by Carey Lewis
“Up,” Case said.
So Dax slowly made his way back to his feet, seeing all three of them in fighting stances so he put up his fists, ready to fight, then turned and ran away.
And they chased him again. Down the dirt road, through the backyard and over the fence into the other backyard, interrupting a family barbecue that smelled delicious. When Dax got to the ditch his legs gave out again. He rolled down, a lot deeper and steeper than he remembered it, through the reeds and crashed into the water at the bottom.
He looked up, lifting himself out of the foot deep puddle, and saw the three at the top, not wanting to make their way through the tall weeds and risk getting their costumes dirty. He started crawling up the other side of the ditch, the Cyber Punks ran off, probably to the narrow road that crossed the ditch.
When he got to the top, covered in foliage and burs, they were coming at him again, on the road heading toward him. He ran across the street, over another fence, one of them almost getting his ankle, telling him to stop running and climbing shit.
Dax landed on the other side of the fence, on the pavement, looked around and saw nowhere to go. He wanted to keep running, but he stumbled, fell to the ground as he heard the feet landing on the cement behind him. He turned to see them, got a boot to the chest, and stumbled backwards, falling into the canal.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
When they came off the train tracks, the only sign of life was a corner store that had it’s signs lit up. There was nothing else around, at least nothing else open, being apartment buildings and subdivisions and the like.
They went inside, their muddy footprints leaving a trail from the parking lot. Lex bought an ice cream sandwich, Rex stood at the door, and Max bought a candy bar. He also shoplifted whatever he could get his chubby hands on, hiding it all underneath the plaid blanket poncho.
Lex was sure the cashier knew what Max had been doing but didn’t say anything. Lex put two dollars on the counter, said it was enough, and was sure it wasn’t. They went outside, sitting on those cement barriers that were supposed to stop the car from driving into the store. Max was pulling pepperoni sticks out from his poncho, seemed like an endless supply.
They thought they caught a lucky break when the car pulled up and parked a few spots away from them. A girl came out of the passenger side, high heels and a tight magenta skirt that ran halfway up her thigh, short leather jacket on and big hair. The guy wore a sweater that looked like a Christmas gift from a grandmother.
The girl ran into the store, the guy waiting, checking his appearance in the rear-view mirror. If she wasn’t a working girl, she was too hot for him. They went up to the car, Max hopping in the passenger seat chewing on his pepperoni stick.
The guy didn’t freak out or anything, was just a little surprised. The guy asked what they were doing to Lex as he stuck his head in the window.
“My man needs the front, not much for leg room in the backseat for someone his size,” Lex said.
“I don’t understand.”
“You’re going to give us a ride.”
“I’m on a date.”
“That’s why they call it a favor.”
“Another time fellas, I’d be happy to—”
“Don’t be going all modest on me now,” Lex said, tussling his hair.
The girl came out, peeling the plastic from a pack of cigarettes, stopped when she saw Lex and Rex at the side of the car.
“You’re riding in the trunk honey,” Rex said, walking over to her.
She didn’t understand, not that it was important because Rex picked her up and brought her to the rear of the car.
“Pop the trunk,” Lex said.
“Guys—”
Max took the back of his head and slammed it against the steering wheel, letting out a short honk.
“She’s going to be fine, she can even smoke in there.”
The trunk popped open and Rex threw her in, screaming the whole time but it became muffled when Rex closed the trunk on her, even telling her to watch her fingers first.
They drove along, Lex giving him directions from the backseat, the man introducing himself as Stan, tried shaking their hands.
“On the wheel. Eyes on the road, hands on the wheel,” Lex said.
Then Stan went on to tell them he was on a date, Rex asked how someone like him got that piece of ass. It was a phone dating app, Stan saying he didn’t get to meet many people in his line of work. Then the conversation went into how he was a rehabilitation counselor, not just drug rehab, but addiction rehab as well, telling them even bad behavior was a form of addiction, how everything’s a cycle.
