by B. B. Easton
“Not if you want to live,” I snorted.
“Ooh!” I said, pointing at the MARTA station entrance, “Then, after I graduate, I can just take the train in town and go to Georgia State for college.”
“What do you want to be when you grow up?” Knight asked. “And if you say a showgirl in Las Vegas again I will seriously lose my shit.”
“I don’t know. Maybe a special ed. teacher?” I said. “Or a psychologist? I loooove psychology. Or maybe I could be like an art therapist? Do they have those?”
“And a mom?” Knight asked, his face hardening.
“Yeah,” I said. “And a mom. Definitely a mom. Oh! I forgot to tell you! Juliet’s having a boy!”
Knight didn’t respond. He just stared straight through me.
“Do you not want to have kids?” I asked hesitantly, praying to God that the man whose symbol was tattooed on my ring finger wasn’t about to tell me that he didn’t want kids.
“I…” Knight’s voice trailed off and I could see his mind going somewhere else. “What if they…what if they’re…like me?”
“Like what?” I asked. “Smart? Strong? Artistic?”
“You know,” Knight flicked his eyes to mine in sudden annoyance. “Fucked up.”
“First of all,” I said, raising my voice slightly, “anything fucked up about you got that way because of your parents. And you won’t be anything like your parents. You know why?”
Knight looked through me again. He wasn’t hearing me. He was going to his dark place. I laced my fingers between his and squeezed them a little until he made eye contact with me again.
“Because you give a shit,” I said.
Knight turned his face away from me again, but gripped my hand tighter. “You don’t know what’s inside of me, Punk. It goes away when I’m with you, but it’s not gone. It’s never gone. I have these urges that I fight every day, just to have them play out in my dreams every night.”
Knight turned back to me and confessed, “I kill shit, all night long, Punk. People. Zombies. I hack them into little pieces with machetes. I rip their bodies apart with my bare hands. I smear their blood on everything and wake up hard from it. I—”
“So what?” I interrupted, trying to stop his downward spiral of self-loathing. “So you’ve got a vivid imagination. You’re an artist. As long as you’re not hacking people up in real life you’re good. Plus,” I added with a smirk, “our kids would have me as a mom, so obviously they’d be perfect.”
Knight didn’t laugh, though. Instead he tucked one of the longer pieces of my hair behind my ear and said, “You are perfect, Punk. You’re too fucking perfect. You shouldn’t be here with me. You shouldn’t be talking about having kids with me. You should be finding a nice, normal guy who will give you nice, normal kids.”
“What the fuck, Knight?” I snapped, pulling my hand from his so that I could use it to make big dramatic hand gestures in the air. “Do I look like the kinda girl who wants nice and normal? In case you forgot, most of my head is shaved, I’m pierced, I’m tattooed, and I’m wearing fucking combat boots. Do I look like the kind of girl who’s going to end up with an accountant?”
“Not on the outside,” Knight said, “but I know you. I know that deep down you want the white picket fence. The two point five kids. You want all of that shit. And you deserve to get it.”
“So do you,” I said with a huff. “When are you going to get that through your fucking head? You aren’t keeping me from something better. You are my something better. Look around, Knight.” I said, gesturing to the twinkling, eclectic majesty of Little Five Points at night with my frostbitten fingers. “How could anything possibly be better than this?”
March
I stuck five twenty-dollar bills under the cinder block behind my work, then sat on top of it to wait for Knight to pick me up. Tony and I hadn’t spoken since he made our “little arrangement,” but Knight hadn’t been turned into Swiss cheese yet, so I kept on paying. Seven hundred dollars so far. It sounded like a lot, but I was sure that being with me had probably cost Knight at least that much between the gas his truck guzzled, the meals he insisted on buying me, and the alcohol and cigarettes that I was more than happy to help him consume. The least I could do was keep him alive.
I could hear Knight’s truck coming long before it roared around the corner of the building. The sound made my heart beat faster. Even though I had totally figured out how to climb in by myself, Knight always insisted on coming around to my side of the truck to give me a kiss and a boost. With a little bit of ass grabbing.
