I’ll Buy the Chalupas

Something bad always happens to Elroy Lowe whenever he goes on a field trip.

Today his stink meter is off the charts.

Noticing Elroy’s worried expression, eight-year-old Kendall Caribou, a rambunctious redhead born to needle boys asks, “What’s up, buttercup?”

“Nothing.”

“Right. You look like you need a change of underwear.”

The forty second graders continue to sing the lyrics to “Lil Boo Thing” without knowing what they mean, clapping in time.

Sitting behind the bus driver, thirty-two-year-old Ellie English smiles, happy she chose to teach over a career in real estate.

A deer prances in front of the bus.

“Oh, lookee,” Kendall says. “My dad says to watch out if a deer crosses in front of you.”

“Why?” Elroy asks.

“Because there’s always another one following the first one.”

A second deer bounds out of the brush, attempting to vault over the front of the bus.

The deer crashes through the windshield. Pieces of glass spray Ellie and the kids sitting in the front of the bus. Injured and bleeding, the deer tries to free itself, its hooves kicking at the dead bus driver.

The bus careens off the road, crashing into a thick oak tree. Steam, followed by flames, rises from its hood.

Clark Cornerstone sings along to Traffic’s “Freedom Rider” as his Monte Carlo hugs the shoulder along Hook Road.

He smiles as a doe passes in the road ahead, expecting more deer to follow.

Two fawns stop in the center of the road, gazing at the car before darting off.

Clark sees a disabled bus on the side of the road. Smoke is billowing from its crumpled hood.

Pulling over, Clark bangs on the front door. He can hear children inside screaming.

Yanking open the door, Clark parts the smoke, moving inside. Flames engulf the steps, and Clark realizes he won’t be able to get out the same way he came in.

Clark swallows hard at the sight of the blood-drenched driver and the mangled deer.

A woman in the second row lies slumped up against a window. He shakes her until she comes around.

Groggy, her head throbbing, Ellie manages to gasp, “What’s happening?”

Clark pulls Ellie to her feet. “We need to get everybody out of the bus, now!”

Clark shoots up the aisle past the wailing children, kicking open the emergency door. Turning, he grabs Ellie by the waist, lowering her to the ground.

“But the kids…”

“I got this! I’ll hand them to you!”

Clark picks up a girl who kicks at him, screaming and coughing until she’s in Ellie’s waiting arms.

“Line up like in the safety drills,” Clark says to the children.

Some are too frightened to move. They remain in their seats in shock, tears running down their cheeks. Clark takes hold of them one by one, carrying them to Ellie.

One child, frozen with fear, resists as Clark reaches for her.

“Leave me alone!”

Holding Elroy by the hand as she makes her way up the aisle, Kendall shouts, “Shut up, Karen! This man’s trying to save your life!”

The girl relents and Clark carries her to the back door.

Kendall lets go of Elroy’s hand as Clark picks her up.

“See you outside, buttercup!”

Elroy looks up at Clark’s confident smile. Clark reminds Elroy of Superman - handsome, strong, and confident. Even the cross dangling from Clark’s ear makes him seem like an angel come to rescue him.

“…Our hero…,” Elroy whispers as Clark drops him in Ellie’s waiting arms.

Ignoring the smoke wafting off his leather jacket, Clark continues to move up and down the aisle, shepherding and carrying the children to the exit.

The police and EMS arrive, joined by curious passersby and worried parents.

Clark passes down the last child. Jumping from the bus, he starts to walk away.

Ellie cuts him off.

“Wait! We want to thank you. You’re a hero!”

“I’m anything but, Miss.”

A harried parent steps between them.

“Miss English? Where’s my son? Is Greg safe?”

Greg pulls on his mother’s coat.

“I’m fine, Mom, thanks to that man.”

“What man?”

Ellie turns to see a white Monte Carlo SS pulling away,

El Gato gives his lawyer a Cheshire Cat grin. Although he is short and thin with a prominent nose, scarred features, and a shiny bald head, when Alejandro O’Leary Leonardi, aka “the Cat” smiles at someone, the recipient knows to watch their backs. He’s a man with so many heritages mixed together he often seems mixed up.

