The White Bronco

By John Gordon

Leo often felt that he was in the wrong place at the wrong time. On June 4, 1994, he was in a white Ford Bronco on Highway 405 outside of Los Angeles. Every law enforcement officer within one hundred miles was looking for a white Bronco and a fugitive named O. J. Simpson. And so Leo did what any Vietnam veteran suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder would do: he ditched the beer, threw the joint out the window, and panicked. He steered off the freeway and into the unsuspecting life of an angel. The ride that had started in a Los Angeles suburb tripped through Southeast Asia, New England, the Florida Keys, New York City, and Palm Springs and finally ran out of steam in Hawaii, and along the way, Leo found his life and his love.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Feb 29, 2016
• ISBN: 9781514468944

John Gordon

John Gordon has written and illustrated many children's books as well as worked extensively in most areas of illustration. When he's not writing or illustrating, he gives talks in schools and libraries and plays squash.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

LEO WAS DRIVING north on the 405 outside of downtown Los Angeles listening to the Knicks-Rockets game on the radio when Al Michaels suddenly cut into the coverage to report that O.J. Simpson was leading the LAPD and the California Highway Patrol on a slow-speed chase in a white Ford Bronco.

The car was being driven by an apparent friend of O.J.’s named Al Cowlings. The date was June 17, 1994. Cowlings was on the 405. According to the news report, Simpson was in the back of the car holding a pistol to his head.

Leo was on the 405. Leo was driving his father’s white Ford Bronco. Leo always seemed to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Pull the freakin’ trigger, O.J. Leo screamed into the radio, on the dashboard.

I hate this. I hate this. I hate this, Leo yelled at the top of his lungs. Why me? Why does this crap always happen to me? he roared out the window at a startled older woman tooling along beside him in her convertible Mercedes coupe.

He didn’t think for a minute that the situation could be even a little bit worse for O.J. and Mr. Cowlings.

Leo was driving his father’s car without his father’s permission, even though his father surely wouldn’t mind. His license had been suspended, but that had been on a technicality and he’d have it reinstated any day. He was also trying to work his way through a little problem he’d gotten himself into smuggling pot over the Mexican border, but he insisted he was an innocent victim in that caper.

Leo was trying to make things right in his life. He was returning from his appointment with his counselor from his PTSD group at the V.A. hospital, but unfortunately, he had a Dos Equis between his legs, and a big joint in his hand. He did not need any special attention from the Los Angeles police.

Shut the hell up, Al! he yelled again at the dashboard, and then a blaring horn startled him, causing him to swerve into the other lane, which, of course, caused more horns to blare at him. The little old lady followed him crabwise lane by lane with her left hand on the steering wheel and her right hand thrust toward him with a bony middle finger extended indignantly.

She kept inching closer to him, and Leo was sure she was going to run her cute little convertible right into the side of his old man’s Bronco. Suddenly she shot past him in a Formula One burst of speed and flew down the ramp onto Wilshire Boulevard. By this time, Leo was on the shoulder of the highway, staring straight at the fast approaching guardrail.

He yanked the Bronco back onto the 405, tires squealing, horns shrieking, hands shaking, thinking, Whew, Al Michaels and O.J. got nuthin on crazy Beverly Hills grannies.

He threw the rest of the joint out the window, glanced at the puddle of beer in his lap, and tossed the empty bottle onto the floor of the back seat.

Then he saw O.J.

It wasn’t really O.J. He saw the traffic ahead slow to a crawl, then spotted the California Highway Patrol car swerving slowly across all four lanes, effectively blocking anyone from passing into the crime scene. He saw the two helicopters overhead, people watching from the overpasses, and then he was almost side-swiped by a television news van flying up the shoulder beside him.

I gotta get outta here, he muttered to himself, looking for the next exit.

The next exit was Sunset Boulevard, and he really didn’t want to get off on Sunset, but then he figured he could cruise around UCLA for a little while until the cops caught O.J. and things settled down some.

