Baxter and Josh On the Run
Chapter 6.
It was late there, I knew, but I figured he was still up. He was always a night owl, so unless he's got a wife or girlfriend now, he should be up and likely working. But, the fourth ring came and went and still no answer. Maybe he's gone legit? Six rings....
“Yo. Speak.” Yep, same idiot.
“Checks, I'm calling in the chip,” I said, relief washing over me that he finally answered.
“Chip? Who is this?” Yeah, little jerk is going to try to weasel his way out.
“I'm the guy that kept New York out of your ass for 18-months, motherfucker. I'm calling in the chip,” I growled into the phone.
“Bax?”
“Yeah,” I said. “I need a full set, and a mini.”
“Bax, look, man. I'm out of business, ya know. New leaf and all that,” he whined at me.
“Checks, you grab your kit and get to Phil's Shadow, and call me on this number when you get into town. Don't make me come collect on what you owe,” I said quietly and evenly. “I'll cover your expenses, but you are coming. Got me?”
“Yeah, I owe you. Alright, I'm coming, but I've been out of the game for a bit. Not sure what I can get you,” Checks said, resigned.
“Alright,” I answered, relieved that this could work out without me having to be the guy I left behind me so many years ago. “I'll meet you outside the 'Knob tomorrow morning at 8:00,” I signed off.
Phone off and sim card pulled, I walked back to the truck where Matt was snoozing, comfortable in his pizza coma with smears of sauce still on his chin and nose. The beautiful image before me of my little sloppy angel haloed by the glow of the old truck’s radio pulled me back from the angry violence that Checks brought back to my memories, and I tried to get back into the truck as quietly as I could. Soon cold toes were warming in my lap and rumble strips on the highway kept time to music I couldn’t relate to but had my little angel dancing in his sleep, a smile on his face.
I envied his confidence in me. I sure didn’t feel it. Every step of this mess has been one disaster in the making following another. But, with a new ID for me and Matt, we had a chance at starting new life somewhere. I’ve come to the realization that there is nothing I wouldn’t do for him, but I also knew that I was bumbling badly with poor decisions and pure luck. What happens when I run out of that luck? That ordeal with Jam was a shit show and we only came out of it as well as we did because Uncle Dave was a moron and the craziest of angels ride Harley’s. The only hope I have right now is to create a “normal” life, something that doesn’t seem out of place to those who see us, and I have absolutely no idea what “normal” even means anymore.
The sunrise found Matt and me with a book opened out on the hood of the truck and spotting scope trained onto the trees, mostly. We did a bit of pointing, and a lot of page turning, and it looked as normal as anything in the world to find boy and his Dad doing some early morning bird watching, right? Does anyone do this anymore? Well, doesn't matter, it gave me an excuse to watch the area with the scope and fit in to the most boring image we could manage. Oddly enough, we were sort of having fun finding different birds and figuring out what each was singing in between the far more serious tasks of watching for watchers. I had tried to tell Matt who this guy was, but there was no G-rated version, so I just had to give him a generic “he's a friend” story. It wasn't a complete lie.
I didn't expect Checks to sell me out so much as I expected him to be his normal spineless self and spill his guts at the first hint of problems. I met Checks in prison, after I'd put on 40 pounds of muscle and scar tissue. He was a scrawny twerp of a guy, staring wide eyed at me when I walked into my cell after yard. I hadn't seen a greater example of a victim waiting to happen since I’d looked into the mirror on my first day. “Shit,” I said, shaking my head. “I don't need this crap.”
“Hey,” he said to me, trying to be cool. He’d stuffed himself into the space between the sink and back cage he wasn't really pulling the “cool look” off. I just shook my head again and laid down in my bunk and closed my eyes.
The count bell went off and he was still standing there, pointedly not looking at me. “Get on your rack and get it made while you are up there,” I told him, none too kindly. I wasn't there to make friends, you understand. “And don't you even think about stepping on my bed on your way up.” He must have had things squared by the time Anderson made his rounds because I didn't hear a peep out of that screw, and he absolutely lived to harass the fish.
