Loose Ends

by Amos Gunner

CHAPTER 15: SAMPSON

  I left Benny twitching and growling in the car. He hadn’t slept in days. Bobby looked like he hadn’t been doing anything else. He invited me in.

  “No. You’re coming out. I got a way to get you some money. Hurry up. Benny’s waiting.”

  Bobby hesitated, but he was smart enough to not hesitate long.

  Benny tapped a jittery rhythm on the dash. He pointed to my system. “Yo. Turn that shit up.” I did. The music didn’t soothe him.

  Bobby looked like he was sleeping through the loud music. Then he rubbed his eye.

  I parked in the back and handed Bobby the keys.

  “Look. Ain’t allowed to park here. Anyone fucks with my wheels, move it to the street. You know how to drive, right?”

  Bobby nodded.

  Liar. Marcus’ deal with the chop shop. I let Bobby take a joyride. He didn’t ride far. No joy.

  “Move it to the street. You can handle it.”

  I reached under my seat and screwed the silencer onto my Beretta 92. Benny clapped his hands.

  “All right. That’s what I’m talking about. That’s a beautiful toaster my man. ”

  The hallways smelled like burnt toast and mold. The chipped and peeling white paint exposed the light blue underneath. Babies wailed, couples yelled, broken toys littered the hallway. Depressing ghetto shit that made me grateful for where I lived and what I owned. It wasn’t much but it wasn’t sad.

  In front of Rebus’ apartment, I handed the gun to Benny. He tucked it in his pants.

  “Jesus. That’s my gun. Why don’t you put it in your coat?”

  “I like how rubs against my johnson.”

  A boy beyond the cardboard door: “How big is Europe?”

  “Shit. We have to come back.” I whispered.

  “Why?” Benny didn’t whisper. “You said nothing was gonna happen till you got him in the car.”

  “It’s a pretty big place. Bigger than Ohio, that’s for sure.”

  “Bigger than America?”

  “Oh yeah.”

  I pointed to Benny’s pants. “If Rebus puts up a fight, I don’t want the kid to see you.”

  “Just kick the kid out.”

  “How many people stay there?”

  “I was too busy sightseeing to count them all. Look son, I have some errands to take care of. Why don’t you run on home? I’m sure your ma’s back by now.”

  I knocked. Benny pulled up his pants. Feet scattered. The ten or twelve year old boy opened the door and stared at us. He wiped his nose on the bottom of his Superman t-shirt.

  “Who is it?” Rebus asked from around the corner.

  The kid took off inside. We followed.

  Rebus was reclined in his chair. He was wrapped in a light brown quilt. His naked feet stuck out from underneath. He sat up a little when he made out who we were, then settled back down. He rubbed the top of his head and smiled. It looked like the one caused the other.

  That head. Missing something. The part that tells the whole that there’s a future, so take care. But you deal with the defects. Adjust. He had all that time to learn how his head worked. Never used that time. Wasted it. Wasted his life. Like everyone else.

  The kid sat cross-legged in front of him. “Is China in Europe?” He spoke slowly, deliberating over each word to make sure he sounded it correctly.

  Rebus pointed to his ratty couch and offered us a seat. We declined.

  “Boys, this here’s George. He’s my neighbor. Say ‘hi’ George.”

  “Hi George.”

  Rebus chuckled. “George was leaving, weren’t you?”

  “No. You were going to tell me more about Europe.”

  Benny scoffed. “When the fuck was you ever in Europe?”

  Rebus winced, but George didn’t seem ruffled by the word. He told Benny that Rebus once visited the Eiffel Tower.

  “No shit?”

  “Yeah. And he’s going back real soon.” He turned back to Rebus. “Isn’t that what you said?”

  Rebus lost his fake smile and shifted under the quilt. “Seriously George. I won’t tell you again. Go on home.”

  I bent down to the kid’s level. “We grown ups need to talk.”

  George pointed to Benny. “He’s not a grown up.”

  “The hell I’m not.”

  “How old are you?”

  “Old enough.”

  “Old enough for what?”

  “Anything.”

  “And how old are you Mr. Jefferson?”

  “These eyes have seen sixty one summers.”

  Benny scoffed again. “I thought you was eighty or something.”

  I would’ve said mid-forties.

  “Guess we have to wait to see what it says on your gravestone,” Benny said.

  Rebus sat up and bellowed to George. “I’m done asking.” He pointed to the door. “Go on home.”

  The kid wasn’t startled. He thought for a second, then bounced up, said bye, and was gone. Rebus leaned back.

  “You going to Europe?” Benny asked.

  “Course not. I just said it.” He tried the fake smile again. It was gross, like when an ugly chick tries and failed to fool the world with pounds of makeup. “Why don’t you boys grab a seat?”

  Benny folded his arms.

  “I was real sorry to hear the news. Yep. I sure was.” Rebus looked down at his frayed and stained carpet as he dropped his fake smile and took up fake sincerity.

  Benny lifted his shirt and gripped the Beretta’s handle. His lips twisted into something like a smile. Saliva drops shimmered in the corners.

  I gave Rebus a chance. “Please. Tell me the truth. You had no idea?”