He liked UCLA, used to drive around there when he was in high school, just checking out the older coeds. Leo was infatuated with girls, loved girls—especially when he was a teenager. Thought about girls all day long: girls, football, surfing, getting high, but mostly girls. He had a thing for blondes, tan blonde girls. Oh man, UCLA was like a dream come true for him, back in the day.

Okay, now they’d probably think he was a dirty old pervert, but it seemed like a good distraction to kill some time, cruising UCLA—yeah.

He took the exit ramp and immediately saw the police car parked in the shade on Sunset. His paranoia was creeping up his neck like a lizard, a cold little lizard with cold little feet. He slapped his neck instinctively, sure that he’d smack that lizard, but it wasn’t really there, which made him feel a little better. His next move, though, did nothing to reassure him that he was thinking straight.

Leo looked both ways, and instead of turning toward the college and the cop, he made an illegal left turn and shot across Sunset and headed west back under the highway toward Santa Monica. That’s when Leo realized that O.J., Cowlings, the white Bronco, and all the police cars were still in front of him. Cowlings had exited onto Sunset, dragging the whole posse with them, and Leo realized with a start that now, he was behind them, too.

Where am I goin’? Where am I goin’? Where am I goin’? His lizard brain shrieked. The white Bronco was inching down Sunset. Al Michaels reported that the police were in contact with O.J. via mobile phone and that he was probably headed back home to Brentwood.

Then why the hell didn’t you get off at Wilshire? Leo screamed at the top of his lungs. He made a quick decision to try to get around the O.J. convoy, so he hung a quick left onto Gunston, accelerated at breakneck speed until he hit Woodburn Drive, and then swung onto that and got back onto Sunset Boulevard in front of Cowlings.

He regretted it immediately. Why’d I do that? he thought, as he saw all the flashing blue lights behind him now. I shoulda just turned around, got back on the freeway, and gone home. Man, I gotta quit smokin’ this weed. Paranoia was overtaking his frenzied brain.

He decided he’d head into the Palisades and then wind his way up to Reseda through Sullivan’s Canyon or Will Rogers State Park. The Bronco could handle the fire road if the barriers weren’t up. He really wanted to get off the main roads. He was starting to see cops everywhere. The helicopters did not help.

His parents’ house was in Reseda. It had been ground zero for the Northridge quake in January, earlier that year. He’d get up into Caballero Creek and onto Mulholland and get the hell out of this damn Bronco that was starting to feel as big as an eighteen wheeler with a neon sign flashing Pot Smoker, Pot Smoker.

Leo wished the house on Ingomar Street had a garage to hide the Bronco, but it only had a carport, and he knew that’d have to do. He wished that he hadn’t smoked that big joint. He wished that O.J. hadn’t made his big break today, and he wished he had just stayed home watching TV and eating cheese puffs instead of going to his meeting and then going to see his dippy counselor.

But he hadn’t and now he felt like he was the target of a manhunt, that the cops were looking for him and O.J. He was sure he was going to end up in the same cell as Cowlings and O.J., and he was even more sure that Al Cowlings was going to beat the crap out of him. He could see himself pleading for mercy in some scary, dank, piss-stink jail cell while Big Al wailed on him and O.J. and the guards laughed. He could see the guards, preppy looking white boys in starched police uniforms, drinking coffee and laughing with O.J. They’d probably just let O.J. out of the cage to sit with them while Al beat on him. They would get O.J.’s autograph and bring him coffee, and they’d all laugh at Leo, the old hippie getting the crap kicked out of him by Al Cowlings.

Who the hell is Al Cowlings? Leo thought as he crossed Capri Drive and the entrance to the Riviera Country Club. He must be a big mother. Gotta be as big as, or maybe even bigger than O.J. if he’s his bodyguard. If he’s his bodyguard? he wondered. Maybe he’s his freakin caddy. How do I know? I’ll bet he could kick the crap out of me, anyway. Oh, man, I gotta get out of this car, gotta get home to the old man.

He saw the sign for Will Rogers State Park and took a right up the tree-lined road.

