For Ronald Mark Blaha
Those pink trees, crazy how they smelled so strong. Like that little tree in the cab–that smell. That night.
EJ.
What the fuck are we doing here EJ? Spooky son of a bitch, EJ.
Ask that guy, the guy who wasn’t him only some other guy he didn’t hardly think about anymore.
Ask that damn EJ, running away into the darkness, disappearing like a ghost
Leaving him there
Motor running
Lights on
Cabby slumped over
A sound
Run, hard, away
Up the street after EJ
No, do not follow EJ
What are you doing home? His mom was always asking things.
I don’t feel good.
You don’t look good. Maybe you ought to go back to bed. What time did you come in last night, anyway?
Dunno.
Late. I know that much. What were you up to so late?
Me and EJ went…
Who’s EJ?
Just a guy.
The narrow squint. Friend of yours?
Sort of.
What’re you doing downtown late?
Going to commit murder. Just—meeting up with some guys. A business thing, all right?
Business thing? Like what?
Shooting a guy. I dunno, Mom, it didn’t work out.
She sighed softly. Looked sad. Just be careful, okay? She put on her coat and left for work.
He went to his room and flopped down, picked up the silver Sting Ray. Any car on the street should look as good as this. Maybe he would build cars like this, real cars, one day. Yeah, how? Not by running with the Devil.
Could still go to the cops.
Shit, shit, shit.
Why did EJ pick up on him, anyway? Not like they were “friends,” not really, EJ wasn’t that kind of dude.
So what was he, then? Business associate?
I dunno, Your Honor…I dunno. Mister I dunno. Fuck.
Play it over and over, how it happened, and still—Franklin High and somebody’s house and this dude EJ out of nowhere is like Hey, wanna get high, and you’re not a stickass and so there it is and that leads down on Pike and EJ and these other dudes laughing and talking about all kind of shit, couldn’t hardly tell what all, only seemed like they were making some connections and then EJ kind of looks at him like he’s suddenly there and, Hey man you into making money?
Sure, who isn’t?
That’s right, you talk smart.
Didn’t feel fucking smart, not even.
Fuck fuck fuck.
Cops cops cops.
Could still go to the cops. Lay it all out—I didn’t know he was gonna…all of a sudden…I didn’t know, I was scared shitless, didn’t know what to do, you gotta help me, that EJ he’ll kill me next!
Yeah, might go for it.
Only still—lawyers, jail.
Black fucking hole, swallow you up for good.
Bye-bye.
EJ. Never even knew his real name.
Turning the corner now. Shit, turned the corner a long time ago. Forty years. A lot can happen in forty years. Grow out of all the old bullshit, become a man, or at least try to. Put a lot of things behind you.
But not everything.
Not EJ.
Not that
Pop!
Sounded so—small.
Big enough to kill the cabby, though.
Tried to force his mind to make like it never happened. Who was it—Einstein?—said you could go back in time. But he knew better than Einstein. What happened happened, there was no going back.
And now, this feeling that he had to tell somebody.
Forty years is forty years.
Only could still put you in prison, lock you up for 40 more years.
Forty years working and being a man. Felt good at the shop, working. Some people, they bitch and moan about going to work. Well, what the hell else are you going to do? His mom worked, why shouldn’t he? It felt good working and being with other guys and doing something useful and getting money for it. Maybe it could be more money—always could be more money!—but always could be more of anything, and what it was was enough. Maybe he wasn’t designing cars but he was working on them and doing the major shit and getting deep inside them with all his own skills, 40 years of skills, skills got him a good home and a good lady and even a Sting Ray, too, 1977, silver, black leather interior, man, how his dad drooled over that fucker!
That’s all right, having your dad and mom both proud of you.
They would never know.
Never know you were there, what happened, there when fucking EJ
Shot the cabby
Poor damn cabby
Ruin them both, telling them.
So who wouldn’t be into making some money? Him and EJ met up downtown and EJ talked it out, about going down to meet some dude and doing a deal—item of exchange, he said—and how somebody’s going to give him two thousand change and EJ had that look that said Don’t fuck with me, this is serious shit, you in or?
