The Fourth Stall Part III (5 page)

V
ince called me around four o'clock that Thursday. This wasn't too unusual, as we talked to each other or hung out pretty much every single day. But I could tell right away that something was different about this call.

“What's up? Did you call to try pointlessly to challenge my vast Cubs knowledge?” I said.

“Mac! You gotta get over here!”

“What? Why?”

“You're never going to guess what happened. . . . This is bad, this is so bad,” he said.

“Hey, it can't be worse than the way the Cubs season has gone. I mean . . .”

“Mac, listen to me!” he yelled. “That's nothing compared to this. Now get over here. You're never going to believe this unless you see it.”

Then I heard a deep voice in the background say something and laugh. Then I heard what sounded like a small scuffle, and Vince said something I couldn't make out, but I could tell that he was even angrier and more upset than he had been just seconds before.

“I gotta go, so get over here,” Vince said, and then the line went dead.

I was still grounded from my bike technically, but I took it anyway. I didn't think I could survive the length of time it would take me to walk to Vince's. I had no idea if he was in trouble, what kind of danger he might be in, what was waiting for me when I'd get there. But the one thing I knew was that I was going to get there as soon as I could.

My parents had stashed my bike on some shelving that ran across the rafters of the garage. It was a place they thought I couldn't get to, but they were wrong. I climbed up using my dad's workbench as a ladder. Then I crawled over to where my bike was and slowly lowered it as close to the ground as possible.

It was still a pretty good drop, but I had no other choice, and I let go of the bike. It clattered to the garage floor loudly but landed in one piece. Then I set off for Vince's.

Everything looked okay from the outside of his place. I mean, his trailer wasn't engulfed in flames or anything. The lights were on; everything was relatively quiet aside from the sound of cars driving on nearby roads and kids playing in the trailer park playground behind Vince's mobile home.

I knocked, and Vince answered a split second later.

“What's going on?” I demanded.

“Come on,” Vince said, motioning for me to follow him to his room. “You'll need to see for yourself.”

Vince didn't have a gaping head wound or broken bones poking through skin or anything. So I followed him back to his bedroom, a place where I'd spent many hours hanging out, playing video games, watching the Cubs, and even having an epic fight or two.

That's when I saw him.

“Hey, the other one! Perfect!” Staples jumped up from Vince's desk chair and punched my arm playfully.

By “playfully,” I mean it felt like someone had just taken a sledgehammer to my bicep. I grabbed my arm and tried to laugh off the punch, but it was hard even to stay upright, it hurt so much. I saw Vince tenderly holding his own arm, and I kind of wondered how many “playful” punches he'd gotten already.

Staples was still dressed well, like he had been when he visited me a few weeks earlier. Except this time, there was that glint of sadistic glee in his eyes that I kind of had never wanted to see again.

“How's it going,
Christian
?” Staples asked, and then laughed.

What exactly was going on here? I knew Vince's mom would be getting home from work any minute. Surely she'd put an end to whatever sort of sick torture Staples had in mind for us. I looked at Vince to ask what Staples was doing here. At first he just squirmed uncomfortably. Finally, he spoke.

“He's my new big brother,” Vince said.

“What?” I shouted. “I thought his dad got sent away or is in jail or something! Plus, how could your mom possibly be into that guy? No offense, Staples.”

Staples didn't seem offended. He just kept grinning at me.

“No, not like my real big brother. He's my
Big Brother
, through that program for kids with no dads. My mom thought that that whole thing with us getting caught last year with our business and all the bad stuff we did was because I don't have a ‘positive male role model' or whatever. So she signed me up!”

“We're all going to be good buddies now!” Staples said with delight. Clearly he still loved making me uncomfortable.

“Why are you in the program?” I asked him. “And why would they take you?”

“Hey, now,” Staples said. “Let's try not to insult me too much, Mac, right? Anyway, it's like I told you a few weeks ago. I'm trying to get custody of my sister. Participating in the Big Brother program is one of the best ways to score points with the courts. And they took me because, technically, my whole criminal record was wiped clean when I turned eighteen. That and I think they're kind of desperate for volunteers, especially in this neighborhood.”

He had a point: there wasn't exactly an abundance of model fathers in this part of town.

“Makes sense, I guess,” I said.

“Yeah, it does.”

Staples doled out another round of arm punches for Vince and me. Getting hit in that exact same spot hurt so much, I thought I would go blind in one eye.

“So you're just going to be hanging around us a lot more, then, is that it?” I asked.

“That's right. I've got this so-many-hours-per-week schedule that I have to fulfill. Man, what a lucky draw for me to get Vince,” Staples said, leaning against Vince's bedpost. “Right? In all seriousness, I think I might have a thing or two to teach you guys.”

