The Bum's Rush (22 page)

The line was busy. I waited and dialed again. Still
busy. Third time was the charm. I punched the buttons and spoke into
the grimy mouthpiece. "It's Leo."

"Leo," George's voice rasped, "ya gotta get down here."

Through the smudged plastic of the booth, Rebecca appeared to be passing kidney stones. I gave her my best smile.

"It's not a good time, George."

"It's Selena," he whispered. "She come here to the Zoo. She needs to see ya bad."

"Okay." I sighed. "I'll " I slouched back into the
corner of the booth, rummaging around for what I was going to tell
Rebecca. No need. She must have read my mind. She was all the way out
of the Fiat, running in that highknees style of hers, pointing at me, a
round mouth shouting my name. Prison-break lights swept across the
apartment building behind her. I turned toward the source of the lights.

The gray-primered van, its left front grillwork
smashed and swinging below the bumper, bolted down the sidewalk at me
like a headlong drunk. Its dual antennas wildly whipped side to side as
it careened directly at the booth, right wheel on the sidewalk, left
wheel in the parking lot, straddling what was soon to be two levels,
the single headlight beginning to move above the body as the left wheel
rose dramatically. Too late to get the right wheels up, the driver jerked it right, pulling the left wheels
down from the shelf, bouncing hard. Fishtailing wildly, the rear panel
of the van sideswiped the booth on its way down. I had the door handle
in one hand and the receiver in the other when the booth snapped loose
and began U.S. West's first pathetic attempt at manned flight. I
could tell right away that the booth was short on lift.

I'd like to say that the world suddenly went into
slow motion, that the impact of the van tore the breath from my body,
leaving me gasping at the horrid hissing sound the booth made as it
slid along Summit Avenue and bounced to a rough stop against the far
curb. I'd like to tell you all that, but it wouldn't be true.

Truth be told, the whole thing was over before my
tiny brain showed even the slightest glimmer of recognition of the
extreme seriousness of my circumstances. Next thing I knew, I was lying
facedown in the street with a half inch of scuffed plastic between my
drooling lips and the pitted pavement, the inside door handle causing
me a type of profound discomfort that can generally only be reproduced
by urologists and certain Argentinean sadists. The phone seemed to be
ringing.

Someone was yelling at my shoes. "Leo! Leo, can you hear me?"

"Arrrgh," I said.

"Don't move," the shoe screamer shrieked. "You're
lying on the door; I'll pull you out from the bottom." Strong hands
encircled my ankles. I can't be sure. I may have whimpered. Wedging my
hands along the sides, I levered myself off the handle and rolled a
quarter turn to the left, thus making my weight easier to pull and
retaining my future propagation possibilities.

The aluminum bottom molding clipped my chin, gnashing my teeth together as I slid into the street. My
toes hit the pavement. I rolled over on my own. Rebecca stood, brushing
off her hands, looking down at me.

"Holy shit," I said.

She knelt by my side, looking hard into my eyes.
"Lie still," she whispered, putting a hand on each side of my head.
"Lift your head." *'"

I lifted my head.

"Can you put your hands together?" I nearly missed, grabbing my left thumb with my right hand.

"Wiggle your toes." I did.

She stood back up. "Holy shit is right," she said with a sigh.

I sat up and extended my arms. Rebecca reached down
and pulled me up to one knee. I looked around, expecting to see the
sidewalks filled with gawking onlookers. Nothing. Not a soul.

"Let's get the hell out of here," I said, rising, unsteady.

"You mean flee the scene?"

"A lot like that, yeah," I said.

"What about the cops?"

"Did you get a license number?"

"No. It all happened so "

"You were there for the whole schmeer with Tommy's
car. What do you think? You got a couple of hours you want to donate to
that kind of crap tonight?"

She checked the street in all directions. Checked the apartment windows. The street again. A careful woman.

"I can't believe nobody's come out to see what happened," she groused. "In my neighborhood "

"It's Capitol Hill," I said. "You could cut the seat out of your pants and not attract attention up here."

She pointed at the booth. "It's right here in the street somebody might--an accident."

"More likely, in this neighborhood, somebody will move into it."

