High-Caliber Concealer Read online

  “OK,” said Mr. Fernandez, passing out a flashlight and a strip of blue or red cloth to each player. “The red Buick here is jail. If you get caught you have to go to jail. You can escape from jail if someone on your team sneaks up, touches the Buick and yells ‘jail break.’ In order to get caught the other team must shine their flashlight on you, and yell your name. If you don’t know the person’s name you can yell ‘Blue, I see you.’ Once caught, you must be escorted back to the Buick. You must leave your flashlight on at all times. The boundaries are the road, the green Chevys, our property line, and the junkyard fence. The game ends in one hour. Nikki’s team are the foxes, Jackson’s team are the rabbits. Rabbits you get a two minute head start.” Mr. Fernandez checked his watch.

  “I don’t have the appropriate gear for this,” said Jane. “We need radios, night vision. Maybe some sonar.”

  “Hour starts now. Run, rabbits, run!” Mr. Fernandez threw his hand up in the air and Jackson’s team scattered.

  Nikki, turned and inspected her team. “Jane and Jackie are going to be the jailers. They’re in charge of patrolling to make sure no one sneaks up and releases our prisoners. Jane, if you could figure out how to climb up into the Buick and yell directions if you spot anyone, that would be really helpful. Everyone else, pair up. If you catch someone, one of you escorts the prisoner, the other keeps looking. But agree on a meeting point before you separate. Remember, if Jane yells directions, they will all be based off the Buick. Three o’clock will be passenger side, six will be roof side, nine will be the driver’s side, etc. Also, does every team have a watch or a phone? Good. Let’s all meet back here in twenty-five minutes. We’ll assess who we’ve caught and who’s still missing.”

  “Two minutes is up!” yelled Mr. Fernandez settling into the lawn chair, carefully balancing his margarita and his iPhone. “Hurry up, Team Red. I’m live tweeting who gets caught!”

  “You tweet? My father tweets. This is just great.”

  “You don’t follow me?” demanded Mr. Fernandez. “I’m @KingMoustache. I have three thousand followers.”

  “I’m following you now,” said Jane, whipping out her phone. “I’m @BlackDeath.”

  “Nikki,” Donny said, shaking his head, “Tío Eli, and I are leaving now because I cannot have this conversation. But I want you to know that I blame you for making me run just when I was getting a good buzz on.” The pair jogged off, Eli setting the pace, Donny following reluctantly after.

  “Ready?” asked Nikki, turning to Z’ev with a smile.

  “Honestly, no. Somehow I’m never quite ready for when you go rogue commando on me.”

  “I don’t go rogue,” said Nikki. “I just go commando.”

  “That’s true,” said Jane. “She doesn’t like panty-lines.”

  “We’re leaving now,” said Nikki, sticking out her tongue at Jane. Jane waved, already scrutinizing the red Buick, trying to figure out the best way to climb it.

  The air was hot and smelled of dried grass and the damp mud of the river. Nikki and Z’ev waded through the waist-high grass, their flashlights swinging in wide arcs. The hulking pillars of planted cars loomed around them in the darkness and above them the stars littered the sky untainted by the competing glow of city lights.

  “It’s nice out here,” said Z’ev looking around and taking a deep breath.

  “Yeah,” said Nikki, reaching for his hand and leaning into his shoulder. “This is one of my favorite parts of being here.” She looked up at the stars. “When you can see all the stars, you realize that it’s not really dark. You can’t see any stars in LA.”

  “We can see one or two,” said Z’ev.

  “You know what I mean.”

  “Yeah, I do.” He put his arm around her and for a moment everything was perfect.

  “Two flashlights, twelve o’clock!” bellowed from Jane behind them. Nikki took off at a sprint.

  Forty minutes later, Nikki was gasping for air. Z’ev was escorting Jenny to the Buick. Flashlights bobbed in the field like fireflies. Still no sign of Ellen, but then she didn’t really expect to find Ellen. She just wanted to get Jackson. Ahead of her, Jackson monkey-climbed over a tractor, bounced off some sort of Honda, and sprinted for the fence line. Nikki hesitated.