Two thousand dollars?
Yeah, two thousand dollars. Why, you don’t believe me?
Not saying that. But why does somebody want to give you two thousand, EJ? (Look him in the eye and get a weird-ass feeling.) What do you give him in return?
My business.
What do you need me for if it’s your business?
Got to have a presence, man. Weight on my side, understand? Plus I give you fifty.
Fifty bucks?
500.
Shit!
Okay, maybe. Still felt off, meeting some strange dude at midnight. Drugs. No doubt on that score. Fuck all money, all came down to money and how do you get it anyways? EJ acted like he knew how, so there it was. Plus that look.
Shit.
EJ gave a weirdass grin and split. Where did he go? Never said anything about where he lived, house or crash or whatever, like he lived out in thin air. Spooky dude, EJ.
Sunday night.
So, why do we have to go all the way downtown to catch a cab, why don’t we just call from here?
Got to be this way, EJ said. EJ say, all the way, okay.
Fuck me.
He caught the bus downtown, late, nobody hardly out, cold, who was it going out on a night like that? Some fucking business deal, on a night like that. Standing on Pine with a bunch of creeps and then came EJ, just like out of nowhere, You ready? And so they went and found this cab, just sitting there doing nothing, sitting there waiting, like waiting for them. Like
Fate.
What was that his dad said? Get out of life what you put into it.
Son.
Monte Carlo, nice ride. No Sting Ray but still, Dad had good taste in vehicles. Saturday they went out and drove around down the lake, mostly just looking, not talking too much, sometimes his dad’s soft low voice, man’s voice (son), but mostly just looking, nice sunny day, big huge mountain way down there, whole nother world way out there, passing by all the nice houses and going by this one house and flash, a boy in the window drinking from a glass, boy in the kitchen window drinking a glass of something, boy drinking from a glass in the kitchen of his nice big house, come and gone, snap.
Funny how you remember things.
Kid could have been him, almost.
Could have been the cabby.
Shit, man, put it away.
Put it away.
Mom came home from work and next morning made breakfast and he was feeling better, promised he’d look for work, and she smiled and went back to work, and nothing happened that day or the one after, nothing stopped him from his Sting Ray and living at Mom’s and having another day where he could look into the next one, sit and stare at little silver Sting Ray, so fucking beautiful, like a woman. Dad got it for him—what, tenth birthday. He could make something just as good, even better.
Design. Yeah! But all kinds of serious study to get there. Why did they have to make it be so hard? He knew, even from just looking at cars on the street, how they should look, what would look good. Those guys at GM, there had to be some of them who started out just like him.
You like cars, his mom said (it was summer, now, and the room was full of sun and it was warm, and nothing happened), so why don’t you check out the community college. They got all kinds of courses and work-study things. I’ll help out with the tuition, it can’t be all that much money. She looked—happy.
Damn, where did that come from?
Okay Mom, I’ll check it out.
He went in and looked through the catalogs and it was so much he didn’t even know where to start, so he talked to an advisor who told him about this work-study, but then automotive design, you’re lookin’ at four-year college for sure, drafting, mechanical engineering.
Shit.
The man looked through his glasses at him. You know, our automotive mechanics program is very good. Two years, get your associate degree, go to work. Places are screaming for good mechanics.
Okay?
He signed up and on the first day he walked into the classroom and here was a fucking Chevy V-8 on the stand and it was cut open to show the guts, very cool, and he got into it and got himself into the guts of cars, got to know them intimately, and in two years he was grabbed up by Honda. Nothing like a Sting Ray, but good cars and better dough. Got himself a car and a place of his own, went out on Fridays for beers, mechanics ended up all right.
Where was EJ? Gone, probably. Hopefully. Left town. That would be a good thing, the smart thing. And EJ was smart, wasn’t he? But there was no certainty, and so you’re looking around and over your shoulder and up and down the street and everywhere you went.
