Lucky Clover Leaf
by Shauna Checkley
Standing out front of the main entrance of Clover Leaf Mall, Jemma and Paisley stared deep into the throng both entering and exiting the shopping centre. It was a warm, clear summer night with hardly a breath of wind. They shared a cigarette, passing it back and forth like the joint they had shared earlier.
Jemma dropped the cigarette and scrambled to pick it up. A heavy-set, elderly woman stepped on it unknowingly and rendered it to brown mulch.
“Way to go, stupid,” Paisley said, flatly.
Jemma frowned.
They looked at each other forlornly.
Then they watched as a long procession of family groupings passed by them. Mothers pushing strollers. Grandma nights out with young, shining grandchildren in tow. Families converging on the Mall to dine, shop, with fathers generally bringing up the rear.
As the pair saw a lone male approaching the Mall, Paisley brightened. “Excuse me, would you happen to have a smoke?“ she asked him.
He obliged. Pulling a pack out of his shorts, he opened it and offered it to each girl in turn. The girls each happily plucked one from the pack.
“Thanks,” the two said in near unison.
“No worries. Hey, mind if I have one with you?” the man asked.
Paisley nodded.
Lighting a cigarette and taking a long, leisurely drag from it, he remarked, “Boy it’s a beautiful night out.”
Jemma smiled, nodded.
Then he said, “Oh, hey, Vern is my name.”
“I’m Paisley and she is Jemma,” Paisley replied.
“Paisley... Jemma,” he repeated back to them, smiling all the time.
Ignoring occasional frowns from passersby, the girls smoked and chatted with the man. Paisley and Jemma were clad in near identical outfits like some sort of teen uniform, jean shorts and light summer hoodies, rolled up at the sleeves. Yet it was there that the resemblance ended; Paisley was a striking brunette with large, green eyes, while Jemma was a frail, pale redhead with a pronounced overbite.
“What brings you girls out tonight?” Vern asked.
“Dunno,” Paisley shrugged.
Earlier, they had been at Charming Park, their other major nearby haunt. But when the police swept it, the summer bicycle squad out in full force, weaving along sidewalk paths, they drove all undesirables out: park kids, skate punks, winos and stoners, the homeless, all fleeing the impromptu blitz, Jemma and Paisley, too.
“Too nice to be inside, that’s all I know,” Vern said.
Vern was plain-looking but with ruddy cheeks and a broad smile that made him seem pleasantly familiar, just like any other city dweller out and about on a hot summer night. He was short with a rather roundish build and wore a baseball cap and t-shirt. It gave him an everyman appearance that made him first blend then seemingly disappear into the crowd moving in and out of the Mall.
Looking about him, Vern observed, “Real busy tonight... So why aren’t you girls in there shopping till you drop?”
“No money,” Paisley said.
Vern frowned. “That sucks.”
Jemma nodded in agreement.
When he had finished his cigarette, he dropped the butt and ground it under his sandaled foot. The nail on his big toe was large and black, hoof-like. “Say, if you want... I have some refreshments in my car,” Vern said, rolling his eyes comically as he spoke.
They laughed and followed him to the parking lot. He led them to a black, sporty car that he had parked in the shade. It had tinted windows.
“Sweet ride,” Paisley said, approvingly.
“Thanks,” Vern said.
Vern got in the driver’s seat while the two girls climbed into the back seat.
Producing a six pack of cold, canned beer, Vern grinned and said, “Want a coolie?”
“Sure, I’m dying of thirst!” Paisley exclaimed.
“Me too,” Jemma said.
Soon they were sipping beer and chatting. Paisley smelled a mixture of new-car smell and a pine air freshener shaped like a Christmas tree that hung from the rear view mirror. The vehicle was impeccably clean and neat.
“So, do you guys live around here?” Vern asked.
Paisley nudged Jemma with her elbow. They exchanged furtive glances.
“Nah, we’re homeless,” Paisley began. “We usually just stay in the park or wherever.”
Vern scoffed. “C’mon, you look a little young to be homeless.”
“We’re fifteen,” Paisley said. She lightly tapped Jemma’s hand.
“Yeah,” Jemma agreed.
Taking a sip of her Corona, Paisley added, “Our moms kicked us out. So here we be.”
Shaking his head, Vern said, “Well, at least it’s not winter.”