Who the hell is Will Rogers, anyway? he thought. I know who Roy Rogers is. I know Trigger. I know Dale and Gabby Hayes and Hopalong Cassidy, but who the hell is Will? And why’d they name a damn park after him?"

Leo’s memory was entertaining him as he thought of sunny Saturday mornings in front of the TV in his pajamas. His little sister would lie on the couch with her precious, weird little Siamese cat, and six-year-old little Leonard would lay on the floor in front of her with his head on Mandy’s soft tummy. He loved their family mutt, Mandy. She was his best friend, and she followed him everywhere he went. The neighborhood was a safe place back then. Parents could let a little boy and his loyal dog roam at will. There was no Hillside Strangler or Charlie Manson back then; they would come later.

His parents had lived in the same house on Ingomar Street in Reseda since 1958. He had grown up there, gone to school there, played with childhood friends there, and, after Vietnam, he had come back there. But it wasn’t the same. The house had changed very little, but in 1973, Leo had suddenly changed a lot, and nothing was ever the same.

He hated thinking about Vietnam, but his mind began wandering back to the jungle. The counselors at the Veterans Authority Hospital told him to replace negative thoughts with positive thoughts. They said to change the subject, just don’t go there, get out of the jungle and go to a happy place. So he forced himself back to Saturday morning cartoons and Roy Rogers and Dale Evans and the Lone Ranger and Tonto. He liked Bonanza, and he felt like he was driving up the Rogers Fire Road toward the Ponderosa.

As he took another big looping 180-degree turn, a speeding Range Rover practically ran him off the road. The woman acted as if she didn’t even notice him. White Broncos were not that hard to see, but she continued brushing her hair in the rearview mirror as she took the curve in the middle of the road, forcing Leo onto the gravel shoulder.

Now he was pissed. Before he was scared, but he’d had enough. Screw his counselor and his PTSD meetings. Screw the shrinks, and the V.A. The old rage was welling up inside of him, and Roy and Dale were high-tailing it into the High Chaparral.

Man, I’d like to just be sitting on the front veranda with Victoria Cannon, right now, he thought as his eyes began to squint with the building anger and frustration. The tension was starting to really build in Leo’s lizard brain, but at least he was starting to recognize it for what it was. Here it comes, again.

He shot up the canyon road and out of the trees into the bright openness of Will Rogers. Cars were scattered everywhere. People lined one field watching a polo match and another field watching a horse show.

He leaned on the horn in a fury. Get the hell outta my way, he screamed with all the Bronco’s windows down. Horses, grooms, kids, dogs, and adults scattered as Leo roared through the tangle of cars, people, trailers, and animals. He accelerated up past the grand house, the fields with white fences, the round barn, and the stables. He drove like a man possessed, higher and higher toward the fire road.

His vision began to tunnel. Darkness crept into the periphery, and he felt the strangulating tension mounting with the pressure in his head.

Gotta get out. Gotta get out. Gotta get out. And then the gate to the fire road was before him and he blew it off its hinges with the massive impact of the Bronco’s front grill. The gate spun high in the air like a majorette’s baton. It slammed into the rear window of the Bronco as the big car bit into the dirt of the climbing road. The window shattered, and Leo never even noticed.

Gotta get out.

CHAPTER 2

BENNY WAS RIDING Beatrice at the top of the mountain. She was above and behind Inspiration Point and could see far out over the city on one side and the beautiful, blue Pacific Ocean on the other. She rested comfortably in her soft old saddle, and Beatrice munched a ground pine contentedly with no indication of fatigue, despite her age and the steep climb behind her.

Benny took good care of her sweet old horse. The two of them were aging gracefully together. Their regular afternoon rides had become a therapeutic balm for both of them.

Are you okay, sweetheart? Benny whispered into Beatrice’s ear as she bent over her neck to hug her and smell her delicious earthy sweat. The horse swished her tail, harrumphed and quietly nickered, as though she didn’t want to be rude with a full mouth of sticky pine. Horse and rider both raised their heads to the sky, stretching and taking deep breaths in the warm wind. The air was spiked with the comforting fragrance of eucalyptus and the salt water far below.

