“I know, but I got to thinking you might learn more somewhere else.”
“Learn more? I’m looking for big bucks, not more school.”
“Well, okay. But I want you to be careful. I don’t trust that Dixon guy. And keep looking, just in case something better shows up.”
“Yeah, yeah. You know something? All you government people are weird.”
“Just because I want you to be safe?”
“Not that. James and I tried to get some information from the City Planner. She made us wait for over an hour before she finally said she wouldn’t even help me unless I hire an expensive attorney. She was purposely making it harder.”
“It seems like that sometimes. Maybe it’s for the better. Even if you get your program approved, most of the people in that area will be grandfathered in.”
“Yeah. They said something about that. What is that anyway?”
“Usually, new rules only apply to remodels and new homes. They don’t go back to existing homes and make those people do anything. It’s not fair.”
“What? Then what good is it to go through all this shit if they’re not going to fix the houses that need it the most?”
“You never know. After you bring the matter to everybody’s attention some people may do just what you want on their own. Sometimes you have to travel the road before you find out what’s at the end of it.”
“That’s just stupid. Besides, they’re changing the rules in a few months so I’ll be too young to address them again until I’m twenty-one. I don’t need their bullshit.” Stump spat again, watched his spitball splatter off jagged rocks.
“What about your particular councilman?” Myles asked. “He might be able to help.”
“That Barella guy? He looked like a penguin in his black suit and white shirt. How’s he gonna help?”
Myles shrugged. “Zig Ziglar said you can get anything you want if you just give enough other people what they want. What would you think a councilman would want?”
“I dunno. They looked like they wanted power.”
“Bingo! And you’re in his district.”
“So? I can’t vote.”
Myles grinned. “No, but all those people in that neighborhood can. Maybe you can get him some good will in the area in exchange for what you need.”
“Me? How’m I supposed to do that? It’s all gotten too hard. Not worth it.”
“Suit yourself. At least you’re starting to figure out that life isn’t always easy.”
The pace back down the winding road was slower than it was coming up. Even if Stump could get the laws changed, the grandfather thing would kick in so there was no telling if anybody would make their homes safer or not. Who wanted to piss away all that time and energy if nobody gave a damn? It was no use. He might as well face it. The whole idea was stupid. If his mom were alive, she’d understand why he decided to forget the matter. Besides, BigBunz made a good point: Moms don’t expect much from their kids. Screw it. He exhaled and felt enormous relief knowing he could move on and focus on making money.
Eventually, they reached the edge of Palmdale where Myles said, “We have a few extra minutes. I need to talk with one of the neighbors over by your mom’s old place for a bit.”
“Sure,” Stump said, newly contented. A few minutes later, he made the final turn onto his old block. “Which neighbor?”
“The Murphys.”
Stump nodded. The Murphys lived right next door to Stump’s old home. He drove past their house and the vacant lot where his house used to be. Then he turned around and parked in front of the lot. Just as they got out Myles’s phone rang.
“Cooper, here.” Myles listened. Then, “Can you hold for a second?” He turned to Stump. “It’s about my mom. I’m going to have to take this.” Stump nodded.
As Myles walked slowly down the street discussing his mother’s situation, Stump looked back toward the weeds that had overtaken his former front yard. He eased toward a thin glimmering object that was poking up through the weeds. He kicked at it and loosened a mangled lid to a shoebox-sized metal box that his mom had kept in the laundry room.
The crumpled box stirred up memories of his mom and the laundry room where the fire started. None of that would have happened if he’d removed all his puzzle magazines and the other old papers out of there like he was supposed to, but he couldn’t be bothered. If he’d just done that one simple thing, she’d still be alive. That lone mistake was the key link in a chain reaction that sent flames into the center hall and blocked his mother’s only escape route. The bars on the windows foiled her last chance, and...
Unwanted tears crowded the corners of Stump’s eyes. Boots of guilt stirred inside him. Ashamed once again, he walked deeper into the lot where the living room once was. His mind flashed to when he was in grade school and stole a Christmas tree and plunked it right in front of the picture window so the neighbors would know that the Randolphs had a tree, too. A half-smile visited his lips as he remembered how mad his mom was when she made him take that tree back. Now, he was proud of her. The tears in his eyes escaped and rolled down his cheek.