  The field of cars was mostly rectangular, except for one part where the junkyard pushed out into the field. Jackson was following the fence line along the bulge, swinging back toward the Buick. It was clear that Jackson really had been training. He was definitely faster than her and his vertical leap was impressive. He’d cleared that loose cow without breaking stride, much to the cow’s dismay.

  Making a decision, Nikki hopped the fence and headed into the junkyard. She dodged freezers, leapt over a stove, and landed on the winding path formed by walls of junk that would lead straight across to the field. She stood up to run and stopped. Ahead of her, a flashlight glimmered.

  “Ellen,” breathed Nikki grinning. “Never trust a sniper to play by the rules.”

  She slipped quietly along the lane, stopping by a pile of sinks. A woman was rooting around inside the trunk of a compressed Toyota.

  Nikki jumped around the corner, training her flashlight on the woman. “Ellen! Gotcha!”

  Only, it wasn’t Ellen. Ylina raised her hand against Nikki’s flashlight. She had a gym bag in one hand.

  “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! Are you following me?”

  “No! I’m playing tag.”

  “You’re playing tag in a junkyard? What is wrong with you?”

  “No, I’m cheating by cutting through—never mind that. What are you doing here?”

  “None of your business,” said Ylina, slamming the trunk of the car shut.

  “Look, Ylina, I know about the smuggling. You and Milt and Bill Pims. You’ve been smuggling pot in from Canada, haven’t you?”

  “I don’t know how you found that out, but if you know what’s good for you, you’ll keep your mouth shut.”

  “Ylina, I know you’re in trouble. Why don’t you let me help you?”

  “Because I don’t need help! I’m going to cash in my insurance policy and blow town.”

  “Why not blow the whistle? Turn state’s evidence?” suggested Nikki.

  Ylina’s laugh was as surprised as it was genuine. “Yeah, right. Why don’t I just sign my own death warrant? Leave me alone. I can take care of myself.”

  “Yeah, like you were taking care of yourself at the Kessel Run?”

  “Just leave me –” Ylina abruptly cut off and turned toward the road. “Shit. This is your fault. I don’t know how, but it’s your fault.”

  The high-pitched wail of police sirens sounded from the road, like wolves howling in the distance. Ylina took off running toward the center of the junkyard. Out in the field, the flashlights began to all head for the Buick.

  Nikki hesitated again, and then, cursing, she headed for the Buick, too.

  August XIX

  Kick My Ass

  Nikki arrived at the Buick at the same time as Ellen.

  “Where is everyone?” she gasped, swinging her flashlight around.

  “They all ran,” said Ellen. “Most them went up to the house, but I saw Z’ev and Donny go this way.”

  “They must be going to the boat house,” said Nikki. “Come on.”

  “Why the boathouse?” asked Ellen as they jogged.

  “Noise complaints,” said Nikki. “It looks better if they have less guests than they do. Mr. Fernandez has been stashing extra party guests at the boathouse for years.”

  The boathouse was a shack on the edge of the river built for storing inner tubes, canoes, and camping equipment, but also used as a woodshop and all-purpose escape from the bustle of the house. Nikki remembered it as a dusty hideaway from adults and sun. As they approached they could hear the raucous sound of male voices.

  “What’s going on in there?” Ellen asked.

  “No clue.”

  They pushed through the crowd, illuminated by a single swinging
bulb. Z’ev and Jackson were in the center of the crowd and as Nikki watched, Z’ev swung a punch at the smaller man. Jackson slipped a little sideways so the punch didn’t land square. Z’ev came in for a body shot and Jackson let it hit, letting himself get shoved into the canoes strapped to the wall so he could rebound, coming back in double fast. He landed a flurry of blows and Z’ev staggered back, unprepared for this sudden onslaught. When he hit people, they usually stayed down. Recovering, he stayed up on the balls of his feet and swung again for his opponent. Jackson twisted sideways, aimed for the gut. Z’ev adapted to the move and flicked his elbow, landing it across Jackson’s ear. The elbow shoved Jackson’s head back in range for the other hand and Z’ev went for the punch. Jackson went down, but came back up like he was on strings. Then he went further up, jumping and came down with a punch on Z’ev’s face that landed like a mule stomp. Z’ev went backwards, his nose bloody. Jackson followed him, allowing no quarter, putting in hooks to the gut with a staccato fury. Z’ev covered up, lowered his head, centering his weight and then shot for a tackle. Jackson spun him off with ease. But Z’ev showed no surprise at the side-slip and whirled faster than Jackson had been expecting, landing a heavy fist across the side of Jackson’s face; he’d just wanted the distance.

