Dire Means (9 page)

“So what does a favor look like?” Mark said.

“All shapes and sizes and colors. Some are round, some are blocks, some are twirling tubish things—everybody’s is different, but all favors are just a jigglin’ when they come out—jigglin’ like jelly. I reckon they’re soft and that’s how they get into the person that’s gettin’ it.”

“Amazing,” Mark said. He decided Uncle Leon’s wild notion was good entertainment for a few minutes.

“I might be the last man alive who can see a favor anymore—long as I can avoid the fever. By the way, yer favors are hour-glassy, like the base of a guitar.”

“How do you know what my favors look like if you haven’t seen me do any favors for anyone?”

“Oh, I can see ‘em alright. That’s the thing I ain’t told you yet. Favors can’t stay with the person you give ‘em to. They always follow you, trying to get back into you—always. But they gotta come back different or else they can’t get back into you. They gotta change form and enter you as a different type of favor. If they can’t then they hover around you waiting for a new way to get back in.”

“So you see favors trying to get back to me right now? Because I could use one.”

“A whole flock of them hovering around, but right now they are kinda goin’ in a line thata way.” Uncle Leon shook two fingers toward Mark’s right side. “I wonder why they ain’t getting’ back to you. You must have a few hundred or so at the moment.”

“I could have used some favors today,” Mark said.

“Well, I sent one of them back into to you with the quarters I gave you.”

Even if Uncle Leon was stark-raving mad, what was the harm in the delusion that a favor was a visible entity? Mark decided to indulge him some more.

Uncle Leon continued, “I still don’t know why you have so many stuck favors built up. You must live too safe or something. You don’t take enough risks for a favor to help you. If yer life is always the same, yer favors ain’t got no chance to come back to ya different.”

“I fix computers. My job is to make things as predictable as possible. I suppose I treat my life like that, too.”

“That’s why you got favor constipation, son! You best step out a little—break your routine. Yer favors’ll come poppin’ back to ya.”

“I was trying to do a favor this morning. That’s what got me into this mess.”

“Favors don’t cause harm, selfishness—aimin’ favors the wrong way—that’s what messes folk up. What did you do?”

“I bought some gas for someone and he robbed me at the gas station.”

Uncle Leon’s eyes widened. “You did a favor for someone and he robbed you?”

“My car, my wallet, my phone—that’s why I look like this.” Mark swept his hand from his neck to his waist.

“And you said this happened today?”

Mark nodded. “This morning.”

Uncle Leon shook his head in thought. “That’s confusin’,” he mumbled. He stood up and scanned the sidewalk beside Mark, and looked up and around Mark’s head and then leaned sideways to look far down the sidewalk again.

“What are you looking for?”

“If you done a favor for someone who done you wrong, then you should have a hell of a favor waitin’ to get back to you—triple size or bigger, but I can’t see nothin’ of the sort.”

Mark didn’t answer. He knew that what he did for Ty looked like a favor outwardly and Ty may have thought he was receiving a favor, but Mark knew his own true motivation. He was not trying to show grace of any sort to the gas-can cons. His so called favor had an ulterior motive, but Uncle Leon couldn’t know that.

Uncle Leon squinted at Mark and squatted, leaning on his knees to look Mark in the eyes. “You sure it was a favor you done, son?”

Crazy or not, lucky or not, Uncle Leon had either seen or deduced that Mark hadn’t really done a favor. Or just maybe this old man really could see favors and that a giant favor was missing from Mark’s stash. Mark decided to tell Uncle Leon the story of the gas-can beggars. He recounted the morning’s events for him.

Uncle Leon took it all in, not saying a word. He occasionally grunted and said, “Um hmm.”

When Mark finished, Uncle Leon gave him a soft pat on the back and said, “That wasn’t no favor you done. But it’s over. And you look like you learned something out of it.”

“That’s for sure,” Mark said.

“Now give me my quarters back.”

“Huh?”

“You heard me. I want my quarters back. Put ‘em in my hand.” Uncle Leon extended his hand to Mark. His face was serious.

