Goodnight Sometimes Means Goodbye (Wrong Flight Home, #2)

by Noel J. Hadley

  The Shaggy Man, whoever he really was, came at her bidding. I next considered the possibility that he and anyone involved with EMINOR were simply perceptions, as we saw them anyways, a child's window of interpreting projections from another plain of reality, almost like Alice in Wonderland or Peter Pan in Neverland. I set that thought aside, for now. I basically had what I came for.

  “What are you talking about?” Alex.

  How could you explain something like this?

  “Nothing,” I lowered my head.

  “Elise what?”

  “Elise nothing; I was just thinking out loud, that's all. And besides, I said you weren't asking the questions.”

  “Listen Joshua, whatever's happened between us, I'm sorry. I'm sorry about you and Elise. I'm sorry that you got mixed up in this. I’m sorry about everything. But now I've got Arnie the Hammer looking to crack my skull like he cracked Nick's and Gracie's and my father's, and if we don't get to Philadelphia soon...”

  “Why do I get the feeling that you never really wanted out of the Mancini circle?”

  “Look, I guess I wasn't completely honest with you in the past.”

  “That's a surprise.”

  “My father, you know how he ran that cigar shop down in WeHo.”

  “Tell me something I don't know.”

  “It was a backdoor for operations in the Mancini family. After he was killed, Mancini's nephew kept a close watch over me.”

  “Was his name Dino?”

  Alex was stunned. “How could you possibly know that?”

  I rubbed my jaw again. “We had a little chat, he and I. Just keep talking.”

  “Gracie's brother Georgio, he never liked me. But Dino was close with my old man. He took me in, showed me the ropes.”

  “So Gracie isn't responsible for hooking you up with her father, and the two of you never met at some Dumb Angel concert. You'd already done that by way of your old man. You wanted to be like Alexander Senior.”

  “Gracie had some sort of sick sexual fascination with me. I don't know. It was more like a perversion, always following me around, trying to get me into bed. That woman had some real daddy-issues.”

  “Everyone has daddy-issues.”

  “Some apparently more than others.”

  “I find it hard to believe that you refused her bedding invites.”

  Alex coolly shrugged his shoulders with a so what attitude.

  “Did you love her?”

  At the mere suggestion of love, Alex's face sank into the dark and ugly place. “No.” He said it with sadistic pleasure too.

  “Power, that's all she ever was to you, a hand to dip into her daddy’s wallet. You make me sick.”

  “Power makes the world go round, Joshua, not your silly parables and proverbs.”

  “Yeah and how's that working out for you?” My old college buddy refused to answer. “Alex, why are you in trouble? You say you didn't kill Gracie and yet you're fleeing from Georgio and Dino. You say you've been searching for your father's killer, and yet he's currently hunting you. And everyone keeps bringing up this Parisi fellow, including you. The cops think you've been doubling your salary with both families, both of which just so happen to be caught up in some sort of gang war. So help me out, there's a missing ingredient here.”

  “I didn't do anything.”

  “I have a nauseating feeling that Gracie's murder is unnecessary fallout to whatever game of Charade's you're all playing, even if you were set up. What's in the handbag?”

  Alex was defiant now. But more precisely, his face had never exited the dark and ugly that the hungry demon in his soul had been gazing into. “I think I've been more than forthcoming. And now that I think about it, I've answered enough of your questions for one lifetime.”

  “So you have.”

  I knew I'd gathered all I could, unless I wanted to start beating it out of him. I convinced myself at the time that I chose not to beat it out of him, except truth be told, it wasn't in my nature to do so.

  “I thought you wanted to help me.”

  I shrugged my shoulders. “I guess I'm still trying to decide.”

  “Are you just going to leave me here? Why would you do that to a friend?”

  It was like trying to speak logic to a seven year old. “Alex, all I've ever done is to try and help you, despite never wanting it. All you've ever wanted was the quick and easy path to power. In hindsight I know now it wasn't the loving thing.”

  “What does that mean?” Alex gulped.

