Max’s Redemption
Part 1
Ordinarily I wouldn’t have been caught dead spending my Saturday afternoons with Doctor Bogin, but I didn’t have a choice. When all’s said and done, I guess it could have been worse. I could have gotten community service for real, complete with official charges. If that dykey store detective had done a better search when she collared me, hell, I might have even gotten time in the juvie joint. Do not pass Go, do not collect $200. Lucky for me, the fuzz who answered the call was a buddy of my Dad’s. Not so luckily for me, my antics that afternoon caught someone else’s eye.
“Another five-fingered discount, Riley?” Officer Don “the Pearl” Perleone boomed, shouldering his way into the dirty gray Olasco storeroom that was doubling as my holding cell. I’d already been in there for an hour. The place smelled like stale shoes and old ladies. Perleone’s eyes went cold when he saw me, but he didn’t say anything. Surprise, Don. Another anecdote for poker night. I didn’t acknowledge him, either.
SuperDyke Detective Riley shot a toothy grin at him, then snapped back to me, looking smug. I could tell she was hoping I’d be scared. I sneered back. No two-bit wanna-be copper shit-for-brains store detective is gonna curl my spine. Too bad this man’s in my corner, bitch. “Five armed, more like. And Officer, oh, you just wouldn’t believe the things this kid has been saying to me,” Riley simpered, her smile begging him to ask what further atrocities I had committed.
“Really.” The Pearl sounded nonplussed. I could tell he wasn’t interested. She probably called him out here twenty times a day. I bet her panties got moist every time she did, too. “Her paperwork done?”
“ ‘Course,” she grumped. Can’t stand it, can you, he doesn’t give a shit? She handed him my file. He flipped through it briefly, not really reading. Just checking up on her, I bet. She licked her lips, waiting for a big reaction.
“Looks like it’s all in order.” He snapped the file shut. Her face fell. “Let you know if we have any problems, Riley.” She nodded dejectedly. “Hey, you did a real good job,” the Pearl added hastily.
She beamed. “Do you need a hand putting her in the car?” Now, that was a laugh. At six four, Perleone hardly needed assistance with one skinny teenage waif. Stupid bimbo. She was just trying to scare me again.
“I got it, thanks,” he gruffed, and took my elbow. Hard. Ouch. Well, I guess he couldn’t exactly hold my hand, under the circumstances. “Let’s go, kid. Nice and easy if you don’t want the bracelets.”
I rolled my eyes and goose-stepped alongside. “Bye, Ri-ley,” I sang in triumph. She had refused to tell me her name earlier. Just becasue I had threatened her with a little lawsuit... when cornered, go on the offensive.
She regarded me stonily, and hawked a big gob at my shoe. “Enjoy prison, you little bitch.”
“Me and your mama, you bet.” It was the best comeback I could think of. Not one of my better retorts, but she turned red nevertheless. Ha. Perleone shoved me out.
“Hey, Pearly!” she called after us. “Make sure she doesn’t lawyer up on you!”
“Yeah, Pearly,” I sang, as we walked out. Perleone jerked me along for show, then packed me roughly into the back seat of the squad car without a word. He got in with a harrumph, and turned on the lights. I figured Riley was watching from the door… he must be doing it for her benefit. Only after we pulled out of the lot did he catch my eye in the mirror and speak.
“What the hell, Max?” he barked.
“My Christmas present to Riley. She loves collaring kids.”
“Max –“
“And you, too, Officer. This is good for your stats, right?”
“Shut up, brat.” He sighed. “Do you know what this is gonna do to your father?” The fat O-tones and round A-tones of the Pearl’s Boston accent began sneaking in, despite his constant effort to hide them. For some mysterious reason, the Irish of Syracuse were pretty insecure about how they stacked up against Boston. Pearly's Beantown Italian ancestry was a double whammy, a perpetual source of local mockery. He played it down the best he could.
“My fah-thah don’t care what I do. And I don’t think you do either. Just take me home, what do you say? I’ll rig your next poker game."
He shook his finger at me. “You don’t cheat any better than your dad. And this ain’t no joke, cupcake. You gotta pay for this somehow. That was $600 of stuff you tried to nick.”
“Olasco shit? Come on. The whole store’s barely worth $600.” Actually, it was more like $1000, Pearly. Winter was my best shoplifting season; I had been trying for one more big score. Riley may have gotten two of the iPods, the denim jacket, and the parka, but the third iPod was burning a hole in my chest pocket, my new kicks gleamed up at me in happy conspiracy from the soiled mats of the cop car, and the silver bracelet began to throb on my elbow where I’d jammed it up my sleeve. I was sweating. Fighting the resistance to pull them out and show them off. See how good I am?