He tossed my overnight bag in behind me and shut my door. My mom still assumed I was spending the night at Juliet’s house every Friday, and every Saturday afternoon she picked me up at work, none the wiser. In reality, I’d been spending almost every Friday night curled up on a couch in the break room of a tattoo parlor with an eighteen-year-old skinhead on the outskirts of downtown Atlanta.
As much as I loved our time together, there was only so much to do at Terminus City Tattoo. At least Peg’s house had cable. I guess we probably could have stayed there and slept in a real bed, but neither of us felt super comfortable being at Peg’s house together while she was home. I mean, I was her son’s ex-girlfriend. Did she really want to hear me making his bed squeak with some other guy?
I yelled over the snarling engine and blaring stereo, “What did you used to do at night, before I started coming around? You know, for fun?”
Knight turned the stereo down and said, “I used to hang out at Spirit of Sixty-Nine a lot, but I doubt you want to go there.”
Oh, right, the bar where he used to pick up skin chicks. Yeah, no thanks.
“But there was this other thing I liked to do.” Knight took his eyes off the road just long enough to flash me an evil grin. “I’ll show you.”
When we pulled into the parking lot behind Terminus City, Knight parked in the back like usual and jumped out.
I hopped out too, but before I could grab my bags Knight said, “You can just leave your stuff in the truck.” Then he reached behind his seat and pulled out an old school-looking wooden baseball bat.
I shut my door and walked around to his side of the truck, breathing into my hands to keep them warm. “So, what? We’re gonna do some batting practice?”
Knight chuckled. “Yeah, Punk. You could call it that.”
Instead of walking toward the alley, Knight turned and walked out of the parking lot and away from the main five-way intersection. The street was poorly lit that way, and lined with houses that gave me the creeps. It was the same way we had walked to get to Boots & Braces, but after dark the neighborhood took on a significantly more sinister vibe.
Knight’s arm around my shoulder helped me feel safer, as did the old weathered baseball bat he had slung over his shoulder. We had just walked past the industrial park where Boots & Braces was located when Knight took a sharp left and walked directly into a patch of woods. I should have been scared, but I wasn’t. I was excited. I was curious. Knight was going to give me a glimpse into his pre-BB life, and I would have walked through hot coals to see it.
After taking only a few steps into the woods, Knight stopped. Looking up I realized that we were standing in front of an eight foot tall chain-link fence, with an additional two feet of barbed wire on top of that. On the other side a few stray lights illuminated what appeared to be an undulating sea of derelict automobiles.
“Is this…where we’re going?” I asked.
“This is it,” Knight said, leaning over and prying the bottom of the chain-link fence up just high enough to toss in his baseball bat and ninety-eight-pound girlfriend. “Slide under.”
I did as he said. I didn’t ask any questions. I didn’t even ask where we were. I just shimmied my waifish body under the fence and tried not to snag Knight’s precious childhood jacket on the jagged edges.
Once I was through, Knight scaled the fence like it was nothing, fucking barb wire and all. I didn’t have much time to admire his
athleticism, however, because as soon as his boots hit the ground I heard barking. A lot of it. And it was coming straight toward us.
Without a word, Knight picked up the bat and handed it to me, then found a fallen tree branch on the ground and held it across his lap as he crouched down in front of me.
Fucking shit. Did he fight junk yard dogs for fun? Is that why we’re here? And why am I the one holding the motherfucking bat?! Is he going to wrestle it with his bare hands??
Within seconds the barking beast emerged from the sea of vehicles. It looked like some kind of pit bull-warthog mix and was practically foaming at the mouth. I held my breath and gripped Knight’s bat so hard I thought the skin on my knuckles was going to split open. Although my lungs weren’t working at all, my heart was putting in overtime, pumping blood to extremities that were too scared to move.
As soon as the demon dog saw Knight it stopped barking, but it continued to approach, slowly and with its teeth bared. Once it was a few inches from Knight’s outstretched hands I closed my eyes and fought back a whimper.
