Deviant, page 3
“Do you want a Dr Pepper or something?” Danny asked.
“Do you drink coffee?”
“Sure,” he lied, wondering how to make it. Something to do with the French press, he thought. “Are you sure you don’t want a Dr Pepper? There’s a six-pack in there.”
“No, thanks,” she said disdainfully.
Coffee, he thought. Hot water and crushed beans? His mom took instant, but Walt had a whole complicated system. He lit a ring on the stove, filled the kettle, and put it on it. Meanwhile, Tony had spied Sunflower lying on the table. She picked it up.
“Is this yours?” she asked.
Danny’s brow furrowed. There was a possibility that girls in Colorado might not like boys who painted one of Van Gogh’s sunflowers on the deck of their skateboard. In fact—like the girls in Vegas—there was a possibility that Colorado girls might not like skateboarders at all, that they considered skateboarders on the dork side of the great dork/cool-guy divide.
“Um,” he said, grabbing a coffee mug from an empty shelf and trying to clean dust out of the bottom of it.
Tony put the skateboard on the table deck-side down. She spun the plastic wheels with one of her fingers.
“Can I have a glass of milk?” she asked.
“Instead of the coffee?”
“Yeah.”
“Great, sure.”
Danny sighed with relief, turned off the gas, and poured milk into the coffee cup. She came over and took it from him.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“So you live here in Colorado now,” she announced rather than asked.
There was no point denying it. “Yeah,” Danny said.
After two more slugs of Dr Pepper he was completely awake but he was still a little reluctant to ask where she lived, in case the answer was inside the mountain or Aunt Isabella’s Land of the Faeries or something.
“Can I have a piece of that chocolate?” he asked as a way of placating her. It wasn’t a traditional method of warding off La Llorona but you tried anything in such cases.
“My mom got you this,” Tony said, passing him the bar.
“She did?”
“Yes. She sent a gift basket. Welcoming present when we thought you were all coming. But just your mom came. My mom says you’re going to be living here now and that you’re going to be going to our school.”
“Does she now?” Danny said, snapping off a square and putting it in his mouth. It was hazelnutty and good.
Tony grabbed the chocolate back. “Yeah, she does,” Tony muttered, rather savagely biting into the chocolate bar instead of breaking a bit off.
“What else does your mother say?”
“She says your mom is going to be working in that Indian Casino they’re building.”
“That’s true.”
“Most people round here don’t like that casino.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
The kitchen didn’t have anyplace to sit. Danny pointed at the living room. “You wanna take a seat in there?”
“OK, but at some point I should be going back. I don’t really know you or anything; you could be like one of those people from America’s Most Wanted for all I know,” she said, sitting at the large oak living room table.
That made Danny a little annoyed. It rubbed him the wrong way, especially considering the fact that only a few hours earlier he’d been waiting for Walt outside a holding cell at McCarran Airport. “Hey, I didn’t ask you to come in. In fact, I didn’t even hear you knock,” he said.
Just then Jeffrey wandered in and began rubbing himself against Tony’s legs. She bent down and stroked him, and like the traitor he was he began to purr.
“You’ve got a cat,” she said.
“Don’t let anyone ever tell you you’re not observant.”
“He’s kind of a bit squirrelly-looking.”
Danny was incensed. “He’s a tough street cat! I found him in the Tropicana Wash.”
“He’s cute. And he doesn’t look so tough to me,” she said, stroking his belly.
“He killed a snake once,” Danny said, increasingly annoyed at Jeff’s purring.
“You’re going to hate school,” she said, apropos of nothing.
Danny didn’t like conversations where people jumped around so much. It was like reading the spam comments on his YouTube skateboard channel. Half of them didn’t make any sense; they should have just held their breath and their keystrokes.
“Why am I going to hate school?”
“You just are,” she said with real satisfaction.
“Maybe I love school.”
“No, I can tell, you don’t. And certainly not this one.”