The Pearl slammed on the brakes, parked the car on the side of the road, and cut the lights. Then he turned very deliberately, stretched over the seat, and grabbed my collar.
“Listen up, you little punk. You may think stealing what other people have to work hard for is a big friggin’ game, and you’re so smart and all that, and I really don’t give a flying fuck. If your father weren’t my best friend I’d send you up the river right now. Right now,” he repeated, twisting my shirt and stabbing a finger at me for emphasis. His face had gone an alarming shade of red, and he was breathing hard. A light sweat was teasing his brow. I wasn’t particularly afraid of the Pearl– or of most adults in general, for that matter – but my best instincts told me to keep my mouth shut and let him rage. “You selfish little smartass. Your father’s heart’s already broke enough. The last thing he needs is your dumb ass getting locked up and screwing up your life.” He threw me back onto the seat and turned back to the wheel, muttering as he started the engine back up.
My ears stung. Pearl had never told me off before. We were generally on fine terms – he always swung me in the air when he saw me, even when I’d hit five feet last year. And sometimes he brought me candy when he came over for poker night. He even gave me my own pair of handcuffs once.
I certainly hadn’t counted on getting caught at Olasco’s, but I thought the Pearl would at least laugh at my big heist. He was always cracking on store detectives – “badge-toting baboons,” he called them. And he always looked the other way for the guys when they got speeding tickets and shit. So why was he cracking my case?
“Are you going to book me now, Officer?” I asked, trying not to sound too rude. “Because I need to figure out how I’m gonna use up my one phone call.”
“Shut up, Maxi-pad. I’m thinking.”
Up I shut. We cruised slowly through Fayetteville’s slush-laden streets. Dirty snow mocked the perfect winter charm of the grand old houses lining Route 5. I ducked my head low to avoid the inevitable curious glances from passing cars and pedestrians. Perleone just looked at me in the mirror and shook his head. As he drove straight through the intersection at South Manlius Street, I breathed an inward sigh of relief and was surprised to realize how tense I’d been. Pearl wasn’t taking me to the police station after all; that would’ve been a right turn. So, he must be taking me home.
Three miles later… “Hey, Uncle Don…” (Pushing my luck – I hadn’t called him Uncle since I was 10 - ) “…You miss my turn?” We were soaring by my neighborhood.
“Nope.”
“Oh.” My heart began to pound. Was he going to take me out to the park and rough me up? Shoot me? I decided to play it cool. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of asking.
Perleone turned onto Duguid Road. Ordinarily the swooping rush of the hill’s steep rise and hairpin turn thrilled me. Today, it merely seemed to pound home to me that I was now on a path I had no control over. I took a deep breath. Get me out of here.
As if obliging my silent plea, Perleone slowed down and turned into a private drive. We seemed to be stopping in on one of Fayetteville’s richies… the driveway, adorned with one of those perfect northeastern rock walls, stretched almost a quarter of a mile to an ostentatious white Queen Anne. A judge’s house, perhaps? The crunch and slush of the tires over the thin driveway seemed amplified in the hush of twilight. At least I probably wasn’t going to die here. Perleone stopped right in front of the house, and turned to me again.
“Now listen here, Maxine Elizabeth Lightfoot. You’re a thief, and I won’t have that. This is the only chance I’m going to give you. You keep that big mouth shut and you do exactly as I say. You blow this, and I will personally see to it that you finish your schooling in Jamesville Correctional, on the intensive path. You hear me, Max?”
“Yes.”
“Yes, sir.”
I glared at him. “Yes, sir, Officer.”
“Damn straight.” He got out. “C’mon.”
We trudged to the house, me attempting to focus on my situation rather than ogle the mansion before us. My stomach flip-flopped as I regarded it. There was something awesome about it – not awesome the way I might usually describe, say, doing wheelies on a dirt bike – awesome because it felt like something alive, like the house itself was breathing, and watching us. It made me feel small. Truth, I didn’t like it – it seemed ominous. Our footfalls echoing loudly on the boards. Perleone checked his hair in the glass of the front door, then knocked. “Be polite, Maxie,” he intoned blithely, shuffling his feet.
“I’m polite,” I muttered.
“Yeah, well, don’t get it in you head to take anything,” he hissed, as the door slowly swung open. “The Doc will…”
“…the Doc will know?” chortled the beaming old man who leaned heavily on the door. “Good evening, Officer Perleone. So very good to see you, son. And this charming young lady would be…?” He waited affably. I didn’t say anything, sure that Perleone would be eager to describe my transgressions. But Perleone merely scowled, and kicked my foot lightly.
