The Boulevard Monster, page 5
“I think Mom sent them,” Sera said, breaking my train of thought, her eyes alive with idealistic giddiness. “Blue was her favorite color.”
“I think so, too,” I lied.
Ryan and Brianne were sitting in the lawn chairs under the carport, smoking, when Sera and I returned home. Sera told them how beautiful the headstone was and how Esperanza had sent two blue jays to visit us. She showed them the picture, and then headed inside. I grabbed a bucket out of the bed of my truck, flipped it upside-down, and sat next to Brianne. She took one last drag and stamped out her cigarette butt.
“The tombstone looks great in the ground,” she said. She’d helped me and Sera pick it out. “Those birds were cool, too.”
I didn’t respond. I was staring at the cracked concrete between my feet, zoned-out, picturing Sera’s photo in my head. The two birds. Two smiling blue jays.
“Hey,” Brianne said, nudging my arm. “You all right?”
I blinked away the image and looked at her. “Fine. Just a little tired.” I rubbed my eyes and thinly smiled. “It did look great. Sera really liked it.”
She nodded, lit another Marlboro Light, and met eyes with Ryan. She gave him a prodding, ask-him look, and gestured my way with her head.
“What?” I asked.
Ryan flicked his butt out to the edge of the driveway, put his hair behind his ears, glanced at me, Brianne, back at me.
“What?”
“I told him about your investment in EnviroTek, and how well it’s working out,” Brianne admitted. “And we were talking and…” She raised her eyebrows at Ryan.
“I was wondering if you could help me invest some of my money, too?” he asked.
I knew the question would come sooner or later. Ryan had over fifteen thousand dollars in credit card debt due to impulsive choices he’d made in his late teens. A month after high school graduation he’d landed his first full-time job and quickly discovered how indiscriminately credit card companies lend money. Unfortunately, he glossed over the lend and interest parts. He bought a Jet Ski, which was wrecked within two months, a 60-inch flat-screen, which was broken, an ’87 Pontiac Firebird, which was absent a transmission and setting on cinderblocks in his friend’s backyard, and gobs of clothes that were out of style and forgotten. I wanted to help him. But I couldn’t in the way he wanted.
“I don’t think I can.”
Brianne’s face scrunched in disbelief. She propped her left hand on her hip and eyed me like I’d refused to give Ryan a needed kidney. “Why not?”
We all looked upward when something clanked on top of the carport. Several small scraping sounds followed. A second later, a blue jay flew to the ground in front of the small crab apple tree in the neighbor’s yard. I watched it, and it watched us.
“Well,” Brianne said, her voice raising an octave. “Why not?”
“Please,” Ryan said. “You know how much debt I’m in. It would really help.”
“Yeah,” Brianne added, taking a drag. “He could finally move out of Mom’s place and get an apartment of his own.”
I curled my lips in on one another and shook my head. “I’m sorry. My hands are tied. I don’t think the guy who runs EnviroTek wants to add investors until the company grows more.”
“Will you at least email him and ask?” Brianne said. “You’re the one that helped his company grow by investing in the first place, right?”
“I guess I can,” I lied. “But I don’t think it’ll matter.”
“I’d appreciate it,” Ryan said.
“If it doesn’t work out, could you try to find something else for him to invest in?” Brianne asked. “Maybe another company like EnviroTek?”
I watched the blue jay flitter up into the crab-apple tree and work his way into a shady spot, facing us. Then I looked at Ryan. “Listen, you know I’ll always help you anyway I can, but I don’t know shit about investing. I got lucky. Plain and simple. I don’t have any investment tips for you, and I never will.” I glanced at the bird, back at Ryan. “I’m sorry. But I can go to the bank on Monday morning and get you a thousand dollars to put toward your bills, if you want.”
“I don’t know.” Ryan shifted in his seat, straightened his cut-off khakis. I’d given him money before—twenty dollars here, forty dollars there—but never that much. When he made eye contact with me, he looked as serious and mature as I’d ever seen him. “I’ll definitely pay you back.”