Vince and I looked at each other awkwardly. I had a lot I wanted to talk to him about, but it was weird to discuss anything with Staples standing right there.

“So are you two still retired, then?” Staples asked.

“Sort of,” I said. We proceeded to explain to Staples the deal we'd made a few weeks ago with Jimmy Two-Tone.

“Let me tell you something, Mac,” Staples said after thinking it over for a minute. “You can't ever truly get out. Didn't you know that when you started this business? Once you choose this life, you're in it forever, or at least until you're dead. I'm sure this seems like the perfect setup right now, but don't forget, there's a business at your school, and in the end, it's all going to be tied to you. Getting out means cutting all ties completely, even leaving a part of yourself behind. There's no such thing as halfway out in this business. Believe me, I know.”

His words carried an ominous and dark weight to them, like thick, heavy rain clouds ready to dump tons of water onto an unsuspecting town. But at the time, with things going so well, they weren't what I wanted to hear.

“Look, Staples,” I said. “Things have changed a bit since the last time you were in business. We've got this under control. In fact, if you still need help help getting your sister back, you might consider paying Jimmy a visit.”

Staples shook his head.

“No, I've changed my mind since I last talked to you. To accomplish anything meaningful it needs to be on the level. I need to do this the right way for once. I just can't risk losing my sister again. Getting her back and taking care of her is all I've got left, and the last thing I want to do is blow it by getting involved in some two-bit middle school crime ring.”

I had never heard Staples be so serious about anything. Still, I didn't buy it. He had to have an angle he was playing. People like Staples don't just change that drastically overnight. The question was what exactly did he have up his sleeve?

“Hey, it's like my grandma sometimes says,” said Vince, finally chiming in. “‘If it ain't on the level, then you'd better hope that the penguin starts puking up strawberry-banana gravy.'”

I'd never heard that one before, and so in spite of the tense mood I couldn't help but laugh. Then Vince laughed, too, and I swore I even saw Staples crack a smile as he pulled his phone out of his pocket and started typing on it.

“All right,” I said. “I better go home before my parents notice that my bike is gone. If they haven't already.”

“How about the ultimate question before you go?” Vince said.

“Yeah, if by ‘ultimate,' you mean ‘insanely easy,'” I said.

“Cubs pitching great Charlie Root supposedly once said, ‘I gave my life to baseball, and I'll only be remembered for something that never happened.' What was he referring to?”

I froze. I couldn't believe it, but he actually had me. I opened and closed my mouth a few times somehow hoping the right answer would just come out on its own. I mean, I was vaguely familiar with the name Charlie Root because I knew he was up there with Mordecai Brown among Cubs pitching records, but he never got the same recognition as old Three-Finger Brown. I felt like the answer should have been obvious and that I'd be kicking myself once I found out what it was. I was just about to offer up a random guess and accept my defeat when Staples spoke.

“He was the pitcher during Babe Ruth's called shot at Wrigley in game three of the 1932 World Series,” he said.

Vince and I both turned and stared at him in shock.

“What? I'm a Yankees fan, remember? By the way, who, ah, won that World Series again?” he taunted.

Obviously the Yankees had won. Neither Vince nor I gave in to his goading with a response. Vince was probably upset that Staples had bailed me out, but at the time, I think he was more in awe of his baseball knowledge than anything else.

“You're right,” he finally said. “But to be fair Ruth never actually called the shot; everybody knows that's an old baseball legend. It's like Charlie Root also said later, ‘Ruth did not point at the fence before he swung. If he had made a gesture like that, well, anybody who knows me knows that I would have put one in his ear and knocked him on his ass.'”

“Yeah, you would say that, sore loser. You Cubs fans are all the same. You just whine about everything and make excuses and always blame everything bad that happens to the Cubs on everybody else but the Cubs. Whether he pointed or not, no one can deny he hit a home run or that Gehrig hit one right after that and the Yankees went on to win the Series that year. Right?”

Staples shrugged an empty and insincere apology of sorts and went back to typing on his phone.

Man, who ever would have guessed that I'd be pulled out of the clutches of Cubs trivia defeat by Staples? Or that for the first time in my life I'd be happy to be in the same room as him, even if it was for only a few seconds?

H
aving Staples around as a third wheel for the next several days was complicated, and by that I mean it was terrifying, nerve-racking, difficult, painful (my arm felt like it could fall off at any moment), surreal, and—okay, I kind of admit it—at times even kind of cool. I know that sounds crazy, but being seen out in public acting like we were friends with a legend, an eighteen-year-old legend at that
and
one who attracted attention from lots of cute older girls, was pretty awesome. I can't lie about that part of it.

