Weecho: First Shots

Chapter 7 - Jamaica Bayb

It is late night in the large storage space out in one of the boroughs. A wooden shipping crate sits in the middle of the deserted floor. Footsteps approach… then stop. A man’s shadow falls across the crate. In his hand is a crowbar that he jams under the crate’s lid, prying it open. There is just enough light to see that inside is a nightmarish tangle of writhing, hissing snakes. 

A reptilian smile forms on the man’s lips – Emer Soul Patch Lynch. 

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Weecho jolted awake. Realized it was morning and that he was alone on the mattress. He pushed up on one elbow, heard a clink and looked over at the loft’s galley kitchen. 

Juna was putting food in Wanda’s bowl. “I found the coffee,” she said. “Water’s boiling. I can heat up some macaroni.” 

“Coffee’s fine,” Weecho said. “There’s granola if you want, in the cupboard there.” He’d gotten it for another guest a few weeks back. 

He could still hear rain, thought about staying right in the pouch. But he had a website project to finish and the grunge band shoot to organize. And of course there was the stuff with Juna they’d talked about and had to deal with. He flipped back the comforter and swung his legs out. 

Juna found the granola. “You want some?” 

“Later. Help yourself.” 

Juna filled two bowls and poured milk into one (they’d picked up a half-gallon last night on the way from the creek, mostly for Wanda). Juna had slept pretty well, all things considered. The wall clock over by the freight elevator said 7:15. “I’ll clear out after I’ve eaten. We can talk later.” 

“Relax.” Weecho glanced at the rain splatting against the windows, bridge towers barely visible out there. “Stay as long as you like.” He pushed himself up off the mattress, went over to the workbench and booted up the computer. “Wanna check your emails?” 

“Nothing to check,” she said. 

Hard to imagine someone who doesn’t get emails, but in her circumstances, she was probably right. 

The kettle started to whistle. Juna picked it off the little stove, poured steaming water into a cup she’d heaped instant coffee into. “Milk? Sugar?” 

“Black is fine.” 

She brought the coffee over, sat down at the workbench, ate her cereal while Weecho sipped and checked his business emails. Wanda had gone off to wherever she went. 

“Anything good?” Juna said. 

“Guy in Miami saw some work I did, wants to talk about a shoot.” 

“Go for it.” 

Weecho opened his personal account, scrolled and clicked, peered closer at the screen. “Look at this.”

Juna looked up from her cereal. “What?” 

“It’s from my mother.” 

Juna put her spoon down and squinted at where he was pointing on the screen: 

Have you found homes for Wanda’s kittens yet? There’s a place somebody said might be worth checking out. If you want, I’ll try to get the name. 

 Juna frowned. “When did Wanda have kittens?” 

“She didn’t.” 

He explained about his mother and prison and the gossip grapevine, and how it was going to be tricky. Emails in and out of there were screened super close. If his mother had given an actual name of a place, it would have raised a flag. And you never knew who was going to see what. 

Weecho sent a reply that she shouldn’t go to too much trouble, but that he still had kittens unspoken for (if he’d said how many, made up a number, it would have looked like code). 

Hopefully his mother’s next email would have the link he needed. 

It came while he was heating pizza for their lunch: 

I meant to tell you your cousin Jamaica had a bayb. Send her a note if you get a chance. 

He first thought bayb was a typo. Then realized it was on purpose. 

“Cousin Jamaica?” Juna said. 

“No such lady.” 

Jamaica Bay was the message. 

“I like your mother already.” 

“You’re two of a kind.” 

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On the long elevated A train ride out to Jamaica Bay, after he postponed the grunge band shoot again, the two of them looked over information they’d Googled about places in that area that could have a connection to kittens or cats. There weren’t a lot, which was good. Some map work and a few phone calls had zeroed them in on a pet importing and supply company called Petoria that specialized in “exotic species.” Looked like it was on a side road on an island out in the bay. 

After forty minutes or so, the train crossed over the Belt Parkway, traffic thick even now at mid-day, and Juna got her first look at Jamaica Bay. She liked the marshy islands going by down there, this section part of a wildlife area, ducks and seagulls flying back and forth in the cattails, things she’d left in another place. Weecho had a camera in his backpack, thought if there was time he’d try and get some pictures along the water there, have on hand for whatever. Running in the same direction as the train was a causeway they could see cars and trucks on, the raised road connecting the islands and the Rockaway beaches with the rest of New York. 

 The train slowed down and they got themselves ready to get off at Broad Channel, a village on one of the islands where this pet place Petoria was. 

Or was near. On the station platform, they checked their Google map, could see from up here that Petoria, if their bearings were right, was in a direction off by itself. 

When they turned around toward the platform stairs, they could see jetliners coming in off the ocean, heading into JFK Airport. The rain had stopped but still there were gray clouds the planes were flying in and out of. 

They decided to try and look like sightseers, Weecho with his backpack, Juna with the map still in her hand, taking their time along a sandy road through the outskirts of Broad Channel, past a bar and a church to where the pet place came into view, a long low building that backed onto a canal. As they got closer they could see it had a small retail shop in front, lettering on the window that said Petoria.   

“I don’t see any lines waiting to get in,” Weecho said. 

“Who buys pet stuff way out here?” 

“Maybe that’s the point.” 

Juna shrugged. “Let’s find out.” 

No flies on Juna.  

Weecho had his shades and a headband on, Juna was in her hoodie, two kids horsing around on their way to check out this oddball pet operation. Keeping casual while they looked over the premises. A chain link fence ringed a loading area, a pair of vans parked in there, along with a pickup truck. On past the vehicles they could see a Donzi fastboat tied up in the canal out back. 

They were almost to the Petoria door when Weecho heard a car coming down the road behind them. Turned and looked over his shoulder. Nearly froze.  

The blue Nissan SUV.