UKIAH, CALIFORNIA | 1995
After a restless night back home, The Kid cursed the alarm clock radio that had unkindly begun blasting out one of the National Loaf’s lesser known hits. To Lucious Cole’s perpetual entreating that the target of his affection, “come and lay it all down,” The Kid resolved to do the opposite. Much to his still-fuzzy delight, the smell of fresh-brewed coffee was wafting like a scent plume from the kitchen, baiting him in.
“Good morning, sunshine,” Joaninha sang, apparently well under the influence of her Goan-style brew that inherited preparation methods from South India. Having squeezed every drop out of a slow drip through Arabica and Robusta grounds and chicory, she added the concoction to a cup of frothed milk, before sugaring the living shit out of it.
“Sera,” The Kid rubbed the sleep out of his eyes as he walked blindly toward the heavenly smell. “When did you get here?”
“I was worried about you, so I brought bagels,” Joaninha handed The Kid a steaming mug, “and, of course, kaapi.”
“Bless you,” The Kid gratefully took the offering in both hands. “I slept like shit.”
“The first day of filming didn’t go so well?” Joaninha looked over the rim of her own cup, her dark chocolate brown eyes searching The Kid’s face for a clue.
“Not exactly,” he started, “I mean, the interview was going along all right, then, out of nowhere, this guy Charlie Perigo blurts out that he didn’t know who my parents were.”
“That’s not suspicious,” Joaninha adjudged. “He totally knows.”
“You think so? That wasn’t even what we were talking about…”
“Querido, I’m telling you, he knows,” Joaninha put down her cup and captured The Kid’s gaze, something she found ridiculously easy to do, but still found handy from time-to-time. “The question is, do you need to know? Is that what this is all about?”
The Kid pondered the question, letting the strong, sweet brew slowly coax him back to life. “Maybe he’s right,” he finally admitted. “I mean, when I was younger, I really wanted to know. I wanted to confront them and ask why they gave me up; but as I grew up, I sort of pushed all that aside. I convinced myself that it didn’t matter. I became more interested in the bigger story.”
Joaninha merely offered a raised eyebrow, a look that she had long learned was going to cut through whatever tale her partner was spinning out, even if only for himself.
“Not the eyebrow! Come on, Sera,” The Kid folded. “Of course, I had it in the back of my mind that I might find out who my parents were as part of the story, but that’s not what’s driving this.”
“All right. Just so you know, it is totally understandable if you were…”
“Serafina!”
“Fair enough,” Joaninha let him off the hook. “Are you driving back to Point Arena today?”
“I’m going to finish filming Mr. Perigo and then he wants to introduce me to someone.”
“Mind if I tag along? I’ve got the day off. Mom closed the store since Dad just had hand surgery and is possibly the worst patient ever.”
“Hand surgery?” The Kid put down his coffee. “What did he do now?”
“Don’t ask. The worst part is Mom nearly let him bleed out before driving him over to Ukiah Valley. His shop looked like a crime scene.”
“Jesus. Of course you can come. I’d love the company. It’s a pretty drive, but—with so much to do—it’s easy to let your mind wander. I would hate to start the day by hitting a deer.”
“It’s settled, then,” Joaninha declared, “I’m driving.”
Two hours, 50 miles, and an infinite number of trees later, Joaninha finally reached Hwy 1 and turned south toward the seaside town. As winding as the road had been, she liked driving The Kid’s Saturn and jumped at the chance to leave her tired Honda at his place. Of course, that meant at the end of the day she was going to have to make the full trip back to Ukiah, and given how late it would probably be by then, stay there. Oh, darn, she thought. The two had talked about moving in together, but The Kid’s project had recently sucked the air out of that conversation.
The blue coupe had just skirted the town’s outer limits when a police car pulled in behind them and lit up its rooftop gumball machine. The Kid turned in the passenger seat and recognized the short, salt-and-pepper haircut, and sun-, salt-, and wind-leathered face.
“Shit,” he said. “Were we speeding?”
“Not a bit.” Joaninha appreciated the difference between ‘we’ and ‘were you speeding?’ and silently congratulated once again herself on finding a diamond in the rough. It’s the little things, she thought as she pulled over and rolled down the driver’s side window.
Chief Burton sauntered up to the open window, once again unworried about being taken out by a southbound driver.
“Teacake,” he said, leaning down to look past Joaninha, “I didn’t expect you back in town so soon. Who does that make you, miss, Lady Marmalade?”
“Officer?” Joaninha asked, utterly confused about the turn in conversation.
“I have some friendly advice for young Michael Moore here,” Burton got down to business.
“Are you often in the business of pulling over drivers to dispense filmmaking tips?” The Kid asked, trying and failing to suppress a rising anger.
“I could pull you over for a broken taillight,” Burton suggested, “but I think you’d rather hear what I have to say.”
“Are you going to ask for my license?” Joaninha asked, beginning to feel left out of the conversation.
“Do you have one?” Burton asked.
“Of course,” Joaninha began to reach for her wallet in the tiny center console in front of the shifter.
“Then, no,” Burton waved the idea away. “Listen, Teacake…”
“Why do keep calling him that?”
“Listen, I can understand your interest in the rich history of our little town,” Burton launched into his monologue. “There is something you need to know about our friend, Mr. Perigo, before you cause yourself, and more importantly, me, some problems.”
“What would that be, officer?” The Kid’s interest was piqued.
“That’s Chief Burton, remember that name, Teacake. Charlie… Mr. Perigo served his country in Vietnam, and for all intents and purposes, came through it pretty well. There are some poor fellows his age, that weren’t quite as lucky. That said, there are certain things that Mr. Perigo really doesn’t need to be reminded of.”
“I think I understand,” The Kid said, trying to think if might have said anything that could have upset Charlie.
“I don’t know that you do, but it’s not Mr. Perigo that really concerns me.”
“All right,” The Kid turned in his seat to better confront the man.
“As you dig around, Teacake, just be mindful of the rocks you are kicking over. I would take it as a personal favor if certain individuals, who have gone to great lengths to disappear from this story, stay disappeared.” Burton handed The Kid his card. “Remember that name.”
“Are we free to go, Chief Burton?” Joaninha asked.
“You are free to do whatever you please, Lady Marmalade,” Burton chuckled at his own perceived cleverness. “Just watch out for those rocks, Teacake, there may be snakes under some of them. You two have a nice day, now.”
The Kid and Joaninha sat in silence as Burton walked back to his vehicle and drove off.
“What the hell was that?” Joaninha finally asked. “And why does he call you Teacake?”
“I have no idea,” The Kid said, his mind racing, “but I aim to find out.”
Román Leão 