Two days later I found Checks on his knees on the bulkhead, where the stairs for second gallery started, with New York's dick shoved down his throat. “Hey, York!” I shouted, coming up the stairs. “You owe me a pack of Marlboro's; ask first next time. And, that ass is mine, so get your finger out of it.” I could see Anderson smirk at me from his desk, that fat sick fuck, but I pointedly ignored him. Smacking Checks on the head as I walked around him to climb the stairs, I said “Bring the smokes with you when you come back to the house, bitch.”
Checks swallowed a lot of cum in those 18 months, but his asshole was the same size going home as it was coming in. He didn't seem to mind blowing guys, despite always talking about his girlfriend left at home. Guess he accepted it as part of the cost of staying alive, or he was faking the girlfriend. I really didn't care, and it kept us in cigarettes. He followed in my shadow from that point forward in keeping with my claim on him. I tried to get him strong, but he just wasn't much for that stuff. He was in for check fraud, but did fake credit cards and ID's, which is how he made his money. He said he got greedy and tried to push a check he knew wasn't done well and was just anxious to get out of the joint before his other business was found. When he was going home, I let him know that he owed me and that I may one day come collect. The movie “Groundhog Day” was on tv night before, so I made Punxsutawney our place to meet if I needed his expertise.
I didn't see anyone that seemed to be watching him when he got there, so Matt and I drove down. Pulling onto the apron in front of the park, I found Checks leaning up against a soccer mom van, wearing a light blue polo shirt, chino cargo shorts and boat shoes. His hair was cut neatly, and he was wearing the ugliest pair of sunglasses I'd ever seen. “Checks, what in the hell are you wearing,” I asked him, laughing out loud as I walked up, Matt walking next to me.
“This is called 'suburban camouflage', Bax,” Checks replied, preening comically. “Add a kid and a soccer ball and no one looks twice lest their sorry lives flash in front of their eyes,” he laughed.
“I think he looks nice,” Matt piped up, next to me. “He looks like my fourth-grade teacher.”
“See!” Checks laughed. “So, Bax, who's the kid? Is he the mini you wanted?”
“This is my Son,” I stressed. “Matt, this is Checks. He's going to help us with some paperwork.
“Oh. Hi,” Matt said to Checks, waiving his hand. “Why do they call you Checks? Are you from Czechoslovakia? You don't have an accent at all.”
Checks laughed, “Uh, no I...”
I cut him off. “Matt, Checks has had so many names that even his mother calls him 'Checks',” I told him with a smile, with a similar one from Checks and a shrug.
“Oh, ok,” Matt said, clearly having moved on. He was looking quizzically at the arch over the drive into the park as Checks and I caught up on old times.
“Um, Dad?” Matt, asked quietly, pulling on my shirtsleeve. “I don't get it?”
“What, Matt?” I asked, looking where he was staring in such a confused manner.
“Well, I heard a big kid call another that, but it doesn't make any sense,” Matt said, pointing at the name of the park. Checks and I looked up at the sign, and Checks completely lost it, bent over laughing himself nearly sick. Matt clearly did not like to be laughed at by this strange man, I realized as I watched his face darkened considerably, those blue eyes sparking fire at Checks. I flashed Checks a “knock it off” look that he completely ignored as I tried to figure out just what in the world Matt was talking about.
I finally got it, getting a bit slow in my old age, I guess. “Uhm, Matt. I think that boy called the other a “knob gobbler”; this is 'Gobbler's Knob' and is the park where every February Punxatawney Phil comes out of his den and if he sees his shadow we have more winter, or something like that.
“Oh. What's a 'knob gobbler'?” Matt asked, looking up at me, and flashing Checks an irritated look at his continued laughter.
“Yeah, Dad,” Checks mimicked, looking up at me with batting eyelashes, “What is a ‘knob gobbler’?” His innocent look was not convincing.
“Shut up,” I said to him out the side of my mouth.
“We will talk about it later, ok Matt.” Matt just shrugged. It is the curse of all inquisitive kids, I imagine, to be burdened with unresolved questions and I could see Matt file the question away for later.
“Ok, Giggles,” I said to Checks. “You got some place we can do this?”
