The New Breakfast Club

Quique

Quique Morales ducked into the produce department’s backroom, on his break from bagging groceries at the El Monte Vons. Bins of broccoli, cabbage and cauliflower lined one wall. The sweet scent of melons, mangos and papayas just in from South America and Mexico mixed with the odor from the cole crops to create a distinctive stench.

Quique quickly retrieved the bag he’d tucked into his apron and grabbed fruits and vegetables, picking the finest examples from the bins. It only took a minute. Moving from the produce storage area into the other storage sections, he circled the rear of the old supermarket and arrived at the time-clock station, employee lockers and restrooms. He stuffed the bag into his locker and covered the contraband with his gym clothes from school.

When he returned to work, Alex, the head cashier asked, “Where’ve you been?”

“On break. Had to use the restroom.”

“You’ve got to watch your time. It gets busy right about now. Next time take your break earlier.”

“Okay. But some things you just can’t schedule or rush.” Quique grinned but Alex wasn’t having any of it.

In two hours he grabbed the bag from his locker and headed home. On his way out, Alex stopped him. “What’s in the bag, Quique?”

“My gym clothes, shoes and sweats.” He held up his jockstrap. “My mother insisted that I bring them home to get washed.”

Alex grinned. “Good for her. You working Saturday?”

“Yeah, three to closing.”

“Good. We got a sale going in the meat department and it could get crazy.”

“Crazy is good,” Quique said. “Makes the time pass.”

He turned and walked out of the store to his barely-running ’92 Dodge Shadow and stowed the bag in the trunk. He’d sell its contents, along with other stuff he’d ripped off, in the park. With luck, he’d make enough to pay for some gas with a little set aside for his mother. Her dates had become more infrequent, she blamed it on her age, and so every nickel he could make counted.

“You should sell for Ernesto,” his mom had told him when he was just starting high school. “Those punks make serious money.”

“Yeah, those vatos also end up dead or in prison.”

“Well you’d better figure it out. You’re too dumb for college and I don’t see you gettin’ any sports scholarships.”

He had smirked. “Thanks mom for your support.”

Quique had always known that his mother couldn’t help much. Her pimp had dumped her years before. She’d resorted to chatting up the curb crawlers and had turned the front rooms of their house into a bordello. He’d have to figure out what to do after leaving high school by himself – a suspicious looking mestizo who preferred being invisible. But he was smart and careful, thought things out before doing them, and tried not to be greedy. He did well in school but felt he probably wouldn’t finish his senior year.

When not working at the market or attending school, Quique spent his time in the public library. The librarian was one of his favorites. She let him hog their best computer and he devoured any information about electronics. During his junior year, he took night courses at the community college, studied electronic digital instruments and electronics technology. By his senior year he’d built his own radar detector (not that his clunker car needed one), altered a pre-paid cell phone to give him permanent free service, and created a device that could decode most home security systems.

Quique sold this last device for $500 to Eddie, a sketchy thick-looking thug he’d met at the Pool & Libations Tavern located in the shadows of Interstate 10’s flyover. But Eddie was no easy sell.

“So you made this thing yourself?” Eddie fingered the mechanism no larger than a TV remote.

“Yeah, it’s no big deal. It scans the system and captures the security code. Just enter the code and you’re in.”

“I don’t know. Five C-notes for this little box? How do I know it’ll work and you’re not ripping me off?”

“Tell you what, give me three hundred now and try it out tonight. If it works, pay me the rest tomorrow.”

Eddie laughed. “What if I just stiff you and keep it.”

“Well, the police will be the first to know who did the break-in.”

Eddie frowned. “All right, all right.” He removed his wallet and doled out a stack of Jacksons.

The transaction was Quique’s first big score. And the word got around to the local felons that he had talent that might be exploited. He made three other scanners with materials scrounged from Good Will’s computer shelves or purchased at electronic supply stores in LA. He never bought at the same place twice. After Unit #1’s success, he’d raised his price to $1,000 and sold them immediately.

Quique gave half the money to his mother and spent the rest on new clothes, nothing flashy, just quality stuff, and on a new sound system for his car. At school, none of his classmates seemed to notice, except for this one weird chick, Tallulah.

