For the rest of the day, I moped around the store feeling like the biggest asshole in the world. For once, I felt bad for Mel Gibson. Must be tough feeling that way all the time.
I couldn’t stop thinking about the conversation I had with Peaches. There was a lot I wished I could say to her, but I knew it was probably better this way. We were worlds apart, after all. Words wouldn’t change anything.
I wasn’t too worried about Bad Moses, either. If he came back then I guess I’d have my own scars to show for it. For being such an idiot. And maybe I deserved them.
The only thing that could put a smile on my face and take my mind off things was The Walking Dead. The show was coming back from winter break, season two, and I couldn’t wait to see what was gonna happen after the incident with Sophia in the barn.
I said goodnight to grandma and headed to my room. After preparing a nice bowl of chocolate ice cream, I settled into bed and turned on the TV.
An hour later, I sat there in my pajamas feeling excited. No, not that kind of excitement. The show had ended with Rick’s wife Lori hitting a zombie and flipping her car. I had hoped she might be dead.
I crossed my fingers and turned off the lights.
I dreamt of how I would handle things in the event of an apocalypse, and what crazy personality disorders would infect my group.
An hour later, I was back up.
Somebody was downstairs in the bookstore, I realized, lying in bed and listening, hearing the sound of breaking glass and various thumps and crashes. I had an idea who the somebody might be.
I hopped out of bed and felt around in the dark for the light switch. I always kept the door to the stairs locked in the unlikely event that some psycho from the trailer park up the road would break in and make the bookstore his own personal batting cage. But I never thought it would actually happen.
I called 911 and ten minutes later there was a knock on the staircase door.
It was the police, said a man from the other side.
I was greeted by a black cop who introduced himself as Officer Robbie Robinson. He looked like Carl Winslow from that old sitcom, Family Matters. I immediately felt safer.
I knocked on grandma’s door, told her to get dressed and come downstairs.
“Cosmic bears?” she asked.
“COME DOWNSTAIRS, Grandma,” I yelled. “And make it quick. The police are here.”
Officer Robinson gave me a funny look.
“She’s a little—”
“Old,” he interjected.
“I was gonna say hard of hearing, but old will work too.”
“I understand.”
I followed Officer Robinson downstairs to the bookstore and was immediately transported into a place much different than the one I had left the previous evening. All that hard work I had done sorting all the new books onto the shelf was just wasted time. New and old, all of the books in the store were scattered on the floor like firewood. Everywhere. It was impossible to walk from one side to the other without stepping on them. I picked up a hardback copy of Stephen King’s Firestarter. The cover was wet with something. I brought it up to my nose to smell it, praying it wasn’t urine.
Officer Robinson stopped me and said, “It’s gasoline. Whoever did this planned on torching the place. I guess they forgot the matches.”
I threw the book back into the pile. “Lucky me.”
By this time, Grandma was downstairs, and Officer Robinson began explaining to her what had happened. I was afraid she might have a heart attack; she didn’t appear to be taking the news all that well. A couple more police officers had also arrived and were examining the broken front glass window. On the ground amidst the big shards of glass was a baseball bat.
Fuck.
I wanted to blame Kevin. If he’d never given me that damn joint, none of this would have happened. But then if I had never given him that ugly coat...
Stupid butterfly effect.
No, I couldn’t blame anyone else. Not Kevin. Not Peaches. This was my fault. I mostly felt bad for my grandma. I knew how much she loved the bookstore, and because of my actions, we might have to close up shop. She’d be okay financially. She still had her social security, and would probably get some money from the insurance company. On the other hand, I’d have to get a job bagging groceries or asking people if they’d like to supersize it, and I guess that would be my punishment for causing all this mess.
I carefully stepped back behind the counter where my grandma and Officer Robinson stood. I put my arm around my grandma.
“Any idea who may have done this?” Officer Robinson asked me. “Any enemies we need to know about?”
