Unpaid Dues (6 page)

Soon-to-be-ex-girlfriend. Not a term that exactly
rolled off the tongue. What had she bought into? It wasn't a great
concept to begin with, and it was feeling shakier all the time.

Munch took a deep breath and accepted the phone from
Asia. "What's up?" she asked him, trying not to sound as if
she cared.

"
I was thinking about you," he said.

"
What were you thinking?"

"
l want to see you."

"Are you sure you can squeeze me into your
schedule?" Munch looked over at Asia. Asia had a glass of milk
to her lips, but wasn't taking a drink. Munch picked up the phone and
moved into the hallway

"Don't be like that," he said.

Munch looked at her watch even though he couldn't see
her and said, "Gee, is it March yet?"

"I'm sorry we couldn't get together the other
night," he said. "I just need you to be patient a little
longer."

"l know."

"
I can be over there in twenty minutes."

"Not tonight," she said, fighting the part
of her that wanted him above anything else. The mother inside at war
with the lover. "I have company "

"
What kind of company?"

"His name is Nathan. He's the son of a friend of
mine."

"
Oh, a kid. "

"
Not so much anymore. He's in town looking for
work." As she said the words she figured they were probably
true. She also wondered why she felt the need to promote Nathan's
virtue to Rico. She never felt she had to explain herself before. "He
needs a place to stay for a few days."

"How old is this kid?" Rico asked.

"Um, almost eighteen."

"So, he's a man."

"Just about."

"How did he find you? Where has he been living?
Doesn't he have any other relatives?"

"
Look, I didn't give the kid the third degree.
He's tired, he was hungry I'm not going to turn him out into the
streets."

"I don't like this," he said.

She didn't say anything.

"
Munch?"

"I'm still here."

"I'm just saying that if this kid is on his own,
then he shouldn't be mooching off you."

"
I sort of owe it to the boy. I've known him
since he was a baby And don't forget," she added, "if it
wasn't for my generous nature I would have told you to take a hike a
long time ago."

"
You still can."

She sighed. "I know. A month isn't forever, but
it sure feels like it sometimes."

"
For me too," he said, his voice soft.

Yeah, she thought, but you made the schedule
.
"Look," she said, spotting Nathan's duffel bag lying
unzipped by the couch, "I've gotta go. This kid has a ton of
laundry."

"I'll call you tomorrow. "

"
Good." She hesitated, bit her lip, looked
down at the carpet at her feet without seeing it. "Miss you."

She took the phone back into the kitchen, told Asia
to go brush her teeth and wash her face, and then started sorting
through Nathan's clothes, astounded at the mountain of soiled laundry
that the kid had managed to jam into his bag. She got a load of his
jeans and flannel shirts started, and then went into her daughter's
room to put her to bed.

Asia fought sleep as long as she could, hoping for
another glimpse of their houseguest.

"He'll still be here in the morning," Munch
assured her before kissing her good night and tucking in the
blankets. When she closed Asia's door, she heard the shower shut off.

Nathan emerged from the bathroom with a towel wrapped
around his waist. His arms were muscled and tattooed, his chest
hairless.

"
Do you have pajamas?" she asked.

"
I usually just sleep in my underwear," he
said.

"
Not here you won't." She went to her room
and returned a moment later with a set of men's pajamas.

"
You can use these."

"Whose are they?"

"Um, leftovers." She felt herself blush.

When she heard him come out from the bathroom the
second time, she joined him in the living room.

"Remember this?" she asked, handing him a
framed photograph she'd taken off her bedroom wall. They were sitting
together on the couch, which she'd made into a bed with sheets,
blankets, and an extra pillow from her own bed.

He took the picture into his big hand, a hand
roughened by calluses, Munch noticed.

The picture was a poignant black-and-white photograph
Nathan had taken with an ancient Kodak camera when he was only six
years old. It showed a group of black kids in front of the mural on
Windward Avenue in Venice Beach eating sunflower seeds. Four were
seated, the one in the middle was standing. Only one of the kids was
halfway smiling, and he appeared to be the youngest. The others'
expressions were in turn suspicious, wary and concerned, as if they
already knew what the world had in store for them.

"
You kept this?" Nathan asked, a big
unexpected smile breaking over his face.

He really was a beautiful kid, she thought. He had
Deb's dimples.

"I love this picture," she told him. "You
really captured something here. Are you still interested in
photography?"

"
Yeah," he said. "I had a job last
year, working at a film lab. It didn't pay much, but I got to use the
darkroom."

"Are you looking for work now?"

"
I already talked to some guy: I'm starting
tomorrow."

"
Oh, so you're planning to stay?"

"My mom gave me a list of people I can call."

Munch could only imagine who that group entailed.
Boogie—that is, Nathan—did right coming to her first.

"
Remember New York Jane?" she said.

Nathan scrunched his face in concentration. "Barely"

"
You took pictures at her wedding?"

"What about her?"

"Nothing. I mean, she died, but if you don't
remember her . . ." .

Nathan shrugged. "Sorry."

"
Yeah, well, never mind. Get a good night's
s1eep."

She waited while he climbed under the covers, hovered
for an awkward moment, and then kissed him on the cheek. His forehead
was pebbled with acne. Poor thing. Fourteen was an awkward age. He
belonged in school.

"Good night"

"
Thanks," he said.

Munch included Nathan in her prayers that night. The
kid was due a break, but she didn't know where it would come from.
Like her, he had no family to fall back on, not that Deb hadn't
started out well. Boogie's first few years of life had been good. Deb
was entirely focused on him then. She dressed her little man so cute,
spent hours on his hair, really doted on him. Munch lived with Deb
for a while back then. She'd been the same age as Nathan was now, and
Deb a worldly sixteen. Munch saw Boogie take his first steps at only
nine months old, her name was his first word. She had sworn then to
protect him, a promise forgotten when drugs and alcohol shoved anyone
and anything aside.

