t you just leave Mike’s truck here?”

“You know how it goes, sweetheart,” Jorge said. “One of us might have to be at Beth’s house while some of us go to Jonas’s work or his house.”

“Isn’t Chez Panisse in Berkeley?” Luis asked. “My brother has been talking about going to Chez Panisse for years.”

“It’s right near Beth’s house,” Allie said. “But I want to go with you guys!”

“You’re staying in Los Angeles,” Frank said, and his voice was so forbidding that Luis and Jorge slinked away—Luis to the truck and Jorge to the van.

“I don’t understand,” Allie said to her dad. “What am I supposed to do with Mike? Why don’t you drop him off at his apartment when you pick up Hans?”

“Some boys who work for Roger will get him at Consuela and Jorge’s house. Now, I’ll see you later.” Frank got into the passenger side of the van. Allie followed him and knocked on the window, which her father rolled down.

“I don’t know how to get to Consuela and Jorge’s house.” Allie wasn’t sure if she could find her way back to any of the places she’d been the last couple of days.

“Oh, sweetheart, I forgot!” Jorge said. Frank turned in his seat and impatiently watched Jorge fish out a folded depression brochure from his back pocket. “I wrote down directions.” Jorge handed Allie the brochure. His tidy, block handwriting was in the white margins.