Magic Line (13 page)

ELEVEN

D
oris unlocked the door for Zeb, showed him where the ladder hung, and helped him bring it in from the shed. Her idea of help was telling him how to make every move – don't scrape any paint off the doorway, be careful of that lamp, make sure the legs are set level. If he ever got the ladder set up to her satisfaction he was supposed to change the bulbs in the living-room ceiling fixture, the first of the two odd jobs he'd agreed to.

He'd asked her, ‘How odd?'

‘That's just an expression.' She made a little shushing gesture with one hand. ‘All the jobs in this house are small and easy. Don't worry, you won't get a hernia.' Zeb thought she enjoyed the haggling as much as she liked getting the work done, maybe more. She was good at it, too; whenever he balked or stalled she uncorked one of those dirty digs that challenged his manhood, so he'd quit talking and just do the damn job.

The little screws that held the ceiling fixture in place gave him trouble, so his arms hurt again by the time he handed the glass globe down to her. There were three bulbs in the fixture, hung sideways against a metal plate. When she turned the wall switch, one came on. She started to debate with herself about the relative merits of getting her money's worth out of the third bulb versus changing them all at once so she wouldn't have to pay anybody to do this again for a while. When she started around the options for the second time, Zeb said, ‘And if I pass out from the heat up here and fall on you, then you won't need any more light bulbs ever in the history of the damn world – won't that be a saving?'

‘Mercy,' Doris said. ‘You certainly can get snappish about doing a little work.' But she went and got three light bulbs and handed them up. She was like his mother after all, he decided. Bully you till you rebelled, then act all soft and hurt so you could never win. He remembered his father saying, the day he walked out, ‘Women are never satisfied.'

‘How would you know?' his mother yelled after him. ‘You never tried to satisfy anybody but yourself.' Said it to his back as he was leaving, never even got up to watch him go.

‘Maybe you better have a little snack before you tackle the next job,' Doris said as he hung up the ladder. There was that much difference from his mother, anyway – she was a feeder. ‘I've got some frozen yogurt. You like raspberry swirl?'

Doris was just drinking tea, he noticed, when he was halfway through his treat. He asked her, ‘What, no dessert for you?'

‘I don't seem to have much of a sweet tooth any more.'

‘How come you keep it around then?'

She shrugged and said, ‘Valerie likes it.'

She likes the white powder more though, doesn't she?
He didn't say it out loud, wasn't going to do anything to put his ten dollars at risk. He already thought of the money as his; hadn't seen it yet but was somehow sure she would come up with it. It was a stupid piddling amount, but at least he'd be able to walk out on the street again, take a bus, see some people. Not Robin, he didn't need any more of
those
capers – but somebody who'd help him get his life started again. He just had to do one more chore for this prickly old lady, so she'd give him his money and he could boogie on.

She rinsed his bowl in the sink before she led him out to the shed again, where she lifted a tarp off a pile of stuff in a corner and showed him a wheel with a flat tire.

‘There's a station across the street from the bus stop,' she said.

‘The bus stop where I found you? Way down there?'

‘I thought I found you but yes, way down there two whole blocks. Are you listening? Go across the street and a block to the right—'

‘Oh, man, it's gonna be hard to roll a tire across that big, busy street.'

‘That's why God made stop lights. A block to the right there's a gas station, Eddy's Conoco. Roll it in there and they'll fix it for you.'

‘You mean for you. You gonna give me the money to pay for it?'

‘They'll put it on my tab.'

‘Come on. Gas stations don't run tabs.'

‘Eddy does, for me. I phoned him.' She looked at her watch. ‘If you'll quit arguing and go now you can be back by four and I'll make you some lemonade.'

The wheel almost got away from him once on the sloping sidewalk, but he knocked it down before it ran into the street. After that he knew to stay alongside it, not behind, so he made the bus stop OK. Getting across Valencia before the light changed was a real sweat, though, so he was fagged by the time he got to the station. But then, nice surprise, Eddy was friendly.

‘Helping out Doris, huh?' he said. ‘Good for you. She's a nice lady.'

