by Mark Tiro
“No!” I thundered back.
“Sorry, sorry. I meant to say, ‘that kid who fucked you over.’” He said it slowly, emphasizing the last word. “Well that kid’s family trust basically owns that place. Any professor would be out on their ass before the law school would ever think about doing anything bad to anyone from that family. It’s not personal Maya. You’ll find another job easy enough…”
“I don’t need another job! I already have another job. My other job is saving money! And I’m good at it. I could retire right now if I wanted to. That’s not the point.”
“I get it,” he sighed as I heard him take another long drink. “So it’s principle then?”
“He accused me of fucking—”
“Well, if I have the facts straight Maya, didn’t he accuse you of not fucking him?”
“The little punk tried to blackmail me!” I bellowed, as I could feel my blood beginning to flow now. “He barely just passed my class. Barely. And I was being charitable too! And then he had the nerve to ask me to change his grade! To an A-. An A- instead of A+, that’s right. ‘Because I’m modest,’ the little shit told me. ‘I don’t need to be too flashy.’”
“Didn’t you say he asked for a B something—”
“Whatever!” I roared.
“So what did he threaten to do exactly?”
“He said that he’d lie and report that I had told him I was going to fuck him one way or another. He said I'd told him, ‘if you won't sleep with me, I'll fuck you on your grade.’ Jeesh—as if I couldn't sleep with whoever I wanted to.”
“Yep. He’s got you down, doesn’t he? That sounds about like something you’d say Maya.”
“Not with a student! At least not with that little shit. I’ve got standards!”
“Just kidding.”
“Anyway, once he opened his mouth, that was it. The administration wanted to back me up—why wouldn’t they, right? I’m the best thing that’s happened to that school since God invented student loans. Still, once they heard the kid’s last name, the board’s head spun so fast…”
“And you were out on your ass, filing this lawsuit by yourself, on principle, even though you’re telling me you don’t need the money and can just walk away and retire tomorrow?”
“Yup. That about sums it up. What do you say you come down here—have a drink with me? There's a wine bar we can walk to right around the corner. It’s the same place we went to last time.”
“Sure. Nadia’s not back until tomorrow. I can leave here in about fifteen minutes. I’ll pick up a bag of fresh coffee for her, for when she gets back from her trip tomorrow. Women like that sort of thing, you know. Considerate—”
“Don’t even—I taught you that!”
“Should I even ask how many you’ve had so far?”
“Only two drinks so far. I swear.”
“Maya?” he asked in the mocking voice of a stern older brother.
“I swear, only two drinks. Okay, okay. Both of them were doubles.” I looked down at the latte in front of me. I stopped trying to contain my smile, and let out a big laugh in the phone. I’d worked myself up so much that I’d almost forgotten how it felt to laugh. Larry was an old friend. He had been, ever since the day I met him.
“Just stay where you are and don’t drive, okay? It’s dangerous and I wouldn’t want you to spill your coffee.”
“Latte,” I corrected him. “Anyway, I’ll see you in a little bit. I have my whole file here on my computer, and we can strategize, maybe figure out how to best crank up the pressure on this little shit so that he’ll have PTSD for the rest of his godforsaken life, whenever he even thinks of the inside of a courtroom.”
“Do you want to be right, or do you want to be happy Maya?”
“That's not even a question. I am right,” I blurted back, instinctively.
“I know. But wouldn’t you rather be happy?”
“I’m happy too!” I snapped. “And I’ll be happier when I fuck him. In court.”
“See, that’s exactly what I mean. You’re the most competitive person I know. Even back in law school, I didn’t know anyone who was more tenacious—no, more stubborn—than you. You were always trying to prove that some authority figure, or some expert or whoever it was that had gotten on to your list, was wrong. But see Maya? You just can’t win this one. The system’s just not set up for that. If you did, the whole system would collapse.”
“But I can’t just let that little shit get away with what he did. I’m sure he’s done it before, to other professors. Hell, he probably did it to his kindergarten teacher for all I know. I’ve argued in court against injustice my whole life. And now I’m supposed to just roll over and get—”
“Fucked?”
“Very funny. But I am not just going to roll over and get fucked. Not by that little shit at least. Larry, I will not be the victim here!”
“No, of course you won’t. Don’t worry, I’ll help you in any way I can.”
“Thank you.”
“But please think a bit about what I’m saying. The right versus happy thing. I’m not asking for an answer right away anyway. Just something for you to think about. Now that you’re unemployed and have lots and lots of time on your hands.”
That brought a little smile to my face. Still, I didn’t answer him.
“I’ll be down there in a little bit, okay? We can work on some of those pleadings for this lawsuit of yours, if that’s what you want. And maybe, just maybe, I’ll try to talk you out of this meshugas one last time. Remember though—either way—I’ve always got your back. Just buy me a drink when I get there, okay? I’m not picky you know…”
That did it. I finally let go, just enough. I relaxed and broke into a full-fledged grin.
“I know.”
3
Three
I put the phone back on the table, face down, and took a drink of my latte which had by now cooled to the perfect temperature. Then I opened up my computer and looked over my recent files.