  Jackson backed up and they squared off again, staring at each other. They were both bloody now. Along the side of the room, Rey-Rey was hosting the betting pool.

  “Fifty on Jackson. He never loses,” called Louis.

  “Nobody’s lasted this long before,” countered Rey-Rey. Whatever he would have said next was lost in the noise as Z’ev made another charge. The crowd moved in around them, obscuring them from Nikki’s view.

  “Nikki, you need to stop them!” demanded Donny, pushing through the crowd.

  “Me? What the hell are they arguing about? I left them with you.”

  “Jackson said something. I don’t know what. I think it was something about you. And then Z’ev got mad and the next thing I know, they’re fighting. Are you going to stop them?”

  “I’m thinking,” replied Nikki, wincing as she heard the sharp sound of fist connecting with flesh.

  “Thinking about what? They’re going to kill each other!”

  “I doubt it,” answered Nikki. “I think they want to know who’s top dog.”

  “And you go off with the winner? That’s bullshit, Nikki.”

  “This isn’t about me,” snapped Nikki. “It’s about who’s tougher. They’d be doing this even if I wasn’t involved.”

  “Bullshit!” repeated Donny. “And if you won’t stop it, I will!” Donny began to push through the crowd.

  “That’s the hard way to do it,” said Ellen.

  “Agreed,” said Nikki and then climbed up on a counter top. “Cops! Cops! Run!”

  The effect was instantaneous. The crowd dissipated immediately, pushing past and in between Z’ev and Jackson, effectively blocking them from fighting further.

  “Nikki, what is wrong with you?” demanded Donny, picking up Jackson. Jenny and Ellen sat Z’ev on a Seadoo. Jane ran in, panic in her eye, took in the scene, then stopped, and shrugged.

  “How is this my fault?” demanded Nikki.

  “How is it not?” snapped Donny. He opened up a cupboard under the workbench revealing a mini-fridge. He angrily pulled out ice packs and tossed them at Z’ev and Jackson. “Get the first aid kit out of the cupboard.” He pointed to one by Nikki, and she randomly opened cupboards until she found the right one.

  “It is not my fault,” reiterated Nikki, inspecting the first-aid kit. “If they want to beat the crap out of each other, it’s got nothing to do with me.” Like most first-aid kits, it contained a smattering of bandages and nothing truly useful.

  “Like hell it doesn’t! They’re fighting over you.”

  “Even if that were true, that would be their problem. I am neither a prize to be won nor responsible for their actions.”

  “That’s right,” affirmed Jane, picking straw out of her hair.

  “Well, speaking for myself,” began Z’ev.

  “I suggest that you don’t,” said Nikki. She sorted through bandages and a crusty bottle of iodine before finally finding some more modern materials. “If I thought for a moment that the two of you were fighting over me, I’d kick both your asses. I do not date people based on their fighting ability.”

  Z’ev and Jackson exchanged glances.

  “Uh, well, yeah, you do Nik. Always have,” said Jackson. “Definitely an alpha male kind of girl.” Nikki slammed down the bottle of hydrogen peroxide and glared at Jackson.

  “You take that back! I like sensitive men.”

  Donny snorted in laughter.

  “Yeah, men who sensitively hit hard,” put in Z’ev. Nikki glared at both of them. Pouring hydrogen peroxide onto a cotton ball she jabbed it into a cut at the outside corner of Z’ev’s eyebrow.

  “Ow,” he said flinching.

  “See, he’s sensitive,” said Jackson.

  “You shut up too,” said Nikki, shoving the bottle of peroxide at Donny. Donny took it and began to clean up Jackson. Nikki was done first, and she angrily began to repack the first aid kit, gathering up the discarded band-aid wrappers.

