David Putnam - The Replacements

“What’s the matter with you two?” I said. “He’s holding the kids. You can’t shoot at him until we have the kids. Then have at it. But not until we have the kids.”

Fatigue was turning my mind to mush, and I wasn’t entirely sure they’d been wrong. I should’ve known for sure, but nothing seemed black and white anymore. Everything disappeared in obscured shades of gray, with the truth hiding off in the distance. I needed to sleep. Before we did anything else, I needed at least four hours. “Come on. Get in and let’s go.”

Far out ahead, Jonas’ single headlight bounced and jutted this way and that as he drove to the paved road. I was pretty sure the taillight pattern on the car was from a Toyota, but millions of Toyotas drove the streets of Southern California. We followed far behind. My vision blurred with fatigue, thoughts came and went unbidden. I slowed. “I can’t drive. Honey, can you take over please?”

“Sure. Can you get us to the road first? It’s not much farther and…Oh, my God, Bruno, stop. Stop.”

My head whipped forward to see this new apparition, a hallucination. I slammed on the brakes. In the dirt path walked a small child, five or six years old. Tears streaked his dusty face, his eyes wide in terror.

Marie slid open the side door and jumped out before the van came to a complete stop. She stumbled in the headlights and almost went down, righted, and made it to the child. She slowed and stopped, cooing, talking low to him, her words barely audible over the van’s engine.

“It’s okay, baby, it’s okay, honey. No one’s going to hurt you.”

Drago muttered, “That son of a bitch, leaving a kid out here like that. Next time I won’t be aiming at his headlight.”

I couldn’t deny him that. I wanted to do the same.

“Out here in the dark like this, we coulda run him over,” Drago said. “The kid coulda wandered off. How’d he know we’d come across him? Kid’s gotta be scared outta his wits. What a son of a bitch.” Drago’s rapid language acted as a cover for his fear and inadequacy. I recognized it in myself.

Drago got out on wobbly legs, stuck his arm in the van’s open side door, and scooped all the refuse from the van’s floor out onto the ground. He went around back, opened the doors, and did the same again. He closed the back doors and came around in time to help Marie and the child mount the van. I don’t know where Drago found his reserve strength. These actions had to be beyond taxing. I should’ve gotten out to help but could hardly muster the energy to keep my eyes open. Adrenaline no longer worked.

Drago slid the side door shut, climbed back in, and closed his door.

Marie perched on the five-gallon bucket, the boy on her lap. She let go of him, put her arms over the strap one at a time, so the strap went across her chest to stabilize them, and then took hold of the boy.

“Drive, Bruno.” Her tone left no room for debate. “Drago, hold this flashlight.”

I started the van moving and checked the rearview. Eddie Crane, who looked about five and small for his age, had sandy-brown hair that hung down in his hazel eyes. He wore denim pants and a long-sleeve shirt.

“It’s okay, little man, no one’s going to hurt you,” said Marie. “You’re okay now. You understand? You’re okay now.” To me, she said, “Bruno, watch where you’re going.”

I looked back just as the right side of the van veered off the narrow track into the sage. The van bumped and bounced in the air as I muscled us back into the rough track. How long had it been since I slept? Three days? Three and a half? I’d slept the night before I worked the cabana bar at The Margarite, the day all this had started. I tried to count the days and couldn’t count past two. A bad sign. I focused everything I had on the task at hand, keeping the van on the road and my eyes open.

The boy had yet to make any sound at all.

Marie said, “There’s a note pinned to his shirt pocket.” Paper rattled. I focused on the road.

Marie read:

“ My name is Eddie Crane. If found, return me to Deputy Bruno Johnson, California Rehabilitation Center, Chino. Ha, Ha .

PS. I didn’t do that to his back. His new parents did. The boy won’t talk, won’t say a word. He’s broken .”

Over the van’s engine, Marie’s voice caught. I checked the mirror again, her sorrowful expression filled with tears. Checking the mirror proved one task too many for my fatigue-laden brain. I again veered and corrected.

“Bruno, please pay attention.”

“It’s okay, honey,” she said to Eddie. “I’m a doctor. Let me look at your back.”

Drago held the bouncing flashlight and, after a couple seconds, his tone came in a low whisper, “Oh my God. That son of a bitch. That cocksucker.”

A large dose of adrenaline kicked in. I pulled over. “What?” I spun in the seat.

Marie wept openly and hugged Eddie, one hand on his bottom, one on his head, nestling it into her shoulder, her hands avoiding his back, as she whispered, “It’s okay. It’s okay now. No one’s going to hurt you ever again.” His back, crisscrossed with open wounds both scabbed and festering, indicated multiple events of abuse. I’d seen this too many times in the past while answering calls as a patrol deputy. Eddie Crane had been beaten with an electrical cord.

I woke in a strange bed. My whole body ached from the deep, coma-like sleep. With the curtains pulled, the motel room retained its innocence, concealing a fleabag appearance. The dimness, though, wasn’t able to mask the smell, musty with a hint of sour and of the destitute. As my eyes adjusted, a small lump materialized in the twin bed next to mine. Then I remembered. Eddie Crane.

Where had Marie gone?

I swung my legs around and sat up. On the nightstand sat a carton of chocolate milk and a package of Sno Balls. My stomach growled. I guess, when away from home, junk food became an approved staple. I tore open the package and went to it. She hadn’t been gone too long; the chocolate milk carton dripped with cold condensation. The rush of sugar woke me even more, and I groaned with pleasure at the combined luscious flavors.

Eddie’s head came up out of the covers like a prairie dog, his eyes telegraphing fear.

“It’s okay, Ed, I’m a friend. You don’t have to worry about me. You want some of this?”

He shook his head “no.” I held up a Sno Ball. “These are real good. You don’t know what you’re missing.” I eased over and set one on the edge of his bed. He didn’t take his eyes off me. His delicate emotional state would take lots of love and tenderness to get him back on the road to trust.

The door opened. Bright light burst in and stole my vision. Marie closed the door. “Ah, Rip Van Winkle has awakened.” She came over. “Hey, mister garbage disposal, those aren’t for you.”

“Oh, sorry.”

She leaned down toward her wounded charge. “Hi, Eddie, how are you feeling?” He looked up, half a smile snuck out. Marie knew how to work wonders with at-risk children. She picked up the lone Sno Ball on the bed’s edge. “Here, it’s okay, you can have this.” He snatched it from her hand and took a large bite. She smiled. Her happiness made me smile, and my face flushed warm.

“It’s okay, little boy,” she said to me, “you can have your treats too. I have more. How are you feeling?”

“Alive again.”

“You were a walking zombie last night.”

“Where’d you go?” I asked.

“The room next door. I changed Drago’s bandage.”

I wish she hadn’t done that without me. The image of the zookeeper going into the lion’s cage without an assistant holding a bazooka leapt out at me. “How’s he doing?”