Tommy took another bite and mumbled around his food, “Hey did you hear about that guy over in The Quarters? His girlfriend found him dead in their kitchen.” He swallowed and motioned to the bartender to refill his sweet tea.
“Yeah, Martin.” James looked down at the plate of food the bartender placed in front of him. “Can I get some cocktail sauce?”
“Oh yeah, doesn’t your mom rent from him or somethin’?”
“Not anymore.” James winked at him.
“You didn’t...” He put his glass of tea down and sighed, “Damnit James, did you do somethin’?”
James paused with his fry in midair and stared at Tommy, his eyes narrow and his jaw tight. “So what if I did?”
Tommy shook his head and wiped his hands on his napkin. He avoided James’ glare as he pulled out his wallet and tossed a twenty and a five on the counter. “I gotta get back, see you later.”
“I might be late, I got some shit to take care of.”
Tommy nodded and quickly left the restaurant. James didn’t care. If anything he was glad Tommy was gone. He had a headache coming on and the little shit always annoyed him when he had a headache. James rubbed his temples and looked at the money on the table, contemplating pocketing it. The bartender was faster, and before James could decide, he had swiped it off the table and stuck it in the cash register, smiling at James.
“Whatever, I’m done anyway,” James mumbled as he stood up to leave.
As he stepped out of Captain D’s, he saw two missed calls from his mama. She had probably heard about Martin; she never missed any of the local gossip. James readied himself for an endless stream of chatter and dialed her number.
“Hey mama, sorry I missed you. What’s up?”
“Jimbo – you’re never gonna believe this! Miz Hopper said that her neighbor, Beatrice, was walkin’ down Pence St. yesterday and saw all sorts of flashin’ cars in front of Martin’s house! She tried to get close to see what was goin’ on but the cops made her stay back. Anyway, she saw them bring out someone in a body bag and you’re never gonna guess who it was! It was Martin! Hot damn, how’s that for getting’ out of payin’ rent this month? I mean, I should feel bad that he died, but I really don’t, that shrimp was an asshole. So I guess…”
James climbed into his van and set the phone down on the passenger seat while he started the engine and turned the radio off. He pulled out onto the highway before picking the phone back up.
“…gonna go down to the bingo hall now that I have some extra money since I don’t have to pay rent this month. Can you believe they serve beer down there now? Hot damn Imma play bingo and drink some beer. They just opened a new room in the back for those casino games and they’re not supposed to pay real money ’cause it’s illegal but…”
“Hey mama I gotta go, I’ll stop by this weekend, okay?”
“Okay honey, you be careful now and tell Tommy I said hello! He needs to come see…”
“Mama, I gotta go. Love you, bye.” He could still hear her talking as he hung up the phone.
That woman could ramble for days if you didn’t stop her, and he wasn’t in the mood to listen to it. He had a raging headache, and needed to figure out how to make some money quick. He could probably get his job back at the shop, he was pretty sure Tommy could talk Trey into it, but he didn’t want to work there anyway. They started way too early in the morning and expected you to stay there all fucking day, only giving you thirty minutes for lunch. Shit, he almost had a heat stroke under some old dude’s F250 a month ago and the boss man didn’t give a shit at all, he just asked if he was done changing the oil. James could do a lot better than that dump.
He drove east along Galveston’s Seawall Boulevard, cruising slowly behind the heavy traffic. Gulls cawed to each other, and waves crashed against the sand below the road. The water was kept at a distance, separated from the cars by a concrete wall about five feet higher than the shore. It was far enough back from the tide, though. The water didn’t usually lick the concrete unless it was hurricane season and they had a good one coming. Then, despite warnings, surfers would dot the water as far as you could see, sitting on their boards with leashes tied to their ankles, and waiting for the heavy waves. They would come down from as far as San Antonio, Dallas even. James didn’t see any surfers that day, though. The waves were nothing but mush and shore breakers. It didn’t matter anyway, surfers didn’t leave empty cars full of cash parked on the beach, waiting for them to return from the water. They arrived on foot, having walked from a nearby hotel if they traveled, or their house if they were a local. If they did drive, it was never anything worth breaking into.
