Stuff Dreams Are Made Of (8 page)

Somebody called from the dark. “Yo.”

Stan stood up and walked out onto the dark path. The game came to a halt and I could see James’s eyes darting around. He was on a roll. Don’t fuck with Mug? Heck, don’t fuck with James.

I struggled to see who the man was in the dim light. Taller than Stan, someone with a jacket on.

In a minute, Stan walked back to the table. “Men, the collection tonight was pretty good.”

James and I looked at each other, wondering how Stan knew.

“Share was a little up from last time.” He held a canvas bag in his right hand. “You see boys,” he looked hard and long at James and me, “for the full-timers among us, Cash shares the wealth. Like he says, if you give, the Lord will give back.”

The assembled, as one, murmured, “Amen.”

I knew who the visitor was. Thomas LeRoy.

James looked at the bag, then up at Stan. “How much?”

“Tonight? About $800 per man.”

“No shit?”

Stan stared down at James. “No shit.” He held James with his eyes, as if daring him to make another comment. Just a little tension, bubbling beneath the surface. Stan didn’t seem to like us too well.

“Bruce,” I looked at the donut man sitting next to James, “you never told us about this.”

“Are you ready to be full-time vendors?”

We spoke in unison. “No.”

“Then there was no reason for you to know.”

“Will somebody deal?” Obviously irritated, James had lost all patience.

Henry dealt the cards and James won the pot. Three more times. I know it sounds crazy, but we walked away from the table with $620 in cash and three free beers for each of us.

Stan stood up, stretched, and picked up the canvas bag of cash. “Gonna get some air.” He reached into the bag and pulled out prewrapped bundles of cash, handing them to the full-timers. No one bothered to count it. They just shoved the bundles into their pockets as if someone gave them $800 every day of their lives. Stan surveyed the assembly then pulled a silver-looking palm-sized item from his shirt pocket. He used his thumbs like he was text messaging, nodded, and put it back in his shirt. “Well,” he nodded to the guys, “right now I need to get rid of some of this beer.” He walked away from the group, heading up the path toward the row of portable johns.

The others stood, picking up chips and counting their remaining money from the poker table. Crayer, Dusty, Henry, Mug, and the guy who had been stone-cold silent both nights. I could barely make him out in the dim light.

Crayer tapped James on the shoulder. “Got kind of lucky tonight, didn’t you?”

“I’ve played a lot of poker. When I should have been working, when I should have been studying.” James smiled. “I hope it was more than just luck.”

“Yeah. Well, we’ll see how it goes tomorrow night, okay?”

“It’s a date.” It would have been like stopping a runaway train, trying to get James not to show up.

“We’ll see you guys tomorrow,” Mug mumbled.

Finally, James turned to me. “I’ll make up the other five hundred tomorrow night, pardner.”

“James, did you notice Stan, after he handed out the cash bonuses?”

“What about him?”

“He pulled out a pocket organizer and punched some stuff in.”

“Yeah? So what?”

“He and Thomas LeRoy. They really depend on those.”

“It’s like I told you, we’ve got to get us one of those.”

“I just thought it was a little strange that they both use the same —”

“Skip,” he jumped in, “I swear you are worrying this thing to death. Just drop it, man.”

I thought about the night. Maybe he was right. Maybe I was paranoid. I felt like we were surrounded by crooks, thieves, and murderers. And I was even wondering about the card game. All I had done was watch, but it just didn’t feel right. It was as if they were setting him up, hoping tomorrow he’d lay it all out. So they could take it all away. Because when James thought he was hot, no one could convince him he wasn’t.

“Okay, you’re right. I’ll get it under control. And by the way, quite a comeback, James.” I nodded. At that point, I didn’t want to burst his bubble. Tomorrow night would be a different story.

“I’m the comeback kid, Dude. Remember that.”

And in some ways, he really was.

We walked back up the muddy path, past the pasta wagon, Henry’s hot dog stand with the picture of a pooch in flames, the Freedom Fry cart, and other assorted grease traps.

“So all the poker players down there are full time except us?”

“There’s what? Six? Must be.” James still had the cash in his hand, rubbing his thumb over Franklin’s face.

“James, I’d put that money away. Somebody here is not above taking it away from you.”