The phone began to ring again. I looked down stupidly at the booth.

"It's your pager, Leo," she said impatiently. I smiled a thanks and tried to push the button. My hand didn't work.

"Maybe you ought to leave that here," she droned.

Six inches of cord dangled from the receiver locked
in my right hand. I willed my fingers open. The receiver clattered on
the pavement as I pushed the little red button. The Zoo. George again.

"I'm driving," she said. "Where to?"

"The Zoo."

George and Selena sat at the far end of the bar, an
empty stool between them, half-finished beers and empty shot glasses
arranged in front of them like the pieces of some alcoholic board game.
The usual collection of eight or ten neighborhood stiffs lined the
walls. Three couples were trading off playing pool at the extreme rear
table, while a pair of aging bikers, in black leather vests and pants,
their long hair and beards streaked with gray, tried to work their
fading outlaw magic on a couple of secretaries barely old enough to be
their daughters. Like the secretaries, I had my doubts.

Rebecca and I were nearly at her left shoulder
before she noticed we were there. By that time, George had already slid
off his stool and stepped back from the bar.

"Oh. Rebecca ... ah ... Miss Duvall," he stammered. "Nice surprise. I didn't know ... What can I get for you?"

"Hello, George," she said, holding out her hand.
George polished his hand on his pants, checked it twice, and then
offered it up.

Duvall said, "I'm fine, but you better get a double something or other for Leo. He's had a real hard day."

George blinked and focused in on me. "She's right,
Leo," he said after a minute. "You look like sh--" He caught himself.
"Sorry." He nodded to Rebecca. "You don't look so good, is what I mean."

As George raised his hand to order me a drink,
Selena started for me, her bleary eyes ablaze. "You dumb son of a
bitch," she slurred, loud enough to stop the bar. "You got any idea
what the fuck you been doing? What the hell is the matter with you,
anyway?"

She came around George in a staggering lope, her
right fist cocked and doubled. Before my battered nervous system could
react, Rebecca stepped between us. "Smacking Leo doesn't work," she
said pleasantly. "Believe me. I've been hitting him for years. He's way
too hardheaded."

Selena stopped in her tracks and waited for her
vision to catch up with the movement of her neck. "Who in hell are
you?" she demanded. "Rebecca Duvall."

Selena looked from Rebecca to me and back. "You with old bird dog here?" she asked.

Rebecca turned her gaze toward me. "Funny, we were just discussing that. But, yes, I am."

"Selena's my name," she said. "Selena Dunlap." She
made a small, crude bow. "I sure hope you don't mind if I knock this
stupid son of a bitch silly. After that, you can have what's left of
the carcass."

"That's already been done this evening." Duvall shrugged. "What?"

Rebecca related the fascinating fable of the flying phone booth.

"This ain't the first time, you say?" George asked.
"He tried to get me a couple of days ago," I said. "I'd like to buy the
son of a bitch some goddamn driving lessons, is what I'd like to do,"
Selena offered.

"Perhaps I'll pitch in," said Duvall without a smile.

"You are lookin' a bit ragged, Leo," George said, handing me a double of something brown.

"What seems to be the problem?" I said to Selena.

"Problem?" she bellowed. "The goddamn problem is
that 'cause of your big, dumb, stupid ass, there's people out there
lookin' for me. Bustin' heads and looking for me. They busted old
Rodney's nose. Spread that sucker all over his face. That sucker heals,
they ain't gonna be no space 'tween nose and ears. One just gonna flow
into the other." She spread her arms in an expansive gesture. "Stomped
on his only glasses, too. Hit Hot Shot Scott so hard he talks funny.
Sounds like some goddamn fag from up the hill."

She started for me again. Rebecca put an arm on her
shoulder. The two women sized each other up. Whatever advantages in
experience and general hardness Selena might have had were more than
outweighed by Rebecca's three inches and thirty pounds. Besides that, I
could tell that Selena was unaccustomed to dealing with women who were
even larger than she was. Her usual unbridled courage was waning.

"He deserves it," Selena said.

"I don't doubt it," Duvall said sincerely.