I shook my head. I didn’t want to say anything in front of grandma, didn’t want to scare her anymore than she already was.
“It just seems like whoever did this went way out of their way to destroy your property. This wasn’t just some everyday robbery or vandalism. It’s not often we see people robbing used bookstores anyway. Do you know how much money you had in the safe?”
“They took the safe?” I checked behind the counter. Yep, the bastard pried the safe off the cabinet it was hidden inside and took it with him.
“Not much,” my grandma replied. “Maybe a few hundred dollars.”
A few hundred. The price of Peaches. I should have just given Moses what he wanted and called it a day.
“We’ll dust for fingerprints. I’m sure we’ll catch whoever did this in no time.”
Officer Robinson joined the other cops examining the exterior premises. I got a chair for my grandma and had her sit down.
“What’s gonna happen, Jimmy?”
I rubbed her shoulder. “Everything will be fine. Don’t worry.”
“How are we supposed to go on?”
I noticed tears beginning to well up in her eyes. The last time I’d seen my grandma cry was at Grandpa George’s funeral ten years ago. I was just a twelve-year-old kid then getting my first pubic hairs, and she’d asked me that same question. How are we supposed to go on? In either case, I had no idea what to say. Seeing her on the edge of tears broke my heart. She was the nicest lady in the world; she didn’t deserve such an idiot for a grandson.
“I promise I’ll make it up to you, grandma. Somehow, I’ll make it up to you.”
When Robinson came back inside, I met him halfway. “I wasn’t totally honest with you before,” I said.
“About what?”
“About not having any enemies. I didn’t want my grandma to be worried, but I know who did this.”
I told him about the night I met Peaches, about the altercation the next day with Bad Moses. The only thing I left out was the part where I smoked marijuana. There are some things you never ever tell the police.
“He’s been arrested a few times,” Robinson said, referring to Bad Moses. “That Shady Villas is a shady place.” He stepped past me and addressed my grandma in a softer tone. “Dolores, I might recommend moving locations if I were you. This area isn’t exactly full of saints these days.”
“Move? But I’ve been here almost thirty years.”
“I understand. Trust me, I do. But we’ve had a lot of problems with prostitution and drugs in this area, and it doesn’t look like much is going to change anytime soon. At the very least, I’d consider getting an alarm system installed. Maybe put bars on the windows.” He turned toward me. “Or perhaps, getting a firearm.”
“No, I won’t have a gun around,” my grandma replied. “George had guns and they always made me nervous.”
“George was my grandfather,” I said.
Officer Robinson nodded. “Believe it or not, I don’t like guns much either, but sometimes they’re necessary as a last resort.” Grandma looked like she wasn’t paying any attention. Perhaps she hadn’t heard a word he’d said. He looked back at me. “Just something to think about,” he said, and then rejoined his uniformed buddies.
And think about it I did, like Lionel Richie.
All.
N
ight.
Long.
Until the next morning, the day before Valentine’s Day, when I decided it wouldn’t hurt to go have a look around. There was a gun store not too far from the bookstore. Guns Unlimited, it was called. Yeah, sure, I’d have a look around, that’s all. I never thought for a second I’d actually buy a gun, let alone fall in love.
But that’s exactly what happened.
I fell in love with a gun named Sally.
Chapter 8
Three days later, I put her on the MasterCard and brought her home, but I didn’t dare introduce her to grandma. We had to keep our relationship a secret, see. Sally had to hide in my pants just to get her upstairs where I wanted her, and from there stay hidden in an old shoebox under my desk. I was Bill Clinton, and she was my Lewinsky. Every so often, I’d take her back to Guns Unlimited to play with her, and she’d again have to hide in my pants where grandma couldn’t spot her. I felt like a nerd gangbanger, only I didn’t kill people. Not yet, anyway.
Other than the time me and Sally spent getting to know each other, a lot happened over the next few weeks.
