by Joyce Nance
Fed up, Shane tramped back to the Buick and motioned with the shotgun for the grandparents to move away from the car. They didn’t argue. They turned and hobbled up a rocky, muddy hill toward a clump of trees. George put his arm around Pauline, helping her. Esther saw George lean down to say something to Pauline as Shane marched them up the slope.
When Pauline, 74, and George, 79, got past the trees to a barbed-wire fence, they stopped. Shane, about six paces behind, pointed the shotgun at them. George turned around.
“Is this where you’re going to shoot us?” George asked, his voice steady, dignified. As the words left his mouth and just as Esther was reaching for the door handle, there was a colossal flash of light and a huge, reverberating, deafening boom.
George had been shot. A slug the size of a large marble struck him square in the chest. He let out a gasp as the force of impact spun his body around backwards. He was caught in the barbed wire fence as he fell.
Shotgun slugs are normally used in law enforcement or hunting. They are for punching through difficult-to-penetrate surfaces. Slugs are a one-ounce projectile with the subtlety of a sledgehammer that can pierce building walls, car doors and body armor from a distance of up to fifty yards. They deliver over 2500 foot-pounds of devastation. Thus, a slug shot from a distance of six feet into a human being results in the unspeakable.
“No,” Pauline shrieked, instinctively crouching over George to comfort him. Down on one knee, she told her husband that she loved him as the monstrosity standing over her fired again. He shot Pauline in the back. She crumbled to the ground, falling onto George's body.
Smoke filled the air.
Shane stepped forward to get a closer look at the downed McDougall's. Then he pulled the trigger two more times; two more explosions of deafening fire and lead, hitting each of the grandparents in the back again, this time, from point blank range.
He paused to stare at the scene, pointing the gun upward. He did not want to stop. Examining the magazine loading port, he saw he had another round left, so he aimed one more time at Pauline’s back and fired.
Down the hill, still seated in the Fiero, Esther was dumbstruck. There was no escaping the bright flashes or the tremendous booms of the shotgun. She felt stunned, overwhelmed, and sick.
She heard running and looked up. Shane was back, standing on the other side of the car, throwing the shotgun inside.
Esther didn’t speak. She just looked at him, shivering.
“They’re still making noises,” he said and pulled the TEC-9 from his pants, heading back up the hill.
“Leave them alone,” Esther called after him. “They’re dead. They’re dead.”
“No. No, they’re not,” he yelled back. “They’re making noise. They’re still making noise.” He was running again, running back to where the grandparents lay.
***
He stood over the bodies, out of breath and panting. This was a fantasy come true. He had real guns, real bullets, and was shooting real people. He was pulling the trigger; he wasn’t just watching a movie. He was the writer, the director, the star. He did not want it to end. This scene had everything. It had the guns and it had the blood, but most of all, it had the power.
He pointed the pistol straight down at the dying grandparents and fired in rapid succession, shooting each of them six more times. He only stopped when the TEC-9’s extended magazine was empty.
He clicked again, but it was over and he knew it. The heavy silence of the rural East Mountains closed in on him. He didn’t feel good. His stomach boiled. He jammed his hands deep into his jacket pockets, staggered maybe forty yards, and threw up.
Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he gathered himself, then made his way back to the Fiero.
Esther was rolled up in a ball, her jacket pulled over her head. She had shut down. Her eyes were squeezed shut and her hands clamped hard over her ears.
Shane, sweat-smelling and glassy-eyed, pried her hands away from her head. He told her to get out. She did not get out, she couldn’t move. She fixed her eyes on the gun in his hands, inches from her head.
“Get out of the car,” he said again, gritting his teeth.
Dazed and scared, she sucked air into her lungs.
“Now.”
She got out.
“Go close that damn door.” Shane pointed to the Buick, dome light still on, warning tone still sounding.
She nodded and stumbled toward the McDougalls’ car.
Click, click, click, she heard from behind.
Huh? She did not turn around.
Click, click, click.
A cold new fear poured over Esther as she realized that Shane wanted her dead, too. Or maybe he was just toying with her. Either way she found it hard to breathe. She wasn't sure how to play it or what to do. She could think of nothing else but to do exactly as he asked and close the McDougall’s car door. She had to act like the clicking didn’t happen. Like she was still his partner in crime.
***
Shane started the engine as Esther numbly folded herself into the car. She was so out of it, she didn’t notice until later that she was sitting on the bag full of money.
To return to Albuquerque, Shane had to first get the Fiero back onto North 14. That meant he had to either back straight out or turn around. He tried backing out, but that didn’t work. Because of the mud and the trees, he needed to back out slowly, cautiously, but his brain was too amped for slow. Try as he might, he could not drive a straight line backward, and barely missed hitting several trees. Frustrated, he attempted a quick K-turn instead.
“Slow down,” Esther screamed. “Be careful. This place is full of holes and shit and you’re gonna get us stuck or crash into something.”
