| Riding Shotgun By Warren Bull
I figured out a long time ago that I’m not the sharpest pencil in the box. I will never have a job where I wear a suit and tie and talk to people in my air-conditioned office. The jobs I can get leave grease under my fingernails and calluses on my hands. I thought it would always be like that, but one night, when I was in jail after sleeping off a drinking binge, I met a man who told me a way to make a living that didn’t involve heavy lifting. I was looking for the chance to work when, just outside a restaurant named Mosaics, a trophy wife, with a figure like an ad for plastic surgery and a face like a Noxzema commercial, acted like an idiot right in front of me. She didn’t bother to park her car and lock it before walking into the restaurant. She hopped out of her new black Toyota 4Runner and jogged in, leaving the keys in the ignition with the motor running. As if this had been worked out ahead of time, I waved at her retreating back, opened the door and slid in. I took a moment to adjust the mirrors (in my line of work it’s good to know who’s behind you.) Then I signaled before pulling away from the curb and merged into traffic. Some days I love my job. Driving like a little old lady on Sunday, I could be at the chop shop within ten minutes where, on an average day, a car is searched for tracking devices, stripped of identification, and broken down into parts before the owner calms down enough to tell the police what they need to know. Since tire tread can be used for identification, tires are out of the shop within minutes. At a red light, I pulled out my cell phone to call ahead and alert the crew. “Hi!” came from the back seat. With a sinking heart, I turned my head to see a girl with curly blond hair and bright blue eyes sitting in the middle of the back seat. She looked like a ten-year-old version of the trophy wife. “Where the hell did you come from?” I asked. “I knew you’d be shocked,” she said. “I waited for a red light so you wouldn’t crash the car. I was on the floor in the back seat reading my book when my mom went into the restaurant. She was stupid to leave the keys in the car.” Someone honked. I looked at the light. It had turned green so I drove forward. “Don’t worry,” I said. “I won’t hurt you. I wouldn’t have taken the car if I’d seen you. Let’s see, there’s a community college a few blocks ahead. I can drop you off outside the office. If you go in and tell them what happened, they’ll let you use the phone to call your mom.” “No way. I’ll scream.” “There’s no reason to be afraid,” I said. “I promise I won’t hurt you. I’ll pull over and let you out right here if you want.” “No!” I said. “Okay, you win. You keep the car. I’ll pull into a parking lot, give you the keys and walk away.” I’d have to wipe my fingerprints off the steering wheel and the keys. There might be hair and fibers for the cops to find, but I could trash the suit and move out of town if I had to. I wondered if evidence labs could really do the things you see on television. My crime was only grand theft auto. Maybe they wouldn’t bother. “Noooo! You don’t get it. You’re not paying attention. I don’t want the car. I don’t want you to drop me off.” “What do you want?” I asked. “I don’t want to go home. I want to stay with you.” She burst into tears. Her body shook. “Shit, shit, shit.” I muttered under my breath. “Stop crying. You can’t stay with me. For all you know, I might be an ax murderer or something.” “You promised you wouldn’t hurt me. I believe you. Being with you has to be better than living where I am.” “Little girl…” “Susie.” “Susie,” I said. “Listen to me. When your mother reports you missing, there’s going to be a firestorm. A description of this car and its license plate number will be all over television and radio. Your picture will be too. We don’t have much time.” Susie said, “Pull into the parking garage of that office building.” “Okay, but we can’t hide there for very long.” I did as she asked. “We’re not hiding,” said Suzie. “There’s a screwdriver in the back. You can switch plates with another car. Look, some cars are parked in reserved spaces. The drivers probably won’t come out until work is over. If it’s dark when they come out, they may not notice the switch until morning. Don’t worry. There are tons of cars just like this one.” I would never have thought of it, but it made sense to me. I did what Susie advised while she acted as lookout. We had new plates in no time. “Come on,” I said. “Tell me what this is about. You can ride shotgun.” “What does that mean?” she asked. “You can ride in the front seat next to me. In the old days when they had stagecoaches, a guard with a shotgun would ride next to the driver. In my family, the first kid to claim shotgun got to ride in the front seat. You’re my guard. I’m counting on you to protect me. Watch out for police cars. Check behind us from time to time and let me know if we’re being followed.” “I’ll put on sunglasses,” said Susie. “Maybe I could wear a disguise.” “Yeah, we’ll get you a long white beard.” Susie giggled. She jumped into the car and bounced up and down on the seat. I looked at her before starting the engine. “Put on your seatbelt.” “You see,” she crowed, “you don’t want me to get hurt. You’re not an ax murderer.” “Lucky for you,” I answered. “Now tell me what this is about. What’s so terrible at home that you think you’d be better off with a criminal?” “What can I call you? I have to call you something.” “How about Jesse?” “Like Jesse James? Cool,” she said. “I could be Belle Star.” “Well, Susie or Belle, tell me what’s so bad at home.” She hesitated. “If I tell you, will you make it better?” “I don’t know if I can,” I answered. “Maybe I could help some. I don’t know ‘cause I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She smiled. “Now I know you’re honest, too. I already tried telling some people, but they couldn’t help.” “Yep, I’m an honest car thief and I’ll end up in prison someday. So quit stalling and tell me.” Susie scrunched up her forehead. In a small voice she asked, “Do you think I’m pretty?” “Um, sure,” I said. “You look like your mom. She’s very pretty.” “My mom went to the doctor to get bigger boobies,” said Susie. “I bet she was pretty before that,” I answered Susie leaned toward me and stared at me. “If you could date me or my mom, who would you date?”