I smiled. “No need, compadre.”
Relieved, he smiled back. The statement was common with all the guys at work. I’m not sure who started it (or why we all said it with a cheap Spanish accent), but anytime one of us had forgotten our lunch or didn’t have cash for a beer or two at Wizard’s after work, it became customary for whoever helped them out to answer any promise of pay back by saying, “No need, compadre.”
As my attention shifted to the bird again, my phone vibrated. I pulled it out of my pocket and checked the number.
“Let me guess,” Ryan said. “Dinosaur Dan?”
“You know it.” I stood and puffed out my cheeks, slightly squatted, and pretended to reach around my giant belly to adjust my pants. Like Ryan always did. “Seth,” I said in a weak prissy voice. “We need those houses done now.”
Ryan jumped up and bested my lame impersonation. “I won’t be able to properly eat and jerk-off until they’re done.”
Brianne smacked Ryan’s arm and broke into hysterical, eye-watering laughter.
I laughed, too.
Following two plates of Brianne’s spaghetti and plenty of beer, I walked Ryan outside. We stopped at the edge of the yard next to his small, mustard-colored Toyota truck. It wasn’t night-black yet, but a few stars were visible. The moon was nowhere to be seen.
Ryan lit a cigarette. “I can’t wait for fall. It still feels like a hundred fucking degrees out here.”
“Probably is,” I said, scanning the crab tree for birds.
He took a puff and punched my arm. He’s the one who’d taught Brianne how to use her knuckles. I popped him right back. “Owe,” he said, and chuckled. “I’m going over to Wizzards for a few more beers. You want to come?”
“Can’t,” I said. “Brianne rented a movie, and I promised to watch it with her.”
“Is it a chick flick?”
I shrugged. “Probably.”
He rolled his eyes, took a long drag, and blew the smoke upward. “I hope I’m not as whipped as you when I’m your age.”
“Don’t worry.” I popped him in the arm again. “I don’t think you’ll ever be whipped. When you’re my age, I’m sure your dumbass will still be chasing ditsy twenty-year-olds with big tits.”
He chuckled again. “Probably so.” He gestured at my truck, which was parked curbside behind his. “Looks like some Jehovah’s Witness or Church of Christ freak left you a flier. They want to save you from the fires of Hell.” With his cigarette dangling from his lips, he threw his hands theatrically into the air and wiggled his fingers. “Eternal damnation. Woohooo.”
I looked at my windshield and saw the paper under the wiper. Before I could respond, Ryan headed toward the Chevy. He was reaching across the hood for the paper when a blue jay swooped down out of the sky, dive-bombing at his head. He squealed, dropped his cigarette, and fell back onto his backside. He closed his eyes and feverishly swatted at the bird as it circled his head like a shark circling prey in shallow water, plucking at his long hair.
I watched in amazed, terrified awe. The bird was protecting the piece of paper. It was protecting Luther. It was protecting me. I quickly ran around to the driver’s side of my truck, snatched the paper off my windshield, and shoved it in my pocket. Then, right on cue, the blue jay flew toward me wearing a horrific grin, soared over my head close enough for its feet to rub the top of my hat, and disappeared into the night sky.
Ryan jumped up. “Holy shit! Why the hell didn’t you help me?”
“What was I supposed to do?”
Ryan put his hair behind his ears, looked down, shook his head, and then laughed so hard he snorted and doubled over. When he rose up, he said, “That was fucked up, man. What’s up with blue jays lately? Why’d it do that?”
To keep you away from the note, I thought. But I said, “Probably wanted some of your hair for his girl’s nest.”
“Shit. I’m going to get a fucking hair cut tomorrow if the birds around here are that high up for good nesting materials.”
I tried to fabricate a genuine smile. Ryan pulled a pack of Marlboros out his pocket and lit up, the cherry momentarily lighting an orange circle in the center of his face. “I feel sober as a stick now.” After a few puffs, he gestured toward my truck with his cigarette. “What happened to the flier?”
