American Outlaw - Jesse James [26]
“Jesse!” Patty sang, coming down the stairs as I entered. “I see you’ve met my stepmom.”
“Patty,” Ms. Torres said drily. She folded her arms and looked at Patty pointedly. “You and I need to have a little talk in the kitchen.”
That was the sum total of my first—and last—date with Patty.
Still, life went on. I got up early every Saturday morning to work the swaps. Gradually, I learned how to read customers, sell them on whatever crap my dad had found at auction: a bundle of rags, ten boxes of Tupperware, didn’t matter. If we acquired it, I could sell it. Nights, I’d play tough guy at Golden Apple. A hesitant Southern California winter shuffled in for a visit. Six weeks later, it was gone.
Home was home. I didn’t much want to be there. Despite the renovations, the house still smelled like the fire. It may have had a new roof and new carpets, but the walls had a faint stench of black smoke that you couldn’t ever get rid of. Bad memories came flooding back every time I walked down the hall.
My dad and I spoke to each other only when we had to—by this time, I was old enough to understand that I no longer respected him. Yet there was literally no other place I could go.
Except, of course, jail. And that’s where I was headed next.
4
Looking back, I’m tempted to blame it all on Bobby. Of course, I won’t. Still, the appeal is there.
“We’re gonna hit Rybeck’s Saturday night,” he confided to me. It was late afternoon, just before our senior year was going to begin. We were lounging on his roof. You could see the whole shitty neighborhood from where we were. Kings of all we surveyed. “And we need you.”
I frowned. Rybeck’s Cameras was the biggest photo store in Riverside. “Who’s we?”
“Me and Dave,” Bobby whispered, naming one of his old friends. He looked over both shoulders, hamming it up. “We’re going to go in after hours and clean up, man.”
“That sounds perfect,” I said. “For you.”
“Noooooo,” Bobby said, slowly wagging a finger. “For all of us.”
I shook my head. “I can’t do it, Bobby. This year’s going to be big for me. I’m going to have scouts at the games this year. I gotta stay focused. It’s my ticket out.”
“James,” Bobby said, “I’m very disappointed. How could you, of all people, leave me alone, when I got the heist of a lifetime all primed and ready?”
“I’m not leaving you alone,” I pointed out. “You have Dave.”
“Dave’s no fun,” Bobby protested. His shoulders slumped, and he looked like a giant, sad dog. “He’s all business. He’ll just want to get in and get out. Thanks a bunch.”
“I’m sorry, man,” I said, laughing. “Maybe some other time.”
Football just felt too critical. It overshadowed even my desire to screw around. Over the summer, I’d attended an offense/defense camp at UC Riverside. Among my coaches were Ed “Too-Tall” Jones and Lester Hayes, both former stars in the NFL. Under their guidance, I’d won most valuable defensive player of the whole camp. I was going to be captain this year. I felt ready to take on the world.
High school football was a pretty big deal in Riverside in those days. People came to the games looking for entertainment and adrenaline. We held our games at Riverside Community College, instead of at the high school, because we’d draw such a huge crowd. Local rivalries were crucial and intense. Sometimes, looking out at the thousands of screaming fans in the stands, I’d realize with satisfaction that I wasn’t the only fucker out for blood.
Our biggest rival was Notre Dame. My senior year, their quarterback was a heavily recruited kid named Tony Nordbeck. He was an excellent athlete and a talented passer, but a big crybaby, too. That combination always exasperated me.
I took Nordbeck down hard in the first quarter. “Good hit, James!” Bobby cried.
“Thanks,” I grunted, lining up again.
“Listen, I gotta talk to you,” he whispered. “It’s about Rybeck’s! Dude, we got an unholy load!”
“Not now, Bobby.” I waved him off.
“Sure, you’re right! Let’s play football!”
I flew off the line, smashed through a double team block, and took Nordbeck out at