The Son of Every Man

Chapter 7.5

Four more days passed, half of which Gabe spent alone at his childhood home. He was growing impatient for it to sell. His real estate agent had warned him that without renovation, it might sit longer on the market. But the truth was that it hadn't been very long...it only felt that way.

His room remained mostly assembled, as it could be emptied at a day's notice. Overstuffed bookshelves occupied an entire wall and half of another. All news of the outside world funneled through the eleven-inch screen of a Sony color TV: Fred Trump was dead at 93; US Marines held hands with the children of Kosovo. Gabe's world felt small, especially back in this room. A place of consistency and refuge his entire life, somehow he was neither sentimental nor anxious about dismantling it.

Miguel made a suggestion one night after the birth of the plan. He wanted to be somewhere out of town when they first tried it. Gabe had countered that it would be safer to be somewhere more familiar, perhaps at his place or Miguel's, but Miguel doubled down. The experience would be, in his words, "purest among nature."

Gabe had laughed at the phrase before reluctantly agreeing, on the condition that Miguel come up with a location where their solitude would be assured, since he doubted his wits could bear an encounter with a stranger. Miguel had instructed him to perish the thought.

As Friday night rolled around again, Miguel unfolded a map of Southern California like a blanket over the warm hood of the car. "Here," he said, finger accusing a spot deep in the forest green of a mountain range to the north. "It's private land. I got permission."

"Whose permission?"

"Alice's. She inherited it—long story—and she took me there once. I'm telling you, we didn't see a soul—not one person, the entire time. Trust me, it's perfect."

;-;

Saturday, July 31st, 1999

Gabe left his home the next morning at eleven, on schedule to pick up Miguel at noon outside his building. He took the elevator down to the parking garage, slumped into the driver's seat of the aging Accord, threw an overnight bag into the back seat, pawed the shifter into neutral, started the car. He opened the sunroof to clear out the stale air before driving off.

During his slow, lurching trek down miles of congested surface streets, he thought again about Miguel's words. Purest among nature. They reminded Gabe of some bad copy he had read recently on a piece of junk mail (ironically a brochure for a drug rehabilitation center), but as silly as they seemed, he had since come to agree with Miguel's point, at least in general. Abandoning both desert and city meant leaving behind the only familiar surroundings he had ever known—including all the sinister things that resided there. Miguel was right. There was purity in that. In fact, he thought, as he swiftly changed lanes around someone turning left, thank God Miguel had suggested it. Thank God Gabe hadn't put up more of a fight.

Two minutes past noon, after placing his camping gear in the trunk, Miguel climbed into the passenger seat. His hair was still wet and sweet-smelling from a shower. "Goddamn, for a minute there, I thought Eddie was going to have me meet with a dealer. But we're good. He's coming in Monday instead."

"How often does that happen?"

"Saturday meetings? Pretty often. But I didn't have any lined up this weekend. That's why this worked out so well."

The windows were shut tight, air conditioning set to max. Gabe was eager to find an onramp for the freeway leading northeast, and Miguel, tracing his index finger along the crinkled pages of a city map, navigated them to the nearest one.

After merging, Gabe selected the innermost of four lanes. He sunk his foot into the accelerator. The car crept up past eighty, then eighty-five.

"You want to get us pulled over?" Miguel tapped his right pinky and thumb alternately against the small front pocket of his backpack, snug in his lap. "Don't forget."