Why, Bea? Why did it take me so long to come home? Benny said to her horse. I missed this so much. I’m sad that Daddy’s sick, but I’m happy that he needs me. I’m happy to be back home, and I’m really happy that we have each other. I love these rides, old girl. Sorry, I get so sappy, but I so needed this.

The stillness was shattered suddenly as the white Bronco burst over the hill behind them. It looked like a prehistoric carnivore to the startled horse and rider. All they saw was the underbelly of the monster as it crested the last hill before the hard clay table on which they stood. A mere second before, they had been gazing out at the ocean. Now, they were thrown into a state of abrupt terror as the machine hurtled toward them.

The great beast’s front wheels spun madly, clawing for the ground. The stillness was cracked by the screaming high pitch of the engine’s wail, shocking the tranquility of the moment before.

Benny shrieked as though struck by a blow. Beatrice released a comparable wail and broke for a wall of shrub crawling up the canyon walls. Benny was thrown back and almost lost her grip. She tightened the reins and yanked on poor Bea’s bridle to prevent them both from plunging over the cliff.

The Bronco slammed to the ground and stopped abruptly, hissing and blowing like a wild animal. It was instantly silent, the engine shutting down as if it had been shot dead. Beatrice’s hoofs still danced madly, and Benny finally settled her enough to swing out of the saddle. She hit the ground hard and marched directly at the Bronco, pulling her poor, startled horse along behind her.

Are you insane? she screamed at the dusty windshield without even being able to see who sat in the big car. What the hell do you think you’re doing, you maniac? You can’t drive up here. This is not Ventura Boulevard, you freakin’ idiot. I will have you arrested, jackass. You could have killed us. This old horse is about ready for a heart attack, and I’m about ready for a homicide. Get the hell outta that car, you jerk. I’m calling the park ranger.

She suddenly wondered who she might be screaming at. There was no movement from inside the Bronco. The driver’s window was down, but the vehicle appeared to be empty. Beatrice pulled back, making the reins taut in Benny’s hand. It was quiet again, scary quiet. Benny took a step back, and the door slowly swung open.

Leo was inside, slumped on the seat. One hand was on the door handle, the other lay listlessly in his lap. His forehead was sliced open, and blood ran freely over his face, onto his shirt, and puddled in the lap of his blue jeans. He didn’t seem to notice.

Jesus, said Benny, are you okay? Excuse me, let me rephrase that. Are you okay, you drunken moron?

I’m not drunk, Leo said quietly, blowing a little bubble of blood on his lips.

Just stupid, huh?

Uh-huh.

Beatrice grew a little bolder. The noise was gone. Benny was talking to the stranger. The threat appeared to be slightly reduced. She pushed her nose into Benny’s armpit and huffed. Benny relaxed a little, too.

Are you going to bleed to death, Mad Max?

I’m sorry, said Leo. I didn’t mean to scare you. I didn’t know anybody would be up here.

Right. Always a big surprise when you practically run over a horse and rider on a horse trail. I’m not kidding, if you aren’t official, you’re in the wrong place.

I’m not a cop or anything.

Well there’s a surprise, she smirked. Fireman? Cause you sure look like you’re on your way to a fire, Benny said, noticing that Leo’s front left tire was flat as a pancake.

No, I…uh…I just…

Climb on out of there before you bleed to death, Max. You’re not going anywhere fast. I’m calling somebody, she said, digging her phone out of the pocket of her breeches.

Wait, what? Leo struggled to a sitting position with a great moan. Oww! Damn, no, please don’t call anybody. I think the cops are after me anyway. I gotta keep going.

I don’t think so, Benny said, walking with Beatrice around to the front of the Bronco. Looks like both of your front tires gave up the ghost. Hollywood’s always looking for stunt drivers, Max. She paused looking squarely at the battered man. I don’t have anything to keep your face from bleeding into the Pacific. How about I call a ranger?