Tallulah

Just before he deserted them, Tallulah’s father had asked her, “You paint your lips black. Why the hell do you do that? It looks ugly as shit.”

Tallulah laughed. “I like the Goth and Emo look, okay.” She flashed her black-painted fingernails.

“You stupid slut. You think looking like that is gonna get you anywhere?”

“Hopefully somewhere beyond El Monte.”

She’d watched her father kick open the front screen door, climb into their Camry parked at the curb and drive away. That idiot can go screw himself. He’s got the style sense of a redneck from bum-fuck Arkansas. Besides… black fits my moods.

Tallulah had no clue about what she would do after high school. Her mother didn’t help, worked as a secretary in the Los Angeles County Planning Department and was often away at night, doing setups for public meetings. The counselors at school didn’t provide much help either. Like her father, they couldn’t get past commenting on her appearance and how it would need to change if she wanted to get anywhere. Not only the black makeup and dyed hair, but also the nose, ear, eyebrow and tongue rings had to go.

Tallulah had the palest of skin, so white that it looked powdered like the Japanese Geisha, so translucent that it barely hid the web of blue veins beneath. With her heavily-applied black makeup and revealing clothes, she looked like a walking yin-yang symbol, albeit a well-proportioned one.

One day at lunch in the cafeteria, Tallulah sat at a corner table by herself, immersed in reading The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath. Some punk named Quique sat down across from her. Tallulah had him in math class. The kid seemed smart enough but not exactly boyfriend material… not that she was looking. The two sat in silence until the buzzer ended the lunch break.

Geez, most dudes would have at least asked what I was reading or if it’s any good. This guy seemed to respect my space. She decided to take a second look. The next day the boy approached the table, gave her a weak smile, sat and ate his lunch, mostly unhealthy stuff pulled off of some supermarket’s shelves. He studied some weird text that contained strange diagrams.

Tallulah put her own book down and jiggled the table. “What is that stuff?” she asked and pointed to the pages.

“They’re circuit diagrams.”

She remembered his name from math class. “So, Quee-Quee, what are you wiring? Some kind of bomb to blow this dump up?”

He looked up and seemed annoyed, as she would have been. But his face softened. “First of all, my name is Quique, pronounced Kee-Kay. Not Queequeg. That guy was a harpooner in Melville’s novel, Moby-Dick.”

“Yeah, well my name’s Tallulah, but my friends call me Lulah. So what are you trying to harpoon with those diagrams?”

Quique grinned. “You don’t have any friends and I let others do the harpooning.”

“How do you know I don’t have friends?”

“You’re always sitting here alone.”

“Yeah, well so are you.”

“Touché. But not today.”

“Aren’t you gonna ask about my clothes?”

“Why would I? So you want to wear stuff that nobody likes anymore. You probably do it to keep these zombies away because it makes you look tough, even dangerous.” Quique motioned to the crowded room.

“Wow, that’s pretty deep. Are your parents shrinks or something?”

“My dad’s dead and my mom’s a whore.”

“Before he split, I think my pop felt I’d become one of those.”

“Nah, you’re too smart.”

“Yeah, well smart also keeps them away.”

The buzzer blasted, sounding the end of the lunch period. Teachers called out to the students to clean up their tables. Outside the cafeteria, locker doors banged in the hallways. By the time Tallulah and Quique left, the place looked deserted. They’d be late for class but she didn’t care.

She favored Quique with a fleeting smile. “I’ll be here tomorrow. I expect you to tell me what you want to build with those circuit diagrams.”

“Who said I wanted to build anything?”

“Remember, I’m smart.”

“See you tomorrow.”

Eddie

Eddie Marsongo slumped onto a barstool at the Pool & Libations Tavern and considered the previous night’s haul. All the loot from the Bel Air home could be fenced easily and some of the jewelry could bring big bucks, even after he paid off his two-man crew. He figured he could do a couple of jobs a month, spread them out, not hit one area too hard, and live well on the proceeds. His Italian ancestors would be proud. His aging parents? Not so much. But word of his success had gotten out – Eddie liked to blab when he got drunk – and some not-so-nice people took interest.