Her face had a pale, slightly asymmetrical, weird quality to it. She was definitely pretty, but not in that obvious American way, that way you saw at the beauty pageants at Mandalay Bay.
“What are you thinking about?” she asked, catching him looking at her.
“Oh, um, nothing really. I like your hair.”
“I like your board,” she said.
“You do?”
“Tell me about it?”
“Do you skateboard?” he asked quickly.
“No.”
He shook his head. “You wouldn’t be interested.”
She broke off an impossibly big chunk of chocolate and shoved it in her mouth. “Tryyyyyy meeeee,” she said, and scooted the chocolate bar back across the table.
Danny laughed. “You’re pretty funny,” he said.
“To look at,” she added, and he laughed some more.
He flipped the board over. “Nevada Skateboard Company, 2008, polymer wheels, wood deck, stainless-steel ball bearings and supports, only a few hundred ever made before the company went bankrupt. Five hundred bucks apiece, but I got it eighty percent off. Perfect balance, bump grips, an eight-inch-wide—”
“What’s that picture?”
“Oh, I did that myself, it’s not very good. I used to do art. It’s one of Van Gogh’s sunflowers, you know? But actually I kind of called the board Sunflower after a Beach Boys album. Walt’s into the Beach Boys. They were a group from a million years ago and he played it all the time and it got into my brain or something.”
“Who’s Walt?”
Danny shook his head. “Stepdad, I guess.”
She nodded sagely. She understood. Her parents were still married, but many of the kids at school were from separated homes. She didn’t want to pry further, but Danny offered the information anyway. “They’re married and everything. Two years now. At the Little Chapel of the West if you can believe it. That was horrible … Anyway, they’re married. But they asked me if I just wanted to keep Mom’s name and I said yeah. So that’s why she’s Juanita Brown and I’m Danny Lopez, before anybody talks or says anything or, uh, anything.”
He’d said all this very quickly and now he paused to take a deep breath.
“Well, I suppose it’s my turn,” Tony said. “I’m from the Springs, born and bred. My dad works at NORAD, in Cheyenne Mountain; my mom’s an admin assistant for Focus on the Family. My dad’s also an elder over at the Faith Cathedral, but I don’t think he gets paid for that.”
“NORAD—that sounds pretty cool.”
“Yeah, I guess, I don’t know. We’re not allowed to go there. Oh, I have a sister, like a big sister, she’s eighteen, Alexa, she’s cool, she’s in college. Kinda near Vegas, actually. Arizona State. And I have a cat called Snowflake. My grandparents live in Texas and Florida and I snowboard. So I’m sort of a board chick too, but the mountain bullies are such dicks. I kind of think of myself as a hippie surfer girl without the ocean, you know?”
Danny didn’t know, but he nodded anyway.
“Your English is pretty good,” Tony said.
“WTF? So’s yours,” Danny said furiously.
Tony looked embarrassed. She covered her mouth and swallowed a big chunk of chocolate. Her cheeks were burning. “I didn’t mean anything by that, it’s just that, I don’t know, I never met anybody whose mom was Mexican, that’s all.”
“My mom’s American. Her dad was a Cherokee, and his people have been here for ten thousand years. And my grandma’s from Texas, so don’t start any of that crap with me.”
Tony reached across the table and grabbed his hand. Her fingers were tiny, cold, delicate.
She squeezed his palm. “I’m really, really sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. That was a dumb thing to say. It’s pretty white-bread around here, worse than the Springs even. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
The green of her eyes wavered in front of him for a second or two and then melted his resistance. He knew that sometimes he was a bit too quick to fly off the handle.
“De nada, ese,” he said.
“What does that mean?” she said suspiciously.
“It means ‘it’s chill, sista.’”
She let go of his hand and stood up.
“Good, OK, well, now that I’ve checked out the scene and alienated you forever, I have to go back. This is an unofficial scouting mission on your family, unsanctioned by the rest of the street, but I must deliver my report before church.”
“What are you going to tell them?” Danny asked.