Algernon” Blinky” Ferdan, El Gato’s equally short, feral-faced Lebanese lieutenant does what he does best, nodding in agreement with his boss.

Known for her ability to find judicial loopholes, zaftig, white-haired, grandmotherly Hortense Greely glares at the pair of criminals, maintaining an air of superiority.

“You are very good, Hortense. I am glad I have you on retention.”

“Retainer.”

“That too. How is it I am free?”

“The judge sentenced you to forty years to life. The papers that were drawn up say you’re supposed to get thirty-five years to life. So, you’re free on a technicality. But there’s no double jeopardy attached.”

“Jeopardy? I am not playing games. Why should you?” El Gato asks.

“It means they can charge you with murder again. Which means the man who testified against you and sent you to prison can do it again.”

“No, I am not going back to jail. Pigs would turn up their noses at the food they serve there. I am not a barista like you, Hortense…”

“That’s barrister.”

“Whatever. But I know one thing. No witness, no case. I want that cantante malo who spoke against me dead. Where is he?”

“In Witness Protection. But I don’t know where,” Hortense replies.

“Then call your contact with the F.B.I. and find out.”

“Field trip!” Blinky yells, grinning broadly.

Clement Antipit stands outside of his sedan, tapping the toe of his expensive dress shoe in the desert dust.

A rented Cadillac pulls up, covering him in a cloud of dust.

El Gato lowers the tinted window.

“You Alejandro O’Leary Leonardi?” Antipit asks.

“El Gato to you.”

“Have you lost your mind, asking for this kind of a favor?”

El Gato hands him a paper bag.

“What’s this? Your lunch?”

“No. It is yours.”

Antipit looks inside the bag.

“You’ve been in jail for two years. How’d you get so much money so fast? Is it dirty?”

“All money is dirty, amigo. But I do own a cleaners in Van Nuys.”

“Laundering,” Antipit comments. “How appropriate.”

“When I get two guns and another car you will get more money,” El Gato says. “Now, tell me, where is Morgan Tropea?”

Elroy knocks on the door of Ellie’s classroom.

“Have you found out who saved our lives?”

“I’m afraid not, Elroy. Maybe he just doesn’t want to be found.”

“Why not? He’s a hero, and he should be thanked for what he did.”

Reaching for his backpack, Elroy pulls out his cell phone.

“Maybe I can help you find him,” he says.

He shows her a picture he’d taken of the Monte Carlo SS.

The car’s license plate is plainly visible.

“I told you we should have asked your accountant for more money,” Blinky whispers to El Gato.

“It was all those little bottles of booze we took from the dishonor bar.”

“That’s honor bar, boss.”

“Well, that, and my bad run at the tables emptied my wallet.”

Willie Wheeler, the window clerk for the Dinero Check Cashing Palace checks out Blinky. Wheeler’s thick glasses make his blue eyes look as big as hard-boiled eggs. Blinky stares back at the clerk, his slightly crossed eyes fluttering rapidly.

“I’m sorry, Mister Ferdan. I can’t use your I.D. to cash a check for Mister Gato.”

“My name is Alejandro O’Leary Leonardi! My knick knack is El Gato.

“You mean, nickname, right?”

“Yes. I am known as the Cat. You have never heard of me?”

“There was a baseball player named Maximillian Leonardi who was called the Cat. But he’s dead.”

“And you will be diseased too if you do not cash my check.”

Blinky smiles peacefully. “He meant to say deceased. But he still means dead.”

Wheeler adjusts his bifocals. “I’m sorry, I can’t. Why don’t you go rob a bank?”

Reaching into his leather jacket, El Gato pulls out an ancient revolver.

“That is an excellent idea.”

Wheeler points at the overhead camera.

“Every transaction is recorded.”

“Good. Then the camera can record your death,” El Gato says, shooting it. “But it will not be able to record which dumpster we are going to leave your body in.”

Opening the door for Ellie and Elroy, Clark shakes his head in disbelief.

