Street Raised Page 3

  The sky had been lightening for a while and now; from behind the far berm of the truck stop, the rays of the rising sun rose to pierce the dawn sky like golden spokes. The parking lot lights snapped audibly off in the truck-stop lot on the other side of the berm, and the bunnies all hippity-hopped to whatever underground burrows they called home.

  Speedy took advantage of the sunken truck stop’s relative dimness and gloom to rise from his resting place and slink down the inner face of the berm to its bottom. He straightened his disheveled clothing and scoped things out as he started across the lot.

  His first impression: a lot of traffic to hide in, which was always a good thing. Trucks were grumbling and mumbling as they downshifted into or up-shifted out of the lot through the entrance. Parked trucks were bleeding their air brakes with alligator hisses. Other trucks were gunning their engines as they headed out on their trips; diesel smog belched from their twin exhausts as they accelerated from their parking slots.

  The rigs were grouped in a rough semblance of order, in uneven concentric circles surrounding the truck-stop terminal building. Speedy couldn’t figure out if there was some kind of pecking order involved or if it was first-come-first-served. It was bedlam, a kind of organized chaos.

  Pedestrians did not have the right-of-way here; this was Truck Land. Speedy had to dart or hop out of the path of a rolling semi more than once as he wound his way through the parked or moving big rigs. He was heading to where he figured the real action was: the wide single-story building dominating the center of the lot.

  As he approached the terminal Speedy could see it more clearly. The building had definitely seen better days, appearing to have originally been painted a cheerful sky blue. But after decades worth of diesel soot, and given all the dead neon currently crawling across its surface, it was difficult to be sure exactly what color the walls were now.

  A neutral zone seemed to exist around the terminal for a radius of maybe twenty-five yards; no trucks parked or drove within that limit. That was just about optimum pistol range, whether coincidence or not.

  People were milling about the double-door entrance as he strolled up. The sign by the entrance read: ‘We Never Close.’ Truckers of all shapes and sizes were coming and going, but lots of ‘civilians’ were lurking about too; people Speedy had a hard time imagining behind the wheel of a semi.

  He relaxed a little at seeing fellow outlaws. Maybe this was the year of Orwell, but here was one more confirmation that too many black holes and under-the-radar spots still existed in this world for Big Brother to ever succeed in holding full sway. These sketchy people’s presence meant that there was advantage to be sought and won here on a survival level. Once Speedy got a handle on things he could impose himself as much as he needed to on the local food chain before moving down the line.

  Most of the women appeared to be on the stroll, calling out discretely to the truckers as the drivers entered or exited the terminal. Speedy saw more than one trucker stop to talk, and more than one hooker and john pair up to walk back to the trucker’s sleeper cab and conduct their business. Not all the hookers were female, either – and the boy toys were as forward and aggressive as the women.

  As he came up to the doors all the riff-raff stationed there gave him the cold fish-eye as they assessed Speedy for any weakness in his game. He showed none, he hoped.

  He pushed open the double doors and stopped just within to look around. Inside the entrance was a generic convenience store, typical of any gas station or Mom ‘n’ Pop: racks of chips, coolers of beer, smokes behind the counter, et cetera, ad fuckin infinitum.

  A dank entrance into the further depths of the building had a hand-penciled sign over it: ‘Showers $2.50.’ Another door on the left led into what smelled and sounded like a greasy spoon diner, and Speedy’s stomach clenched in dismal reminder that he hadn’t eaten since his bite of pastrami sandwich the day before.

  He remembered the loot he’d appropriated from Buck and smiled as he took a step toward the diner door.

  “Don’t even think about it,” a reedy voice spoke from behind him.

  Speedy glanced back to see a short brown-skinned man of indeterminate race, in filthy clothes. The man resembled an ethnic John Lennon despite his slovenly attire, right down to the Beatles mop top that needed a major manicure, and the little round granny glasses.

  The look John Lennon shot over his glasses was not unfriendly and Speedy turned to face him fully with a politic expression on his own face.

  “The diner’s only for truckers, man, not lizards,” ‘John Lennon’ explained. “Go ahead and try it if you don’t believe me.”

