“Seattle’s best News-Stand!” Announced Axle, holding out a coffee, and slightly grandstanding as he eagerly approached the perennial street stand. Axle had caught the grubby miser off guard, which just seemed to agitate the old man more than his usual nastiness. Nicknamed the wretch, he was the proprietor of the now infamous local landmark. When and how the term was coined is now an ancient mystery, and no one had the nerve to ask.
Never seen without his signature rubber boots, long dirty coat, and the ever chronic ash stump protruding from his briskly unshaven face. He was always seen by many, as an accessory of the stand, and not a real person. ‘Pedophile poster boy,' thought Axle, after muffing his entrance. Not having seen the wretch in a while, and who was now obviously in a huff, had given Axle a new perspective on the unkempt man. Never the less, like feeding a bear once, you can't not feed it again. So, a one time nicety, coffee boy, now became an unofficial full-time tradition.
‘Yas didn’t piss in it, did ya kid, did ya?” Asked the wretch excitedly, seeing the coffee. Axle handed over the well spilled Styrofoam cup. "What, they run outta coffee again?" Muttered the wretch, under his breath, just loud enough for Axle to hear. Axle wasn't making any points, and he wondered why he even cared.
Axle couldn't help but notice the glistening hunk of snot, squeezing out from between the tightly stacked set of nose hairs. "What happened to ya, did she blow yas too hard, hee-hee, fucken sex maniacs." Laughed the wretch, pointing to Axle's bandaged head. "Looks like ya stuck yer head in where it didn't belong," continued the wretch, giggling, turning in circles, looking for something, all the while coughing and hacking into his black coffee.
"Rough flight out of Toronto," answered Axle, remembering, and feeling his bandaged head. Feeling it loosening he re-positioned it, making it feel like a hat instead of a bandage. "Just got back from the frozen north," continued Axle. “What’s new...anyway?" He asked, happy now to see the wretch in a better mood, even if it was at his expense.
"Hey," yelled over the wretch, while giving change to another customer. "What do Eskimos get from sitting on a block of ice?"
"What?" Axle yelled back.
"Polaroids," wheezed the wretch laughing, sending him on another bout of coughing and hacking. "Fucken frozen sex maniacs, the bunch of em!" Laughed the wretch again. Lighting another cigarette from the embers of the other.
"O yas, I'm remembering." Said the wretch, turning abruptly serious. "Some big biker, been snooping around, asking stuff about yas," offered the wretch. Handing Axle his copy of the Seattle Times. "Was it them, what busted yer head?"
"No, I told you."
"Easy, just asking."
“Really, when?" asked Axle. "What did they look like?”
“Like bikers, a couple of days ago," replied the wretch, wiping away a long clear leed of snot dangling from his beak, and flicking it to the street. Axle winced, seeing him wipe his hand on his grimy coat.
“No, I mean, were they dressed like bikers? "
“They was on hogs!,” replied the wretch incredulously. "What am I, yer dam secretary?" Snapped the wretch, using an oddly biting and disdained tone, that Axle hadn't heard before. "I'm fucken busy here!" Axle always assumed the wretch disliked everyone equally, and never imagined he felt above certain people. He obviously hated bikers. Axle watched the man's solid leather hands, stained from years of ink, and nicotine, expertly snapping a wire, circling a stack of newspapers.
“There was two of em, that's all I know. One did all the asking, the other stayed back with the bikes. Didn't buy nothing, pricks! Not friends, I'm guessing,” giggled the wretch, looking up from his papers, to Axles bandages. “Fucken sex maniacs," grunted the wretch, disappearing into his tent like office mumbling his favorite mantra. Axle was reminded of the man's broken clockworks, and let his rudeness slide. He marveled at how he could talk and let the ash of his unfiltered cigarette burn down to his lips, then fluff off the long ash at the last second.
Just as Axle was going to start telling him about his article being published, his main reason for stopping by the stand. A voice, from a muscular looking chauffeur, called out, "Hop in!" Holding open a limo door, like a yawning mouth. Axle stepped over to the curb, leaned down cautiously to look in. It was Red. Axle could hear the wretch behind him mumbling, and sounding very annoyed. “Bunch of fucking sex maniacs.” Axle realized for the first time that the wretch was including him.
“What are you doing living in this rain barrel…huh?" Asked Red right off. “What’s wrong with California? I thought you loved it there”, continued Red, as Axle slid in across from him. A bit relieved to be free from the wretch. Even after the chauffeur had closed the door, Red continued staring, half amused, at the antics of the grubby little Nome.
