by Carey Lewis
“Why couldn’t they be on the other one? Any other one.”
Now F-Train was smiling at them, bouncing the wrench against the pole that went from roof to floor. Breaker came up behind him, the leader, a smaller build to him, holding a tire iron across his shoulders.
Cleon and Ajax looked at each other, something catching Ajax’s eye over Cleon’s shoulder. Cleon saw Ajax nod, knowing he had a plan, so Cleon stepped forward and Ajax took a step back.
“Out of all the gangs, you got the best movie. You heard that?” Cleon asked.
“We got two of them,” Breaker said, Switch coming to stand side by side with F-Train.
Ajax took another step back, easing into the back corner of the car.
“Which one you like better?”
“I like Denzel but the better flick’s got to go to the old guy played Mr. Wilson in that Dennis the Menace movie.”
“I’m with you on that. Just that last shot though.”
“Guy sneezes, Mr. Wilson gives him a look like a shitty sitcom? Like he just caught his daughter up to hi-jinx and is saying ‘oh you.’”
Cleon pretended laughter. “Yeah, almost ruins the flick but that’s how solid it is.”
“Switch, what’s that guy’s name again? Mr. Wilson?”
“Walter Matthau. He was in Grumpy Old Men too.”
“Never saw that one. Looks like Mr. Wilson though, you look at the cartoon.”
“So we cool now guys? We like the same movies.”
They laughed, Breaker saying “your boy’s going to hit that switch to stop the train. Go ahead, hit it.”
Cleon turned to Ajax who was now not so sure of his plan. Cleon nodded to him so Ajax broke the glass and hit the red button. The train jerked and made a loud screeching noise, but eventually came to a stop.
“Third Rail, you go on over and open that door for them,” and the guy with the giant chain cutters walked past them, standing face to face with Cleon, then turned and shoved the cutters into the door, prying it open.
“There’s your choice,” Breaker said.
“That? That was your plan?” Cleon asked. Ajax shrugged.
“How high you think that is?” Breaker asked.
“Got to be twenty, thirty feet,” Third Rail said, looking out to the ground. “Hard to tell with the trees and shit. Plus it’s dark, could be more.”
“Seriously Ajax?” and again Ajax shrugged.
“Some time now the man’s going to be coming back here wondering why his choo-choo stopped. That comes, your choice is gone.”
F-Train stepped forward, bringing the wrench up in both hands, stopping when Breaker said “Hold on there F, these boys got time to make their choice. This is only because we both dig on the Mr. Wilson flick.”
“Lot of people like the Denzel one?”
“Man, most don’t even know it’s a remake. Wonder why we’re so pissed off.”
Cleon took a step to the open door, the wind blowing in his face. He couldn’t see anything except the outline of the treetops.
Ajax stepped behind him, looking over his shoulder, “maybe we aim for that tree there it won’t be so bad.”
“Which one?”
“That one, the Christmas tree.”
“No Christmas trees around here.”
“Where you think all the presents go?”
“F, I changed my mind.”
They looked up to see F-Train coming at them with the wrench raised. Cleon pushed Ajax out of the train and jumped behind him, the wrench brushing along the top of his puffy hair.
The canal ran for a long stretch, going the distance from lake to lake that bordered them on the north and south, for transportation of goods on the shipping lanes. A boat would come through the canal and go up north to deliver whatever they were carrying. Or they would go south from the north and do the same. From these lakes and channels, boats could run freely between America and Canada, delivering goods to hundreds and hundreds of ports.
That’s why it was such a great asset to The Boss and Cyrus. Paying off the right people, the dock workers would look the other way as some of these boats moved into a lock and the boat would sit there as the water would get filled into the chamber, the boat rising, then moving onto the higher elevation of the next lock and so on and so on until the boat was traveling again through the next lake. Or the chamber would lose water and the boat would lower.