“Yeah, follow me,” Checks chuckled. “I got a hotel room at the Holiday, just outside of the historic district.”
It was strange, like a time warp thing, to see this multi-story modern hotel after those hours spent in town. Matt was his typical quiet self on the way to the hotel. I dreaded what I bet his mind was cultivating in that quiet space. Knowing him as well as I've come to, I knew he wasn't one to forget something that made someone laugh at his ignorance. Thankfully, maybe, he was soon distracted.
“THEY HAVE A POOL!!” was suddenly screamed into my right ear at a decibel and pitch reserved for train whistles and preteen boys. I nearly wrecked the truck! Matt was pointing excitedly at the marquis sign, “I want to go swimming. Dad, can we go swimming! I love to swim, oh can we please,” he was running at a mile a minute, not even taking a break.
“Wait,” he got introspective for a moment, “I don't have a suit.” “Dad! I need a suit. I don't have a suit! I want to go swimming; I need a suit. Can we get me a suit?” Then he somehow got on his knees on the seat and putting his hands together, like he was praying, “Pleeease?” Matt was back in hyper mode, and by now I was laughing at his antics and rubbing my right ear.
“Yes, fine. Yes!” I finally got through to him.
“Yay!!” and the kid is bouncing and dancing on the seat. It was about that time we pulled next to Checks, and I rolled down my window in time for him to hear Matt celebrating. At his quizzical look, I asked if there was a Walmart nearby. Matt leaned across me and yelled, “They have a pool!!!”
“Oh my god! I'm deaf”, I muttered, looking at Checks laughing at Matt's antics.
Two hours later, after having my picture taken and providing my new name to Checks, he and I were sitting in the chairs outside the Holiday's pool. Matt, as it seems all kids know how, had found friends and was playing a very boisterous game of, well, I guess I would call it volleyball, with three other boys also enjoying the pool. It was the first time I'd seen him truly laughing and acting the care-free kid I once watched outside my window as he played in his yard with the neighborhood boys. My ears were still ringing, or ringing anew, and it was oddly peaceful in a manic way.
I didn’t even feel concern as I watched the boys play and realized the older boy, looking to be in the 14-15 year range, was actively rubbing on my boy. I couldn’t really blame him. We couldn’t find a normal swimsuit for Matt, so he was wearing a pair of cotton shorts that became form fitting when he got wet. Matt didn’t seem to mind the kid rubbing on him, so I was ok allowing him his fun. Besides, the boy was cute and I found myself chubbing a bit as I watched that devilish innocence of hormones and puberty on display before me.
“So,” Checks said quietly, looking at me out the side of his eye. “You fucking him?” And, there went my peace.
“Checks,” I said slowly. “I'm going to forget you said that. Matt is my son.”
“Dude, you forget who you are talking to?” Checks said. “I knew what you did to get into prison, and I know you don't have a kid. And, I know you.”
“No, you knew me, or the me I let you know,” I said with a sigh. “Look, I knew the kid's mother. She was somehow involved in something very shady that I didn't know about, and next thing I know she's dead and I'm trying to keep me and the kid alive, ok?” I didn't want to have this conversation, especially with someone as spineless as this idiot.
I turned in my seat, giving Checks my best poker-face, and told him very quietly, “Everyone that was even remotely involved in this has either disappeared or is dead. Once I leave, forget you ever saw me, destroy every record of what you've done.” I turned back to watch Matt laughing and having the first real laugh since seeing his mother die in my living room. “I like you, Checks. So, I'm telling you this for your own good. These guys play 'scorched earth' rules. You get me?”
“Fffuck,” Checks breathed out. “Damn man, I really liked being 'Kevin McCallister'. He had great credit.”
I laughed out loud at that. “Checks, you dumb ass. You made an ID as the 'Home Alone' kid?” Checks just grinned and shrugged. “You are one of a kind, Checks,” I said, shaking my head. “But, I wasn't making idle threats,” I said, turning serious. “These people will kill you after taking whatever information you have, so burn your memory of this in every way.”
“Come on, Buddy!” I hollered out to Matt, getting up out of the chair and grabbing a towel. “Time to go,” I said to a four-part harmony of “Aww”.
TBC