  “That they was cops? None. I have a connection over at the...whatduyacallit...the Hyatt. He tells me this crazy businessman wants some nose candy. I could’ve gone to anyone but I went to your outfit. I like Marcus. Always have. He always treated me fair. Sorry it didn’t pan out.”

  “You mother--” Benny took a step toward Rebus. Rebus backed himself deep into the chair.

  “Wait.” I snatched the end of Benny’s coat and tugged. Benny brushed my hand away and circled behind me and paced.

  “A rumor’s going around,” I said.

  “Like the Earth, rumors always go around.”

  “This rumor says you’re a rat.”

  He tightened the quilt. He tried to laugh but it didn’t work. “Rats belong in the sewer.”

  “Yeah? What do you call this place?” Benny asked from behind me.

  Rebus coughed. He covered his mouth after it came out.

  I stepped in front of his chair. His curled yellow toes were going to make me sick. “Seems a lot of deals you set up with other crews went south of good. Like ours. Don’t you think that’s fishy?”

  “No I do not. Anyway, what the heck are we doing here, folks? We got our thing and the cops got their thing and sometimes...” He smacked his hands together. “You know?”

  I backed away. “Whose thing do you work for?”

  I was wasting time. The truth wasn’t changing anything. A lie wasn’t either. It was over. I knew and he knew and I don’t know why I have to remember all this unless I’m already in hell.

  “Listen son...” He gave me a short autobiography, how he’s been doing his thing before I was born and how dare I and how everyone “knows Rebus and loves Rebus. And you come in here...” He shook his head. “Tsk.”

  Fuck you for making me do it. He deserved it but why did I have to give it?

  “Everyone might’ve loved Rebus when I was in diapers, but I haven’t worn diapers in years. Right now, you ain’t got a friend in the world. And you know that. That’s why you’re going to Europe.”

  “I told you I’m not.” He banged the armrest. It made a dull thud.

  I went to the bedroom. A light blue suitcase lay on top of a dark yellow stain on the bare mattress. The dresser drawers were open and clothes were scattered on the floor. The air was heavy with human stink.
I slammed the door. A pungent breeze blew out.

  “Lemme explain.”

  “Get up,” I said.

  “This is bullshit.”

  Benny pulled out the Beretta. “Stand up you rat piece of shit.”

  “Wait.” I held up a finger to Benny. We all froze for a second. “Why didn’t you take off, man? If it was me, my ass would’ve been outta here the second the money hit my palm. What are you still doing here?”

  Rebus blushed.

  “C’mon. Teach me something.”

  “I don’t know what to say.”

  “Try the truth.”

  Rebus held his breath like he was holding on to his pride, but it was too much and he was too weak and he emptied his lungs. He stood and held his quilt at his shoulders. It dangled behind him like a cape. “That asshole cop.” He turned and spit on the carpet. “I got half upfront. Was promised the other half after the deed. That’s the way it worked before. Not this time. Still waiting. Hoped it was him when you knocked. You’re right. I’m a rat. Nothing personal. I done some bad deals for damn near everyone. This was going to be the last one. You were supposed to find this apartment empty. His name’s Zeke Ravella. That’s the man you want.”

  “No.”

  He lumbered to the window. It was clouded with dirt. He gazed over the Columbus skyline. He touched his stomach and turned pale. “I hate this city.”

  Me too. Skyline’s pathetic. Seven or eight buildings. Any other city, not one would have the right to be called tall. Used to think this was a good spot to look west and look east and take in America from the center. It’s not. We’re locked in. Little dribbles in. We rarely see out. Embarrassed to live here. Ashamed to die here. Toilet.

  “Don’t know why I spent my life in this dump. Just a dirty, nasty pimple filled with shit. And it keeps growing like a cancer. No, not like a cancer. A cancer kills, but this hellhole don’t die. Some mayor’s bright idea back in the sixties: annex more land every year. I blink and they lay down a street where there wasn’t none before. Only the street don’t go nowhere. Or worse, a big-ass mall pops up overnight. Then up comes all these houses to put people when they’re done shopping. Now you got a new suburb that no one needs. And no one stops the growing ‘cause no one asks why and no one asks if it’s worth it. I wasted my life here. I dug a hole, crawled in and let time do its thing.”

  I touched his shoulder. “Now we gotta do ours.”

  “If you gotta do it, do it here.”

  “That’s not the way it’s going down.”

  “Says who?”

  “Yeah. Who?” Benny aimed at Rebus across the room.

  “Says me. Says Marcus. Says everyone you fucked over. Benny, put it away. We don’t need it. Do we?”

  Rebus dropped his quilt. “Let me get my shoes.” He put his dirty feet into his dirty shoes. “My grandma made that quilt. Kept me warm through decades of good times and bad.”

  “Smells like it.”

  Rebus didn’t bother to lock his door on the way out.

  I told Bobby to get in the front seat and pushed Rebus in the back. I grabbed a roll of duct tape from the trunk. The tape reeked of gasoline. I gave it to Benny and took my gun. I made sure Rebus could see it.