When nothing happened, I opened them again to find the hound from hell sniffing Knight’s palms. Just as he’d done with Shep, Knight flipped his hands over and allowed the beast to sniff the backs of them as well. The mutt began to wag its gnarly little nub of a tail, then looked at Knight expectantly. Knight offered the dog the stick in his lap, then snatched it away at the last second.
Jesus! Don’t fucking tease it! Are you crazy?!
But the little monster loved it. He lunged and snapped playfully at the stick. When Knight finally stood up and threw that fucker as far as he could, Cujo flew away after it like a bat into the night.
As soon as Knight turned around I shoved his chest with both hands and whisper-screamed, “I THOUGHT I WAS GOING TO FUCKING DIE, YOU ASSHOLE!”
Knight gave me that smile, that smile—disarming me just as easily as he had done to Cujo—and said with a shrug, “I told you, I get along with animals way better than people.”
I rolled my eyes and leaned over, trying to stave off a heart attack, as Knight turned and gazed out across the automobile graveyard. A dirt road cut through the center of the junkyard leading from the fence all the way to a tiny white building at the bottom of the long hill. At the top of the hill, where we were, an old ass champagne-colored Cadillac seemed to have caught Knight’s attention.
Pointing to it, Knight said, “How do you feel about Cadillacs?”
“Honestly, I’m more of a muscle car girl,” I said. “I don’t know shit about Cadillacs, but I can tell you that those ones from the ‘80s with the cloth tops look fucking ridiculous. I mean, who did they think they were fooling? Everybody knows that’s not a fucking convertible.”
Knight laughed and gestured toward the car with a tilt of his head. “Wanna fuck it up?”
I looked at him and saw pure glee shining out of his shadowed face. Knight’s teeth gleamed. His eyes blazed white. His energy made the air feel fizzy. Effervescent. It made me want to clap my hands and jump up and down. Finally, for maybe the first time since we’d met, Knight and I were going to have some actual fucking fun.
“Fuck yeah,” I said with a smile, resting the bat on my shoulder like Knight had done on the walk over. He extended an arm toward the doomed vehicle, as if to say, “Ladies first,” and I set my sights on the windshield. That thing needed to go.
I got a running start and swung for the fences, smacking the windshield with every ounce of momentum my skeletal body could generate. I turned my head at the last second, expecting to be showered with glass shards, but instead the bat bounced right off the windshield and flew out of my hands.
Knight practically had to bite his fist he was laughing so hard. I’d never seen him crack up like that, and it was the only thing that made my embarrassment bearable. I did that. Nobody could make Knight laugh the way I could. Whether I meant to or not.
“I’m glad somebody’s having a good time,” I said with my hands on my hips, pretending to be insulted.
Knight picked up the bat and walked toward me, still chuckling to himself. “I fucking love you,” he said, giving me a peck on my pouting, pursed lips. Then he hopped onto the hood of the Cadillac in one graceful leap.
Knight stomped up onto the roof of the car and raised the bat over his head like some kind of medieval king about to slay a dragon with his mighty sword. I watched in awe as his muscles rippled beneath his hoodie, just before he stabbed the bat directly into the crack I’d made seconds before. Time almost stood still as the windshield exploded into a million tiny cubes of glass. Shards flew like confetti into the black sky, glinting in the light of the full March moon before falling back to earth with a melodic tinkle.
I threw my hands up as if Knight had just kicked a winning field goal and cheered silently. He leapt off the roof, grinning from ear to ear, and pulled his butterfly knife out of his pocket. “Here,” he said, handing it to me. “Why don’t you go take care of that rag top you love so much?”
Fuck yeah.
I smirked and flipped the knife out on the first try without even cutting my knuckles. It wasn’t as impressive as when Knight did it, but I still caught him checking me out as I walked away.
As I stabbed and sliced the fabric from the metal, Knight made the rounds smashing out every window on the vehicle. Once he was done, Knight traded me the bat for the knife.
