Then the front door opened again, and Marisa burst out in apparent violation of Garrett and Elizabeth’s plan. She shoved Donny away from the case and closed it over the Gronitz.
“This instrument,” she said, “is no longer for sale.”
At that, Carlos darted in front of Marisa, grabbed the case, and flung it into the minivan. Then Bobby Tone slammed down the hatchback as Carlos reached behind his back and brought out the Judge. I tensed.
“Since you have attempted to renege,” Carlos said, “we will be changing our terms. The price is now five hundred dollars.”
I had a feeling that the price had really been five hundred dollars all along.
Bobby Tone gave the kids a snaggle-toothed grin. “Same situation as before. Take it or leave it. But if you leave it, Carlos and I might be taking it anyhow.”
Then, finally, David Garrett stepped onto the porch.
“Everyone under the age of thirty, back into the house,” he said.
Donny and Tyler complied, but Marisa stood her ground, glaring at Bobby Tone and Carlos.
“No tomarás mi tuba,” she said.
You didn’t have to know Spanish to know what she was saying. If Bobby and Carlos tried to leave with the Gronitz, they were going to have ninety pounds of Bad-Brass wildcat on their backs.
I liked that kid.
But Carlos was looking past Marisa. He and Garrett had locked stares like a couple of angry chickens.
“Tell your student that I don’t speak Spanish,” Carlos said. He said the word “student” as if spitting out a mouthful of bat guano.
“Marisa, you should go inside,” Garrett said.
“They’ve got the Gronitz,” Marisa said.
“They won’t take it. Go on in with Ms. Owens and the others, and I’ll get this straightened out.”
Marisa took a few slow steps backward, keeping her gaze fixed on Carlos. Then she turned and went inside. Garrett closed the door behind her.
I relaxed a little.
Garrett sighed. “Charlie, I don’t know what you think you’re doing with that silly-ass pistol. It looks like something Yosemite Sam might carry.”
Carlos/Charlie glowered. “You always did want to be Bugs Bunny.” The Judge remained hanging at his side, but his hand twitched.
Bobby Tone cleared his throat. “Uh, Carlos, I have the sense that this situation has transformed into something other than a business transaction. And since you seem to harbor some personal animosity toward this gentleman, I’m going to ask you to return the Judge. A firearm can be useful for making a point, which is why I was happy to lend it. But business should never involve personal animosity.” He held out a hand.
I almost let out a whistle. The Bobby Anthony I had known when I was a kid had carried a .25-caliber pistol in his back pocket and a shotgun behind the seat of his International Harvester. So perhaps I should have guessed that in his old age, he had decided to combine the two. And I also should have guessed that a man who spoke and dressed like Carlos wasn’t really a Judge kind of guy.
Carlos/Charlie had a pained expression, as if a dance partner had drilled a heel into the arch of his foot. But then he flipped the Judge to hold it by the barrel and extended it to Bobby Tone.
Bobby took it, turned the cylinder while squinting at the shells, then tucked it into his waistband. He nodded at Garrett. “Go ahead and straighten out whatever you have to straighten out. Then maybe I’ll have a further proposition. This has been a complicated enterprise, but I’ve invested too much time and energy to walk away now.”
I felt the same way. It was almost as if Bobby Tone and I were cut from the same bolt of cloth. He’d gone to jail and I’d gone to UT, but there are those who would argue there’s not much difference.
Garrett took a step toward Carlos/Charlie, who took a step back and almost fell off the porch. Garrett stopped and shook his head.
“Look, Charlie,” he said, “I’m not mad about your taking the money. I don’t know how you got the PIN number, but it’s okay. I was just glad to know you were back in Texas. I didn’t think you were ever coming home.”
Now I was a little envious of Charlie. As far as I could tell, nobody was glad I had come home. And I hadn’t even broken into anyone’s bank account.
“I had to,” Charlie said darkly. “California isn’t what it was. Texas is where the music I want to play is happening now. I’m starting my own banda, David. I’ve been in Baja with the real guys, learning to play the real songs.”
“Really? Say something in Spanish, Charlie.”
Charlie’s chest puffed out. “No. How’s that? See, as long as you’re not the singer, the real banda guys don’t care what words you’re able to say. It’s about what notes you’re able to play. So now, while you’re tucked away in your school in the sticks, teaching scales and marches, I’ll be making music in the real world for real people.” He pointed a thumb at himself. “No more second-chair fiberglass for me.”
Now Garrett was pissed. “So you’re going to skim from Mom’s bequest and buy and sell instruments ripped off from schools? Instruments that Mom’s money helped pay for in the first place?”
“Mom left that money to help musicians,” Charlie said. “Not just school bands. And you were supposed to consult me. But you did it all yourself. So I’m expressing my disagreement.”
Bobby Tone interjected. “Hold on, now. Are y’all saying that the two of you have the same mother? I find that chromatically unlikely.”
I almost spoke up to tell him he was being rude, then decided that would be rude as well.
Garrett gave Bobby a quick glance. “Not your business,” he said. Then he looked back at Charlie. “You’re really going to get what you want by stealing from kids?”
Charlie’s upper lip warped into a sneer. “Just from kids who don’t care. If they did, they wouldn’t be selling their school’s brass.”
“It’s not the band kids,” Garrett said. “They tried to call me as soon as they found out what was going on. But I—I had my phone turned off. So they did what they thought best. And they didn’t call the sheriff because they didn’t want their friends to go to jail, for which you should be grateful.”
“New girlfriend?” Charlie asked. “That’s usually what it means if someone needs you and you’ve found something better to do.”
Oh yeah. These guys were brothers.
“What I’m telling you is, the band kids didn’t steal anything,” Garrett said. “The only thing they did wrong was try to protect a couple of white-trash jocks.”
There were shouts of protest from inside the house. Donny and Tyler both objected to the characterization. As a member of that tribe myself, though, I felt the term was accurate.
Bobby Tone cleared his throat. “Excuse me, sir, but that’s a term I, too, find offensive.”
This time Garrett didn’t even look at him. “Tell me you’ve never used an equivalent term for black people and I’ll apologize.”
Bobby scratched his jaw. “Point taken,” he said. “But we’re getting off topic. Have you boys got your shit straight enough so we can complete our transaction?”
Garrett turned on him. “Don’t you get it? There isn’t going to be a transaction. You and Charlie are going to remove the Gronitz tuba from your car, and then you’re going to return the Conn sousaphone. You’ll also provide money for a new bell for the King. In exchange, nobody’s going to jail.”
“And what am I supposed to do then?” Charlie asked.
Garrett turned back to him. “You’re my brother. So come stay with me. Return as much of the money as you’ve still got. We’ll figure it out from there.”
Charlie gave a short, sardonic snort. “On your terms,” he said. “With no banda for me.”
“Like I said, we’ll figure it out.”