Breaking into Cars Page 3
I would remember him saying that, safe as houses, later tonight.
“We could do worse,” I spoke up. Denver was a long way toward our goal. And it should be darn comfortable, and heck, I liked this guy. He was taking a chance on us as well; it wasn’t just us taking a chance on him.
Martin growled, “I wrote down all your information, and you’ll answer to me if those boys get hurt.” As we stood up to leave, Brandon walked over to Martin and gave him a big hug, and Martin’s smile lit up when he felt a girl’s chest against him. He almost laughed but didn’t, just slipped a small bag into Brandon’s hand. “Just in case,” he smiled. Over Brandon’s head, Martin winked at me and made kissy faces. I knew what he was thinking and grinned back. Nope. Not even close.
* * * *
Why he’d let us, let alone the dog, in the vehicle, I do not know, but we went gratefully. The three of us climbed in the luxurious back where the swell people, stars and politicians, would have ridden. It was all done in various shades of purple. It smelled like mint and there were flowers in tiny vases near the windows. There were wrap around benches, well, more like sofas with beautiful padding and some bright kind of tropical flowers on the upholstery. It made me think of sunshine and islands. Brandon was just as awestruck as I was, and he found the bar, the hidden television (it was huge), and a little refrigerator. There was a sliding window between this part and the front, but right now it was open. So was the sunroof over our part.
As Alvin (I mean Elvis) started the engine and started to drive away, we found seats and watched Martin’s Garage disappear into the past. It was so comfortable; I can’t begin to tell you.
Elvis’s voice came through a speaker. He said, with a smile in his voice, “I love showing off my car. Sadly, this is her last trip. I’m selling her to a buyer in Denver; I need the money.”
Brandon’s face creased. “What’s wrong?” he asked, coming over all girly again, I thought.
“My wife has been ill. It was her heart’s desire to open a medical center for children with orphan diseases. She’s a sweetheart like that, very thoughtful and concerned about others. She just thought that as bad as it was for her, having something rare and terrible, it had to be worse for children and their families.”
We were both spellbound. He had a deep voice, and it was almost like a radio program.
“I belong to a car group called The Orphan and Rare Car Association, or ORCA. We did rallies over the past years to raise money for that center and got it open about ten years ago. It accepts even children whose parents don’t have insurance for that sort of catastrophic illness.”
“What are orphan cars and diseases?” I asked.
“They are both things that are rare and usually have no big support group, like Jerry Lewis used to have telethons for muscular dystrophy. It might be a rare birth condition like VATERS which nobody ever hears about, because it only happens once in every thirty thousand births. It wasn’t a big leap to use the rare cars to make money for rare diseases. Very apt, I think,” he ended with a touch of pride in his voice.
“Over the years I’ve worked on other orphan cars and then sold them and the profit went to the center. But this one, well, it’s family, but it’s time to let her go.”
“Are you sure it’s okay that we’re back here? I mean, Busted sheds and Lord knows what else he’ll do,” I added.
“I don’t care! It’s all washable and that will be your job when we get there. Wash her up, clean her down, polish and shine. I’m just getting a little too old for all that. Now you boys help yourselves to whatever is in the fridge back there, sodas and what not. And let me know when you need a bathroom stop, or, when that dog does!” Elvis laughed and the sliding window slid closed.
Brandon winked at me. “I’ve always wanted to lose my virginity in the back seat of a car!”
Now it was my turn to blush.
The seriousness of what Elvis had told us weighed on our minds, though, so all we did was neck a little. We weren’t sure if Elvis could hear or see us, either, so we behaved. And really, it just wasn’t the time or place. I kind of wanted to save myself for someone I loved, not necessarily married, but cared deeply for. I thought that was probably going to happen with Brandon, but I wanted to be cautious, besides, technically, Brandon still had all those icky girl parts. I had no idea how that could be worked around or into…so to speak.
Besides, there was the whole dog watching us thing. It was bad enough when he tried to join in on the kissing part. Ick.
