"R" is for Ricochet (8 page)

I could discern his profile where he slouched in the driver's seat half-turned so that he was facing Reba. I stood there for ten minutes and when nothing transpired, I backed up with caution and retraced my steps.

I let myself into my place and set my bag on a kitchen stool. It was 8:05. I flipped on the TV and watched the front end of a movie that actually seemed amusing, despite all the annoying commercial interruptions. I kept notes so I wouldn't buy anything I saw. At 9:00 I muted the set and went into the kitchenette, where I opened a bottle of Chardonnay and poured myself a glass. On impulse, I pulled out a saucepan, the lid, and a bottle of corn oil. I turned on the front burner, set the pan in place, and added a puddle of oil to the bottom of the pan. I scrounged through my cupboard for the bag of popcorn I'd bought months before. I knew it would be stale, but it was chewier that way. I measured out a jigger of kernels and tossed them in the pan. I kept an eye on the TV screen while the sound of the popcorn accelerated like the finale to a fireworks show. Happily for me, the size of my studio is such that I can cook, watch TV, start a load of laundry, or use the john without moving more than eight or ten feet.

I returned to the couch with my wine and the bowl of hot popcorn, propped my feet on the coffee table, and watched the remainder of the movie. At 11:00, when the news came on, I left the apartment and followed the same circuitous route through the alley until I reached the shadowy street where I'd hovered before. Beck's Mercedes was still visible, parked at the curb. The rear window was fogged over with condensation as pale as gauze. Instead of Beck in silhouette, I saw Reba's legs. Her head was apparently down near the steering wheel, one foot propped on the dashboard, the other on the passenger-side door, thus providing her leverage while Beck labored in the confines of the leather-bound front seat. I went back to my place, and when I checked again at midnight, the car was gone.

The gates to the Lafferty estate were open, and when I cruised up the drive, I saw Reba waiting on the porch step, the cat at her feet. She had a brush in her hand and she groomed the cat while he strutted back and forth, arching his back against the bristles. When she caught sight of me, she kissed him and set the brush aside. She crossed to the front door, opened the screen, and leaned in to tell her father or the housekeeper she was on her way out. I couldn't help but smile as she bounded down the walk. She was happy, in high spirits, and I remember thinking,
That's what sex will do for you, kid.
She wore desert boots, jeans, and a nubby dark blue sweater with a large cowl neck. She looked as giddy as a young girl. Her father had said she was difficult—“reckless” was his word—but I'd seen no hint of it in my dealings with her. She possessed a natural exuberance and it was hard to picture her drunk or stoned. She opened the car door and slid onto the passenger seat, smiling and out of breath.

“What's the cat's name?”

“Rags. He's a love. Seventeen years old and he weighs in at eighteen pounds. The vet wants him on a diet, but pooh on that.” She put her head back. “You don't know how good it feels to be out. Like coming back from the dead.”

I pulled away from the house, shifting gears as I headed down the drive and through the gates. “Did you sleep well?”

“I did. Talk about a treat. Prison mattresses are about this thick, like lawn-chair pads, and all the sheets are gross. The pillow was so flat I had to roll it up and wad it under my head like a towel. I'd get in bed at night and my body heat would activate this strange smell in the bedding.” She wrinkled her nose.

“What about the food?”

“Not too bad. I'd say the food ranged from passable to gross. What saved us was they let us have these electric coils in our cells. You know the ones you use to heat up a single cup of tea? We figured out all kinds of things to make with ours—Top Ramen, soups, stewed tomatoes in a can. I never even
liked
stewed tomatoes until I got down there. Some days, the cells stank; scorched coffee or bean sludge crusted on the bottom of the pan. Most of the time I disconnected and blocked everything out. I created this invisible force field that I kept between me and the rest of the world. Otherwise, I'd've gone bonkers.”

“Did you have friends?”

“A couple and that helped. My best friend was Misty Raine, with an
e
on the end. She's a stripper—big surprise with a name like that—but she's an absolute hoot. Before California, she lived in Vegas, but after she was released and got off parole, she moved to Reno. She says the action there is better than Vegas. She's been good about keeping in touch. God, I miss her.”

“What was she in for?”

“She had a boyfriend who taught her how to lift credit cards and forge checks—‘hanging paper' as they say. They'd go on these big spending sprees, stay in a bunch of fancy hotels, and charge anything they liked. Then they'd dump that card, steal another one, and mosey on down the road. Then they branched out into phony IDs. She has this artistic streak and it turns out she's a whiz at replicating passports and driver's licenses and shit like that. They made so much dough she bought herself a new set of tits. Before the boyfriend, she'd been working for one of those mobile-maid-type cleaning services for minimum wage. She said she'd've never gotten anywhere on what she made even if she worked all her life.