He took a few more steps toward where his mother’s bedroom was. Still more tears dripped down his face as he thought about how much she loved her private bubble baths surrounded by lilac-scented candles. Candles reminded him of flames and flames reminded him of that damn sky-high inferno again.
He commanded his mind to stop sending those God-awful images, but the more he tried to forget, the more he remembered. More tears reminded him of her smoke-stained cheeks when she eventually choked to death right before him. He’d never forgotten the horror in her eyes as she mouthed “I love you” as she fell for the final time, just two feet away, on the other side of unforgiving bars. Her last gasps must have been pure torture and it was his fault. He kicked the weeds. God, how he missed her. A stomach full of angry boots stomped harder than ever. Stop thinking about it. Can’t. Thump. Thump. Thump. Louder. Louder. He covered his ears but the damn boots kept marching.
Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. But it kept getting worse. He fell to his knees and wept openly. “I’m so sorry, Mom. I’m so damn sorry.”
A hand gently rested on his shoulder. “It wasn’t your fault, Stump,” Myles said softly.
Stump shook his head and faced the only man he’d ever loved. “Yes, it was, Myles,” he said through sobs of regret and all that was left to do was embrace and cry together in the weeds over the special woman they’d both lost.
Chapter Thirteen
Yesterday’s visit to the vacant lot had ripped the scabs off Stump’s heart. The only way to escape his perpetual guilt was to draw something substantial from the ashes of his mother’s death. Last night he called James and advised him to expect a robo-call from school.
Now it was Monday morning and Myles had taken the bus from Palmdale to LAX, from which he planned to fly to Oklahoma to see his mom. When the business day began, Stump placed a call.
“Michael Barella’s office.”
“Hello, this is Neal Randolph. I need to meet with the councilman today if possible.”
“Regarding?”
“He knows me. I’ve got a plan to help him in the upcoming elections.”
“Please hold. I’ll see if he’s available.” Moments later she returned. “He’s pretty busy today, Mr. Randolph, but he said he can squeeze you in for a few minutes between ten and ten-fifteen. Will that do?”
“Totally. Tell him I’ll be there.” Thrilled, Stump scanned his phone records before he called Mr. Irv Wedlock, a reporter for the local TV network. Mr. Wedlock had run a brief news story about Stump after Stump solved the murder of his assistant principal.
“KCLA TV. Can I help you?”
“Yes. I need to speak with Irv Wedlock. This is Neal Randolph. He might remember me as Stump.”
“He’s busy right now, Mr. Randolph,” the receptionist said, “but I can get a message to him.”
“It’s very important that
he calls me later in the morning, at exactly ten-ten.”
“Exactly ten-ten?” She chuckled. “Alright. I’ll let him know, but no promises.”
“Tell him it’s important.”
“Okay. I get it.”
With those issues resolved, Stump did a quick Google search for a lame store that sold lame bicycle tires for lame bikes named Ol’ Ug’. He’d have to get by there after his meeting with Barella.
After a quick shower, Stump slipped into Myles’s bedroom and borrowed the spare keys to the truck. He’d never done anything like that before, but somebody once said you have to break a few eggs to make an omelet. He was supposed to have an older licensed rider with him whenever he was behind the wheel, but he’d just have to sit up tall to avoid attracting attention.
The cab seemed bigger and colder without Myles. Stump’s hands shook as he inserted the key. Let’s see. Slide the seat forward. Adjust the mirrors. Turn the key. Instant noise. Country music sucks. Turn radio off. Thank God. Twist key again. Nothing. What the hell’s the matter? Oh, yeah. Foot on brake. Try again. It started. Cool. Ready for his very first solo ride, he shifted into Drive and grinned as the transmission engaged.
Alright now. Keep foot on brake. Both hands on wheel. Check side mirror. All clear. Here goes. He cautiously lifted his foot off the brake and inched out of the parking lot and onto the street where he gracefully accelerated. The nearest car was fifty yards back. Cool. Cool. Cool. He’d made it.