  “No need to point.” Benny climbed in and bound Rebus’ hands and legs. He didn’t struggle. “You know, me and Marcus go way back. Grew up down the block from me. Used to play stickball.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “Am I taping his mouth?”

  “Please.”

  Rebus jerked back. “It stinks.”

  “Your apartment’s worse.”

  Benny finished up and pushed Rebus down.

  I took twenty from my envelope and gave it to Benny.

  “The fuck’s this for?” He held the edge of the bill with his pointer and thumb.

  “For buying things. Like a cab. Or take the bus and keep the change. Or walk and keep it all. Thanks for the favor, though.”

  “Fuck that.”

  “Take a tip from Rebus. Get the money first. If there’s no money, do it as a favor. Don’t wanna do it as a favor? Stay home.”

  “What’d you even need me for?”

  “I needed you to be Benny. You did great.”

  I killed the radio and drove the three of us down 71. Bobby pinched his nose. I cracked the windows. In the rearview mirror, I checked on Rebus. He didn’t move.

  God, I wish the fumes had knocked him out, suffocated him, did the dirty work. Nature’s got lots of blood on her hands. More doesn’t matter. Nature won’t mind. Nature’s thoughtless. Doesn’t think. Just does. No memory, no guilt. I am out of step with nature.

  “Where are we going?”

  “We’re going where we’re going.”

  Only one question. Good boy. Men don’t talk. He learned. But he had to ask. He was scared. I thought that was good. He’d respect what I do. His calluses were small and still tender and needed hardening. I told myself I was doing him many favors, giving him a lot. Money, calluses. No no no. I took more than I gave.

  I got off and drove through the rural stretch. The houses and barns gave way to fields and woods. I paid attention to the clean air. Every time on that road, same fantasy. To live in the open country. Big house. Pool. Satellite dish. Grow food. Brew beer. It wasn’t too much to ask for. I was never greedy.

  I turned into the mouth of the dirt driveway and made Bobby open the rusted gate. We entered, under tall thick trees. The dirt gave way to cement. The trees thinned out and opened to the industrial patch, that wasteland of cracked pavement and forgotten buildings.

  “What is this place?”

  “Used to be something.”

  We slithered through the rust and stopped at the far end, in front of the small warehouse. The weather had beaten it up. Plants and weeds and vines from the surrounding vegetation were working their way past the warehouse and into the concrete. Despite the corrupt shit that went down there, nature was winning. I slammed the car door and it echoed.

  Bobby and I dragged Rebus into the warehouse. He was limp and his eyes were at half mast. We dropped him and dust puffed from under him. I told Bobby to get the can from my trunk.

  Stop.

  Rebus twisted and got on his knees. He mumbled through the tape. I didn’t need to hear coherent words to know he was pleading.

  Stop.

  He knew what was coming. Knew during the ride. Knew when we came into his living room. Knew it when he set up the bad deal? How could he not?

  All he had left was his dignity. He gave it away. Gave away what me or Marcus or anyone could never take. He wanted to leave with absolutely nothing. You can judge a man by how he dies. I’m dying with grace.

  He started to grunt, low and heavy, over and over. I walked behind him. He pivoted on his knees. I got out my piece, cleared the chamber and removed the clip. The grunts. I got behind him and smashed the back of his skull. He fell over and flailed.

  Made motions because he still could. Only reason.

  I bent down and hit him again. He went still. His hair was wet.

  Bobby stood in the doorway with the can. I called him over several times.

  “Is he dead?”

  Oh. Bobby never saw a body. Why did I think he’d come across one or two? But no. I read the disbelief of a virgin on his face. I’ll never forget my first body. It was juts a minute ago. My last will be me. It’s funny. It’s not funny.

  I gave Bobby my piece and took the can. I emptied it over Rebus. He didn’t move. I threw the can across the warehouse.

  I stepped back. “Now be a man.”

  Bobby held the gun loosely with three fingers.

  “Know who this is? He got your brother tagged.”

  “Really?” He gripped the handle.

  “Yeah really. This lump of shit might as well have shot your brother himself.”

  Bobby looked at his hand, then Rebus, then me. “I can’t.”

  “You have to.”

&
nbsp; “Why?”

  “Wanna pay Marcus?”

  “I guess.”

  “Then earn it.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Fine. Then I’m leaving two bodies here.”

  In a flash, his arm jerked up.

  Click.

  I took the gun. “Never fire when you’re standing in a gas puddle.” I shoved in the clip.

  Bobby was shaking.

  I patted his back and gave him a book of matches.

  A thin stream of black and gray smoke rose behind us as we got back to the main road. So Rebus died, but we didn’t kill him. No one pulled a trigger. It was physics. The law of fire. Bobby sucked his thumb where a sulfur fragment had landed.

  The cars on 71 no idea what just happened. Blank faces. Innocent. If they knew, they’d call the cops. Call themselves a hero, then wipe their hands clean and go about their meaningless day. Their meaningless life.

  In front of here, I handed Bobby the envelope. He didn’t thank me. I asked if he’d drop his big plan now. He didn’t answer. He just said, “Holy shit.”

  I should’ve told him there’s nothing holy about this shit.