First, we decided to keep the store open. Grandma’s old lady friends would certainly be happy. The insurance money paid for all the repairs and the cost of an alarm system, which I had one hell of a time teaching grandma how to use. We had to get the front window fixed, and replace some of the bookshelves, but most of the books were still in decent shape, those that weren’t soaked with gasoline. It was no fun sorting the keepers back onto the shelves, but it kept me busy, kept my mind off the fact that Lori managed to survive the car crash on The Walking Dead.
Every few days Officer Robinson would check in on us and update me on the status of the investigation. And it was always the same. Bad Moses had gone missing. No sign of him. No witnesses. The trailer park crowd wasn’t talking. They had a warrant out for his arrest. They’d find him eventually. Just have to wait it out. He said they brought Peaches in for questioning, but she was no help. He’d always end our chat by telling me to keep my eyes open and to call him immediately if I spotted Moses. And I’d always tell him I would.
I was settling back into my normal, boring life. Burying my face in a book. Hot dogs at the Haji-Mart. Long looks at Naima, the Indian princess.
And Kevin.
Dear God, Kevin.
It had been a month since I’d seen him. I began to think maybe he’d joined Moses on a vacation getaway, perhaps on a cruise to the Bahamas, or just overdosed or something.
Can you even overdose on weed?
Anyway, I knew the day would come. I couldn’t avoid him forever.
I was forced to change it up on this day. Aamod was being extra lazy and never filled the roller. It wasn’t even running. That meant no hot dogs or taquitos or egg rolls, not even the sausages that looked like dried-up dog turds. I could tell Aamod was in a bad mood, which was typical of him, so I didn’t bother saying anything about it. Instead, I searched the store for damn near twenty minutes for something else that could satisfy my appetite, something still in date. Aamod must have thought I was going to steal something because he watched me like a hawk. Finally, I settled on an assortment of powdered donuts and other pastry items, and a thirty-two ounce Coke.
After paying, I headed outside and noticed Kevin come around the corner to my left. I tried to pretend that I hadn’t seen him, but I swear that never works, does it?
“Hey, bro,” he said, shuffling up to me as I tried to scamper off like a scared rat. “Haven’t seen you in a while.”
I turned my head back but kept walking. “Yeah, I’ve been busy.”
“What happened?”
“What do you mean?”
“I saw some guys repairing your window. You get robbed or something?”
“You could say that.”
“Sorry to hear that, bro.” I had to wait to cross the street. Kevin pulled up next to me smelling like stale cigarettes and beef jerky. “How was the joint?”
I shrugged. “No big deal. How’s the coat?”
Kevin frowned. “I sold it. I hope you don’t mind. I needed the money, and it’s not exactly that cold out anymore.”
“Well, it is March now. How much did you sell it for?”
“Five bucks.”
“That’s more than I paid,” I said.
The traffic cleared, and I began crossing the road. To my dismay, Kevin followed.
“You want any more weed you let me know, okay? I can hook you up.”
“Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind.”
We were almost out in front of the bookstore when he emerged from around the back corner. He was well over six feet tall, black, bald, and bulky as can be, and had a thick bushy beard. He was wearing a black tank top that gripped his bulging muscles like a glove. Later, I’d find out his real name. On this day, Kevin called him by his street name.
“Bowser. Wasn’t expecting you so soon, man.”
“Who’s this?” Bowser said, nodding at me.
“Just a friend.”
“Cop friend?”
“Come on, bro. You know me better than that.”
Bowser finally looked over at me. “What’s in the bag?”
It took a moment for the question to register in my brain. I had almost forgotten I was holding the plastic bag from the Haji-Mart. “Just some pastries.”
“Donuts?”
I nodded.
He looked back to Kevin and smiled. His teeth were whiter than grandma’s dentures. “You sure he ain’t a cop?”
“Oh, I get it,” I said. “Cops. Donuts.”
“Nah, he’s cool,” Kevin said.