Please, don’t. I smashed through the steel arm, and I know I shouldn’t be up here, it’s just that I, uh, I, well, I wanna get home. Reseda.

You can do that, said Benny. You can get onto Mulholland from here, on a horse or a motorcycle, but I’m sure there’s another fire road gate, and your steed doesn’t look up to the challenge. Do you have any bandages in that thing?

Yeah, it’s a rolling hospital. My father has everything in this car.

Let’s take a look, Max.

My name’s not Max.

Let’s take a look.

Leo rolled out of the Bronco and plopped on the ground. The first aid kit’s in the way back, he said.

Do I look like your nurse, your maid, or just the mind-my-own-business horsewoman you almost killed? Get the damn kit yourself, Max.

It’s Leo.

What is?

I am.

Okaaay, Leo. She paused, taking stock, realizing they were all alone and far from anybody else. Look, I’m leaving, Benny said, as she pulled Beatrice around and headed past the Bronco and back down the mountain.

No, please, don’t leave, Leo said, not knowing why.

Why not? Benny stopped and looked back at him.

Um, because…

The park ranger’s four-wheeled vehicle gave a single whoop as it approached the crest of the Point and the stranded Bronco. The ranger stopped the Jeep, climbed out, put on his hat, adjusted his belt, glanced at his reflection in the window, turned toward the scene of the beached Bronco, and said in a loud voice, Howdy, folks, what do we have…?

He stopped suddenly. A look of recognition crossed his face. Oh, hi, Ms. Bennington. Is there trouble? Are you all right?

Grace Bennington stood ten feet away from the rear of the white Bronco with her hands on her hips. She had dropped the reins on the ground behind her. Beatrice stood a couple of feet behind, nonchalantly looking off toward the ocean. Leo sat in the dusty road with his back against the open door of his father’s car, blood still trickling down his face. Steam seeped around the hood into the air and disappeared against the deep blue sky. The engine hissed quietly. Both front tires were completely flat, making the car look as though it was crouching.

Everything’s fine, Benny replied.

She knew all of the rangers at Will Rogers, knew most of the staff, too. Some of the older folks, grooms, guides, maintenance people, and gardeners knew her from when she was a little girl.

This ranger was new. He was young and flirty. He shoved his weight around with some of the tourists and hikers, but he knew better than to mess around with a woman who had come here for pony camp when she was four years old, well before this badged bozo had been born.

Really? said the ranger skeptically. He took in the scene and pushed his hat back high on his forehead.

Yes, really, said Benny dismissively. This is my friend. I thought that my horse had twisted her leg, so I called him and asked him to meet us up here at the point. As you can see, he got a little too enthusiastic and tried to drive his vehicle up here.

You can’t drive a vehicle up here, sir, said the young ranger. This is not a public thoroughfare.

Here comes the big shot, thought Benny. He can see that, she said with a touch of impatience. He made a mistake. He was coming to my rescue.

Someone took out the barrier at the bottom of the road, said the ranger with his hand on his holster.

That was me, Leo mumbled. I’m sorry.

Well, that’s damage to state property and I’m afraid I’m gonna have to…

I’ll pay for it, Benny said. I told you, he was coming to help me. What we need right now is a tow truck and probably a couple of stitches for that gash in my friend’s forehead. Do you think you could call Jimmy down in the garage and have him bring the wrecker up here? I’ll tend to this wound. We’ll wait for Jimmy, then take this gentleman to the clinic.

Um, well… the ranger took a couple of steps toward Leo to look at his head. He walked around the front of the Bronco and said, Yeah, sure, that’s probably a good idea. I mean if you’re going to cover the damages and all, Ms. Bennington, I guess…

Yeah, yeah, yeah, I will. Please get the truck up here. We have a first aid kit in the back. I was just about to get it when you showed up. You do your thing, and we’ll do ours. Benny looped Beatrice’s traces around the mirror on the open door of the Bronco and walked to the back. She saw that the back window was missing. There was broken glass inside the rear of the car.

