The Boulevard Monster, page 3
I’d met Sera when she was six months old, her head already covered in bouncy black curls like her mom’s. Esperanza Garcia, a petite, curvy woman with silky black hair, was having trouble reaching a box of cereal on the top shelf at Wal-Mart while holding Sera. I grabbed it for her, and we struck up a conversation. She’d moved to Mercy for a fresh start after her mom and boyfriend were killed in a bus crash in Mexico City. She lived in the same apartment complex as me, so I gave her my number and told her to call if she ever needed anything. Within a month, I was dating Esperanza, regularly babysitting Sera, and staying the night at their apartment three or four times a week. By the time Sera was eighteen months old, Esperanza and I had married at the Justice of the Peace, and I’d moved in with them. I officially adopted Sera three months later, nineteen days before Esperanza died. She was walking on the sidewalk at 4 AM, on her way to work at Sanchez Bakery, when a drunk driver swerved off the road and hit her.
The Saturday after I received Luther’s fourth envelope of cash, Sera and I arrived at the UA Cinema shortly before the 12:45 showing of Mockingjay. She handed the clerk a twenty, told him we needed two tickets, and then turned to me, beaming. With her caramel-colored skin, unruly curls, and enticing eyes (which were growing too close to seductive for a protective dad’s taste), she looked just like her mom.
Theater four was already packed, but we found two seats in the middle of the top section, halfway up. As the lights dimmed and the first preview began, Sera reached into her bag, pulled out one of the baggies of popcorn we’d brought from home, and set it in my lap. “There you go,” she whispered.
“Will you hold onto it?” I passed it back to her. “I have to go to the bathroom.”
“Okay, but hurry. You don’t want to miss the beginning.”
I nodded and hurried to the bathroom. I locked the door on the last stall and had just sat down when the bathroom door creaked open and someone else walked in. I stayed still as the footfalls moved closer and closer, louder and louder, and stopped in front of my door. Seconds later, the smell of fresh lavender seeped into the stall.
“You all right in there?”
My heart hitched.
Luther knocked. “Seth?”
I didn’t answer. I was squeezing tight, biting down on my fist, trying not to go, but it didn’t work. I went, quickly wiped, and flushed.
“Damn. What have you been eating?”
I stood, pulled up my pants, and eased back until my calves bumped the toilet.
“We need to talk, Seth. It won’t take long. Meet me out at your truck when you’re done.”
I listened to him walk away and waited for the door to shut behind him before stepping out of the stall. My hands were sweaty, stomach tense. I splashed cold water on my face and stared at myself in the mirror. “You don’t have a choice,” I told myself. “You have to talk to him.”
Luther was sitting in the passenger seat of my truck, wearing a grey Guayabera. He gave me a closed-lip smile when I sat down in the driver’s seat. “I hope you’re happy with our arrangement so far,” he said.
I nervously glanced at him, the folded piece of paper in his hand, back at him, and nodded.
He smiled again, showing a sliver of teeth this time. “Good.” He offered the paper to me to me. “This is for you.”
I hesitated but took it, careful not to touch his hand. “What is it?”
“Some information you’ll need in order to properly pay taxes on the money you’re making.”
I shot him a quizzical look.
“Your income’s going to more than double this year, and you have to claim it all in order to stay off the IRS’s radar. To help with documentation in case you ever get audited, you’ll be paid with checks from now on. Twice a month instead of once a week.”
I unfolded the paper and glanced at it. The word EnviroTek was printed across the top in block green letters. “What’s EnviroTek?”
“It’s the up-and-coming green technology company you invested in last year.”
“Invested? I don’t know shit about investing.” The second those words hit my ears, an eerie sense of deja-vu washed over me. I’d told Randy the same thing—you don’t know shit about investing—the night I’d found the body in his truck.
“You don’t have to,” Luther said. “You just have to be able to make people believe your story.”
“What’s my story?”
He flashed his unbreakable smile. “About a year ago you decided Sera needed to have a college fund, so you started saving a little here and there. But when you looked into tuition costs and realized that you needed to do a lot more than just save, you paid an online financial consultant for advice, and he gave you list of different investing options to look into. After some research, you found an up-and-coming green technology company that needed investors, and you decided to go for it.”
I shook my head. “No one will buy that. Especially Brianne. She knows me too well. She’ll know I’m lying.”
“Then get better at it,” he snapped back. “You have to make this work. You have to make her believe.”
“You don’t know Brianne. Even if I convince her, we barely make ends meet most months. She’ll be so pissed that I’ve done all that behind her back she’ll never forgive me.”
“As soon as the checks start rolling in and most of your financial worries fade away, she’ll forgive you. I promise. I’ve seen it a hundred times.”
I looked down at the paper and read the name EnviroTek again. “And how do I explain the connection to Randy?”
“What connection?”
“The investment connection. He mentioned something about investing the last time I saw him. What if Detective Morrell and Sergeant Adair link my investment to his and—”
Luther waved his hand in front of his chest, cutting me off. “They won’t. Other than the fact that you and Randy both invested a little money, which millions of Americans do every day, there’s no financial link between you two whatsoever. Randy invested in storage unit chains. You invested in a green technology company. Just stick to the story I told you, and everything will be fine.”