You should try climbing a ladder for her sometime, Zeb thought. But he didn't say it; his ten dollars was getting closer every minute so he just smiled and Eddy showed him where the water fountain was on the side of the building.

Going back up the slope with a fully-inflated tire was much harder; the damn thing seemed to have gained a hundred pounds. Who knew air weighed so much? Or was it gravity? He was very glad to see the gate to her compound but then had a terrible two minutes after he turned in when he couldn't remember where her house was. Nothing looked familiar and he began to imagine himself walking around for hours pushing that freaking tire. He got a glimpse of his reflection in a window and saw he looked crazy – sweat-soaked T-shirt, frightened face – what if somebody called the cops? Cops in cars might still be looking for him.

Around another curve, though, he found himself looking at Doris' house. He made a sound that was humiliatingly close to a sob and knocked on the door.

‘Quarter past four,' Doris said. ‘Not bad, considering.'

‘Considering what?'

‘How hot it is, for one thing. And the fact that you're really in rotten shape. Don't you ever get any exercise? Let's put that wheel away and get you a cold drink.'

When he'd washed his hands and sat down in front of a tall, sweating glass of lemonade, she said, ‘I made a chocolate cake yesterday. Would you like a piece?' When he said yes she pulled a flat pan out of a cupboard and cut him a big square. Frosted.

He'd almost finished the cake and was well into his second glass of lemonade when she laid two five dollar bills by his glass. ‘Well, I think we did pretty well today,' she said, ‘all in all.'

‘You bet.' He put the money away quickly, afraid she might pull it back and offer another job. At the same time another part of him wanted to stay right here in this house, doing chores for Doris for maybe a month. The two minutes when he was lost in her driveway had shaken him back into the nightmare of Monday.

Doris was saying, ‘So, how would you like—' when there was a squeal of brakes just outside, a car door slammed, and the girl with all the hair, Valerie, flew in through Doris' front door. It seemed to be her standard way to enter a room, as if wolves were chasing her.

‘Hey, Gram, how would you like—' It was comical, the way she echoed her grandmother's words without knowing it. Doris grinned at her and Zeb felt himself doing the same thing.

She seemed to hate that, planted herself in a square stance and stared from one to the other, saying, ‘What's so damn funny?' Before anybody could answer she swung her too-bright gaze onto Zeb like a searchlight and said, ‘What's the story with you, Mr Eyebrow-ring? You're right where I saw you last. Is that all you do here, eat?'

‘No, we've been working all day,' Doris said. ‘Now we're having a snack. You want some cake and lemonade?'

‘Sure.' She plunked onto the farthest stool from his, staring at him like a treed cat. Doris trotted around, tinkling ice into a glass, slapping down a plateful of cake and coming back with a fork that went
clink!
onto the plate. Waiting on people made Doris happy, Zeb saw. Her face under the wild thatch of hair smoothed out and one side of her mouth was almost smiling.

‘You started to ask me something when you came in,' she said. ‘What was it, dear?'

‘Oh, I was wondering if you wanted to go see
The King's Speech
,' Valerie said. ‘We talked about it, remember? But of course we didn't know then,' her voice was heavy with sarcasm, ‘that this hero with all the tattoos was going to come along and turn into a house guest.'

‘Well, he hasn't done that,' Doris said, ‘but we are pretty busy here right now. Planning tomorrow's work,' she added, letting her eyes rest on Zeb for a few seconds. Zeb nodded and kept his mouth shut. ‘So I hope you'll give me a rain check on the movie, will you?'

Zeb wasn't sure what Doris had in mind. He was going along with her, though, because she was the one with the cake and lemonade. She seemed to want to both keep this troublesome girl nearby and fend her off. You can sure tell they're family, he thought. They've got all the tricks.

Valerie seemed to get whatever message Doris was sending. She said, ‘Fine,' bolted the last piece of cake, slammed down her fork, stood up, and drank the last of her lemonade standing. Fished through a drastically overloaded backpack till she found her keys, said, ‘See ya,' to her grandmother and sailed out the door without another glance at Zeb.

