“In that case,” Bobby Tone said, “you might want to expand to other school districts. Carlos tells me we can use trumpets and trombones, too. But those won’t bring as much. If you want the big money, grab more sousaphones.”
Carlos made a dismissive gesture toward the blasted bell in the grass. His upper lip curled.
“But remember,” he said. “No fiberglass.”
There was a moment of silence. Then Bobby Tone kicked the lid of the tuba case closed. “All right, boys, load ’em up.”
Jared began to lean down toward the instrument cases. But Donny stepped in front of him. “I got it, clarinet-boy.”
Donny squatted and snapped the latches on the tuba case, then lugged it to the van and tossed it in. It landed with a bang.
“Take it easy!” Bobby Tone said.
Donny looked pissed. “Aw, it’s fine. It’s only worth seven hundred.” He kicked the left-rear van door, which slammed shut with another bang.
“Now, that’s just rude,” Bobby Tone said. Carlos glared.
Donny ignored them and reached for the sousaphone case.
At which point the van’s engine turned over. Then it bellowed, and the van spun away from the porch, its rear tires flinging dirt and grass, its right-rear door flapping. It fishtailed onto the dirt apron at the end of the driveway and blasted toward the county road.
As the van roared past me, I caught a glimpse of the driver.
Marisa.
I glanced back at the porch, expecting that Carlos would bring out the Judge again. But Carlos just stood there looking bemused while the other males on the porch hollered. Meanwhile, Kaylee had brushed her hair away from one eye and was watching the van make its getaway.
I watched it, too. Its lights came on as it squealed onto the blacktop road, and it roared away to the east. Its right-rear taillight winked as the open door swung over it and then swung back again. Then both taillights vanished among the live oaks, and the roar dwindled to a distant whine.
Up on the porch, the yelling and cussing dwindled as well. When it fell to silence, Carlos spoke. For the first time, he sounded as if he could be from Texas.
“Damn,” he said. “Whose girlfriend just jacked my tuba?”
4. Not a Pervert
I had no idea why Marisa had done it. Maybe she was mad at Donny for stomping off when she’d refused to put out. But for a smart kid, stealing the van seemed a stupid way of expressing her displeasure. Seeing as how Carlos and the Judge might decide to shoot up more than a fiberglass sousaphone bell.
Fortunately, Carlos didn’t seem to care about the van, and not much about the tuba. He just seemed happy that he still had the brass sousaphone.
Bobby Tone, however, was perturbed. I listened as he instructed Tyler to return the money for the tuba, plus another five hundred for the van.
“I stole that shitbox for the sole purpose of this transaction,” he said. “So it ain’t about the vehicle per se. It’s the principle. You invite a person to a business meeting, that person has a reasonable expectation of leaving in the same vehicle in which he arrived.”
The boys glanced at Kaylee, who gave a slight nod. Her hair fell over her face again.
Tyler, his shoulders hunched in misery, reached into his back pocket and pulled out the wad of bills. He counted off twelve and gave them back to Bobby Tone. Then Bobby counted off eight and extended them toward Carlos.
Carlos held up a hand. “No, you keep the finder’s fee.”
Bobby Tone peeled off a bill and handed over the rest. “That’s why I appreciate our association, Carlos.”
Carlos produced his wallet and tucked the bills inside. “You did your part.” Now he gave Tyler a cold stare. “But you’ll give me that hundred, pendejo.” The Spanish word didn’t sound natural coming from him. He put the emphasis on the first syllable instead of the second. “Then you’ll drive Mr. Anthony, me, and my sousaphone to our cars, which are parked in Kingman. And if I ever do business with you again, you’ll make sure the transaction proceeds in a more professional manner. Comprende?”
This time Tyler didn’t look to Jared or Kaylee. He just nodded, then handed Carlos another hundred.
I suppressed an urge to moan. Now the Kingman High sousaphone-stealing ring was left with a mere fourteen hundred. Plus some shot-gunned fiberglass.
And I wasn’t going to go after the cash on Bobby Tone and Carlos. I just wanted to steal candy from babies for a change. Especially after the Christmas mess in Chicago involving the Santa-with-a-Sig-Sauer. That payoff had financed my move back to Texas, but it still hadn’t been worth the near violation of Rule Number One: Don’t get killed.
Okay, so fourteen hundred wasn’t much. But it was something. And I had invested too much time to just let it go. So I had to stop pondering Marisa’s theft of the van. It wasn’t relevant to the goal.
Kaylee stood and took the remaining cash from Tyler’s hand. She didn’t speak, and she didn’t look up. She just smoothly … took it as she walked by. Tyler blinked and looked startled, but he didn’t say boo. Then Kaylee and Jared went into the house, closing the door behind them.
“All right, youngsters,” Bobby Tone said, slapping his hands together. “Time for me and Carlos to vacate Romper Room. Who’s drivin’?”
Donny mumbled and gestured toward the Ford pickup.
I eased away from the Civic’s rear bumper and moved up to the front end. Once there, I paused and listened long enough to hear the plastic-on-concrete scrape of the sousaphone case being picked up. Then, taking a quick breath, I scuttled past the Ford’s front end to the back corner of the crooked house. I squatted there, out of sight of the parked cars, with my back against the peeling wooden siding.
A glance around the corner revealed Tyler coming off the porch with the sousaphone case, followed by Donny, Bobby Tone, and Carlos.
“Hey, where’s Marisa?” Tyler asked as he hefted the sousaphone into the pickup bed. He wasn’t too bright.
“Gone,” Donny said.
Tyler climbed into the pickup bed with the instrument, and the other three got in front. When Donny started the engine, I ducked back around the corner before the headlights came on. Then I looked again while the Ford backed past the blasted fiberglass bell, shifted gears, and headed out to the road.
When it was gone, I remained still for a few minutes and listened. I heard Jared’s and Kaylee’s muffled voices inside the house, and no one else’s. I was pretty sure they were alone. I had watched the place for hours, and I had seen all of the vehicles arrive. The Ford was Donny’s, and Tyler had ridden shotgun. The Honda was Jared’s. And Kaylee had driven the PT Cruiser with Marisa as a passenger. I wondered how their friendship would evolve now that Marisa had screwed up what appeared to be Kaylee’s deal. And then I quashed that thought because, again, it wasn’t relevant to my goal.
I crept around to the south side of the house, following Jared’s and Kaylee’s voices. As I passed the concrete stoop on the east, I saw that the back door was standing open. There was a wooden screen door over it, but there was no latch or hook. I wouldn’t need my Swiss Army knife.
Once I was on the south side, I paused in the weeds under the second window. Like the back door, it was open but covered with a screen. A soft glow inside was accompanied by rustling noises, but the voices had fallen silent. It sounded as if Jared and Kaylee were going further than Donny and Marisa had gone.
As the sounds became rhythmic, I risked standing up far enough to look inside. I ignored the teenagers on the bed and scanned their clothes on the floor. The light from the lamp on the battered chest of drawers wasn’t great, but it was good enough for me to spot Kaylee’s white shorts in the doorway. The folded cash was visible in one of the pockets.
In the movies, a lone thief is often portrayed as an elegant schemer. But in the actual process of stealing, especially when stealing from other crooks, cleverness matters less than luck. Down and dirty gets the money.