Fifty Bucks: What's It Worth? Complete Book

Fifty Bucks: What's It Worth
by Dave Wright
Chapter 1
Maggie

“One in five children who ‘age out’ of foster care become homeless. Only half will have a job by the time they are 24. Four percent will get a college degree, compared to 36% of non-fostered children. 71% of fostered women will become pregnant by the age of 21. The age of ‘emancipation’ from foster care is 18 or at the time of graduation from high school.”  --sharedjustice.org 

Maggie’s social worker deposited her at the curb of what was to be her last foster home. She had just turned sixteen and had been reassigned to this family after a multitude of tempestuous arguments at her previous home. “Try to behave,” admonished the social worker as she waved her off. “This family has experience with teens and should be a good fit for you.”

Maggie Oliver trudged up the sidewalk. At five foot five and only 110 pounds, the suitcase she dragged behind made the steps an effort. Her faded blue jeans, torn at the knees accentuated her shapely figure. Her baggy grey sweatshirt disguised it. Her mouth, set in a perpetual pout, had the ability to charm if she wanted something, but could bite if she’d been wronged. She brushed back a lock of dirty blonde hair that hung like ropes on either side of her face. Her hazel eyes prepared to size up another new “care-giver.” She took a deep breath and rang the doorbell.

A boy about her age met her at the door. He extended a right hand in greeting. His grip felt more intimidating than welcoming. “Hey. You must be Maggie. I’m Deke,” he said flashing a perfect set of teeth. Deke Ambrose stood about six feet tall. His arms protruded from a size-too-small T-shirt and looked as though they had been hoisting a set of barbells since puberty. His waist, a trim six-pack fit neatly into a pair of Nike sweats. His auburn curly hair could have been scalped from a Kennedy. As he showed her into the house, he checked the hallway mirror. She despised him immediately.

“Let me show you your room. Ma’ and Dad ought to be home from work soon, but they asked me to get you oriented.” He led her up a flight of stairs, opened the door to her room and rested a hand on her shoulder for a moment longer than was comfortable. “Glad to have a sister for a change. Our last foster kids were a couple of derelict boys. What losers. But now, you…” he exclaimed giving her an up-and-down appraisal, “…you look like you’ve got real potential.”

Maggie shrugged her shoulder loose and ignored the comment. “Nice room,” she observed.

“Maybe I could take you to the JV football game tonight—introduce you to some of my friends,” Deke continued. “I play football but I’m on varsity—been on it since I was a freshman. You won’t want to miss a game.”

“Not tonight. Think I’ll just settle in and watch a little TV.”

“Suit yourself. It’s a rare night that I’m free—don’t have a date tonight. Your loss.”

“I’ll bet,” Maggie murmured as shut the door and locked it with a loud click.

Maggie soon found that Deke and his parents had visions of Deke playing quarterback for the Big Ten—preferably at the University of Minnesota.

****

Maggie endured the next two football seasons sitting on cold bleachers with his parents. After every game she returned home to listen to each play rehashed, every dropped pass lamented, and every win celebrated. “Did you see that pass? I hope a scout was here to see that play! That should have been roughing the passer.” Poor baby thought Maggie as she excused herself to go to her room.

Deke’s prowess on the football field led to an equally successful social life. An entourage of adoring fans doted on him like groupies following a rock band. Deke never had a problem finding a date, but he did have a problem keeping a girlfriend. Maggie knew his reputation from visiting with the other girls in her class. “Keep a safe distance,” they warned.

She tried, but Deke couldn’t imagine any girl refusing his advances—much less a tramp like Maggie. Maggie intensified her warnings when her subtle suggestions were ignored. “No thanks. Get lost. Go take a cold shower,” progressed to, “You’ve got to be kidding—me being seen with you…in public? Not in this lifetime.” His unwanted flirting persisted.

Maggie perfected a type of domestic guerrilla warfare. She began with adolescent pranks. She snuck into his room and sprayed Gold Bond in every pair of briefs. She set a mouse trap beneath a pile of socks and another in his tennis shoe. She hid his favorite CD’s and stole the smutty magazines he had hidden in his closet. She discovered his locker combination and lifted a copy of a term paper moments before it was due; then extorted two weeks of allowance to get it back.

Deke’s advances were becoming more like an attempt at conquest than an infatuated interest; the harassment was getting tiresome. About a year after she joined the household, he sat down next to her at a basketball game. At a quiet moment just before the National Anthem Deke placed his arm around her waist and slipped a finger inside her belt. Maggie screamed, “Keep your hands off me, you prick. Don’t ever touch me again!” The band director’s baton paused for an awkward moment before the snare drum’s roll. Deke snuck out of the auditorium as the crowd began, “Oh say can you see…” Deke got the message, but he did not forget the humiliation, nor did it earn her any points at home.

A month before graduation and a couple hours after she went to bed, Maggie woke to the sound of a key fiddling in her doorknob. Moments after the lock clicked, she felt a hand cover her mouth. “Shhhh,” came a familiar voice. The other hand pulled away the bedspread. The intruder climbed between the sheets. “Don’t say a word,” he whispered. “This’ll be our little secret.”

Maggie did not say a word, but with the reflexes of a cat she simultaneously rammed her knee into his pelvis and slapped his face…hard. “Yes,” she hissed. “This will be our little secret.” The bulge in his shorts deflated like a ruptured blister. He hit the floor beside her bed giving Maggie enough time to pull a knife from beneath her pillow and place the blade next to his Adam’s apple. “Remember that I don’t have a hell-of-a-lot to lose here. You pull a stunt like this again and I’ll find a better use for this pocketknife than whittling twigs.” The next morning, she installed a new keyed doorknob and deadbolt lock for her room. To hell with them if my foster parents don’t approve of my remodeling ideas.

Back at school Maggie used her ability to meet and make friends to expand her guerilla warfare. Her friends were not the cheer leaders, not the honor society students, not the student council reps. They were the tattooed and pierced girls who wore dark makeup and gathered just off the school grounds to share a smoke. They knew how to spread news.

Maggie headed off any rumors Deke might have been tempted to spread by sharing her account of the incident first. No sense bothering with the authorities. She knew it would be her word against that of the football captain—and the verdict: a no brainer. Far better to tell her story to an audience that would listen: how Deke snuck into her room, how he tried to assault her, how he failed miserably, how he groaned after her well-placed kick, and how he fled from the room in embarrassment. The story worked its way through the school’s social hierarchy. Maggie knew her place in that society, so she was not surprised when none of the school administrators even bothered to question her. The school year was ending. A hero was in the making. No need to make embarrassing waves.

Deke left for a private football camp while Maggie spent the summer working at Wendy’s—just long enough to pay for her driver’s education course. She wanted to move to Los Angeles, and she knew that L.A. was a place that thrived on automobiles.

Maggie celebrated her eighteenth birthday at the Greyhound bus station. Her foster parents knew she wanted to move to California and were more than happy to see her go. They paid the hundred-and-seventy-dollar fare for her one-way ticket, stuck another hundred in her hand, and left her at the depot with a good riddance.

Maggie sat on the wooden bench waiting for her departure sulking over her miserable experience in foster care. She had been shuffled from one couple to another since she was two years old, when Hennepin County Human Services determined that her mother could no longer care for her—drugs, alcohol, poor choice of boyfriends, and the final poor choice—to abandon her to the county. Her father was non-existent. Although Maggie knew of many kids who had found loving homes in the program, her experience had been different. She seemed to attract homes that put profit over care—and the last was no exception. Deke smirked as he told her as she left the house for the last time, “We took you in to pay for my football camp.”

Maggie heard the boarding call and stopped briefly at a mailbox. She deposited a letter addressed to the University of Minnesota’s athletic director. That should be an interesting read she mused as she settled into her seat. Foster care is in my past. I am on my own.

****

Maggie stepped off the Greyhound bus into the California sunshine. This is so much better than Minneapolis, she thought as she stretched her stiff shoulders and looked up at the swaying palm trees. It had been a grueling cross-country trip. Two thousand miles, thirty stops and two days of grit left her bleary-eyed and wrinkled. 

Maggie walked into the bus station, plunked the last of her change into the vending machine, tore a tuna sandwich from its wrapper and sat down outside the station. The hundred dollars had not gone as far as she had hoped. Two days of breakfast, lunch and dinner left her with half her cash. It was now folded neatly in the front left pocket of her faded blue jeans tucked next to a ring and her driver’s license.

A friendly-looking woman sat down next to her on the bench outside the station. She wore a frumpy hat that shaded her eyes and carried a massive handbag that could have held most of Maggie’s possessions. She turned to Maggie and surveyed her rumpled sweatshirt and threadbare backpack. “You new in town?” she inquired.

“Just arrived a half hour ago. Came from Minneapolis. The weather here is way better than what I left behind,” said Maggie, mustering enough politeness to keep the woman engaged. “You happen to know of a place I might crash for the night…I mean just a place to stay for a day or two ‘til I get my bearings? I don’t have much money so I’m looking for somethin’ cheap—really cheap—like free.”

The woman smiled with a touch of condescension—an attitude so familiar to Maggie that she had to swallow the bile in her throat. The woman noticed the frown flicker across Maggie’s face and quickly sized up the situation. “We could share a Lyft to North Hollywood,” she offered. “I’m heading that direction and I think there’s a shelter near there that might be able to help you out. I can cover the fare.”

Any name with “Hollywood” in it must be decent, thought Maggie. “That would be fine. Thanks.”

The Lyft driver dropped her off at Lankershim and Oxnard. As Maggie stepped out of the car the frumpy-hatted woman advised, “L.A. Family Housing is just north of here.”

Maggie waved a thank-you and turned south. She had heard rumors of terrifying nights in homeless shelters for single women. “It’s a good place to get molested,” said a friend of hers who had had to spend one night in a homeless shelter in Minneapolis. Maggie thought, The weather’s nice here. I’ve got a warm blanket and a sharp knife. I think I’ll try my luck on the street.

Maggie inhaled a mixture of warm air and exhaust, hoisted her pack to her back and strolled down the street. She stepped into a park on her left that offered a restroom. She noticed a shimmering black crow perched atop the play structure. It sat like a judge in his robe passing judgement on his suspects below. A bearded man in shabby corduroys sat at a picnic table nibbling on a Slim Jim. A second crow regarded the man with the suspicion of a bailiff. It sat next to him demanding tidbits as if a bribe might help his verdict. A third crow leered down on the scene from the top of a chain-link fence. A dreadlocked man in army fatigues danced to a silent beat. His possessions, a stack of grubby quilts and piles of plastic garbage bags, all covered by a blue plastic tarp weighted down a nearby grocery cart. Next to him an old woman with ratty red hair dressed in baggy sweatpants ranted to the crows as if making an impassioned defense. The judge had quit listening long ago and cocked his head with indifference.

Maggie looked from one crow to the next. They appeared to assume the haughty attitude of aristocrats. She imagined them offering advice in a cacophony of cawing and croaking: “We have learned how to conquer this city! You will be judged on your ability to survive.”

Maggie shuddered and walked on. The smell of burgers and fries from In-And-Out tempted her to break her fifty. No. I better save it. It’s all I have left. Besides, there could be leftovers in that dumpster if I come back later.

She continued south. As she approached the intersection at Hatteras, she reached into her hip pocket to look again at her most prized possession: the ruby ring that had been passed along to her by her mother before she had been turned over to Hennepin County as a toddler. Maggie didn’t know how her mother had gotten it, but a string of social workers had ensured that the ring followed her from one home to the next. It was a comforting reminder that someone once loved her.

Across the street next to a Honda used car lot she noticed a line of four tents pitched next to the curb, each one so close to the other that they shared their corner stakes. Scraps of paper and plastic bags blew along the street like tumbleweeds. Colorful tarps in skewed angles flopped over the tents in a feeble attempt to protect the occupants and their possessions. It was unlike any campground Maggie had seen in Minnesota—no rangers, no host, and no regulations.

A couple of rough-looking women conversed next to the tents. One flicked the ash from a cigarette while the other struggled with a leash that restrained an equally tough-looking dog. As Maggie turned to cross the street, she reached into her pocket to replace the ring. Her fifty-dollar bill was missing. O my god! what happened to it? When she turned back to re-trace her steps, she saw a stocky young man with a tangled mass of curly hair reach down to pick up her neatly folded bill.

“Hey, that’s mine,” shouted Maggie.

The offender ignored her plea, dodged traffic to cross the street and ran the other direction.

Maggie crossed the street after him but saw that she would not be able to catch him. And if she did, what would she do? Tackle him? Turn him in to the cops? Threaten him with her knife?

The residents of the makeshift camp watched with amusement as Maggie approached them.

“That’s Little Dan,” said the woman with the cigarette as she exhaled a cough and a puff of smoke.

“He’s a cocky little bastard,” chimed in the one holding her flea-bitten Doberman cross. “You don’t want to mess with him. He’s mean—kind of like my dog here.”

Maggie hesitated a moment while the Doberman’s ears perked up, then offered an outstretched hand to the mongrel straining at his leash. “Doesn’t seem too mean to me.”

“Butch seems to take to you pretty good. He’s better with women, but he’ll chew the hand off any guy gets too close to ‘im… ’cept Bender Bill, that is. Butch ‘ll let Bill pet him all day long.” explained the owner.

“Who’s Bender Bill?” asked Maggie.

“Bill lives in the end tent. I’m Leona, by the way, and my chain-smoking friend here is Vanessa.”

“Nice to meet you. I’m Maggie.” She stood up and offered a hand to each of the women. “But that ‘cocky little bastard’ you call Little Dan just stole the last of my money.”

“How much ‘id he take?” asked Leona.

“Fifty bucks.”

“Damn. That’s too bad, but even so I’d just forget about it,” said Vanessa flicking her butt into the street. “Water under the bridge. Besides, fifty bucks in this city is closer to nothin’ than you might think.”

“Water under the bridge, my ass. He knew damn well that was my money. He must have seen it drop out of my pocket when I pulled out my…” Maggie checked herself before saying ‘ring.’ The reason she never wore it was because it might be valuable. She didn’t need anyone in this neighborhood to know that she had anything of value…Instead she finished with, “knife.” Knife. Yes, knife, thought Maggie. Better to let that bit of information get around town.

“That don’t make no difference,” said Leona. “Rumor on the street is that he got kicked outa’ the Marines for smartin’ off to an officer. When he come home, his pa’—bein’ a former Marine hisself—kicked him out on his butt just like the Marines did. Been carryin’ a pretty big chip on those lil’ shoulders ever since.”

Before Maggie could turn her thoughts on Little Dan, an old man wearing a faded beard and a matching army jacket stumbled toward them on the sidewalk. He cradled a brown bag affectionately. “That’s Bender Bill,” continued Leona as she pulled on Butch’s leash. “He can’t sleep without that bottle of Strawberry Hill he’s got tucked under his arm.”

“But he’s a good one to have around,” interrupted Vanessa as she lit up another cigarette. “He ain’t much to look at—‘course who is around here—We ain’t exactly swimsuit models…but he don’t let nothin’ happen to us. He come back from Viet Nam missing a couple of fingers and most of who he used to be. Since then he’s lost most of his teeth too, but he still knows how to fight.” She coughed, spit and continued. “One time that weasel Little Dan came around thinking he could steal my smokes. He came over here actin’ like he owned the place, puffed up his chest like a big man and says, “Looks like you got yourself a new pack of cigs. How ‘bout you let me have one of ‘em?”

“I told ‘im, ‘Go screw yourself. Get your own cigs.’ Got me a shiner that lasted a week, but it was worth it. Bill come bustin’ outa’ that tent like a wild bull shoutin’, ‘What you think you’re doin’ to that lady?’ Next thing I knew ol’ Bender gave Lil’ Dan a kick in the shin so fast an’ hard he limped for a week. ‘Member that movie, ‘Billy Jack?’ That’s our Billy—don’t have much left, but still got enough o’ that move to do real damage.”

