by
Linda Rodriguez
Rivka’s
place at 39th
& Paseo is the only remnant of the postwar time when this stretch
of Paseo Boulevard was prosperous—and white. As the area changed in
color and class, the other shops and restaurants of its day moved or
closed. Now this old Jewish lady’s bakery and deli huddles next to
a tattoo shop, nail parlor, and liquor store, directly across the
street from The Hot Jazz Lounge with its board-covered windows, live
jazz, and occasional dead bodies late on weekend nights. Next block
down squats Snake Eyes Music, best known for rap, porn, DEA
shutdowns, and SWAT team visits. Rivka’s is the only survivor of
better times.
I call myself CJ Nash. I work
here behind the old-fashioned glass counters, making sandwiches,
cooking, cleaning. Rivka Schinski’s my boss, and she’s about a
hundred, a hunched old lady all twisted up by arthritis. She should
have retired and sold or closed this place a long time ago. Her
family sure wanted her to do that. Her grown kids and grandkids are
rich, and they keep trying to get her to close this place and go
someplace where they won’t have to worry about her getting knifed
or shot. But Rivka’s tougher than gunmetal.
When they come around in their
cashmere coats, driving their Lincolns and Lexuses, with their fears
of crime and Blacks and bad publicity, she always says, “Hitler
tried to kill me. The Nazis couldn’t kill me. Why should I be
afraid of anyone else?” And she shakes her tiny wrinkled arm with
its ugly tattooed numbers in their faces.
Truth of the matter is it hasn’t
really been all that dangerous for her here. In its own way, the
neighborhood looks out for its own. Rivka’s good to folks. She’s
always got free treats for kids and food for the poor. She lets
homeless street people, like Weedy, El, and The Rev, hang out inside
the shop when it’s bitter cold or killer hot, along with the
working girls. I’ve never known her to turn anyone away hungry who
couldn’t pay. So, folks watch out for Rivka.
I know I do. I was homeless when
I first met her, homeless, penniless, and on the run. Rivka’s been
real good to me, gave me a job and a room in the back of the shop.
Never asks awkward questions. I appreciate that.
My old man would hate to see me
today, working for a Jew and hanging around with Blacks and Latinos.
He thought he was the white man’s messiah, or that he’d raise my
brothers and me for the job. We believed it, too, didn’t know any
better. Back in those hills, I’d had no contact with anyone outside
my family since I was six years old. My dad ran the world I grew up
in, and his was the only truth I knew. It was a combination of boot
camp and special forces training throughout my whole childhood.
But after the feds charged in and
we fought back, Dad looking like a pincushion for bullets, Mom and my
brothers dead, too, I couldn’t keep them from taking me captive
with two slugs in my gut. Once I healed and went to prison—I was
barely eighteen, see, but I was eighteen—I got a whole new
education.
Now, I just keep myself to
myself, low profile. Don’t leave this building much, except to ride
the bus once a month to the nearest used bookstore down in Westport.
I stay in the front of Rivka’s, slicing meat, vegetables, and
breads, or work the mixer and oven in the kitchen or just lie on my
cot in the back and read at night instead of sleeping. I’d just as
soon no one realized I was even around.
I live in a whole different world
from the one my crazy old man preached with its brotherhood of the
white man. Truth is, hardly anybody white ever helped me after the
troubles, except for this crazy little twisted-up Jewish woman.
I knew we had a new kind of
trouble the day Kev Mackey came around to flirt with pretty little
Trini Hernandez, like he always does, and brought that new gangbanger
with him. Trini’s tiny, half Mexican, half Dominican. She keeps her
hair cut short and wears jeans and sloppy T-shirts all the time.
Trying not to look sexy and available like her hooker sister. Trying
to say she’s something different from what every man who sees her
wants her to be. Sometimes I gave her a book to try to read between
her several jobs. She’s studying for her GED. Her secret hope is to
go to school to become a nursing assistant and then maybe a nurse.