“You were right. It was a stupid Church of Christ thing.” I shoved my hand in my pocket and wrapped it around the piece of paper. I needed to change the subject, quick. “You supposed to meet one of your regular girls at Wizzards, or are you looking for someone new tonight?” Ryan loved talking about women. He’d talk your brain numb about all the ones he’d fucked if you’d let him.
“I’m always looking for new ones,” he said with an air of cockiness.
“You better get going before all the hot ones are spoken for.”
He took a drag and shot me a confident smile—a smile reminiscent of Luther’s. “I’ll get any hot one I want. You know that.”
I shook my head and sigh-said, “Whatever.”
He got into his truck and rolled down the window.
“Be careful tonight,” I said.
“Will do, Mr. Fowler.” He winked, took a drag, and flicked his butt onto the road. I stepped on it. “Have fun watching Julia Roberts cry, or get cancer, or realize after two hours she really wants to fuck her best friend.” He turned the key in the ignition and the engine sputter-started. He was in need of a new truck as much as I was.
He drove away, and I took the note out of my pocket. My sweaty hand had smeared the ink but the message was still legible.
Get rid of the trash.
I walked toward the tailgate as slow as a death row prisoner on his way to the execution room. The street light overhead highlighted the corner of a burlap sack that was wedged between a chunk of sheetrock and a cardboard box full of nails. I turned my back to the truck and read the note again, wondering how he’d gotten the sack there. When, exactly.
I looked up when I heard a bird circling overhead. It was a blue jay—the same one that had attacked Ryan, I assume. I’m not sure what compelled me, but I raised the note high over my head. A few seconds later, the bird plucked it out of my hand and flew away, bringing gooseflesh to my arms.
I rolled down the windows on the way to West Hill to rid the cab of the stress-sweat stink. Alone with the emotional pull of the corpse, my paranoid, guilt-stricken thoughts were magnified. Every pair of headlights that turned onto the road behind me seemed to have a siren box on top. Every driver in the oncoming lane seemed to slow and eye me, wanting to know who I was, where I was going.
Why I had a dead body in the back of my truck.
I parked next to a Howe’s cement truck and exited the Chevy. West Hill was in the final stages of development. All but two houses were complete, and we were going to lay sod on the odd numbered yards the following morning; one of which, I’d decided, would be the burial site. Before I grabbed the sack, I looked across the neighborhood that would soon be filled with SUVs, swing sets, trampolines, dogs, joggers, the laughter of kids.
I thought about leaving, taking the sack to the cops and telling them everything about Luther. I thought about going home and spilling my guts to Brianne. I thought about getting in my truck and driving, and driving, and driving, until I could think of something better to do. But then I thought about Luther’s touch. His power. His threats. The blue jays. Randy. I was in way over my head. I thought about Sera and Dad and Brianne and Ryan. All the good the extra money was doing for them. How much I loved seeing them happy.
Teetering under the burden of worry, I looked down at the sack, and advice Mom had given me when I was kid, when I’d complained about mowing the lawn, or doing homework, or cleaning my room, unexpectedly found my inner ear.
“Just get it done,” she’d said. “And then you don’t have to worry about it anymore.”
I took a deep breath, lifted the sack out of the bed, and headed for the chosen lawn, trying to focus solely on how to complete the task as efficiently and quickly as possible.
Just. Get. It. Done.
I knew the Bobcat would make some noise, but I also knew no one was close enough to hear. On my way to the Bobcat, I noticed three blue jays standing on the roof of one of the houses. They hopped along the gutter as I passed. Watching. Listening. One of them flew down and landed on top of the Bobcat when I punctured the soil.
Twenty minutes later I had the sack buried, the dirt leveled, and the Bobcat back where it belonged. The bird who’d been on top of the Bobcat while I worked had rejoined the other two on the roof. I nodded at them to let them know I understood their purpose, hurried to my truck, and left.