“Date? I’m confused. You mean
like hugging and kissing?” “No offense, Susie,” I said, “but what kind of question is that? Grown-up men date grown-up women, not little girls. If I was your age, I’d be real happy to be your boyfriend, but we wouldn’t go on dates. We might hold hands.” “You’d better pull over here,” said Susie. I stopped the car. “You better just tell me,” I said. “I know you can tell that I’m not exactly an Einstein. Just say it.” Susie took a deep breath and then talked so quickly that the words ran together, “My step-dad tries to peek when I don’t have any clothes on. He talks to me and says he’s gonna do stuff to me like they do on dates. Twice he tried to touch me in places…you know.” I did know and it made me feel sick. “What does your mom say?” “She says he’s just joking, but he isn’t.” “Did you tell a teacher?” “I tried, but she didn’t want to listen. My step-dad’s rich and I go to a school where he pays them a lot of money. I don’t know if the principal would believe me. Besides it’s embarrassing.” “Your step-dad’s the one who should be embarrassed, not you. You didn’t do anything wrong,” I said. “What about your real dad?” “I don’t know where he is. I bet he really hates me because he never comes to see me, so he can’t help.” “It might not be like that,” I said. “I know this guy. He’s a friend of mine. When he was young and dumb he got a girl pregnant. Her family didn’t like him. You can’t blame them for that. He was kind of wild and he wasn’t ready to be a father. He tried to settle down, but they didn’t want him around the baby. The mom had a chance to go to school and become a doctor, but that meant she and the baby would move away. He could have gotten a lawyer and fought to make them stay. He could have moved to the place she was going, but that would have made it harder for the mom. In the end he let them go without him. What would the baby have thought about having a dad who worked in a tire factory, got drunk on weekends and went to jail? It was hard, but he thought it was the best thing. He talked to the girl’s dad, who was a cop, and they agreed he would leave them alone. The cop was pretty decent about it, really. He didn’t threaten or yell. He just listened and talked.” “Does your friend miss them?” “Oh, yes. All the time.” “The baby might not mind when she got older.” “He, not she,” I said. “It’s way too late now. He’s ten and a half and he’s never known his dad. The mom married a nice guy. They’re better off without him.” I cleared my throat and blew my nose. Then I thought for a long time. “I wish we were Jesse and Belle. We’d just shoot the varmint.” I reached for my wallet and pulled out a battered business card. “Back when, um, back when I started this racket, Detective Randall came to see me. He said he knew I was the one stealing cars. He told me they’d catch me sooner or later. I knew he was right. He told me if I ever got in a real fix, I should give him a call.” I dialed the number and eventually got connected to Randall. “Are you looking for a little girl named Susie and a black Toyota 4Runner? I can get them to you, but you have to promise to listen to the girl before anything else. You have to listen to her before you let her parents know she’s there.” “The little girl is my top priority,” said Randall. “I’m on the way there.” Susie looked sad and worried. “Detective Randall is a good man. He’ll do anything he can to help you.” “What about you?” “I’ll be fine. I guess my car rustling days are over. Grand theft auto is a class C felony so it’s not a walk in the park, but just about everybody I know has been in prison at one time or another. I’ll survive. I’ll spend a few years making license plates. With time off for good behavior, I’ll be back out pretty soon. Besides, I’m going to return the car as good as new. That might count for something when I come up for parole.” When we pulled up at the police station, Susie was reluctant to get out of the car. “See,” I said, “no parents. Randall is a straight shooter.” We went inside. Randall was waiting. Susie asked me to stay with her so I did. He listened to Susie’s story about her stepfather without interrupting her and then called somebody he knew at Family Services. “We will investigate this before we decide when it’s safe for you to go home,” said Randall. “I promise you that.” He leaned back in the chair. “Now tell me about the carjacking.” “Oh,” said Susie. “It was very exciting. This very tall man with a white beard - I think it was a disguise - jumped in the car and drove off when Mom left it running at the restaurant.” My jaw dropped. Susie continued, “He didn’t know I was there. I was scared so I hid. He stopped in a parking garage of an office building, got out and did something to the front and back of the car. He took off again. I was afraid he’d drive far away so finally I let him know I was there. When I popped up, he pulled the car into a parking lot and ran off without the keys.” She smiled at me. “This nice man asked if I was in trouble and I told him everything. He called you and drove us here.” Randall looked at me. “If you don’t close your mouth, you’ll catch a fly in there.” He looked back at Susie, “You know we can dust the car for fingerprints.” “He was wearing leather gloves.” “The tall man was?” “Very tall with a white beard. I think it was a disguise.” Randall looked at me. “Did you see that very tall man?” Susie nudged me with her foot. “No. The only person I saw in the car was Susie.” “Why am I not surprised by that?” asked Randall. “You and I are going to have a very long talk. You are about to change careers. Have no doubt about that. First though, Susie, I need to take you to a children’s shelter. If you like, we can go in a squad car.” “Cool,” said Susie. “I’ll ride shotgun.”
|
I
was in disguise when it started, designer sunglasses, boat shoes
without socks and a tailored Italian suit. I wandered around a
high-class shopping district called the Country Club Plaza, waiting
for someone to act like an idiot. That’s how I made a living.