Kyle’s room is easy because he gave a lot of his things to Goodwill before enlisting.
His mother’s scant possessions are already in the Dodge City barn. It’s sad to be in her empty room. It’s like she’s died.
Matt’s own clothes, fishing gear, art supplies, books, sleeping bag, pillow, towels, and toiletries go in last.
He takes every last bit of food — jarred pimientos, a can of green beans, and a bottle of soy sauce — from the little pantry and puts them in the Westfalia refrigerator. Climbs the avocado tree and takes all five of the skimpy avocados he can get to. With sixteen dollars and fifty cents to his name, and soon to be no roof over his head, he’ll need all the food he can take.
Last, he racks the Heavy-Duti on the back of the van, wondering where to tell Tommy to drop his papers after tomorrow. Hopes that Pedley won’t happen by and charge him a day’s rent for stealing avocados and using the Third Street driveway one last time. Matt briefly imagines picking up the landlord by the collar of his shirt and dropping him into the GTE dumpster across the street. He never used to have violent visions like this.
It’s strange to lock the door and put his and his mother’s house keys under the welcome mat. He feels heavy and regretful and responsible and guilty. It was a good house. What, exactly, could he have done to keep this from happening?
He backs onto Third and stops the van in the exact place he last saw his sister. Right here on this asphalt, being stuffed into a van like this by strong men. He hopes to knock on their door, free Jazz, and fight them. And has another angry vision, but more violent, with fists and blood and breaking bones.
He parks on Cliff Drive, carries a jar of peanut butter and a package of tortillas toward Heisler Park. It’s a beautiful place, high on a cliff, the Victor Hugo Restaurant twinkling behind him and a sprawling rose garden beyond. Used to come here with his family when he was little.
Matt settles onto a pathway bench behind a thicket of red roses. The garden paths are empty this late. He makes a peanut butter burrito. Over the rosebushes he sees the glittering ocean and the sharp dark shapes of Rockpile, where it’s dangerous to fish, but where he has fished, and done well.
He’s surprisingly not afraid to have no home now. A year ago, he thinks, he would have asked Ernie Rios or maybe his mom’s friend Brenda from the Jolly Roger if he could just crash a night or two. There are some scary people out there. Like Longton, the mugger. Matt thinks with his new muscles he could maybe take Longton now, one-on-one.
But Matt hasn’t asked anyone for a place to stay, and he won’t. He can get away with this. Just stretch his sixteen dollars. Do his job, keep his paper deliveries on time, wait for a larger, better-paying car route to come up. Continue his door-to-door search for Jazz twice a day until he’s found her. Take care of Mom. Be good to Laurel. Fish when possible. Hit the Food Exchange as needed. Meditate as the Enlighteners are teaching him at MAW. Eat meals at the beach or in the parks. Use the public restrooms and shower out at Mom’s. After Mom goes back to Dodge, sleep in the Westfalia, at a different spot each night so the cops don’t catch on.
He feels that a new chapter of his life is beginning. Nothing is the same as it was, and never will be. He’s having thoughts and emotions he’s never had. He’s becoming large. He wonders who the new Matt will turn out to be.
Back in the Westfalia Matt heads for his mother’s barn in Dodge City.
37
The next day, Matt finishes his route and sits astride the Heavy-Duti up in Bluebird Canyon, breathing hard and looking down on his world.
Furlong pulls up in Moby Cop. He lowers the window and regards Matt with his blunt, bear-like curiosity.
“How’s your mom? I called last night but the nurses were vague.”
Matt describes her injuries and the possibility of irreversible brain damage. This morning she was dazed and distant, but able to remember much of the day before. She seemed embarrassed.
Dr. Hoppe asked a lot of questions and made notes. Julie said she was very sore, especially the ribs, but when offered pain pills she refused. This surprised Matt, her finding the strength to say no.
“Where’d you sleep last night?” Furlong asks. “I saw the for-rent sign on Third.”
“A friend from school,” he lies. “Thanks for not taking me to juvie.”
“Where’d Julie go?”
“She moved to Dodge.”
“Oh, Christ.”
“She was starting over, really trying to beat the dragon balls. Now this.”
“Starting over in Dodge City.” Furlong takes a long look at Matt from behind his now clean Ray-Bans. “Why didn’t you go with her?”
“I need freedom and I don’t like Dodge.”
A beat while Furlong considers. “Did you see her fall?”
Matt nods, sees her falling again. Tearing at the air like she’s trying to climb it.
“Was it an accident?”
“I believe so.”
Matt still isn’t sure. There was that moment of deliberate commitment, like she was stepping into a pool and trying not to splash. Like this was something she had decided to do, until fear took over and made her fight for her life.
Furlong turns off the engine and surveils the street before speaking.
“I need a few things from you, Matt. And, now that your mother is a resident of Dodge City, one of them might be easier for you to get.”
“Five dollars per item.”
“First, I want a jar of Laguna Sunshine Farms canned stewed tomatoes. They have a groovy psychedelic label on them, all organic, and they’re grown in the commune farm out there. I’ll pay for them, of course.”
“You can buy a jar yourself, at the roadside stand.”
“I tried. They wouldn’t sell to a cop.”
Matt remembers the dog turd trick that Grail pulled on the sergeant. Stifles a smile.
Furlong continues: “I also want my own copy of that fancy book you delivered to Marlon Sungaard — The Tibetan Book of the Dead. And, also from Mystic Arts World, a box of the Languedoc Toffees from France.”
“The Tibetan books are special-made gifts for Brotherhood church members and important customers,” says Matt. “Same with the candy. They keep those things separate because they’re not for sale.”
Safe in the Bat Cave, he thinks.
“Which is why I need you,” says Furlong.
“That would be shoplifting.”
“I’ll look the other way.”
“The Brotherhood won’t.”
“They’re criminals, Matt.”
“Those leather-bound Tibetan books are expensive,” Matt says. “Just buy a cheap paperback.”
“I want the same edition you delivered to Sungaard.”
“Why is this stuff important — the tomatoes and the candy and the book?”
“A little bird sang in my ear.”
“I don’t want to steal for you,” Matt says. “We didn’t agree to that.”
“I need those things and I need them soon.”
Matt says nothing. He knows he shouldn’t do it and he’s not sure he even can get away with it. Johnny Grail gives him work, shows him the Bat Cave, helps his mom find a place in Dodge, and a job. And Matt rips him off for the cops? Matt is still pissed at Johnny for the drug-infused Summer of Eternal Love invitations, which have potentially made him a sixteen-year-old felon. And possibly contributed to his mother’s broken body and perhaps damaged brain.
Matt has also heard grim stories about Orange County’s Juvenile Hall. It turns you into a worse criminal than when you went in. Crowded. No family. No friends. No fishing, no paper route, no Laurel. Just big hoods ready to kick the shit out of you like Staich did. Hamsa Luke at Mystic Arts World told Matt that juvie was worse than jail, and he’d been in both. The food was vile.