“My other friend, Vivian, was mixed up with this drug dealer. You don't know how many times I heard that one. He was pulling in a thousand bucks a day, and they lived like kings until the cops showed up. That was her first offense and she swears it's her last. She's got another six months to serve and then I'm hoping she'll come here. Her boyfriend's been sent up five times and he'll be in for years, which is just as well. She's still crazy about the guy.”

“True love is like that.”

“You really think?”

“No. That was meant to be tongue in cheek,” I said. “I take it you don't have friends here in town.”

“Just Onni, the woman I used to work with. I talked to her earlier, hoping I could see her this afternoon, but she was tied up.”

“Isn't she the one who took your old job?”

“Right. She feels guilty about that, but I said don't be dumb. She used to do front desk, but this was an opportunity she couldn't pass up. Why would I begrudge her the chance? She said she'd have driven me around today if she didn't have to work.”

I turned into the parking lot of the Department of Motor Vehicles. “If you want, you can run in and pick up a booklet and study in the car before you take the test.”

“Nah. I've been driving for years so how hard can it be?”

“Well, it's your choice. I prefer to bone up myself. Cuts the flop sweat.”

“I like anxiety. It keeps me awake.”

I waited in the car while Reba went in. She was gone forty minutes, some portion of which I spent hanging over the seat, trying to tidy all the crap that I keep back there. I generally motor around town with an overnight case stocked with toiletries and clean underpants. This, in the event I'm presented with a pressing reason to hop on a plane. In addition, I have assorted articles of clothing that I sometimes wear while pretending to be a public servant. I can do a pretty good imitation of a postal employee or meter reader from the gas-and-electric company. It pays to look like I'm doing official business when I'm standing on a front porch, idly scanning someone's mail. I also keep several reference books in the backseat—one on crime scene investigation,
Deering's California Penal Code,
a Spanish-language dictionary left over from a class I took years ago—an empty soda can, a bottle opener, an old pair of running shoes, a pair of badly snagged panty hose, and a lightweight jacket. While my apartment is tidy, I'm a slob when it comes to my car.

I glanced up in time to catch Reba's emergence from the DMV office. She half-skipped across the lot, waving a piece of paper that turned out to be her temporary license. “Aced it,” she said, as she got into the car.

“Good for you,” I said. I turned the key in the ignition, shifted into reverse, and backed out of the space. “Where now?”

“I know it's only ten forty-five, but I wouldn't object to another QP with Cheese.”

We ordered from the drive-through window, found a space in the parking lot, and ate in the car. We'd opted for two large Cokes, two Quarter Pounders apiece, and a large order of fries, which we doused in ketchup and ate as fast as we could. I said, “I had a friend regained his health eating shit like this.”

“I'm not surprised. I like how flat the pickles are, all mooshed in there. Pop's got a personal chef who's really great, but she's never been able to duplicate this. I can't figure it out, how they do it. Doesn't matter where you are, a QP with Cheese tastes exactly the same and so does everything else. Big Macs, fries.”

“Nice to have something you can count on,” I said.

After lunch we drove out to the La Cuesta shopping mall, where Reba worked her way from store to store, flashing her father's credit card and trying on clothes. Like other women I've known, she seemed to have an inborn sense of what would look good on her. In most stores, I made a point of finding the nearest chair from which I watched her like a good mom while she moved from rack to rack. Sometimes she'd take out a garment, study it critically, and put it back. Other times, she'd lay the item on top of those she'd draped over her arm. At intervals, she'd head off to the dressing room and then appear twenty minutes later with her choices made. Some pieces she'd leave behind and the rest she'd pile on the counter while she looked for something else. In the course of two hours, she bought pants, skirts, jackets, underwear, knit tops, two dresses, and six pairs of shoes.

Once in the car again, she put her head back against the seat and closed her eyes. “I used to take so many things for granted, but never again. Where next?”

“Up to you. Where do you want to go?”

“The beach. Let's take our shoes off and walk in the sand.”