“I saved you the headlights and taillights,” he said with a wink.
What a gentleman.
When I swung at the first taillight it caved in with a satisfying crunch. I looked at Knight in shock. I did it! I mouthed. He was smirking at me and clapping, silently.
No wonder Knight loves this shit, I thought, smashing the other three lights out with ease. I felt like a total fucking badass.
Tossing the bat back to Knight, I crawled up onto the hood as he made the rounds, denting every fender, door, and flat surface available. I sat on the cold metal and watched him in awe. The aggression just poured out of him so naturally. I had to muster something foreign and feral from deep inside myself just to break a taillight, but Knight, he had to put forth effort not to be violent. Out there, he was free.
When Knight was done smashing shit, he climbed up onto the front bumper and jumped up and down, making the car bounce and squeak underneath me. I giggled and clung to the hood with my cold fingers, trying in vain to keep from sliding off.
Just as I was about to scream for him to stop, the bumper fell off with a thud under the weight of Knight’s feet. Both of us erupted into the kind of delicious laughter that doesn’t even make a sound when it comes out. Tears streamed down my cheeks as Knight climbed up onto the hood and laid next to me, our bodies shuddering silently.
As I struggled to catch my breath, I stared at the stars above us, gently twinkling, as if they were laughing too. I felt Knight’s breath, warm and welcome on my neck, as his heavy, strong arm snaked around my middle and pulled me closer. The weight of him grounded me. I breathed in. I breathed out. And for a brief moment, in the epicenter of all that destruction, I found peace.
Just as Knight’s playful teeth found my earlobe, I heard a voice that was not his in the distance.
“Who the fuck is out here?” The voice was garbled and slurred and punctuated by what sounded like a shotgun being pumped.
Before I had time to react Knight had already slid off the side of the Cadillac, pulling my rigid body with him. We both ducked down beside the front tire as fear coursed through my veins, paralyzing every inch of me.
“I’ma shoot yer asses dead. Ya hear me! Yer on private property. I got rights, you sons a bitches.”
I looked toward the fence where we’d come in. I might have been able to shimmy underneath of it in time, but there was no way Knight would be able to climb over the top without being seen. And possibly shot.
We were fucking trapped.
I looked at Knight, who had managed to pick up the bat without making a sound, and he looked at me. Pl
aytime was over. Zombie eyes were back.
Neither one of us made a move, silently agreeing to stay hidden until the coast was clear. The sound of cursing and gravel crunching under foot got closer, and I felt twin beads of sweat drip down my ribs and into my bra.
When the junkyard owner got to the top of the hill he stopped, just on the other side of the Cadillac. His shadow fell across my lap in the moonlight and spittle from his slurring mouth misted the air as he yelled, “Where the fuck are you at, you pieces of shit!”
Knight and I held our breath, waiting for the man to turn and go back down the hill. Just another few seconds and we’d be home free. We just had to wait him out for another few…
Fuck.
Black eyes, shining out from between two cars, met mine. Black beastly eyes, regarding us thoughtfully. Cujo tilted his head slightly, as if he were deciding whether or not to keep our secret. He was designed to be loyal to the bastard who fed him, but it was as if something in him wanted to protect the one who had shown him kindness as well.
Knight held his hands out, offering to give the mutt some affection in return for his silence. Cujo mulled over his offer, his black eyes shifting from Knight to the man behind us, then he crept forward, accepting Knight’s offer.
Just before I could breathe out a sigh of relief, the tags on Cujo’s collar jingled slightly, causing the shadow man’s head—and gun—to swivel in our direction. Everything that followed happened in an instant.
Knight disappeared.
A shot was fired.
A man groaned.
A body fell.
The ground shook.
Sounds of struggle, muffled.
Grunts and crunching gravel.
Silenced by a loud crack.
Then another.
And another.
And another.
My hands on the cold earth.
My knees, crawling.
Peeking around the front fender.
Knight, standing over a bloated body.
Dark wetness, like motor oil, everywhere.
Cujo lapping it up.
