Criminal Elements

CHAPTER 1

The black SUV shot down the freeway like an airplane taking off -- wings out, it would have made it. It was closing fast on the Toot-Putter Rail Station. Seconds later, it sliced through a crowd of backpackers, nearly creaming two poke-alongs. Bouncing over the curb, it whammed a stack of bags in a fiery head-butt. Every bag, fat or thin, shot down the asphalt. A monster bag careened off a curb to take out a line of tourists boarding a bus. For a bank shot, it was awesome.

A burb mom exploded out of the SUV: white-rimmed shades, vaulting blonde up-do, spun-sugar capris. Her motor-mouth soared on two mega-mugs of mondo espresso Italiano.

She was dying for a cup of coffee.

Beau, take your parrot out of the back...quick. I'll get your bag. Hurry up; we don't want to miss the train -- if we haven't already. Karen scooted around to open Beau’s door. Did you say goodbye to your father? I forget. Check your pockets...did I give you snack money for the train? Why did you bring that fat-assed parrot anyway?

SQUAWK –- FAT??? I’D GO WITH FLUFFY. HEY! WHO BOOSTED MY LAST CHIMICHANGA? Keyed up, but ready for anything, Wheezer, hysterical, perch-to-perch-to-perched it around his cage. His little black beak sat boldly in the middle of a big patch of soft, white down, dotted by two incredibly perceptive black eyes. Except for a long thin streak of white running the length of his rather broad back, the rest of this chunky parrot’s feathers vibrated a metallic, green-gold.

Eleven-year-old Beau, looking happy as a run-over bug, dawdled along as loose, and easygoing as he could. His usually good-looking, but now puckered face said it’s okay with me, ‘thank you very much’ if I miss the train. Why do I have to take the train? Why can't I fly?

FLY!! SQUAWK -- DO I LOOK LIKE A BIRD –- WE’LL HOP.

ALL ABOARD! The pudgy little train conductor stood ten feet away from the sleek, silver train, now quietly idling in stopover mode under the station’s large, rusty-iron overhang. The conductor’s weather-carved face and raccoon-like eyes stood out like a wart on the end of your nose, but his friendly aura made up for a certain hometown plainness.

The conductor waved the last minute arrivals on and searched his back pocket for a wad of linen. He crushed it against his nose and blew a couple of tuba gusts into it. Clearing his gravely throat, he began honking. Two minutes -- we leave on time.

Karen hustled Beau and his bird into the station. Your grandma's house is over a hundred miles from an airport, and the bus schedule doesn't fit...so it's the train. Come on, you'll love it.

Words barely out of her mouth, she caught her wristwatch. Oh! Beau, run....we’ve got to run.

Her high heels and scissor steps cut her foot rush in half, but it doubled her mouth rush. She chattered away, You’re a big boy, and you’ll love the train -- it’s like the country out there, only Grandma doesn't have cows . . .

Beau loped along behind and was getting further behind; Wheezer’s cage dangled on one arm, his bag dangled on the other, and the untied laces to his gray tennies flapped around like a loose bandage on a knee.

Hurry, Beau. Hurry. Won't be another train till day after tomorrow.

Beau, sweating from the two plaid shirts he slid over his sleepy head this morning, slugged on, but now he could barely hear his mother’s voice. Without warning, his belt, loosely tightened around his baggy, brown trousers, hung up on the end of a stairway handrail, jerking him back. MOM! WAIT! MAA - OOOM! The crowd behind had him pinned to the rail.

But Mom was too far ahead to hear, too focused on the tickets, and too busy wondering if she’d said enough. You'll like Grandma's cooking, and you can get my old bike out of the cellar.

MOM! HELP! Fighting to unhook, Beau lost his grip on Wheezer’s cage. It bounced once before the crowd’s feet kicked it back and forth across the station’s worn-thin floor.

Wheezer made a loud whistling noise soooooowheeett followed by, SQUAWK –- BACK OFF - I MEAN IT - AND I’LL PUT THE KNIFE DOWN!

An older boy, maybe 13, with gigantic brown eyes and dark, nicely combed hair, recovered the cage, hiked it up and stared-in, his voice, rough and scary as he addressed the crowd. Hey, look at this -- a tennis ball the size of a watermelon.

SQUAWK – WE HAVE BEEN TOGETHER TOOO LOOONG.