Deb and Nathan moved to the "country" in
1976, the year before Munch got sober. Deb's motives were good. She
wanted the clean air and the small-town atmosphere. Unfortunately;
she brought her alcoholism and love of the fast life with her,
finding another
group of bigoted, mangy
outlaw bikers to hang with. Munch knew the scene only too well.

"Quick, kill it before it gets big," was a
common joke directed at Boogie. It always drew rough, drunken
laughter.

Munch asked Deb once what Boogie made of the word
nigger. Deb thought a minute and then said, "Asshole." As
if that was okay that the kid wasn't getting scarred because he was
oblivious to the word's racial connotations.

It would have been different if he'd grown up
somewhere else or been able to spend some time with his daddy's
people. All Deb had ever said about his daddy was that he was a
musician named Walter. And a few times, when it had been just the two
of them talking, Deb would say how fine Walter had been and how good
in the sack. Munch might then admit that, if Walter looked like Billy
Dee Williams, she wouldn't kick him out of bed either. But to have a
kid with the guy? What were you thinking? Their mutual friend
Roxanne's theory was that having a half-breed kid was Deb's way of
thumbing her nose at her parents. They'd all been stupid. Stupid and
too young to be making any judgments, especially about having kids
they couldn't take care of, much less appreciate.

"Forgive me," Munch whispered now, before
she dropped off to sleep, "and thank you for my life." She
remembered the other thing then, the murders. What would God have her
do? She'd call Roxanne tomorrow. If anyone checked her phone records
she could always say that Nathan's arrival prompted the call.
 
 

Chapter 6

Thor, 1974
Walking out
into the alley, Thor heads for his Ford pickup truck. New York Jane
is with him. So is Munch. It's twilight in Venice Beach.

It usually is.

The three of them form a loose pack, hanging
together like abandoned dogs gone feral.

The trio are on their way to the liquor store to
buy another six-pack for Thor and wine for the women. He has on
combat boots, adding another inch to his six feet. He also wears
jeans and a camouflage jacket over his long-sleeved thermal. His keys
dangle from a hook on his belt loop. There's a hunting knife strapped
to his right thigh, barely legal at a smidgen under six inches long
and technically not concealed.

His hair and beard are long, like the guys in ZZ
Top, but Thor doesn't sing, play an instrument, or work. No one gives
him shit about how he fills his days, least of all his woman. They
share everything, and Thor's all for that. He brings his muscle to
the mix, his attitude, his utter disregard for everyone else in the
world. Fuck 'em all but seven, he says, six pallbearers and a
motorcycle cop.

As they get close to Thor's truck, they see
movement in the cab. Some young hippie-type with long black hair has
broken in and is rifling through the glove compartment. Thor doesn't
shout; he doesn 't even break stride. He hands his keys to Jane and
pulls back his own long hair with a rubber band. The women hang back,
unsure of what will happen next. Thor sticks his head into the open
door of his truck.

"
You need any help, bro?"

The dark-haired guy jumps a little at the sound of
Thor's voice, but quickly recovers. Thor is calm, relaxed, his smile
friendly.

"
No thanks, bro, " the hippie says. "I'm
doing all right."

"Because I was thinking, " Thor says,
reaching for the sawed-of baseball bat—his "nigger-be-good
stick"—that he keeps behind the bench seat, "that you
might want this."

The hippie knows he's in trouble now, but he has
no idea how much. He looks at the women, then back at Thor.

Thor's mouth contorts into a frown before he
brings the bat down on the guy's knee, then across the guy's arm when
the would-be thief holds it up toward of the attack. Something goes
crack. The hippie doesn't even scream, there isn't time before Thor
drags him into the street. Thor doesn't want blood on his upholstery,
so he waits until the guy is on the ground before he whops him across
the nose. It makes a smooshing sound, a wet thud.

Munch winces.

"Let him go," Jane says. "That's
enough."

Munch thinks so too, but she says nothing. What's
the point? Thor would ignore her. He's clearly oblivious to the world
as he drags the barely conscious hippie by his hair over to a cement
curb and positions the guy's face against
the
edge.

"No," Jane says.

"
You know this motherfucker?" Thor asks,
pointing an accusing finger at her

Munch knows Jane has fucked up. It can happen that
quick with these guys. One minute you're their friend, the next
they're your worst nightmare.

"
No," Jane says, her eyes lowered. She'd
bow like a geisha if that would help. She'd crawl on her belly.

"Then what the fuck do you care?" Thor's
eyes blaze with excitement. He brings his boot down on the back of
the p thief's head. "Eat that, fuckhead."

The guy doesn't move. Blood runs down the gutter:
Munch is afraid the guy is dead. She takes the keys to the truck from
Jane. "Let's split."

Thor bends down, turns the guy's pockets out, and
finds some folding money. This pisses Thor off.

"What's he robbing me for?" he asks,
genuinely indignant. He stands and kicks the unconscious man again.
Munch starts the truck and pulls into the street. She thinks that if
Thor were driving he might run the guy over. Her mouth is dry. She
feels cold and something else, something she hasn't felt in a long
time: conscience. She's seen plenty of fights before, sees them every
week, but usually someone's drunk. Thor wasn't even high this time
and his cold-blooded side scares her more than anything else. She
decides to cut both him and Jane loose, to find other people to hang
with, but like many other resolutions she makes while using, she
keeps this one too late.