by Amos Gunner
CHAPTER 46: BOBBY
“I still don’t have any fives. Go fish.”
So he took a card. The muscles around his shoulders and mouth were tight. I got the drift of what he was feeling but not really. The love he had for his wife was bigger than anything I ever had in my heart. But there wasn’t much I could do to remedy the situation except promise not to kill her, and that hadn’t calmed him at all.
But it was a load off my mind. I didn’t know how I was going to do the deed. I couldn’t take a knife to her throat. Impossible. Maybe if I had a gun. But even then.
“Do you have any twos?”
He gave me one, then asked again for the five. Of course I still didn’t have it, but he had to ask. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe he was so tense because he couldn’t land that dang five and win the game.
No. The flesh on his face was drooping. His sorrow was intense, and the source wasn’t the game. Probably wasn’t even his wife’s safety, at least not completely. I can’t conceive of what he’s seen as a cop. What am I thinking? Yes I can. Unfortunately I can. But the ghastly scenes burned into my brain must be a small fraction of all the evil that happens in Columbus. Most cops, I guess, get hardened to the horror and turn inhuman. Like Zeke Ravella. Others take it all in and end up looking like Adam. Maybe not. What do I know? I’m just a kid.
I picked up the five he needed and I couldn’t wait to hand it to him. Sometimes it is better to give than to receive. Not always. I can think of some things it would’ve been good to have received from the world. I gave some things I want back, need back.
“Congrats. You won.”
He didn’t care. His face had been a dark rainbow, from maroon to dark green, now gray.
“Hey. I’m sorry I hit you.”
He smiled, but it wasn’t a happy smile. “That’s nothing.”
He shuffled the deck and I went to the window. All those idiots scurrying like headless chickens. They hadn’t seen what Adam and I had seen and they never would. Our closeness with death made us more sensitive to what it means to live. It made the good seconds of life shine brighter, made music fuller, flowers more fragrant. Kisses curled our toes tighter.
What bullcrap.
I sat down and asked him to deal.
I spent more quality time with Adam than I spent with dad. That’s what I told Adam. I don’t know why. He told me the same. I believed him. I asked what had happened to his dad. He ignored me. Fair enough.
“So when can this end?”
I picked up my cards and looked them over. “I’m not telling you what I have.”
“Not that. I mean this. You never gave her a specific time. There’s no clock ticking. You told the one guy it’ll be over by six, but you never told Brenda that.”
“She’ll want you back as soon as possible. She’ll be here any minute. Before six, anyway. Besides, at six I’ll be long gone.” I told him about Florida and my uncle. It felt good, like talking about my plan made it more real. I didn’t ruin the feeling by telling him why I was leaving.
I didn’t care that he was one of the last people I should confide my secrets to. We weren’t hostage and kidnapper anymore. We had become something else. Not quite friends, but whatever you call the stage before friendship begins.
I don’t remember when, but at some point I had stopped talking like Sampson. And I don’t remember when, but at some point I decided I wasn’t going to kill Adam. The fact was just sort of there. It was obvious I wasn’t going to drag a knife across his throat or choke him or whatever. I’d sooner make out with Marcus.
I asked for a seven. I could’ve asked for any of my five numbers. It’s the chance you take at the start of Go Fish. You pick a number and dive in and hope for the best. He had one.
Adam crushed me last game, but he had used up all his luck. He had racked up ten cards in no time. He was dazed by too many options. I checked out the window, peed, checked the window again, and still he was out of it. I wrapped the table and reminded him whose turn in was.
“You stole our car. How’d you expect her to get here?”
Geez. There’s no point in making plans. Ever. If a plan ever works out, it’s a total accident.
“I don’t know, but she will.”
He threw his cards. They fanned out across the table. I read them. I could’ve won. “She didn’t do anything. Hell, I didn’t do anything.”
“Your partner shot my brother.” I collected the cards and shuffled the deck.
“Yeah, but I didn’t. And Brenda didn’t.”
“I was in front of Darryl.” I stopped shuffling and set the deck on the table. “He was a better runner, but his stomach was upset that day. But that didn’t matter. I think Zeke Ravella meant to shoot my brother. I’m not sure. It happened so fast.”
“But why?”
“I don’t know. I don’t want to talk about this.”
Adam smacked his thigh. “Look at me. Why? Think.”
I didn’t look at him. I didn’t think. I concentrated on the card design. The lines were chaotic at first, but then I noticed how the blue lines crossed and there was a pattern after all. It was a complicated web. Not a design of anything particular, but it was something. I blinked and the structure fell apart.
“How did you know he was a cop?”
“I didn’t.”
“How did your brother know?”
“Got me.”
“Your brother pushed him down?”
“Yeah.” And without me realizing it, he led me back to that moment at the motel. “Yeah, he knew right away it was a set-up.”
“How?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know anything.”
“Think.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“I don’t know. Look. The only thing I can think of is one night Darryl came home late and I asked where he had been and he said he was with Sampson who sold something to this guy who Sampson said was a cop. But I don’t know if--”
“Wait.” Adam held up his index finger. He fell into a trance. His lips moved like he was reading to himself. He slowly wiggled his finger, then slammed his hand on the table. “That’s it. Don’t you see? Zeke had a deal with your boss and Darryl knew and if we took Darryl in, your brother would spill the beans. Zeke had no choice. Don’t you get it? It’s so obvious.” He smacked his forehead. “Stupid.” He hit himself again. “I’m so stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Damn it. Where is she? Call it off.”
I checked the window. Sampson’s black BMW. Parked across the street. I barely saw inside his car. But I saw well enough. Sampson reached under his seat. Only one thing he keeps there.
A weird noise. Don’t know where it came from. Just flew out of my mouth. Adam wigged out.
“Brenda? Is it Brenda? Is she okay?”
I freed his legs. Said I pissed off Marcus. Said Sampson was coming.
“It’s not Brenda?”
Slapped him. Handed him a knife.
“You have to help me. He’ll be here any second. Help.”
Help. There is no help. It’s happening. It has to happen.
Front door. Steak knife raised. No plan. Sweat on my hands. Loose grip. Wiped my hands. Wouldn’t dry.
A door slammed. Then another. Then a click.
“Adam?”
Adam. A dam. Damn. Damndamndamn. Man. Am. Ah.
