by P. J. Post
His eyes grow wide and he rests his hands on top of his head in disbelief. “Motherfucker, I’m going to kill you for that.”
“Make up your mind. Are you going to kill me for taking Peg, busting your face or kicking over your bike?” I laugh at him.
I hope I sound as crazy as he looks.
“You don’t know who you’ve fucked with,” he spits at me.
And for a split second, I almost do it.
“No, it’s you who doesn't know me,” I say in a cold, emotionless voice.
I raise the gun and take a step closer, but not too close. I desperately want to pull the trigger and it’s only when I realize I’m squeezing it that I lower the gun. The sudden thought of going to prison and never seeing Beth again saves him.
He’s not worth that much.
I have his automatic in my right hand and a crowbar in my left as I back away toward the van.
He’s still following me, getting closer. “I see you,” he says, taking two fingers and pointing them at his eyes and then at us. “I see all of you, even you honey,” he says pointing at Shelly.
I leap forward with my left arm, ignoring the pain in my shoulder and chest and bring the crowbar down toward his shoulder. He raises his forearm to defend against the blow. The iron slams into his wrist. I hear bones snap and he drops to his knees, howling in agony, clutching and cradling his hand.
“I told you motherfucker, I told you,” I say. “Let it go.”
I move quickly backwards, around the van and climb in.
“Go,” I say to Shelly.
She already has the van in gear and releases the brake and plants her foot down on the gas. We race past the guy and he swears at us as we swing around the pool again, dodging a trash dumpster next to the miniature golf entrance and jump the curb as Shelly shoots us out onto the main road.
The van leans over at a frightening angle, the tires smoking in protest, but doesn’t flip.
A dark sedan honks at us and swerves amidst squealing tires and brakes. Shelly doesn’t even slow down as the van pushes across two lanes of traffic and into the oncoming lanes.
“Pretty scary, huh?” she asks. She has a cigarette hanging from her lips and she grins as she steers back to safety. “Hey, is that a real gun?”
I nod and hold it up so she can get a good look at it, hoping it will calm her down and scare her back into reality a little.
“Tits,” she says, showing off her braces.
What girl says that? Shelly may not have been as fragile as I thought, or she’s way more fucked up than I thought.
Either way, she’s taking this whole thing way different than I would have expected her too. She looks like Bonnie in search of a Clyde. She scares me a little too. Maybe she’s schizophrenic, like that Sybil chick with the green kitchen.
Maybe her parents aren’t the problem.
But maybe, whatever her issues are, for the first time in her life she feels alive.
Peggy leans over my seat and kisses me on the head. She’s shaking and has tears running down her face. “I should have known better than to get you guys involved. I’m so sorry.”
She drops to the van floor and clutches at my seat. I reach around as best I can and hold her hand.
She starts rocking and babbling. “He wasn’t always like this.”
“They never are,” I say.
She’s wasted and raw.
“It was because he loved me though. That’s what he said. He said no would ever love me like he did and I believed him, Connor, fuck me, I believed him.”
I squeeze her hand, trying to offer some comfort.
“How does someone who seems so protective and sweet become so evil?” she asks.
“He always was evil. He’s a con artist — a sociopath,” I say. And saying that out loud is unnerving as hell.
Peggy looks up at me with desperate eyes. “This town isn’t that big. He’s going to find us and when he does, he’s going to kill us, you know that right?”
15
Friends
I have to get Shelly and Peggy somewhere safe, and I can only think of one person that can help. Let’s see if I can put everyone I know in danger. Under different circumstances, I’d be ashamed but not today.
“You know the bank over by the grocery store on Main?” I ask Shelly.
She nods.
“That’s where we’re going.” I hope we get there before they close.
Peggy is sitting in the floor in the back of the van, just rocking back and forth now. She hasn’t said anything more.
I need to tell Peggy about Todd, but not until she comes down a little. She’s a mess right now. She didn’t even question the scrubs I’m wearing or the cuts and bruises on my face.
I’m going through my mental check list again, trying to reprioritize based on this new development. I need to call Dan-o and explain everything, maybe he can help us. I need to talk to him about Beth too and what the fuck is up with her dad, but one thing at a time.
I need to let him know about psycho-boy first.
And then I need to talk to Peggy and get back over to the hospital and not only see Todd, but get her checked out too. He beat her pretty bad and I can only imagine what else he did to her.
Lastly, I need to go get Peggy’s Z. I’ll call Ringo for that. He works for a towing company during the day.
I take a deep breath. I’m already afraid Peggy’s boyfriend is riding around looking for us. The broken wrist should slow him down, but my paranoia is relentless.
Shelly pulls into the bank parking lot and stops.
But before everything else, I need to call Trevor.
“Stay here.” I grab Trevor’s business card before sliding out of the van.
I throw my hair back over my shoulders as I walk into the lobby. Shauna sees me immediately and her eyes grow wide in surprise and concern.
She runs around the counter. “Oh my God, are you okay, what happened to you?”
“Car accident. Todd’s in real bad shape,” I say. I hate repeating how seriously Todd is injured; it’s like confirming he’s already gone each time I say it.