There was finally a break in traffic, and James gunned it towards the jetties, not really sure what he wanted to do but knowing he needed to do something, and soon. He scanned the cars parked along the side of the road and in the shop parking lots on his left. Too many people. He needed to get away from all of those damn people.
He slowed down as he pulled into the parking lot of the East side jetties. It was a good spot to get away from people for a minute. Hopping down from the driver’s seat, James went around to the side of the van and opened the sliding door. That’s where he kept his cooler, always with a couple of beers in it. They weren’t as cold as they were yesterday, the ice had melted, and he didn’t think to pick up any more, but it was better than nothing. James grabbed a can of lukewarm beer and tossed a handful of aspirin in his mouth before taking a long chug.
It was only a hangover, but it was a doozy. He and Tommy had put a lot back the night before, sitting on their balcony and watching the tourists. Fucking Tommy took off to bed early like a little bitch, but James had stayed there drinking until the ink black sky above him broke with the gray haze of an impending sunrise.
There was just one other car in the jetty parking lot, a sweet little red sportster parked in the far corner closest to the water. James sat on the open door frame and drank the rest of the beer. The only breeze, coming off the gulf, was full of steam and heat. Nothing could cool you down when the weather was like that. Warm, salty air pricked the taste buds on his tongue and the smell of fish wafted in from the west. The shrimp boats were probably docked somewhere, unloading their catch.
He squinted against the bright sun and raised his hand to his eyes, trying to focus. It looked like someone was fishing down at the very end of the jetties. Not uncommon, but it was uncommon for him to be the only one out there. It was usually packed with fishermen... witnesses. The red car must be his, but someone with that nice of a car usually didn’t spend their days fishing. He was probably a weekender trying to be ‘one with nature’ or some shit. James opened another beer and watched the man. It didn’t look like he was catching much. But a guy like that, he probably had some serious cash on him. James chugged the rest of the beer, tossed the can in the sand on the side of the parking lot, and reached into the back seat of the van to grab his pistol. He chuckled to himself, remembering Peter’s line from The Godfather, “Leave the gun, take the Cannoli.” Except for James, it was “Leave the beer, take the gun.” The van doors closed with a thud as he turned towards the jetties, sliding the gun into the back of his waistband.
He stepped carefully between the smooth, massive gray rocks that made up the jetties. The rocks were tinged with pink striations and were worn smooth on the edges from years of crashing waves. The large boulders were placed as close together as possible, but the seams could be a foot across in some places. More than one person had broken an ankle not paying attention. The pile of rocks jutted far out into the water. Waves crashed against them on the public beach side while slightly calmer waters lapped the other. That was the side the barges went down on their way inland. There was another jetty that made up the other side of the canal, but it wasn’t open to the public. James had only been on it a couple of times at night. It wasn’t set up for fishing, and the gaps between the rocks were wide enough for a man to fall down. He kept walking, keeping his eyes on the cracks and
the fisherman. The man glanced up at him once, then ignored him as he got a pull on his line. He wore a brand-new fishing shirt, the slit in the back waved at James in the breeze and he wouldn’t have been surprised if a price tag had popped out of it, still attached. The man’s jeans were spotless, and a dark deep blue that hadn’t seen many washings. He had on loafers with barely a scuff on them. Stuck to the top of his head, probably hiding a bald spot, was a tan, brimmed hat. James was just a few feet away by the time the man looked back up. The sun had taken its toll on his pale face where pink swashes of sunburn flicked across his nose and licked the back of his neck.
“Hey there, catch anything?” James smiled at the stranger.
“Nah, but it’s good just to be out here away from the office, you know?”