Plus, he was pretty funny once you got past all the arm-punching and how much he made fun of Vince and me for pretty much everything we did or wore or said. And he was sort of like the sadistic version of Vince's grandma in that he kept giving us advice on business, girls, life, all that stuff. Except instead of giving crazy and illogical advice like Vince's grandma, Staples's was actually helpful. Even if it was sometimes a little demented.

Some of the things he'd said to us over the past few weeks included such treasures as:

“You're only as tough as your actions show you are. That means you won't intimidate anyone if all you do is talk tough. People will see right through that. You need to bust some heads. That's what will get you respect. A great man once said, ‘Speak softly and carry a big stick.' Which is great, even if my advice would instead be ‘Speak loudly and carry a big stick.'”

“If you get into a fight and you're both still standing at the end, then you're both losers.”

“Despite what people say, money
can
buy you happiness. Like, I'm not talking about eternal happiness or anything, but more on a day-to-day moment-by-moment basis. Let's say right now I was to give you two hundred dollars with absolutely no strings attached. Well then, would you or would you not be happier than you had been just moments before? And that extra happiness would probably last you a good day or maybe even two. See, it's simple logic: money can buy happiness even if it's only temporary. Besides, isn't all happiness temporary by definition?”

“Stealing stuff is easy. It's knowing what is actually worth the risk of stealing that's difficult.”

“Girls love to talk about themselves. If you like a girl, just ask her lots of questions about herself, you'll get a date in no time.”

“Never hesitate in anything you do, ever. That's like a cardinal rule for all life on earth. In a duel between two sharks, two tigers, whatever, whichever side hesitates when the time to attack comes will end up dead.”

“Don't trust anybody completely. Ever.”

“If you ever see a clown somewhere other than at a circus, rodeo, or party, then either run away or kill it immediately.”

“Keep a roll of quarters gripped tightly in each hand if you ever get into a fist-fight. Trust me, they will help.”

Anyways, the Saturday after he first showed up in Vince's trailer, Staples wanted to take Vince and me to the go-kart track as a part of his Big Brother thing. At first, I didn't want to go, but I couldn't just bail on Vince like that.

I was technically grounded, of course, but when I explained the Big Brother situation to my mom and about how Vince wanted me with since it was awkward to hang out with Staples on his own, she understood and let me go.

When Staples showed up to get me with Vince already riding shotgun, I felt kind of dumb for being such a wuss about the whole thing. For one thing Staples apparently didn't have that old red muscle car with racing stripes anymore. He showed up in a regular-looking, blue Toyota sedan. Also, he and Vince were actually laughing about something when they pulled into my driveway, as if they were actually having a good time. Go figure.

I got in the backseat behind Vince.

“I need to make a stop before we go to the tracks,” Staples said as he backed out of my driveway.

Vince turned and glanced at me, indicating that he had no idea what was up. I shifted in my seat. I saw Staples glance at me through the rearview mirror.

“Don't worry. We're not going to a drug deal or anything. I just want to stop by and see my sister for a few minutes. Her foster parents don't like me very much, so I can only see her briefly and when she's not home.”

“I thought you were doing everything on the level,” I said. “Sneaking around her foster parents for covert meetings doesn't exactly sound aboveboard.”

“Hey, I just said they don't like me. It's not illegal for me to hang out with my sister for a little bit if I want. I just do it when they're not around because there's no point in me causing any unnecessary trouble right now.”

“How often do you visit?” Vince asked.

“I don't know. As much as I can, I guess. Maybe a couple of times a month. I'm just . . . I'm trying to not overdo it until I work everything out with the courts as far as me getting custody.”

“So, why did you trade in the sports car for this thing?” I said, trying to change the subject.

“It's a Toyota, Mac. There are billions of them. Look,” Staples pointed out the window at another blue Toyota parked on the street. “Same car. I figured it would look better for me to drive an ‘everyman' car instead of my dad's old attention-getter. You know that flashy sports cars get pulled over by cops way more than regular cars, right? Statistically. Plus, insurance on that thing was insanely expensive. So, once I lost my business . . .”

He trailed off, but shot me a pretty nasty glance through the rearview mirror. I sometimes forgot what the consequences were of me taking down his business.

An awkward silence followed as we headed out of town and in the direction of Thief Valley, a smaller town that was just about fifteen miles away. Then out of nowhere Staples started talking again.

“My sister's so freaking smart,” he said. “Smarter than me. And you guys look like morons compared to her, no offense.”

“Uh, none taken?” I said.

I realized that I'd never heard Staples talk this way before. Every time he talked about his sister, all traces of his sarcasm were gone. Instead he looked . . . I don't know, like a little kid thinking about his first trip to Disneyland or something. It was weird and it kind of made me uncomfortable for some reason.

