I slid in and the man closed the door and for a moment I was alone in the car, just sitting there staring ahead at the dash at the driver’s name—Gerald—and picture ID and the car number in the usual spot. Over in the corner by the speedometer and gas gauge were two wallet-sized photographs. One showed two little girls, their brown hair in pigtails; the other showed the same two girls with a woman who was no doubt their mother.
The front door opened and Gerald slid in behind the wheel. Before he had even fully turned on the car and placed it in drive, I asked:
“Is that your family?”
He paused, at first not sure what I meant, then a second went by and he nodded. “Sure are.”
“I couldn’t really see the pictures well, but they look beautiful.”
Gerald was quiet for another half-moment before he said, “Thank you,” and got us rolling forward.
I stared out my window and didn’t speak right away. I had made the man nervous, which hadn’t been my intention. What I had intended, I wasn’t even sure, but I wanted to say something, strike up some kind of conversation, and had royally messed that up.
“Where are we headed?” I asked.
Again, that half-moment pause, and then he said, “I’m not supposed to tell you.”
“You’re not?”
He shook his head, gave me a warm smile in the rearview mirror. “It’s a surprise.”
• • •
WE DROVE FOR awhile on the expressway in silence, not even any light music playing, and when he took an exit I said:
“I have a wife and daughter, too.”
He gave me another look in the rearview mirror, didn’t say anything.
“You look surprised.”
He shook his head.
“Why?”
He opened his mouth, shut it, opened his mouth again and said, “I just thought this whole thing was for your bachelor party. Like, your friends set this up and everything, based on where I’m taking you.”
“Where are you taking me?”
He smiled again. “Remember, I’m not supposed to tell you.”
“You can tell me.”
“I’d rather not.”
“My daughter’s three and a half. How old are yours?”
He was quiet for another moment, no doubt debating whether he should continue the conversation, and I wondered just how strict Simon’s instructions had been.
“Seven and nine,” Gerald said finally.
“They must be a handful.”
“At times. Still, I wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world.”
“How long have you been doing this type of work?”
“What does that mean, this type of work?”
“Just, you know, driving.”
He gave me another look in the rearview and for a moment I thought that I’d screwed up whatever little friendship I’d made with this guy.
“Fifteen years,” he said, “give or take.”
“Do you like it?”
“It has its moments. What do you do for work, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“I’m a painter.”
“Like an art gallery painter or house painter?”
“House painter.”
There was another moment of silence as we passed the buildings and cars in the city, the few people on the street, the area not quite looking like it was the best place to be at midnight.
I asked, “So where are you taking me?”
The smile in the rearview mirror again. “Sorry, you know I can’t tell you.”
“Sure you can.”
“I can’t. But it’s actually not that far now anyway.”
“How much farther?”
“Maybe ten blocks.”
Eight blocks later I said, “Can you stop the car?”
“What?”
“Just let me out here.”
“Uh ...”
“You’re not going to get in trouble. In fact”—I dug into my pocket, pulled out a twenty—“this will be an extra tip for your trouble. I’m sure you and your wife are already saving for your daughters’ college tuitions, right? This could help.”
We were stopped at a traffic light, and Gerald was turned, glancing back at me, still uncertain.
“Come on, take it,” I said. “It’ll be fine. I just hate surprises, so this way I can prepare myself.”
Gerald didn’t do anything for a couple long seconds, and then he took the twenty and said, “It’s the Sundown Saloon, just two blocks up.”
I thanked him, opened my door, stepped outside. The light changed and he moved forward, went down another block, turned and was gone.
I just stood there for another minute or so before I realized I had begun to shake. Whatever Simon had next in store for me, it was at the Sundown Saloon. Even from where I stood I could see the neon sign—an orange setting sun—but I didn’t want to move. Not yet.
In my pocket, the cell phone vibrated.
I closed my eyes, cursed myself, pulled the phone out and answered it.
Simon said, “What do you think you’re doing?”
“I needed some air. It was getting stuffy in the car.”
“That wasn’t what I told you to do.”
“You really didn’t tell me anything.”
“Oh, I see. So we’re playing semantics again, are we?”
I started walking forward. “I’m going, all right?”
There was a silence, and then Simon said, “O Romeo, Romeo. Wherefore art thou Romeo?” before he clicked off.
I paused, staring down at the screen, not sure what to make of this latest development. Whatever it was, it made me dread going into the Sundown Saloon even more. But I knew I had no choice, not if I ever wanted to see my family again, so I slipped the phone into my pocket and kept walking.
I hadn’t even gone another ten steps before they came for me.
19
They came at me from behind. They were strong and they were quick and one second I was on the sidewalk, headed toward whatever awaited me at the Sundown Saloon, the next second I was shoved forward and went sprawling down onto the pavement.