  “It means I'd probably be doing right by leaving you here along the New Jersey Turnpike.” I paused to better evaluate the matter at hand. When I turned around Leah and Penny were halfway across Whitman's honorary parking lot, returning from the porcelain throne. Another glance at Richie and it was apparent that he needed to visit a stall of his own. “I know I'm going to regret this, if not by sunrise when the sirens blare in the rearview, then someday. Get in the car. I'm taking you to Philadelphia.”

  Alex stood up, dusted himself off, and stared at me with hesitation. “I do appreciate this, more than you can know. I'm loyal to my friends.”

  “Save the spiel.”

  “There's um, there's one more thing.”

  “Anything, old college buddy.”

  “I need to....um, go.”

  Whatever attempt I made at not smiling failed. “Then go.”

  “I don't think you understand. I can't climb back into that trunk, not just yet. I really need to go, now.”

  My finger signaled an about-face posture. “If you think I'm taking you into that public place across the parking lot, forget about it. You need to go, you can squat right here.”

  He started to unbuckle himself. “This is probably illegal.”

  “So is taking you across three state lines.”

  “I'm dead, remember?”

  My finger continued its about-face posture. “I read something about that in the news. There's also no law that I'm aware of regarding the public urination of zombies.”

  If Alex had any intent of putting up a fight, he was probably far too weary to try. He turned around and sighed. “You know, you really can be a pain in the ass sometimes.”

  I widened my grin. “I guess we were made for each other then.”

  11

  SOUTHWEST PHILADELPHIA was a post-industrial ghetto wasteland, to put it kindly, and in terminal decline. It contained much of the city's undesirable infrastructure, including a sewage plant. From what knowledge I had of Baltimore Avenue and the neighborhoods west of 50th, you generally didn't want to travel there during the day if safety was a concern, let alone at night. Parker's address led us through that general vicinity, dead center into the neighborhood of Kingsessing, where we let him loose into a brick building slobbered with graffiti (some guys named Dramm and Dizney with a z), and waited.

  Boarded up windows added character to a walkway of weeds, where city council had once been thoughtful enough to invest in a sidewalk. But a burnt down lot surrounded by chain-linked fences and barbed-wire attested to the fact that city planners had long since abandoned any present hope of reconciliation. The distant chop of a police helicopter provided an almost continual soundtrack from the time we arrived, including the occasional outbreak of sirens, and an otherwise gentle wisp of breeze whispered such things as overflowed dumpsters and rotting eggs. I tried setting my thoughts on the Philly of Ben Franklin's time. Then again, he wanted to make the national bird a turkey rather than the eagle, so much for nostalgia.

  “Remember how you said on the phone you wanted to travel?” I passed the question off to Leah from the backseat of Albino Cave Dweller.

  Leah, Richie and I kept ever watchful glances on all sides of the street for the possibility of unwanted company, even idling curbside under a broken street lamp in hopes of remaining unseen by whoever lurked behind that countless gauntlet of darkened windows that stared back at us like preying eyes. Penny had asked me to remove my shirt and was presently cleaning off my
wound, with condoms for gloves and fresh bandaging to follow. The stitch-work was good. It was her way of ignoring those windows that watched us with evil appetites of their own.

  “Mm-hmm,” Leah spoke into the hand that her chin was resting on, never peeling eyes away from the street, and I wasn't sure she was even listening at all. “That second photographer of yours is taking a long time in there. I say we give him five more minutes and split.”

  “Maybe his contact shot him and put him out of his misery.” Richie only turned briefly to stare at the brick building that Alex had entered into and then returned guard duties on his end of the automobile.

  Ow, I said.

  “Hold still,” Penny hovered a couple of inches from my ribs, glasses clinging to the tip of her nose, “you're like dealing with a silly caterpillar.”

  “Word on the street is some of the lowest mortgages in America can be found right here in the city of brotherly love.” I finished my thought on US travel. “If you're thinking about new scenery, it's just a suggestion.”

