Buried Biker (16 page)

He did a quick pat down, but didn’t remove the wallet and keychain. I had nothing else in my pockets.

“Okay,” he said. “I take it you’re not the kids’ father.”

“No, sir.”

“You’re their mother’s boyfriend?”

Tricky question. “Sometimes.”

“And where is the mother?”

“She was in the hospital. She might still be.”

“And how come you’re with the kids? You taking care of them until their mother gets back?”

I knew the truth was going to sound far-fetched, but it was all I had to give them. “No. They’re staying with their aunt. But she had a dentist appointment, and she needed somebody to keep an eye on them for a little while.”

The cop looked doubtful. “So she called
you
to come take care of them?”

“No. She was in here getting them books to read in the dentist’s waiting room, and I ran into her. I offered to keep an eye on them.”

“We’re aware of who you are, you know,” he said.

“I figured.”

“The librarian thought you and the kids looked a little off when you came in. They watch for things like that. Then you took them into the back corner. She called the people who work in the adult department, and one of them knew your name.”

Mandy.

“Then she called us, and after we looked you up, we decide to come in and check out the situation.”

No surprise there.

Someone knocked on the door. The female cop went over and opened it. I glanced over my shoulder. The librarian stood there. She stared at me, still with my back to the cops and my hands on my head.

“The children’s aunt is here,” she said. “She seems a little unstable on her feet.”

“Send her in.”

Glancing over my shoulder, I saw Aunt Louise totter into the office, clutching her cane.

“Keep facing the wall,” the cop told me.

I snapped my head back around.

“May I sit down?” Aunt Louise asked. “I’ve just come from the dentist. He wanted me to stay a little while longer until I felt stronger, but I had to get back to see how the children were doing.”

I could hear someone pull a chair out for her.

“Did you leave the kids with this man?” the female cop asked.

“With Jesse? Yes, I did. And Chris—he’s the older child—told me nothing much happened, that he was just reading stories to them when you officers arrived. He’s afraid that you are going to hurt Jesse. Or take him to jail.”

Distinct possibility, that. Especially the jail part.

The cop asked, “Do you know who this person is?”

“I know he’s a…” she paused, “‘friend’ of the children’s mother’s. I know she trusts the children with him.”

“Do you know that he’s a convict out on parole?”

“I knew he’s just been released from prison a little while ago. I don’t know what he was convicted of. I sincerely hope you’re not going to tell me that it’s child molestation.”

“No. But it’s murder.”

“Of a child?”

“No.”

“Then what’s the problem? Did you find a weapon or drugs on him? I mean, of course it would have been better if he had never killed anyone, but I can’t see it makes him an unfit person to stay for a little while with children who know him and like him. And in a public place.”

I could have kissed Aunt Louise. Although that might have gotten both of us shot if I put my hands down and moved to do that.

“Okay,” the male cop said to me. “You can put your hands down and turn around.”

I did so. The two cops glanced at each other.

Aunt Louise sat in a desk chair, looking even more fatigued than she had before. Her face was still swollen, and she must have had Novocain shots since her eyelid and mouth drooped on that side.

No one said anything for a few seconds.

“Are we done here?” Aunt Louise asked. “I’m not feeling all that well, and the children haven’t had their lunch yet. I’d like to take them to get something to eat, then go home so I can lie down.”

The male cop nodded. “You can get the children and go.”

Aunt Louise struggled to her feet and leaned on her cane. She looked at me. “Jesse? Are you coming to lunch with us? I could really use the help with the children.”

Trying not to show my amazement, I said, “Yes, ma’am,” and stepped past the cops. No one grabbed me or told me to stop, so I held the door open for Aunt Louise as she hobbled out into the children’s room and followed her over to the corner where the kids and I had been sitting.

The kids were still there, and the librarian was trying to get them interested in a book she held. They weren’t paying attention.

When she saw me, Brianna sprang up and grabbed my leg. Chris took my hand.

“Jesse,” he said. “I thought they were going to
do
something to do. Or take you away.”

I smiled down at him. “See. It was just a misunderstanding that we got sorted out. I
told
you police officers were your friends.”

Aunt Louise supported herself unsteadily with her cane. “Were you children well-behaved like you promised?” she asked.

They nodded.

“Good. Then we’re all going to Texas Hot Weiner for lunch.”

“Jesse, too?” Chris asked.

“Jesse, too.”

I took each kid by the hand, and we followed Aunt Louise out of the library.

Chapter 9

T
EXAS
H
OT
W
EINER
was doing a steady lunch hour business, but we managed to snag a booth along the wall. I helped Aunt Louise ease her bulk into the seat and deposited the kids across from her. “What does everybody want?” I asked, mentally calculating how much money I had as I reached for my wallet. This might be the last chance I had to treat the kids. I’d worry later about what I’d have to do without to pay for it.

“Don’t be silly,” Aunt Louise said, opening her purse and extracting a twenty dollar bill. “I was planning to cover this.”

I turned my wallet over in my hand. “But…”

Aunt Louise glared at me. “I said,
I’m
paying.”

I could see why nobody argued much with Aunt Louise. I said, “Yes, ma’am,” and took the twenty.

“A chili dog,” Chris said.

“And root beer,” Brianna added.

“And don’t you forget to get yourself lunch, too,” Aunt Louise said. “Just being able to sit here while you do the running back and forth is a Godsend.”

I brought back chili dogs, root beer, and a big order of fries.