“Lucky I wasn’t here with Butch,” said Leona. “He nearly chokes hisself tryin’ to get at Little Dan any time he walks on this side the street.”

Billy joined the group and broke into a grin that showed off a stained upper eye tooth and couple of lower incisors. “What we got here,” he lisped. “someone new in the neighborhood?”

“This here’s Maggie,” said Vanessa. “She just got a introduction to ‘Lil Dan.”

Leona let Butch sniff Bill’s leg and explained, “Little Dan ran off with a fifty-dollar bill that Maggie dropped on the sidewalk. I told her, ‘Let it be,’ but she ain’t interested in lettin’ it be.”

Maggie offered a hand, “Hi Bill. I’m Maggie. I know a bit about guys who always think they can get what they want…and how to keep them from getting it. Besides it was the last of my money. I’m getting hungry and need a place to sleep tonight.”

Bill chuckled at her confidence and broke into a toothless grin. “I say let’s let it rest for a bit. I just cashed my veteran’s check. How ‘bout I buy us a few burgers and let’s sip us a little wine. This tent next to me’s bound to be vacant for a while. Janet—she’s the owner of the tent—is off trying to collect her alimony payment. ‘Spect she’ll be gone a few days trackin’ down that deadbeat. Don’t think she’d mind havin’ you watch over it for her. If you don’t mind a bed bug or two, it’d be safer than beddin’ down in some vacant lot.”

Maggie didn’t have a better offer, so she dropped her pack and accepted the invitation. I’ve been part of a lot of different families, she thought, but this beats all.

Bender Bill wandered off to splurge on their dinner and returned with burgers, fries and shakes. The women thanked him and munched on the burgers while Bill sucked on a shake and some fries. Bill noticed a couple of crows perched on the hood of one of the Hondas for sale. He picked up a fry and said, “I heard Little Dan watched a couple crows peck the eyes outa’ one a’ his buddies before he was sent back from the war. When he tried shooin’ ‘em away, they just stared ‘im down and kept peckin’. Might be ‘nother reason he ain’t quite right.”

Maggie held one of her fries in the air and one of the crows swooped down and plucked it from her hand.

“What’s this? You some kinda’ witch?” asked Leona. “Those crows usually won’t come near us with Butch around.”

“I get along pretty well with animals,” said Maggie. “It’s people I have trouble with.”

She chewed on a fry and asked a question that had been nagging her since she got on the bus to L.A. “By the way, how do you gals get your money to live? I see Bill’s got his veteran’s check and Janet manages to squeak something out of her ex. I’m flat broke and need some cash soon.”

After an uncomfortable pause, Vanessa said, “I tried a bit o’ whorin’ a few years back. Turned a couple tricks. Fast money, but not worth it.”  She looked at the burger in her hands. “You do it often ‘nough and some pimp ‘ll pick you up and then he’ll own ya’. I need my ‘dependence.” She thought for a moment. “I get something from my ma’ every month that gets me by.” The irony was lost on her.

“I got a kid, so I qualify for Welfare,” said Leona. “He ran off with his dad when he was sixteen. Don’t know where he is now, but I get a check ‘til he’s eighteen. Don’t know what I’ll do after that. S’pose I could get pregnant again,” she laughed. “You got to be pregnant or have a kid to qualify.”

“Could always start stealin’ like Little Dan,” said Bill as he nursed his strawberry shake. “Guys don’t get much from the county ‘less they’s married and has kids. Ain’t worth it. I can panhandle a few bucks every day…always get ‘nough for my friend here,” as he pointed to the paper bag.

“What about someone like me?” asked Maggie. “Know of any help I can get?”

“You could get pregnant,” winked Vanessa.

“Don’t want to go there—think I better look for a job” said Maggie as she stretched and yawned. “Thanks for the food, Bill.”

Maggie crawled into Janet’s unoccupied tent and stuck her head out before pulling the tarp over the doorway. “Probably won’t see you in the morning. I think I better get an early start tomorrow.”

Maggie pushed Janet’s blankets to the side, pulled her quilt from her pack, curled up using her pack as a pillow, tucked her knife under the pack, and dropped off to sleep.

The next morning Maggie packed her few belongings and crawled out of the tent. She squinted at the California sun and walked back to the park where she used the restroom, washed up and combed her hair. She looked at her baggy eyes in the metal mirror. Guess that’ll have to do. The Goodwill Store across the street seemed like a good place to begin her search. An hour later Maggie was folding and sorting clothes in the back room. Having a driver’s license, a Social Security number and offering a polite introduction to the manager was enough to land a minimum wage job. At five o’clock her growling stomach reminded her that she was still broke. As she was preparing to leave, she peeked into the manager’s office and ventured a request. “I don’t suppose there’s any way I could get a small advance,” Maggie asked with a reluctant smile. “I’m afraid I’m a bit short.”

The manager gave her a hard look and said, “You’ll be here promptly at nine tomorrow morning?”

“For sure. Promptly at nine.”

The manager sighed, reached into her purse and handed her a twenty. “This is a loan that I expect will be repaid when you get your first check in two weeks.”

“Thank you so much,” said Maggie with relief. “I’ll make sure to repay you first thing after I get paid.”

Twenty bucks. That’s better than broke, thought Maggie. How am I going to make it for two weeks on this? For starters I need to get my money back from Little Dan.

Her first stop was at the Dollar Store. She bought a rubber knife and a toy plastic bird, then stopped at the grocery store for a loaf of day-old bread, a jar of peanut butter and a chunk of American cheese. Not the healthiest, but it ought to stop the noise in my stomach—and I’ll have a bit to share with my “roommates.”

Maggie returned to camp. “Leona, you know where Little Dan sleeps at night?” she asked.

Leona relaxed Butch’s leash as he lifted his leg on the corner hydrant. “Dan’s kind of a loner and moves around, but I think I saw him once in a doorway near a park about a mile south of here.”

“Thanks, Leona.” A determined frown creased Maggie’s brow. “I think I’ll pay him a visit this evening.”

That night, well after the traffic had dwindled to an occasional drag race up Lankershim, Maggie crept out of her tent and hiked south to look for Little Dan. She found the park that Leona had mentioned and began to wander its perimeter. She investigated the doorways of a long low-rent apartment complex. Nothing there. She poked around several sleeping forms on the boulevard next to the park but didn’t recognize the short, blocky form of Little Dan. Just as she was about to give up and return to her camp, she noticed a couple of legs and a crumpled blanket protrude from the doorway of a corner building. Maggie recognized the mat of curly hair sticking out from under a stained quilt as Little Dan’s. She scribbled a note on a napkin that said, Better start sleeping with one eye open. I’m watching you. You owe me $50. Then she broke the neck of the toy bird, placed it on the note, and carefully set the note and disfigured bird next to Dan. It would be the first thing he saw in the morning.

The following night Maggie returned to the park again and found Little Dan sleeping in the same doorway. Need to reinforce my message, thought Maggie. This time she placed the rubber knife on a note that read, I’m good with a knife. Return the $50 to the Goodwill store on Lankershim.

The next day Maggie kept looking out from the back of the Goodwill Store to see if Dan would show up to return her money. No Dan, and she was getting tired of peanut butter.

Late that night she returned to find that Little Dan was no longer in the same doorway. He didn’t return my money but maybe I got his attention. Maggie wandered the neighborhood looking for Dan the rest of the night. The first glow of dawn brightened the L.A. haze when she noticed a familiar head of hair peeking out from a bundle of quilts rolled up not far from the park she used for her morning bath. The crows had already gathered to conduct their daily interrogation. She crossed the street and dug through the garbage can outside the In-And-Out. She pulled a half-eaten bag of greasy French fries from the can and lifted it so the crows could see it. She carried a hand full of fries above her head while the crows watched eagerly. She returned to Little Dan and spread the fries on top of his quilt and next to his face; then found a discreet hiding place across the street to watch him wake.

Little Dan stirred a little before nine to see a crow staring him directly in the eyes. Maggie saw him throw off the tattered quilt and shout, “Oh my god. What the hell! Get outa’ here you filthy bastard!” The offended magistrate flew off to render justice at the park and Dan jumped to his feet. “That lousy bitch.” He rubbed his eyes and looked around. Not seeing anyone, he settled back to complete his morning routine: roll a joint, take a drag and greet the day with bloodshot eyes.

Maggie snuck back to the Goodwill Store to put in another day of work. During her lunch hour, having no lunch to eat, she paid a visit to the pawn shop down the street. She produced her mother’s ring from her hip pocket and asked what it might be worth.

The bald man behind the counter sported a leather vest and a gold earring. Each arm displayed a tattoo—one dedicated to “MOM,” the other to the U.S. Navy.

“You get many of these here?” asked Maggie as she passed the ring over the counter. He took the ring from Maggie’s hand and looked at it with interest.

“Ha,” he snorted. “Get about two hundred wedding rings a week, and about a third that number of engagement rings. Some turn out to be valuable. Matter of fact, my third wife picked hers out of my collection.”

“Does she still have it?” asked Maggie with a thin smile.

“Yep. This one’s a keeper—at least for now.” He took out a magnifying glass to squint at the ruby more closely. “I don’t get many like this, though.” He paused. “I can give you a thousand,” he said looking up from his examination to see Maggie’s startled expression.

O my god, thought Maggie. A thousand dollars! She could eat tonight; she could share a good meal with her new friends; she could forget about collecting from Little Dan. She hesitated to consider the offer. If a pawnbroker thinks it’s worth a thousand, it must be worth more to someone who knows jewelry. I’ve got to get downtown to get another opinion.

“I believe I’ll think it over.”

“Up to you,” said the pawnbroker with a hint of regret in his voice. “I’ll be here tomorrow if you change your mind.”

That evening Maggie asked Leona if she could borrow Butch for the evening. Billy was sleeping nearby so the women didn’t need the protection Butch offered. Leona agreed and handed her the leash. Maggie ventured out for the fourth night in a row, this time with Butch tugging and growling as she began her search for Little Dan. He wasn’t in the same place as he was that morning, so she returned south. She found him sleeping in the same doorway he was in the first night. An empty bottle of Jack Daniels sprawled beside him. Maggie unfolded her knife and taped it to the end of a broom handle she had found in the dumpster behind Goodwill. With her makeshift spear in one hand and Butch’s leash in the other, she approached the curly head of Little Dan. Butch growled and barked.

With the knife blade pointed at his face, she shouted, “Wake up, you goddamned thief!”

Dan stumbled from his bed and swung his hand against the spear, knocking it from Maggie’s surprised hand. “So you’re the bitch that’s been disturbin’ my sleep,” he shouted as he made a move toward her.

“That’s my money you stole,” she cried as she reached to grab the fallen weapon. “Get ‘im, Butch!”

The Doberman lunged for Dan’s leg and took a firm grip. Dan shrieked another obscenity and tried to kick himself free. Maggie waved the knife maliciously. “I want my fifty bucks…now.”

“OK, OK, you miserable bitch.” Dan slowly reached into a rear pocket, attempting to free himself of the dog at the same time. A switchblade appeared.

Without thinking Maggie slashed her spear against his wrist. Dan cursed again and dropped the knife. “Call off the dog…Call off your damn dog!” Dan reached into his pocket with his other hand and pulled out a wad of folded bills that he threw in front of Maggie.

“Down Butch, down,” commanded Maggie.

She quickly counted the folded bills and found there were three twenties and three tens. She threw a twenty back in his face. “I’ll take the extra cash as interest—and this switchblade for the inconvenience—and don’t think about messin’ with me. I know how to take care of myself,” she warned. “C’mon, Butch. Let’s go home.”

Maggie picked up coffee and doughnuts on her way back to the camp. She placed them inside the flaps hiding her three friends and tied Butch to a post outside Leona’s tent.

She munched on a doughnut as she made her way to Goodwill. She noticed a new used car on the lot next to the camp, an older model Honda listed for $2,999. Janet will be back soon, which means I’ll need a new place to sleep…

Maggie found a “new” set of clothes from the stacks at Goodwill and negotiated to get the afternoon off. She took the train downtown and found a jewelry store that advertised free valuation of jewelry. She walked out of the shop having given up her most prized possession. The jeweler explained that the vintage setting was as valuable as the ruby itself. A check for $3,000 replaced the ring in her pocket. On her way home she stopped at a bank to open an account, not only to deposit her new fortune, but to use if she became a Lyft driver. Her last stop in moving off the street was a stop at the post office where she secured a P.O. box. This completed the essentials she needed to buy a car she had always wanted—a job, a license, an address and a down payment. With this in hand, she walked into the Honda dealership, wrote a check for $1,000 and drove around the corner to show her friends her new home.

One of the first pieces of mail that she received in her P.O. box was a letter from a high school friend. Deke had been rejected from the University of Minnesota football program because of concerns about sexual harassment in his past. He might be heading to Los Angeles.

A month later Maggie drove into the LAX terminal to pick up a Lyft ride. In the midst of the crowd, she saw Deke standing on the curb next to the person she was supposed to pick up. She changed lanes and drove a block beyond her passenger, then texted him to meet her there. She initiated no small talk with her passenger during the ride but mulled over Deke’s arrival. Why was he here? Did he know she sent the letter to the university? Did he want revenge? Was he going to school out here?

After dropping off her passenger, she visited Leona and explained that she may need to borrow Butch from time to time. She thought of the crow’s advice: “You will be judged on your ability to survive.” I know that I can survive in this city. but I have my doubts about Deke.

Maggie drove away to pick up her next Lyft ride.

Fifty Bucks
Chapter 2
Deke

Deke Ambrose unfolded his cramped legs, threw his backpack on his shoulder, and pulled his carry-on bag from the compartment above his middle seat. The flight to Los Angeles had left from Minneapolis early in the morning but was delayed in Denver due to “mechanical difficulties” on the connecting flight. 

“I can’t believe my parents sent me on Frontier airlines,” he complained to the massive passenger who had occupied the seat next to him since his layover in Denver. “They’re probably pissed that I didn’t get my scholarship to the University of Minnesota—and this is my penance.”

His travelling partner, weary from squeezing his rear into a seat designed for a dwarf and from listening to Deke’s account of the raw deal he had gotten from Minnesota, heaved himself from the window seat, plucked his bag from the overhead, and offered a last bit of advice. “At least you’ll find the weather in L.A. friendlier than Minnesota’s—and you’ll probably get more playing time at Lackmore College than you would ever have gotten at the U. Good luck.”

Deke waved a brief goodbye and pushed to the exit door. The man’s comments were lost in the shuffle of roller bags and cell phone conversations. Deke entered the bustling LAX terminal and followed the signs to baggage claim. He recounted the humiliation he had felt when he received the terse rejection letter from the University of Minnesota’s athletic department:

Dear Mr. Ambrose,
We regret to inform you that because of new information we have received about your background in high school, you are no longer qualified to be a candidate for the Minnesota Gopher football team. The scholarship that had been considered for your position has been awarded to another worthy applicant.

We are sorry to deliver this disappointing news, but we wish you good luck in the future.

Sincerely,

University of Minnesota Athletic Department

“New information! Good luck!” he muttered to himself as he fought his way to the front of the baggage claim. “I don’t need luck. I’ve got talent! Too bad they couldn’t see it—their loss…and I’ve got a pretty good idea where that ‘new information’ came from.”

He stared at the conveyor belt that spat out suitcases marked with duct tape, handbags exploding with undergarments and boxes wrapped in cellophane. After a half hour, one of his two bags tumbled onto the revolving carousel. The other passengers, including Big Boy who sat next to him on the flight and collected his bag at the opposite side of the carousel, had departed to catch rides to their final destinations. After another fifteen minutes of rotating without a passenger, the carousel came to a halt, leaving Deke alone looking up the empty chute.

“Damn,” He moaned to himself. “Can’t they get anything right here? They had four hours to move two bags from one plane to another. That shouldn’t have been that hard. Where the hell is customer service anyway?”