It was at these locks where the rightly paid people could take out shipments of drugs, brought to them from anywhere in North America, which was usually interstates and highways. The truck would drive to a port, then the contents of the truck were loaded onto a boat and that boat would find itself in this canal, where it would stop and some of the contraband contents would be unloaded onto another truck or van or whatever The Boss determined the right mode of transport would be.
Not that Lex was thinking about any of that, or even aware of it. All he was thinking was it would take quite a stroke of luck to find the waterlogged Bopper that had gotten pushed into the canal. That was even if the Bopper managed to get out. People were unaware of how fast the canal actually moved, all the drainage reservoirs that were around. People drowned, and they drowned quickly if the conditions were right. If there was a boat in there, like the one Lex was looking at from the hatchback he was in, any swimmers were as good as gone.
Asteria said over the radio he got pushed in at Lock Five, emphasizing the five when she played Jackson Five. That was good, it would narrow down his search. When they got to the fifth Lock, Lex saw it was closed, so the Bopper would be forced to go down to Lock Four. And that’s when he saw the boat in the two-way part of the channel, so he figured the Bopper would have gotten out, or he got sucked under.
He made the kid slow down, the kid calling himself Kevin, as Lex scanned the nearby area as the car crept along, then made him park in the little lot where tourists could come and watch the boat go by. Tourists never came here, preferring to go to the platforms at the locks to watch the boat go through the magic of rising or lowering, for some reason getting a kick out of it. In this little lot, the kids came here to make out, thinking it was romantic with the water right there. It was empty now.
A little further, there was a skyway, which was a bridge way up in the sky that allowed cars and trucks to go over the canal and not be interrupted by boat traffic. Most ways across the canal were these little lift bridges that would rise for the boat to pass. Most people preferred the skyway highway, not having to wait for a bridge. Lex looked at the pillar holding up the giant bridge, two of them that made a little island in the middle of the water. Could be the Bopper crawled onto one of them, but it looked desolate. Nothing there but cement and stone, not really a place to hide. Maybe behind the pillar but Lex didn’t think anyone would climb up there to sit.
Bopper could’ve crawled out on the other side, way over there where all the grass was high, the farm area. That happened, Lex would have more time because the guy would then have to walk all the way around to a lock to cross again.
Lex got out of the car and went to the water. He looked down the canal, north and south, and got a sinking feeling. There were places for miles on both sides the person could’ve crawled out. And this was just between two locks, Lex didn’t know how many there actually were.
He turned around, looking at the area across the street. There was another gravel lot there, a wagon that sold french fries, closed now.
Max got out of the car to stretch his legs. Lex pushed him out of the way to look at the manufacturing area, all the businesses selling shit to other businesses. There was a pool factory he worked at around here, putting all the parts into boxes and those boxes got shipped to the stores that actually sold the pools. Now Rex was out of the car, doing some stretches at his waist, getting in Lex’s way. He moved to the side, making sure to not get hit by an elbow, remembered one other store in the area, the one that sold nuts and bolts to hardware stores that he always thought was odd.
Lex w
as staring right at the figure walking away from him and didn’t even pay attention to it. The silhouette walking into the manufacturing area, there in the distance, seemed to be hobbling.
“That Dax?” Rex asked, taking a couple steps forward thinking it would help him see better. That’s when Lex noticed him.
“Shit, Max, get the gun.”
“You got one,” Max said.
“I ain’t hitting him from here with a handgun, get the rifle.”
Max ducked into the car, grabbed the AR-15 out of the backseat and came out with it. Lex realized Kevin was still in the car, thought of how stupid Max was leaving a goddamn rifle in the car with their hostage.
Rex took a few more steps forward, getting a better look as Max stood beside the car and brought the rifle to rest against his shoulder, looked down the sight.
“It’s not firing,” Max said.
“What?”
“The trigger’s not going down,” Max lowered the gun.
“You got the safety on,” and Lex took a step to Max, “give it to me.”