“What else? The truth. You’re into heavy metal, devil worship, and you have dug a portal to hell right here in the living room.”
Danny smiled. “Don’t forget the human sacrifices.”
“Human sacrifices, check.”
“Which house do you live in?”
“The one on the other side of the road. The pink monstrosity,” she said, pointing to a newish McMansion almost exactly like the ones you’d see in Seven Hills. Four or five bedrooms, triple garage, black Tudor-style wood boards over pinkish white stucco.
“That is a big house,” Danny said with mild satirical intent.
“No bigger than yours,” Tony replied. “Anyway, I gotta go.”
“I’ll walk out with you,” Danny said.
“In that?” she said, pointing at his clothes.
Danny realized that he’d been wearing blue pajama pants with race cars on them and an old T-shirt with a fading image of Kurt Cobain, who had died before he’d even been born.
“I guess it is kind of lame,” he said more to himself than to Tony.
“No, it’s not lame, I just thought you’d be too cold,” Tony said quickly.
Danny found a coat in the closet, pulled on a pair of sneakers, and walked Tony across the road. The sun was coming out and the snow was melting but it was still chilly.
Around freezing, he thought. They stopped in front of her house.
“How high up are we here?” he wondered out loud.
“The Springs is six thousand feet, we’re another thousand on top of that.”
“Wow. And it snows how much?”
“It can snow every month from September to June.”
“Yikes … OK, uh, so, bye, I guess I’ll see you at school tomorrow?” Danny asked.
Tony smiled. “You might not recognize me … no hair gel allowed. Actually, I better shower it out before church anyway … And of course I’ll be in my uniform. You’re not a genius, are you?”
Danny shook his head. “I don’t think so, why?”
“Well, then, you should be in my class, 9B. We get tested every month; the kids that do better go to 9A, the others 9B,” she said, smiling sweetly.
“So you’re not a genius either,” he surmised.
She walked down the path and opened her front door. “I kinda am, actually. I started the year in the eighth grade, 8B, and I’ve worked my way up … See ya,” she said, then gave a little wave, opened her front door, and went inside.
“See ya,” Danny replied, and began whistling. He was still whistling an hour later when Walt came down for breakfast.
Walt turned off the electric razor and looked at Danny. “How come you’re so cheerful?” he wondered.
“I don’t know. I guess I’m happy that we’re not in jail, maybe,” Danny said.
Walt reddened. “Yeah, sorry about that, I probably shouldn’t have gotten involved,” he muttered. “You check out the house? Pretty groovy, isn’t it?”
Walt said things like “daddy-o” and “groovy” like it was the olden days. He was right, though. It certainly was a lot bigger than their Vegas home. Danny didn’t really think much about money, but now he saw that the move here probably meant a huge pay raise for his mother. This house, the car—it changed things. Danny thought of himself as an outsider, a street kid from East L.A. like his cousins, not as some comfortable, middle-class boy from suburban Nevada or Colorado. But in a day he’d gone from laughing at South Park to living in South Park.
“The house is OK,” he said.
“You wanna stay here, or you wanna come with me?”
“What? Where are you going?”
“To see that Randall guy. I’m starting work tomorrow and they want me to come over today.”
“Mom took the car.”
“You haven’t seen the Tesla? We got the use of it for a month. The casino is giving away two of them as opening-week prizes, you know, ‘cause of the whole Tesla thing. Brilliant idea. That Glynn guy is smart. They wanted her to drive it around. She didn’t like it, but I think you’ll be impressed!”
Danny pulled on his leather jacket, grabbed Sunflower, and followed Walt outside to the garage. When they opened the garage door Danny was impressed, but it was important that he didn’t let Walt see.
“Don’t these things run out after like twenty minutes?” Danny asked, looking at the red Tesla Electric Roadster parked in the left port of the two-car garage.
“A hundred and fifty miles per charge. Totally silent running,” Walt said, looking at Danny significantly.
Which is useful why? Danny thought, but didn’t say anything.