After dragging the rest if his bags back and forth through the baggage claim area, he found the customer service counter tucked along the back wall. He took his place at the end of a long line and continued to fume about his altered college career. As a star quarterback in high school, he had impressed scouts and earned a place at a football camp for players who were being groomed for college play. When he left for camp after graduation, he was confident in a position on the Gopher roster, but his father and the letter were waiting for him when he stepped off the bus that returned from camp.

“What the hell is this?” stormed his father as he handed him the letter that had been opened. “We have scrimped, saved and sacrificed for you to get this opportunity. Now this!”

He thrust the letter into Deke’s hand, turned and walked to the car. “Come on. Your mother is waiting for us at home. We need to find another school for you.”

Deke dropped his shoulders and shook his head in disbelief. His hope of being a Golden Gopher had been dashed.

“What’s this about ‘new information about your background in High school,’” quizzed his father. “Did this have something to do with Maggie?”

The Ambrose family had a lucrative side business in fostering children for many years. Maggie, who had recently aged out of the system, had been their last. After two tumultuous years, they had breathed a sigh of relief that she was no longer their responsibility and had placed her on a bus for Los Angeles. They had observed the conflicted relationship between their son and Maggie. At times Deke flirted with her and at other times he scorned her. They thought it best to let them work it out on their own, knowing that the time would soon pass. Maggie would be out of state and Deke would be safely enrolled in college.

“That crazy orphan had nothing to do with it,” cried Deke. “She had her life and I had mine, but at least she’s gone, and I can get on with my life.” How could that bitch have done this to me, he fumed to himself. I know she hated my guts, but who would believe anything she said?

“Well, you’ll have to get on with your life someplace besides the University of Minnesota,” his father grumbled as he climbed into the driver’s seat. “Your mother has researched colleges that might still be looking for football players this fall. Let’s hope she found something.”

Deke turned his attention to his lost bag and crept forward in the line. He noticed that everyone else had a form that they had been filling out. “What’s that?” he asked the young girl in front of him.

“This is a claim form. You need to fill it out before you talk to an agent. They are right over there.” She sniffed with the arrogance of a seasoned traveler. “Haven’t you ever flown before?”

Deke did not admit his inexperience, so without a reply, he retrieved the form and retreated again to the end of the line.

“Your bag is probably hung up in Denver,” explained the agent when he presented his form. “Frontier is notorious for losing bags. When it arrives, they will send it to the address you have listed.” She studied the form. “Where is Lackmore College? Never heard of it.” She looked to the person standing behind him. “Next.”

Lackmore College is a small state school in the Valley Village area of Los Angeles. Deke’s mother had discovered it in her on-line search. Lackmore was looking for “walk-on recruits” and would offer them modest scholarships if they made the team. Tuition was inexpensive, and she was confident that her son would succeed. “It’s closing in on September, Deke, and we want you to go to college this fall,” she had said. “Let’s fill out this application and see if you can still get a shot at playing ball.”

Several weeks later he was on the plane to California. Housing was still undetermined, but Deke had discovered a fraternity on-line that appealed to him. He was unfamiliar with the Greek letters that represented its name, but the website claimed they were looking for new pledges. It guaranteed young recruits a “dynamic social life” and said they catered to athletes. The house was full for the fall semester, but when he called the phone number listed, the person who answered told him that one of the new pledges probably would not make it through initiation so there was a good chance he could get in.

“I think a dormitory would be better for you the first year,” his mother had suggested, but Deke insisted on pledging the fraternity. After imagining wild parties with fellow football players, the sting of the Minnesota disappointment became no more than an aggravating itch.

By the time Deke had found his way to the curb outside the LAX terminal it was dark. A hot, moist breeze laced with exhaust slapped him in the face as he stepped out of the air conditioning. The sidewalk was teeming with people pushing and shoving to find their rides. He had heard that a cheaper alternative to taxis was Lyft, so he called the number and hoped he would see his ride in the melee of cars that honked and swerved in front of him. As he waited at the curb and strained his eyes to identify his ride, he caught a glimpse of a familiar face in a Honda that passed him on the far lane of traffic.

Was that Maggie? Can that be possible? I know she is supposed to be in L.A., but a Lyft driver? She barely got her driver’s license, the worthless bitch. His face took on an expression between a smile and a sneer. Well, now I know what I’ll be doing with my spare time.

His Lyft ride pulled up to the curb. “Lackmore College, please.”

“Where’s that?”

“Hmm. Nobody seems to know where it is,” muttered Deke. “Here is the address.”

Forty-five minutes and forty-five dollars later, Deke stepped out in front of the Lackmore College administration building, an old brick structure with cracked steps leading to a darkened door. He had planned to arrive early enough to check in at administration, but finding it closed he decided to look for the fraternity house. It was supposed to be nearby on the other side of the football field. He hoisted his pack on his back and dragged his two roller bags along a sidewalk choked with weeds and littered with discarded fast-food bags and cigarette butts.

The football field, located north of the administration building, looked like a threadbare carpet. Occasional sprigs of grass poked between chalked lines that faded in the dust. A rickety set of bleachers on the far side of the field came into view through the chain-link fence that slid past Deke on his walk. They could not possibly hold the crowd of cheering fans he had anticipated. A Quonset hut with “Lackmore College” stenciled across its face sat beyond the end zone. That must be the fieldhouse and dressing room for the athletes, he thought.

Deke felt a knot in his stomach as he walked up to the fraternity house that was situated across the street from the field house. The three-story house appeared as dark as the administration building and was made of the same crumbling brick. A sagging roof drooped over windows smudged with several years of dust and smog. A single yellow light glowed in a top story window.

Lightening flickered over the fieldhouse as he knocked on the door of the fraternity. The only answer to his knock was a rumble of thunder. He knocked again. No answer. Disappointment loomed over him as he considered his options. He looked at the map on his phone and found a Quality Inn about a mile south of campus. He looked at the brooding sky and thought, I’ve got a credit card and fifty bucks of cash. I should be able to walk there before it rains. I’ll stay there tonight and start over tomorrow.

Deke walked south on Lankershim dragging his possessions when the wind picked up and fat droplets of rain began to fall. He stooped over to pull a windbreaker from his suitcase when a figure darted from the shadows of an alley. He felt a hand reach into his back pocket. When he turned around, he was greeted with a sucker punch to the gut. He stood to catch his breath. A stout man in military fatigues ran down the street. He felt his back pocket. His wallet was gone.

Dial 911! he thought. H reached for his phone that he had set on his roller bag. It was gone too. The bastard must have taken that too. What a night. Fortunately, he still had the fifty bucks that he had stuck in his front pocket.

He dragged his bags the few remaining blocks to the Quality Inn and stepped into the lobby. “I’ve just been mugged!” he huffed to the sleepy attendant.

“That’s too bad,” she replied. She stretched her arms behind her head as if this was an everyday experience. “You OK?”

“Yes, but the son-of-a-bitch stole my wallet and my phone. What’s your cheapest room?”

“I’ve got a single for $89. It comes with breakfast.”

“I’ve only got fifty bucks cash.”

“Sorry, but that’s the best I can do. You might try down the street. There are several more hotels along Lankershim.” She winked at him from behind her window. “They even rent by the hour.”

“Oh…Thanks for the tip,” he replied, turning toward the door. “I won’t stoop to staying in a place like that.” The receptionist resumed her snooze and Deke resumed his walk. The rain had stopped and freshened the air, but now hunger gnawed at him. He hadn’t eaten since his meal in the Denver airport, and that was hours ago. The smell of French fries and burgers drew him toward an In-And-Out fast food joint where, despite the late hour, a line of cars crawled toward the drive-up window and a crowd of pedestrians gathered around the take-out window. He broke his fifty and sat on the curb gulping a super-sized meal. His attitude revived, he decided he needed a beer. He could still salvage the night.

Country music spilled out of a dingy bar several blocks down the street. He stepped into the dimly-lit pub, dragging his luggage through an entry covered with business cards and hand-made offers for service—sheets of paper fringed with tear-away phone numbers.

The conversation in the bar, Spanish and vibrant, fell to a hush as the regular patrons turned toward the newcomer. For the first time in his life he was a speck of white against a background of brown. Deke shook off his fear and walked confidently to the counter.

“I’ll have a Budweiser.”

The bar tender looked closely at the lanky youth and explained in a Spanish accent, “I’ll need to see your ID, young man.”

Deke reached for his empty back pocket. “Oh, shit. Sorry.” His face colored with embarrassment. “A guy took my wallet. I was mugged earlier this evening. Can’t I just have a beer? I’ve had a hell of a night.”

“Sorry, my friend.” He looked to his table of regulars in the corner. “Rules are rules—and I cannot jeopardize my license for one beer.”

“Hey! Pretty Boy,” said a smirking voice from the corner table. “If you’re desperate for a drink, you could try the liquor store around the corner. You might not need an ID there.”

Deke heard the table erupt in laughter as he left the bar.

Humiliated with his anger boiling, he marched to the liquor store intent on getting a drink. A whiskered man in an army coat stood in the parking lot shifting from one foot to the other.

“Hey you. Old man,” shouted Deke.

The man turned and opened his toothless mouth. “You talkin’ to me?”

“Ya, you,” said Deke, appraising the man with an air of belligerence. “You want to make a couple bucks tonight?”

“Could be,” said the old man quietly. “What’d you have in mind?”

“Looks like you might be hoping for a drink.”

“True enough. That would do me a world of good tonight.”

“I might be able to help you out,” offered Deke with an edge to his voice. “What are you drinking?”

 “Strawberry Hill, if you please—smooth, sweet and cheap.”

“Tell you what I’m gonna do. I’ll give you this twenty.” Deke pulled a crumpled bill from his hip pocket and extended his hand. “You buy your Strawberry Hill and get me a pint of Jack.” He paused and looked the old man in the eye. “I’m gonna watch you through the window. I expect you to give me back the full amount of change when you’re done making the purchase.”

“Why can’t you just buy it yourself?” asked the old man.

“Lost my ID earlier tonight,” snapped Deke impatiently. “Is it a deal?”

“Fair enough,” said the old man evenly. He took the bill from Deke and walked slowly into the liquor store. “I’ll be back shortly.”

Deke watched from the parking lot as the old man limped into the liquor store and greeted the night manager as if they were old friends. He saw the old man disappear between the shelves. The manager opened the cash register and appeared to ring up a sale. Deke waited five minutes, then ten. Exasperated that he did not see the old man return, he burst into the liquor store.

“Where’s that old man that just walked in here?” Deke demanded.

“Bill?” inquired the manager pleasantly. “He picked up his usual and asked to use the restroom. He comes in here a lot.”

“It sure is taking him a long time.”

“He may have gone out the back door.”

“Back door!” screamed Deke. “He was supposed to buy me a pint of Jack Daniels!”

“Didn’t say nothin’ to me about Jack Daniels,” said the manager evenly. “He never drinks that stuff—only Strawberry Hill.”

Deke ignored the manager and barged his way to the back of the store, knocking over a rack of chips with his roller bags. He heard the manager call, “Watch yourself!” as he stormed out. The back door opened to a dark alley. He looked each way and saw nothing but dumpsters overflowing with cardboard and mounds of trash that didn’t quite make it to their destination.

“Good god,” cursed Deke. “What next?” He walked to the end of the alley and returned to the In-And-Out, now as quiet as the alley. Across the street was a park. He looked at his watch and saw that it was close to midnight. Deke walked the perimeter of the park that was surrounded by a high woven fence. He noticed that one of its steel caged doors was ajar. He slipped inside. He pulled a quilt, a gift from his mother, from his roller bag and curled up on a bench next to the play structure. Ma’ would kill me if she knew I was using this quilt outdoors. He closed his eyes and fell into a fitful sleep.

Deke woke with a start when a booted foot pushed him off the park bench and onto the cushioned playground surface. “What the hell you think you’re doing on my bench?” shouted a gruff voice.

“Your bench?” cried Deke in amazement. He propped himself on his elbows and saw his new assailant rifling through his belongings.  “Get your hands off my things.” Deke rose to his feet and clenched his fists.

The man’s dreadlocks dropped to his shoulders as he looked up. “Easy, asshole. Who do you suppose propped open the door? These parks are always locked ‘til dawn. I jam the lock and know the cops in the area. It’s my bench.” He looked at the well-built youth, placed a letter jacket that he had been admiring on the park bench and stepped back. “Looks like you got nothin’ I need,” he said as he returned to a grocery cart that was burdened with an assorted pile of blankets and bags.

“Of course, I’ve got nothing you need,” spouted Deke. “I’ve already been robbed twice tonight.” He pulled on his high school letter jacket.

“Rough night, huh tenderfoot?” chuckled Dreadlocks. “Why don’t you take your blanket and go over to the corner of the park to sleep. That way the cops won’t see you, and neither of us will get thrown out. By the way, who robbed ya’?”

“I’m starting at Lackmore College next week” explained Deke, no longer feeling threatened. “I was walking toward the Quality Inn when this stubby, curly-haired son-of-a-bitch punched me in the gut and stole my wallet and cell phone.”

Dreadlocks thought for a moment. “Sounds like Little Dan to me. He’s a well-known thief in the neighborhood. Lucky he didn’t do you more damage.”

“I’ll mention that to the cops when I report it in the morning,” sniffed Deke.

“I expect he’s already spent your money and sold your credit card to some crack head. Good luck tracking him down.” Dreadlocks paused and asked, “You say you got robbed twice? That’s very unlucky.”

“Yah. Since I didn’t have an ID and wanted a drink, I asked this toothless wino who was lingering outside the liquor store if he’d buy me a pint of Jack in return for buyin’ him a bottle of Strawberry Hill. That SOB took my twenty, bought his wine and ducked out the back door.”

Dreadlocks laughed. “That one was Bender Bill. But he’s not known for havin’ a temper—unless you happen to offend him. Then he’d let you have it.”

Deke quietly digested this information and gathered his quilt and luggage. “The bench is all yours,” he said as he trudged toward his appointed corner of the park, rolled up on the ground and fell asleep.

Deke’s dreams called up snippets of his past: high school football games with cheering fans, cheerleaders eagerly answering his phone calls, and adoring fans waiting for a nod of recognition as he walked the halls after a big game.

A scorching sun burned off the morning fog to illuminate a murder of crows that gathered in the park for their morning conference. They strutted over the dewy grass. They sidestepped along the fence tops. They craned their necks from the tree branches. They chortled and cackled insults to the sleeping stranger below. Deke’s dreams shifted from pleasantries to his father’s storming, his coach’s badgering…and Maggie Oliver’s demeaning voice, “Don’t ever touch me again!”

Deke’s eyes opened to observe the feathered conversation above him. He rolled to his side and looked across the park. Stepping out of the restroom was Maggie! He rubbed his eyes and looked again. That was her—trim figure, caramel blonde hair, confident stride. What was she doing here? Deke pulled the quilt over his head and watched her comb the knots from her hair, cross the street and enter a Goodwill Store.

Deke gathered his belongings and watched the storefront to see where Maggie might go next. When she didn’t come out for a half hour, Deke decided to pay a visit to Goodwill.

“Excuse me,” he said to the clerk who was placing a couple of shirts in a plastic bag for a customer. “Have you seen a short blonde woman who came into the store a little while ago?”

“Sure. That’s Maggie Oliver. She works here and is in the back room. Do you want me to get her?”

“No,” said Deke with a sly smile. “Just tell her Deke says ‘Hi.’”

Fifty Bucks
Chapter 3
Rodney

At eleven AM on the morning following his night as a homeless person in Los Angeles, Deke knocked at the door of the fraternity a second time. He had been at the same doorstep the night before, but there had been no answer.

A miniscule young man with blonde curly hair answered the door. “Sigma Zeta Pi,” he said, looking up at the stranger standing on the step with two roller bags and a backpack. “How can I help you?” The young man’s deep bass voice startled Deke. It was a surprising contrast to his slight appearance.