“How did you find me?”

“I had to go out on a date with a very handsy cop who gave me the name of the owner of a 2005 white Monte Carlo SS,” Ellie replies. “It’s registered to a man residing in Oakwood Cemetery.”

“Sorry. I thought DMV had handled the changeover in paperwork by now. I bought the car from him.”

Clark looks down at the trophy in Elroy’s grasp.

“What’s up with that?”

“It’s for you,” Elroy answers. “It’s for your selfless act of heroism. I made it myself.”

The award cast in gold paint, depicts an angel holding up a plaque that reads, “Our Hero.”

“And there’s a dozen news outlets who’d like to do a story on you, the hero of Hook Road,” Ellie adds.

“I can’t.”

“Real heroes are always modest,” Ellie says.

“It’s not just that… I’m not what I appear to be.”

“That’s for sure. You don’t have a digital footprint. Even this house is under someone else's name, a Clement Antipit.”

“He’s my handler.”

“Handler? Are you a boxer?” Elroy asks.

“No… My real name is Morgan Tropea. I’m in the Witness Protection Program.”

Ellie’s eyebrows shoot upward.

“What did you do?”

“I was the singer in a local rock band, and I witnessed a mass murder. I was in the bathroom when Alejandro O’Leary Leonardi, a hood they call “El Gato,” and his men came in spraying bullets at some rival gang members. They killed three gang members, the bartender, two bystanders, and my drummer.”

“The drummer always gets it,” Ellie laments.

“I happened to be smoking a cig by the back door with some of our fans. They wisely took off when they heard the first shot. But being curious, I had to look. El Gato saw me peek around a corner. By the time he and his boys got to the back door, I was already a block away.”

“And the police got you to testify against him.”

“There were a dozen other witnesses,” Clark says. “The police didn’t tell me they’d all developed amnesia.”

Clark looks over at Elroy, who is sticking his hand in what appears to be a bowl of candy.

“Put that down! They’re gummies.”

“But I like gummy bears.”

“They’re not for kids. They’re for adults. One of those and you’ll be seeing Jimi Hendrix at Woodstock in technicolor.”

“Who?”

Clark rolls his eyes. “Stop making trophies and start listening to music.”

“So, I can’t have one of these?” Elroy asks.

“No, not ever.”

“You may want to have a few,” Ellie says. “I saw on the news the other day that El Gato got out of jail on a technicality.”

“I’m going to need some help loading my car.”

El Gato notices the Monte Carlo SS parked by the side of the house.

“Idiota. They give him a new name and a new crib, but he keeps the same old car.”

“Some people are attached to their vehicles,” Blinky replies. “I call mine Betsy.”

“Dios Mio, Algernon. Now I understand why your people roam the dessert.”

“You mean desert.”

“Have you got your gun?”

“Of course,” Blinky replies, his eyes shifting nervously. “I hope I don’t have to use it. It’s so old it might backfire.”

El Gato and Blinky invade the living room, brandishing their weapons.

The chamber of Blinky’s gun falls out, rolling across the carpet toward Clark.

“Are you from the Feds?” Ellie asks.

“We was already fed,” El Gato answers. Spying the bowl of gummies, he says, “But I will take desert.”

“That’s dessert, boss,” Blinky says.

El Gato jams one of the gummies in his mouth.

“You should take a few more. They’re delicious,” Clark urges.

El Gato and Blinky each jam four of the gummies in their mouths.

“Miss, little boy, I am Alejandro O’Leary Leonardi, otherwise known as El Gato, the cat with nine lives. And you may have two names, Morgan Tropea, but it is too bad you only have one life because I intend to take it. By the way, I am glad you got rid of the mustache. It made you look like Wyatt Earp.”

“The earring is also pretty cool,” Blinky comments. “Kind of Sons of Anarchy.”

“You can’t kill us. You’ll be suspect number one,” Clark says. “The Feds will know you did it. You’ll be eating prison food again within a week.”