“Oh my God. I’m so sorry. Do you need anything, how can I help? I mean, is that why you’re here?”
“Yeah, but not with that. I know you don’t owe me anything, but I do need some help. It might be dangerous though.”
“What do you mean?”
I pull her gently aside so we can’t be overheard. “You know Peggy?”
“Yeah, I like her.”
“Her boyfriend beat the shit out of her and I kind of rescued her.”
“Is she okay?” she asks with anger. Anger is good.
“I need to take her to the hospital, but you should know she and her boyfriend are mixed up with drugs, and you should also know he pulled a gun on me. This is really dangerous, Shauna. I’m not taking this lightly, asking you to get involved that is.”
She thinks for a moment and her face hardens. “What do you want me to do exactly?”
“Just take her to your place, help her get cleaned up and let her borrow some clothes. And hide Shelly.”
“Who?”
“Remember the waitress from a couple of weeks ago, from the Café?”
She nods. “Yeah, the one I was a bitch to?”
“That’s the one. You have a shot at some redemption. Her parents threw her out today and she’s mixed up in all of this now. I just need you to hide her and keep her safe. We’ll figure out how to help her later.”
“Yeah, I can do that. No one will even know they’re there.” she says.
“There’s a lot of crap to do. Once Peggy comes down, she’s pretty high right now — we’ll head over to the hospital.”
“I can leave now if you want,” she says reassuringly.
“Now works,” I say, “but I need a phone first.”
She pulls me into a small office off the lobby and closes the door before picking up the phone. I hand her Trevor’s card and she dials the n
umber while she hands me the receiver.
“Good afternoon, Vidsoft. How may I help you?” a pleasant female voice asks.
“Trevor Stone, please.”
“Just a moment,” she says.
After a few moments, he comes on the line. “Trevor Stone.”
“Hey, this is Connor.”
“Connor, you nearly missed me. Is this about Nancy?”
“No. Do you have Bradford’s number in Boca?”
“I don’t know anyone in Boca,” he mumbles.
“I know he’s there with Beth.”
“Who is Beth?” he asks. He’s a terrible liar.
“I know Tonya’s really Beth, so we can cut the shit? She won’t talk to me and I need you to get a message to her.”
“I’m not sure, Connor. If she…”
“Trevor, there’s been an accident. Todd’s in a coma and may never wake up. She deserves to know. Can you please call her?” I plead.
Shauna looks to me with worry and touches my arm comfortingly.
“I’m sorry, man. Yeah, I’ll call her right away. How bad is he?”
“Pretty fucked up. A truck t-boned us last night. It was bad, but the doctors are hopeful.”
Shauna’s eyes grow wide.
“You were with him?” he asks with concern.
“Yeah.”
“Are you okay?”
“Not really, but I’m ambulatory. I’ll mend.”
“Good, good. I’ll get her the message.”
“One more thing. I’m not sure what the deal is between you and her, but tell her something else for me. Tell her that I think I understand.”
Shauna tilts her head sideways, trying to figure out what I’m talking about.
Trevor is silent.
“Did you get that?” I ask.
“You understand,” he says quietly.
“Yeah, exactly what I said. Don’t get it wrong. Write it the fuck down if you have to, got it?” I say with more intensity than I intend to.
“Yeah, okay. I got it. On the business card I gave to Todd, I wrote my home number and my car phone number on the back. If you need anything try both of them.”
“Thanks Trevor, really, thanks.”
I hand the phone back to Shauna and she hangs it up.
“Understand what?” she asks.
“It’s a long story,” I say. “Thanks for the phone.”
“No problem. I’ll get my things,” she says.
§§§§§
Shauna has a nice, brick ranch house in a normal upper middle class neighborhood one town over. Peggy’s a mess and hasn’t said anything more about what happened to her. I think she’s in shock.
We parked the van back at the Garage and I brought the guitars because the van isn’t all that secure. I set them on the floor near the white leather couch in the living room and place the automatic pistol down on the mahogany end table. Shauna raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t say anything.
Shauna checks out Peggy and doesn’t think she’s too badly hurt, at least not bad enough to race over to the Emergency Room tonight and risk the cops getting involved. Peggy’s really strung out. We decide to get some rest instead and head back to the hospital in the morning.
I hope Todd is improving, but my being there isn’t going to change his recovery one way or the other.
I decide to try to track down Dan-o in the morning too. I have no idea if he’s working tonight or not, but I’m just too tired to deal with him now. But more importantly, Peggy and me need to get our story straight. What the hell happened at the Blue Diamond Motel?
Shauna and Shelly take Peggy and disappear back into the house. I walk into the kitchen and rummage around in the refrigerator until I find a beer. I take it with me and search for a phone. I find one sitting on a built-in desk between the kitchen and dining room. It’s early, but I’m hoping that Ringo is already at The Underground.
I dial the number and Karen, one of the bartenders answers. I ask for Ringo and she goes to fetch him.
“Ringo here,” he says.