“I’m Deke Ambrose. I’m a new pledge and just arrived. I was here last night but no one answered the door.”

“Oh, that was you. I’m Rodney Pilgrim—also a new pledge.”

Deke couldn’t keep his eyes off Rodney’s oversized Adam’s apple that jumped in his throat when he spoke. “I must have been upstairs reading when you came by. I heard something last night, but thought it was just the wind.”

“I rang the doorbell a couple of times,” complained Deke, expecting a better explanation.

The dweeby-looking youth responded tersely, “The doorbell doesn’t work—along with a few other things in this place. May as well come in.” He opened the door to let him in. “I’ll find an active member who might be expecting you. They were all out partying last night. Haven’t seen anybody up yet.”

Deke pulled his luggage into the living room. The carpet, as worn as the football field across the street, stretched beneath several grubby sofas and a couple of dilapidated recliners. An odor of stale beer filled the room. A dusty trophy case stood against a far wall filled with pictures of ancient alumni.

Deke sank into one of the overstuffed sofas and waited. Ten minutes later a disheveled youth wearing a yellow-stained T-shirt that was partially tucked into a pair of faded blue jeans entered the living room. “Hey,” he said, rubbing his eyes. “Rough night last night. I was up ‘til four. Great party, though.” He looked closely at the newcomer and extended his hand. “You must be Deke. I’m Roy. Heard you might be coming. How was your trip from Minnesota?”

Deke stood to shake hands with the active member. “You think you had a rough night. That was nothing compared to mine.” Deke launched into a description of his troubles the previous night and finished with, “And all of this could have been prevented if that little shrimp, Rodney had answered the door.”

“Sorry ‘bout that,” said Roy. “Rodney’s a new pledge. He’s a wimpy book-worm. Can’t imagine how he could fit in here, but his dad is an alumnus of Sigma Zeta Pi. He expects his son to follow in his footsteps, so we have to give him a chance. That’s Daddy’s picture over there.” A heavy-set football player wearing a scowl and a grass-stained uniform stared at them from the trophy case.

“Looks like a force to be reckoned with,” said Deke.

“Rodney appears to be nothing like his old man,” agreed Roy.

“Old man. That reminds me I need to call my parents. Like I said, my phone was stolen, and I’d better tell them what happened last night.”

“I’m sure you can use Rodney’s phone. Mine is dead—and besides, what’s a pledge for, if it’s not for helping out a fellow brother? Ha.” Roy went to the stairs, cupped his hands and hollered, “Rooodneey! Get down here. Your pledge brother needs your phone.”

Roy turned back to Deke. “Initiation is coming up next week. Don’t know if Rodney will make the cut,” he snickered, “but I don’t think you will have too much of a problem with it. After last night, you’ve already been initiated into LA. Sigma Zeta Pi should be a snap.”

Rodney appeared, tapped the security code on his phone and handed it to Deke. “I can wait here while you make your call.”

“I don’t think so,” said Deke as he snatched the phone from Rodney’s hand. “This is a confidential call. I’ll bring it to your room when I’m finished.” Deke looked to Roy for affirmation.

Roy nodded. “I’ll show Deke where your room is, Rodney. He’ll have to stay in your room—at least until after initiation since we don’t have enough open beds.”

“Right,” replied Rodney sarcastically. “Plenty of room on that attic floor.” He turned away and headed for the stairs.

Deke turned his attention to the phone, resumed his seat in the tattered recliner, and punched in his home phone number.

“Hello?” answered his mother. “Who’s this?”

“This is Deke, Ma’.”

“Deke! What’s going on? You’re not calling from your phone. I’ve been trying to call you all morning and you didn’t answer. Then my phone started to beep with alerts that your credit card was racking up charges—two hundred dollars at Wal Mart, fifty bucks at Denny’s, two hundred fifty at some liquor store, and three hundred cash taken from a Wells Fargo ATM?”

Deke’s mom paused to gulp some air. “I know, Ma’, I know,” said Deke. “I got mugged last night and this guy stole my wallet and phone.”

“Mugged! Oh no. Are you alright? Where are you now?”

Deke heard his father shout in the background, “Is that Deke? What the hell is going on? Gi’me that phone.”

“He got mugged,” explained his mother as his father took control of the phone.

“Got mugged!?” his father shouted. “A strapping athlete like you got mugged?”

Deke moved the phone away from his ear. “He came up behind me and caught me by surprise—gave me a punch in the gut that doubled me over. I could hardly breath.”

“Did you see who did it? Must have been some big black bastard,” said his father.

“I don’t think he was black, and he wasn’t that big,” Deke confessed. “I didn’t get a good look at him. It was dark, but he looked like a short white guy with a curly head of hair. He was built like a brick and ran like he’s been running all his life.”

“Well, damn. Where are you now? When do you try out for the team?”

“I’m OK. I’m at the frat house and using someone else’s phone. Try-outs are tomorrow afternoon.”

“Well for god sake, pull yourself together and Make. That. Team.”

“I’ll make the team, Dad. Don’t worry about that.”

“By the way,” his dad continued. “I called the University of Minnesota athletic department to ask about this ‘new information about your background.’ They received a letter from Maggie accusing you of sexual harassment.”

“One letter—from her? How could that have made any difference?”

“There were others.”

“Oh…” Deke heard the anger and frustration in his father’s voice as the phone was returned to his mother.

“Deke, you have a new opportunity at Lackmore,” counseled his mother. “What can we do to help you now?”

Deke’s voice tightened. “One of my bags was lost. I’ve got no money. I’ve got no ID. And I’ve got no credit card. None of this would have happened if you hadn’t sent me on that cheap Frontier flight.”

“None of this would have happened if you would have behaved yourself in high school,” his mother countered. “And don’t start blaming me for finding you an inexpensive flight.” The irritation in her voice was palpable two thousand miles away. “After you lost your Gopher scholarship, we are doing the best we can.”

“What am I going to do?” whined Deke who slouched further in his chair and looked to see if Roy was listening in.

“Well, the first thing I’ve got to do is call the credit card company and close that account,” explained his mother. “I’ll apply for a new credit card for you and transfer some cash into your account. Go to Verizon and purchase a new phone—call me from the shop and I will put it on our credit card. You’re not driving anywhere for a while anyway, so I’ll look into how we can get a replacement license.”

“Thanks, Ma’,” replied Deke sheepishly.

“Don’t blow this opportunity, Deke,” said his mother.

Deke punched the phone and set it on an end table tattooed with circular water stains.

“Lucky you,” said Roy, who had been looking out a window but had heard the conversation. “I think my parents would have hung me out to dry.” Roy turned to look at Deke. “Who’s Maggie?”

“Long story. Let’s take my stuff up to Rodney’s room.”

They climbed the two flights of rickety steps and turned into a small attic bedroom. The morning sun was already filling the room with a suffocating heat. A single bed no bigger than a cot was shoved against a wall to the right. It was covered with a brightly colored quilt that had been tucked at the corners with military precision. A scratched desk, bare except for a reading lamp and a tattered paperback, rested against the far wall beneath the single window. A bookcase lined with novels and textbooks filled a wall on the left next to a built-in closet. Deke glanced at the titles: The Histories by Herodotus, 1491 by Charles C. Mann, A Midwife’s Tale. He shook his head in amazement. Who is this guy?

Rodney sat in a creaking swivel chair and spun in their direction when Roy and Deke entered the room. Rodney leaned back and spread his small arms expansively, “Welcome, Deke,” he boomed. “Help yourself to an eight-foot square of floor space.”

“Very funny,” said Roy. “You should be more accommodating to your new pledge brother. How about giving up your bed for the night? Deke has an important try-out tomorrow and needs a good night’s sleep.”

“How about I give my dad a call, and tell him about the lousy arrangements I’ve been offered?” Rodney stared at Deke. “By the way, where’s my phone?”

“Oh, man. Sorry” said Deke. “I left it downstairs. I’ll run down and get it,”

“Not in your life, Deke,” commanded Roy. “Pledge Rodney, You are still a pledge until you survive initiation. Call Daddy if you like, but you can get your own phone.”

“As you wish,” mocked Rodney. He bowed slightly, tipping his blonde curls in Roy’s direction, and skipped down the stairs.

“Arrogant little shit,” whispered Roy to Deke. “By the time initiation is finished, Little Rodney won’t want to be here.”

“What about Rodney’s dad? I thought he was one of your most famous alumni. Doesn’t that cut him a little slack?”

“There is a rumor that Rodney’s dad is considering a modest gift to the fraternity, but I’ve never seen the old man on campus—and Sigma Zeta Pi will not be bribed into accepting a twerp like Rodney for the sake of a few bucks,” crowed Roy pompously. “I’ll bet the old man hasn’t set foot in here since that picture was taken. What’s a modest gift anyway—fifty bucks? I don’t think Daddy will be a problem.”

“Whatever you say,” said Deke. “After last night, I’ll sleep just fine on this floor.” He pushed his bags against the closet doors. “I’d better go get a new phone. Big day tomorrow.”

****

Deke returned to the fraternity house early in the evening. He felt better after getting his new cell phone and grabbing a sandwich from the fraternity commissary. He crawled up the stairs, struggling to keep his eyes open. Rodney was stretched out on his bed leaning against a pillow, his paperback open in front of him.

“What’s that you’re reading?’ asked Deke, suddenly curious about his new roommate.

“Shogun, a historical fiction by James Clavell. It’s based on Japan in the early 1600’s.” Rodney held the book up so Deke could see the cover. “Pretty interesting.”

“Looks like your shelf is full of history books.”

“Yep. I want to be a history major, but my dad wants me to major in business. We’ll see.”

“I’m a phy-ed major. Football try-outs tomorrow,” said Deke. “I better make the team or I’m in deep shit at home.” He pulled his quilt from his roller bag and spread it on the floor. “What’s this about your dad and the rumor of a gift to Sigma Zeta Pi?”

“You can never tell what my dad might do,” replied Rodney philosophically. “He is…impulsive and volatile. That’s how I would describe him. One day he will make a generous promise. The next he will tell you he was joking. I’ve learned to roll with it. He insisted that I come here to school. As you saw from the picture downstairs, he was a Lackmore football star and a hero in his day.” Rodney turned to hang his legs over the side of the bed. “I personally don’t give a rat’s ass where I go to school for now, but I expect the gift that Dad is dangling in front of the fraternity will get me through initiation so I can live here. But if not, I’ll just find someplace else to live. In a couple of years, I might look for a better school.” Rodney set his paperback on the desk beside him. “What brings you to these hallowed halls?”

Deke laid down on his quilt and folded his hands behind his head. “I had a full scholarship waiting for me at the University of Minnesota. I had hoped to play for the Gophers,” he sighed. “I had a great high school career. The scouts were watching me. I got to go to a hot shot football camp during the summer. Then Maggie Oliver ruined my life.”

Rodney leaned over, placed his chin on his folded hands, and gave Deke his full attention. “Who’s Maggie Oliver?”

“Maggie Oliver was the last of many foster children who stayed in our home over the years. Maggie had this big crush on me from the moment she moved in.” Deke stared at the ceiling. “She is cute enough but isn’t really my type. I had plenty of girlfriends in high school. Didn’t want to be tied down to one. You might not know how that is.”

“You’re right about that,” said Rodney as he lifted a fan from beside the bed, set it on the desk and turned it on. “So, what happened with Maggie?”

“She kept wantin’ to be my girlfriend. I kept explaining that I wasn’t interested. Finally, one night at a basketball game, she snuggled up next to me and put her arm around me—in front of everyone!” Deke groaned as if was the biggest insult of his life. “Then, in that quiet moment just before the Star Spangled Banner began—you know, when the snare drummer does his bit—I shouted, ‘Get your hands off me, you bitch. Never touch me again!’” Deke smiled, imagining what might have been. “You should have seen her slouch out of that gymnasium—never seen anyone so embarrassed.”

Rodney watched Deke’s eyes dart back and forth across the room as he told his story.

“After that I think she had it in for me,” continued Deke. “My old man told me she sent a letter to the University of Minnesota athletic department accusing me of harassing her. The nerve! And they believed her—a homeless orphan!”

“Wow,” said Rodney quietly. “Sounds like she’s pretty vindictive—just for losing a high school heartthrob.”

“That’s not all,” choked Deke as he stuffed a wad of clothes under his neck for a pillow. “She’s here in LA! I saw her at the airport driving for Lyft—and again this morning going into Goodwill. I found out she works there—just a few blocks south of here.” He paused to imagine justified retribution. “She will soon wish she hadn’t moved to LA.”

“Huh,” said Rodney. “So that’s how you came to be here at Lackmore.”

“So that’s how I came to be here at Lackmore,” repeated Deke. “I’m hitting the sack. Big day tomorrow. Good night.” He pulled the quilt over his shoulders and fell into a deep sleep.

“Good night,” said Rodney to his snoring roommate. Rodney turned off the light, closed his eyes and thought, Interesting girl, that Maggie. I’m not sure if that was the whole story. Deke may want to watch his step with that one.

Fifty Bucks
Chapter 4
Try-Outs

The mid-afternoon sun baked the Lackmore College fieldhouse like a Dutch oven. Deke was in a full sweat when he presented himself to the coach, who was waiting at the door to the basement locker room. Deke extended his hand, flashed his winning smile, and introduced himself. “Hi, I’m Deke Ambrose. I hope to be your next quarterback.”

Coach Milton Camden ran his finger down his clipboard and said, “We’ll see about that.” He found Deke’s name. “You’re the walk-on from Minnesota.” He lifted his grey eyes and grey crew cut to look at his new prospect. With a thin unsmiling stare, he ignored Deke’s outstretched hand. “I’m Coach Camden, Lackmore’s practice coach. The locker room is down there. Pick up your gear and meet on the field in a half hour. Helmets and shoulder pads this afternoon. Full contact gear at this evening’s practice at seven. We’ll see what you’re made of.”

The smell of liniment and body odor greeted him when Deke stepped into the locker room. It was the most welcoming smell he’d had since he arrived in Los Angeles. He looked over the rest of the team who were busy gearing up and exchanging personal insults. They had already been practicing for a week and took little interest in walk-ons. “Hi guys. Meet your new quarterback!” said Deke sarcastically. A chorus of expletives exploded from the team.

A bench groaned under the weight of a lineman who looked up at the new arrival and shook his head. He leaned toward a team-mate and said, “Pretty confident for a rookie, isn’t he?” The massive figure placed his newly-taped foot on the floor and whispered, “I’ll give you fifty bucks to drop his first three passes.”

“Won’t Coach Camden be pissed at me?”

“You’ve already made the team, and I’ve seen you move,” said the lineman. “You can make it look good.”

The teammate, a wide receiver, chuckled and said, “One way or the other, we’ll make him earn his position.”

Deke gathered his gear from the equipment manager, an old man who left his cribbage game at the back of a caged supply office. He tottered toward the counter carrying a helmet, shoulder pads and shoes. “We took your measurements from the information you sent us. Let me know if something doesn’t fit.” He returned to his cribbage buddy. “Do I count first?”

Deke found an empty locker and started to change clothes. As he was getting dressed, he looked around the room to size up the competition. The tackles and guards looked bigger than the high school variety, and the receivers and backs looked more sure of themselves. A moment of panic washed over him. Will I measure up?

The offensive players gathered on one side of the locker room and the defensive team crowded together on the other. A short, curly-headed player on the defensive team was getting dressed in the far corner of the locker room. He appeared to have no other friends on the team and scowled at the floor as he tied his cleats.

Coach Camden appeared in the doorway. “Calisthenics in five!” he shouted.

On the field Camden called out the drills with a voice as shrill as his whistle. “Stretch ‘em out. Alright, wind sprints.”