“Oh yeah, tell me about it. I’ve been working all week. Fucking deadlines, you know?”
The man’s eyes swept down James’ stained shirt and worn jeans, traveling back up to take in his three-day-old stubble and bloodshot eyes. “Yeah, fuck ‘em.” He started to pack up his gear, his voice catching as he dismantled his poles. “Well I gotta get back, the old lady is waiting on me.”
James knew he’d been caught in the lie, and that he made the stranger nervous. He seemed to have that effect on people, especially lately. Not that he gave a fuck. It just meant more people left him alone and he was all for that. But he wasn’t letting that one get away, that guy definitely had some cash on him.
“Here, let me help you.” James reached down and grabbed the pearl handled knife sitting on the rock by the man’s ice chest. He opened and closed it almost absent-mindedly, grinning. The fisherman’s eyes darted between James’ face and the sharp blade. Finally, James left the knife open and gestured with it towards the man.
“Look, just give me your wallet and there won’t be any trouble.” That was a lie, but it was easier to be handed the wallet, than try to get it out of a dead man’s back pocket later.
He thought the man was going to piss himself as he fumbled around in the back pocket of his designer jeans.
“Also... give me your watch too, and that ring.”
It was going to be the easiest cash he’d made all week. And the guy looked like he’d have way more than thirty-two dollars on him. Screw that fat ass soccer dad and his whiny little kid.
James watched as the wallet slipped out of the man’s sweaty hands and dropped to the ground. He rolled his eyes and gestured towards it with the knife, “Well, pick it up.”
The fisherman reached down to pick up the wallet with shaking hands, keeping his head low so he wouldn’t have to look at James. It was the perfect opportunity, James couldn’t have written it better if it were a script.
James stepped forward and plunged the knife into the pink skin at the back of the guy’s neck.
It went in easier than he would have thought, slicing the skin smoothly, only stopping once it hit bone. Blood shot out from around the knife, and the man fell forward onto the rocks. James sidestepped him to avoid getting blood on his shoes, and leaned down to retrieve the wallet, splattered with blood. He opened it and whistled low. “I knew it. I knew you’d have more than thirty-two dollars and dammit if you didn’t come through!” He held four crisp one hundred dollar bills in his hand and grinned at the gasping man, now crouched down on the rocks. The stranger was going to die, there was no doubt about that.
James looked down the jetties and couldn’t believe his luck. No one had pulled up in a car or walked down from the other part of the beach. The only other body he could see was a German Shepherd running along the sand, barking at the tide about a half a mile away. But usually where there was a dog, there was a person.
The man was gasping for breath, each one raspy and shallow.
James needed to clean up the mess, and fast.
He tossed the fishing gear into the churning water where the waves met the rocks. The poles and lures bobbed on the surface while the heavier weights and tackle box quickly sank below. James glanced one more time back at the dog. Still no person in sight. He leaned down and wiped the knife off on the man’s jeans before closing it and sticking it in his pocket. James then pushed the man over the edge of the rocks, after he took his fancy watch, of course. He watched as the body tumbled down into the water. The fisherman landed face up and was pulled into the rolling foam, his eyes wide. That would chum up the waters real good for the next guy; you could get some good sized sharks to come around with that kind of bait.
James walked back to his van, whistling as he tossed the man’s empty wallet into the water. Things were looking up. Maybe tomorrow, he’d buy Tommy’s lunch for once.
17
Rebecca dug through her kitchen cabinets in a feeble attempt to find a lunch bag. She knew exactly where one was but couldn’t bring herself to use the bright orange and blue striped bag with ‘Oliver’ embroidered in green on the flap. She bought it last Spring from the engraving kiosk at the mall. He had been ecstatic to see it, squealing with delight and immediately taking it to his room to fill with plastic dinosaurs and blocks. Never mind that it was for his lunch, Oliver was never one to pay attention to details.
No, she couldn’t use his. Not yet.
Probably not ever.