“Hey Eddie, got a minute.”

Eddie glanced sideways. He hadn’t noticed the graying burly man in a Brooks Brothers suit slide onto the barstool next to him.

“What do ya want, Ray. I’m square with you guys. Don’t owe you nothing.”

“We know that, Eddie, we know. But you have some information we want.”

“What kind of info?”

“We heard that you’ve got this gizmo that cracks the codes of home security systems?”

“Yeah, maybe I do, maybe I don’t. Why do you care? You don’t do that kinda shit.”

Ray sighed and laid a heavy hand on Eddie’s arm. “We want to know who built that gizmo. We know it’s not you because you’re dumb as a stump.”

“I’m not that dumb, Ray.”

Eddie reached forward and took a slow sip from his scotch rocks, buying himself a few seconds to think. From the corner of his eye, he saw two of Ray’s thugs leaning against a far wall, staring. For a quick moment he thought about his .38 Smith and Wesson in its shoulder holster but decided that this wasn’t his fight. That poor kid, Quique. But then maybe I can get something out of this? Maybe they can cut me in on the job. It’s gotta be big if Ray and his goons are sent to shake me down. Or maybe a finders’ fee for me delivering the kid. Yeah, that’s it. Quick and easy.

“Look, Ray. This dude lays low, flies under everybody’s radar. If the word gets out that you’re looking for him, he’ll spook and nobody will find him.”

“Yeah, but we’ve got ways of making guys cooperate.”

“You’ll have to find him first and he’ll rabbit on you, I’m sure.”

Ray sighed. “All right, Eddie. What’s your deal?”

“The dude trusts me. I’ve worked with him before. I can deliver him to you within a couple of days.”

Ray grinned. “Yeah, for how much?”

“Ten grand.”

“You’re fucking joking.”

“No man, go big or go home.”

“Well, I was thinking one.”

“How about we meet in the middle, five Gs? That’s my last and best offer.”

“Hey stupid, we’re not selling real estate here.”

“Five grand, Ray.”

“All right, all right, five Gs.”

“Meet me out front of the Public Library on Thursday night, a little before 8. Have the money in small bills, non-sequential serial numbers. Don’t worry, this is a good deal for you guys. This dude is a genius, a real MacGyver with electronics.”

Ray chuckled. “He can’t be that smart. He’s been dealing with you.”

Quique

For three weeks he met Tallulah in the cafeteria. They exchanged life histories, marveled at the similarities and at their commonly held disdain for the current high school culture.

“You know, I watched this old movie on Netflix last night,” Tallulah said. “It was called The Breakfast Club and starred that skinny red-haired chick.”

“Yeah, I know that film. It’s ancient, over forty years old.”

“I know. But the same shit happens in high school now as it did back then. We’re the outsiders, The New Breakfast Club.”

Quique shrugged. “Maybe. But in my neighborhood, those guys would be selling crack or meth and probably die with needles in their arms.”

“So what are you going to do?” Tallulah asked. “Join your local dropouts?”

He grinned. “I could ask you the same thing.”

“Yeah, I know. It bothers me sometimes. That and my mom, pushing me to go to college.”

“Fuck all of that,” Quique said and stood. “You wanna get outta here?”

“You mean ditch school? Hell yeah. But where should we go?”

“I know a place where we can hang. But we gotta be quiet.”

“Why the hell—”

“Hey, just trust me. The library’s a safe place. I usually go there after school and stay till it closes at eight.”

“My mom will worry. Maybe I’ll stay only a couple hours.”

“Text your mom. Tell her you’re studying with a friend and will be home by 8:30.”

“A friend, really? She’ll just grill me about my so-called friend when she gets home.”

“Well, make up something. Tell her you’re going to check out the college catalogs. That should make her happy.”

“I can do that online from home.”

“Yeah, but she’s probably old school and won’t be suspicious.” He could tell that Tallulah was getting excited about spending an illicit afternoon and evening with him. “And maybe we could, you know, get to know each other better, physically.”

Her face colored and her smile grew broader. “Really? You don’t mind this?” She motioned to her body.

“Well, I’ve never kissed a girl with a tongue piercing. But you look… look beautiful.”