  Speedy discretely studied the Citizen behind the register, whom he assumed was the proprietor: an obese tub of a man wearing a pearl-buttoned western shirt and a string tie. The proprietor had a pretty crazy trough-shaped dent in the side of his forehead. To Speedy it appeared like someone had once nailed him good there with a lead pipe or some other kind of blunt instrument. Apparently the pipe hadn’t quite done the job but the crater had never filled in. The guy was missing part of an ear too.

  As Speedy watched, indecisive about testing John Lennon’s advice, the counter-man finished taking money from a trucker (for a stroke mag and a six-pack, Speedy noted). The counter-man noticed Speedy looking at him. His fat face wound up in a doughy knot and he put one hand beneath the counter as his beady eyes bored a gimlet gaze into Speedy.

  Speedy felt the hint was a little overly subtle, but he sure got it. Maybe the counter-man just didn’t like people staring at that crater in his head. Speedy figured he’d be a little self-conscious about it his own self.

  He returned his attention to his newfound ‘friend.’ “What’s a lizard?” Speedy asked.

  “Like, a lot lizard, man. Not a trucker, just one of us as lives off of them. Catering to all the needs of the brotherhood of the road as it were.”

  Speedy winced as his unrelentingly empty belly spasmed again in hunger. “So how do we eat?”

  “Anything out here in the store we can buy. We just can’t sit down inside the diner with the truckers, and we can’t use the showers. No fraternizing.”

  Speedy glanced once more at the less than congenial counter-man and then walked amongst the store aisles with ‘John Lennon’ discretely in tow. Speedy picked out some jerky, some barbecue chips, and an individual packet of multi-vitamins. He briefly considered getting a six-pack of beer like the trucker he’d seen before, but thought better of alcohol given the current unknowns, settling on a liter bottle of Coke.

  His mouth was watering as he carried his first non-prison meal in years to the register, ignoring the full weight of the counter-man’s flared-nostriled hostile scowl. Speedy put his armful of industrial ‘food’ products on the scratched and faded linoleum next to the cash register, then pulled out the wad of cash he’d appropriated from Buck.

  The counter-man’s gaze grew a little less unfriendly at the sight of money but he still didn’t quite seem to be thinking about rainbows and butterflies as he rang it all up. He failed to bag Speedy’s purchases but Speedy didn’t push it.

  Speedy snagged his munchies and left the building with ‘John Lennon’ following him. Speedy’s stomach was audibly growling as he ripped open the bag of chips. But then he hesitated as he thought about how ‘John Lennon’ had schooled him in there, maybe kept him from stepping on his dick. Speedy extended the bag, giving mannerly first dibs to the smaller man.

  ‘John Lennon’s’ eyes widened, and his grin widened too. “What’s your name, man?”

  “Speedy.”

  “Well, mine’s Pavel.”

  Pavel took one chip off the top and munched it. “The breaking of the bread,” he said, looking at Speedy.

  Speedy caught a weird vibe and he snuck a peek at all the Lizards lurking around the door, the ones that had been giving him hard looks before. They were hanging back now like they were knuckling under to Pavel, giving him room to operate.

  “C’mon,�
� Pavel said, walking away without looking back to see if Speedy followed.

  Speedy hustled along in the wake of the shorter man without hesitation, knowing this was the main chance without even having to think about it. He was hard put to keep up he was so weak with hunger, but he wasn’t about to snivel. With effort, Speedy pulled up next to Pavel so they could walk abreast – this little man could really roll despite his bandy legs.

  Pavel spoke without looking at Speedy: “Me and some friends, we got us a jungle back in the brush where we crib up. You’re welcome to kick it with us if you like.”

  Speedy was agreeable despite the time pressures urging him to move along. He felt semi-comfortable with this Pavel and he needed a place to hang out for a bit anyways; a place where he could get out of sight and lie low in case any rollers came into the truck stop hunting for him.