“But there are people who are also giving it away. How about that cash bonus down at Stan’s?”

“Yeah. Cashdollar pays them back when the collection is good? What’s that all about.”

“Well, if you think about it,” James said, “he needs these vendors. Without us, he wouldn’t keep the flock. Knowing there’s food, a little community can stay here for three or four days.”

“Yeah. Just seems strange. I wonder how the congregation would feel if they knew that the money they gave to Cashdollar went out to the food vendors who are overcharging like hell for their product.”

“Take notes, amigo. Cashdollar is a smart cookie. He knows what he’s doing, and obviously he knows how to get loyalty.”

“Yeah. Buy it.” It took money to make money.

“Unusual group of guys.”

“You know the story on Mug? Three felonies. What do you think they were for?”

James thought for a moment. “Well, they weren’t for cheating at cards. I cleaned Mug out tonight.”

I heard the pops about halfway to our truck. Four of them. Pop, pop, pop, pop. It sounded to me like someone had set off some of those small firecrackers that you light on the Fourth of July.

“Skip, did you hear that? Like a banging?”

“Whatever. I heard it.”

Everything went quiet. We kept walking, finally making out the truck in the faint moonlight.

“Thank God we don’t work tomorrow.”

“Actually, James, this is more work than my day job.”

“Yeah, but if the weather holds tomorrow, think of the money we’ll make.”

He was right. If the sun shone, we would have lunch and dinner. Could be one heck of a day. And then I saw it, up ahead. My business partner was not going to be happy. “Oh, no. James, this is not good.”

“What’s the problem now, pardner?”

“You don’t even want to know.”

“It’s not …” He stood there with his mouth hanging open. I couldn’t even look back at the truck.

“Who the hell would do this?”

“Carneys?” I ventured.

“Who?”

“Never mind.”

“My God, Skip, do you know how much it’s going to cost to
get someone to come out and replace all of these?”

“I can guess. About six hundred dollars.”

James just kept shaking his head, staring at the four flat tires on our traveling kitchen.

Crayer showed up two minutes later, as if he knew. “Boys, I am sorry to see this, but you can’t go callin’ the cops.”

“No?” James was wired. He unlocked the padlock on the back of the truck, slid the big door up, and climbed in. He fired up the stove and began heating some coffee, something he seldom drank. A couple cups of strong black coffee along with the beers we’d had was exactly what we needed. We’d probably go out and kill someone.

“No.” The voice was forceful. “You’ve got to remember where you are. This is a spiritual revival meeting. Any sign of crime or interest by law enforcement would send the wrong signal to followers.”

James shook his head. “I thought they were
rubes
. Isn’t that what they were last night?” He spit sarcasm with every word. “I believe you called them rubes. Now, all of a sudden they’re
followers
? All of a sudden you become pious? You need to get your terms down, Bruce.”

Crayer gave him a hard look. “Look, boy, you don’t want to fuck up a good thing.” He shoved his right-hand index finger
into James’s chest. “I’ll get Stan to cover your tires. New tires, rookie. Got it? By tomorrow afternoon, you’ll be ready to roll, but don’t screw it up. No cops. Do you understand?”

James never backed down. He didn’t move an inch, which is surprising for James. And Crayer didn’t have a clue how much James distrusted cops. Four flat tires and the mention of cops is enough to send James over the edge.

“I’m not sure I do understand.” James was treading on thin ice. He usually backed off when the action got a little rough. But the truck was his dream, his way into the big time. And somebody had screwed around with his dream. “Shove me with that finger again, and I’ll break it. I’ll break your finger, understand?”

“I’m asking you, son. Leave it alone. Finish your shift here tomorrow and Sunday, then go back to your day jobs. No complaining about your truck here. I’m serious. Please. You’ll save yourself a lot of pain. Please. You don’t want to mess with what you don’t understand.” Crayer spun around and disappeared in the direction of Stan’s pizza wagon. We watched him, until he disappeared into the dark.

“Nice guy, that Bruce. Eh?”

“Skip?”

“Yeah, James.”

“Shut the fuck up.” He walked over and kicked one of the flattened tires as hard as he could. He let out a yelp and lifted his foot, massaging the toe of his shoe.

“So what do we do?”

