When he opened the door, an Astros T-shirt and black basketball shorts had replaced the blue coveralls. His hair dripped water onto his shoulders, and he held a damp towel in his hand. A minty soap smell wafted out onto the front porch, a marked improvement from his earlier stench.
“Can I help you?” he asked.
“It was you,” she replied. Her hand dripping perspiration as it gripped the gun in her pocket.
“I’m sorry? What was me?”
“You killed him, and you left my baby there.” Her voice raised to a near yell. “You left him!”
He shook his head and muttered as he closed the door, “Crazy bitch.”
Tears streamed down her face as she pulled the gun out of her pocket, her hand still clenched around the handle. She turned the doorknob, surprised to see it open. He really was an arrogant piece of work, assuming she wouldn’t want to come in after him and try to make it right. He probably didn’t even realize what he had done or had already forgotten. Men like him only cared about themselves. When she barged into the room, he stopped halfway down the hallway and turned to face her, disbelief blanketing his face. Without hesitation, Rebecca fired a shot at his chest, the biggest part of him she’d have the most luck hitting. She kept firing; at his head, his legs, his stomach, back to his chest, until the gun was almost empty, and he had slumped to the floor. He reached out with his hands and pulled himself an inch at a time towards a door at the end of the hallway. Probably a bedroom where, she guessed, he also had a dusty gun in his nightstand.
Rebecca closed the door behind her and turned the lock. The man had made it halfway down the short hallway, not looking back as he put all his energy into getting to that door. He never saw her as she knelt down and touched the gun to the bare skin at the back of his head. He stiffened at the cold touch of metal, but before he could react, she fired again, her last bullet. Smoke curled from the back of his head, away from the dark red blood spilling onto his pale scalp. His elbows slid out from underneath him and his raised shoulders fell to the floor. His head lay sideways at an awkward angle, forever staring at the chipped paint on the wall.
She leaned over him, breathing in the mixture of minty soap and coppery blood. The gun was empty, but still sat heavy in her hand, weighing on her to do more. Rebecca lifted the gun as high as she could reach, and brought it down hard against the back of the man’s bare skull. Blood from the bullet hole spurted up around her, coating her and the wall that his lifeless eyes stared at, as she brought it down again and again. She didn’t remember stopping, only that she found herself in the kitchen, washing blood off her hands and arms, and looking around for something to wrap the gun in. It was covered in dark red grime, pulpy bits of flesh, and gray brain tissue. Behind her, what was left of the man who had killed her son lay in pieces on the hardwood floor.
A sharp rap on the door pulled her attention away from the dead bastard splayed out in the hallway. She tip-toed to the side of the living room window and peered through the blinds. An old woman with curlers knotted around thin gray hair stood there, wide eyes darting back and forth. Rebecca jerked away from the window before she could be seen.
“Tulley! I told you to keep that damn music down!” She adjusted the top of her floral muumuu, causing her large breasts to send pink and blue wildflowers swaying back and forth. “God damn noisy kids, can’t an old woman have any peace?” She rapped on the door again, louder this time. “I know you’re in there! I see your van!” The woman wasn’t going anywhere soon, she looked like she had all the time in the world to stand there in her gown and flip-flops.
Rebecca stepped back from the front of the house and walked towards the kitchen. Her soft-soled slip-on shoes whispered against the wooden floor. To the left of a sink piled with dirty dishes was a door that led to the backyard. With a quick glance back, she slipped through the door and into the back yard. In front of her was a small space covered primarily in dirt. A broken fence marked its three sides, and neglected flower beds sat to the right. She realized she could hear a dog barking from the street, probably that same rat-looking one from earlier. The old woman had stopped yelling at the front door. Rebecca risked a glance around the side of the house and saw her shuffling down the street, holding her muumuu tight around her.