We ended up at Ludlow Beach, not far from my house. Santa Teresa City College was perched on the bluffs above us. The sky was gray as far as the eye could see, and wind was whipping the waves, blowing spray toward the beach. We left our shoes locked in the car, along with my shoulder bag and Reba's purchases. The picnic tables in the grassy area had been abandoned except for a foursome of gulls squabbling over a bread bag that had been tied shut and left on the edge of a trash bin. Reba picked up the bag, tore through the cellophane, and tossed the crumbs across the grass. Gulls began to wheel in, shrieking, from all directions.

We trudged through a hundred yards of soft sand between the parking lot and the surf. At the water line, icy waves tumbled perilously close to our bare feet, but the sand was damp and packed hard, easier to walk on. I said, “So what's the deal with Beck?”

She flashed me a smile. “That blew me away, running into him like that.”

“Really. That's odd. I was under the impression you'd arranged it in advance.”

She laughed. “No, not at all. Why would I do that?”

“Reba.” I got the big brown eyes turned on me.

“Honest. He's the last person in the world I expected to see.”

I shook my head. “Nope. Not honest. Lying through your teeth. That's why you sat on the far side of the booth so you could watch for him.”

“That's not
true.
I had no idea he'd be there. I was totally surprised.”

“Wait, wait, wait. Just hold on a second and I'll bring you up to speed. I've been telling lies for years and believe me, I know when someone's maneuvering the truth. I got a bullshit meter working 'round the clock. I watched the two of you last night and it was
ding ding ding!
I was strictly window dressing, the person, in the olden days, they referred to as a ‘beard.' You called him from the parole office and told him where you'd be.”

She was quiet for a moment. “Maybe. But I wasn't sure he'd come.”

“Oh, he came all right, if his behavior in the car was any indication.”

Her head whipped around and she looked at me in disbelief. “You were
spying
on us?”

“That's what I'm paid for. You don't want to be seen, you shouldn't do it in public.”

“What a
bitch!
”

“Reba, your father cares about your welfare. He doesn't want you to end up in the shit again.”

She clutched my arm, looking at me earnestly. “Don't tell Pop. Please. What purpose would it serve?”

“I haven't decided what I'm going to do. It might help if you told me what's going on.”

“I don't want to talk about it.”

“Oh, give it a whirl. You want me to keep quiet, you better fill me in.” I could see how tempted she was. Who can resist talking about a guy that you're so smitten with?

“I'm not sure how to explain. I worked for him for years and he's always been supportive…”

“Not the long version, dearie, just the salient points. You're having an affair, right?”

“It's much more than that. I'm crazy about him and he's crazy about me, too.”

“The crazy part I'll buy. Since when?”

“Two years. Well, four if you count the two I was gone. We've been writing back and forth and talking on the phone. We planned to get together tonight, but there's an AA meeting I'm supposed to attend. I thought I better show up in case Holloway checks. Beck called me at Pop's and said he couldn't stand the wait. I thought of Rosie's because her place is so out of the way I couldn't imagine running into anyone we know. I guess I should have told you up front, but I wasn't sure you'd approve so I just went ahead and did it.”

“What'd you need me for? You're big boys and girls. Why not go to a motel and get it over with?”

“I was scared. We haven't been together for so long, I was afraid the chemistry might be gone.”

“I don't get it. What's the timing on this? Were you bonking the guy while you were ripping him off?”

“It isn't ‘bonking.' We make love.”

“Oh, sorry. Were you ‘making love' while you were making off with all his hard-earned cash?”

“I guess you could put it that way. I mean, I knew it was
wrong,
but I couldn't help myself. I felt awful. I still do. He knows I'd never do anything to hurt him.”

“Losing that much money didn't hurt? I'd be cut to the quick.”

“It wasn't personal. I took money from the company—”

“Which he owns.”

“I know, but I didn't look at it that way. It was just
there
and nobody seemed to notice. I kept thinking I'd score big and then I'd put it all back. I never meant to keep it and I certainly wouldn't
steal.
”

“Reba, that's what stealing
is.
You pocket someone else's money without their knowledge or consent. If you use a gun, it's called robbery. Either way, it's not behavior that's designed to endear.”

She shrugged uncomfortably. “I saw it as a loan. It was just a temporary thing.”

“The guy must have a big heart.”

“He does. He tried to help me. He did everything he could. I know he's forgiven me. He said it all again last night.”

“Hey, I'll take your word for it, but it's weird. I mean, it's one thing to forgive, but then to go on with the affair? How does he rationalize
that?
Doesn't he feel used?”

“He understands I have a self-destructive streak. That doesn't mean he condones it, but he doesn't hold it against me.”

“Is that why you never went to trial? Because of him?”