But Rex really wanted to know about this phone dating app, wondering if the girl was a hooker he ordered, wondered why they were in that part of town, not a place to take a date. Stan told them how it was her idea, she knew a place where they could be alone but needed to get smokes first. Lex thought it must’ve been a long time since this guy got laid, confirmed it when Stan wouldn’t tell him.
Lex ended up liking him, sweet and stupid as he was. He told Stan to pull over a few blocks from his old man’s place, got out of the car and popped the trunk, the girl back there smoking and giving him a scowl.
“You had people waiting for him?” Lex asked her.
She was trying to climb out, Max poking her with a meat stick to keep her in. She pretended to not understand the question.
“What’s the scam? Go to a bar where your buddies are waiting, get a few drinks and then they jump him? Or you bring him to a room, tell him to hang up his clothes then your buddies come in the room, take it all?”
She looked at Lex, at the three of them, said “a room. Take his clothes so he takes longer to call the cops.”
“You sleep with him first?”
“Sometimes.”
Lex went over to Stan in the drivers seat, told him the deal, “you can get laid, but you’re going to lose everything. End up naked on the street. You want that or you want to leave her here, go home with your clothes on?”
“I wouldn’t mind a drink if she’s okay with it?”
This guy, trying to save the world one degenerate at a time.
They walked the few blocks to Lex’s dad’s place, came in to see Hank passed out on the couch, clutching his AR-15, the empty bottle of Sailor Jerry on the floor. Lex figured you’d have to be drunk to pass out on that couch, as deformed, stained and smelly as it was. Not that the rest of the house was much better, with the carpet being ripped up in a lot of places, if you could even see the carpet underneath all the liquor bottles, pizza boxes, dirty clothes and dishes.
His old man fell apart after his mom left, got with that steroid pumping real-estate agent, liked to take his mom for rides on his boat. The guy joking with Lex, “that’s not the only thing she rides,” like Lex was supposed to laugh and give him a high five for railing his mom.
Lex went into Hank’s bedroom to look for the .45 he was always bragging about. The gun that saved his life he said, that time when he got ambushed by the towel-heads. He just started looking when he heard the commotion coming from the kitchen.
Hank had woken up, stumbled into the kitchen and saw Max eating the fried chicken off the table. The bucket was on it’s side, the chicken scattered under the mess. Lex came in to see Max with his hands up, drumstick in his mouth, Hank pointing the rifle at him. It took a moment or two but Hank recognized him, saw Lex, told him the cops were there looking for him, wanting to know what he did.
“Where’s that forty-five you’re always talking about?”
“The one saved my life from them towel-heads?” Hank said.
“That’s the one.”
“It’s safe. What you need a gun for?”
“What do you need it for?”
“I earned it,” then he turned to Max, still with the drumstick in his mouth. “My squad got hit with one of them shoe-box bombs, my weapon rendered inoperable in the blast. That forty-five was all I had. Saved my life,” he said, maki
ng his way across the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of something from the top of the fridge.
“Now it’s going to save my life. Where you have it?”
“What the hell you need a gun for?”
“Show and tell.”
“Don’t you bullshit me boy,” taking a swig from the bottle, vodka, Lex guessed. Then Hank said, “you took the thirty-eight didn’t you?”
Lex didn’t say anything.
“And you lost it.”
That’s when Rex came up from the basement, the .45 in his hand. Hank looked at Rex, the gun, then turned back to Lex.
“Oh shit boy, what’d you do?”
“Nothing can’t be solved.”
“Alex, what the fuck did you go and do?”
“Nothing you got to worry yourself over. Just a thing I got to take care of.”
“Found this down there too,” Rex said, holding up a mason jar full of clear liquid.
“Shit Hank, you still drinking the shine?” Lex crossed the room, unscrewed the lid and took a sip, said “goddamn.”