“We better get out of here now,” she said and grabbed his hand and led him out the door.

He was sure that the it girls in the crowd had noticed them and that their tongues were already wagging.

Ray

Why am I the one that has to deal with morons and punks? Ray sat in the front seat of his silver Mercedes SUV outside the public library. Beside him, Eddie picked his nose and stabbed at his cell phone, trying to access his favorite porn site. Ray wondered why some criminal genius with electronics would be hanging out at the library. He turned off the radio that broadcasted a late-season Dodgers game (they were losing) and reclined in his seat.

“There he is,” Eddie exclaimed, “walking with some Goth chick.”

Ray groaned, sat up and stared. “That’s your genius? He’s nothing but a fucking kid and you said nothing about a chick.”

“I don’t know who she is.”

“Screw it, we’ll take them both. Come on.”

The two hulking dudes struggled out of their seats and approached the couple that was holding hands. The boy didn’t look pleased to see him or Eddie and the Goth girl looked both frightening and frightened.

“Hey Quique, my man, we need to talk,” Eddie began.

“Ah, sorry Eddie but I gotta get my… my girlfriend home.”

“Oh, we won’t take long. My associate here, Ray, has a job for you that I don’t think you’ll wanna pass up.”

Quique took a step backward. “Okay, sure we can talk. But can we leave her out of it?”

The Goth girl dropped Quique’s hand. “Hey, you’re not gonna ditch me, dude. I can handle whatever these clowns have to say.”

Quique grinned. “Yeah, sorry, I’m definitely not ditching you.”

“Ah, ain’t that sweet,” Eddie said and leered at Goth girl. “What’s your name darlin’?”

She glowered at him. “Tallulah.”

“Enough chitchat,” Ray said. “Get in my car and I’ll spell it out for you.”

Quique looked like he was going to run for it. But the girl slid her arm around his waist and it seemed to calm him. “Okay, but we can’t talk long.”

The foursome climbed into the SUV with Eddie sitting in the back with Tallulah and Ray and Quique up front.

“Okay, here’s the deal kid. I heard that you made a device that defeats home security systems. Is that right?”

“Are you a cop?” Quique asked.

“Do I look like a fucking pig?”

“No comment,” Tallulah said from the back seat and Eddie choked back a laugh.

“Yes, I designed something that Eddie’s been using.”

“Well, my… my organization wants to hire you for a job.”

“What’s the job?”

“To design a device that will defeat car security systems.”

Quique laughed. “Jeez, you can almost buy one of those from Jameco.”

“I don’t think so, kid. We’re not talking about Detroit iron. We’re talking top end exotics, the kind that sell for high six figures and up.”

“Those systems can get complicated,” Quique said, “and there’s not a lot of detailed info out there.”

“Yeah, we know that. So are you interested?”

“For fifty grand I can become interested. Money up front.”

“No dice. I’ll give you ten up front and the rest when you deliver.”

“Make it twenty up front.”

“Fuck you, kid. Fifteen and that’s it.”

“All right. But I’m going to need some extra cash for supplies, a grand should do it.”

Ray sighed and nodded.

“And you’re gonna have to find a test vehicle for me to try out my creation on. It’s going to take some trial and error work.”

“Enough already, kid.”

“I’m here at the library most nights. Bring the money and I’ll start. I need to dig into this first.”

Ray nodded. “We’ll be in touch.”

Quique

Quique and Tallulah climbed out of the SUV and watched it drive away. He shuddered and tightened his grip on Tallulah’s hand, so tight that she complained.

“So that’s your deal?” she asked.

“Yeah. You still want to be…”

She grinned and kissed him on the mouth. “Hey, I’m your girlfriend, remember. That’s what you said. And this job could be our ticket out of El Monte.”

“Our ticket?” Quique said and kissed her back.

“Yeah, and I’ve got some ideas on how we might do it.”

“Well I have a shit load of research to do. Those exotic cars they’re talking about have pretty sophisticated security. And there are a bunch of things owners can add onto the factory systems that make it even more difficult.”

“Enough about the job and those idiots. I need a ride home and… and kiss me again. And this time, don’t rush it.”