When Mark dropped the quarters into Uncle Leon’s palm, Uncle Leon jerked his shoulders up as if his favor had reentered him. “I’m gonna release this favor again, only bigger. You don’t need a phone call. You need a ride home. Where do you live?”

“Venice, just off Abbott Kinney, but—”

“Come with me.” Uncle Leon picked up his bag, stood, and motioned for Mark to follow.

He took off at the pace of a speed walker—not what you’d expect from a man Uncle Leon’s age. Mark called out, “Uncle Leon, you’re going to have to slow down—I’m injured, remember?”

Uncle Leon turned his head and said over his shoulder, “Oh, walk it off, son. Hell, I’m twice yer age and probably as sore. You could use a good sprint to keep you from gettin’ stiff.”

Uncle Leon zigzagged through shoppers and tourists who were walking the same direction. Mark trotted and walked and trotted to keep up. He noticed that people he passed didn’t veer off as far from him, but this was probably because Uncle Leon’s pace gave little time for them to react.

During their one block trek, Uncle Leon called out greetings by name to four people resting on benches along the way. He, in turn, was greeted by three employees of local shops as they tended to their store fronts. A security guard standing post outside a clothing store said, “Morning, Uncle L,” and saluted. Uncle Leon returned the salute and said, “Should have your socks any day now.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard that before,” the guard said.

Uncle Leon turned without slowing down, pointed to the guard, and told Mark, “He’s been beggin’ for a pair of my green socks for months.”

A man in a suit standing outside a Mediterranean café called out as they passed. “Hey Uncle Leon—you stopping by for your lunch today?”

“Maybe tomorrow, I’m booked today.” Uncle Leon thumbed over his shoulder toward Mark. “That’s Romy, the maitre d’,” Uncle Leon explained. “I clean his patio and he gives me a meal. I figure I could eat there for weeks on what I racked up so far. And I don’t gotta order the specials either!”

Mark, having gained on Uncle Leon, took a pause from his panting and said, “But isn’t that payback of a favor?”

“Fair pay has its place just like grace does. They’re different. If yer gonna get paid back, with food, that’s the place to do it.” He pointed to Romy’s café. “You gotta try that guy’s barbecue gyro.” He rubbed his stomach, rolled his eyes, and kissed his fingertips.

As they continued on, more people greeted Uncle Leon like fans, and he returned their greetings with warm sentiments and a tip of his pretend hat.

He led Mark through a narrow alley beside a pizza place called Allegra. Uncle Leon pounded the back door three times with the butt of his hand. A fat man with swept-back hair opened the door. His apron was sauce-stained and his hairy forearms were dusted with flour.

“Phillip! Just the man I want to see,” Uncle Leon said.

“Hi, Uncle Leon, what can I do for you?”

“May we?” Uncle Leon pointed inside.

“By all means, come in.” Phil held the door wide for Uncle Leon and Mark. The smell of hot Italian food poured out the door, walloping Mark. He closed his eyes for a moment in an attempt to control his hunger as his stomach growled. As they walked, Uncle Leon introduced Mark to Phil, explaining that Mark had been attacked. Phil turned to Mark and said, “Mr. Clark Kent here was a good person for you to run into if you ran out of luck.”

“I’m learning that,” Mark said.

They sat where Phil pointed, in the last booth in the back of the restaurant near the kitchen. In the front, Mark saw customers seated at a counter and window tables tended by other employees in red aprons.

“You going south any time soon?” Uncle Leon asked Phil.

“Uhhhhh, two business deliveries on Main Street, I think.”

“Can you drop off our friend Mark near Abbott?”

“For you? No problem. Be about ten more minutes—let me check the order.” Phil got up and pushed through the swinging door that led to the kitchen. The smell of hot marinara sauce and baking pizza’s that wafted out produced an encore of growling in Mark’s stomach. “This is another keeper,” Uncle Leon said, twirling his index finger above his head. “Best pizza pies on The Promenade.”