Kev’s a kid on the brink. He
could come up with extraordinary guts and strength and go down the
good road or do the easy thing and claim a gang and that short,
brutal life. His new pal made that decision a long time ago. Big,
tough, head shaved, pierced all over with silver knobs and rings,
tats on his fingers. Saw plenty of those in prison.
“They call me Dom, little girl.
That’s short for Dominator ‘cause that’s what I do. No one
disses me. No one refuses me. That’s the way it’s got to be,
sis.” He went after Trini right away. “Now, you are fine, girl.
Just as fine as my homes Kev told me. You and me going to be real
close friends. Real close.”
A cloud of menace hung over him.
He wasn’t from here, and it wouldn’t make any difference to him
that Rivka was good to people or that Trini was working hard to get
out of this neighborhood where her dad and brothers wound up in the
joint and her big sis on the streets. It sure wasn’t going to make
any difference to him that Trini was a good girl. He’d just break
her. That’s the way those eaten-up lost ones work. They don’t
give a shit about anyone or anything.
Trini just ignored the punk, but
Kev stood there with his mouth open like he couldn’t believe what
he’d just heard.
“No way, Dom. Trini’s mine.”
Brave words, but he sounded as scared as he looked, all skinny
brown-skinned teen with acne and nappy hair, trying to look bad with
his jeans hanging around his knees.
Dom twisted his mouth. “But you
want to share, right, homes?” His voice cut the air, harsh and
dangerous. He glared at Kev with real threat. Dom wasn’t more than
seventeen or eighteen, like me when I killed those feds. Like me,
he’d been bred and trained to be dangerous. I knew his type. I’d
been his type.
“There won’t be any sharing
of me.” Trini looked across the glass counter at the two of them.
She couldn’t help that her voice was small and soft, but she made
it as firm and strong as she could. “I belong to no one but myself.
Certainly not to you, Kevin.”
“Shit, Trini, you know you’re—“
“No bad language here, Kevin,”
said Rivka, walking in from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a
dishtowel. “You know the rules. You boys get something to eat and
then leave Trini alone. She’s working.”
She came behind the shorter
counter where Trini sat at the cash register. She reached over in the
back of the high glass-front counters next to her and plucked up two
doughnuts. “Here you go, boys. Nice and fresh and sweet.”
Dom glared at her and leaned over
to get right in her face. “Listen, you old bitch! I—“
Rivka reached up and stuffed one
of the doughnuts right in his open mouth as he was laying into her.
His eyes flew open in shock and then panic as he started to choke.
“Chew,” Rivka said. “Chew
and swallow. It’s good for you. Sweeten your temper. And no more
bad language. You can’t frighten me.” She pointed to the tattoo
on her wrist. “Scarier men than you will ever be have tried and
failed.”
I moved out from the corner table
behind the tall counter where I stayed most of the time, sharpening
knives, making up bags of doughnut holes, whatever. I drifted over to
stand next to Rivka. Mutt and Jeff. I’m almost tall enough to
include two of her, one on top of the other. I still held the big
butcher knife I’d been sharpening.
Dom was chewing as fast as he
could and still choking some. Rivka waved him toward the door. “Go
on home. Come back when you feel better.
I started to move around the
short counter behind Trini. I thought I’d whack him on the back
since he was having such a hard time, but he turned and dashed for
the door to the street before I could.
“Come on, Trini,” said Rivka,
grabbing her purse. “I will drive you home.”
“But I’ve got two more hours
to work.” Trini looked as if she might start crying. “I need the
money.”
“Kevin can work your hours. I
will still pay you.” Rivka turned toward Kev. “Why would you
bring such a meshugganuh…?” Her hands tried to grab words from
the air. “Such a crazy one. Why bring him here to torment Trini?”
Kev started to sputter in anger.
I raised my eyebrows at him. I know the effect that can have on a
kid, what with the scar that runs from one brow down to my jaw.
Trini whirled to face Kev. “You
stupid! You better not bring that punk around me again, Kev, or I’ll
never, never speak to you anymore.”
“Come, Trini, let me drive you
home. I don’t want you to walk tonight.” Rivka pushed her toward
the back door. “You keep your phone by you tonight. Call me if
anyone comes bothering around your apartment.”