  They walked through the midst of the thickest sprawl of trucks, Pavel seemingly unconcerned at the hostile indirect looks the two got from most of the truckers. If anything the tiny bantam of a man stuck out his chest and added a swagger to his walk, his ever-present grin growing even wider like he and Speedy were a two-man parade. Speedy halfway expected a brass band to fall in behind them to celebrate and announce their progress.

  One trucker was beating his Freightliner’s tires with a billy-club, checking for leaks. As Speedy and Pavel passed the trucker he favored the two men with a glance as furtive as it was mean, drubbing on the tires like he wished it was Speedy and Pavel’s heads.

  The sleeper door on another cab popped open like an escape hatch to eject a tiny blond girl with her hair in a side ponytail, wearing hot pants and a ratty fur jacket. She hopped to the ground as they approached, tucking some bills into her loose ill-fitting halter top. The trucker behind her saw Speedy and Pavel, closed the sleeper door as quickly as a barnacle swinging shut.

  The little blond was the first girl Speedy had seen up close since Raising. Even the smell of her was maddening though it was obvious she hadn’t bathed in a while; there was a background scent of ‘Eau de Trucker Love’ that didn’t exactly help the ambience either. Speedy admired her brow piercing, a cute little gold hoop. He found himself actually favoring her with a goofy perv of a grin until she flicked one wild glance at him, a look with all the warmth of an ice pick sliding home.

  Then she saw Pavel and her skinny face twisted into a rictus of a smile. “Hi baby.”

  “Hi Rachel,” Pavel said, not slowing a bit. Rachel fell into line abreast with them. She kept Pavel between her and Speedy but Speedy wasn’t offended – she didn’t know him from Adam after all.

  They reached the ragged edge of the asphalt, the trucks and truckers left behind as the trio approached a belt of brush and stunted trees snuggled in at the base of the berm. What looked like miniature canyons and draws were semi-hidden behind the canopy of foliage; the bulldozers that had put the berm together had gotten sloppy here.

  Pavel stopped and turned to scan the lot for a few seconds before leading the way into the bushes at an almost stealthy pace. Speedy looked back for a second himself before bringing up the rear.

  Did Pavel really think no one knew about this place? The truck stop was a goldfish bowl. Just like inside, everyone could see everything everybody else did. There were no secrets here.

  The sounds of the truck stop faded as they moved through the brush. Speedy became aware of a smell, getting stronger as they moved forward. A sour smell like rotting garbage; one that started that old silent alarum inside his brain.

  “Come on up topside and meet the family,” Pavel said, pushing on into a clearing.

  Rachel glared at Speedy once more before following Pavel. There were people in the clearing scoping Speedy out through the obscuring greenery.

  Speedy put a neutral expression on his face, neither submissive nor aggressive. He kept his hands at his sides, palms conspicuously empty and open as he walked forward in a casual stroll: not fast, not slow, but straight ahead. It was time to meet the Lot Lizards, time to let the dawg pack sniff his ass.

  There was about a dozen of them, mostly disposable young males but with a scattering of girls to salt the mix. Backpacks and sleeping bags lay all about, neatly packed and rolled or sprawled sloppily over the ground, depending on personal predilection. Food wrappers, a few used condoms, and some broken syringes were scattered under the trees – the Lizards had brought all the blessings of civilization to their little piece of artificial paradise.

  That sour rotten garbage stink was extremely bad back here.

  There were two skinny black dreadlocked girls looking like twins standing pressed together as they looked everywhere but at him. They were either deaf or they just liked signing: their hands flickered and darted as they made gestured observations and comments he couldn’t understand; comments he figured might just possibly be concerning himself. Next to them, a big Mexican girl with a shaved, oiled, tattooed head wearing cammies sat on her rolled-up sleeping bag and slowly, endlessly sharpened her knife.

  Rachel dove into the pack without a splash and the entire crowd stood in an arc, giving Speedy their full regard. Speedy felt his aloneness here and hungered to be crewed up again just like Rachel and Pavel were with these, their dawgs. His own homeboys were far, far away – an insurmountable distance it felt like right now.

  Pavel rolled to stand between the Lizards and the ex-con – but to protect whom from whom?