  Leah turned around only to scrunch her face up into the sailor knot of sarcasm. She looked adorable doing it. But then again, I didn't think it was possible for her to make an unattractive face, no matter how hard she tried.

  She said: “I'll pass, thanks.”

  “You just turned around to check out my bod.”

  She took the time to twitch her eyes like a vertical pendulum from my neck to just below the waistline. A round trip followed. “I'll pass, thanks,” she repeated her words, never showing any hint of a smile, though turning back around she failed miserably at hiding it.

  Richie also turned for a little eye twitching of his own.

  “Hey, don't get any ideas,” I said.

  “Just a little window shopping,” he spoke it with extra flare.

  “Yeah, well, you've got the wrong store. Do your window shopping back over there.” I nudged my chin towards his corner of the automobile.

  “Whatever, Chamberlain,” he lifted his chin and followed my instructions. “I'm doing just that, but not because you told me to.”

  Leah shushed us and then said in a frantic whisper: “Hey, shut up. Someone's coming.”

  Indeed someone was coming, in fact four of them, all of African or Haitian descent. Every single one wore jeans hung bellow the bubbled curve of their boxers, but otherwise the street uniform held slight variations between them. One had a white t-shirt and a Philly's jacket on with some sort of gold chain, another wore a black hoodie, and yet another red flannel (he was the big boy of the barbershop quartet). They all screwed red bandanas over their skull, each in his own way, except for the individual I quickly assumed was the leader of their fearless wolf-pack, he fashioned a sideways Philly's cap.

  “What up?” Sideways-Cap said, and held his hand out in some sort of manner that must have signified his street credentials. If only I'd taken that course as an elective in college.

  Nobody answered him. Leah tucked her head into her hand. Penny did something similar, and I discreetly slipped my shirt back on, taking my time with each button. The street qualified quartet hadn't noticed the bandages and stitching. Richie turned his head in the opposite direction and quietly whistled.

  “You ladies get lost or something?” Sideways-Cap elaborated on his original question. It wasn't spoken out of genuine concern. The fact that he licked his lips and slid a hand down the front of his boxers spoke of other intentions. And just so there was no confusion, he attempted a couple rounds of dry humping.

  Again, no answer from our end.

  “Looks to me like they could use some tour guides,” Big Boy said. “Maybe they've come looking for some big black dick.”

  His companions laughed. And then one of them, Jacket & Gold Chain, who couldn't have been sixteen yet, finally removed his sexual yearnings away from the girls long enough to catch sight of my eyes, unyielding.

  “You got a problem?” Jacket & Gold-Chain said.

  “Shit. Stop looking at them, Joshua.” Leah whispered into her hand.

  I did as she asked and let my face fall towards my lap.

  A few seconds passed and then one of them said: Nigger haters. I thought it might have been Hoodie, and just to see if they intended to follow that accusation with malice I clocked my eyes in a north-west direction without moving my brows. They were indeed moving away back into whatever self-imposed hell they decided to call their home, but I didn't announce it to my friends, and within seconds it was Penny, still hugging my shoulder, who said: “Are they gone?”

  12

  ONE FRIGHT WAS THANKFULLY OVER. Then someone else knocked on my window, thereby delivering another. My heart spun a one eighty and did this catapult-bungee-chord thing where it leapt up into my throat and then plummeted down towards my guts, dangling around on its chain for a little while before recovering. Richie and Leah experienced similar side-effects, and Penny screamed.

  “Alex.” I opened a door as soon as I caught my breath. “Don't creep up on us like that.”

  “Would you rather I use a blow horn next time?”

  I stood, mostly as a gesture to shake his hand goodbye, and caught my breath. I assumed this is where we'd depart. “Yes, you do that. Mission accomplished, right? Did you get what you came for?”

  Alex lowered his head and sighed. “I sort of did and I didn't.” His feet shoveled at a pothole filled with gravel. “You're probably not going to like this.”