Hank grabbed Lex by the arm, said “we’re going to fix this. Whatever you did, we can fix it,” then left the room.
“Hank what’re you doing?”
Lex went into the living room and saw Hank dig through the trash, finding the phone. Lex jumped on him, wrestling until Hank threw him off, landing on the coffee table clutching the small of his back.
Hank powered on the phone, started hitting buttons before Rex got over there, tried to take the phone away, eventually hitting Hank in the head with the butt of the .45.
Rex put the phone to his ear, heard it ring, then heard, “nine one one, what’s your emergency?”
He didn’t know what to say. The operator repeated, “nine one one what’s your emergency?”
“You sound sexy?”
“Sir? What is your emergency?”
“We’re looking for a blond. Redhead will do.”
Hank was coming to his senses, tried reaching for the phone, blood trickling down the side of his head. He started mumbling. Lex was still moaning, holding his back.
“Sir, this is nine one one. What’s that in the background?”
“It’s my boys bachelor party so… yeah.”
“Sir, are you under duress? Do you need me to send someone?”
“They’re saying they want the blond and the redhead. Can you do that?”
Lex picked up the AR-15, walked over to stand in front of Hank.
“Help,” Hank yelled.
“What is that?”
“Bachelor boy. Tied him up ‘till the strippers get here. That’s a blond and a redhead, okay?”
Lex brought the butt of the rifle down on Hank, his nose exploding under the thud. He screamed.
“Sir, what is your location, I’m sending an officer.”
“You want to dress them up like cops? Think he’d like that,” and Rex hung up the phone.
Lex was fueled with anger, kept bringing the rifle down on his old man again and again. Hank stopped moving but Lex kept smashing him until he was out of breath. Then he went into Hank’s pocket and pulled out his keys.
“When’s the strippers coming?” Max asked from the doorway, working on his second piece of chicken.
He wasn’t going to take the AR-15, it noticeably being an assault rifle that would bring attention to themselves. But Hank. Stupid, stupid Hank. What did he think he was doing, calling the cops?
“He going to live?” Max asked as they left the house, climbing into his dad’s pickup truck.
“He’ll be fine,” Lex said, then told Max to get in the bed of the truck, gave him the rifle. Rex climbed in the drivers seat, Lex in the passenger side.
“Where we going?” Rex asked.
“Some place that’s not here.”
It took a few moments but the rusted beast roared to life. Rex backed it out of the driveway then started down the street, Lex turning the dial to come to Asteria’s show. He was hoping people were phoning in the locations of the Boppers for the manhunt, found himself waiting for a soul number he didn’t know to be over.
“Where do you think he’ll go?” Rex asked. Lex didn’t say anything because he didn’t know. He tried thinking about it but his thoughts always came back to Hank and his bloody head, his hand outreached with pathetic whimpers for help.
Truth is, Hank needed that beating, Lex told himself. He was just sad now, the way he kept waiting for his mom to return. Even getting his ass beat by his mom’s new lover, how sad do you have to be? Trying to be a tough guy, waiting with a rifle for them to come back. It was humiliating that Lex was related to him.
But the cops would be coming now, that’s what they said to Rex on the phone. He didn’t give an address but they had ways to trace a call. The cops would come and they would see Hank, the broken man on the floor. He’d tell them his disappointment of a son did it to him, took his guns and left. Like Lex was the disappointment. It was Hank, he just refused to see it.
“Take a left up there, go into that lot,” Lex said, going back to his thoughts as Rex guided the truck through traffic.
And if Hank told them it was Lex that did it, they’d find out he stole the truck too, would start looking for it. He wondered how much time he had before they called in the tag.
The truck pulled into the mostly empty plaza, just a pizza shop in the corner being open. Rex brought the truck around, parked it in front of a sex shop at the other end.