I reached out just in time so I didn’t land right on my face but still I scraped my hands pretty bad on the sidewalk. Before I could get up one of them grabbed the glasses off my face and pressed my face against the sidewalk, keeping me down while someone else searched my pockets. I thought they were going for my money but it was the phone they grabbed and took away and I may have said, “Hey, don’t,” or something like that, I can’t remember, but I said something and then one of them said, “This is for your own good,” and before I knew it both of them grabbed me and lifted me to my feet just as a black utility van screeched up beside us. The side door opened and one of my assailants—there were two of them, one black, one white—said, “Come on, let’s go,” and they pushed me toward the van.
Suddenly they stopped and I didn’t realize why at first—I could barely see a thing without my glasses—but then I heard the dink! and ping! of something against the parked cars and then, an instant later, a window shattered and the men pushed me down and reached into their pockets and pulled out guns and returned fire at whoever was shooting at them.
The shooting wasn’t loud, not as loud as I thought it should be, and it took me another moment to realize that these men and the men they were shooting at had sound compressors so the gunshots sounded like nothing more than claps.
I was on the ground in a fetal position, my head ducked, my arms over my head, when suddenly there was a lull in the gunfire.
I risked a peek and saw one of my assailants heading for me but then the shooting started up again—clap! clap! clap!—and he turned away and dove into the van along with the other guy and the van’s tires screeched as it sped away into traffic. There was honking and shouting and then the van was gone and footsteps hurried toward me and someone else grabbed me, someone I couldn’t quite see.
“Are you okay?”
I nodded, t
hinking that this was the police, that Simon’s number one rule was not to speak to the police, not if I ever wanted to see my family again.
“Shit,” someone else said. “They got both the glasses and the phone.”
A car suddenly pulled up. The two men dragged me toward the car. One of them opened the back door and the other threw me inside and climbed in after me and the door closed and the front door opened and the other guy climbed in and then the car was moving again, picking up speed into traffic.
“What happened?” I said, looking at the man in the back with me, at the driver and passenger up front. “Who are you?”
“Relax, Ben. Everything is going to be fine.”
“How ... how do you know my name?”
The man touched his ear and said, “Yeah ... I know ... I figured they might try to make a play, too ... I think we should switch locations ... I understand ... I’ll let you know,” and the entire time I sat there, breathing heavy, shaking worse than ever. The man’s voice sounded familiar but I couldn’t place it, not then, not after everything that had just happened.
I said, “Simon?”
The man ignored me. He said to the driver, “Head back and we’ll drop him off. He wasn’t that beat up.”
The driver turned at the next intersection. The man looked back at me.
“Unfortunately all we have right now is an extra pair of glasses. We’ll have to get a new cell phone to you later.”
“Simon?”
The man ignored me again, reaching out and grabbing my chin and moving my head back and forth as he inspected my face.
“There really isn’t any bruising, so you’re lucky in that respect. Still, once you get inside, go to the restroom and clean up. Then go to the bar and order a Budweiser. Sit at the very end of the bar and wait. Got it?”
I nodded dumbly.
The man in the front passenger seat handed a black eyeglass case to the man in the back, who opened it and took out a new pair of glasses and handed them to me.
“See how they fit.”
I put them on. Just like the other pair, these felt awkward and pinched my nose, but at least I could see clearly now.
“Simon?” I said again.
“Would you shut the fuck up? Get your head in the game. If you want to save your wife and daughter, play by the rules and don’t try to mix things up again. Got it?”
I nodded dumbly again. The man’s voice was still familiar but I couldn’t place it. It wasn’t Simon’s voice, though; I knew that for a fact. Still, how did I know this man?
The car slowed and stopped and the man opened his door and stepped out and motioned me to do the same. I got out, realized we were right in front of the Sundown Saloon. Two blocks down, a police cruiser sat with its roof lights flashing, two officers on the sidewalk talking to witnesses.
“Don’t even think about it,” the man whispered.
“I’m not.”
“Sure.” The man stepped back, touched his ear—I now saw he wore a Bluetooth—and said, “Start the transmission.” He got back into the car.
I stood there, watching the car pull away and drive down to the next block, disappear around a corner, then turned and stared at the two cops down the street just as another police cruiser pulled up. It hadn’t been too long that the shooting occurred; they had made decent time, though it hadn’t been soon enough.
Don’t even think about it.
Right.
I entered the Sundown Saloon.
20
For lack of a better word, the Sundown Saloon was a dive. It was smoky and dim, people at tables and booths and the bar, talking and listening to what sounded like country music or just watching one of the half dozen TVs posted around the room.
I went directly toward the back where the restrooms were located. I stood at the urinal acting like I was taking a piss but was really waiting for the two guys who were already in here to finish up and leave. Once they were gone, I turned away and approached the sinks and stared at myself in the mirror.
Like the man in the car said, there wasn’t much bruising. Mostly just some dirt on my cheek which had been pressed down onto the sidewalk. I took off the glasses, set them aside, turned on the water and cupped some in my hand. I splashed my face twice, wiped it with paper towels, went to put the glasses back on but stopped.