We were drinking sodas and listening to music when Elvis called back. “I think I know what kind of dog that is. I mean, if you guys don’t know.”
“We don’t,” I replied, not wanting to admit he wasn’t really ours; well, he was now, but we didn’t exactly own him, did we?
Brandon agreed. “Er, we haven’t had him very long.”
But I had to be honest. “Actually, he found us. Saved us, too. He’s a good boy, and um, very smart.”
Busted’s tail thumped. It almost knocked the soda out of my hand.
“Well,” Elvis said, “Going by the size and the wiry coat, I think he’s an Irish Wolfhound.”
I shrugged. “Is that good?”
“It’s expensive,” Elvis said carefully.
“His owners went away and left him. Either that, or he ran away and they left him,” Brandon said. I could see he was worried. “But he did save us from some nasty old guy.”
“Well, I’ll tell you what. When we get to Topeka, I’ll Google lost and stolen dogs, and we’ll check him for tags or an ID chip. Just in case.”
“We won’t get in trouble, will we?” Brandon could get really worried and dramatic. He’d make a better gay boy than a trans one, I thought.
“Nope,” Said Elvis. “I have some pull here and there. Besides, if he is lost or stolen, there’s probably a reward going. Ha—he’s sort of an orphan, too. The Irish Wolfhound Society wasn’t founded until sometime in the eighties. I’ve always loved dogs. I wanted to be a veterinarian, but my folks couldn’t afford for me to go to college.”
“So what do you do,” asked sweet Brandon. I wouldn’t have thought of that. I wasn’t even interested in the man at all, other than him taking us farther on our way. I felt a bit ashamed, and I smiled at Brandon, even though he wasn’t looking.
“Uh, actually, I was a police officer. I’m retired, so don’t get your panties all in a bunch. Plus, I do a bit of singing. And the whole car thing.”
“So do you and your wife have a family?” Brandon asked.
After a hesitation, Elvis replied, “Not anymore. Not really. My wife…hasn’t been herself for a long time, and both our children are grown and gone.”
“What’s wrong with your wife?” You could tell Brandon was really interested, and that he really cared. I loved him for it and felt proud of him. “I mean, don’t tell us if you don’t want to.”
“I don’t mind. But let’s pull off here at the rest area first. We’ll have something to eat and then I’ll tell you about it. Well, maybe some anyhow.”
We pulled into the parking lot; we had to park with the trucks, in the back, but Elvis said truck drivers would respect his car, since it had been a working car at one time.
Brandon nodded as he opened the door of our luxurious space. “Well, I guess because it’s a limousine, huh?” he said while he climbed out, taking Elvis’ outstretched hand like a princess.
Elvis blushed. “Well, we used it for a hearse for a while, too,” he got out, wincing.
All around us, people watched with big eyes and smiles. Some grabbed their cell phones and took pictures. When I got out I thought about waving, but I didn’t. And then when Busted got out, there was a round of applause and laughter. Busted promptly raised his leg and peed on one of the tires.
The rest of us used the restrooms. Brandon also used the men’s room but went into a stall.
A short while later we were all seated at a picnic table near the car. We pooled our foo
d, ours from the stolen bag inside my backpack, and Elvis had more goodies than we’d found in the limo.
Just for kicks, I pointed my finger at Busted and said, “Busted. Lunch.”
He ran off on a mission from his current master; me. I preened. Brandon rolled his eyes. We spread out all the food and chowed down. Elvis seemed reluctant to start his story, and both Brandon and I picked up on that. “You don’t have to,” Brandon said, “if it’s painful. I can understand that.”
Elvis sighed. “Well, sadness is a part of life. One goes through it but doesn’t want to wallow in it; though if it’s drowning you, you kind of have to stay there for a while. I don’t mind, but you probably really don’t want to know.” Elvis stopped and examined what he was eating—two chocolate covered doughnuts.