What am I doing? she thought. This guy really might be a lunatic.

She realized that the ranger had not noticed the broken back window. He was walking back to his Jeep, and Benny wondered if she really would be safe with the bleeding nutcase if the young uniform left. She reached into the back through the missing window and extracted a small red box with a white cross on it. She walked back to the side of the Bronco, squatted down in front of Leo, opened the box, and found a couple of butterfly bandages. There were antiseptic wipes on the bottom, and she pulled one out, ripped open the foil packet, and handed it to Leo.

Why are you doing this? Leo asked quietly.

I don’t know. I do a lot of dumb things for reasons I can’t explain. I just don’t like this arrogant young Marshall Dillon. I don’t know why. It’s nothing in particular, well, maybe it is, but it doesn’t make any difference. I know all the older guys, the older rangers, and they’re all sweethearts, but this dude’s a punk. Wipe your head.

He did.

Are you a nice guy, Leo? I can deal with crazy, but if you’re a murderer or a rapist or a freak, I’m riding down with Sheriff Dipshit.

I’m a nice guy.

Not screwed too tight, though, are ya?

No.

You know you probably couldn’t have driven this thing through to Reseda, don’t you?

No, I thought…oww! What was that? Benny was squeezing Leo’s head.

I’m trying to pinch all the gunk out of…what did you smack your head on, anyway? I think there’s something in there. You really are going to need some stitches. Why didn’t you just go up Sullivan’s or down to Topanga?

The ranger’s door slammed, and he started back up the hill to Benny and Leo. Alrighty, folks. We have the wrecker on the way. My boss said that if Ms. Bennington’s up here and everything seems under control, I don’t have to stick around, so if it’s all the same, I’ll be headed down. Shift’s over, and I wanna see them get O.J. Haha.

Who’s O.J.? Benny said.

Who’s O.J.? Haha, Ms. Bennington, that’s a good one. Okay now, I’m outta here. Y’all be careful. He returned to the Jeep and began cautiously turning it around on the narrow trail.

Who’s O.J.? Benny repeated, squinting at Leo’s forehead.

Seriously?

Yeah, who is O.J.? Now I’m curious.

Leo didn’t believe her. Couldn’t believe her. How could anybody in America not know who Orenthal James Simpson was?

You never heard of ‘The Juice’? Really?

The Jews? Benny said, standing up, crumbling the wrappers of the butterfly bandages in her hand.

Leo ignored her. So what’s your story, Ms. Bennington? What’re you doing up here all alone on horseback?

I am not alone, Leo Whatever-your-real-name-is. I have been riding up here since I was a little girl. I have had ponies and horses down there in the Will Rogers’ stables all my life. I have schooled, trained, and competed here for over thirty years. I took a little hiatus, but now I’m back in L.A., and what business is it of yours? What’s your story, bub? You look like some kind of aging Hollywood hippie. Like you oughta be playing with Jackson Browne or something.

Leo smiled and rolled on his side to get to his feet. Funny, he said. I took a little hiatus myself. I grew up on the other side of the canyon. Went to Northridge Academy before your time, and then shipped off to Vietnam probably when you were still in short stirrup.

Aha, so you do know something about horses.

Uh-huh, I know a little something about a lot of things. Where’d you go to school? UCLA, I’ll bet.

John Thomas Dye, Westlake, when it was still all-girls, and then Arizona State for three years. I got married, she said as if to explain.

Lucky him.

She frowned. He’s gone. How about you?

"Nah, I think I tend to scare gals off. I’ve been pretty restless for a long time. I mean I like women plenty, there have been a couple of relationships, I’m not gay, or anything, but now I’m back home taking care of my father. He had a stroke right after the quake. Mom died two years ago, my sister’s got her own family in the valley. She was living back East in Maine, but she’s back, and now I’m back, too. I’ve been trying to help Dad put the house back in shape and recover from his stroke. I take him to therapy, you know, that kinda stuff.