The broken fence was just loose enough for her to slip through and into a small alley that ran behind the back yards of houses on either side. She saw the small, ugly dog from earlier having a heated discussion with a large mutt. Lucky for the little dog, there was a pretty strong chain link fence between them. Little guys always seemed to have more balls when there wasn’t a chance in hell they’d actually get into a fight. As she got closer, both dogs turned towards her and kept barking. She picked up her pace as she passed them, hurrying to the end of the alley.
***
Once home, Rebecca stripped in the garage and walked naked through the side kitchen door towards the bathroom. A long hot shower took care of most of her issues; she’d deal with the clothes the next day. She plopped onto the couch with a glass of wine in one hand and the remote control in the other, a warm fluffy robe tied snugly around her waist. For the next few hours she scanned channels without hearing what any of them had to say. She should have been relieved, but she wasn’t. All she could think about was all that blood, and whether or not she left any fingerprints anywhere, and if someone saw her... but once the wine had a chance to spread over her like a heavy blanket, she dropped the remote onto the coffee table and finally closed her eyes.
26
James leaned forward, resting his elbows on the time-worn wooden bar in front of him. “Fucking new stools, whose idea was this?” he muttered to himself. The old chairs were pretty beat up, but at least they had a back support. Abe had been making so many changes lately, pretty soon Mikel’s Pub wouldn’t even be recognizable. All in the name of ‘progress’ and ‘appealing to the younger crowd’. James thought there was absolutely nothing wrong with the bar staying exactly the way it was, at least the way it had been for the last five years he and Tommy had been going there. They first came in for the cold beer but stayed for the killer burgers. You had to get there early, before the kitchen shut down for the night; after that they would only sell you mini bags of chips, peanuts, and microwave pizzas. It wasn’t too bad, even if you did miss the kitchen. Mikel’s was small for a bar, but cozy, and you knew most everyone who walked through the door. There was one pool table in the back, and an electronic dart game on the wall. It definitely looked better later in the day, when sunlight wasn’t streaming through the front windows, piercing the haze of smoke and highlighting every scuff mark on the floor. French fries, burgers, and cigarettes all mingled in the air, smelling better than any woman he had ever known. To him, at least. He never had use for those expensive perfumes and shit.
He took a bite of his cheeseburger and sighed, closing his eyes. No one else made them like that. Not those fancy restaurants over on harbor-side, not even the food trucks down on the beach. He didn’t know what their secret was, and he was okay with that. As long as they kept cranking them out exactly the way they were. They used a jalapeno sourdough bun, none of that sesame seed bullshit, and when you took a bite, grease oozed out of the meat and dripped down onto your plate. It was exactly like mama used to make. Well, someone else’s mama.
That day, it was still early enough to catch the kitchen but late enough that a few of the night crowd had already trickled in. Old Man Dennis sat on his left, picking at his french fries. A greasy napkin on his plate was the only evidence that a burger had ever sat there. Two women were standing in front of the jukebox, flipping through the pages. They couldn’t have been a day over eighteen, probably fresh from the nursing school down the street, looking to have some fun. James would bet money their ID’s were as fake as their tans. Too young for him, anyway. Pretty to look at, and he’d bet fun to fuck, but they came with too much drama and immaturity. He turned back to his half-eaten burger and looked at his watch. Tommy would be there any minute but
you never knew when he had to stay late to finish up a car. Trey could be a real hard ass sometimes.
He had just wiped the last of the grease from his chin when Tommy walked in, still wearing his blue coveralls. His shoulders were tight and he didn’t look up at James as he jerked out the empty stool next to him and sat down.
“Hey Tommy, whatcha havin’?” Abe asked as he picked up Dennis’ empty plate and wiped down the counter.
“Bacon burger, extra fries,” Tommy answered.
Abe pointed to the clock on the wall. “Sorry, kitchen closed about ten minutes ago.”
Tommy sighed and finally looked at James. “Really, you couldn’t have ordered me something before they closed? You knew I was coming.”
James shrugged and continued to eat his fries.
“You could have at least shared.” Tommy glared at James before turning to the bartender. “I guess just give me a Bud and a bag of the sour cream chips.”