“It smells like it,” Mark said. He considered asking Uncle Leon if there was any chance he could borrow enough money for a slice of pizza, but he resisted. Uncle Leon had done enough for him and apparently was going to arrange for transportation—as a favor.

The kitchen door flew open. Phil came through it with two large pizza slices, one flopped over each hand. He gave one to Uncle Leon and the other to Mark before he clapped some residual flour from his hands onto his apron.

“I’ll be back with plates for you. We’ll be running that Main Street order in about five minutes so down your slices quick.”

Mark sunk his teeth into his piece of pizza and the explosion of flavor was something he would never forget. If it was his stress or circumstances that made the food taste so good—he didn’t care. He stuffed his mouth with another bite and his cheek poked out full as he chewed.

Uncle Leon smiled and then began his own slice.

Phil came back with the plates and then hollered, “Chad!” toward the front of the restaurant.

They heard the sound of a chair scooting and then feet fumbling. A teen-age boy rounded the corner with a worried expression. “Yes, Mr. Tenelli.”

“Two big orders for Main Street and you have a passenger.” Phil pointed to Mark who nodded and tried to smile with a stuffed mouth. “Take him wherever he needs to go. Get your bags ready, pies are coming out now.”

“Yes, sir.”

Chad went into the kitchen and Mark shook Phil’s hand even though doing so hurt.

“Good luck to you, Mark,” Phil said. “When you are back on your feet, I hope you’ll come visit us again.”

“Absolutely, thank you—and thank you for the ride.”

“You can thank that man right there,” Phil said, pointing at Uncle Leon. “He’s done so much for us and we sure are grateful.”

Uncle Leon tipped his imaginary hat again and then clutched his heart to show thanks for the recognition.

Chad emerged carrying twelve insulated pizza bags—high enough to need to balance them. He accepted Mark’s offer to carry some of them and they headed for the back door.

Mark leaned to Uncle Leon and said, “Thank you, sir. You’ve given me an education I won’t forget.”

“You’re welcome,” Uncle Leon said. He stepped close, pointed to Mark’s chest and whispered, “Don’t forget they’re hour-glassy and they’re itchin’ to get back into ya. Live a little and give ‘em a chance to come back.”

§

Chad turned left onto 2nd Street. Two more turns and they were headed south on Ocean Avenue on what had become a beautiful sunny day. Chad seemed to relax as he leaned back to drive with one hand. He kept looking at Mark’s clothing. Mark felt the interrogation coming.

“So, how long have you been down on your luck?” Chad asked.

“Actually, I’m not homeless,” Mark said.

“Sorry.”

“No, it’s okay. I’ve had some trouble today. I’ve got a home.” Mark became aware that he was defending his social standing with the fact that he had a home. Why was it so important to him that Chad know that he wasn’t homeless? Why panic and hammer the point home to an eighteen-year-old pizza delivery boy?

“I was assaulted this morning,” Mark said.

“Whoa! Did you kick some ass? What happened?” Chad smiled and wiggled down into his seat as if settling in for a great story.

“Actually, I don’t remember how it ended. I think I got knocked out.”

Chad whistled as he faced forward again. “K-O, dude! That sucks. Hey, did Uncle Leon rescue you?”

“No…well, in a way, I suppose. We met a few hours later when he saw me looking for some help on the Promenade.”

“You had to beg?”

“Actually, I just needed some change for a call.”

“Well that’s begging. It figures that Uncle Leon found you.”

“Why do you say that?”

“He always finds people in trouble.”

“Do you think it’s because he can see favors?”

“What?” Chad said, frowning. Mark realized that Uncle Leon hadn’t shared his “gift” with Chad.

“Never mind. So what did Uncle Leon do for your boss?” Mark asked.

“Only saved his life—probably. Last year Mr. Tenelli was robbed on his way into the pizzeria early one morning. Two guys. They stuck him up in the back alley by his car and wanted him to open the door to the restaurant. Mr. Tenelli wouldn’t do it so they started pounding him. Uncle Leon was nearby, saw it and started talking to these guys, and before you know it they not only let Mr. Tenelli go, but Uncle Leon got them both to apologize.”