“I can do it,” Max said as Lex reached for the gun.
The gun came to life, firing and jerking it’s way up to the sky, leaving a trail of bullets in Rex, from his waist curving up to his shoulder.
The gun dropped to the ground, Lex and Max wide eyed. And then Rex dropped to his knees, then onto his belly, a pool of blood forming underneath him.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The Triumph pulled into the spot marked for emergencies and only gave an hour to park. There was a nurse and a paramedic watching him, having a smoke under the overhang where the ambulances pulled up to bring in the patients. The other paramedic was inside the ambulance having a coffee.
Cowboy got off the bike, noticed them staring so he pointed to the sign that said no smoking within fifty feet of all entrances. Then he went inside, found himself in front of the booth for the triage nurse, some family asking about their father that got hit by a car. Another family was trying to get her attention at the same time, wondering if the old guy that was brought in was the wife’s father that had dementia.
To the right was a hallway that split in two. One went behind the triage station to the emergency ward, the other led to the rest of the hospital.
Cowboy went straight, into the emergency area, the hallways empty, the only sound coming from his boots and pages for doctors and nurses. There were empty gurneys in the halls, some posters for heart health or what to do in different types of emergencies. He got to the X-Ray room, took a left and heard some talking, found himself standing in front of the emergency waiting room, a TV in the corner playing The Tonight Show. The uniformed cops inside looked up from their magazines, steaming coffee in their hands. There was also a woman inside, trying to watch the TV, peeling the skin off her fingertips. Another family tried to occupy a kid with a coloring book that was practically falling apart.
Cowboy tilted his hat to the policemen and kept walking, hit the button, heard the air release on the double doors granting him entrance into the operating wing. There were more sounds here, coming into the communal surgery recovery room. The low moan of TV’s, the beeping of equipment, the low murmur of nurses. He took a step inside the dim room, saw nurses tending to patients, making sure they were set for the night. Saw the closed curtains around some of the beds, other patients that hadn’t closed their curtains snoring or just staring at the ceiling.
He felt one of the policeman staring at him, standing at the double doors, one that followed him from the waiting room. He opted not to pay attention to the nosy cop, decided to go down this other hall, hearing the cop’s footsteps behind him. He looked into the rooms, saw they were recovery rooms as well, peeked in as he went by.
Cowboy turned the corner at the end of the hall, saw the cop sitting on a chair outside one of the rooms, knew inside was the man he was looking for. Walked toward him, this young cop stood, trying not to look in the window of the door.
He stopped when he saw the kid take a couple steps back, a doctor covered in blood coming out with a couple nurses, peeling off the latex gloves. He had a word with the cop now, then walked down the hall, throwing the bloody gloves in one of the green medical waste bins.
Cowboy felt the presence of the waiting room cop standing over his shoulder, decided not to do anything.
“They called a code for him about ten minutes ago,” the voice said over his shoulder. “Guess he didn’t make it.”
Cowboy stood there, staring at the cop trying to look in the door, fighting his temptation to do so.
“You hear me?”
Saw the cop reach for the radio on his shoulder, hitting the button, heard his voice on the radio from the cop behind him. “Unit fifteen to Central?”
“Go ahead fifteen.”
“GSW DOA. Repeat. GSW DOA.
“Roger fifteen. GSW DOA.”
Cowboy heard the radio go silent, the cop turning down the volume. He watched as the curious cop made his way slowly into the room.
“That’s Nichols,” the cop behind him said, “rookie. Never seen a body before. Guess he’s curious. Why don’t you turn around so we can get a better look at you.”
Cowboy turned around to see the cop, roughly the same age, weathered, had one of those noses that was starting to get bigger from drinking. He was a little thicker, probably wiry in his younger years. His nameplate read ‘Murphy.’ He stared at Cowboy with eyes of steel, knew this cop had resolve to him.