Did EJ know where he lived? No. Nobody knew, never told anybody, not at school, not anywhere. Plus he never told EJ his whole name, either. Take that, motherfucker. Safe. Maybe. And the cops—only so many detectives to go around, new cases come up, time moves on, and nothing.
Only maybe there was that one guy that didn’t ever stop looking. Some old sniffer dog Columbo guy, sniff, sniff, you’re dead. But Columbo was only TV and nobody came sniffing and the days and years moved on and he had women and good times and started making good money, leaving nothing only except
That.
Wasn’t his fault. He didn’t know. Didn’t fucking know.
Could say he was a victim too.
Fate. Deal with it, best you could.
He didn’t know.
Not guilty.
And so, now, this.
Her.
She drove a Hyundai, nice little ride, sharp on the outside (he made damn sure), smelled good inside. Her smell. Two years now. Two years out of fifty-seven.
I love the cherry blossoms.
Is that what that is, those pink flowers?
Yes. Beautiful aren’t they?
Look like snow.
Mmm.
Or blood. No! Don’t fuck this up!
Easy, she was so easy. No hassles. Just fucking being, and letting that be enough. Go out riding the Ray or the Hyundai and just looking and her not talking all the time like some chicks, talk talk talk, digging, probing, expecting answers, answers, answers. One or two before her, maybe they sensed something wrong, went off thinking how he never said much and was a little bit spooky.
But now was now, going to shows and nice restaurants and riding the Ray out in the country and out to the coast, and now down the lake together, first time, funny how it took this long to make it down here, road everybody drives (not him), and her talking about how nice it was. (Not so nice riding here with EJ and their knees almost touching and the cabby’s head staring straight ahead like maybe he’s getting nervous.)
And here came that same old house he saw riding with his dad along the lake, with the boy inside drinking, and he looked over but the window was covered up by trees now and he couldn’t see in, and then they were past it and moving on, only his thought was what if that boy was the cabby and could be the cabby even remembered being a boy in that big house, and the lake, where maybe he even went swimming sometime as the last thing he saw in the headlights and saw and remembered being a boy in that nice big house and swimming and hanging out there by the lake on a sunny day in the summertime, only now driving by in the black night and these two dudes in back and the lake just a huge empty black hole and his stomach starting to feel like a huge black hole.
Barely a face in the window, the cabby. Blurry. Dark hair, pale, young guy just sitting, waiting. Face frozen in a second. And then out of nowhere EJ opens the door and jumps in and he gets in after and sits in the strange car seat with a weird smell like cold leather or metal, strange dude’s car, never in a fucking cab before, and then EJ says in this weird low voice, Hey Pardner, how much you charge to take us down by the lake? Got to meet up with somebody.
Pardner, like a cowboy or some shit. Never heard EJ say that before.
The cabby’s head turns halfway. About five bucks, maybe seven.
Go for five?
Yeah. Faraway voice—Yeah—like maybe he didn’t quite trust these two fucking kids coming in from out of nowhere. But then EJ takes out a bill and folds it over—why did he fold it over?—and hands it to the cabby, where these other cabs down the street are just sitting and the street is dead-quiet, probably cabbies weren’t doing shit for business, maybe even this guy was just as well glad to get the fare, even if just only five dollars.
The car started and he looked at EJ. We’re going down to the lake?
That’s what the man said. Neutral turf.
Whatever the fuck that meant.
Down Second and out Rainier and up all the dark streets and EJ, he was talking real fast for a while like starting up a new business thing and you got to play it a certain way and this dude is dealing with him on trust so first time got to man up and take it like know what you’re doing and what he’s doing, and then he just shut up, went all quiet, staring out the window and fidgeting a little in his pocket like nervous, and he’s nervous for sure in this strange seat with all kinds of other people’s smells on it and the cabby’s head right ahead with brown hair over his collar and the tree air freshener and the meter box on the dash showing out red, dollar, two dollars, tick, tick, cab radio talking, Car calling…Number ten get Ernie Steele’s…hisss…
What’s that, radio?
