I Didn't Mean to Kill My Best Friend

by Kamuela Kaneshiro

I’m not sure what caused Steve to have the idea. It could have been a lot of things—remembering our Shadowrun sessions, a video game incident, or the disgust generated from all those wannabes at the coffeehouse. Whatever triggered his idea, it seems like a good one.

  In the back of my mind, I’m still waiting to see or feel something as a consequence for killing Steve. A ghostly apparition, some type of paranoia where nature or animals know that I killed my best friend. But nothing has happened. The only lingering sensation is the thought that I wish I could go back in time and prevent myself from killing Steve.

  “Okay, let’s take a look around,” Steve said. “We find it, and then come back for the bag.”

  The ground was littered with twigs and branches. I failed every attempt to avoid them. “Alarms?”

  “In a recycle plant? Nah, but if there is any trouble, we could run faster without the duffle.” Confidently, Steve jumped over the chain-link fence.

  I stumbled back, surprised with the sudden display of agility from someone his size. “The car is in a no-parking zone, shouldn’t we—”

  “Dude, let’s go!”

  It took me a few minutes to get over the fence.

  Steve made it look a lot easier. Maybe I should’ve used one of the many low hanging branches that surrounded the perimeter.

  In the main field of the recycling plant, I started admiring the various heaps of junk.

  Funny how this will be the last resting place of Steve. For many things, this is literally the end of the road. A lot of these items are similar to Steve’s remains—most of the insides are gone. All that remains is the exterior and frame.

  By now, we had gotten used to working by moonlight.

  “I’m stupid for not thinking of this earlier,” Steve hissed. “We hide it with stuff that’s going to be recycled—big, bulky stuff. They won’t really check. Lots of heat is needed for recycling. All that heat should be more than enough to burn everything up.”

  Steve pointed at a colossal tower of scrap metal about a hundred yards away. “Our destination.”

  “What if he is found before he’s recycled?”

  “No biggie. I cleaned the tools and tossed them with the nasty bits into the sewer. Tomorrow I’ll tell my dad the tools are missing. Nothing’s in the bag that could link us with him. After all, that’s some of my best work.”

  He stopped abruptly. I did the same. Steve was looking up. I followed his gaze and saw a few security cameras overlooking the area that we needed to pass through.

  “We’ve got to go around them,” Steve whispered. “Let’s check the side near the fence.”

  We tiptoed past the area being monitored, as if the ground could give way at any moment. I calculated how long it was taking us to get to the scrap-heap tower, because we still had to return for the bag. I tried to memorize our route, in case we needed to get back in a hurry.

  Steve led the way through a valley of scrap. Beyond him I saw the distant floodlights of the recycling plant eighty yards from us. A beam of light shone at the edge of our artificial valley ten feet before us. I froze. So did Steve.

  The beam narrowed into a flashlight, held by a uniformed guard. The lights of the recycling plant silhouetted the watchman as he turned his back to us. A click from a Zippo lighter pierced the night, and then our human obstacle lit a cigarette. The sentry tucked the flashlight under his arm; the glow of a cell phone filled his hand. Buttons were dialed, which was followed by the sound of his zipper being undone.

  “Hey, baby,” the guard said into the phone. “Ah, it’s okay.”

  An odd sound—urine splattered on the ground.

  “I miss you,” the guard continued.

  We squatted in our dim valley. A shadow moved along our right side that drew my attention. The shadow was Steve’s arm, reaching for a small metal pole.

  “Nah, it’s not that cold.”

  Steve’s hand gripped the pole. It was about three feet long.

  “What did your sister say?”

  He raised the pole from the ground.

  “And what did she say?”

  The pole rose to waist height.

  “And?”

  I grabbed the pole. Steve jerked, but I held firm.

  “Yeah?”

  We’re dead.

  Right now would be our best opportunity to knock out the guard. He is helpless, distracted, and this was a stupid idea.

  But we can’t take him down. What if others are around?

  Our best course of action is to wait.

  The wet splattering ceased. A quick zip followed.

  “Well, I’ve got to do my rounds. . . . Barcode scanning the light posts.”

  Steve jerked the metal pole, but I held tight. I sensed frustration pouring from him. His free hand stabbed to our left where a bent light post stood, its arch top gripping a burned-out globe of a light bulb that loomed over us. Further down the pole, just above eye level, its barcode reflected bright orange. My jaw dropped as I released Steve’s metal bar. He delicately continued his advance closer to the guard, struggling to stay low and in the shadows.

  “Okay. . . .”

  The gap between the guard and Steve gradually diminished.

  A gentle breeze blew, rustling items in the area.

  The guard’s free hand went into his pocket. “All right.”

  Steve crouched at the edge of our artificial valley, within striking distance of the guard. Slowly he rose, easing back his metallic pole. The rod travelled a path toward debris that protruded from a mountain of scrap. I involuntarily covered my mouth.

  The guard’s hand slid from his pocket and awkwardly entered his other one. “Okay.”

  Steve jerked upright. The pole cleared the debris.

  “Damn. Sorry, baby, got to head back to the shack. I forgot my scanner.”

  Steve halted, and then both of us quickly dropped lower than before.

  The guard walked away. “Yeah, I know. I know.”

  Steve carefully put down the metal bar.

  I stepped behind him. “Let’s go back!”

  Steve pivoted on his feet. We faced each other, and I could see beads of sweat on his forehead. He motioned the way we came and we double backed. At a clearing near the fence, we broke into a run.

  That fence is the most incredible thing I’ve seen in my life.

  Beyond the fence huddled a number of trees where the car rested. I couldn’t see the car. But I didn’t care, because I knew it had to still be there. Suddenly the peculiar sight of a golden circle containing two silhouettes projected before us. This strange vision perplexed me.

  “Hey, stop!” a voice yelled from behind us.

  Crap, it’s the guard! He’s got his flashlight on us.

  We continued running. The guard’s keys jingled as he ran.

  I don’t remember jumping the fence, but we must have, because soon we were surrounded by the wooded area where the car waited.

  The car was gone.

  What?! Where’s the stupid car?

  The recycling plant stood undisturbed through the chain-link fence.

  Fuck! Where’s the guard?

  Steve was also gone.

  This doesn’t make sense!

  I was alone near a cluster of trees.

  Desperation sprouted in me, followed by the urgency to make sense of this now-foreign environment.

  I could have sworn that we left the car parked here.

  The wind knifed through the trees. From behind a trunk, Steve popped out. “Come on!”

  Steve vanished quicker than he’d appeared. I ran after him. As I flung myself around the trunk, I saw the car ready to go with Steve already closing his door. I threw open my door and leapt into the passenger’s seat. He shoved the car into gear. It lurched forward, causing the door to nearly slam on me.

  What a stupid mistake. How could I have been so dumb?

  Chapter Eight