The whistle, clenched between his jaws, started the team on forty-yard sprints again and again. Whistle. Thirty-second rest. Whistle. Whistle. The sun bore down on the field. Forty-five minutes into the practice one of the linemen stepped off the field and puked on the cinder track, gulped a swallow of Gatorade, and returned immediately to the lineup.

Whistle. “Karaoke,” hollered Coach Camden. Deke tripped over his feet once during the drill designed to improve agility, but he felt better when only one of the other players managed the drill without a flaw—the curly-headed scowler.

Whistle. “Grass Drills!” he shouted. The team ran in place in a crouched position. When the whistle blew everyone fell to the ground and leapt to their feet again, the quicker the better.  Up and down. Up and down. Up. Hit the dirt again. The team was dizzy and heaving before the whistle announced the next drill.

“Bear Crawls! Thirty yards as fast as you can scramble.”

Whistle. “Burpees.”

Whistle. “Burpees with pushups.” 

Whistle. “Another round of wind sprints. Come on, push it.”

Whistle. “See you tonight at seven. And from now on, morning practice begins at five.” Milton Camden walked off the field without another word.

The team groaned at the thought of waking at four o’clock in the morning for practice but plodded after the coach and into the field house for cold showers.

That evening, the team reassembled on the field dressed in full pads. Whistle. “Ball carriers,” called Camden. “That includes quarterbacks,” he growled, looking at Deke. He then turned to the others. “Set up the gauntlet. Last year we had way too many fumbles. Let’s see who can hang onto the ball.”

Receivers and offensive backs lined up between two lines of defensemen. Ball carriers were handed a football, then ran through a gauntlet of players who savagely attempted to strip the ball from them in any way possible. Deke protected the ball between folded arms, but it was knocked loose by a fist like a billy club. The second run he hung on to the ball, but his arms left the field battered and bruised.

On the other end of the field, a man with angular features and a scar across his left cheek led the evening drills for the linemen. His vocal cords, destroyed from ten years of barking at incompetence, gave his voice a jagged sound that matched his other features. “Oklahoma Pit Drill!” he shrieked. The team moaned knowing the line coach took sadistic pleasure in watching his athletes pummel each other. 

“Line up the blocking bags in a three-by-five-yard corridor,” he instructed. “Choose a partner and line up in set position across from one another. At the whistle, knock your partner off his feet or out of the corridor. Loser takes a forty-yard sprint.” Whistle. Whistle. Whistle.

The coach watched as players rotated in and out of the pit. He was surprised to see that one player never ran a sprint. The short newcomer to the team charged off the line at the whistle. The first time he hit his opponent low and knocked him off his feet before he was fully set. The second whistle, he caught the bigger man off balance and sent him over the blocking bag. He seemed to have an uncanny sense of identifying an opponent’s weakness. What foot would he lead with? Where was his tipping point? How could he mentally intimidate? The stout newcomer stood as tall as his frame would allow and challenged his next victim with a growl. He smashed him head on, left him with a bloody lip and stayed in the pit.

The coach blew his whistle twice. “What’s your name, short stuff?”

“Dan. Daniel Helvent.”

“Where did you learn those moves, Helvent?”

Dan caught his breath and said, “In the Marines, sir. I mean coach…and in the street.”

“Hit the showers early, Helvent,” croaked the coach in his raspy voice.  “You made the team,” He called the rest of the team together. “OK you pussies. Take a note from short stuff, here. Five forty-yard sprints and we run this drill again.”

The following evening, the team was set to scrimmage. Lackmore’s first-string quarterback had twisted his ankle in practice two days earlier, so Deke got a rare opportunity to show off his skills. Deke called the first play and lined up behind the center. He took the snap and stepped back to pass. A defensive tackle rushed past his block and sacked Deke before he could look down the field to find a receiver. Coach Camden cursed at the lineman who missed the block. The next play, both linebackers blitzed, and Deke found himself on the ground again. Third and ten. Deke lined up in shotgun formation, found his tight end who ran a down-and-out pattern, and fired a bullet pass that sailed a yard behind his intended receiver. The punting team took the field.

On the next offensive series, Deke called a pass play with a fly pattern. This time the tight end sprinted for the end zone but slowed up as Deke let go of the ball. The ball sailed five yards beyond his hands. Incomplete. Second down. Incomplete pass. Third and long again. Deke took the snap and stepped into the pocket to pass. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a concrete block with legs churning toward him. He held his breath and tucked the ball, preparing for the sack. He looked into a face with a flicker of recognition.

“You’re the son-of-a-bitch that stole my wallet!” gasped Deke.

Daniel Helvent spit out his mouth guard, gave Deke an impish grin, and before he returned to the line of scrimmage said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Deke connected with several passes during the rest of the scrimmage, but he had to admit it was a mediocre performance.

After practice, the big lineman and the wide receiver met briefly. The sun had receded below the horizon and the air had freshened to a comfortable seventy degrees. They paused at the doorway of the field house watching Deke as he trudged back to Sigma Zeta Pi. The lineman dug for his wallet and said, “Looks like our Deke can take a hit.” He unfolded a bill and handed it to his friend. “Here’s your fifty. We’ll be kinder to him tomorrow.”

Fifty Bucks
Chapter 5
Initiation

Roy Scamper, the pledge master for Sigma Zeta Pi, held the dog turd at arm’s length. He had retrieved it from the sidewalk in front of the house, wrapped it in a white napkin and presented it to the noses of his blind-folded pledge class. “Here is your breakfast, pledges,” he said as he placed a wadded roll of squishy bread dough in each pledge’s hand.

Rodney Pilgrim, the smallest of the pledges and first in line, popped the dough in his mouth and responded in his deep bass voice, “Mmm, good.”

Deke Ambrose, the tallest, choked on the morsel but forced it down.

Walter Wilkins, a pimply young man who wore a Dodgers cap backward tucked the dough inside his cheek like a plug of tobacco, then spit it out as soon as his blindfold was removed and Roy looked the other way.

Sigma Zeta Pi was a small fraternity composed of twenty active members, ten of whom were fifth-year seniors in a four-year program. Rodney, Deke and Walter were competing for two remaining rooms in the house. Walter, whose brother was already an active member living in the house, was nearly guaranteed a spot. Rodney also had a family connection because his father was a decorated alumnus. Deke was a new arrival on campus without a family connection but might give the fraternity a public relations boost because of a promising career as a football star.

Sigma Zeta Pi hazed its pledges the first two days of school—the last Thursday and Friday in September. A bonfire, party and vote were planned for Friday night. Voting was done by passing a box of black and white marbles from one active to the next for each pledge. The box was separated into two compartments. One was open and contained the marbles. The other had a wood cover with a hole in the top. Each member selected a white or black marble to drop in the hole—white for “yes, I vote him into the fraternity,” black for “no, this pledge is not allowed into the fraternity.” A single black ball constituted a veto. Any pledge receiving a black ball was refused admittance.

The results would be announced at a formal initiation on Saturday morning when parents and alumni were invited to attend.

The Wednesday before initiation, Deke had pulled Roy aside and told him, “Coach says I have to be at practice every morning at five o’clock. Is that going to be OK?”

“Oooh, that’s a bummer.” Roy thought for a moment. “Tell you what I’ll do. I’ll make sure little Rodney and freckle-faced Walter get up at the same time you do. While you’re at practice they can wash the pots and pans. They’ll have plenty to do.”

After delivering the doughy breakfast to the pledges, Roy proclaimed, “Here are the rules. You are required to bow to any active member you meet on campus. If your bow is not low enough or does not denote adequate humility, you will lie on your bellies and do ten pushups.” He cleared his throat and continued, “Repeat after me, ‘Yes, pledge master.’”

The three pledges replied in unison, “Yes, pledge master.”

“You are expected to attend class,” said Roy, “but you must wear this sign around your neck from now until the end of initiation.”  

It read, “I’m a Sigma Zeta Pi pledge. I cannot speak.” Roy hung the signs over each pledge and delivered more instructions. “You must also collect the following items around campus between now and Friday evening: one lacey bra, one dead animal, one lime, a copy of The Hobbit, and a condom—unused, please.”

Snickers erupted from the pledge class. “What’s The Hobbit?” asked Walter.

Before Roy could answer, Rodney said, “It’s a book, dummy.”

“Give me ten!” shouted Roy pointing to Rodney and Walter. “Can’t you read the sign you’re wearing?”

Deke chuckled as he watched his two out-of-shape pledge brothers struggle to deliver ten push-ups. He could do them one-handed.

“Now, get going,” growled Roy.

The pledges immediately departed for their respective classes. Throughout the two-day initiation each of the pledges encountered active members who confronted them on the sidewalks and in the hallways with the same phrase. “Bow before me, pledge!”

 Rodney noticed that a slight bend at the waist by Deke or Walter gave them a pass, but his bow was always deficient.

“Lower, Pledge Rodney. Give me ten.” Or “Not enough respect, Pledge Rodney. Give me ten!”

Rodney’s arms gained considerable strength in those two days.

Deke and Walter agreed to work together to collect the items for the scavenger hunt. Early Thursday afternoon they met together behind the fieldhouse where they would not be seen. “I know where there are a couple of dead rats,” whispered Deke. “I saw them the other night in a back alley.”

“I think I can pilfer a couple of limes from the cafeteria,” said Walter. “I have a part-time job there.”

“What are limes doing in a school cafeteria?” asked Deke. “I thought they belonged on a Corona beer.”

“I don’t know. Maybe they’re worried we’ll get scurvy. What about that book?”

“You won’t believe this,” said Deke. “ For now, I sleep on the floor in the upstairs room with Rodney. I noticed a set of books in a lower shelf below his desk. I think The Hobbit was one of them!” he exclaimed. “I’ll run up and sneak it out of the room before he knows it’s gone. Rodney will think the book is still on his shelf. Ha!”

“I’d better check to see if the library has the book,” said Walter. “The condom, though, is a no-brainer. I’ve got one right here.” He pulled the small packet from his wallet.

“I’ve got one too,” said Deke. “I lost mine with my wallet the other night, but the CVS was my first stop after I got some cash.”

“That leaves the lacey bra,” said Walter. “I haven’t met any girls yet.”

“I think we can sneak into the girl’s dormitory and find what we need there. I’ll bet we can find an open room. If we start our search now, most of the girls will be in class.”

****

Rodney had a different approach to securing the items for the scavenger hunt. He planned a one-shop-stop. He walked across campus to the only sorority at Lackmore. His sign flapped in front of him as he bounded up the steps. The building had a similar design to Sigma Zeta Pi, but it appeared tidy and in good repair. He rang the doorbell.

A slightly built co-ed in ragged cut-offs opened the door, Rodney surprised her with a rendition of Can’t Help Falling in Love.

“Wise men say only fools rush in…” 
His deep voice rang with emotion. By the time he started the second verse, most of the sorority had gathered at the door. 
“Take my hand, 
Take my whole life too…” Rodney handed the women a list of items he needed. He finished the tune with his own lyrics: 
“I need help 
Can you help me please
For I can’t leave
Without this list complete.”

It was like Rodney was trick or treating at Halloween. Within a minute three bras, a lime, and a dead mouse in a trap had been thrust into the bag he was holding. The girl who answered the door said, “I don’t think anyone here owns the book, and I don’t know anyone who has a condom.” She giggled and turned to her sorority sisters, “…or at least one that she is willing to part with.”

From the back of the group a small voice piped up. “I don’t have the book, but I’ve got a condom you can have.”

The girls shrieked with laughter as they let a tiny girl who looked no more than twelve come forward. “My older brother gave me this before I left for school,” she said handing the packet to Rodney. “I won’t need one—not this year anyway.”

Rodney scrawled a note of thanks that said he owed them a full concert after initiation. He returned to the fraternity, smiling at his success.

****

Deke and Walter followed two other students into the dormitory commons. The dormitory was a box-like building with four stories. Men were assigned to the first and third floors; women were assigned to the second and fourth floors. Deke and Walter took the stairs to the second floor and peeked into the hall through the window in the fire door. The hallway was clear. They snuck down the hall checking each door to see if it was locked. The knob turned easily on the third door they tried. Deke knocked softly. No answer. They crept into the room and pulled open drawers looking for a stash of underwear. They found a couple of plain bras in the first dresser, but they were strictly functional—D cups without a trace of lace.

Deke chuckled, “I’d like to meet the owner of this one.”

A moment later, as he reached into the second drawer, the door flew open.

“I’m the owner,” cried the shadow that filled the doorway. “What the hell are you doing in my room?” A buxom woman wearing a pair of gym trunks and a blouse as loud as her voice entered the room.

“It’s just a joke,” stammered Deke. “We’re pledges from Sigma Zeta Pi.”

“It’s no joke to me, you idiots. This is trespassing and an invasion of privacy. I am the RA in this dorm, and you are not welcome here.” She marched across the room and slammed the drawer shut nearly trapping Deke’s fingers. “Now get out of here before I call the campus police.”

Without another word, Deke and Walter left the room and flew down the stairs. They stepped into the hot sun outside the dormitory. “Guess we picked the wrong room,” said Walter breathing heavily. “What now?”

“I heard there’s a sorority on the other side of campus,” said Deke. “Let’s try there.”

Deke and Walter approached the same door Rodney had knocked on earlier in the afternoon.

The same girl in cutoffs greeted them at the door. “Are you guys Mormons or something?” she asked. “Another fellow wearing the same sign visited us an hour ago.”

“You’re kidding,” said Deke. “What did he want?”

“I thought you’re not supposed to talk,” said the co-ed. “That other guy didn’t talk. He sang—pretty well, too if I say so myself. Are you going to serenade us too?” 

“I don’t think so, but we were wondering if you could help us get a few things for our scavenger hunt.” 

“I already know what you want—a dead animal, a lacey bra, a lime and a book.” The girl looked behind her and shouted, “Anybody have more stuff for that frat scavenger hunt?”

“We just need a couple of lacey brassieres,” said Walter. “We’ve found the rest of the stuff.”

One of the girls called, “I found another mouse in a trap. I’d be happy to give them that.”

“I’ll take it,” said Walter. He turned to Deke. “It will be a lot easier to carry around than your dead rat.”

“That’s all we have for you,” laughed the girl in cut offs. “Pavarotti already collected three colorful bras from us. Maybe he’ll be willing to share.”

“I doubt that,” said Deke. “How about if we just borrow them? We’ll return them next week.”

 “Ha. I don’t think so. Unless you come up with a good song, you’d better find another lingerie dealer.” She closed the door and turned to her sorority sister. “Can you believe these guys?”

Deke and Walter walked back to Sigma Zeta Pi to find Rodney returning from his last class. “Hey Rodney,” Deke whispered. “I hear you’ve collected some pretty fine underwear. How about sharing a couple of bras with us. You only need one.”

Rodney smiled. “I think they’ll look pretty good hanging in my room—nice decoration.” A moment later he reconsidered, saying, “I could probably part with a couple of ‘em for fifty bucks—twenty-five each will get you what you need for initiation.”

“You’ve got to be kidding,” said Deke. “All you did was sing a song.”

“I sang my heart out to earn these brassieres.” Rodney held up three colorful bras—one blue, one bright red, one black with white trim.

“I’ll take the red one,” said Walter. “Here’s my twenty-five.”

“No deal, Rodney,” said Deke. “I’ve got another idea.”

****

While the rest of the fraternity slept soundly Thursday night, the pledges scrubbed floors, dusted the vacant trophy case, and vacuumed the worn carpet. The living room still smelled faintly of beer, but the house was cleaner than it had been for at least six months. 

Around two AM, the pledges returned to their rooms for a couple of hours of sleep. Rodney and Deke climbed the stairs. Deke whispered to Rodney with a smirk, “I expect this will be the last night I sleep on the floor.”

“No talking!” came a shout from the hallway.

Deke crawled beneath his blanket on the floor. Rodney pulled his neatly folded bedspread from his pillow and climbed between the sheets. His feet only made it halfway to the end of the bed. Someone had short-sheeted it. He got up, ripped the linens apart, and remade the bed. Deke ignored the commotion in the room, rolled on his side and closed his eyes.

