David Putnam - The Disposables

Tommy ate tacos until his stomach bulged round and hard. My appetite was suddenly gone.

Ramon patted Tommy’s head. “Where’s this niño’s shoes?”

“It’s a long story. I’m watching him for his mama who had to go out of town.” Tommy looked up at me at this news regarding his mama.

Ramon got down on one knee. “Chiquito hombre, how did you break your arm? Did you fall off a wild bucking bronco?”

Tommy looked away, hesitated, then looked right in Ramon’s eye. “I fell off the back porch while I was playing. My mama told me not to play there.” The coached lie hung heavy in the air.

The kid covered for his parents. The experts had ruled the break as a spiral fracture only accomplished by a child abuser who yanked and twisted at the same time.

“My mama really went out of town?”

I nodded, the lie stuck in my throat. Right now this was the only way for his own good. “Come on, kid, we have to roll.”

“Don’t forget the ice cream. You promised chocolate ice cream with hot fudge.”

Ramon chuckled. “Wait a minute.” He disappeared back in his office and rummaged around. He came back with a pair of shoes, stylish shoes still in the box, the kind with the skates in the heel. When Tommy saw them his eyes went round as saucers and his mouth into a little O.

“I hope these fit. I got them for my nephew, but never got around to giving them to him before his own grandmama beat me to it and bought a pair.”

Tommy grabbed the box and sat down on the floor. “They’ll fit. They’ll fit.” His pure delight warmed my heart.

I could see they were a little too big. I got down on the spotless floor to help him. I wadded up some of the tissue paper from in the box and put it in the toes. His legs wouldn’t stop moving as I tried to lace them up. I tied the last bow. He jumped up and skated around the small kitchen area. I held my breath. If he fell-

“We have to get going. Thanks, amigo. And don’t worry about that other thing with Robby. I already knew all about it. It’s no big deal, okay?”

“Sure, sure, Bruno. Don’t be a stranger.” He put his warm hand on my arm. The man was street-smart. He knew I was in way over my head. I’d put it out of my mind, tried not think about it until I got Tommy to Dad’s safe and sound. I had to focus on one thing. The alternative was far too ugly.

Tommy insisted that he walk and wouldn’t let me carry him. We took Long Beach down to Mr. Cho’s and went in. Cho stood behind the counter. He started yelling as soon as we came in. “Get out, get out. I call poleese.”

We ignored him and went to the chest freezer where he kept the ice cream and then over to the isle where he kept the jars of marshmallow and chocolate syrup. Mr. Cho followed along yelling. Tommy didn’t seem to mind. He must’ve grown accustomed to a similar environment.

“All they got is chocolate syrup and no hot fudge. Is chocolate syrup going to be good enough?” Tommy put his hand to his mouth and burped. The thought of more food took him to the edge. He nodded and skated away down the aisle.

“Where’s my last paycheck? You owe me for two weeks.”

“They say, you come back I call. Get out. Get out. I call right now.” He went to the phone on the counter and dialed.

“Okay, forget the check. I’m taking the ice cream instead.”

“Hello, poleese.” I snatched the phone from his hand and listened, heard the dial tone. He didn’t want any more trouble and tried to bluff. I yanked the phone from the wall. “Have a good life, Mr. Cho.”

Outside, I again averted my eyes from the spot where the kid had fallen, not wanting to see the dried blood if it was still there. I ran to catch up to Tommy who rolled off down the street riding on the heel skates.

I’d been wrong or right, really, the first time I assessed the situation. The surveillance had been for me, and the robbery was collateral damage. Robby had not been there by coincidence, his team was watching me. But then what about the murders with the gasoline? Was it just a cover? He hadn’t made it up. The murders were really happening. The story was all over the papers and TV news.

I caught up to Tommy and guided him around the corner. I’d been right about that night. My internal radar had been right-on after all. I didn’t feel any eyes on us now, but wasn’t going to take the chance. I used a preplanned escape route I’d set up far in advance. If they were watching, the plan would only work once. We went on down to Washington Avenue and turned west. Tommy’s stomach was full. He’d had a little nap and now he had some shoe skates. The ice cream made my hands ache from the cold and acted as a good prop. The bag of cash hung off my shoulder. I took Tommy by the shoulder and guided him down a long path to an old, tired manse. In its day, Lynwood was an upper-middle-class neighborhood, labeled The All American City. The south side had huge houses on big lots. Los Angeles, the city on the west border, put in vast blocks of public housing-Imperial Courts, Nickerson Gardens, and Jordan Downs. Crime raged in all the nearby cities: Compton, the gateway to Los Angeles, and Bell Gardens, and South Gate. Eventually, the good folks moved out and left the zoo to the animals. Some stayed and fought the good fight. This house was one of them.

I knocked on the solid oak door. Mr. Howard Marks, a wrinkled, white-haired old gentleman, who should’ve been long dead from old age, opened the door. The skin under his watery blue eyes sagged, displaying little pink half moons. His entire body shook from the effort to stay on his feet. He smiled, knew the reason for the preplanned visit, put a hand on my arm, and ushered us in. He closed the door. I took Tommy right through the house and out the back door into a huge one-acre lot overgrown with what had once been a world-class garden. I picked up Tommy because his skates wouldn’t roll on the dirt path with all the vines and overgrowth. We went right out into an alley where a car was parked. We got in and started up. Mr. Howard Marks was a friend of Marie’s. He agreed a long time ago to help out.

I drove down the alley, made a right, did a couple more counter moves, checked the mirrors for a tail. We were in the clear. I headed for Dad’s. I was late for the meeting with Robby. No way was I going to see him now. Fate had interceded and saved my ass.

This time Junior caught our scent and came up, his hind end waggled with his tail. Tommy clung to me tighter when he saw the dog and buried his head in my chest. “It’s okay, little guy, this is a nice dog. Here, look.”

Tommy would have none of it. He started to whimper.

It was still early. The interior lights lit up the house. The door was locked this time, like it was supposed to be. I knocked quietly. Nothing. On the other side came the noise from the Game Boy, a trade-off to keep the kids quiet inside the house where no one could see them. I knocked again, a little louder, and looked back over my shoulder. The backyard was long and deep with overgrown shrubs. No one could see. Dad opened the door with a big smile. I handed him the ice cream and chocolate syrup. I left the black gym bag with the money on the porch. The bag represented something corrupt and filthy, the idea of bringing it inside where the kids played would pollute their innocence.

Dad didn’t falter at the sight of another child, this one not in the plan. He smiled and rubbed Tommy’s head, didn’t ask any questions. His eyes smiled at me.

“I couldn’t walk away and leave him, not-”

“I didn’t say a word. Come on, let’s get some of this ice cream dished up, whatta ya say? “ With his free hand, he pried Tommy off my chest and took him over to the kitchen table and sat down. He was going to talk to Tommy a good long time, like he did with the others. When he finished talking, Tommy would call him Grandpa and feel like he’d known Dad all his life.