Leaning forward, Paisley said, “Sucks, though, cause we have no money or smokes or anything.”
Vern frowned. He paused. Then he cheerfully added, “You can’t beat a cold beer on a hot night.” He had turned sideways in the driver’s seat to face the girls while he spoke. He was middle-aged, though of what exact age the girls weren’t certain. Rather, he existed in a demographic that they knew was far beyond them and their peers, in the realm of what is commonly considered old, the status of parents, teachers, and adults in general. Still, he was gap-toothed and good-natured, more affable than most elders they knew.
Both girls were raised by single mothers. Paisley’s mother generally drank herself into a stupor when she got home from work each night, much to the embarrassment of her daughter, who even once found her with her pants peed and passed out on the couch.
The pair usually spent most of their time at Jemma’s place, two doors down in the low-income housing complex in which they lived. Jemma’s mother worked two jobs and was usually gone, giving the girls free reign of the apartment. Paisley was thirteen and Jemma was eleven.
It was a long summer for the girls. They grew restless at home on their phones. Uploading. Downloading. They sensed there lay a real world beyond the virtual one that they were immersed in. So they escaped to the park, the Mall, the swimming pool on extra hot days when they couldn’t figure out what else to do. Tonight, of course, was no exception to a sultry restlessness that seemed to hold them hostage.
Lighting a cigarette, Vern took a long, thoughtful drag and said, “Listen, if you’re outta smokes, you can have the rest of this pack. I always keep an extra one in the glove compartment.”
He tossed the pack to Paisley who caught it with one hand. “Thanks, Vern,” she said.
The girls exchanged sideways glances. Paisley quickly stashed the pack into her hoodie pocket. Jemma tapped her friend’s hand again.
“Cheers,” Vern said, raising the beer can in mock salute.
The girls followed suit.
They all laughed.
Vern cradled a beer and cigarette in one hand and his phone in the other. Yet in the cramped confines of the car, he didn’t appear busy but rather coolly relaxed. Pausing to check his phone, he looked down at it briefly then he returned Paisley’s gaze.
Paisley smiled shyly.
His lips rose upward slightly like he was unsure of whether to smile or speak. But then he took a swig of beer instead.
Giving Jemma a sly, sideways smile, Paisley casually said, “Thanks again, this is really hitting the spot. I was dying of thirst before.”
“Me too,” Jemma agreed.
Then Paisley said, “Could I ask a favour? Being homeless and all, it’s really hard being without food or money. Uhh... would you be able to spot us some cash?”
Lightly nudging Jemma with her elbow, Paisley saw her friend give her a knowing look.
Vern paused. He exhaled hard. “I’ll think about it,” he said.
Throwing them each a searching glance, his countenance changed from relaxed goodwill to calculated depth. His jaw became firm and powerful. It reminded Paisley of a steel trap that had been set.
They all fell silent.
Glancing out the car window, Jemma watched as vehicles pulled in and out of the parking lot. It was the usual stream of shoppers and mall crawlers, the after-hours crowd that exchanged work cubicles and cramped apartments for the gala spaciousness of Clover Leaf Mall, the commercial centerpiece of the city and the Mecca for all those living close by.
Jemma felt a slight pang as she knew that her mom had rushed from her day job on the first floor to her evening shift on the third floor. She missed her mom. Jemma even thought about going into the Mall and stealing a glance at her mom, a sales clerk in a shoe store at night. During the day she sold fudge from a tiny kiosk.
Jemma knew she could not take such a risk, though. She could not get caught skulking about. She had been given strict orders to stay put at home and do some of the summer reading that her teacher had assigned. Books her mother had stacked in a neat pile beside her bed as a visual reminder if nothing else. All the horror titles, the Goosebumps series, with its grotesquely campy covers, her school had encouraged their pupils to peruse them over the summer break.
So she just took solace in friends like Paisley. That and the platter of bologna and mustard sandwiches her mother left wrapped and ready for her in the fridge at home.
“Why so quiet, kiddo?” Vern asked Jemma, directing his attentions to her for the first time since they had all settled into the vehicle.
Jemma shrugged. She noticed that his easygoing mien seemed to have returned.
Tucking a long strand of hair behind her hair, Paisley said, “She’s shy. That’s all.”
“Oh,” Vern said. He blew a smoke ring that floated to the window then burst as it touched the glass.