He sighed. I thought he must be around seventy or maybe even seventy-five; I was pretty good with ages. He hadn’t shaved well and his hair was curly and sticking out in several directions. He was tall and thin. Finally he went on, “She has one of about seven thousand, give or take a thousand, rare diseases. Different places define rare in different ways. In the US it’s called rare if it affects fewer than two hundred thousand people. That doesn’t sound rare to me, but hey. The universe didn’t ask my opinion.” Elvis was getting teary-eyed. I had to look away and I was distracted by wondering just what Busted was up to, or in to, or onto.
“Long story short, she hasn’t got much longer. She’s with her sisters while I’m on this trip. I’ve said my goodbyes along the way, over the past few years. Goodbye is not always just an isolated see ya, you know, it’s what you do and how you treat a person over the whole span of time you know them. I think my credit’s pretty good that way. She’s so young, only seventy.”
Well that was a teaching moment! I would never have considered seventy as anything but one foot in the grave. Live and learn.
I was distracted by a blur of yellow across the parking lot.
“She was still teaching when she fell ill. Between then and now she’s taken up karate and scuba diving but she hasn’t managed to go hang-gliding or bungee jumping yet. Still…”
I zoned out. Yep, that yellow blur was our dog. And here he came, trotting proudly up with something in his mouth, which he dropped at my feet. It was a tiny marmalade-colored kitten. Still in one piece and feisty. It was also spitting mad and taking swipes with its little claws. Just the same I bent over and picked it up. “Not lunch?” I asked the dog. He promptly vomited on my shoes and before I could see much more than black and white fur and notice how bad it smelled, he had re-eaten the mess all up again, and the kitten fought to be set down so it could help out. They were, apparently, friends.
Brandon didn’t notice. He was too sucked into the drama that Elvis was weaving.
We left soon after that. Brandon was holding Elvis’s hand and wiping tears off his own face. He asked if I minded if he sat up front. Of course I did, but I understood. I said sure, and climbed in the back again with Busted and his mini-me.
Bored, annoyed, and lonely, I started opening every door and drawer I could find. The car moved off and Busted and his pal curled up together for a lick fest and nap. I found the liquor cabinet. Ho ho! Next to that was a small library, with a variety of books. One was a biography of William Wrigley, who had owned the original car. Another was a retrospective of classic cars. Another was a book about karate; if this was what his wife had studied, it was the same type as I did. How cool is that? The last one I pulled out was the best one of all; Music Theory and Studies for Piano. I almost started to cry. My mom had had me take piano the whole time she’d made me take ballet. I’d loved it! I guess I had loved it too much, though, because when my dad found out how much I was into those girly things, as he called them, he made me quit. I never did get my own piano or keyboard. Yet here I sat, holding this book, and inside the front cover was one of those little labels that read, This Book Belongs to: Maia Dustwater. She’d been a musician, maybe even a teacher. I did cry then. And of course that little show of emotion got me a lapful of huge dog and tiny kitten. And that made me laugh.
It was like the future was open to me again. I’d felt so locked in, like in a closet or something, at home, with Dad sneering at everything I liked, or sometimes just looking and giving that tiny shake of his head. I’d always disappointed him. I had a minute of hoping he and Mom weren’t worried about me. I decided to send them a postcard or text them or something that I was all right. Maybe, well for sure then, when we got to the ranch. Oh maybe I should call ahead and let Uncle Bill know we were coming, too? God, I was sure thinking like a mature adult. What was wrong with me? I laughed and wrestled with Busted.
Ten minutes of beautiful peace passed. I was blissfully content. The end to that came suddenly, in the form of a long, slow weird noise like air being forced out of a tire. Suddenly I was engulfed by the aroma of skunk. I looked at the kitten. She was asleep with her head in my armpit. Wasn’t her. I looked at Busted. His tail wagged and the air sound was interrupted by whaps. Guilty as charged. Two words; Dog. Fart.