It took Quique two weeks of research and assembling materials. His first edition prototype was held together with black electrical tape. After checking for surveillance cameras, he tried it out on an almost new Porsche parked in a lot next to an office building in a neighboring city. The Porsche’s lights started flashing and its horn blared. Quique took off running and made a clean get-away, he hoped. After more tinkering with the device, he tried it again on a brand new Corvette ZR1X with similar results. Ray would meet him and Tallulah once a week, a different location each time, for a progress report.

“Kid, you sure you can do this? My bosses are starting to get antsy. You keep nickel and diming us with your material costs and we’ve seen nothing.”

“Hey, you want something that works so that nobody gets caught, right?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Well that’ll take time and maybe some extra coin.”

“Just keep at it, kid. This had better turn out good.”

“Don’t worry. I’m working on a Gen 4 prototype. By next week I’ll be asking you to find an exotic that I can use as a test. Something from Italy or a very high-end German machine.”

Ray sighed. “Got it. We’ve already got an order from a Middle Eastern client and have staked out the car. Your gizmo had better work.”

“I’ll call you when I’m ready. But the device only gets us inside the vehicle, turns off the alarms, and overrides any ignition system security. There is other stuff, including things that owners often add on to the factory-installed systems.”

Ray groaned. “Like what?”

“Well first, the thief will want to turn off the telematics and GPS systems so that the car can’t be tracked. Then they need to check for redundant tracking systems insurance companies often insist be installed. You can go online to find out what the factory has installed, but not the after-market stuff.”

Ray sighed. “Anything else?”

“If what you’re stealing is truly exotic, forget about parting out the cars. No chop shop-work unless you want to get caught.”

“Why the hell not? An engine from a Ferrari can bring big bucks. And often the parts are worth more than the assembled car.”

“Because the companies have serialized each and every part which makes anonymous sales just about impossible.”

“I don’t get it.”

“I’m not sure either.”

Ray leaned back in his driver’s seat. “It sounds like you’re gonna have to train our crew on how to pull off these heists.”

“Hey, my job was to deliver the device and not set up a thief training program.”

“Yeah, yeah. How much?”

Quique grinned. “Tell you what, after I deliver the device and you pay me what’s owed, I’ll hold a training session and go over the particulars. But it’ll take some smart people to cover all the bases.”

“Yeah, yeah. So how much?”

“Ten grand and I’ll even throw in a training manual and checklist.”

“Not bad for a high school punk,” Ray said.

The night of the big test arrived. Tallulah wanted to come with Quique but he refused. “If I’m not in school tomorrow you’ll know something happened. I might be asking you to bail me outta jail.”

“Don’t talk like that. I kinda like having you around.”

“Yeah, I feel the same,” Quique said. “Maybe you could give me a big send off.”

“Oh hell no. I gotta give you a good reason to come back to me.”

“There are plenty of reasons,” he said and they kissed.

Quique drove his clunker Dodge to a parking lot where Ray picked him up in some non-descript car that he’d just boosted off the street. They drove about a dozen miles to Pasadena, wound their way through a posh neighborhood, and pulled to the curb near a two-story mansion with a steeply slanted roof.

“How do we know if anybody’s home?” Quique asked.

“These folks are on vacation in Europe, they showed up on Facebook, celebrating their fiftieth anniversary in Paris. The idiots gave all sorts of travel details.”

Ray drove up the crescent-shaped driveway then circled the rear of the dark building and pulled up outside a huge garage door. “Time for masks and gloves. There are probably cameras everywhere.”

Quique had brought his home security decoder along with the new device for breaking into vehicles. It made quick work of the garage door’s system. Inside the cavernous room, their flashlight beams scanned the most beautiful Lamborghini Quique had ever seen, a rare Sián model. He’d only seen photos of the Lambo and was thrilled by its sleek design. It looked fast just resting there.

“Okay, kid, do your thing, and quickly.”

Quique removed his decoder from the case Tallulah made and pressed certain buttons in a particular order. The car’s parking lights flashed and there was a click. “We’re in.”