“Friend of yours? Come here to check up on him, make sure he’s okay?” Murphy asked.
“Friend of a friend.”
“So you can tell your friend that his friend is no longer with us. Should be the end of this, not the start of something,” those steely blue eyes giving Cowboy a warning.
“I’ll let him know.”
“His friend’s gone, no more reason for it. Can’t bring him back.”
“My friends attitude will be one of relief. His suffering gone.”
“I hope so.”
Murphy stepped aside to let Cowboy pass, walking behind him as he made his way through the hospital back to his bike.
Cowboy thought Murphy would have one last word as he saddled onto the Triumph, one more word of warning, but Murphy just stood there, knowing he did all the talking he had to. Cowboy knew he wasn’t a man to be messed with, knew he didn’t have to say anything else.
That’s when the little Honda sped in and screeched to a stop in front of them. The passenger door flung open and a body dropped to the pavement and then the Honda sped off, leaving behind a goth looking Asian that was screaming and bleeding from his hip.
It looked like she wanted to run. Without realizing it, Jamal painted Kenzie into a corner. She heard it, okay, that wasn’t enough to put Lex away. When she was telling him about her family, how they wouldn’t be safe, it was like she was realizing it for the first time. Jamal was sure she thought about it, but saying it out loud, it seemed like it was hitting home for her.
So now he was sitting in his car, down the street, watching the house. He was sure she’d run, and now he felt an obligation to protect her. No, that wasn’t it, that was just a benefit of him being here, able to watch the house. It was a lie he told himself to feel better about what he did. I’m a bad guy, he thought, don’t fool yourself into thinking you’re doing this because you’re good.
He was sitting there, waiting for her to run so he could follow her and see where she went. Maybe being drawn into the open would bring Lex to her. Maybe he could put the word out on the street, grab one of these fools in their costumes and tell them Kenzie saw the whole thing, watch as word got back to Lex then he’d come running into the trap.
The look in her eyes, the fear and panic, thought she was going to run right there. Just push her way past him and run. But she didn’t and she still hadn’t, leaving Jamal in his car to wait.
He felt the phone buzzing in his pocket. Again. It stopped for a stretch, but now it rang every two minute
s or so. He pulled it out of his pocket, saw it was Ray. Decided to answer it, maybe he had some news he wasn’t going to share.
“Don’t hang up.”
“Say something interesting.”
“There’s another one been dropped off at the hospital.”
“Why you telling me?” Jamal asked.
“Just get over here, we’ll talk.”
Without seeing Kenzie leave the house, he started the car and made his way to the hospital.
When he got there he saw two cop cars with their lights flashing along with Ray’s car, all blocking the entrance to the emergency, all of them about making a show.
Ray saw him from inside, the doors sliding open as he rushed to Jamal getting out of his car. As he watched Ray jogging over he saw Cowboy, standing under the overhang, smoking his cigarillo under the sign that said no smoking.
“Lucy’s in there,” Ray said, “throwing a fit.”
“I come here for you to tell me that?”
“She’s pissed off or at least pretending she is.”
“She want my head?”
“Doing this whole spiel, saying that’s why you shouldn’t be with us, saying first case she puts you on she’s got three bodies, making a show about being dragged off a date that was going well.”
“Cyrus didn’t make it?”
“Coded right before this other guy got brought in. Cyber Punk they’re saying. Little Civic comes and throws him out and drives away.”
“He’s dead too?”
“No, shot in the hip, think he’ll make it. Lucy’s saying three bodies to make it more heavy.”
“Pile it against me.”
“Make it more dire yeah, showing how much you fucked up. Getting all the reason to get rid of you.”
“You didn’t tell me about the warrant.”
“What am I going to do Jamal? She tells me not to help, says everything she can without saying it to make sure you fail.”
“But you’re helping me now?”
“You were right. Three kids now? Don’t matter if they’re no good, kids shouldn’t be getting shot.”