Beau finally unhooked and pulled free. In two big leaps he was next to the intruder with the immense brown eyes. Gimme that! Beau jerked the cage from the larger boy’s grip; he didn’t flinch at braving it.

SINCE WHEN? The beefy boy wrestled Beau for the cage, they grappled back and forth, around and around.

SQUAWK –- HECK? DARN? YOU GUYS CALL THAT CUSSIN’?

Beau whip-kicked the larger boy in his right shin. When the big kid loosened his grip for a split second, Beau yanked the cage free and scampered across the floor to race for the train. He really freaked me out!!

His found his mother down on the deck beside the train with all the contents of her purse scattered about, desperate for the tickets, never for a moment aware of Beau's problem. Where’s the ticket? Where’s the ticket? Where’s the ticket? Where? Where? Where? Where? Can’t go without a ticket..

SQUAWK –- TIME FOR A QUIVERING SCREAM.

Beau fell into a trance at the craziness of the scene. He popped out of it when the train slowly moved, and the conductor stepped back in. Beau threw his bag in and leaped on the train, parrot cage under one arm. MOM! MOM! THE TRAIN’S MOVING!

A huge smile burst across Karen’s face when she nailed it. HERE’S THE TICKET, BEAU...HERE. She waved Beau’s ticket far up over her head.

Now, the silver cars began to scoot right along. Karen spied Beau hanging out of a doorway waving his plaid covered arms; she morphed into her magnum gallop to catch him. In her mind, Karen heroically raced the train like the pinto sprinter, Hidalgo. Yet, it was not to be; she lost the race.

A young man watching from the train didn’t see Hidalgo racing the train--he saw the stiff-legged burro, Retardo. As the silver cars clicked past, his young hand reached out to pluck the ticket out of Karen’s upraised fist. The perpetrator’s hand and arm connected to a smiling face in a red shirt. It was the dark-haired boy with the gigantic brown eyes. Thanks for the ticket, lady. He followed with a grating whizgiggle.

Oh, brother. Why didn’t I buy that sniper’s rifle at the swap meet? Karen thought.

Beau’s scowl froze on his face when he saw who snatched the ticket. Dirty rotten rat.

SQUAWK -- SAD, SAD -- WEEP IT OUT, MY FRIEND.

Beau cocked further out of the doorway and regarded his mother way back, and getting further back, still waving, and slowly but surely disappearing into the distance. What am I gonna do now?

CHAPTER 2

Now, bird cage straining one arm and paisley bag tiring the other, Beau headed back through the train thinking. The boy with my ticket is about three cars back. He figured he could ace that sucker easy with an aluminum baseball bat. He could almost hear the ‘oomph’ as it connected. Not going to happen. Just have to do some old-fashioned smooth talking.

After passing through three coaches without spotting a familiar face, Beau slumped down in one of two empty seats and gloomily gazed out. How am I going to explain this to the ticket man when he comes? He was biting his lip when one of his thoughts slipped out. I don’t know where to find the answer.

HAVE YOU LOOKED UNDER THE COMPOST? Wheezer was playfully fluttering his feathers in his dark orange cage, which sat a little cockeyed in the empty seat next to Beau.

Beau barely whispered, If that's your way oaf saying SMILE, forget it.

SQUAWK –- BOOM SHAKA BOOM, SAY IT! BOOM SHAKA BOOM, BOOM SHAKA BOOM, SAY IT! SAY IT! SAY IT! BOOM SHAKA BOOM, BOOM SHAKA BOOM, BOOM SHAKA . . .

Will you STOP trying to cheer me up?

SQUAWK!! I COULD EAT A COW BUTT RIGHT NOW!!! Wheezer’s shriek was shrill enough to wake the departed; it turned every head in the carriage and loosened a few bolts on the undercarriage.

SQUAWK!! PLEASE DON’T BEAT ME, MAS-TA, I CAIN’T TAKE IT NO MO’!

A little face popped over the back of the upholstered seat in front of Beau. She was just about the cutest little ten-year-old Beau had ever laid his eyes on. This little cinnamon-headed beauty brought a smile to his lips and a nuzzle to his heart. His smile, long rows of glistening teeth lined up like soldiers stretching from one ear all the way to the other. He was smitten.

I love birds. My name is Bobbie. What's its name?

I’m Beau and this is Wheezer, and it's a he.