Yeah. Dispatch.
Dispatch, right. Quiet night? His voice sounded like a gunshot.
EJ looked at him. Why shouldn’t he make a little conversation?
Driver turned his head slightly. Yeah, pretty quiet.
Not much money out, huh? Not that he knew shit from driving cab or any other kind of work. He suddenly felt stupid. His mom worked, why shouldn’t he work? What was this shit he was into with fucking EJ? Wasn’t work, he knew that much.
Not tonight. The cabby almost kind of laughed. Little stinky tree air freshener swinging back and forth and the radio talking then shutting up and damn EJ not saying anything but playing with himself, so damn obvious, What the fuck are we doing, cab-smell from all those damn people all day and night, all kinds of people, some fucked-up, skank-ass who-knows what-all getting in all day and night, some people maybe didn’t wash up like they should, women with perfume and shit, guys all stinking from work, cabbies sitting and sweating. No way a very healthy environment when you thought about it, damn cab stink and little tree stink almost made you want to puke, so all you can do is suck it up and watch the buildings go by, all these houses and places he had never seen, full of strangers, like a whole different city, and try to think of why he was here in this cab at after midnight with this strange spooky EJ dude taking them down to whatever the fuck.
Something twisted in his gut. So who are we meeting up with down there, EJ?
Connection.
Crack.
Mm.
I don’t know about crack, EJ. Seems like it fucks you up.
Don’t fuck me up. Makes me feel good.
Yeah, but how do you feel after?
I don’t worry about after.
Maybe you should.
Man, why you jumping me with all this shit?
EJ jerked himself away toward the door and kept on playing with his dick.
Fuck.
Crack. Drugs were shit that got you fucked up, permanent. Make your eyes crazy-red, make you stink.
Only if you said anything against them, everybody thought you were a snitch or some shit.
Stupid fuckers.
Stink when you should think. Ha-ha.
Didn’t get the drug thing, didn’t have money even for any pot or little shit like that, plus you saw what drugs did, so he hated drugs and specially crack, shit-crack, brain-dead crack shit-stink crack.
What it did to people.
And the people around them.
Some fragment of a song came into his head. He knew cars, not music, but this had a nice rhythm to it, sort of sweet. Da-da-da-DAH, like all those houses going by, all those people inside, doing what-all.
Came down at the lake and EJ says Go right. Way across the other side the house lights burned, nice houses of rich people way across on the island, pretty like stars, across the huge black water. He tried to keep the song going but it just faded out. Gut felt like shit.
Too easy, how nothing happened. No EJ, no Columbo, nothing except school then work and making good money and drinking beer after work and getting your own place and being a grown man.
Except: that big fat finger pointing—WITNESS. And then pointing to the next thing that came crowding in like some fat dude all sweaty and stinky and demanding your attention and shoving everybody else away, fat dude with a shirt that said on the front—FINGERPRINTS. Like a fucking red neon sign, FINGERPRINTS…FINGERPRINTS…FINGERPRINTS. There had to be fucking FINGERPRINTS. Door handles, seats, all over that fucking Granada.
But shit: Didn’t you have to have a criminal record for them to even have your fingerprints? What was it? PRIORS. Yeah! Even if they had fingerprints it didn’t matter shit because they wouldn’t know it was yours unless you had fucking PRIORS. And he didn’t have any priors! He was never even in a police station, not once, never picked up, no criminal record, zip. They didn’t have his fingerprints!
But what about EJ?
What if fucking EJ had PRIORS?
The fat finger pointed.
But what if that was EJ’s first. Shit, he was still a kid, and the way he seemed nervous, could damn sure be his first. But: if EJ did have PRIORS they could trace the prints and then one way or the other, if even EJ didn’t know where he lived or even his real name, they would have his sorry ass. If they could find him.
Maybe they could not.
But if they did?
The finger points: ACCOMPLICE.
Only: What about from EJ’s point of view? What if maybe for EJ the finger pointed at one big thing in particular: WITNESS.