“Call 911,”I shouted after
them. “They might not get there as fast as Rivka, but they’ll
have more firepower.”
When I turned back to Kev, he was
staring at the butcher knife in my hand. “What? This?” I shook it
at him a little.
He pulled his head back as his
eyes grew bigger.
“Kev, I was sharpening knives
when your pal got so out of line. I just happened to have it in my
hand.”
“You sharpen knives a lot of
the time. I’ve noticed that.”
I shrugged. “I was taught to
take good care of my tools. A dull knife is dangerous. You’re much
more likely to cut yourself or someone else accidentally with a dull
knife. And I never want to do something like that accidentally.” I
walked back to my corner butcher block table and laid the knife on
it.
I had the knives laid out in a
line on the table, ordered by size. I put away my sharpening stone
and its bench. I’d finished that part of the drill. Next, I would
take my butcher’s steel and hone the knives so it would take the
barest touch of their edges to open the skin or surface of almost
anything.
“You know, Kev, the time comes
when you got to think for yourself and not just move in the direction
everyone seems to be pushing you to move.” I looked at him
directly, making eye contact, though I usually avoided it. I wanted
to make sure he was hearing and understanding. “This Dom guy may
seem cool, but he’s not. He’s bad news for someone like you.
Anything you do with him will bring him what he wants because you’ll
be left to take the blame and punishment. Never let someone else
control what you feel and do.”
I knew it was probably useless to
talk this way, but I was talking to myself at his age more than
anything, that kid who’d blown away two feds thinking he was
protecting his family, thinking he was doing the righteous thing,
only to learn after too many deaths that he’d been misled and would
now have to pay forever for letting someone else control his emotions
and actions. I was talking to the boy who’d set me on the course
I’d been on ever since that day the feds showed at our home
compound.
“Nah, Dom’s okay. He just
doesn’t want anybody to feel like they can mess with him.” Kev’s
face suddenly looked troubled. “I sure wish Miz Rivka hadn’t done
that to him. You know, she dissed him bad. He’s going to have to
come back on her hard.”
I nodded. I knew that the minute
Rivka did it. I’m not sure she didn’t know it also. Rivka’s a
lot smarter than people give her credit for. Dom was going to have to
come back in and put the hurt on her big time. I didn’t want to see
that. I hoped he’d get smart and go somewhere else.
I had to keep myself as low and
out of sight as possible. Just because the search for me wasn’t
active any longer didn’t mean it wasn’t ready to leap up any
second the feds heard of a sighting or whenever my fingerprints
showed up in some case or other. So I avoided trouble always. Now,
Rivka had walked herself right into some really bad trouble. I didn’t
see what I could do about it.
When Rivka came back, she stopped
right inside the back door and gestured for me to go back to her. Kev
was ringing up old Mr. Banks, who stopped by each afternoon to buy
two doughnuts for the price of one. We had standing orders from Rivka
to always make him a sandwich to go with the doughnuts. It was
probably his only real meal most days. He supported himself and his
grandson on Social Security and a disability check. A hit-and-run
driver killed his daughter and put his grandson in a wheelchair,
giving the kid traumatic brain injury, as well. Needed lots of
special medical care. Mr. Banks was one of the folks in the
neighborhood hanging on by a thread.
I joined Rivka in back, wondering
what she wanted to tell me that she didn’t want Kev to hear. She’d
been gone longer than I expected. Maybe she took Trini to stay in
some safer place.
She held out a thick bank
envelope to me. “Take this and keep it safe, CJ. Tomorrow morning
as soon as I get here to open, I want you to take my car and pick up
Trini. Drive her to another town. A college town. Lawrence,
Manhattan, Parkville, Warrensburg. Find her a place to live and get
her settled in with this money in a bank account. Stay with her a few
days. Help her find a job and everything. There’s enough for her to
live on and go to school if she works and is careful.” She smiled
at me. “Trini’s used to being careful with money.”
“You don’t want to send me as
a nursemaid for a young girl, Rivka. You shouldn’t trust her to
some guy unless it’s someone as old as Mr. Banks.”