For once in my life, I was cool, even if it was only in the eyes of a druggie and his dealer. I left them to do their business and went inside the store to enjoy my lunch.
It was later that day that I first heard of the virus.
Chapter 9
I was upstairs in my room watching Judge Judy scold some bald dude for telling her lies, when the show was interrupted with a breaking news report.
The attractive female news anchor began speaking about a potential security breach in a communicable diseases laboratory in southeast Nevada. She wouldn’t disclose the exact town where the lab was located, only that government officials had the situation under control and there was nothing for the public to worry about.
Hadn’t heard that one before.
There were no clips of military personnel providing perimeter support. No shots of people in hazmat suits. None of the fun stuff generally associated with potential viral outbreaks. Nothing like you’d see in the movies.
Not yet.
I changed the channel and started watching an old episode of South Park, the one where Mr. Garrison gets a sex change. I laughed my ass off and didn’t think twice about the news report. The next day I heard more about the outbreak.
March 11, 2012.
This time there were shots of all the fun stuff. Hazmat suits. Soldiers in humvees patrolling a temporary fence line. ARMY helicopters circling above. Police threatening to arrest reporters if they didn’t turn off their cameras. Apparently the media wasn’t allowed inside what the news was calling the “containment zone,” and government officials, while still offering their kind reassurances to the public, were tight-lipped on the nature of the problem or what exactly they were trying to contain. This was when I began to get a little concerned.
March 12, 2012.
One day later and I was very concerned.
The containment zone had grown by a hundred miles overnight, and now encompassed the entirety of southeast Nevada, including Las Vegas, where no one was permitted to leave the city. On the internet, the conspiracy buffs were going mad. There was a lot of talk of biological warfare. Chemical and nuclear weapons testing also made the rounds among the tin foil hat crowd. Some were convinced it was the work of Islamic terrorists; others said it was the communists, or the capitalists, or God punishing us for our sins. There was even talk of aliens. It’s always
the aliens.
The outbreak was in Nevada, home to Area 51. Maybe the little green spacemen had something to do with it.
March 13, 2012.
First reports of illness, most in Nevada, a few in California and Arizona. People becoming lethargic, falling into sudden comas. Scary stuff. If there was still a containment zone, it wasn’t being talked about. The thing had obviously long broken free and was loose in the wild frontier.
That night the president interrupted the regular scheduled programming to deliver a live televised address to the nation regarding the outbreak. This was the first time the government admitted there was a serious problem. Still, the president reassured everyone they had it under control. No need to panic. Go about your daily lives.
And may God bless America.
March 14, 2012.
Officer Robinson hadn’t called or visited the store in a few days. I wondered if he was glued to the TV like me. I wondered where the hell Moses could have gone. I thought about Peaches. Strangely, I missed her. I felt more alone, afraid to leave the store.
I finally told grandma about the news reports that had been coming in on a semi-regular basis. She seemed less worried than me.
March 15, 2012.
Tens of thousands of people were now believed to be sick with the virus. Falling asleep on the job had become a widespread epidemic, sweeping across the west coast and as far east as Mississippi. Overhead shots of cars idling on highways, passengers inside them, sleeping. The Las Vegas strip was littered with bodies lying motionless on the ground, while high above the flashy casino signs continued to flicker with color and life. Airports and other transportation services were forced to shut down after a number of planes fell out of the sky, some on top of residential neighborhoods. Hospitals, police stations, and other public places were overrun with concerned citizens. And church had become popular again.
I decided I wasn’t going to leave the store until this thing worked itself out.
March 16, 2012.
Second national televised address by the president. The fake-looking background immediately gave it away that he was no longer in the White House. He said to avoid travel if possible. He said not to be alarmed. He said that the CDC was close to having a vaccine. He said that because we are Americans we could get through anything. He said nothing of the most recent reports that over fifty percent of the residents of Nevada, California, and Arizona had become infected.
Dead Highways (Book 0): Prelude Page 3