“I’m Max,” I muttered, looking down.
“Indeed you are,” he said with satisfaction, as if I’d answered a question right on a quiz. “Nothing to hang your head about, that. It’s a name to be proud of,” he challenged. “Don’t you think?”
I raised my eyes to look at him… and had to stop myself from jumping. He was as tall as Pearly, but gaunt. His frame looked like one solid cough would blow him away. His long hair had been gathered in a pony tail but was so thick it was falling out. The hue of his hair was so white that it had a blue tinge. His face was wrinkled in a happy, lived-in way, and his skin was ruddy. Most disconcertingly, his eyes were a piercing light blue… with no pupil. Or, they were all pupil, and that pupil was blue. He stared merrily with a wide-eyed wonder at nothing.
So, this old fossil was blind. I stepped back slightly; I couldn’t help it. Those eyes, their unwavering sea of blue, they creeped me out.
No sooner had this thought crossed my mind, than a secret smile played across his lips, as if he could read my mind and it amused him.
His question still hung awkwardly, unanswered in the air. Perleone cleared his throat. “Maxine Lightfoot, this is Doctor Bogin.” He said the Doc’s name with uncharacteristic deference. The Pearle didn’t usually kowtow to anyone… I scoffed inwardly.
“Absolutely,” I said loudly. I don’t why, but Perleone’s hesitation made me bold.
“Yes, that’s the key, Max,” Bogin nodded, those unseeing eyes staring vacantly into my face. Their great unblinking gaze was almost eager. “Boldness, always. Goethe, you know. In short.”
Huh? Gerta?? Great. A nutcase.
“Well, it’s no worry, you’ll meet him in twelfth grade, I suppose,” Bogin intoned. “Although by then… well,” he chuckled to himself.
Had he read my mind? I gawked at the old man, not hiding my confusion.
“Doc Bogin,” Perleone began, in an official tone. “You wanted me to find you a reader. Well, Max here is available, starting Saturday.”
“What?” I gasped, jaw dropping in unflattering surprise.
“You heard,” he said shortly, in a tone that promised severe retribution if I dared to argue. “That is,” he said smoothly, turning back to the Doctor, “if you’ll have her. I can’t pretend she’s an angel. You’ll have to lock down all your valuables. But you’ve already turned down my more promising candidates.”
Reading to a blind man! On a Saturday! I crossed my arms and scuffed my feet, and tried to look as brooding, as illiterate as possible. The Doctor stared at me for a long time. It was a queer feeling. Like he was scanning me with senses I couldn’t even imagine.
“Mad Max,” he whispered. “Oh yes, she’s angry, this one.”
I squirmed. “Pearly – Officer, I mean – I don’t think I’d be very good at this.”
“Be quiet, Max. This ain’t up to you,” Pearly said softly. He almost sounded like he felt a little sorry for me.
Bogin nodded. “It’s all right, Donald. She did choose… but this choice is only the first. Yes, yes. She is the right one. Oh yes. She’s perfect. Well done.” And he started laughing, a deep, delighted laugh quite out of keeping with his frail appearance. That laugh chilled my bones.
“All right, then.” Perleone smile with relief, though he looked a little pale. “Max will be here on Saturday.”
“Saturday, then,” Dr. Bogin, nodded, satisfied, and with a small bow, closed the door abruptly. Perleone and I stared at the door for a long moment.
“Well, that’s it then,” he said softly to the closed door. “Thanks, Doc.”
His words seemed to break the spell the old man had cast on me. “Thanks? Thanks? Thanks for screwing up my Saturdays, Donald! What the hell? You know, you may be a cop and everything, but I…you can’t just go and…! You’ve got no right… he’s so old!” I moaned. Oh, the horror. Caught with me hand in the cookie jar. Stuck reading to a blind man.
The Pearl reached up casually. A sudden pain exploded in my neck, and black spots danced around my eyes… I couldn’t move. He had me in the Vulcan death grip, his fingers pinched around the nerve. “For the last time, Max.” he said calmly, “Learn some respect.”
I contorted crazily. “Uncle, uncle! I’m sorry!”
“Should be,” he spat, letting me go. I stumbled back down the stairs.
“Come on,” the Pearl grumbled. He was still sweating heavily. “I’ll drive you home.”
I had never set a time with Bogin. But I didn’t realize that ‘til much later.
© 2007 Melissa Cross. All rights reserved. No part of this piece may be reproduced without the express permission of the author.
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