She smiled at me and patted my
chest when she couldn’t reach my shoulder. “You live through what
I did, and you lose the blinders when it comes to people. Most of
them are weak, and whichever way they fall will depend on the
circumstances around them. Some are just bad like that gangster who
wants Trini.” She shook her head with a frown. “Bad.” She
smiled and gave my chest one last pat. “Some are good. Solid good.
You’re one of them, CJ. You’ve been through the fire, had the
impurities burned away.”
I shook my head. Crazy old lady.
She had me so wrong.
“I don’t know why you fear
yourself so much and why you’re running. I don’t want to know. I
know people. You’ll take care of Trini and settle her somewhere
safe without hurting her. You can come back when you’ve done that
if you want. Or you can move on.” She wrapped her arms around
herself. “I won’t be around much longer. Have to go into
hospital, I suppose. My children will insist when they find out. I’d
leave this place to you. They won’t want it. But I imagine you
can’t have anything to do with the courts.”
I nodded dumbly. After a few
seconds, I found my voice. “What’s wrong?”
She laughed, and for a second I
thought I could see the young girl whose beauty and courage allowed
her to escape from Auschwitz. “Life, that’s all. Life is a death
sentence, CJ, and I’ve had a long run with mine, but the bill’s
finally come due.” She morphed back into the twisted little woman I
knew and shrugged her hunched shoulders. “It’s all been an extra
gift. Every day since I didn’t die with my mother and aunt. Riches,
all of it. I’m ready.”
I didn’t know what to say. I
understood that. I should have died with my parents and brothers, but
I’d long since reached a place where I was glad I hadn’t. “Still,
you shouldn’t trust me with Trini or the money. You don’t know
who I really am. I could be a murderer for all you know.”
She tilted her head to look up at
me in a quick, birdlike movement. “If you are, I know there was a
reason. You had cause to do it. You’re a man who values life and
other people, even those others ignore or despise. Trini and the
money will be safe with you. You can take some of it to speed you on
your way. I know you’ll leave Trini with enough.”
She closed my hand around the
envelope with her own tiny fingers. “Keep it safe and get Trini
somewhere where that thug can’t find her as soon as we open
tomorrow.”
She turned and marched on into
the shop, snatching up an apron from its hook on the wall. “Well,
Kevin, how are things going? Mr. Banks, how is Charlie doing?”
I turned into the tiny back room,
not much more than a closet, where I had a cot and a set of plastic
storage drawers I’d picked up at the thrift store. Everything else
I owned, except the row of used books sitting along the deep
windowsill, was in the backpack hanging from two nails in the wall.
Instead of putting the envelope in the backpack, I slid it under the
mattress and headed back into the front of the deli.
The bell above the door was still
ringing from Mr. Banks’ departure as I walked back behind the
counters as if nothing had changed. I headed over to the knives to
put them away. Rivka started to gather the day’s left-over
doughnuts, rolls, and cookies into a sack. She always stopped by the
vacant lot at the end of the block and handed the bag to The Rev, a
homeless guy who could have once been a minister—I’d heard him
preach when drunk. The Rev was as close to a leader as the homeless
guys had. He passed out the food and made sure everyone got some.
The bell rang again, and I looked
up to find Dom walking in. He had a revolver—looked like a Smith &
Wesson .357—stuck in the front of his pants. Good way to blow off
the family jewels, my dad would have said. He had no patience with
anyone who didn’t respect his weapons.
Kev froze at the register, hands
in midair, eyes huge. Rivka took a deep breath and let it out with a
big sigh, walking around the counter to confront him. I was surprised
to find I’d walked almost over to Kev at the register, knife in
hand, while staring at them.
“Trini’s not here,” Rivka
said. “She won’t be in until tomorrow.”
The door slammed behind Dom. He
didn’t jump at the sound, but he moved around Rivka so he could
watch the door and street outside as well as her. I could only see
the side of his face once he did that, although he was much closer to
me.
“I’ll take care of her later.
Right now, you’re the bitch I came to deal with.” He pulled the
gun from his pants without blowing a hole in himself the way I was
hoping he would.