"You don't understand," she said, stomping in a
small circle. "I lost my roof. They went down there and busted the
place up. You know how long I was on that damn list. I waited nine
months. Nine egg-suckin' months till somebody give the mission a bunch
of new mattresses so there'd be room for more folks to sleep. Now " She
waved her long arms. "They gonna gimme the minute I show up down there.
My ass is back on the street." She waved a finger at me. "I told you to
cut it the hell out."

She was stomping again. "But noooo, you just
couldn't let that goddamn thing go, could ya, Lucky dog? Just couldn't
keep from pokin' your nose up just one more porkypine's ass."

"It's in my blood," I said. "Once I start on something, I've just gotta see it to the end. I've always been that way."

Duvall confirmed. "Thick as a brick. He'll stay at it until he bleeds."

Selena leaned back against the bar. "That's it. That's exactly what you do-gooders never understand." "What's that?" I said.

"Blood gets spilled, all right. No doubt about
that. Surely blood gets spilled." She paused. "And ain't none of it
ever theirs. Not ever. Not once. It's always us that does all the
bleeding."

I didn't realize that the bar had gone silent until someone behind me with a gruff voice said, "Goddamn right."

"I watched friends go into the ground this winter,
Mr. Busybody. You know that? Froze to death, and nobody give a shit.
Watched the backhoe push mud into the holes after 'em. Where in hell
was any of you do-gooders then? You tell me, huh, where?"

"Fuckin' A," somebody rumbled. She collected her
thoughts. "Met a guy on a train once who put it this way. I ain't never
forgotten it. He said that the difference is in the difference between
livin' in the moment and livin' for the moment. He said Mr. and Mrs.
John Q Public, they live in the moment. Like they just visit the here
and now, 'cause they're always really looking toward the future. It's
like they live their whole lives for the future. They keep their noses
down and get it done, so they can get them a motor home and then tool
all over the country with those cutesy little signs plastered all over
the damn thing. You know, like 'Grandma and Grandpa's Playhouse,' that sort of shit."

I tried to lighten the moment. "I have days lately when that sounds pretty good to me," I said.

No go. From somewhere in the bar came, "Let her talk, dammit."

Selena accepted the appointment. "People like me,
now, we live for the moment. I don't have no needs or concerns that get
much past right now. This is the whole damn shootin' match. I'll worry
about breakfast when it goddamn well gets to be breakfast time." She
looked at me hard. "That's what I tried to tell you the other day.
Right now is all I got. You wanna help somebody like me, you give me
your money. That's all. Just slip me your cash. Or maybe give the
mission some dough for more mattresses, so's I can sleep inside. I need
religion or a jobs program, I'll let your ass know."

A gentle ripple of applause spread to the walls.
Sensing that the mob was with her, she raised her voice an entire
octave. "So what the hell am I gonna do now, Mr. Detective? You wanna
tell me that, huh? Now that you fucked up my whole gig, what am I gonna
do? They gonna find me froze up like some TV dinner or what?"

I longed for the feel of a holster.

"Well?" a shrill voice rose from my left.

I took a long pull on my drink. Bourbon. The good stuff. Heady and tasting of wood. My mind was a complete blank.

Rebecca said, "For this evening at least, Selena, I
think the least I can do is offer you a place to stay until you can
find something more perma to your liking," she amended. "I've got this
huge house. Lots of room. What do you say? You can hang around until Leo gets this thing sorted out."

"You got your own place?"

"Yep."

Selena threw a glance my way. "You don't bunk with Fido here?"

"Certainly not," Rebecca said seriously. "He snores
and picks at his feet. I live with my mother, who happens to be out of
town for a couple of weeks."

Selena turned back my way. "Now that you got the
cat out of the bag, how you gonna get it stuffed back in? Ya wanna tell
me that, Mr. Busybody? I gotta life to lead, ya know."

"It's not going back in," I said. "This can of
worms is open, and it's gonna stay that way until we get some answers.
I probably best find out who's trying to run me over. That's probably a
real good place to start. Chances are it's the same people who are out
looking for you."

"He is a clever one, isn't he? Not much gets by old
Leo," Duvall assured Dunlap. They shared a short laugh. "Leo will get
it sorted out. Whatever his other failings, he's good at what he does.
It's that thing in his blood."