“I want to flatten the tires on every single wagon on this path. That’s what I want to do. I want to run every one of these assholes out of here. Look at this, look what they’ve done. If I had a pop gun, I swear I’d shoot out every tire on this row of junk food peddlers.” He took the coffeepot and poured himself a cup in an old mug with a faded blue logo. Never even offered me one.

“James, Crayer said he’d get Stan to arrange for the tires.
Look at it this way. You get new tires. For free. Free, James. Brand new tires. Not too bad, huh?” I poured myself some coffee in a chinked-up faded red cup that we’d found in the apartment when we moved in.

“Well then, why didn’t we tell him about the theft? Why didn’t we tell him about somebody breaking into our cash box and taking the change plus tonight’s profits? Maybe they would have given us new money. Maybe fucking Stan would have given us our one thousand dollars for
free
.”

“James. Settle down. You accused me of being too uptight. Just look at you.”

He sat down on the edge of the now-lower truck bed. It was surprising how low to the ground the truck was. I thought about it for a second. It would be a lot easier to serve our food from this elevation. Even with the step-up, I was stretching way down when the tires were inflated.

“Skip, somebody’s trying to run us out. Why?”

“You’ve seen too many
Rear Windo
w movies, James.”

“Screw you. All right, maybe you were on to something. Okay? I’m sorry about accusing you of being a little conspiracy crazy.”

“You’re not sorry.” He wasn’t.

“Hey, I’m telling the truth. Even when I’m lying, I’m telling the truth.”

I knew the line. Al Pacino in
Scar Face
. James was going to be okay.

We lay down in our clothes, using some old towels under us, and our arms as pillows. The floor of that truck bed was harder than rock.

“Could have called a cab.” James shifted and I could feel a slight sway in the truck.

“Probably fifty bucks easy.”

“For the chance to sleep in our own beds? I could make that up in five minutes tomorrow at the poker game.”

I wanted to tell him. The game was fixed. But I figured he’d had enough anger in his system for the evening. I shifted. Sleeping on the ground might be more comfortable. Wet, but comfortable.

“Cashdollar isn’t sleeping in the back of a truck.” I closed my eyes and pictured that limo — number one — sliding by our truck on its way to wherever he lived.

“No. I read he owns a twenty-thousand-square-foot mansion, somewhere south of here.”

I’d read the same thing. And
People
or some other rag reported that his bedroom had a walk-in closet that dwarfed our apartment. Of course the magazine didn’t mention
our
apartment. I just superimposed our modest dwelling into his bedroom. And supposedly he owns like one hundred suits. I didn’t own one. Neither did James.

“Skip, we’ll have a good night tomorrow, and I’ve figured out how to beat these guys in poker.”

I could feel a little breeze blowing into the truck, and the smell of a small campfire drifted into our cramped quarters. “James, I don’t think we’re doing the poker thing tomorrow.”

“Yeah?”

“You heard Crayer. Just finish the shifts and get out of Dodge.”

“Skip?”

“Yeah.”

“What was that he said about ‘don’t mess with what you don’t understand?’”

“Yeah. That’s what I consider a threat.”

“But, dude. He said please.”

“Nice guy, that Bruce.”

“I’m serious. He said please. He was trying to be nice. But
he followed with something about saving ourselves a lot of pain.”

“Here’s what I really think, James. For some reason — either my questions or the fact that we’re not full time, or they don’t think we fit in with their country club set — one of these guys is messing with us. And they pushed it a little too far. Now, they just want to call off the dogs so we don’t call the cops. They’re going to make it all right tomorrow with new tires, we can stay through Sunday, and everything is all right. Just a fraternity hazing. Sort of. Nothing to worry about. Okay?”

“Just a fraternity hazing?” He grunted.

Somebody whistled as they walked up the muddy path. I looked at my watch in the pale moonlight. Eleven p.m.

James was quiet and I thought maybe he’d drifted off to sleep. Finally, “Is that really what you believe? Fraternity hazing?”

“No. That’s not what I believe.” And it wasn’t. I was pissed. “I don’t know, James. There’s obviously a body of politics here that we’re not part of.” I lay on the truck bed, acutely aware of the unevenness of the plywood floor. “Man, we should get some sleep.”