There was the book I’d been struggling to write for the past ten or fifteen years. I’d started trying to tell the story of my most peculiar client. My nascent book project had started as the story of the last public defender client I’d ever had. But as I tried to write it out, the story had taken on a life of its own. Over the years, it had turned into a rambling auto-biographical mess, in something like fifty-seven parts.
And so I’d put the book aside. Every so often, I’d come back to it, though I never really did make much progress on it. Usually only when I was feeling particularly good… or particularly bad…
I looked down at my laptop, and thought about the legal documents I was working on for the lawsuit. My life story in fifty-seven parts, or whatever it was, would have to wait at least one more day. I moved the cursor up and clicked on the other file at the top of my ‘recents’ list. It was a discovery document, and I needed to finish it and get it out by tomorrow. For the lawsuit.
Just as I was pulling up the file on my laptop, I heard the grating sound of some kid, maybe seven or nine or fifty, half crying, half whining as he was dragged through the front door. A woman holding a baby—also crying—was pleading with, and then yelling at, the boy to come in. And the whole gaggle of them were walking towards the bathroom, right next to where I was sitting. Before any of them could notice, I shifted just that littlest bit so they would only see the back of my head. Probably only a half hour or so until Larry got here.
“Sit here Alex and wait for me while I change the baby’s diaper. Do not go anywhere!” The lady directed the boy to a chair a few feet from my table. Jeesh! Could’ve maybe asked me lady! That chair you forced your kid to sit in like three feet from me is technically mine. Or at least, it goes with this table. My table. I just hope the kid doesn’t talk or cry, or whatever it is kids do. I have things I’m trying to get done here!
She headed off to the bathroom, the baby in tow. Once the bathroom door finally slammed shut behind her, the kid sat down in the chair next
to me.
Probably closer to seven than to fifty. Definitely closer to seven.
He sat quietly though, like this wasn’t the first time he had to sit alone waiting for his mother. He did look over at me—I saw this out of the corner of my eye. I pretended I was intently staring at my laptop to avoid looking in his direction. After waiting a while, the kid relented and stopped looking over at me. He pulled out a little tablet and started to play a game or an app, or watch a video. Or whatever it is that seven year-old kids did while their moms were in the bathroom. Once he did that, and I was off the hook from having to make small talk, I relaxed and focused on the discovery request for my lawsuit. Just as I started to revel in the different ways I could crank up the legal pressure, there was another noise at the front of the store. This time, even louder.
I looked up, and saw two men with guns.
One of them threw a chair. The sound it made as it crashed against the wall was drowned out only by the screaming and crying of customers as it started to dawn on everyone what was happening.
One person at the table closest to me pulled out a cellphone and started taking a video.
“Muthafucker! Gimme that!” one of the guys with guns screamed in his general direction.
In my general direction.
The man with the phone making the video was looking into the screen. Maybe because of this, it took him a few seconds to realize that the gunman was talking directly to him.
Apparently, that was a few seconds too many.
The guy with the gun screamed again. Then he came running over.
But he didn’t make it. He tripped on a chair halfway over and fell. He crashed into the holiday gift display, which sent coffee cups crashing down on top of his head. He lay there bleeding, maybe unconscious. The gun fell to the floor with a thud.
The second guy shouted something I couldn’t make out. Then he looked over at the person who had been taking the video with his phone. Now this second guy walked over. Walked over, and shot him straight on.
The man who'd been taking the video crashed to the ground. His precious fucking phone crashed there on top of him.
“Fuck! Fuck you! I told you! Fuck!” The gunman unleashed the string of expletives as he kept walking, over to where the person with the phone lay. He leaned over, and looked down at him for what seems like a minute. The guy was bleeding, but still alive.
What’s he going to do? A million little thoughts went off in my head. What’s he going to do? I wonder if there’s video? I could feel my heart thumping like it was going to beat right out of my chest. The guy with the gun wasn’t more than three, maybe four feet from me now, but he had his back turned to me. He was looking away. He was concentrating. On his prey. Actually, on his prey’s cellphone I think. Plain as day, I could see from here. The bloody thing was still recording.
This is my chance, I thought. I can take him now, by surprise.
But I didn’t. I just stood there, staring at his back for what seemed like forever. I don’t know how long he actually stayed there like that, in front of me. But I couldn’t do it. As much as I tried, I couldn’t pull together my thoughts. And I tried. To think. To slow my head down. To analyze and understand the situation. To plan out what to do next.
Then it didn’t matter anymore.
Two more pops. I fell back. I think I might have felt the recoil, the shooter was so close to me. Or maybe just the horror.
The cellphone video guy wasn't wounded any more. Now he was dead.
Just then, the first guy who had fallen into the chair seemed to come to. He flailed around, reaching for the gun that had fallen. Then he staggered to his feet. He looked at the dead cellphone video guy, raised his gun and pumped two shots into his already dead body. Then he turned around and headed back toward the cash register.
I didn’t see it. But I heard it. More shots, more screams, I don’t know how many. I do know that I saw the barista—the one who had gotten me my drink not too long before—with the left half of her face missing. She fell into the cash register, and crashed with it to the floor. The cash register broke into little pieces, moving across the floor.