Ding! Ding! Ding!
What the—Ding! Ding!
Damn. Flashing light on dash. Ding! Ding! Can’t pull over here. Ding! Ding! Need a driveway. Ding! Ding! There’s one. Ding! Pull in. Ding! Damn it. Ding! Stop the truck. Ding! Ding! Buckle seat belt. Whew!
Back on the street, it all came back to him. He stayed within the speed limit, used his blinkers, checked his mirrors regularly and looked over his shoulder when changing lanes. At the next light he rolled down his window and turned the radio to something decent. Gotta remember to turn it back to the stupid country station.
He checked himself out in the mirror. Driving was cool. Too cool for school.
At the councilman’s office, it took him a few gyrations forward and back to wiggle the truck into a parking spot. More confident now, he checked his phone. Eight minutes early. He found the suite and the receptionist. “I’m Neal Randolph. I’ve got an appointment.”
“C’mon in, Stump,” he heard from off to his side. As before, Councilman Barella was dressed sharply. “No school today?” he asked as they sat on opposite sides of Barella’s desk.
Stump shook his head. “I got to do a couple things.”
The councilman raised his eyebrows. “I don’t have much time. What’s on your mind?”
“Yesterday, I visited the lot where my mother passed away. Now, I’m more determined than ever to make something good come from what happened to her.”
“I’m already inclined to vote for your idea, if that’s what you’re wondering.”
“Thanks, but my problem has to do with the procedures. They keep making a big deal out of the paperwork. Is it really that important to get an attorney?”
Barella nodded. “Afraid so.”
“That’s the problem. My dad said an attorney might charge three thousand dollars to do all the work. I can’t afford that much money.”
“I can’t pay it for you, if that’s what you’re getting at.”
Stump shook his head. “I have another idea. I was hoping you’d run an ad on Craigslist and get me a probe bonel attorney.”
Barella grinned. “It’s called pro bono, but why would I do that?”
“‘Cause you’ll both get exposure. I already know what to say in the ad. ‘Pro bono attorney wanted for community project. Make a name for yourself around City Hall. Better than free advertising’.”
Barella nodded. “I can see how that helps you and this mystery attorney, but what’s in it for me?”
“There’s an election coming up. I was thinking you could make up some brochures that tell people that we’re making homes safer and mail them to everybody in the area. Show them that you’re fighting for them. Then they’ll vote for you.”
Barella crinkled his brows. “I don’t—”
Stump’s ringtone interrupted. “Oops, sorry. I should’ve turned off my phone.” He looked at the readout and back to Barella. “It’s a reporter from KCLA TV.”
Barella sat back in his gigantic leather chair and locked his hands behind his head. “Then you’d better take it.”
“Thanks.” Stump pressed the button, “Hello?”
He paused. “Good to talk to you again too, Mr. Wedlock.” He listened again. Then, “Trying to get better safety codes where my mom lived, but it’s not a good time to talk right now. I’m with Councilman Barella. Sure will...Okay. Yes, sir. Will do...’Bye.” Stump hung up and turned to Barella. “Mr. Wedlock said hello.”
Barella nodded. “What was that about?”
Stump had learned when he and James met with BigBunz that sometimes a partial fib was needed. “Phone tag. He saw my name in the newest Gazette after the previous meeting and remembered me from three years ago. He wanted to know what I’m up to—for a human interest story.”
“Oh really? That’s interesting.”
“They’re thinking of sending a camera crew to the next meeting. He wants me to keep him posted.”
“I see.” Barella tapped the newspaper on his desk. “Getting back to our discussion, I understand how much your mother meant to you and I want to help out, so here’s what I’d be willing to do. I’ll see if I can get you a free attorney. I’ll also get some brochures printed up like you suggested, but instead of mailing them, I’d like you to hand-deliver them, door to door.”
Stump groaned. “But I have school—and a job. I don’t have time—”
“Has to be that way,” Barella said. “It’s a lot cheaper and marketing is way more effective when it’s face-to-face.”
“But my time? I’m already too busy.”