Before Rodney climbed into bed a second time, he reached behind his desk to pull out his copy of The Hobbit from a bookcase he had made for his special collection. Rodney’s father had given him Tolkien’s classic five-volume, gold-finished, leather-bound edition of “Lord of the Rings” as a high school graduation gift. Rodney and his father shared an appreciation for Tolkien’s work and had discussed the books on the rare evenings they were both together. The Hobbit, the first book in the series was missing.

“What did you do with my book?” hissed Rodney.

“No talking!” came the warning from the hall.

Deke smiled to himself and fell asleep.

Rodney stopped at the library as soon as he had finished his morning dishes. “I’d like to check out a copy of The Hobbit.”

“Sorry,” replied the librarian. “We only have one copy and it was checked out yesterday. Do you need it for a class?”

“Not really,” Rodney replied. “I’ll check at the bookstore.”

“We haven’t had that book in stock for ten years,” said the clerk.

Rodney walked to class thinking, My copy has an inscription from my dad on the first page. That should prove that it’s mine. 

A Friday afternoon tradition culminated the final day of hazing. The pledge class marched to an upstairs bathroom where the entire fraternity had gathered to witness the ritual.

Roy spoke like a judge instructing a jury. “Each pledge must now bow to the porcelain god and repeat after me, ‘I pledge allegiance to Sigma Zeta Pi.’”  

Deke knelt before the toilet. Roy placed his hand on the back of Deke’s head like he was offering a blessing. Then he pushed his head into the toilet bowl and demanded to hear the recitation.

“I pledge allegiance to Sigma Zeta Pi,” echoed from the white chamber. Deke lifted his head from the spiteful baptism to a cheer from the active members.

Walter removed his Dodger’s cap, knelt, bobbed, and recited the fraternal pledge of allegiance. Another cheer.

Rodney dropped to his knees. Cracked green tile surrounded the toilet. Bits of rust hung from the bolts that secured the stool to the floor. The trap under the sink glistened with condensation. Rodney looked in the basin. A dark lump swirled in the water below. The pool in the toilet stained brown. Roy’s size ten, hundred-and-fifty-dollar sneakers planted themselves firmly on either side of Rodney’s knees.

Rodney gripped the rim of the toilet with both hands as he felt Roy’s hand on the back of his head. He smelled the chocolate and took a deep breath. Roy pushed Rodney’s curly hair deep into the toilet bowl. Holding his breath, Rodney stiffened his neck, removed his right hand from the rim, and clogged the toilet with his fist and the chunk of chocolate. With his left hand he flushed the toilet once. Then again. The brown water flowed over the toilet rim like a fountain. Roy’s Nikes turned the color of mud.

“Oops,” said Rodney as he lifted his head from the toilet. “Must have lost my balance.” He shook his curly hair like a dog. The fraternity watched in silence.

Roy’s face, now speckled brown, darkened in anger. “I believe that may have earned you a black ball.”

“Roy! Remember the gift,” said a voice from the hallway.

Rodney smiled and shrugged. “Sorry, Roy.”

“Give me ten!” commanded Roy.

The fraternity regained their party spirit as they moved outside to the gravel parking lot behind the house. The cars had been moved to the street and were replaced with a pile of lumber and trash. One of the active members poured a gallon of gas on the pile, stepped back a couple of yards and flung a match on it. The bonfire started with a whoosh. Another active member pumped a beer keg that had been chilling in an ice-filled garbage can. “Bar’s open!” he called.

After a couple of hours of lubrication, the pledges were called in front of the fire to present the items they had gathered from the campus scavenger hunt.

“Pledges, you can break your silence,” commanded Roy. “Feed your pledge signs to the fire!” The three young men happily pulled the signs from around their necks and pitched them into the crackling fire.

“Pledge Walter Wilkins, present your goods.”

Walter stepped into the light of the fire and proudly lifted his collection from a bag. “One dead animal—a mouse in a trap, one lime—a gift from the campus cafeteria, an unused condom from my wallet—a wink and a smile, a copy of The Hobbit from the library, and one bright red lacey bra.”

“Well done, Pledge Wilkins.” Roy turned to Deke. “Pledge Deke Ambrose, step forward and present your goods.”

Deke held up two grocery bags. From the first he removed his rat. “One dead animal—a decomposed neighborhood rat.” Deke flung it into the fire, opened the second bag and continued. “One lime—a gift from the campus cafeteria, an unused condom—doubt it will stay that way for long,” Smiling at his own joke he reached to the bottom of the bag. He looked up with a startled expression. “I had a blue bra in here this afternoon. What the hell happened to it?”

He turned to stare at Rodney. “What do you have in that bag of yours, you little thief?”

Deke grabbed Rodney’s bag, pulled out a midnight blue brassier and held it up to the firelight. “This is it! This is the bra I nabbed from the girl’s dormitory.” He stared at Rodney. “How could you stoop so low?”

Roy stuck his nose into Rodney’s bag to examine the rest of its contents. He held up the black bra trimmed with white lace. “Kind of greedy, aren’t you, Pledge Rodney? Why would you collect two brassieres when only one was called for? How disappointing.”

“He’s lying!” complained Rodney. “Just call the sorority. They gave me three frilly brassieres. Walter bought the red one from me. Ask Walter.” Walter stared into the fire.

“Great story,” scoffed Roy. He turned away from Rodney and back to Deke. “Present the last of your goods, Pledge Deke.”

Deke pulled the last item from the bag. “And here is a copy of The Hobbit—a special edition no less.” He held it over his head with the fire flickering against the gold engraving.

“That’s my book!” shouted Rodney. “I’ll show you. It’s got a note from my dad on the first page.” He made a move to grab the book. Deke pulled the book away quickly and cocked his arm to throw. His intended receiver was an active member on the far side of the fire. Rodney rushed toward Deke with both arms raised. As Deke let the book fly, Rodney wrapped his arms around Deke’s midsection and delivered a perfect tackle. The Hobbit fell short and dropped into the fire. By the time Rodney turned to see what had happened to his book, it was engulfed in flames—its leather cover charred and its gold-leaf pages turning to soot. A hush descended on the rowdy crowd. Foamless beer warmed in its glasses.

Roy broke the uncomfortable silence. “Pass the box!” he cried. “It’s time to make a decision on this trouble-maker.”

“You will only need to pass the box twice,” said Rodney quietly. He wiped the dirt from his pants. “You will be happy to know that I am leaving.” Rodney emptied his collection of scavenger hunt items at Roy’s feet, bounded up the stairs to his room, and packed his belongings.

After Rodney walked out of Sigma Zeta Pi for the last time, he made a phone call to his father. “Dad, can I stay with you in the hotel this evening?”

The next morning the formal initiation began with a breakfast at ten and a meeting of the fraternity at eleven. The chapter president called the meeting to order. The minutes of the last meeting were read and approved. Several perfunctory reports were received, and the guests were welcomed. A handful of alumni, including Walter Wilkins’ parents, sat on creaking folding chairs to celebrate with their two sons. Smoke from the previous evening’s fire drifted into the meeting room.

Roy stood and announced the results of the “passing of the box.” He invited the two new pledges to stand with him when a bulldog of a man rose from a chair in the back of the room. “My name is Gaylord Pilgrim” he boomed. “Rodney Pilgrim is my son.” Gaylord’s voice carried the same deep authority as his son’s. “Rodney gave me a brief description of what he endured the last several days, and I’d like to share a few remarks. 

Folding chairs squeaked and clattered as Gaylord made his way to the front of the room to address the fraternity. “You boys can have a seat,” he said motioning to Deke and Walter.

Under normal circumstances, Gaylord’s balding head turned crimson when he spoke. When he was aroused, it turned the color of uncooked liver. “Sigma Zeta Pi is no longer the fraternity that I remember,” he said in a sonorous voice. “When I was a member here, we were a group of men who respected one another.” He looked at the young men in front of him and shook his head. “I knew that the chapter house was in need of repair, but what I did not know is that the membership was broken and in need of repair.”

His audience shifted in their chairs. Gaylord’s head became a throbbing blood blister. “I had hoped Rodney would join this fraternity and meet the caliber of men I left thirty years ago. I had hoped he would meet friends that would become brothers for life. I had hoped he would have become a better man by living here.” He looked directly at Roy and then at the others. “You disappoint me.”

Gaylord pulled a check from his wallet and held it up for the group to see. “I have here a check for fifty thousand dollars made out to Sigma Zeta Pi.” He tore the check to shreds, looked at the floor with a tear in his eye and left the room.

Fifty Bucks
Chapter 6
A Cup of Java

Maggie Oliver finished folding a hand-me-down sweater that had been donated to Goodwill and was about to fold a pair of infant jeans when she heard a familiar voice from the cash register. “Just tell her Deke says Hi.” She peeked out from the back room and watched Deke Ambrose stalk out of the Goodwill Store where she was employed.

Maggie walked to the front of the store. “What did he want?” she asked the bubbly clerk.

“I don’t know. He just asked if I knew a short blonde woman who walked into the store this morning. I assumed it was you and asked if I should get you. It seemed like he didn’t want to talk to you; he just wanted to say Hi—nice looking fellow—but he looked a little rumpled.”

“Well, that must have been who I saw at the airport. I wonder what Deke is doing in town.”

“How do you know him?” asked the clerk.

“We went to high school together,” she said with a grim expression and no further explanation. “Let me know if he stops in again.”

“Sure. I think I’d like to get to know him better,” she giggled, “assuming that’s OK with you, Maggie.”

“Fine with me, but I’ll warn you—looks aren’t everything.” Maggie returned to sorting clothes in the back room.

That evening after work she returned to the tent camp that had been her home before she bought her used Honda. She picked up a bag of burgers and fries to share with her homeless friends, Leona and Bill. They were laughing at a story Bill was telling.

“Sorry to interrupt,” said Maggie as she walked into the conversation. “Sounds like you guys have had a good day. What’s so funny?”

Leona, who appeared as flea-bitten and scraggly as her dog, explained, “Bill here was telling me ‘bout this guy who walked up to him in the liquor store parkin’ lot last night and offered to buy him a bottle of his favorite wine.”

Bender Bill, as he was known on the street, smiled his toothless grin and continued the story. “Thought that was kinda’ strange but may as well hear ‘im out. The cocky bugger seemed pretty desperate. Said he lost his ID, so ‘e offered to buy me a bottle of Strawberry Hill if I’d buy him a pint of Jack. He threw me a twenty and told me he’d watch me through the window to make sure I didn’t run off with the change.” Bill snickered and looked at the bag Maggie was holding. “That smells good—you git some for us?”

“Oh, sorry,” said Maggie, embarrassed that she had not shared it earlier. “I bought enough for all of us.” She opened the bag and offered it to her friends.

“Don’t mind if I do,” said Bill as he pulled out a bag of fries with his three-fingered left hand.

“Down Butch,” said Leona as she pushed her Doberman away and accepted her meal. “Sounds like a good deal, if you ask me.”

Bill snickered as he gummed a fry. “Might a been, but when I walked into the store, I thought, This kid thinks he’s hot shit, tellin’ me what to do. I decided that I ought to get a tip just for makin’ conversation with the SOB. I bought my bottle of S. Hill and ducked between the shelves like I didn’t know where the Jack was. Then I snuck out the back with the change.” Bill tilted his head back and laughed nearly choking on his fry. “I hid behind a couple a paper boxes in the alley. I figured he’d follow me when I didn’t show up with his bottle.”  

He took a bite of burger and used his few remaining teeth to chew it before finishing his story. “I watched the kid wander through the alley lookin’ frightened as a lost kitty. Saw him go into the park across from Goodwill. That’s when I came back to my tent here to have a sip a wine.” He looked at Leona and Maggie with satisfaction and took another bite of burger.

“He was in the park across from where I work?” asked Maggie. “What did this kid look like?”

Bill thought for a moment. “He was tall, well-built. ‘Spose he was another handsome kid hopin’ to make it big as an actor.” He laughed again. “Won’t be long and he’ll be joinin’ us on the street.”

Maggie and Leona laughed with him as they considered the possibility.

“I’ll bet that was Deke,” said Maggie. “He probably saw me use the bathroom in the park before I went to work this morning.”

“Who is Deke?” asked Leona as she scratched Butch’s ears.

Maggie told the story of how she had lived with Deke and his family as a foster child; how Deke had attempted to molest her; how she had sent a letter to the University of Minnesota athletic department before getting on the bus to LA; how she heard from a friend that he had been rejected and might be heading to LA; and how she thought she had seen him at the airport.

She turned to Leona. “That’s why I told you I might need to borrow Butch from time to time.”

“Don’t you worry ‘bout nuthin’, Maggie,” said Bill. “We’ll keep a lookout for this fella’. You can count on us.”

“Help yourself to Butch anytime you like,” said Leona. “Butch’ll be happy to give a little extra protection if you need it.”

Maggie felt the wind shift and smelled the possibility of rain. “I’m crawling into my car for the night. It’s parked just down the street. You guys stay dry…and thanks for everything.”

Maggie grabbed a ratty suitcase with her belongings from under a tarp and walked the couple of blocks to where her car was parked. Even at five foot five, she could not stretch out in the back seat of her Honda hatchback, so she folded the seat down, spread out her blanket, and locked the doors. She fell asleep listening to the patter of rain on the roof.

****

September led to October and October yielded to the intermittent fog and mist of November. Maggie received a promotion at Goodwill and continued to drive for Lyft in the evenings. There had been no sightings of Deke and he soon became a shadow in her memory.

Living from her car and storing her possessions in a backpack during the day was beginning to wear on Maggie. Her homeless situation had progressed from inconvenience to becoming unbearable. While her bank account grew, so did the stiffness in her back. I wonder if I could afford an apartment, she thought. Imagine…my own place!

A multi-story apartment building several blocks north of the tent camp advertised efficiency apartments. With a job, a reference from Goodwill, and enough money to put down on the damage deposit, Maggie walked out of the apartment’s business office with the keys to her very first home. An elevator took her to the fourth floor. The door opened to a worn but clean carpeted floor. She followed the faded floral pattern about halfway down the hall, put her key in the lock and opened the door to a cracker box room. A single bed left by the previous tenant occupied most of the room. A few yellow stains marred the exposed mattress but was of little concern to Maggie. A narrow counter occupied the space between the door and the far wall. A sliding door on the left opened to a tiny bathroom with stool, sink and a shower.

A shower! Maggie threw her few belongings on the bed, stripped off her clothes and turned on the hot water. She stood under the rusty shower head for a full fifteen minutes savoring the rush of water through her hair. While she was on the street she made it a point to rinse off daily and wash her hair a couple of times a week. Her jobs demanded it. But a shower was a luxury she had not experienced since she left Minnesota in late August. It was now Mid-November with Thanksgiving around the corner.

Maggie dried off with a threadbare towel, pulled on her clothes and padded across the grey tile floor to check out the view from the only window in her room. It looked down upon a roof dotted with air conditioners, vents and utility boxes. Below that was a dead-end alley strewn with several dumpsters. Beyond the building was a football field and Quonset-shaped fieldhouse with “Lackmore College” stenciled in block letters. Huh. How about that—a college in the neighborhood. She returned her gaze to the bare counter. Time for a trip to Wal Mart.

Maggie returned later that afternoon carrying a a coffee maker, a hot plate, and a toaster. She stepped into the foyer by the door to the elevator to find a young man with curly hair humming a tune she recognized.

“Is that a song by Manhattan Transfer?” asked Maggie.

“That’s right,” replied the young man. “It’s called Java Jive. I used to sing it in my high school glee club.” He looked at Maggie’s armload of small appliances. “Looks like you are planning to make your own cup of java.”

Maggie held up the coffee maker box. “Right,” she laughed. “I’m tired of relying on Mr. Donut every morning, so decided to upgrade to Mr. Coffee.”