  “I feel like all of our conversations begin this way. Let's hear the sort of did first.” I turned to face the section of asphalt where only a moment before four members of an unidentified street gang had stood. Their memory remained, which was almost just as damaging.

  “I uh..... I've got my passport.” He kept his head low.

  “The less information I know about that, the better.”

  “My plane takes off in a few hours. I'll be safe where I'm going, but I sort of need a ride to the airport.”

  “Not a problem. I think it’s only a couple miles away. I mean, you could practically walk there, if it weren't for how unsafe these.... Wait, that was the good news?”

  “Uh-huh. As it turns out, it departs from Dulles.”

  “I'm not driving you to Virginia. Penny and I have to be back at JFK ourselves in a few hours. If we miss our flight that's one big red flag for everyone involved.”

  “I understand.” Alex spoke it with sobriety. Where that demon had gone, I didn't know, because I looked into his eyes and saw someone human; that person whom I used to know. “You should go, get the girls home. I'll figure something else out.”

  I was just about to take him up on that offer to part, les adieux as Elise would say, and had started to shake his hand when the welcome committee returned.

  “Shit. You already out of my flivver.” Sideways Cap produced another lick of his lips. I thought about raising my hand and asking what flivver meant, but then didn't. I'd have to refer to my urban dictionary at another time. “You and your friend and that cum dumpster fag in there can mosey on down that-a way. Leave the bitches to Moz and me boys. We'll show them ho's the flavors of thee hour.” He spoke as if he were trying to be poetic about it, with oddly timed waves of his hands. As a poet myself I wanted to object, but then didn't. When he opened his mouth to grin a grill was exposed on his upper row of teeth; keeping the streets classy. And his breath reeked. Philly Cheesesteak. Go figure.

  “You know these perves?” Alex nudged his chin in their direction.

  “Who you calling a perv?” Jacket & Gold Chain. “How about I hang some plastic wrap around your ugly mug and make you into my own glass-bottom boat?”

  “Shut up, Alex. Just get in the car and let’s go,” I said.

  Penny had a slightly similar message. “Joshua, get in the car.” Only when she delivered it, and frighteningly so, she'd managed to position herself on all fours so that her blouse dipped down, exposing a plushy crack of breasts. And if we're being honest here, her breasts were rather humungo, and I'
m being modest. Another thing I'm not up to speed on is bra sizes, but I'm almost positive that a Double D wouldn't have covered enough. Not that she had any intent to present herself in a sexually submissive position, but when Jacket & Gold Chain caught sight of those puppies he didn't hold back.

  He made some sort of woo sound, and then went mm-mm. “Will you look at those titties?” It was disgusting coming from anyone, but somehow coming from a fifteen year old really spread the icing on the cake rather thick.

  More mm-mmm from his friends.

  One of them said: “I got me a big black Mercedes I'd like to park in them B2 Bombers. Go vroom-vroom and watch you purr.” Swearing from other sources followed. Really, there were a lot of potty mouths to go around.

  Penny looked down at her exposure of breasts and slinked away from the window, probably hoping to cower so deep within herself that she'd altogether vanish. “I've got a boyfriend,” she mumbled. I wasn't even sure if anyone else heard that. But I did. All that buried aggression that I'd reserved for EMINOR, if he ever returned to finish his business, finally boiled to the surface. I was genuinely pissed.

  After that it all happened so fast, chaotic and confusing like a flip-book of images. Sideways-Cap reached behind his sagging ass, probably to grab whatever he carried. Alex clenched his fists. I caught sight of Parker's fist of fury in my peripheral vision and formed gloves of my own, only on a subconscious level, because mine elevated into a boxing pose, just as Great-Uncle Milhous had instructed me so often when I was no older than Chain & Jacket. Come to think of it, none of them were probably older than twenty. After that a car door slammed. I think it was Richie.

  He said: “That's not nice.” Fear produced an extra measure of flare in his voice.

  Somewhere in the mix of this Alex looked to me and said (fists still clinched): “You remember Vegas?”

  I might have said I did, it’s how we met, but I couldn't be sure.