“I do", replied Axle, pausing. Noting Reds puzzlement in the wretch. “Really, I do love it there," he continued, still not believing that it was actually Red sitting in front of him. It being so odd seeing the crime boss out of his natural desert element.
“I thought you were looking for…I thought you had dreams?" questioned Red, with a seriously perplexed look on his face.
The next question isn’t going to be rhetorical, thought Axle. He heard Angela’s voice in his head. 'The only reason he likes, and puts up with you, is because he’s got something for Canadians.' Axle is taken by the opulence of the limo's environment and plush leather seats. Like night and day, miles away from the wretch's world.
“Have you seen or heard anything from Angela?” asked Red. Famous for his point-blank directness, Axle correctly assumed that Red was here about his daughter.
“No...we were having drinks up the street,” replied Axle, pointing in the direction of the bar where they had been. Red lowered Axle's arm, and motioned for him to get to the point.
“Well, towards the end of the evening, she starts getting friendly with this biker dude, and when my back was turned, they were gone.”
“Did Angela initiate it…?” asked Red, stopping in mid sentence. His chiseled facial expressions demanding an answer.
“You know what she’s like. There's no telling her anything,” replied Axle carefully, shrugging his arms and shoulders apologetically. "Its always scary when you go out with her."
Red nodded in agreement. Axle saw signs of real worry hiding behind the tough exterior.
“That’s all there is to say," explained Axle. “She just took off!" Axle continued, after a long pregnant pause. "I have no idea where she went, or where she is now.”
"I see, you're confirming what I assumed. I appreciated your call by the way!"
"I was concerned. It was the least I could do. After all, she is a woman, and more importantly your daughter. I didn't mean to come off as a tattler.
"You think she's still in the city?" Red asked.
"Its been over a month now, she could be anywhere. I've been away, just got back," explained Axle.
" I know. How is Lonnie?" Asked Red, momentarily changing the subject.
"Fine,” replied Axle a bit unnerved and taken back. “Getting older," he continued, mildly surprised that Red already knew the answers to his own questions. But he also knew that Reds concern was genuine. It was just the mans odd way.
"I needed time to think, to clear my head, so I spent a few weeks with Lonnie over Christmas."
"I haven't met a man yet, that doesn't love his mother, well except for...?" Red didn’t have to spell it out for him.
Axle knew he meant Draino. Axle immediately scanned the streets for the demon, but couldn't see anyone following them. 'It must have been Draino, snooping around the news stand,' thought Axle. Red could see Axle working it all out. The very thought of the brain-dead monster, on the streets of Seattle gave Axle the creeps. 'Why would Red bring the looser, on a personal matter like this, he hated Draino, and Draino's type. He was just a useful idiot to Red. It didn't make any sense.
"Lonnie will never have to worry, nor should you. Even if I'm gone," offered Red. Axle just sat there, in a puddle of amazement, not knowing what to say, or if he should say anything.
"I'm serious, if you ever need anything," Red stated flatly. "No matter what happens between you and my daughter! I take care of my people. Angela saw something in you, and so do I." Axle could do nothing, he just sat there wondering where all this was coming from. "I believe you have depth, trustworthiness, and untapped leadership material." Added Red. Axle had to take this seriously, something big was going on.
"She’s not at her trailer, and her bike and horse, are still at the ranch,"Red surmised. "Have you checked your garage rental yet?" asked Red.
"No, I haven't had time," replied Axle, wondering how the hell Red knew about his private garage. Understanding now why his employees called him god.
"You might want to check your own bike, to see if there has been any sign of her," suggested Red. "You can learn a lot from even the smallest of details," added Red. Leaving Axel to wonder if Red had already been in his garage, or worse, had Draino? The thought was frighteningly unimaginable to Axle. Or, they didn't know where he kept his bike, and were just going to follow him to his garage at a later date. Axle tried to shake off his growing paranoia.
"She was never in my garage. She didn't drive up with me, I came alone, she few up a few days later." Offered Axle, wondering why Red was so interested in his garage. Now, he wondered if Angela had even turned in the money they had collected with Draino.
"By the way,” interjected Red. “Pepe tells me, that he’s always wondered about the bike he built for you, and you too." Axle wondered if Red was even listening to him.
"What happened?" interjected Red, nodding to Axle's bandage head.
"The plane I was on from Toronto, plunged a hundred feet, as we rose above a snowstorm over Lake Michigan. It was bad! I smashed my head into something."
"Don't you just hate it when that happens," laughed Red. Then apologized, after seeing Axle's shocked reaction. Then it hit Axle, that perhaps Red was a pilot. He was thinking that Reds insensitive joke may have gone over better with seasoned pilots. Red had always been an enigma to Axle, and it looks as if nothing had changed.