“That food is so disgusting. Do you know what they think Hispanic heritage food is? Taco Terrifico. My family was dirt poor, so we ate that swill all the time when I was a muchacho. Now my stomach has a hole in it the size of a drive-in window from eating it. As for our getting caught, Clement Antipit will make the F.B.I. think you have run away like a coward again. Besides, no body, no case.”

Elroy looks up at El Gato wide-eyed. “So, you’re the bad guy Mister Cornerstone put in jail.”

“Yes, muchacho. And you picked a bad day to skip school.”

“These two are innocent. Leave them alone.”

“She looks like my ex-wife. And she was far from innocent,” Blinky says, his eyes batting sporadically.

“We will leave now. You are keeping me from Disney World,” El Gato says, waving his gun toward the door.

“Disney World?” Blinky questions.

“Who is going to look for a Capo in the land of Mickey Mouse? We have your grave picked out, Tropea, although it might be a bit crowded with these two keeping you company. But it does have a nice view of the dump.”

“Aren’t we supposed to get a last meal?” Elroy asks as the rent-a-car speeds down the street.

“You know, Alejandro, I’m getting hungry,” Blinky says, passing through a red light.

“I could eat,” El Gato replies. “But you get nothing, Algernon if you keep making driving infections.”

“Infractions,” Clark corrects.

El Gato jabs Clark in the ribs with his gun. “Never correct a Capo.”

“What are you going to do, kill me?”

El Gato looks down at the gun, frowning.

“Something wrong, Mister Cat?” Elroy asks.

“My gun. It is made out of mercury, and it is slipping through my fingers. My body feels like an ocean. It keeps moving in waves.”

Blinky cackles. “I know what you mean, Alejandro. This steering wheel is like soup in my hands. It keeps dripping between my fingers.”

“What’s up with these guys?” Elroy whispers to Clark.

“Remember I told you the gummies were for adults? They ate too many, so now they’re hallucinating.”

“Stop talking! And tell me where the nearest takeout restaurant is.”

“It’s a Taco Terrifico,” Ellie says.

“Of course, it is,” El Gato replies.

Blinky looks over at Ellie in the passenger seat, cackling.

“Keep your eyes on the road, Algernon!”

“But she’s naked. She’s purple, and her hair is made of snakes, but she’s naked.”

“Boy, you must be really hungry to see that,” Elroy says.

“The boy is right,” El Gato says. “Strange, I was not hungry an hour ago. Now my stomach grumbles like a bad mariachi band.”

“Taco Terrifico is just ahead, on your right,” Clark says.

“But that’s the…” Elroy begins to say as Clark covers his mouth with his hand.

“It’s like a megastore. It’s got two floors!” Blinky says, his eyes batting with delight.

“Okay, we go in like friends, smiling, everybody happy. And remember, we have guns,” El Gato commands, watching the barrel of his pistol wiggle.

Clark, Ellie, and Elroy lead the way. A trio of men follow the group inside.

Leaning over the front desk, Blinky smiles at the desk sergeant.

“I want a Loco Supreme with two Chalupas and a Frosty.”

The crew-cut sergeant frowns. “What do you think this is? Taco Terrifico?”

“Isn’t it?” Blinky asks. “Did you know there’s an airplane about to land on your flat head?”

The desk sergeant eyes Blinky, whose eyes flap supersonically.

“There’s no plane buzzing around my head. You’re in a police station, not Taco Terrifico. And you’re under the influence.”

The sergeant glances at El Gato.

“And I know who you are. You’re Alejandro O’Leary Leonardi. They just filed new charges against you in California. One of your henchmen sang like a canary on six cups of coffee. You’re going to be tried for murder… Again.”

“So, no Chalupa?”

“Where are you going?” Ellie asks.

“Someplace quiet where the kids walk to school,” Clark replies. “Someday, when I know it’s safe, I’ll let you know who and where I am.”

“Great. I’ll buy the Chalupas.”

“And remember, Elroy, say no to drugs,” he says, starting the Monte Carlo SS.

“Don’t forget this,” Elroy says, handing Clark his homemade hero trophy.