Then what?
Out of the shadows, days, weeks, months:
Pop!
And I don’t mean Dad.
So, watch. Watch the door, the street, the cars, the buses, the shadows, the night, the day.
Where did you go, EJ?
Do not let them find EJ.
And they never did.
Do not let EJ find me.
And he never did.
And after a while the fingers stopped pointing anymore.
Fate. Funny word. Italian, maybe? Like to see Italy, all those beautiful cars. Made some damn serious cars in Italy.
And women
And—love.
Funny word. Funny, walking here—here—with her beside him, looking at him, wanting him, here with all those pink flower trees and that sweet, natural smell, not like the little tree in the cab with EJ and sitting almost with their knees touching and the cabby smell weird like sweat from being in the damn seat all day or night long, and maybe they even were doing the cabby a favor, letting him go.
Police don’t think so, that’s for damn sure.
Not sure he did either, when you got right down to it.
No, wasn’t his right, not for damn sure.
Maybe now was time to get right. Forty years, a hundred years, right is right. Poor damn cabby, just doing his job same as working in the shop, same thing right down the line, working man shouldn’t get shot down like a dog for doing his damn job.
Maybe he could have saved him, called for help on the motherfucking radio. But he ran. Ran like a chickenshit runaway boy, stupid little stick man in the night, where you runnin’ to, boy? And now it was a long time ago and who gave a shit about so long time ago, nobody, that’s who, only you could say that all you want but fact is somebody, somewhere, did give a shit, wife, girl, mother, kids, yeah, and maybe him.
Yeah, him.
He hated himself like he never thought. The way it came flooding, flooding back in, like out of nowhere, flooding and burning and scorching, no. NO!
Never live it down. Not that.
Pop!
ACCOMPLICE.
Where you all headin’? Cabby’s voice was dry and thin. Like he was nervous. He was nervous too, only he was trying not to show it. Up just a ways, EJ says. Cold but still nervous sounding. Fidgeting. Cabby’s head staring down the road and those pink trees alongside, radio talk and silence and trees in the headlights and pink flowers coming down like snow, and the cabby just a young guy working, driving cab and all, had to have some worries, looked like maybe just a nice guy, both of them wondering why they were down by the damn lake, nobody down here, nice houses, maybe EJ knows somebody in one of the nice houses, yeah, maybe, but past midnight, nobody in nice houses is up after midnight, not for fucking EJ.
Almost done with school. School, sounded so kid-stuff. Then what? He felt something inside pounding, pulling, struggling to take hold, to get out, take him out into the world, away from here, stinking cab and stinking EJ and poor damn cabby driving blind and pink fucking trees going by, Get out, man, fuck EJ, who the fuck was he anyways, didn’t even have a real name and here he is fucking around like a kid, with his mom at the hospital, working, making money, keeping her and him a home, and here he is doing jack.
We almost there, EJ?
What you worried about, son?
Son?
Not your son.
You say five hundred?
Mm. Don’t worry ‘bout it.
Not worryin’, just askin’. We almost there?
Here, says EJ.
Cabby said Here? He stopped, turned his head.
Here wasn’t anywhere, what the fuck?
Where are we, EJ? he said. Hoping like hell there was an answer.
Yeah, here.
EJ pulls out a black metal slimy-looking toad thing and
What the fuck?
POP in his ear and blue smoke and this ugly nasty look on EJ’s face and the cabby’s head jerking sideways and blood spouting out red, red, red, down on the seat, head spouting red blood in a goddamn STREAM, red blood from way inside, the heart pumping it out through the goddamn motherfucking HOLE, and the gun-stink like firecrackers and then fucking EJ shoving open the door and climbing in front and—and—going through the guy’s pockets—dead man’s pockets—pulling out this wallet, brown leather wallet (even like his dad’s), wallet full of shit, like, pictures and shit, maybe what, a baby picture of his kid or his squeeze, and then
Gone
Running
Running away
Feet sound, silence
Cabby slumped over
Cabby’s head he just talke to
Just talked to him
HOLE
Running out blood
And him alone there
Like he was the one who shot
EJ! Fuck!