The barista was broken into little pieces now too, but she wasn’t moving at all.
“Antoine, fuck!” the second guy with the gun shouted, rushing forward.
That’s when I saw it. I saw him. Just about to open… to walk in… to… to…
Larry. It was Larry.
No Larry! No!
He was still looking down, tapping out a text, onto his phone—completely oblivious to the horror unfolding all around.
And then my friend… Larry, my friend Larry…
He… he… he opened the door.
I tried to scream. I started to warn him.
But no sound came out. There was just a silent, psychic scream where my voice—where my warning to him—should have been.
The knots inside had swallowed up every sound, turning it back around, amplifying my horrific shriek. But no sound came out. The words only bounced around like billiard balls in my mind. It was an echo chamber of horror only I could hear.
Larry! No! Get back!
Still, no sound came out.
I think I could have lunged, even at this point, and wrapped up the guy’s arms. If I'd tried, I’m certain I could have wrestled the gun away from him. He wasn’t paying any attention in my direction—behind him now—at all.
But I didn’t do it. I had decided to do it. And then I just… didn't.
I don't know how much time went by after that.
I had tried to gather my thoughts, but I couldn't. My head was a muddled-up mess, and I was stuck in it.
Then—pop, pop, pop. Another three shots.
I watched in horror. I watched Larry get thrown back. He’d been hit by the barrage.
He stumbled first, and then he fell.
Then he crashed, head first, through the glass door in front of him.
And that's when my shock receded. Sort of, just a little. But it was enough. I screamed. Finally. Out loud, I finally fucking screamed.
I knew it was out loud this time. I was sure of it, because that’s when the gunman looked over at me and raised up his gun.
Pop, pop, pop. I saw him shoot. I saw him, and then I saw—it.
It was just a flash, an instant as his eyes met mine. You, I thought. Do I know you? But I didn’t, or couldn’t figure out where from. The instant was gone then, just like that.
Pop, pop, pop. I don’t know if I was hearing the sound of more rounds now, or just remembering.
I think I heard the sound of a now-empty magazine popping out and falling to the floor. It echoed, and for a moment, drowned out all my thoughts. Reflexively, I jerked my head around.
That’s when I saw it.
That kid—he was no longer sitting there next to me. Now he was lying down, crumpled onto the ground next to my feet. He’d been hit. He was just lying there, and he didn’t make a sound.
I looked down at him, and I noticed something else now too. It was blood, and it was now pooling on the floor all around me. It was my blood. I hadn’t felt it. It hadn’t even registered. But I’d been hit too, and here I was, bleeding out. I reached out for the chair to keep myself from falling.
I couldn’t feel it. I couldn’t feel a thing.
Is that goddamn mom of his ever going to come out of the bathroom? I thought.
It took effort, but I swung my head around, to look towards the bathroom. But instead of seeing his mom, I came face to face with… with…
The guy with the gun.
You? It was a question I asked silently. My mouth didn’t move. I don’t think it could’ve by then. The voice in my mind though was loud and determined and clear.
Who the fuck are you?
But I knew. I just knew. I should have killed you when I had the chance, I thought.
But I hadn’t. And then he took one more step towards me, raised up his gun, and…
Pop.
Then… nothing.
The round threw me back, into the store display behind me. I didn’t feel any of this. I could still see the mess all around me, I think. Or not. Everything was getting quiet now. Quiet… quiet.
My body slid down. And that’s where I came to rest. Next to the kid, on that cold coffeehouse floor.
The boy was there, curled up in a ball, bleeding. My blood ran out across the floor and mingled with his.
He heaved his head up with what must have been an enormous effort. He turned it with one last push towards the bathroom.
Tears hung on his eyes, filling them, clinging. “Mom, it hurts. Mom. Where are you? It hurts Mom….” His voice grew weaker with each word until finally it stopped.
The shooting had stopped too, I think. I don’t know.
A couple labored breaths later, the boy fell silent again. This time for good.
That’s when his obstinate fucking tears finally fell. They fell and hit the floor, mixing with the pool of blood that was already there.
And then they were gone.
After that, I heard nothing but silence.
He died there, that boy. Alone and afraid, with his motionless head turned towards the bathroom, waiting forever for a mom who would never come.
I saw him die there. His lifeless face filled me with rage just as my mouth filled with blood.
But my mind filled with something else entirely. It was a wild, primal scream—silent and psychic. It rose up in my mind, drowning out everything else, obliterating every other thought.
Every other thought except one.
For the next sixteen seconds I had left on earth, I had one very clear thought: I will avenge. This child. Larry. Myself.
There was the gurgle of blood, but other than that, no sound came out of my mouth. None needed to. The sound in my mind was crystal clear. I could taste the blood run over my lips, onto the floor around me.
I struggled to breathe now, and so with my last bit of strength, I tried to drag myself into a sitting position against the base of the plastic Christmas tree display.
I never made it.
Halfway there, my body gave out, and I slumped back to the floor, my eyes still wide open. Then like the boy next to me, I died.