It’s kind of humorous, now that I think about it. I take him to his physical therapy, and then I borrow his car and take myself to my mental therapy.

That’s actually kind of sweet, Leo, Benny said, starting to think that he was probably a good guy, and kind of cute, too, in a broken kind of way.

Leo was thinking that this Benny gal was a knock-out. He was shaking off the cobwebs and falling under her spell. He followed her and her horse over to the side of the road where they sat down and gazed at the view across Rivas Canyon. Beatrice wandered off, munching on tufts of grass and sweet weeds.

You don’t have to stay, Leo said.

I probably do. They know me around here. You’re not out of the woods yet, no pun intended. So, what do you do now, Leo, besides helping your dad?

That’s about it. Tell you the truth, I’ve made a bit of a mess out of my life. Well, no, that’s not true, I’ve done a lot of good things, had some great jobs, bounced around some. I’m just not the guy that sticks too well to anything. It was Vietnam, but it really isn’t Nam, now, wasn’t Nam, if you know what I mean.

Hmm. She breathed carefully, looking at him, his bloody white shirt, his blue jeans, and worn cowboy boots.

No, you don’t know what I mean. That’s okay. Listen, I appreciate what you did. You didn’t have to lie to that cop…

He’s not a cop, and I don’t lie. I just don’t like that particular nerd, and I have no idea why.

Because he’s young, arrogant, conceited, phony, and he has an eye for you.

Well, yeah, maybe. There is that, she laughed.

Can I buy you a coffee? I mean, later, after we get down off this mountain, after we get this Bronco out of here. I mean, it’s okay if you don’t want to, I just thought…

Why, Leo, how very nice of you. How old are you?

What?

You heard me.

I’m forty, well in a couple months, two months, I’ll be forty. Wait, no, forty-one. Is that right? he thought aloud, furrowing his brow. I gotta think, let’s see, I graduated high school in… Why? I mean, how old are you?

None of your business. Why are you trying to drive your father’s car up through these mountains?

Well, I’m a little shy around the police, and I was driving up the four-oh-five, and I got tangled up in this whole O.J. thing, and there were cops everywhere, and I just wanted to get home, and I get a little paranoid, especially since I just smoked a bone, and I know my old man’s probably waiting for me to get home and make him his tuna sandwich, and I’m not supposed to be driving on account of I lost my license, and I have some old charges pending that I really would rather…

Whoa, whoa, whoa, that’s okay, Leo. Beatrice looked up at Benny when she heard Whoa. Too much info, there, pal. So, are you a criminal, on the lam, escaped con? Am I in danger?

No, please, don’t think that. I’ve just made some mistakes. I’m getting everything right, now. I’m going to treatment, PTSD meetings and stuff. But I’m sure I don’t really need them. I’m harmless. I’m a good guy, really. Just did some stupid things…before, though, like a long time ago. I mean, who hasn’t, right? I’ve been trying to get clean and be a good person for a long time, well, a little while, I mean. It’s just been hard, but this whole thing with my dad has been good. Well, not the taking his car part, but, really, I’m not sure he even notices. Not his heart part, either, that’s not good. My father’s good though, a good man. He’s given us everything he could. I owe him, and I’m trying to make it up to him.

By stealing his car?

Hey, I didn’t steal it. I…I…uh. Okay, technically, I stole it, but ya know, that’s the kind of crap that always gets me in trouble. I mean, if you live life by the book, well then, I’m not so good a person, but if you just kind of understand a guy’s feelings…I think feelings have been a big part of my problem. Like, I don’t even understand all these crazy feelings. My motives are…

Leo, smoking dope and stealing people’s cars and running through barricades and trespassing on other people’s property and…

See, that’s what I mean. When you put it like that…

Benny looked away. Leo thought he had said something that had made her angry, or hurt, or offended her, and he studied her profile as they sat side by side high above the valley, the canyons, the woods, and the ocean.

He could tell that she was stifling a grin, and he could see that she was very pretty, probably at least ten years younger than him, maybe more. He stared at the soft, delicate