A gust of warm air and harsh light from the street lamps swept across the bar as the front doors blew open. A large man stepped in, tall and broad-shouldered, his long black hair braided halfway down his back and a biker vest zipped snugly across his chest. Behind him was a smaller man, dirty blond hair cut short and wearing the same vest. Their eyes roamed the bar, slowly adjusting to the low light, before falling on James and Tommy.
They both smiled. “Sup James, Tommy. Ya’ll wanna play a quick game? Andrew here got us kicked off league tonight so we ain’t got nothin’ else goin.”
A local pool league often held tournaments over at Hurricane’s Bar; no serious player usually wanted to slum it by hitting around on the ripped felt at Mikel’s.
“Sure,” said James.
“Not tonight,” said Tommy
James looked at Tommy with eyebrows raised. “Come on, it’s just one game. What else do we have to do? It’s not like you gotta sit down to eat those chips.” One corner of his mouth tipped up in a sarcastic smile.
Tommy took a deep breath before answering, “I’m tired. Tired and hungry. Some of us have been working all day.”
“All right, see ya’ll later.” The two men picked up the tray of balls from Abe and headed to the back of the room.
Tommy chewed his chips quietly, staring at his beer.
“What crawled up your ass?” James asked.
“Nothin’.”
“Like hell, nothing. You’ve been cranky as a bitch on the rag lately, and now you don’t even wanna play pool?”
“I’m just tired of it, is all.” Tommy laid a five on the bar and stood up. “I’m gonna go grab some food and head home.”
“Hold on now.” James jerked a ten-dollar bill out of his wallet, slapped it on the counter, and scrambled to catch Tommy at the door. “I’ll walk out with you. Need to talk anyway.”
They walked towards the alley in silence, Tommy with his hands shoved into his pockets and a scowl on his face. A few cars passed by on the main street, but none turned down the alley where they always parked. No one parked there unless they wanted their windows smashed in and their stereo stolen. James had one up on them though: he didn’t have a stereo. He wasn’t afraid of much anyway, including dark alleys and whoever might be lurking there. Shit, they should be scared of him, he thought as his fingers curled around the smooth pearl handle of the knife in his pocket.
“Well, bye,” Tommy mumbled as he pulled his keys out of his pocket.
James glanced behind them before following Tommy into the shadows.
“Hey Tommy.”
“What,” he said, without turning around. A chirp emitted from his car as he unlocked the door.
“You’ve been a real pain in the ass lately, you know that?”
Tommy glanced back at James. “Whatever, man.”
“I’m just saying, I don’t know if this arrangement is gonna work out anymore.”
“What are you talkin’ about?” With one hand on his car door, he turned towards James. He barely saw the street light glinting off the sharp blade before it was buried to the hilt in his stomach. Tommy gasped, his eyes wide with shock. He pulled on James’ hands still holding the blade and jerked backwards, freeing himself from the knife. He knew what James was capable of, so he had to know where he was headed. Tommy turned to run but James grabbed his arm and pulled him down onto the dirty concrete. He fell with a splash into a puddle of foul-smelling rainwater left over from the previous storm.
Tommy wrenched sideways into James’ legs, just below the knee. James buckled and fell down next to him. James could feel his knees burn through his jeans as they scraped against the hard ground. He managed to get a punch across Tommy’s jaw, but it wasn’t enough to knock him out, since James was still unsteady and Tommy was fighting back harder than he’d ever seen him fight before. Looked like he wasn’t such a little bitch after all, thought James. He’d still have to kill him, but he felt a little better about his friend not being such a pussy.
Tommy gripped James’ knife-wielding hand and twisted, trying to get him to release the blade. James rolled over onto Tommy in an attempt to use his own body weight to pin him down. He had about fifty pounds on Tommy’s small frame. Their breath came out in grunts and huffs, both getting tired, but James had the one-up. He was still the one with the knife. He wrestled his hand free from Tommy’s grip and turned the blade back towards him.
For a split second, James looked into Tommy’s eyes and saw the friend that had always been there for him. But it wasn’t personal, it was necessary. He was the only other one that knew everything James had done and would do. Tommy was weak, and he was a liability.