Threw open his door and ran, motor still running and headlights shining down the road on the fucking pink trees, thought almost like maybe he should shut it off (nothing about the cabby, what could you do?) but fuck that, fucking EJ, run, run, up the hill away from the goddamn lake (big huge cold black hole) and the motor running and the headlights and the other (red)
HOLE
Where did EJ run to?
Follow EJ.
Do not follow EJ!
WITNESS.
He ran and stopped and listened, heard nothing, ran up past houses, ran like his heart would come out through his mouth, ran and ran then slowed down, better slow down now, act natural, slowed down and breathed so his heartbeat slowed down and made sure not to make noise, but nobody was out and around to see him and he just walked on uphill like he lived there and was out going to the store or something, and so he walked on, let the air cool him (take away the smell of EJ and the cab and…), walked over one hill and then the next, thought about catching a bus only something said better walk, walk clear home to his place, and at last came in the rear door by the alley and went into his mom’s house and into his room and lay on the floor there on his mattress and after all that walking and snow and shit fell right asleep.
So, after 40-what years, what? Let it out. Come clean. Closure, they called it. Maybe make some kind of amends. How do you do that? Cabby deserved it, for sure. Closure, they call it. Sounds so easy. Only: no statute of limitations on murder, he knew that much, watching Law and Order with his mom and now her. Go to prison, leave her behind. Leave everything, 40 years, behind. What amends is that? Tell the cops, the newspaper, TV—EJ did it, I was there, I saw it, I didn’t know he was going to do it, he just pulled it out and
Sorry.
Maybe see a lawyer, get some information. And they couldn’t tell, had to keep it confidential. No danger in that. Maybe, maybe.
What about maybe writing it down in one of those letters to be opened after your death? Like, to a newspaper reporter or somebody, or even the police.
EJ did it.
I was a victim, too.
I’m sorry.
Maybe.
Where was EJ?
Hopefully rotting in hell.
But not definitely.
And so, even now
Watching. One eye open.
Blue, the lake, blue in the sun, warm, pink flowers in the trees and on the sidewalk and all around. Like snow.
What’re you thinking about?
Cabby. Nothin’.
Nothin’. Is that all you ever think about?
Nah.
I think you’re thinking about lots of things, only you just don’t want to tell.
Just takin’ it all in, honey.
Okay. I can live with that. She smiled up at him and they drove on. Getting close, now: the place. He looked out over the shining blue water toward the island full of fancy houses. Anybody out there see it?
Cabby, young guy, dark hair over his collar. Back of the head.
Here?
Yeah, here.
They came to a wide spot and he turned the Ray around.
Are we going back already?
No, let’s park back there, walk.
Okay, honey.
He parked Ray in the lot and they walked along the water all shiny and blue in the warm sun, the cherry blossoms glowing pink and bright, spring, everything looked good in spring, young and fresh and natural, smelled good too.
Why did EJ ask him, anyway?
Presence. Weight on my side.
Whatever the fuck that meant.
What it actually meant was: another body to point the finger at.
You.
Patsy.
Chump.
ACCOMPLICE.
Why didn’t he just say no?
Why did he go and follow fucking EJ like a dumb puppy?
Chickenshit.
Something in those eyes
Something missing from those eyes.
Yeah, he was afraid of EJ. Get that right up front, deal with it. Scared dumb kid, afraid to say no, afraid of those dull black eyes. You sayin’ no, fool?
Who wouldn’t be scared?
Anyone who says they’re not is a liar.
Could have stopped it, pushed EJ’s hand away, split-second, The fuck, man!
Could have saved the cabby, poor damn guy, maybe just starting out, new wife, maybe even a kid. Shit, you couldn’t think about that, not now, not anymore. Could have stopped it, but fucking EJ was too damn fast—the way he all of a sudden had the gun out, like from thin air, and no hesitation, just shot. BAM!