Aunt Louise said her mouth didn’t feel good enough to eat a chili dog, so she gave hers to me.

After lunch, we went out to Aunt Louise’s car.

Seeing how unsteady she still seemed, I asked. “Do you feel well enough to drive?” Since I didn’t have a driver’s license, I wasn’t sure what I could do about it if she’d said no, but she said she felt well enough to drive the short distance home.

I planted a kiss on each kid’s forehead and ruffled their brown hair before they got in the car. The lump in my throat made it hard to tell them goodbye. This might very well be the last time I saw them. I tried to tell myself that I hadn’t known them for that long, so how could they mean much to me anyhow? But I knew I was lying to myself. Even worse was the fear that they’d think I’d abandoned them.

I went to my apartment and knew I should try to get some rest before work. But I doubted I could sleep, so instead of going to bed, I collected my laundry. I didn’t have many clothes, and they got dirty fast at work. If I tried to go a whole week between trips to the Laundromat, I ran out of clean clothes and ended up going to work in clothes already grimy from a previous shift.

Tuesdays weren’t a busy time at the Laundromat.

I lugged along a bottle of detergent and one of fabric softener.

When I’d worked in the prison laundry, the guy who trained me on the equipment had run a commercial laundry before he got locked up, and he spoke longingly of the scent of freshly washed sheets when fabric softener was added to the final rinse. Curious, I’d splurged on a bottle the first time I bought detergent. And I was hooked. After years of the prison smells of unwashed bodies, urine, and disinfectant, I could imagine no greater luxury than falling asleep in my own bed, snuggled into just-washed sheets that carried the scent of fabric softener.

Unless of course it was falling asleep in
Kelly’s
bed, where the aroma of the sheets would mingle with Kelly’s earthy scent.

I’d better stop thinking like that. Whatever had happened to Kelly, she didn’t want to see me. Maybe she even believed the nonsense about me and Razorback agreeing to trade women. And if she believed it, it didn’t matter whether it was true or not.

The biggest hurt was that Kelly thought I could do something like. She must not trust me at all. Although why should she?

I separated out my grease-covered work clothes and dumped them in one machine. I knew all about separating the whites from the colors, but I didn’t care if my underwear came out the color of my towels, so I stuffed everything else together in another machine.

Doing the laundry was expensive. Every week when I cashed my paycheck, I got a ten dollar roll of quarters for laundry. I tried to get by on that for the week. My work clothes had too much oil and grime to put in with anything else, so I did them in a separate load. Since a quarter only bought seven minutes of dryer time, sometimes I ended up taking some of the stuff home damp and hanging it around the apartment to dry.

But not the sheets. I always made sure they were completely dry.

The machines whirled to life. I wandered over to read the ads posted on the bulletin board. Sometimes I thought maybe I could pick up a few extra bucks answering a few of them and doing some extra work during the day or on weekends. But almost everybody wanted references. I didn’t think my background was going to exactly encourage anyone to hire me.

In the mid-morning stillness, I heard a vehicle pull up to the curb. Somebody else coming in to do laundry. I liked to have the place to myself, but it was a public facility.

The door burst open, and a huge bundle of laundry hit the floor, bursting open and exploding clothes all over. A black lacy bra sprang up and hung itself on the edge of a folding table.

“Oh, shit,” a female voice exclaimed.

I turned to look, and recognized Li’l Mama.

No reason I could think of that she’d recognize me. Unless someone had pointed me out to her at some point. So I didn’t say anything.

She stood in the doorway, her makeup smeared and her hands on her hips, glaring at the clothes tumbled all over the floor. The mountain was high and wide enough that she couldn’t get into the Laundromat without stepping on the clothes.

I wasn’t doing much, so I pulled a cart over and started scooping the clothes off the floor and putting them in the cart. She looked at me and shook her head. “Thanks, mister,” she said and bent down to clear a path so she could come grab another cart.

Apparently she didn’t know who I was.
Fine by me.

I continued to shovel clothes into the cart. Socks. More bras. A rather alarming pair of panties in a shiny pink fabric that seemed to be missing the crotch. A matching and equally alarming bra that had holes where the cups should be.

Then men’s clothes. Blue jeans that smelled of motor oil and exhaust. T-shirts with sweat stains under the armpits. Heavy socks and boxers. Tighty whities.

How many people was she doing laundry for?

The cart was full. I just picked up bunches of clothes from the floor and piled them on a folding table.

The whole mess had a funky aura, but I’d certainly handled worse in the prison laundry, especially from the infirmary. That laundry was often drenched in blood and puke and shit and piss.

Li’l Mama finally put the last bit on the table and looked at it in disgust. “I lost,” she said.

I had no idea what she was talking about. “What?”

“We drew to see who had to go do everybody’s laundry. I lost.”

“Oh.” That explained the sheer volume of laundry.

“At least I didn’t have to chip in,” she said, dumping a pile of coins and dollar bills on another table. “I told them if I had to wash all this crap, they could pony up for it.”

Seemed fair to me. I checked the machines with my wash. Time to add fabric softener.

She stared at me in fascination as I measured out capfuls and dumped them in. “What does that do?”

“Makes it smell nice.”

“Really? You care how your clothes smell?”

I shrugged. “More the sheets. But yeah, I’d just as soon my clothes smelled okay when I get done with washing them. They get funky smelling soon enough.”

She shrugged and started sorting out the mountain, putting the delicate undies in one machine, the sturdy underwear in another, and the blue jeans in third. She still had piles of shirts and towels to go.