Mind if I say hello?

’Course not. Beau leaned awkwardly sideways. Come on back.

Bobbie moved back and scooted in beside Beau. He placed the cage on her lap, and as he did this, he imagined there was a whiff of lilac perfume to match the cotton, lilac blouse she had stuffed into her Gap jeans.

Bobbie cooed at the bird and gently tapped her fingers on the bars. Then she got a closer look. Oh, my. You are kinda – well – how could you get that big on bird food?

SQUAWK –- I EAT BIG BIRDS.

You’re not shy, are you? Bobbie said.

On a shyness scale of one to one hundred Wheezer’s shyness point at this momentous moment reached an all-time high of one, while his plucky level topped one hundred.

SQUAWK. HIIII –- I’M GUTIAR PICK LIPS, THE CLAPTRAP NINJI.

Don’t get a spoilt one like this, Beau groaned.

Yaaaaaaaa, riiiiight!!! SWACK.

Wheezer was owned by a professional writer before I got him. He taught Wheezer hundreds of sayings. Wheezer always seems to come up with something that fits in perfect. It’s kinda weird. Maybe he has bird hunches. He really doesn’t know what’s going on, but he gets people’s moods just right.

Where’d you get his name?

The wheezing. He wheezes 'cause he’s got asthma -– and then there’s his size, and he ain’t hollow.

SQUAWK –- HOLLOW? OKAY, SO, WHEN I’M GONE, YOU GOT YOURSELF A FANCY MAILBOX.

Beau’s fine-featured face had been fixed on the cage. All at once, he sensed someone stopping in the aisle next to Bobbie. Glancing up, he startled when he saw the older boy with huge brown eyes glaring back.

What are you doing with my girl? he growled.

It’s Larry. We sort of are best friends, Bobbie said.

Out of the blue, Beau got a scampish twinkle in his eye as his mind ran over whether buggy-eyed Larry looked more like a frog than a mantis.

The conductor, a bulky man, abruptly showed up behind Larry. Tickets? He was all business.

He grabbed my ticket. Beau was matter-of-fact.

NO WAY!! Larry leaned toward Beau, his right fist half way up.

And that did it. Beau lunged at him, quickly got him around the waist where his red shirt tucked into his black pants. They went down, rolling around on the floor. Beau fought well, but the older boy had the strength.

The conductor’s large hands pulled Beau off, allowing Larry to stumble to his feet.

It quickly lapsed into a leering contest. Ready for more, Larry feigned a lunge, and Beau went right back at him.

STOP IT! Stop it right now!! This is a good way for both of you to get kicked off the train. The conductor was the perfect referee, a large man with hands as big as his feet, oversized chest and veined muscular arms. This man would take no crap from either of these two peewee cream-puff papier-mâché brawlers.

During the fracas, Beau’s ticket jarred sideways in Larry’s shirt pocket -- an edge stood out.

Bobbie rose up, jerked it out of his pocket, and, glaring hard at Larry, handed it to the conductor. Still in a showy mood, she sent a knowing smile to Beau.

Not missing a nanosecond of this, Larry’s face smoked. You haven’t seen the last of this!!

CHAPTER 3

The train carriage slowly coasted past the time-weathered, wooden sign saying POSSUM GRAVY in faded white letters.

Grandma Lenore Blackburn, late 60s and looking it, was intensely proud of her country sweat. A simple person who never lifted a finger to hide her age, even went out of her way to flaunt it. Her outdated, clearly old-fashioned blur of clothes made her the perfect passenger for a bridled horse and buggy. As to presence of mind, she always skidded along in shallow water. She adjusted her filigreed granny glasses when she caught her grandson stepping off the train with his bag and parrot cage.

Wheezer saw Grandma first, and nearly fell over, he was so thrilled. SQUAWK -- JED CLAMPETT, JED CLAMPETT.

Beau. You growed so big, huh? Give Grandma a big hug.

Hi, Grandma. As Beau hugged Lenore, he noticed Bobbie, Larry, and a graying older man in a blue jogging suit stepping off the second coach down from him. Maybe I should go over...maybe not!! He decided not after he got a clearer view of Larry.

Larry tossed Beau a withering, hate-glare as he and the others moved off toward the man's car.

Bobbie managed a darting smile when she thought the other two weren’t looking.

Beau felt a rush of warm blood, sure he’d