  “This is Speedy,” Pavel declaimed, favoring him with a wink. “I’m vouching for him.”

  The dawg pack Family semi-relaxed, and returned to business as quasi-usual. All except Rachel, who kept circling the outskirts of the group focusing on Speedy’s every move like a drug-addled targeting computer.

  Speedy tore open the pack of vitamins and gobbled them, guzzling at the Coke to wash the unaccustomed chunky pills down – he hadn’t been allowed any health food store supplements inside, his well being not having been the Man’s top priority there.

  Speedy grabbed a handful of chips and crammed them into his mouth to commence his first meal out of prison. But the full impact of the rotten stench finally sank home and he stifled a gag reflex by sheer force of willpower, followed by another chug at that fizzy Coke.

  Still, nausea or not he had to eat – the organism needed fuel. So Speedy stood there, alternating between wolfing handfuls of barbecue potato chips and swilling Coke, fast as he could, as if sheer speed and stolid perseverance could overcome the stink of corruption filling his nostrils. The omnipresent smell didn’t seem to bother anyone else – they were apparently used to it.

  Pavel had rolled up on Speedy while he ate, Pavel smiling as he had non-stop since their first meeting.

  “There’s some things you need to know right off if you’re going to click up with us.” Pavel reached out as if to touch Speedy’s arm. But his hand stopped short, sort of stroking the air before he pulled it back, morphing the gesture into a vague beckoning motion. He strolled toward another relatively clear area on the berm-side, separated from the camp by one last thick screen of shrubbery.

  Speedy followed. He focused on something eye-catching in the clear area up on the berm; as it was still semi-hidden by the interposing foliage he couldn’t quite make out just what had drawn his attention about it.

  They stepped through a gap in the undergrowth and stood together in the clear area on the other side, at the base of the steep slope extending up to where the top of the berm met the sky. The slope appeared . . . disturbed somehow.

  “The girls hook, mainly,” Pavel said. “We watch out for them, badger sometimes. We rob on the truckers dumb enough to flash roll and stray from the herd, card sharp on the ones that think they’re gamblers. Drugs too, when we can rob them off a new Lizard that won’t crew up.”

  Speedy was scoping out the torn-up slope hard, trying to make sense of the semi-rectangular mounds arrayed in irregular rows on the hillside in front of him while still listening to Pavel’s indoctrination spiel.

  “If it go
es down in this stop, it’s with our permission. It’s share-and-share alike here, equal divvy-up. Hell, call us Robin Hoods.” Pavel chuckled at his own joke.

  Speedy was beginning to wonder at the little man’s nonstop good humor. Then he made the visual connection with what he was looking at, all the oblongs of disturbed earth on the slope falling into a pattern in his mind, the stench explained.

  The mounds covered bodies, Speedy realized. It was a graveyard.

  Pavel bobbed his head as if Speedy had spoken his realization out loud. The little man’s eyes were bright. “They’re mainly truckers that got out of line.”

  Speedy could feel the Lot Lizards close behind him on the other side of the foliage curtain, standing between him and the only exit from their area of control. He could feel them all staring at his back and knew there was no room for a single false move now.

  Speedy turned to face the Lizards. “Now I know I’m safe here.”

  All the Lot Lizards laughed uproariously at that one, even Rachel managing something close to a snicker. The murderous tension dropped a notch as he’d intended.

  “But I got to get back to Oakland right away, I got no choice,” he continued, his stubborn defiant streak refusing to let him even pretend to get in the car with these people.

  “Gut him,” Rachel said. “Bury him with the others.”

  There was a yodeling edge of hysteria to her demand. She stood trembling as Speedy took a careful step toward her to stand in the brush’s gap.

  “Do I look like I’m judging?” Speedy asked. “You know I could’ve just smiled and nodded and tried to be invisible til I got a chance to cockroach out of here.”

  He didn’t mention that he figured half these people never slept, and that there’d be no real chance to escape this place without everyone knowing instantly. Speedy wasn’t trying to be ‘honest’ – he knew his only chance to get away was to be straight up. “If any of you think I’m a rat, here I am.”