“We all are. That’s the deal, Stump. Take it or leave it.” Barella rose and rested his hand on Stump’s shoulder. “It’s your mother’s honor we’re talking about here.”
Indeed it was. “Deal.”
After his meeting with Barella, Stump had one more project. He stopped by a bicycle shop and grabbed a pair of pudgy all-black tires for Ol’ Ug’. At home, he returned the truck’s radio to the stupid country station and imagined people stomping through fields of cow pies and saying dumb-ass things like dad-burned.
He dragged Ol’ Ug’ out of the storage closet and shook his head. The three-speed clunker used to be maroon, but it had faded down to a combination of rust and flat gray primer paint, making it uglier than a show dog’s anus; on the other hand, it could get him to his job where every hour meant ten bucks, times three.
After he straightened out the bulbous fenders, which looked like something that a nine-year-old girl would use, it took him all afternoon to get the rusty bolts loosened and everything slammed back together. Finally, he stood the two-wheeled mass of ugliness right-side up, set the kickstand and stepped back. It couldn’t have looked more ridiculous if it had a white wicker basket, a ringer bell and pretty pink tassels.
Chapter Fourteen
Later that afternoon stump and Ol’ Ug’ rolled into Cal-Vista. He used an old pair of Myles’s handcuffs to attach the bike and his helmet to the rack.
Mr. Kraft’s office, which was actually a one-bedroom apartment that had been converted, was on the lower level of building six. Kraft was behind his desk in what was once the living room when Stump arrived. Cell phone at his ear, Kraft motioned for Stump to have a seat.
A collection of folders, legal pads and magazines laid claim to the top of Kraft’s desk. The remainder of the room had some bookcases, a sofa and a couple small tables. About all Stump could see in the former bedroom was some file cabinets and a copier.
A crumpled, not-very-clean pillow l
eaned up against the arm of one end of the sofa, suggesting that Mr. Kraft used the sofa for naps. Stump laid his backpack on the floor and sat at the other end. On the coffee table there was a single medical magazine with a lead article titled “Dealing with CINV.” Stump’s mind automatically converted the letters to the digits on a phone pad—2,4,6,8—and grinned, thinking, who do we appreciate?
While he waited for Mr. Kraft, Stump wondered what he would have to do. Mow the yard? Pull weeds? Didn’t matter much, just so long as he got ten bucks an hour, times three, toward a car.
“I’ll see you then.” Kraft said to his caller before hanging up. He turned to Stump. “Right on time, I see. How was the trip?”
“The bike’s lame, but it’s better than walking.”
“Good attitude. Someday you’ll appreciate what you had to do to get a car. Did you guys find a building to buy?”
“Not really, but we weren’t in a hurry. We liked this one, but to be honest, there were a couple things that bothered us.”
“Oh? Like what?”
Stump kicked lightly at his backpack. “I’m not sure I should say.”
“Go ahead. You won’t hurt my feelings.”
“Well, for one thing, we think there’s extra people living in some of the apartments.”
“What gives you that idea?”
“Too many toothbrushes and mattresses. We asked the manager about it, but he didn’t have a good answer.”
Mr. Kraft lifted his shoulders slightly. “Anything else?”
“My dad was wondering about the open account at Home Depot. What stops the manager from buying things and then taking them back for cash refunds and keeping the money?”
“Dixon wouldn’t do that. We’ve known each other too long.” Kraft cupped his hands around his mouth and lowered his voice. “Don’t tell the broker I told you this, but I think you made the correct choice. It’s difficult to manage apartments in this economy. Gets harder every year.”
Stump’s fingers dug into his palm. “What happens if you sell your building? Do I still have a job?”
“I wouldn’t worry about that. There’s always plenty of work for smart and energetic people.”
“What about the manager? I don’t think he likes me after the things I asked him.”
“You just report to me. I come and go, but I’m usually here around this time. I’ll work up a list of projects I want you to do, but if I’m not here and he asks you to do something, go ahead and do it. But if neither of us gives you anything specific to do, you can always refer to the list or pull weeds out by the fence.” Kraft grabbed a key from his desk drawer. “This’ll get you into this office. There’s nothing special in here, but you can drop off your backpack or use the restroom.”