Lately, the girls had taken to telling people outrageous tales of need and abuse and ill luck and timing to passing strangers, to passengers waiting at bus stops, even to old ladies out tending to their flower beds. It was a new game, a diversion and distraction to while away long summer days. It was not without rewards, with occasional handfuls of coins, even ice cream cones bought once in an act of impulsive mercy. But their ruse was primarily done for shock effect, for the fun of seeing arched eyebrows, fallen faces, disbelieving looks. It was great fun, despite all parental admonitions never to cry wolf. Paisley had devised the game, though the younger followed along like some blind devotee.
They didn’t try it on their park crowd, however. The kids they shared smokes and tokes and jokes with. We’ll get beat down if we do, Paisley had warned Jemma, who heeded her older friend’s admonitions without question.
Paisley sipped her beer and was elated at having secured a nearly full package of cigarettes. What’s next? she wondered, for her spirit of adventure continued on the same as ever.
Finally, Paisley spoke: “We’re from Winnipeg but just need a bit of help is all. Y’know money and food and stuff, just to get started.”
Vern’s hazel eyes narrowed in response. He remained silent.
The girls watched him coolly smoke his cigarette, nursing it as carefully as an emerging thought. Paisley thought she could almost hear him thinking aloud.
His face had tightened, his eye sockets had hollowed and darkened like an inner shadow had emerged and passed over him. They watched him grind his cigarette out in the ashtray. Then he drained his beer in one decisive gulp.
“Drink up,” he finally said. “Hurry up!” He spoke with an edge rising in his voice. He was adamant. He looked at them stonily. The geniality had left the pleasant, plain face, the sociable tone could no longer be heard as he spoke; rather, a dark expression was emerging as if a solemn stranger had suddenly switched seats with Vern.
Paisley saw a vein redden in his forehead. She threw Jemma a quick look. She was staring transfixed at him. The vein had been faintly visible under a loose lock of brown hair but now it had emerged in a deep blush like some curious scar.
Dutifully, Paisley chugged her beer down. Then Jemma’s. The burning aftertaste was like a wildfire had broken out in her throat.
Paisley handed Vern the empty cans. He snatched them from her hands. Aware that the party was ending, Paisley opted to petition him one last time before they left. “Uhh... so have you decided yet?“ she asked meekly.
He threw her a hard look.
Uh oh, Paisley thought, realizing that perhaps she had carried the ruse too far. She was just about to excuse herself and leave with Jemma when in the deafening silence, she heard the power locks click shut. She froze. Jemma too. Exchanging sudden, fearful glances, they stared into each others’ ashen, dumbstruck face.
“I gotta go to the bathroom. Can you please let us out?” Paisley quickly asked.
Vern said nothing. He had turned away from them and now was sitting squarely in the drivers’ seat.
“Could you... please?” Paisley pleaded. After a long, icy pause that felt like an eternity had passed, Paisley spoke up again, though she was frightened to even speak and still even more afraid of the response.
He said nothing. He sat perfectly still, though Paisley met his eyes accidentally in the rear view mirror. She quickly looked away.
“Please,” Paisley implored.
“Don’t try reaching for your phones either!” he shrieked. “I’m watching you!”
Jemma began to sob. Paisley could feel her friend trembling beside her.
They sat in silence. The warm glow of the alcohol had instantly lifted and Paisley was hyper-focused and aware. Yet it seemed surreal to her as they sat in this deathly stillness. She caught glimpses of life through the tinted windows, someone pushing a shopping cart, a pickup truck exiting in a cloud of dust. Should I pound on the windows? Should I scream? Paisley felt obligated to take the lead if need be, to somehow protect her younger friend.
Paisley thought she could hear him breathing. Then she realized it was Jemma’s staccato breath. The sobs had now become deep gasps. Feeling panicked, Paisley begged, “C’mon, please!”
Then suddenly he sped out of the parking spot and drove the full lap around the parking lot. “Stranger danger!” he yelled. “Stranger danger!”
Crying hysterically, the two girls clung to one another, paralyzed with fear.
Then he stopped the car. “Get the fuck out, you little skanks!” he barked, releasing the power locks with the flick of his finger.
They scrambled out.
He drove off in a fury.
They ran home.
Copyright © 2022 by Shauna Checkley
