The 18th Street Crips were out there doing their thing as Sam parked.
“Oh, I almost forgot old man. Picked up something at a head shop you’ll be putting on immediately.” Sam reached over and rooted in the glove box, then pulled out something made of leather. As he let it unfold to dangle, I saw it was an eye patch; someone had hand-painted a big red eye on it, like what’s-his-name’s symbol in Lord of the Rings.
I took it from him and turned away, bent over in the seat so no one could see as I peeled off the duct tape and sanitary napkins, then pulled the eye patch on. I took a chance and peeped in the rear view mirror.
The stitches in the healing scars still radiated out spoke-like from beneath the patch, but the empty socket was covered. That red, stylized eye glared back at me as if a separate being were grafted onto my face.
“Pretty evil-looking,” I said, studying my homely profile from various angles. The mirror didn’t seem as much of an enemy now, but I still wasn’t going to make a habit of admiring myself in it.
As Sam and I got out the car and walked up to Natalie’s door, I scoped around for news crews lurking to pounce.
“Looking for something?” Big Moe asked, grinning. It was startling not to see him wearing his habitual Eeyore-on-Prozac expression.
“Some cameras came around figuring to bother Natalie about Wayne,” Moe said. “We convinced them it wasn’t a healthy neighborhood, fun times were had. You’ll still have your privacy here, even with everything all stirred up. Hell, we couldn’t let you interfere with business, could we?”
“Thanks, kid,” I said.
Sam walked over to join Moe as I knocked on the door. They muttered and plotted together on the far end of the stoop, darting amateurish glances my way.
It was good my boy had a place he could call a hometown, and friends who knew him from when he was a baby on. My family had always been on the move when I was a kid, Dad keeping one step ahead of bill collectors, the Man, or whomever.
Natalie opened the door. She was fixing fried bologna sandwiches and when she saw me she hesitated before gesturing me toward an empty seat at the head of the table. I sat down next to Randy and we commenced washing down the sandwiches with grape Kool-Aid.
While we ate I couldn’t help envisioning Wayne sitting down at this same table to eat with Natalie and Randy. Maybe in the very same chair I was sitting in right now?
Studying Natalie out the corner of my eye, I wondered why she and Wayne hadn’t had more kids. She struck me as a Fertile Myrtle by nature.
“Somebody told me you didn’t really kill my daddy,” Randy said. “They said his friends killed him.”
“Some friends, huh?” I said, hazarding a smile. But he didn’t return it, so I wiped mine off my face. “No, that’s truth, Randy. It was those other guys did it, not me.”
“My daddy could never have been part of that,” Randy said in a rush. “He didn’t know what they were going to do or he never would have rode with them.”
I remembered back to how Wayne giggled when Slash murdered Kendra. I remembered the last instants of Wayne’s life, watching him stare down in terror at the grenade skittering against his shoes.
“Well,” I said, “I figure at the end there, he was trying to help me. He made a mistake, that’s all. In the end your daddy was a hero, too.”
Randy rewarded me with a grin that looked to be displaying every tooth he owned, framing the hole where two missing front teeth had been. Natalie hustled him into the bathroom. When she came back out few minutes later Randy was singing to himself in there, splashing and banging and babbling in the tub, sounding like a normal kid for the first time since I’d intruded myself on his home.
“You’re a terrible liar,” Natalie said. “Wayne was always mean, even when he was trying to be nice.” She started to clear off the table, and I came to help.
“He didn’t have that good an upbringing, but that was no excuse, you know?” she said as she commenced washing the dishes.
“Well,” I said, putting away the sandwich fixings in the fridge, “I wasn’t the nicest guy in the world when I was his age, either.” I stood next to her and dried each dish as she rinsed it.
“I want to see under your eye patch,” Natalie said when we were done. “I need to find something out.”
This was more than I’d bargained for, I’ll admit. But I’d helped make her a widow and I’d imposed on her hospitality. She’d shown me mercy; I could trust her with my life. I reached up, pulled the eye patch off fast before I could change my mind, and stood looking at her, feeling naked.
I’ll give her credit, she didn’t flinch. Still, I could see in her eyes just how ugly it was. I didn’t have to study my reflection in those big brown eyes to remember how much my own new face repulsed me now. “I know it’s pretty hideous,” I said.
“People could get used to it if they had to.”
I opened my mouth to answer, unsure of what was going on here. But the sounds of a scuffle came from outside, interrupting my reply.
Natalie peeked out the curtained window above the kitchenette sink. “I been waiting for this for a while,” she said with a smile.
I stepped up to join her and we stood together looking out the window as she held the curtain open for both our benefits.
Leo was on the ground, surrounded by the 18th Street Crips as they lay the boots into him; their arms pumped as they kicked, and all of them were breathing hard. Leo was curled up in a fetal ball with his forearms up guarding his head. When they were done the 18th Street Crips walked away from him and resumed their various places together in front of Natalie’s porch.
Leo crawled a few feet away from them, and then tried the difficult experiment of standing upright. He finally managed, but his balance seemed none too certain. When he tottered away down the street he looked as though something had gone missing inside him.
Natalie still smiled approval out the window as I headed for the door. Her capacity for Christian mercy was limited, and I counted my blessings Big Moe ever placed me off limits to her.