  “Your boyfriend hits hard,” said Jackson, looking at Nikki as Donny taped a final butterfly bandage over a split on his cheek.

  “Not hard enough,” said Z’ev, creaking to his feet, and limping over to the refrigerator. He pulled out two beers and handed one to Jackson, who carefully applied the beer bottle to his eye.

  “The two of you are making me crazy,” said Nikki. “I wish I’d stayed in LA. I should know better than to try and go on vacation.”

  “Hey, we’re not getting shot at, so you know, still better than work,” said Z’ev.

  Jenny, Ellen, and Jane all nodded.

  “I wanted to have a nice quiet time with my grandma. I wanted to eat peach pie and float in the pond and have a nice time.”

  “We floated,” said Jenny.

  “There was pie,” said Jane, looking around as if pie might appear. “It’s probably all gone now though.”

  “You know where it went wrong? The Kessel Run. I should have just driven straight to Grandma’s, but no, I had to stop for a burger.”

  “Well, Ylina’s probably glad you stopped,” said Jackson, shifting his beer to the other side of his ribs.

  “No, she really isn’t,” said Nikki.

  “What are you talking about?” asked Donny.

  “Never mind,” said Nikki, throwing up her hands. “It doesn’t matter. Let’s just go home.”

  “That’s right,” said Z’ev. “Because God forbid that we actually talk about anything. Just brush it under the covers. That’s how the line goes isn’t it?”

  “Oh, my God. You’re still mad about that? How are you still mad about that?”

  “Man, I feel like I’m back at my parent’s house,” said Jackson to Donny, but looking from Nikki to Z’ev.

  “I know what you mean.” Donny nodded and reached in the fridge for a beer.

  “Should we do something?” asked Jackson.

  “You talk to him all the time, Nikki!” yelled Z’ev.

  “Nah,” said Donny reassuringly. “As far as I can tell, this is what they do in between making out.”

  “Once a month is not all the time, Z’ev!”

  “He wrote a song about you!”

  “He also wrote a song about his coffee being cold and lighting his pubic hair on fire. Trust me, it’s not the compliment you think it is.”

  “What are they talking about?” Donny staged whispered at Jenny, sitting down next to Jackson.

  “I don’t have to hear those on the radio.” Z’ev waved his arms in huge gestures of frustration. “It’s like the number two song in Brazil. It’s on once an hour!”

  “Kit Masters,” hissed Jenny.

  “Who’s Kit Masters?” asked Donny, looking around the room for an explanation.

  “Pop sing
er from England,” explained Jackson. “There was a picture of him kissing Nikki on the front page of the Star awhile ago. It was big news around here.”

  “I haven’t even seen Kit in four months and even then it was just dinner. What is your problem?” yelled Nikki.

  “Never heard of him,” answered Donny, twisting the top off his Bud Light.

  “Neither had anyone else around here. Apparently he’s big in Europe. Jake’s Records did good business in importing his album after the picture came out. He’s not bad. Catchy. If you like that kind of thing.”

  “My problem?” repeated Z’ev. “My problem? Well, apparently my problem is that I’m not your type.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “I’m not your type.”

  “Not my… What the…” Nikki sputtered, unable to formulate words. “How are you not my type Z’ev?”

  “You know,” said Z’ev making gestures with hands as if squishing something down into a smaller size. “Compact and white!”

  “Dude, I think he’s talking about you,” said Donny to Jackson.

  “In case you hadn’t noticed Nikki, I’m six foot two and brown!” yelled Z’ev.

  “About me?” asked Jackson.

  “I don’t care how tall you are!” yelled Nikki, once again starting with the wrong thing first.

  “Yeah, compact and white, that’s you.”

  “Wait, I’m white?”

  Donny laughed, trying not to snort beer through his nose.

  “And I’m not dating your skin, I’m dating you. I don’t give damn about your skin color!” She finished with the important thing.

  “Everyone else around here seems to.”

  “You cannot blame me for their retarded attitudes.”

  Behind her, Nikki could hear Jane, the word police, make an annoyed noise over her use of the R word, but she could only argue with one person at a time.