Unless there was a third animal in here, Busted had eaten a skunk. How do I get hold of the driver? Nobody told me that part! I looked everywhere for speakers or a microphone or even a window crank. Nope. Aha! The sunroof! Yes it has a handle! I watched happily as it slid open. But wait, what the hell? Thunder? No, not thunder, it was more like a constant roaring.
I looked up through the open sunroof, straight up into a fiercely dark sky. I—that cloud should not be like that up above us. It was huge and turning slowly in a circle. Oh…tornado. Kansas. And all I could do was watch, then crank the window closed as fast as I could.
The window between the front and back slid open and Brandon wriggled through. “The weather is awful,” he understated. “Elvis said to stay back here, that the car is made of pure steel and is stronger than Superman. We’re just going to find something we can get under to try to protect the finish if it hails, Elvis said.”
Brandon looked white and terrified. I was just still reeling; so I probably looked calmer than I felt, either that or I had no imagination. Just then the road got real bumpy and it sounded like we were driving over curbs and rocks. Moments later it got darker and I saw that we had driven under an open-sided barn. We were stopped on a large spread of concrete, there were poles around the outside, sunk into it at the corners, and there was the roof overhead. One end had hay stacked in it. I had a feeling the hay might not do too well, and I had no idea if the pole barn would be all right or not. The window to the front was still open and Elvis’ face filled it. He looked worried but not afraid. “I won’t lie to you boys,” he said calmly. “This is a big one. Kansas is famous for its tornadoes. A while back they had one that flattened…well never mind. Like I said, this vehicle is built like a World War Two tank. I think we’ll be fine.” He smiled, sniffed, and asked, “What’s that awful smell?”
Brandon replied, “Well, it was used as a hearse, right?” and we all laughed.
The wind got worse. It seemed to come from all directions. Brandon worried out loud about the windows. Busted whined and sniffed around until he found his kitten, took her gently in his huge mouth, and put her down by his paws. He sniffed her and licked her until she was passed out again, sound asleep. Then he whined at the sound of the thunder and the roaring wind.
“I’m scared, too,” Brandon said.
Outside the wind whipped around in eddies and twists. The air turned a bilious shade of green, and the noise grew in intensity. Elvis pointed at a cabinet in the corner. “Open that and pass what’s in it to me, please,” he said, his voice somewhat shaky. It looked uncomfortable for him to be hanging over the back of the front seat, reaching into the back part. He was too big to slide through the divider.
I asked, “Are you safe up there?” as I opened the cabinet and groped inside. I felt a bottle and hauled it out. It had been getting darker outside as well as in, and I couldn’t even see what I held. I passed it over to him.
I zoned out. You could hardly hear yourself speak, let alone anyone else. The noise outside got even scarier, and Brandon and I both groped for each other at the same time, and as if we had only one mind, slid down onto the floor with the dog and held onto each other. I was between Brandon and Busted, and they both had paws, or arms, over me.
Once in a while I could make out what Elvis was saying. I heard, “Originally only seventy-four hundred pounds but I added a steel…” and then, “Damn, this is good gin.” The car was rocking. I wondered if there were ghosts. After a while I made out singing. Apparently it was Elvis, and he was rocking out. That’s when I stopped being afraid and started taking advantage of Brandon being in my arms. At one point the car shook so badly that Brandon cried, “I don’t want to die a virgin!” and I laughed until I Felt the need to relieve myself. No safe way to do that.
I’d been kissing him for a lovely long time when the wind started to die down. It was still dark and still raining hard, but you could actually see that it was raining now. I could even make out the lightning flashes. As it continued to lighten, you could make out bigger and bigger things flying by, or scudding along the ground, or whirling up into the air. I saw a roof, a set of stairs, including the handrail, tree branches by the dozens, a small car, two bicycles, and a baby’s stroller. I hoped it was empty. After that I stopped looking. The noise died down enough now to hear, belatedly, sirens and car alarms, and other noises.