Of course Mom’s words didn’t ring true that night. After the job was done, I still worried. I worried until I passed out drunk on the couch in front of the muted TV an hour before sunrise.
Nine
Mandatory Team Building
The next note came two weeks later while I was inside Cecilia Collier’s apartment.
Cecilia was Brianne and Ryan’s mom. Two days earlier Brianne had told Cecilia about EnviroTek, and Cecilia had immediately asked us for cash to buy a new bed, claiming the air mattress she’d been sleeping on for years irritated her back. But Brianne and I knew better. We’d given her money to buy a new bed the previous Christmas, and she hadn’t bought one. She’d blown the money on liquor, cigarettes, and fast food, as usual. So this time, Brianne and I went to Marv’s Furniture Store and bought a queen-size bed and Tempur-Pedic mattress ourselves. I met the delivery guys at Cecilia’s apartment the next day on my lunch break because both Cecilia and Brianne had to work and couldn’t be there. After the delivery guys left, I was crossing the parking lot, headed for my truck, when a blue jay swooped down and landed on the Chevy’s hood. A note was wedged in its beak. My chest tightened as I plucked the note from the bird’s beak. I dreaded what it would say, what I would have to do. I wasn’t ready for another burial.
I read the message and sighed in relief. Luther wanted to meet at Abuelo’s Burrito Extravaganza after sunset. I wasn’t excited to see him again, but at least there wasn’t a corpse in the bed of my truck.
I passed the note back to the bird and watched it fly away.
I didn’t bother going inside Abuelo’s. I parked in the side lot, out of view from 45th street traffic, and rolled down my window, allowing the smell of the coming rainstorm to invade the cab. For ten minutes I watched lightning flicker in the western sky, highlighting the rolling wall-cloud, listened to distant thunder rumble, and thought about Mom.
When I was a kid, Mom and I would sit on the back porch swing, listen to a weather radio, and watch the thunderstorms roll in. She taught me how to count the seconds between seeing lightning and hearing thunder to estimate how many miles away the storm was. They came and went so fast, the winds often shifting direction or intensifying to more than fifty miles per hour in a single gust.
As I sat in my truck that night, remembering, one of those strong gusts burst through the cab, nearly knocking off my lucky Rangers hat. I quickly rolled the windows up all but an inch, and as I was readjusting my hat, Luther opened the passenger door.
“Why haven’t you bought a new truck yet?” he asked as he hopped in, carrying the scent of lavender with him.
Brianne had asked me the same question many times. But every time I passed a car lot and allowed myself to look at the new line of trucks, I thought about Randy and his brand new cherry red F-150. A truck that was parked in the police impound lot in north Mercy. The guilt that would come along with buying a new truck wasn’t worth it. I would never enjoy it. But I couldn’t tell Luther that. I shrugged, watching the first raindrops splat the windshield. They were fat as dimes. “Just haven’t gotten around to it.”
“Well, you should.” After a short pause, he asked, “Did everything go okay out there last time?”
I had no desire to revisit the experience. Besides, his birds had kept their beady little eyes on me the entire time. “Don’t you already know the answer to that?”
He chuckled. “I meant emotionally.”
I had no desire to revisit that night’s emotions, either. Ever. I rolled up my window the last inch, flicked on the windshield wipers, then met eyes with him.
“It will get easier the more you do it,” he said. “I promise.”
I stared at him for a moment, fearful of what it would mean about me if the job did get easier. If I began seeing and treating the bodies like he did. Like trash. “Why did you want to meet?”
He rubbed his hands together as though he needed to warm them. “I wanted to talk to you about having a team-building.”
“Team-building?”
He pulled his knee up on the seat, laid his arm across the top of the backrest. His hand was inches from my neck. “You know, when a team hangs out and bonds somewhere away from the job. Like you Howe’s guys do when you have drinks at Wizzards after work.”
Thunder boomed and shook the loose back window, and the rain intensified.