I ran my eyes over the cars lining the parking lot and stopped on a Scion with a blue jay standing on the driver’s side mirror. At the time, I still had no idea the bird was watching us. “I don’t know if I can do this.”
“You have to. For your family.” A beat. “You owe me.”
The voice inside my head, the voice of survival and reason, agreed, assuring me I wouldn’t live to see another sunrise if I didn’t. I released a clutched breath and looked at him. “So what does EnviroTek specifically do? In case anyone asks.”
Satisfaction danced across his eyes. “They manufacture solar panels, solar shingles, windmills of all shapes and sizes, greywater filtration and storage systems, and tons of other off-the-grid gadgets.” He pointed at the piece of paper. “You can call the number on the bottom there and get an informative brochure if you want.”
We sat in silence for a moment. My mind was racing, circling one thought in particular—how long until he’d want me to get rid of his trash. But I sure as hell wasn’t going to ask him about it. I thumbed toward the theater entrance. “I better get back before Sera gets worried.”
He nodded and extended his hand. “Business partners like us only have their word and handshake to solidify trust. I’ve upheld my end of the deal so far. Your handshake will show me you intend to do the same when the time comes.”
Afraid a reminder of his power was coming my way, I cautiously eye-balled his hand.
“It’s just a shake,” he said. “You have my word.”
I made eye contact with him, and when I shook his hand, felt only the smoothness of his warm palm.
Thank God.
Five
The Charade Begins
I waited until I received the first check from EnviroTek before I told Brianne about my investment. She was sitting at the round dining table that set half on the kitchen linoleum floor, half on the living room carpet. Still dressed in her Golden Coral shirt and black slacks, she was eating a peanut butter sandwich. Her dishwater-blonde hair was pulled up in a tight ponytail, exposing her high cheekbones and sharp eyes. She had little to no make-up on. Just the way I liked her.
I sat in the chair next to her and lay the check on the table between us.
“What’s that?” she asked.
“A check.”
She took a bite and spoke with a full mouth. “I know it’s a check, but what is it?”
“Well.” I clasped my hands together on top of the table. “I need to come clean about something.” She stopped chewing and stared at me when I didn’t immediately continue. I took in a deep breath, readying myself. I’d been rehearsing my story in the shower every night, and hoped she’d buy it.
“About a year ago I started saving money for Sera for college,” I said. “But when I realized I’d never be able to save enough to make a dent in her tuition costs, I paid an online financial consultant for advice, and he helped me find some investment options. After some research, I found a company that makes solar panels and windmills that were looking for a few investors and decided to give it a shot.” I waited for her to respond, but she didn’t budge. “And now the company is doing great. Sales have more than doubled in the last six months.”
She looked down at the check, specifically, at the amount. $2068.53 was more than she made in a month working forty hours a week, including tips. She chewed again, swallowed, then made eye contact with me, her eyes hinting at both anger and hurt. “Why didn’t you tell me? You swore you’d never hide anything from me?”
We’d been dating ten years, living together for eight—long enough for me to know better than to give her an excuse, whether she asked for one or not. Any excuse for breaking a promise to her would’ve been a bad excuse and only given her ammo for an attack. I didn’t want a war. I wanted a peace treaty, and to quickly move on. I told her I was sorry, had made a mistake, and begged her forgiveness.
“You should’ve told me,” she said, dropping what was left of her sandwich on her plate. “I’ve never kept anything from you.” She marched to the bathroom, slammed the door, and turned on the shower.
When she walked into the bedroom thirty minutes later, I was sitting on the edge of the bed staring at the check, hoping time and a hot shower had tempered her anger. She sat down beside me and hit me in the upper arm, hard. She had rail thin arms and legs but knew how to use her knuckles to leave a bruise.
“I guess.” She glanced at the check. “I’ll forgive you this once.” Her eyes met mine. “But don’t ever hide anything, and I mean anything, from me again.”
“I won’t,” I said, rubbing my arm. “Especially if you’re going to beat me if I do.”
She laughed, and so did I. “Does anyone else know?” she asked.
“Of course not. I haven’t told anyone but you.”
She put her hand on my thigh. “At least I was the first.” Her lips curving into a flirty, playful smile, she moved her hand up to my crotch. I parted her robe and slid my hand over her damp chest. “Where’s Sera?” she asked, tilting her head as I kissed her neck.
“In her room. Listening to music and reading.”
She pushed me off her, stood and let her robe fall to the floor. “Lock the door.”
I obeyed, and then gently tackled her onto the bed. We didn’t have romance-novel sex, but it wasn’t a mindless animal fuck either. It was good, lustful, we-are-two-thousand-dollars-richer sex.
We were lying there afterward, looking at the check, talking about EnviroTek and what we could do with the money, when my cell phone vibrated. I scooped my pants up off the floor and pulled it out of my pocket. The caller ID showed a local number I recognized well.