James held Tommy’s gaze as he pushed the blade into the soft flesh of his neck and jerked it to the side. Blood came out in spurts as Tommy gasped for breath, his hands trying to hold the cut together – like that was going to do any damn good. His head had fallen to his chin, the neck muscles no longer able to hold it up.
James pulled himself off the ground and brushed dirt off his jeans as he watched the life flow out of Tommy, onto the gravel and concrete around him. His hands caught on the small tears of his jeans, right over his knees.
“Fuck.” He could see bright red blood through the holes, some of it seeping through to the front of his jeans. He kicked Tommy’s lifeless body. “These were new fucking pants, asshole.”
Tommy stared at James, long after his pupils had dilated and his mouth had fallen open. It was no longer Tommy, of course. James figured he stopped being Tommy around the time they killed that guy and his kid. That’s when he started acting more like a little bitch, anyway.
A strong stench of piss and shit wafted up from the ground, mingling with the already rancid odor of the alley. Disgusted, James turned towards his van. His key was in the door before he realized he needed to do something about the little scene he’d left behind. He looked towards the street before jogging back to Tommy’s body. He knelt down and rolled Tommy over on his side just enough to pull his wallet out of his pants. As he got a good grip on the wallet, a groan slipped from Tommy’s lips and James almost shit his pants. He yanked the wallet out and jumped back, expecting to hear Tommy start talking or crying, but nothing else came from his mouth.
Back in the van, he eased out of the alley, thankful that no one was around to finger him being there. He turned the radio to The Box and turned it up as high as he could stand it, bobbing his head along with the music. Traffic was light, and the moon was full. He was at their place in no time, wondering how long he’d be able to put off their landlord before he realized he wasn’t getting any more rent checks. He just needed a couple more takes and he’d have enough to get out of town. Just a couple more.
After a shower and a change into clean clothes, James had barely put his feet up on the coffee table when he heard footsteps on the stairs outside. He moved to the window and peeked out, wondering who the hell was coming by that late at night. His only friend was laying in an alley so he was pretty sure it wasn’t him. Whoever it was, had parked where J
ames couldn’t see him. He closed the curtains just as a loud rapping came from the front door.
27
“James!” His mama rushed through the front door and smothered him in a tight embrace. “I’m so glad you’re okay.”
“Mama, what are you doing out so late?” he asked, his voice muffled in the folds of her arms. He tried to take a deep breath around the stench of grease, sweat, and dollar store body spray. “And why wouldn’t I be okay?”
She finally released him and shuffled into the living room, the wicker chair creaking as she settled into it. Her face was flushed and her chest heaved up and down. “Ooh wee, those stairs nearly took me out this time! When you gonna move to somethin’ without stairs?”
Her eyes darted around the small living room and back to James. “And where’s Tommy?”
“I don’t know. But mama, why wouldn’t I be okay?” He crouched down in front of her chair and put his hand on her knee. Something was clearly worrying her, and he had no idea what it could be.
“I was watchin’ the news and they said these guys was killed and did you know that all of them was drivin’ vans that looked just like yours?” She paused to catch her breath. “I told Betsy, I said ‘Betsy, now that’s the kinda van James drives’. And she says, ‘You better go tell him to sell it’. And you know, I think she’s right. There’s some crazy damn people in this world, James, and it’s better to be safe than sorry, right?”
James chuckled and squeezed her knee, “That’s what’s got you so worked up? Shit, mama, I thought it was something serious!”
He straightened up and walked to the kitchen, talking to her over his shoulder. “I’ll get you a coke. Yeah, Tommy and I was watching that the other day, some dude burned up in a van, and one was shot next to another van. But ma, you know how many people drive vans? I mean, you got regular people, and then you got electricians, and plumbers, and all them. It’s not that big of a coincidence that two people driving a van died. There’s lots of vans.” He pulled a can of cold Dr. Pepper out of the fridge.
Come Join The Murder Page 16