The elevator door opened. The young man shifted the pile of books he was carrying from one arm to the other. “What floor?”

“Fourth. Thanks”

“I’m on third. By the way, my name is Rodney. I go to school at Lackmore.”

“Nice to meet you, Rodney. I’m Maggie. I just moved in. I can see the campus from my window.

“Maggie. Hmm,” said Rodney with a quizzical look. “Maybe I’ll see you around.”

“Yeah. Maybe so.” The elevator opened on the third floor and the small young man with the deep voice walked down the hall humming his tune.

The elevator closed leaving Maggie with a similar puzzled expression. He sure got a funny look when I told him my name. I wonder what that’s all about. 

Later that week, Maggie met Rodney in the elevator again and decided to ask a few more questions. “What are you studying?” she asked.

“I’m a history major,” said Rodney. “My dad wanted me to go into business, but I’m more into history. How about you?”

“My story is a bit longer.” She said cautiously.

“I’ve got time,” said Rodney. “Maybe I can buy you a cup of premium coffee—might put Mr. Coffee to shame. 

“I’ll give it some thought,” she said as the elevator closed its door on their conversation a second time.

****

The weather on Thanksgiving Day made Maggie feel like she was back in Minnesota. A sharp wind cut through her light jacket as she walked down Lankershim. Leona, Bill and Vanessa huddled outside their tents on the sidewalk as she approached.

“Let’s go have dinner at the Salvation Army,” suggested Maggie. “They’re serving turkey and mashed potatoes with all the fixings. I’ll drive. I’m parked just a few blocks from here.”

Her trio of friends wasted no time in piling into her car.

On the way Maggie told her friends about Rodney. “I met this guy in the elevator at my apartment,” she said. “He asked me to go to coffee with him. You suppose that means it’s a date?” Maggie pulled into the left turn lane. “But I don’t know if I should get involved.”

“Oooh,” teased Vanessa. “Is he handsome?”

“I wouldn’t call him handsome,” said Maggie as she searched for an open parking spot, “but he is kinda’ cute.”

“What’s the big deal about going out for coffee?” asked Leona. “I’d go along just for the coffee…and order one of those big cinnamon muffins while I’m at it.”

They all chuckled as Maggie pulled up to the curb. Her passengers jumped from the car and lined up outside the old armory building. When they got to the door, Vanessa flicked her cigarette butt onto the lawn, Bill tossed his empty bottle into a rose bush, and Leona tied Butch to a nearby hydrant. Vanessa straightened her tattered sweater and shook off her shivers. “Smells good,” she said. “Let’s eat!”

After they heaped their plates full of turkey and mashed potatoes, Bill resumed their conversation. “Is this Rodney a big guy—like that fella’ Deke you told us about awhile back?”

“No,” replied Maggie. “He’s actually pretty small, but he’s got big voice. I heard him singing in the elevator.”

“Sounds romantic,” offered Vanessa, showing off her stained teeth.

“That’s what I’m worried about,” said Maggie. “I don’t trust most guys—except you, Bill.” She looked across the table to see Bill shoveling food into his moth as fast as he could swallow.

He wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “Sounds to me like this guy’s harmless,” he said. “Besides, you’d be in a public place if’n you’re just goin’ for coffee.”

“Yeah. I guess you’re right,” said Maggie as she took a bite of pumpkin pie. “I bet he asks me again next time I see him.”

****

Maggie lingered in the apartment foyer Sunday evening after Thanksgiving, expecting Rodney to return from his long weekend. He arrived carrying a simple duffle bag and an armload of books.

Maggie looked up from the paperback she was reading and feigned surprise. “Oh! Hi Rodney. How was your Thanksgiving?”

“Not bad,” said Rodney. “Dad’s not much of a cook, so we had the Big Man version of a turkey TV dinner. Then it was a full afternoon and evening of football.” Rodney set down his duffle bag. “Football bores me, but I got plenty of time to read. How about yours? Did you go home?”

“Naw. I stayed around here,” she said. “But I think I ate better than you did. I took some friends out for dinner.” After a moment she hazarded another question. “Doesn’t your mom cook? You only mentioned your dad.”

Rodney responded without emotion. “My mom died when I was born—some complication with bleeding that they couldn’t stop.”

“Oh. I’m so sorry.” She looked at the floor before going on. “I grew up without a mom too. I guess she had so many problems that she couldn’t take care of me. I grew up in foster homes since I was two.”

“Do you know what happened to her?” asked Rodney. “Have you ever heard from her or tried to find her? 

“Not a word,” said Maggie looking at him again. “But I know she loved me. She gave me a ring that somehow survived the moves to different foster homes. Turns out it was pretty valuable. I sold it earlier this year to buy my car. That gift got me off the street.”

“That’s an amazing story.” Rodney knit his brow in compassion. “At least I’ve got one parent, but it’s been hard for my dad. He tells me I’m a lot like my mom, so I remind him of her.” The elevator door opened. “We get along pretty well even though we are very different.”

“I’m envious,” smiled Maggie. “Good for you.”

“Going up?” asked Rodney.

“Yep. Thanks.”

“About that cup of java,” said Rodney. “The invitation’s still open.”

Maggie thought a moment. “Yeah. That sounds good.”

“How about I meet you at Starbucks tomorrow at five?”

“I get off at 4:30 so that will work,” said Maggie as Rodney stepped onto the third floor. “See you then.”

****

Rodney waved to Maggie as they approached Starbucks from different directions. Rodney had left his books behind and was dressed in khakis, a plaid short-sleeved shirt, and a pair of canvass tennis shoes. Maggie wore a pair of form-fitted slacks and an open collar blouse—a radical change from her typical torn blue jeans and baggy sweatshirt.

“Hey, Maggie. Good to see you,” said Rodney in greeting. “How you doing this afternoon?”

“I’m doing fine, but I’m a little dopey after a full day of work.”

“Me too. I’ll bet we can find a re-charge in here,” said Rodney as he opened the door for her. “What can I get you?”

“How about a large dark roast, black?”

“Sure you don’t want something more daring—a latte or a mocha or a Frappuccino perhaps?” asked Rodney. “I’m buying.”

“No thanks. I wouldn’t want to spoil myself.”

Rodney approached the counter. “Two dark roast Grandes, please. Leave room for cream in one of them.”

They took their beverages to a sidewalk table where they could watch pedestrians walk their dogs and drivers display their convertibles. 

“You said you are a history major,” said Maggie, picking up the conversation they left a couple weeks earlier. “What brought you to Lackmore College?”

“My dad attended Lackmore,” said Rodney. “He wanted me to go to school there and join the fraternity he was part of thirty years ago.”

“But you are living in my apartment complex. I thought frat boys lived in a frat house.”

“Most do,” agreed Rodney, “but things didn’t work out so well for me during initiation.”

“Sorry to hear that.” Maggie took a sip of coffee. “I’ve heard some bad things about initiations. What did they do to you?”

“I had a spot in the house lined up, but then this football jock showed up and wanted to pledge.” Rodney rotated his cup slowly on the table. “He tried out for the football team as a walk-on…and now he’s the quarterback! Pretty amazing really, but he’s a first-class jerk.”

Maggie’s eyes opened wide. “What’s his name?”

“His name is Deke Ambrose.” Rodney waited to see Maggie’s reaction. “He expected to play for the University of Minnesota, but he told me some girl ruined his life…Her name was Maggie Oliver.” Rodney looked into the hazel eyes that were staring back at him in shock. “I don’t suppose your last name is Oliver?”

“Yes,” she stammered. “My name is Maggie Oliver. What else did he say about me?”

“Let’s see.” Rodney took another sip and leaned back to think. “He said something about you living in his parent’s foster home—about you having a crush on him all through high school. He said he kept refusing your advances until one time at a basketball game he shouted at you to keep your hands off him.” 

“That son of a bitch,” exclaimed Maggie. “Oh, sorry,” she said in a whisper. 

“You’re saying that isn’t the whole story?” prodded Rodney.

“That’s not the story at all,” said Maggie, exasperated.

“That’s what I thought.” Rodney leaned over the table so he didn’t have to shout. “When I met you at the elevator and you said your name was Maggie, I figured I needed to know more about you. Let’s hear the real story.” He settled in his seat to listen.

Maggie relayed the same story she had told her homeless friends, but also included what really happened at the basketball game—how Deke placed his arm around her waist and slipped a finger inside her belt, how she screamed at the quiet part before the band played—not Deke.

“I remember my words exactly: ‘Keep your hands off me, you prick. Don’t ever touch me again!’ It was Deke who left the auditorium in embarrassment, not me. 

"I believe your story,” laughed Rodney. “I watched Deke tell his story while we were in my room at Sigma Zeta Pi. I can tell that he’s a practiced liar, but he’s not very good at it. His eyes dart all around and he squirms when he talks.”

“Well at least he’s not a problem for me anymore,” said Maggie, drinking the last of her dark roast.

“I’m not so sure about that,” warned Rodney. “He knows you’re in town and I distinctly remember him saying, ‘She will soon wish she hadn’t moved to LA.’ What’s more, we are in freshman English together. He and all the other jocks hang out in the same corner of the lecture hall. Earlier this week I overheard them talking about you.”

“What lies did he come up with this time? 

“It sounded like he and a beefy side-kick of his both have some kind of an axe to grind with you.”

Fifty Bucks
Chapter 7
The Sting

“Here’s an article you should read,” said Rodney as he set the college newspaper and a cup of coffee of the day in front of Maggie. “It features your buddy, Deke and the other guy I was telling you about.”

Maggie thanked Rodney for the coffee and opened the Lackmore Lark to the sports section. 

Two Walk-Ons give Lackmore Lackies 
Their First Winning Season in Thirty Years

Deke Ambrose, a freshman from Minnesota and “Little Dan” Helvent, a local from the LA area both made the team after trying out as “walk-ons.” Neither had planned to play for the Lackies until shortly before the season opener. Deke’s passing skills at quarterback and Little Dan’s aggressive performance as a defensive linebacker have led the Lackies to their first winning season in twenty years.

In an interview with Deke after their last game he says, “I gave up a scholarship from the University of Minnesota to play for the Lackies. It’s the best decision I ever made.”

Maggie stared at the picture of Deke being mobbed by his teammates. She shook her head and looked at Rodney. “Can you believe this guy? What a liar! ‘Gave up a scholarship,’ That’s B.S.”

“Read on,” said Rodney. “It gets better.”

When asked about his friend Dan, Deke explained, “I didn’t like him at first. As a matter of fact, I hated his guts. But after watching him repeatedly sack the opposing quarterbacks, I got a new respect for the guy. He got me and my offense back on the field more than any other player on the team. We’ve become good friends. Matter of fact, I think he’ll be pledging Sigma Zeta Pi next quarter.”

When Little Dan was interviewed, he agreed. “Deke takes care of our offense and I take care of the defense.” Then he laughed and continued, “Before I came to Lackmore I was told that I had an anger management problem. An instructor suggested counseling. I chose football instead.”

The Ambrose-Helvent duo has put the Lackmore football program back on the map. We have not seen a season as successful as this one since Gaylord Pilgrim led the team three decades ago.

The Lackie’s mascot, a one-eyed pirate, winked at her from the bottom of the column. “Little Dan!” she exclaimed throwing the tabloid on the table. “He’s the guy that stole my fifty bucks the day I arrived in Los Angeles.”

“Did you get your money back?” asked Rodney. “He’s the guy I overheard talking to Deke in English class.”

“I got my fifty bucks back, all right,” said Maggie. “With interest.” She told Rodney the story of how she ‘persuaded’ Little Dan to return her fifty bucks while he had been living on the street.

“Little Dan must have found a way to get off the street with college football,” she said. “Maybe it will do him some good.”

“I still smell trouble,” said Rodney. “They seemed to be cooking up some scheme to get back at you. I’ll keep my ears open.”

Rodney and Maggie met at Starbucks several times a week as the Christmas break approached. “I heard some more alarming news!” said Rodney as they pulled up a couple of chairs at the counter. “Deke and Little Dan have been watching you.”

“You’re kidding,” frowned Maggie. “Why would they do that?”

“They noticed that you return to your apartment around 6:30 every evening,” explained Rodney. “I think they are planning to ambush you as you walk to your apartment.”

“Have you heard when this might happen?”

“I’ll keep listening, but I expect it will be just before our break.”

Maggie considered this new threat. “I have an idea. You told me you were taking a class on making a documentary film, right Rodney?”

“Yes…”

“Do you have access to some cameras from the video department?”

“That’s right,” said Rodney. “I can check them out whenever I want—just so they are returned by the end of the semester.”

“Excellent. It’s time to recruit some help. You check out those cameras and I’ll talk to my friends on the street.”

****

The following evening after work Maggie visited the tent camp. She brought along a full bucket of Kentucky Fried Chicken to share. Vanessa was there with her cigarette; Bill was there with his bottle; and Leona was there tethered to Butch on a leash.

“Hello everyone,” she said shifting the bucket of chicken from one arm to the other. “I’ve got a problem and I need your help. Do you think you could spare some time next week?”

Vanessa took a relaxed drag from her cigarette and contemplated Maggie’s request. “Don’t you see that we’re pretty busy here?” she said flicking an ash. Then she laughed. “But I suppose we could set aside some time. Pass me a drumstick.”

Maggie smiled as she opened the bucket.

Bill stepped forward and reached to the bottom of the bucket. He pulled out a juicy thigh. “Finger lickin’ good,” he said as he admired the chicken dripping with fat. “How can we help?”

Maggie turned to Leona who waited patiently to be offered a piece of chicken. “First of all, I’m hoping I can count on you and Butch,” she said looking at the dog. “He’s helped me out before and I think he can again.”

Butch sniffed at the bucket. Leona lifted it out of the way and made her selection. “No chicken bones for you, Butch. Sounds like we have to keep you healthy.” She nodded to Maggie. “Count us in.”

Bill smacked his lips and asked, “This have somethin’ to do with that Deke fella?”

“Sure does,” said Maggie. “But remember how you worked over Little Dan when he harassed Vanessa? It also has something to do with him.”

“My, my,” said Bill. He licked his fingers and reached for a wing and said, “Sounds like we got our hands full this time. How can I help?”

“They are planning to ambush me, but I’m planning to ambush them. The code word will be, ‘WHY!’ When you hear me shout it, I want you to bust out ready to do some kicking and fighting.”

“That sounds excitin’. I’m in,” said Bill.

“How ‘bout me?” asked Vanessa. “What can I do?”

Maggie looked her way. “Vanessa, you know that cop that patrols the park, don’t you?”

“Yeah. Officer Pumley. He walks the same beat every evening. I know he looks the other way when some of the guys want to sleep in the park.”

Maggie dug into her purse and pulled out a folded bill. “Here’s fifty bucks. Can you slip him this and make sure he walks past my apartment around 6:30 next Wednesday evening?”

“That shouldn’t be too much of a problem. I’ve persuaded him to look the other way for less than that,” she said, winking.

“OK. Next Wednesday I expect we’ll be in for an exciting evening,” concluded Maggie.

****

On Wednesday afternoon Rodney set up one of his cameras in the window of his third-floor apartment and pointed it into the alley. He directed another one into the alley’s dead-end by standing on a dumpster and attaching it to a scrap of pipe that extended from the brick wall. “That should do it,” thought Rodney with a smile. “I’ve got both cameras set to record with a remote-control switch. I can watch everything from my apartment.”

Maggie followed her same routine that day, leaving work at 4:30, grabbing a cup of coffee at Starbucks and managing a couple of short Lyft rides before returning to her apartment around 6:30. A slight mist wet her face. Her heart raced as she watched her visitors approach. Deke sauntered down the sidewalk from the north. Little Dan’s squat figure walked quickly toward her from the south. She looked first at Deke, then at Little Dan, making certain that they saw her.

