Later that night Ruben and Dopey parked Ruben’s car at Manny’s El Loco, and while Ruben stood in line to get tacos, Dopey slunk off to the park across the street. Dressed all in black, he quickly blended in with the darkness that was alleviated only by streetlights. He considered scaling the wall to the Plaza but figured they had security cams and wondered how he’d get to the boathouse without crossing the filthy lake in the darkness. Some of the homies were standing around drinking some beers and he walked over to them to see if there was anyone he could trust. He saw the two Jokers, two Salvadorean brothers he knew were solid and beckoned to them from behind a tree. It took them a few minutes to break away from the group but they came silently and whispered together, “what’s up, Dopes?”
“I gotta get to the boathouse and pull out a brick or two.”
Little Joker grinned and Big Joker nodded.
“We gotta little boat stashed in the pile of junk by the new gym they are making,” Big Joker whispered.
Little Joker nodded.
“If we’re quiet, we can row you to the outside ramp and you can get in that way” he said.
“Firme,” said Dopey.
They waited till the homies left. Dopey texted Ruben and told him to hang tight. The Jokers disappeared into the night, returning in ten minutes carrying a small canoe.
“Where the fuck did you get that?” Dopey asked.
They laughed.
“Made it in art class at the Plaza,” they said in unison. “We stashed it and use it to fish the lake at night when no one is around, ese.”
They walked to the edge of lake, the canoe balanced on the Jokers’ heads and Dopey bringing up the rear. At the lake’s edge, the brothers flipped it, slid it carefully into the water, and told Dopey to get in. They rowed silently across the lake, the only noises were frogs singing and the soft sound of the water as the oars did their work. They pulled up to the old boat ramps, Big Joker tied the canoe to the handrail and they stepped onto the ramp, sneaking silently to the corner of the boathouse where they had found the hole. Pulling out a chisel from his pocket, dopey swiftly dug out the brick with the hole in it, not bothering to attempt to pull out what was in it. The Jokers stood guard as Dopey wrapped the brick in his bandana, filled the empty space with dirt and rock from the tree nearby, then they quickly made their way back to the canoe and were across the lake in minutes.
“Meet us at Manny’s,” Dopey said as the Jokers put the canoe over their heads. They nodded and were gone.
Dopey walked nonchalantly through the park and crossed the street to the taco stand where Ruben was waiting.
The Jokers reached into the pockets of their baggy jeans, but Dopey stopped them.
“Nah, homies. Chale. I’m paying.”
The two brothers shrugged and kept silent as Dopey ordered four chile relleno burritos with extra jalapenos and two for himself and Ruben, along with agua de jamaica. They then sat at an old, graffiti scratched orange table and bench to wait for their order. It was late and Manny’s had a couple of customers, but were already winding down and cleaning the kitchen. Their order was called and Dopey took the small numbered ticket up to the window, got the red plastic tray with their burritos and drinks, and came back to the table.
“Provecho,” he said.
As they ate, Ruben explained to the Jokers about the quest for the grail, his relative, and why he believed the brick they’d stolen from the old boat house was a clue.
“So like King Arthur shit, homie?” Little Joker asked.
“Eso.”
Big Joker looked thoughtful.
“So like in the stories about the Grail, ese, there were twelve knights, no?” he asked after a few minutes.
“Well, there were twelve knights of the round table, but different ones went on quests for it,” Ruben answered.
Big Joker nodded.
“Then we need twelve homies we can trust and we can all help look for it,” he said. “If you can’t trust the homies, then…” he shrugged.
Dopey nodded. “Okay then, let’s head back to Ruben’s and we’ll check out the brick and figure it out. You vatos good to go?”
“Simon, vamos a la canton.”
As they got up and started to return the trays, Little Joker whistled and whispered, “trucha eses, la placa.”
Ruben quickly stuffed the brick under the table, then picked up his burrito wrappings and styrofoam cup and nonchalantly loped over to the garbage can. The others followed suit. Two officers in the parking lot got out of their police car and walked over to Ruben.
“Hey, ese,” one said. He was tall and looked like he ate steroids and Chicanos for breakfast with squinty blue eyes and a crew cut. His partner was slim and tall, dark-haired and looked Chicano.
Ruben nodded, and said, “Howdy officers.”
“Don’t get smart with me,” said the steroid cop.
“I was just saying hello. Do you mind if I throw my garbage? The wife is waiting at home.”
“What are you eses doing out so late?” Steroid asked.
“Just eating a burrito and shooting the shit,” said Ruben. “We were just headed home.”
“You wouldn’t happen to know anything about a robbery on Daly, would you?” Steroid was looming over Ruben, who kept calm while the others stood silently in the background.
“No, sir, I wouldn’t. We finished up work, came here to eat something, and are headed home. My friend Carlos over there gives us a ride home.”
“Well, some eses matching your description robbed a jewelry store on Daly about 20 minutes ago,” Steroid said.
“Couldn’t have been us, officer. Twenty minutes ago we were here. Ask ‘em.”
“I’m going to need to frisk you.”
Ruben sighed, raised his hands still with the tray in them. “Go ahead.”
The others raised their hands too.
Steroid shoved Ruben against the wall and the tray fell.
The Chicano cop said, “Hey Mike, he’s cooperating. Don’t be so rough. I’ll ask the workers inside.”
Mike ignored him and shoved Ruben’s face farther into the wall. Ruben could feel the cold concrete against his nose and knew he was bleeding. He felt the steroid cops oniony breath against his neck, and the gun pressed against his hip. For a moment, he contemplated taking it and shooting the prick, but nah, Smiley and the little guy were home waiting. Not worth it. He suffered the frisk and another shove and saw, from the corner of his eye, the Chicano cop frisking the others.
“They’re clean,” he said. “And they were here for about 45 minutes. These aren’t our guys.”
Steroid gave Ruben one last shove.
“I’ll be watching you, ese.”
Ruben didn’t say anything. He just dripped blood and didn’t bother to wipe it away as he stared at the cop until they got in their car and drove away.