This is for your own good.
That was what one of my assailants had said to me right as they tried to get me into the van. Right before the shooting started and Simon’s men came to my rescue.
The restroom door opened and an old biker came in coughing up a lung.
I slipped the glasses back on my face, left the restroom, and headed for the bar.
• • •
JUST LIKE THE man that wasn’t Simon told me to do, I ordered a Budweiser and waited at the end of the bar. I waited for nearly ten minutes, nursing the beer, before she arrived.
She was the type of woman that literally made heads turn. She came in through the entrance and everyone looked her way, even the women. She was tall and blond and gorgeous, wearing a tight black top with a short black skirt and black four-inch heels. She had the kind of flawless, beautiful face you’d expect to find on glossy fashion magazines at the checkout lines at the grocery store.
And she walked directly up to me.
“Romeo?” she asked.
For a moment my mind was a complete blank. Then I nodded.
She smiled and extended her petite hand. “I’m Juliet.”
I shook her hand but didn’t say anything. I couldn’t say anything; this woman’s beauty literally made me speechless.
The smile didn’t leave her face. It was the kind of smile that knew it had power over people, especially men.
She asked, “Don’t you want to buy me a drink?”
I nodded and motioned at the bartender. He came over almost instantly, eager to take the woman’s order.
“A Cosmopolitan, please,” she said.
The bartender gave me a wicked grin before he turned away to mix the drink. Amid the country music and all the talking, I heard the faint ringing of a telephone behind the bar.
“So,” Juliet said, climbing up on the stool next to mine. “How long are you in town?”
Before I could answer (assuming I could even find my voice), the barman called out, “Are you Chase?”
I looked over to find him standing there with a portable phone held against his chest. I nodded and he said, “Call for you,” and handed me the phone.
I sat there with the phone in my hand, not sure what to do. I glanced at Juliet and she smiled back at me and said, “I think I’ll go freshen up,” leaned over and kissed me on the cheek before standing up and heading toward the restrooms. I watched her go, unable to take my eyes off her swaying ass, still smelling a waft of her perfume left behind, and then placed the phone to my ear.
Simon said, “You’re embarrassing yourself.”
“What do you mean?”
“This isn’t middle school, Ben. The time for shyness is over. Be a man and at least make conversation.”
“What do you want me to say?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe start with something simple like ‘How are you doing?’ ”
“Who were those people from earlier?”
“Trouble,” Simon said, distaste in his voice. “Let’s not worry about them right now, okay?”
“What do they want?”
“Didn’t I just say let’s not worry about them?”
I knew pushing Simon wasn’t the best idea, so I decided to switch gears.
“The guy that gave me the glasses, I recognized his voice. He’s the cop that stopped to check on me before I reached Doyle, isn’t he?”
Simon chuckled. “Very good. You didn’t think we’d chance an actual encounter with a real police officer now, would you? Too many ways things could go wrong.”
“Then why have him there at all?”
“To keep you moving. If he hadn’t shown u
p, you would probably still be there crying your eyes out.”
The bartender came over with the Cosmopolitan. He set it on the bar and gave me another wicked grin, this time with a wink, before he turned away to take someone else’s order.
“Does the bartender work for you too?”
“No.”
“How about that driver from earlier?”
“No.”
“And the girl?”
“No. But she is a pro, if it’s not obvious already. And she’s very expensive.”
“I’m not going to sleep with her.”
“Again, Ben, you’re embarrassing yourself. Don’t be such a boy scout.”
“I will not do anything with her.”
“What’s the difference if it’s your wife or this woman? A pussy is a pussy is a pussy, as Gertrude Stein once said.”
I opened my mouth to say something else but then my eyes—which seemed to have been darting most of today, mostly to the glove compartment as I drove endlessly—darted now to my left hand. At the finger just between my middle and pinkie fingers. The one that should have had my wedding ring around it right this instant.
It was gone. In almost six years of marriage I’d never once taken it off, not even when I worked. I’d had the superstitious fear that if the ring were to come off I’d somehow wake up from whatever magnificent fantasy I was daydreaming, because surely my life couldn’t be this great, this complete, surely a woman like Jen would never marry a guy like me, and surely the two of us would never produce a child as amazing and perfect as Casey.
I’d worn it ever since Jen put it on my finger, and it had become so much a part of me that I was so used to seeing it, so used to feeling it, I hadn’t even noticed it was missing earlier today when I first woke up, or on the miles and miles and miles of driving. Did that make me a terrible person? Did it make me a terrible husband?
Simon said, “Well, Romeo?”
“I refuse.”
“Your mouth says that but what about your body? You’re only human. You have wants, needs, desires, just like everyone else. And like everyone else, those desires are sometimes dark. Sometimes they’re very dark.”
Man of Wax (Man of Wax Trilogy) Page 7