“I mean,” Staples continued, “if it weren't for her, I probably would be in prison or worse. But she needs me. I'd give anything to be able to hold her hand again the way I used to when I walked her to the playground when she was in kindergarten.”

He moved a hand from the steering wheel to his face.

Before I could stop myself, I asked, “Are you crying?”

“So what if I am?” Staples said. Then he reached back and slugged me right above my knee. I grabbed my leg and winced and rocked back in my seat. It felt like I'd just got run over by a freight train loaded to capacity with African elephants.

Staples reached over and got Vince on the arm, too, for good measure, I guessed. We didn't say anything for the last several minutes of the drive. It was safer that way.

We finally pulled up in front of Thief Valley Elementary. It was a Saturday, but apparently a lot of kids rode their bikes to the playground on Saturdays. That's sort of how things worked in smaller towns, you made do with what you had. And in towns like Thief Valley, the schoolyard playground was likely the most fun place to hang out in grade school, even on weekends. There were twenty or so kids playing on the swings and monkey bars and the rest of the stuff. And there was even a small game of football going on behind the playground. Staples parked on the street right by the playground.

“Let's go,” he said.

“Us, too?” I said.

“Yeah, why not? Come on.” He swung the door open and got out of the car.

Vince looked at me and shrugged before removing his seat belt and opening his door. I followed him, and we jogged to catch up with Staples as he walked toward the playground.

None of the kids was breaking away and running toward us, and I wondered what was going on. Finally, one girl who had been talking to some other kids behind the slide broke away and started walking toward us.

I barely recognized her from the picture I'd seen in Staples's office when we'd raided it last year. She was a lot older than in the picture. She was now in maybe third or fourth grade, and her hair was different.

“What are you doing here?” she said, stopping at the edge of the playground.

“Is it a crime that I want to say hi to my little sister?”

“Probably,” she said. “Everything you do is a crime of some sort.”

“Ooh, ouch,” Staples said playfully, but I could tell he was hurt by the comment.

Vince and I exchanged looks. Staples's sister apparently wasn't quite as thrilled as he was about the idea of him getting custody. I wondered if she even knew at all that he was trying to.

“Anyway,” Staples said, “these are Mac and Vince. They're my new pals. Mac, Vince: my sister, Abby.”

Abby eyed Vince and me up and down, clearly not impressed.

“Why are they so young?” she said, even though we were at least several years older than she was. “Picking on kids your own age got too boring?”

Staples sighed and took a knee so he was closer to eye level with her. “Listen, I don't want to fight. I just came here to say hi. Mac and Vince and I are going to race go-karts, and I figured if you wanted to come—”

“Why would I want to do that? Besides, David and Linda would never let me.”

I guessed that David and Linda were her foster parents. The whole thing was getting uncomfortable, and I glanced up at some of the other kids on the playground. This monster of a kid was terrorizing two other kids by the swings. From his face he looked no older than fifth grade, but the rest of him . . . Well, he was like an industrial barge with skin, limbs, and a face. Or a woolly mammoth. He was holding one of the kids upside down by his ankle, and he had the other one pinned to the ground under his foot. It was horrifying. I looked at Vince and caught his attention, then nodded toward where the beast was flinging around little kids like he was fluffing pillows.

I made a move toward them. There was no way I could stand there and let that happen. But Abby held out her arm and stopped me.

“You don't want to do that,” she said.

“But—” I started.

“Trust me. You shouldn't get involved with him. He's pretty powerful and stuff. It's best just to stay out of it. Those two kids will be okay. Besides, they kind of started it.”

I wasn't so sure, but I nodded and stepped back. Mostly because, in all honesty, I really didn't want any part of getting into an altercation with a fourteen-foot-tall grizzly bear posing as a grade-school kid.

“David and Linda,” Staples said, and then shook his head.

“They're not
that
bad,” Abby said.

I'd been interviewing and reading people long enough to know how empty her words were. It was as easy to read on her face as if she'd written it right across her forehead: they were that bad.

“You sure you don't want to come?” Staples asked.

“Definitely
not
with you.”

“I'm going to make everything up to you,” Staples said, getting back to his feet. “I promise.”

“Yeah, just like Dad said he would, too. Right. Besides, I don't need you to. In case you haven't noticed, I can take care of myself just fine.” Abby backed away a few steps and then turned and ran back to her group of friends behind the slide.

Vince and I looked at each other uncomfortably. Were we, like, supposed to say something to Staples? Should I pat him on the shoulder? Of course the answer was no. That'd be like poking an already angry tiger in the ribs.

“All right, guys, let's go,” Staples said, and then started trudging back to the car.