Axle thought of sad, depressed Pepe, and felt bad, that he had forgotten the strange man, with no boot heels, who builds wonderful choppers, sparing no expense. As if, he were building the last bike in the world.
“I got blitzed…I'm sorry Red...don’t remember much after that!” Knowing Reds deep respect for Canadians, that liberated his families village, Axle liked to make sure that he always sprinkled second world War terms, when around Red.
“I know you love her, and worry. That much is obvious. What I want to know is, did she leave of her own free will?"
"Ya...well yes," Axle replied with a sigh. "I think so, you know she always likes to be in control. I have to admit, she seemed really interested in the guy," offered Axle reluctantly. Axle wiped his eyes, trying to hide the tears, as old feelings drudged up again.
“Why, do you suspect otherwise?"Axle asked.
“No. Its just that its been awhile now, since I've heard from her. Its unusual behavior for her. Its the, out of the norm things, that you wanna keep an eye on, in life. People are creatures of habit, and when they change suddenly, its then you want to take notice. I realize she's a woman now, exploring, and needs her space. But when you do the the exact opposite of what you normally do, especially when its your own blood, you must take notice and act. Or, you have to consider the possibility that she's chained up somewhere!"
Red nodded sympathetically, towards Axle, then lifted his hand, and the vehicle began to move, after a five-minute silence, his fatherly, worried look, transformed back into its familiar hard-ass mask.
“I’ll give you one thing," added Red, staring blankly out the window. "You’re certainly unequivocal. I admire that.”
They went dining in an amazingly classy lounge at the top of a local hotel, with magical views of Puget Sound. After dinner and some polite chat Red said, I want, no excuse me, I would be delighted, if you would come stay with us again, for a week or so. I even took the liberty of purchasing a plain ticket for you. We all enjoyed your last visit, even Rosa asks about you from time to time. “You remember Rosa, Angela’s maid?”
“Yes,” nodded Axle, never feeling apart of the family when there, and now, felt doubt sneaking in, along with Reds invitation.
“Only if you're interested, I wouldn't presume.
"I'd be delighted," grinned Axle, knowing he had no choice in the matter.
"My driver will take you back to your hotel, and I’ll see you hopefully in a couple of days. You know my schedule." Axle remembered the week long wait, he'd had a year ago, waiting for Red to show up for a meeting.
"What if she returns when I'm there?" asked Axle. "All the better!" replied Red. "I'll keep you informed about Angela, if I can."
Red stood up at that moment, from the table, and in the weak afternoon sun he looked surprisingly young and preppy, not at all like the man he was. Red offered his iron hand, squeezing Axles fingers, which always embarrassed him. Axle wasn't weak, but always allowed Red the dominate position. Red sat quickly down, leaving Axle standing. His aide motioned, from across the room, for him to follow. As Axle was leaving the large dining hall, he caught the aides eyes looking toward Red. Glancing back, Axle was surprised to see Red shaking hands with Seattle's Mayor. Axle wondered if Red squeezed his hand too.
On the way back, Axle was given five thousand dollars cash, and a first-class plane ticket to San Francisco, with instructions where to be picked up. The plane was scheduled to leave the following afternoon. Axle wondered, why there, and not LAX? Despite everything, Axle knew Red would never find Angela, even with all his power and money, unless she wanted to be found. He then shoved the idea from his mind, knowing Reds great resolve and equal stubbornness. When they returned to the limo in the underground parkade, the aide instructed the limo driver to take Axle back.
As Axle stepped into the car, a bolt of fear struck him, through the tinted rear window, he saw Draino grinning at him, along with another biker, leaning against large Harleys. As Axle's limo broke into the weak Seattle sun, Draino made it clear he was close and following. Revving the already amplified, and deafening engines, in the confined parking space. Loud reverberations echoed throughout the concrete complex. "I get it Draino, I get it," whispered Axle. Catching eyes with the limo driver, he realized then, that Draino must know Angela had left him, and cringed deeply at the thought.
The wretch seemed surprised to see Axle step out of the limo alive, like he'd never expected to see him again, then pretended he hadn't noticed. Axle looked around for Draino, but there was no sign of either of them. As the wretch handed him his newspaper, Axle wondered why Red was sending him mixed messages. Leaving him with the favorable impression of being a prospective son-in-law, or fodder for Draino. As Axle walked back to his hotel, he could hear the wretch mumble, "fucking sex maniacs.” While his squinting turtle eyes followed the sleek limo, merging back into Seattle’s late afternoon traffic.
Dan Ger