Brenda Wilcox was a retired math teacher who lived next door to Dad. She’d also been one of my mom’s best friends. When I was growing up, she’d been a staple in our house. Since she had never married and had no kids or siblings of her own, Mom invited her over for dinner nearly every night, and absolutely insisted she celebrate Christmas and Thanksgiving with us. The morning the cancer finally took Mom, Brenda was the one at Mom’s bedside, holding her hand. Although she wasn’t my real aunt, I’d always called her Aunt Bren.
“Hey, Aunt Bren. How’s everything going?”
“Not so good.”
She sounded tired. “Are you all right?”
“Oh, I’m fine. But when I went over to check on your dad after dinner and give him some cookies I baked, he was tearing through the house looking for a duck. He accused me of hiding it and was cursing at me so I left.”
I put on my jeans and headed to my closet. “I’m sorry. He called my cell this afternoon, but I was busy at work and couldn’t talk to him long. I should’ve gone by there after work.”
“It’s not your fault, Honey. He’s just having a bad spell. It happens. I just wanted to let you know.”
I threw on a T-shirt and my lucky Rangers hat. “I’ll be there in a couple of minutes.”
I hung up, and as I put on my socks, Brianne rolled out of bed and began to dress. “Is your dad all right?”
“He’s flipping out about a duck or something. Cussing at Bren and blaming her.”
“You want me to go with you?”
“No. You stay here with Sera. I’ll give you a call when I get him under control.”
Six
Lurth, Lummorville, and Duck
“Where’d you put it?” Dad yelled when I stepped into my childhood home. He was rifling through a pile of papers on the kitchen table. He was sweaty and wearing only red sweatpants. The little hair that ringed his head was frizzy and disheveled. Like a cartoon grandpa who’d stuck his finger in a socket. The living room was a disaster. Magazines and couch cushions and boxes cluttered the floor. The TV was blaring. I turned it off.
“Where’d I put what, Dad?”
“My duck.”
I locked my hands behind my head and took a couple of deep breaths. In the nose, out the mouth. Be patient with him Dr. Hale had told me. “Where did you last see it?” I asked.
His hands stopped moving, and he looked at me. His lips were pinched with frustration. “If I knew that I’d know where it was.” He went back to rifling through the papers. “Dumbass,” he said.
I smiled at the name.
I was five years old the first time I remember him calling me a dumbass. He was in between jobs at the time and had been sipping cheap vodka all day. When I spilled chocolate milk on the carpet in front of the TV, he jerked me up by the arm, and screamed, “You clumsy dumbass. That’s going to stain the carpet.”
I started crying, and my mom rushed into the room. “Let go of him,” she said. When he did, she pulled me toward her.
Dad pointed at the milk on the carpet. “Do you have the money to pay for new carpet? I sure as hell don’t.”
“It’ll come out,” Mom insisted. “You’re drunk. Get out of here.”
Dad shot daggers at her with his eyes, and then stomped out of the house, revved up his truck, and sped off.
Mom led me to my bedroom and told me to lie down while she cleaned up the milk. When she returned a few minutes later, she sat on the edge of my bed and rubbed my leg. “You’re not a clumsy dumbass,” she said. “You’re a Lummox, like me. Dad doesn’t understand because he’s not like us. We’re from a different place than him, a special place, and we sometimes have trouble adjusting to our human bodies.”
“What’s a Lummox?” I asked.
“That’s what we were called on Lurth.”
Intrigued, I sat up and crossed my legs. “What’s Lurth?”
“That’s the planet we came from when you were a baby. We lived in a village called Lummorville.”
“What did it look like there?”
Mom smiled. “Get your crayons and some paper, and I’ll draw some pictures of it so you can see.”
I hopped off the bed, grabbed my crayons, and ran to the dining table. For the next hour, we drew pictures of Lurth and Lummorville and talked about the differences between Earth and there. When it was time for bed, Mom told me the story of the day we left and came to Earth on a secret mission.
Over the next few years, I fully believed I was a Lummox, and my imagination ran wild with wonder and possibility. I made up stories about my Lummox relatives’ adventures, covered my walls with pictures I drew of animals that lived on Lurth, and made my own Lurth clothing out of construction paper and cardboard that I wore when I played in the backyard.
I loved being a Lummox, thinking I was unique and special. But my Lummox life collapsed on the first day of first grade when I tripped and fell outside during recess and some kids laughed at me. Embarrassed, I told them I was a Lummox and that was why I’d tripped, which made them laugh even more, and one boy, Jake Collins, called me an idiot.
To prove I wasn’t an idiot, that I was a Lummox, I pulled a dictionary off the shelf in Ms. Scott’s room after recess and flipped to lummox, expecting to find a definition I could throw in Jake’s face. Instead, I found this:
lum-mox (lum-oks) n. (informal) a clumsy or stupid person.
I confronted Mom when I got home.
Disappointment flashed across her face. She squatted in front of me and said, “I didn’t mean it that way. Sometimes definitions in a book are different than meaning. You know I don’t think you’re clumsy or stupid. I tell you that all the time.” She put her hand on my shoulder. “And no matter how fake or stupid you think all the Lurth and Lummorville stuff is, it’s still a very special, real place to me. Our place.” She kissed my forehead. “You’ll always be my Little Lummox.”