“Hey, Ringo, it’s Connor.”
“Hey, what’s up?”
“I need some help. You still work for that towing company?”
“Yeah, why?”
“I need a car towed.”
“I’m listening,” he says.
I explain where to find Peggy’s Z and then ask him to tow the car over here to Shauna’s. I tell him to be careful and if he thinks he’s being followed to ditch the car anywhere. I explain about the crazy that beat up Peggy and he just laughs the threat off. He says that he owns a gun too and appears completely unconcerned.
Okay, good — fuck, I guess.
He says he‘ll be over around two or three in the morning.
I thank him and hang up.
I grab another beer and walk out back to the patio and light a cigarette.
What a fucked up day. I keep thinking that and it just keeps getting more fucked up.
I take a seat and try to flush everything out of my mind, thinking about Beth and how everything is going to be once we get through this shit. I think back to that night at Kamikaze, the last time I remember being happy.
Shauna joins me as I finish my third beer.
“How is she?” I ask.
“We cleaned her up and put her to bed. She’s sleeping okay now. Shelly is sitting with her in case she wakes up.”
“Shelly’s a good kid, a little too into the adventure of it all for my taste, but good just the same.”
“Yeah. I apologized for being a bitch, a real apology this time.”
I grin at her.
“Curtis Ray Lamont. That’s the guy’s name. Peggy said he was a drug dealer and mixed up with some really dangerous people,” Shauna says.
“That’s the way I understand it. We can leave, we don’t need to put you in anymore danger,” I say.
“No, it’s cool. And thanks for thinking of me,” she says, “I’m glad we can still be friends.”
“Don’t thank me just yet. This isn’t over.”
“Let me show you something,” she says with a mischievous grin and takes my hand.
I grind out my smoke with my shoe and let her lead me back into the house. It’s clean and decorated in a pseudo-contemporary fashion. She leads me down a hall. Family pictures stare at me from walnut paneling as I pass. I remember her parents died a while back, but decide not to bring it up unless she does.
I realize we’re headed to a back room and I’m suddenly worried she’s taking me to a bedroom. I really don’t want to have to reject her again, not like that.
She opens a pair of French doors and flicks on the lights. It isn’t a bedroom. It’s like a den or library. Books line the walls and an expensive ornate cherry desk fills one end of the light carpeted room. A high-backed, leather executive chair waits behind it.
But what trips me out is the glass cases between the books on the opposite wall. Two large gun cases flank what I’m guessing is a decorative gun safe. The cases are full of both plain and clearly limited edition collectible rifles and shotguns.
She spins the dial on the safe and swings the door wide revealing a multitude of hand guns and boxes of ammunition.
She looks up at me with that same look she gave me on the stage at The Underground and swings her hips from side to side. “I’m not too scared here,” she says, grinning.
“Do you know how to shoot?” I ask surprised.
“Sexist?”
“No, but, um, apparently so, yeah,” I stammer out.
She giggles. “My dad was really big into hunting and competitive shooting, so he taught me. It was how we spent out time together. It’s how we bonded — weird, huh? I was the Junior State Champion three years running.”
“Jesus,” I say, staring at the collection of weapons.
“I told you there was a lot about me you wouldn’t believe. Good thing for you, I’m not the vindictive jealous type.” She reaches into the safe and picks up a .308 shell an
d holds it up so that the light shines off the casing. “I could have put one of these through your eye at a hundred yards.”
“I guess I’m just lucky like that.” I grin. Even though it’s more than a little unnerving, I have to admit, it’s kind of cool that she has such confidence and skill.
“Seriously, Dad has all the doors and windows alarmed, barred and secured against break-ins. He was kind of nutty like that,” she says.
She reaches into the lower section of the safe and pulls out a rifle that looks like the ones from Vietnam news shows. She grabs a long ammo clip and examines it before snapping it into place.
“AR-15,” she says. “It’s the civilian version of the military M-16 assault rifle. And these are 60 round clips. It shoots .22 caliber shells, really fast.” She grins.
She’s standing there in her blue, bank pant suit with her hair pulled back with a banana clip and holding the rifle against her hip. The day just passed into something beyond surreal.
“Shauna you can’t think about shooting…”
“Relax. I’m not going to shoot anyone. Consider this for emergencies,” she says, patting the rifle, “but if things get weird, we’ll run away. We have a safe room downstairs. The whole house could burn down around us and we’d be fine for six months,” she confides.
“Fall-out shelter?”
“Dad was a little nutty, like I said. Shelly will be fine here. You can stay too, if you want,” she says shyly.
“Thanks. Peggy and I are homeless, so yeah, that sounds like a plan.”
§§§§§
I fall asleep on the couch and wake up when Shauna calls my name.
I look around and see headlights shining into the living room from the driveway. Shauna is sitting opposite me in an uncomfortable wood chair. She looks alert. The AR-15 is laying on the coffee table next to her and she’s holding an automatic pistol down to her side.
She’s way too comfortable about all of this, but it beats the shit out of the alternative — a whining shrieking basket case that wouldn’t let us stay here.