Once inside, Quique worked his device to activate the car’s ignition system. He disabled its factory-installed telematics and GPS, then exited the car and inspected the engine compartment and all other areas for after-market devices, finding two tucked inside the front air dam.

“I think that should do it.”

Ray climbed into the driver’s seat. “All right, follow me to the Port. We’ve got a guy at the terminal that’s waiting for us. Stay within sight but not too close. And for God’s sake don’t speed. This time a night it should be smooth sailing.”

Ray slowly drove the Lambo to the street while Quique followed in the stolen car. They motored sedately through the dark quiet neighborhood then headed south toward the Port of Los Angeles. The whole operation inside the garage took less than two minutes. With practice, an experienced crew might do it in a minute, maybe less.

At the Port’s entrance they met a guy in uniform who climbed into the Lambo. He guided them to an area where shipping containers were ready to be lifted by cranes onto the decks of monstrous cargo vessels. One container had its door partly open. The port guy and Ray climbed out and opened the door fully. Skinny Quique drove the Lambo into the container, a really tight fit but doable. When he struggled out, the port guy buttoned up the heavy metal door and secured it with a padlock. Ray and Quique climbed into their stolen car and took off at a sedate pace for El Monte.

“Just like that,” Ray said. “Such a sweet machine; she can go over 200 without breaking a sweat.”

“Where does it go from here?” Quique asked.

“It’ll be secured and loaded tomorrow and by the end of the week be on its way to Saudi Arabia.”

“Cool.”

“Yeah, your device worked perfectly. Here’s your money.” Ray handed over a knapsack stuffed with bundles of greenbacks.”

“When do you want me to do the training?”

“I’ll have the crew assemble this Saturday and pick you up at the library.”

“Okay, and don’t forget the cash.”

Ray frowned and nodded. They drove without talking, arrived at the parking lot and Quique’s car. He let himself out and drove home. As he approached his front door a dark hooded figure slipped from the side-yard shadows and strode toward him. What? I’m gonna get mugged just after I get the rest of the money? The figure was almost on him when it pulled the hood back to expose a grinning Tallulah. She threw her arms around him and kissed him hard.

“I… I was worried. It’s after midnight and I was sitting at home by myself… just couldn’t stand it.”

“It went perfectly, no problems.”

“That’s great. And no sign of the cops?”

“They must have all been sucking up coffee at Dunkin’ Donuts because we didn’t see a one. But that was the riskiest part of the job, driving such a flashy car in the middle of the night. They’ll need to figure out a better way of moving the merchandise. Maybe buy a box truck and stow the car inside. But that’s their problem, not mine.”

“It’s freezing out here. Can I come inside for a while?”

“I think my mom has a client so it’s probably not a good idea. But I’ve fixed the heater in my car and we can…”

Tallulah and Quique

Most of the cool girls in our class have had boyfriends since middle school. I wasn’t sure I wanted one or even liked men. But now, being with Quique, it’s become clearer. I get horny just thinking about him. Thank God we’re both 18.

After the job, the couple spent the rest of the dark hours making out and talking about the future. Quique wanted to give some of the money to his mom so that maybe she could get clean and quit sex work.

“One thing is clear to me,” Quique said, “I’m not gonna keep doing this illegal shit. The word will get out and pretty soon I’ll be deep into it and end up in state prison being some con’s pretty boy.”

Tallulah laughed. “So what do you want to do?”

“Beats the hell out of me. But I want to take my time finding out. And the money will let us do that.”

“You said us.”

Quique grinned. “Yeah, you want to, ya know, be with me ’cause I want to be with you.”

“Ah, you’re such a sweet talker.”

Quique had been wrong. They both made it through their senior year and graduated. On the third week of summer, he pulled up in front of Tallulah’s house in a reconditioned Honda Odyssey. He had spent most of the morning packing just the right clothes, his guitar, some camping gear, and struggling to wedge a mattress into the van’s rear compartment.

He tapped the horn and a red-haired woman appeared on the porch toting a backpack and a huge suitcase. She had pale white skin, so translucent you could almost see the web of veins beneath. No rings anywhere, no black lipstick, the jeans blue and new. Quique grinned and got out of the van. The first meeting of The New Breakfast Club was about to begin.