Rivka shook her head. She looked
at him, and you could see the sorrow wash over her features. “You’re
so young. So much hate. Is there no way to reach you?”
“Shut up, old bitch. You’re
not dissing me ever again. I’m the man, see.” He shook his gun at
her. “You better start crawling if you hope to live.”
My hand tightened on the knife I
held. Kev was shaking so hard I could feel it.
“Is an old woman like me worth
throwing your own life away? Am I worth going to prison and staying
until you’re old and gray yourself?” Rivka was so calm, as if she
discussed whether to have beef or chicken for lunch.
I moved closer to where the edge
of the low counter pressed into my gut. I saw it in his eyes when he
came in. Dom was going to kill Rivka. He’d hopped himself up for
it, and there wouldn’t be any way to stop him, short of force. I
figured I was the only one in the room, other than him, able to apply
any force.
Rivka looked straight at me for a
second, as if she’d heard my thoughts, and she shook her head
imperceptibly before looking back at Dom.
“You’re going to be so
fucking sorry you ever met me, you old cow,” he said as he lifted
his gun toward her.
Kev screamed. I flung myself over
the counter, ripping my knife across Dom’s throat, but I knew it
was too late. He’d pulled the trigger, even as I threw myself at
him. I hung on the countertop as Rivka fell onto her back, blood
blossoming on her chest, and Dom dropped face forward, blood spurting
in front of him. Kev screamed again.
I threw the knife down, pulled
myself off the counter, and ran around to Rivka. “Call 911, Kev.
Shut up and call 911. She needs an ambulance.” I knelt at her side,
and she smiled up at me.
“Take that money. Trini won’t
need it now. Run and hide. You know how.” Her voice was broken and
gasping.
“Hang on, Rivka. An ambulance
is on its way.” I tried to lift her head.
“No!” she cried. “Go now,
CJ. Take that money and go.”
I stood and saw that Kev had
finally picked up the phone. “Get that ambulance here for her, damn
it.” I looked at her again, and she waved her hand weakly,
signaling me to go.
It was only a few steps to the
back room. I slid the envelope of cash out from under the mattress
and grabbed my backpack. I could feel the feds on my trail already,
that hunted feeling I’d lost for a while with Rivka. Snatching her
keys from the counter, I slammed out the back door and threw the bag
and myself into her old Buick.
I’d have to ditch it before
very long, but I’d have a little while before they realized it was
gone and started looking. Long enough to get away from the scene that
would have months of my fingerprints all over it. Long enough to
slide back underground and out of sight before the feds got involved.
Long enough to get somewhere safe
to grieve for a twisted old Jewish lady who came out of hell to feed
a whole neighborhood the rest of the world forgot.
Linda Rodriguez's Dark Sister: Poems
is her 10th book. Plotting the Character-Driven Novel, based on her popular workshop, and The World Is One Place: Native
American Poets Visit the Middle East, an anthology she co-edited,
were published in 2017. Every Family Doubt, her fourth
mystery featuring Cherokee detective, Skeet Bannion, and Revising
the Character-Driven Novel will be published in 2019. Her three
earlier Skeet novels—Every Hidden Fear, Every Broken
Trust, Every Last Secret—and
earlier books of poetry—Skin Hunger
and Heart's Migration—have
received critical recognition and awards, such as St. Martin's
Press/Malice Domestic Best First Novel, International
Latino Book Award, Latina Book Club Best Book of 2014, Midwest Voices
& Visions, Elvira Cordero Cisneros Award, Thorpe Menn Award, and
Ragdale and Macondo fellowships. Her short story, “The Good
Neighbor,” published in Kansas City Noir, has been optioned
for film.
Rodriguez is past chair of the AWP
Indigenous Writer’s Caucus, past president of Border Crimes chapter
of Sisters in Crime, founding board member of Latino Writers
Collective and The Writers Place, and a member of International
Thriller Writers, Native Writers Circle of the Americas, Wordcraft
Circle of Native American Writers and Storytellers, and Kansas City
Cherokee Community. Visit her at
http://lindarodriguezwrites.blogspot.com