Could have called for help on the radio, maybe saved him in time.
No. Not with that HOLE.
By time he got what was happening, too late, way too damn late. Out of the car, run, lights still on, motor running, somebody would come along, had to run, what else could he do? Wasn’t like he planned on it. Had nothing to do with it, nothing to do with what was in EJ’s mind.
The Devil.
Right there in the seat beside him.
The eyes, blank, black. EJ had black eyes.
Like holes.
And him—what did his eyes look like?
ACCOMPLICE.
Heating up, too damn hot, anymore, this warming shit, could feel it, whole thing going down. Maybe he wouldn’t have to see it, maybe some years left.
Never did deserve anybody like her. But here she is.
He would tell her, she deserved to know. Cabby deserved.
Fuck me.
He could not tell her. Not unless he wanted to make her an
ACCESSORY.
Why are you telling me this?
I dunno.
My god, you—
Not me.
Your friend—
Not my friend.
So, what did you do?
Ran.
You ran.
There were no words. He could not do that to her.
But he had to.
Back at the parking lot there was a bench. He would sit down there, with her, and
Say it.
Forty years, damn straight it was time.
Say it.
Fuck you EJ.
Say it now.
Sorry cabby. FUCK YOU EJ.
She pulled away, eyes wide open. What’s that, hon? Cabby…EJ?
His hand tingled, body tingled. Something I have to tell you. Let’s go sit there and we can talk.
Okay. Scared-sounding.
Okay, it was started, anyway. Didn’t feel so bad. She would be cool, she would understand. Then they could figure what to do. Figure it out together.
A figure came out from the trees, almost like out of nowhere, scrawny-looking, baggy clothes and backpack, face covered, some kind of mask, weird on a nice warm day. Whacked-out kid, nut case, probably.
A duck quacked. Ducks! That was the sound he heard, a damn duck.
Hey, duck, she said, quack-quack! He looked at her, she smiled, squeezed his arm. Good to be out. Trying not to sound scared.
Yeah, good to be out. Trying not to sound scared.
The masked man went up to a trash can and pulled the top off and started throwing trash out on the ground. Right there front of them, in front of his woman, throwing garbage on the ground. Forty years grown up, forty years respect, forty years getting along, making friends, a woman. Who loved him.
And now, trash in front of them–her. His love. Goddamn crack brains. Goddamn EJ.
Hey man what are you doing there?
The guy looked up, not surprised but cool—cold. Like maybe expecting it. Looked right at him eyes little black slits and smiled—he could see it, even through the mask he could tell the guy was smiling, smiling and pulling out a black thing, black even in the sun, and fired.
He felt a burn in his right shoulder, then saw a blur as she jerked something from her coat pocket, raised it level, and shot. The kid went down, screaming in pain.
Ahhhh, fuck! he yelled, then ran and kicked the gun out of the kid’s hand. What the fuck, man!
She had her phone out—Yeah, down here at the lake! Please hurry, two guys been shot. She picked up the gun and put it in her pocket, returned to him. Okay, baby, she said, just take it nice and easy…It doesn’t look too bad.
Ahhhh! He was breathing hard, shaking.
Just take it easy, baby, sit right down here.
The kid moaned—Uhhh….
Shoulda shot you dead, motherfucker! she yelled.
She knelt by him, took out a handkerchief and pressed it to his shoulder.
Damn! he burst—How the hell…?
I didn’t like his looks.
You didn’t like his…He laughed—shit, remind me never to get on your bad side…
Yeah, well, anymore, you never know. A siren wailed in the distance, a duck quacked.
Them ducks, he chuckled. Just like that night.
What night, Babe?
He gazed up at her, grimmaced. Later…We can talk later…Images swept through him, his mom and dad and Sting Rays and EJ’s running feet vanishing into the night and him running down the dark streets, running in a big circle, and now—Now, 40 years on, the bullet caught up to him.
And she saved him.
The sirens grew louder. She kissed his forehead. Sure, Baby, any time. We have all the time.