The silence she left behind her was like a hole in the room.

Finally Doris, with her face all puckered up again, began picking up dishes and stacking them in the dishwasher. The clock on the stove said quarter to five. Zeb walked over to his bedroll in the corner and picked it up. ‘Guess I better hit the road,' he said. Halfway to the door he turned and asked her, ‘Do you really have a job you want to get done tomorrow or was that just . . .'

‘Oh.' Doris came back gradually out of whatever cloud she was in.‘I was wondering if you could put the wheel back on my car and help me get it started.'

‘What's wrong with it? Besides the wheel.'

‘Um. Might be a wire loose on the battery.'

‘Well, I'm not a mechanic.'

‘I don't think it's anything complicated.'

‘I don't have any tools.'

‘I do. Do you always stand around and argue before you start anything? No wonder you're not getting any place.'

‘How do you know I'm not getting any place? You don't even know me.'

‘I found you this morning begging change at a bus stop, remember? So I kind of figure you haven't made a big mark in the world yet.'

‘Fine. Just forget it then.' He slung his bedroll on his back and walked to the door as he fastened the straps.

He was reaching for the door handle when she said, ‘I'll pay you twenty dollars if you'll get my car started tomorrow and help me run a couple of errands.'

‘Is it going to take all day? Twenty dollars isn't enough to . . .' He ran out of breath suddenly and stopped talking, wondering if he was having a heart attack. Staring at the panels in Doris' door, he realized what he wanted more than anything in the world was to spend tomorrow in the drab carport of this fading pink house, tinkering with Doris' car. It was safe here and the food was good.

To save face he asked her, ‘Does this offer include lunch?'

TWELVE

‘
I
missed out on everything that happened here yesterday,' Sarah said Wednesday morning. ‘Did what's-his-face from Oracle come in to see you, Oscar?' He was sitting in his work station, pressed and perfect as always, but he was staring at his PC with what looked like growing alarm.

He turned his face a reluctant three inches toward her, still looking at the screen. ‘Ed Benson,' he said. ‘Yes, he did.' He detached from the screen finally, blinked a couple of times and rearranged the crease in his pants. Sarah waited. After forty-five seconds she said, ‘Well, so, you took him to the impound yard?'

‘Yes.' He sounded as if he had something stuck in his throat.

‘Did he ID the van?'

‘Yes.'

‘And?'

‘He gave me the customer's phone number and they verified that he was in their house, cleaning the carpet, when the van was stolen.' He cleared his throat again before he said, ‘He about gagged when I told him he can't have it back right away.'

‘Yes. Rules of evidence are hard on working people.' Oscar seemed to be doing some gagging himself. ‘Are you sick?'

‘I just realized I must have made a mistake.' His throat closed up momentarily on the word ‘mistake.' He had stumbled badly on his first case after he joined the department, and ever since then he had been trying to turn in perfect days so Delaney would stop thinking about recommending he go back to auto theft. He was so conscientious and detail-oriented he made the rest of the squad look slapdash. They were all trying to help him lighten up a little.

He pointed at his screen and said, ‘Look here.'

Sarah looked at the report, where an unfinished sentence read, ‘Edward Benson states that he parked his van in front of a house near the corner of North Alvernon and Seneca Streets shortly after two p.m. By three, he was inside, cleaning the carpet, when he heard the engine start. He ran outside . . .'

‘OK, I'm looking,' Sarah said. ‘Where's the mistake?'

‘Barry White says he arrived at the crime scene at 4:32 p.m. Monday afternoon,' Oscar said.

‘So?'

‘So the corner of North Alvernon Street and Seneca Street is, what, about ten miles from the house on Spring Brook Drive?'

‘As the crow flies, maybe. To drive it, more like twelve. So . . . Oh.' She watched him fidget. ‘That does seem like kind of a stretch, doesn't it?'

‘To steal a carpet cleaner's van that you couldn't have known was going to be there, drive it twelve miles in Tucson traffic, assemble a crew and invade a stash house a little more than an hour later? Yes, I'd say that's a stretch.'

‘So call him back. You must have heard him wrong.'