So he’d have the cops after him. Okay, that was one thing to worry about. The pressing issue was Dax. If he got to the Black Knights and ratted him out, that was the real worry. They’d kill him pretty quick, get the whole area to bring him in. If he got to Dax, took care of that problem, then he just had to worry about the Boppers. He’d get them, take them out, ‘see Mesiah, look what a good boy I am, took care of your problem right here.’ Then they could hide him, protect him until this whole thing blew over.
Shit, he could even play the victim, tell everyone the Boppers made him do that shit to Hank.
A hatchback car pulled into the empty lot, shining it’s headlights into Lex’s eyes as it went by, pulling in front of the pizza place. He watched the teenager run in, leaving the car on, getting his next order.
“What’re we doing?” Max called, tapping on the glass from the truck bed.
Dax would look for some place safe to go. Shit, he might even go to the cops himself, tell them it was Lex done Zax. His first priority would be his brother, the bushy haired Bopper. Would he go home to look for him? Cops would probably be there, knowing him and Lex were friends.
“Lex? Lex? What’re we doing?”
“Shhh,” Lex turned up the radio, hearing Asteria come on the air, getting reports of the Satan’s Sons taking a spill and the Boppers splitting up. Lex hearing the Cyber Punks knocked one of them into the canal. Well that was something. Fate being right, the one in the canal would die. That would be a good turn of luck for him. The Boppers were pretty spread out and the gangs were looking for them, all a good sign.
“Take us over there. The pizza joint,” Lex said and the truck moved across the parking lot. “Here, just stop here,” Lex said and the truck stopped a store away from the pizza place.
They watched as the kid came out, threw the fresh pizza on the passenger seat, then climbed in the hatchback.
“We taking the kids car?” Rex asked.
“Follow him out. He gets to that stop sign on the end, give him a tap.”
So that’s what Rex did, followed the car and when it stopped at the stop sign, ready to make a left onto the road, Rex put the front end of the pickup into the rear of the hatchback, saw the kid jerk his head forward.
Lex got out of the truck, followed by Rex, went over to the car where the kid was already looking at the damage.
“What the hell man?” the kid said, then saw the .45 in Lex’s hand, saw the fat one climb out of the back of the truck carrying an assault rifle.
“Where you he
aded?” Lex asked.
“Hey man, I didn’t see nothing. No damage done.”
“Need a ride kid.”
“You can take it.”
“Nah, you’re going to be our driver,” Lex said. He took the pizza box and threw it in the backseat, pulled the seat forward to let Max climb in the back, right away digging into the food. “You ever stop eating?” Lex asked.
“You guys can take it, I don’t mind,” the kid said again. Lex pointed the forty-five at him.
“Can’t have you calling the cops. Need a car they don’t know is stolen.”
Rex pushed the kid into the backseat of the car, Max warning him not to sit on the pizza. Then Rex got behind the wheel and they drove off, leaving the truck behind.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Jamal looked at the kid with the two bullet holes in his chest, wearing the blue plaid, staring up at nothing. Ballistics came back, Ray told him Zax was killed by a thirty-eight round fired close range. Ray waited until now to tell him that and also to tell him he went and got a warrant to search Hank’s house.
“When’d you get the warrant?” Jamal asked him while they were standing over the dead kid in blue plaid.
“When ballistics came in saying it was a thirty-eight.”
“When did that come in?”
“Earlier. I couldn’t get a hold of you.”
“You were the one passed out to shitty reality TV.”
“I’m leaving that out of the report.”
There was no sense in fighting. Ray had it in for him, the whole department did. Now ballistics was going to come back saying this kid in the park was killed with the same thirty-eight, Cyrus too if he died during the night which was likely to happen. And when all three of these people came back dying by the same weapon, Lucy would bring him into her office to tell him he should’ve served the warrant as soon as they found out - get a criminal off the street and these people would still be alive.
Then it would be said he couldn’t handle the job, he’d be fired and begging for his parole officer job back which he wouldn’t get.