Walt tied his long graying hair back in a ponytail and got in on the driver’s side. Danny got in next to him. Walt plugged the strange address he’d been given—44 Correctional Institution Road—into the GPS, and off they went.
The Tesla was fast and sleek, and despite himself Danny felt seventeen shades of awesome riding in it. They drove quickly through what turned out to be the surprisingly small town of Cobalt. It was little more than a glorified crossroads, four streets, a couple of hundred houses, a 7-Eleven, a garage, a bakery, a Denny’s.
“I think that’s your school,” Walt said, pointing to half a dozen redbrick buildings cleared from the forest.
“I hope not,” Danny said.
Walt winked at him. “Meaning to talk to you about this. Listen, son, you gotta float under the radar; just stick it out for a few months until we’re settled. You don’t have to stay there forever.”
Danny didn’t like Walt’s tone. He wasn’t going to be part of a conspiracy to put one over on his mother. “I’ll stick out the school if you stick out the job, Walt,” Danny said.
Walt bristled. “Don’t give me that goddamn look, son, I’m not a total screwup, you know.”
“We’ll see,” Danny said under his breath.
The GPS took them to Correctional Institution Road in about ten minutes. Its odd name did not turn out to be much of a mystery.
In the space of about five miles they rolled past correctional institution after correctional institution. Federal prisons, state prisons, maximum-security prisons, minimum-security prisons, and a terrifying bunkerlike place called ADX Cobalt or, to give it the full name on the sign, “The United States Penitentiary Administrative Maximum Facility of Cobalt, Colorado.”
This was the famous Supermax prison that Walt thought he’d seen a documentary about on the National Geographic Channel. “This place has got the worst of the worst. All the terrorists you can think of, serial killers, you name it. They only get out one hour a day or something. Did you see that documentary?”
“No, I hate that channel,” Danny said.
“You should watch it. It’s good. You learn stuff. They had this whole thing about Stonehenge last week, did you see that one?”
Danny ignored him and looked out the window at the ADX, fascinated by the coils of razor wire, lookout towers, an alleged antiaircraft battery, and even a moat.
“Oh yeah,” Walt continued, unfazed. “Apparently, before the Stonehenge they said there was a wood henge and before that there was a dirt henge … Wait! I think this is it.”
Number 44 Correctional Institution Road was right next to the Supermax. It also appeared to be a prison, but not quite as intimidating as its neighbor. It was surrounded by a wire fence, which disconcertingly had holes in it, and beyond the fence the inmates appeared to live in what looked like mobile homes. A small sign said COBALT COLORADO FCF, 44 CORRECTIONAL INSTITUTION ROAD.
“Are you sure this is the right address?” Danny asked. It wouldn’t be the first time that Walt had gotten something like this wrong.
“I’m pretty sure,” Walt said dubiously, driving up to a wooden hut at the prison entrance. A none-too-sturdy metal bar ran across the road, and a sign said PRESS FOR SERVICE.
“I’ll do it,” Danny muttered. He got out of the Tesla and laid down his board, but the road, wasn’t cement—it was just compacted dirt. Disgusted, he picked Sunflower up and walked to the hut. He pushed the button.
“Yes?” a voice said through an intercom.
“We’re here to see, uh, a Mr. Randall?”
“What’s your name?”
“I guess … Brown.”
“Come on up.”
The swing bar lifted vertically. Danny got back in the Tesla and they drove through the gate.
A man with a shotgun in a guard tower (which looked to Danny like one of those lifeguard towers in Santa Monica) waved them on, and they were inside the prison.
A skinny-looking guy in a pair of orange overalls came out of one of the trailers and nodded to them. He was about thirty-five, with long red hair (almost as long as Walt’s) and a goatee. He pointed to a parking space in front of the trailer he had just exited. They pulled into it and got out of the Tesla.
“Hi there,” the man said. “I’m Bob Randall.”
“Walt Brown. This is my son, Danny,” Walt said.