Her thighs burned from crouching down to see into the cabinets. She gave up and sat on the kitchen floor. In front of her was another packed cabinet, filled with twenty different types of pots, assorted lids that never seemed to fit anything, and dust covered bowls. It wasn’t a cabinet she visited often. The entire kitchen had been neglected as of late, except for the coffee pot. She was getting by on fast food and frozen pizzas when she did eat, which wasn’t often.
Rebecca’s air conditioner sputtered as it struggled to keep up with the summer heat. The humidity was especially high that day, and the thick wetness was suffocating, every breath a heavy draw. Opening a window for fresh air was out of the question, there was no fresh air to be had. It had all flown north for the summer. Wearing shorts and a tank top to stay cool, she could feel the crisp hardness of the tile floor on her exposed thighs. Rebecca wanted to sit there forever.
She leaned back against the cabinet and closed her eyes. An innocent man had died. A man with probably a wife, or a kid, or some kind of family, who were going through exactly what she was going through. Because of her, their nightmares had come true.
She ached for Jon and Oliver, and when she thought too long about that ache, she had to force herself to let her body breathe in and out, to eat, and to sleep. Every day it was harder, she was drowning in grief. She wondered if at some point she just wouldn’t be able to pull all that off and her body would simply stop. That wouldn’t be so bad; at least then she wouldn’t have to miss them so damn much. But not that day. That day she had a reason to keep breathing. It was awful, what she had done to the man who was innocent. But the other guy was still out there, somewhere. And that wasn’t okay, there should be consequences. Next time she’d just have to be sure he was the right one.
Her thighs peeled off the floor with a light smack as she stood up. There was a pile of reusable shopping bags somewhere. Jon had brought them home a few months ago trying to reduce their ‘footprint’, but they always forgot to grab them. She rummaged through the back of the pantry and finally found them shoved into the back corner. She grabbed a dark blue bag embossed with whales and filled it with two bottles of water and the peanut butter and jelly sandwich that she had made earlier. Last time, sitting under that bridge for hours, she had grown hot, thirsty, and light-headed. This time she would be better prepared. Water, check. Sandwich, check. Gun, bullets... check. Sanity, well she could check that one off after tonight. It was the world’s worst shopping list.
It was ridiculous, she knew that. But she didn’t know how to function without her boys or her work. She only knew that it wasn’t fair, and that someone needed to pay. At the very least, it gave her a reason to get out of bed.
She locked the door behind her and rushed down the sid
ewalk before stopping herself. She needed to act normal, calm. A quick glance down the street showed empty front porches and mostly empty driveways. No one was watching her, or accusing her of killing anyone. They were all living their normal lives.
Rebecca was in her car and driving down the highway when her dad called.
“Hey Becca, how are you?”
“I’m all right.” She couldn’t exactly say, ‘I killed an innocent man the other day, but it’s okay, because I’ll get the right one this time.’ He wouldn’t understand and worse, he’d try to talk her out of it.
“I was thinking of coming down there, is this weekend a good time?”
She hesitated, “I’ll let you know, okay?” That was the last thing she needed.
“Okay, well don’t be a stranger. I’m here for you, you know that, right?”
“Yeah, okay. Hey, I gotta go.” She hung up the phone before he could respond.
The bridge was coming up, but she couldn’t go back there. Too risky. She drove over it, taking in the view from the top. That was always her favorite part of driving to the beach. Miles of coastline stretched out on each side and the blue horizon curved as far as she could see. The water blended from a dark blue to a light blue-green, punctuated by white frothy breaks. Beneath her, barges and small boats lay scattered across the canal.
The bridge ended at an intersection with roads on either side, and the beach straight ahead. She felt pulled to the water and headed that way. She weaved around the summer crowds and scanned for a quiet place to stop and think. The crowds thinned as she made her way further down, and she could see the jetties in the distance. A dog ran across them, barking and chasing seagulls.
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