She ducked into the alley and hid behind one of the dumpsters. The smell of rancid garbage hung in the thick air. A surprised rat abandoned its meal and scurried through a crack in the foundation. Two crows perched on the roof twitched their heads in the fog.

Deke’s voice penetrated the mist. “Hey Maggie,” he called. “I’ve missed you. What are you hiding from?”

Maggie crouched low next to a urine-stained wall. Cold steel bars from a basement window pressed against her back.

Little Dan joined Deke at the entrance to the alley and hissed, “We know you’re in there. We’ve got a score to settle.”

Maggie gathered he courage, stepped from behind the dumpster and faced her accusers. She began backing up. “I gave you nothing more than you deserved,” she said with a faltering voice. “Deke, you’re a pervert and Dan, you’re a thief.”

“You ran from me all through high school,” taunted Deke. “You can’t run now.”

Little Dan brandished a snub-nosed pistol that he had hidden in his belt. “No crows, no knives, and no witnesses tonight,” he said as he waved the pistol in her direction. “I’d be happy to shoot a bullet through that pretty little kneecap of yours if you make one sound.”

Maggie backed against the wall of the alley. Deke caught one of Maggie’s wrists and pushed it above her head. Maggie clawed at him with her other hand as he grabbed her blouse and tore it loose. Several buttons clattered to the concrete.

Maggie shouted, “WHY!”

At that moment Leona, who had been hiding behind another dumpster, let Butch off his leash. “Get ‘im!” she shouted. Butch lunged for Deke.

Little Dan turned away from Maggie and pointed the pistol at Butch. Deke lost his grip on Maggie who saw that the gun was directed at Butch. She screamed, “Nooo!” and dove for the pistol. A shot echoed like a cannon in the brick enclosure. Butch fell to the ground with a yelp but sprang again in Deke’s direction. Deke kicked the dog in his midsection, sending him flying back to Leona’s feet. Butch lay on his side, breathing heavily, blood forming a pool from a gaping wound on his right leg.

At the same moment, Bill stepped from his hiding place and kicked the gun free from Little Dan’s hand. “I’ve still got it!” he gloated as the gun skittered across the concrete.

Bill was just about to place another well-directed kick to Deke’s chest when Officer Pumley rushed from the sidewalk and into the alley to join the fray. He had followed Dan and had been watching the action from the corner of the building. Seeing the gun on the ground, he pulled his revolver from his holster and shouted, “Everybody, hands up! You two! You’re under arrest.”

“I was just startin’ to have some fun,” complained Bill. He looked Deke in the face and said, “Forgot to thank ya’ for that bottle of wine. Here’s your change.” Bill threw a crumpled ten-dollar bill at Deke’s feet and returned to the sidewalk.

“Turn around and face that wall,” commanded Pumley. He holstered his gun, pulled his cuffs from his belt, and clipped the handcuffs to the young men’s extended wrists. He turned to Maggie as another figure emerged from the fog.

Rodney appeared after flying down the fire escape steps three at a time. “Are you OK, Maggie?” he cried as he tried to catch his breath.

“Yes, I’m OK,” said Maggie, “but poor Butch’s leg is just dangling there.

Maggie pulled her blouse together and ran to Butch, The Doberman lifted his head and wagged his tail when she knelt beside him and Leona. “He’s still alive,” Leona sobbed, “but his leg looks terrible.”

Bill joined them to examine the dog. “I can bandage his leg with my bandana. Looks like his wound is serious, but I’ve seen worse in Viet Nam. I think he can make it if we can get him to a vet.”

“There’s a vet clinic down the street,” said Maggie. “I’ll help you carry Butch there.” Bill applied the bandage and they fashioned a sling from Rodney’s sweatshirt.

“I’d offer you a ride,” said Officer Pumley, “but my squad car will be full with these two characters.”

“Thanks, Officer,” said Maggie. “We can get Butch there easily. We’ll put him in the back of my car.”

As Officer Pumley marched the handcuffed young men to the squad car, he told Maggie, “Meet me at precinct headquarters after you’ve been to the vet’s. I’ll need you to file a report and to press charges.”

“I’ll bring the videos,” said Rodney. “I captured the whole incident.”

“Thanks, Rodney,” said Maggie. “I’ll pick you up after we get Butch to the vet clinic.”

****

Dr. Kimberly Benson greeted Leona, Bill and Maggie at the door of the veterinary clinic with a warm smile. “How can I help you?” she asked. But one look at Butch changed her smile to a frown. She lifted Butch’s upper lip to reveal mucous membranes as white as a sheet of paper. “He’s in shock!” she exclaimed without further introductions. We need to get him started on fluids right away.”

Dr. Benson led them through the small waiting room to the back of the clinic. They placed Butch on a stainless-steel table and stood back while she placed a catheter in Butch’s good leg and started the bag of fluids.

“What happened to the poor thing?” she asked.

Maggie explained that Butch had been shot while trying to defend her against two men who cornered her in a back alley.

“Oh my,” said Dr. Benson. “Are you OK? What happened to the men who attacked you?”

“I’m fine—just a little shook up,” said Maggie. “They are waiting for us at the police station.”

Dr. Benson shook her head in disbelief and completed her exam. “I’m afraid Butch is going to lose his leg. The bullet shattered his humerus—that’s this bone,” she explained pointing to her upper arm. “If the bullet had entered a few inches higher, he would have been dead. The only way to save his life is to amputate his leg at the shoulder.”

Leona shuddered and began to cry. “But you can save his life, can’t you?” she wailed.

Dr. Benson checked Butch’s gums again. They had already responded to the fluids and had begun to pink up. Butch’s breathing became steady and even.

She looked over the trio of shabbily dressed friends—Leona’s tattered jacket, Bill’s toothless grin, and Maggie’s torn blouse. She noted for the first time the odor of homelessness that overpowered the scent of disinfectant that usually permeated the clinic. “I think he’ll be OK,” she said, “but I’m afraid the surgery will be quite expensive.” She paused with sadness in her eyes, expecting that no one would be able to pay for her services.

“Butch is my dog,” replied Leona, “but I can’t pay for any operation.” She wiped a tear from her eye.

“I’ll take care of the veterinary bill,” said Maggie who interrupted Leona. “Butch has helped me out twice now. I feel terrible about all of this.”

“But you saved his life,” said Bill. “I saw you knock the gun away just in time.”

“Maybe so,” said Maggie. “The least I can do is pay for the damages. She handed her credit card to Dr. Benson. “Put the bill on my card. I’ll take some extra Lyft rides until it’s paid for.”

“That’s admirable,” said Dr. Benson. “You might be able to recover damages from the person who shot him. I’ll be happy to testify if you need my help.”

“Thank you, Dr. Benson,” Said Maggie. “I’d better get over to the police station. They are waiting for me there.”

****

Maggie and Rodney walked into the police station carrying the video cameras that had captured the evening’s events. Officer Pumley met them at the door and led them to a back office where the precinct captain sat behind a massive desk strewn with papers.

A surly, stubbled face looked up from his papers with a sour expression. A tangled bush of eyebrows attempted unsuccessfully to hide a dark mole protruding from his forehead beside his left eye.

“What now, Pumley?” he growled.

“I discovered this young woman being assaulted by the two young men I brought in earlier,” he explained. “Their names are Deke Ambrose and Daniel Helvent. The assault happened in a blind alley off Lankershim. I believe she is here to press charges.”

“That’s right,” said Maggie as she pulled her blouse together. “My name is Maggie Oliver and earlier this evening I was attacked by the two men that Officer Pumley has taken into custody. He arrived at the scene just in time to help me.” She turned to the officer. “Thank you again.”

The precinct captain turned his bushy eyes to Rodney. “And who is this?” he demanded.

“My name is Rodney Pilgrim. I am a friend of Maggie’s and I captured the whole thing on camera,” he said, setting the camera on top of a pile of papers. “Can I show you the videos?”

The captain looked at his watch and let out an exasperated groan. “It’s getting late, but if you must, let’s see what happened.”

Rodney opened the camera’s screen. “It will only take about ten minutes,” he said as he pushed the play button.

The captain scowled at the video. “How did you happen to ‘capture the whole thing?’ It looks like these two boys were set up,” he said dismissively.

A wave of anxiety swept over Maggie. “We heard that they were planning to ambush me,” she pleaded. The knot in her stomach tightened. “The only way anyone would believe me is if it was recorded.”

“And how did you happen to ‘discover’ the alleged assault?” asked the captain, who looked at Pumley with a piercing stare.

Officer Pumley looked at the floor, swallowed hard and replied, “I was tipped off about the possibility of the assault by a friend of theirs.”

“There was a gun that was fired at a dog,” observed the captain. “Did this Dan fellow have a permit to carry?”

“Yes sir,” said Pumley quickly. “That was the first thing I checked.” He produced a permit that confirmed that Daniel Helvent had been issued a permit two weeks earlier.

“Well done, Pumley. At least you did that right.” The captain’s chair groaned as he leaned back. “You know that this whole thing smacks of entrapment. A police officer was involved. The whole affair was planned.”

The group shifted uncomfortably as the captain’s gaze moved from Pumley to Maggie. “I wouldn’t be surprised if the little tramp seduced these boys,” he said with a sense of satisfaction.

Maggie’s face reddened. “That’s not true!” she shouted. “I did nothing to deserve this kind of treatment.” 

“Enough!” shouted the captain, his patience exhausted. “Bring those boys in here. I’m going to fine each of them fifty dollars for cruelty to animals. That should teach them a lesson.” He paused a moment. “By the way, how is the dog?”

Maggie and Rodney stood silently, aghast at the injustice they felt. “The dog is being taken care of,” murmured Maggie.

“That’s a relief,” said the captain. “You are dismissed…Have a happy holiday.”

****

Maggie and Rodney retreated to Rodney’s apartment. “I’ll brew a pot of coffee,” suggested Rodney. “We won’t be able to sleep anyway. Maybe the caffeine will conjure up another idea.”

“Thanks,” said Maggie, her voice filled with disappointment. “I’m going to change this blouse first—then I’m going to burn it.”

Rodney poured two cups of dark roast when Maggie returned to the apartment. “I’ve had a thought,” said Rodney. “We still have the videos. I can post them on YouTube. That might get some attention.”

Maggie considered the suggestion for a moment. “At this point I’ve got nothing to lose.”

The next day Rodney edited the two videos into a five-minute clip. It clearly showed the assault, the gunshot, and Butch lying bleeding on the concrete. They entitled the video, Assault to woman ignored by authorities.

Over the next wo weeks, Maggie and Rodney monitored the number of times the video was watched—fifty, one hundred, five hundred, a thousand, thousands. “It looks like it has gone viral!” exclaimed Rodney.

“It looks like it has,” agreed Maggie, “but what good will it do us?”

The day before Christmas Maggie received a call from a number she did not recognize. “Hello. Is this Maggie Oliver?” the voice asked.

“Yes.”

“Are you the party that posted the video of the dog getting shot?”

“Yes,” the hesitation evident in Maggie’s voice.

“My name is Jen. I am an executive at POP—Protect Our Pets.”

“Yes?” Maggie paused as she attempted to determine if this was a hate call or a friendly call. “What can I do for you?”

“One of our members saw your video and forwarded it to me. We are appalled at what happened to that poor dog.”

“Butch was just trying to help me,” Maggie pleaded defensively. “It was an accident. I swear. Butch had to have his leg amputated, but I paid for it all.”

“That’s what I’m calling about,” said Jen patiently. “We are concerned about the dog and wanted to find out how he is doing.”

“He is recovering nicely,” replied Maggie with a sigh of relief. “Dr. Benson, the vet who operated on Butch, said that dogs get along well on three legs. Butch’s owner is a friend of mine who is homeless. I’ve visited them both and Butch is doing really well.”

“We’d like your permission to post your video on our website,” said Jen. “It will be seen by millions of viewers and will help the cause of helpless animals.”

Maggie noticed that Jen had not asked about how helpless she had felt in that situation but decided to let the insult pass.

“I suppose that would be OK,” said Maggie. “Maybe it will also make people aware of the danger of carrying guns.”

“Thank you, Miss Oliver,” said Jen, ignoring Maggie’s last comment. “The video will be ready to post by the day after Christmas. Have a happy holiday.”

“Everybody wants me to have a happy holiday, but nobody seems too concerned about my happiness,” thought Maggie bitterly.

Rodney returned to the apartment the day after Christmas. He had celebrated another holiday digesting TV dinners and football games.

Maggie told Rodney about her conversation with Jen at POP. “She said the video would be posted today. Let’s see what it looks like,” said Maggie as she found the website on her phone.

Their five-minute video had been professionally edited to include dark music in a minor key and a voice-over proclaiming Maggie as a heroine who saved the life of a helpless, homeless dog. The title was, Woman Saves Life of Dog Shot in Leg.

“Looks like you could become a celebrity,” said Rodney. He watched the video again. “I ought to take a few notes on editing from POP for my documentary class. Very impressive.”

Maggie pointed to the bottom of the screen. “Look at that!” she said excitedly. “It directs viewers to a GoFundMe link to help cover Butch’s veterinary expenses.”

“Amazing,” said Rodney. “Maybe this will turn out all right after all.”

On New Year’s Eve Maggie received another call from Jen. “I just wanted to let you know that the GoFundMe link has generated fifty thousand dollars! Will that cover Butch’s veterinary expenses?”

“That will more than cover it,” said Maggie, her voice cracking. “What will you do with the rest of the donations?”

“POP’s board of directors has decided to reward you with the balance of the funds for saving Butch’s life,” said Jen. “Use it wisely.”

“Thank you so much,” gushed Maggie. “I know just what to do with it.”

Maggie visited Rodney at his home on New Year’s Day. After their usual fare of TV dinners, Rodney, Gaylord—Rodney’s dad, and Maggie sipped coffee while they waited for the first kickoff.

Gaylord asked Maggie, “What do you plan to do with this windfall of yours?”

“First of all, I have to pay the veterinary bill,” she said. “Then I’m going to give each of my homeless friends a thousand dollars.” She laughed as she continued. “I expect it will be gone in a week, but they will have a good time while it lasts.”

“That still leaves quite a nest egg,” observed Gaylord.

“That’s true,” replied Maggie. “I think I’ll see if my mother’s ring is still in that jewelry shop downtown. I’d like to buy it back if it is.” She looked at Rodney. “I also found a bookstore that carries the entire Tolkien series. I’d like to replace your copy of The Hobbit as a late Christmas gift.

Rodney and Gaylord laughed together. “Too late,” said Rodney. “I appreciate the gesture, but Dad already got me a replacement.” He produced a new copy of the book from beneath an end table. “What do you suppose I did during my Christmas break?”

Maggie stood up from the table and began clearing the foil dinner plates and plastic forks. “I’ll do the dishes,” she teased as she moved to the waste basket. She turned back to Rodney. “I’ve been thinking. Does Lackmore offer classes on social work?”

“I’m sure it does,” said Rodney.

Gaylord added, “From what I hear, you’d make a perfect social worker.”

Lackmore began classes shortly after New Year’s. The first edition of the Lackmore Lark came out the second week of January. “Look at this,” said Rodney as they huddled over the school newspaper at Starbucks. The front page read:

Football Stars Dropped from Team

Coach Milton Camden has released a statement explaining that the walk-on stars, Deke Ambrose and Daniel Helvent, will no longer be eligible to participate in the Lackmore football squad. He says, “I am sad to report that disturbing videos have surfaced that demonstrate a moral character below the standards we have set for our athletes. Such callous disregard for the lives of helpless animals cannot be tolerated. Despite their gifted contributions to the team last fall, they will no longer be eligible to play for the Lackies.”

Maggie and Rodney looked up from their coffee in stunned silence. Then they began to laugh together. “Well, it’s not what I had hoped for,” said Maggie, “but it will have to do.”

Rodney lifted his cup and winked at Maggie. “Cheers.”

“Cheers,” said Maggie. “See you in class.”

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