Moments later, the car lurched upward and then down. A harsh scraping sound came from underneath. The Fiero had bottomed out.
Shane clenched his jaw, then leaned back in his seat and gunned the engine. He gunned and gunned, but the car did not move.
“You’re gonna blow this fucking car up,” Esther said, her hands braced on the dashboard as she and Shane violently rocked back and forth.
Ignoring Esther, teeth bared, Shane gunned some more. Finally, after pumping the accelerator incessantly for several more minutes, he bounced the car out of the rut.
“You’re turning the wheels the wrong way,” Esther cried out.
“I’m driving,” Shane said. This time he backed the entire distance out to the paved highway and turned around, heading back to town.
Chapter 15
“The trick to forgetting the big picture is to look at everything close up.”
CHUCK PALAHNIUK
They drove in silence until Shane remarked, “We’re almost out of gas.”
“What?” Esther said, startled.
“I said, we’re almost out of gas. I was worried as shit that you were gonna run out on the way up,” Shane said, voice husky, staring straight ahead.
Esther looked at him. It had never crossed her mind to check the gas gauge while driving to the mountains.
“Is there enough to get us back?” she asked.
“Yeah, but as soon as we hit any kind of gas station, we gotta stop.”
Shane lit a cigarette and continued to drive in silence. He turned off the interstate when he got to an area known as Four Hills, the eastern-most part of Albuquerque. Spotting an open Chevron station, he eased alongside one of the pumps.
“You’re gonna have to pump it,” Shane said, looking down at his clothes. “I can’t get out.”
Now that there was some illumination under the hazy gas station lights, for the first time since they left Hollywood Video, Esther saw the condition of his clothes. He was covered in blood. She saw spots and dots of blood on his pants, on his shoes, and even on his face.
“Right,” she said grimly.
“You gotta pump it, you gotta pay, you gotta do everything.” He opened his wallet and handed her a five dollar bill. She went inside.
Ge
tting back on the road, Shane remembered something. Something he had forgotten. Something inside Hollywood Video.
“Shit,” he said, glancing sideways at Esther.
She looked over at him and waited for him to continue.
“We gotta go back.”
“Go back where?”
“To the Hollywood Video.”
“What?” Esther’s mouth was wide open. “Why?”
“I forgot the clipboard.”
“Clipboard?”
“Yup. Clipboard and maybe a pen. I think I might've left my fingerprints on a clipboard in the back room.” He lowered his head and pushed on the bridge of his nose with his right hand. “I’m thinking I didn’t have my gloves on when I was touching that clipboard.”
Shifting the Fiero into fourth gear he drove past his apartment and onto Zuni Road. “Yeah, we gotta go get that shit right now.”
***
Shane turned onto San Mateo Boulevard. “Let’s cruise by, see what’s up,” he said as he drove towards the store. At least from the outside, it looked undisturbed. They saw no new cars in the parking lot and no cops. Just to be safe, Shane pulled up on Highland Avenue, a side street.
He told her he was going to drive around the block and then come back. He didn’t think it was a good idea for him to remain in a stationary position near the store.
“I’ll be right back,” Shane said, car idling. He expected Esther to hop out. She had been instructed to dash in, grab the clipboard and dash back out.
“Just a minute,” Esther said. “I gotta get my gloves first.”
Reaching down and feeling around on the dirty, sticky floor, she found only one glove. She didn’t like it, but decided that would have to do. She would just have to remember to use only the gloved hand while inside the store.
After Shane drove off, Esther stood on the sidewalk, scanning the area. The store seemed the same as when she left — which felt like a million years ago.
She pulled on the front door handle. It was unlocked. It seemed as if no one had been there and the alarm had never been set. She walked right in. Her goal was to grab the clipboard, and a pen, if there was one, and then leave. Quickly.
Esther remembered the manager had a clipboard in her hand when they walked to the back office together. She assumed that was the one she was looking for.
Speeding through the store, she noticed the same weird Japanimation movie with the same weird heavy metal music still playing on the store monitor. She stopped and did a double take, staring at the screen for a long couple of seconds.
Wetting her lips, she willed herself to start moving again. She walked to the back office, which was dark except for a glowing exit sign. The sign provided just enough light for her to see something she didn’t want to see. She gasped.
In the doorway, right in front of her, were a pair of man’s feet. Her eyes widened and she thought she might pass out. She stood frozen, unsure what to do.
She forced herself to refocus. Taking a gulp of air, she jerked her head up. As her eyes flew up, there, on top of the filing cabinet, next to the doorway, was the clipboard. Desperate to get out of the store, she grabbed the clipboard with her non-gloved hand and then streaked through the aisles of shelved video tapes. If there was a pen, she wasn’t going to look for it.
Outside of the store, Esther raced toward the oncoming headlights of Shane’s car. She yanked at the door handle of the moving car and jumped in, throwing the clipboard over her shoulder.
“I'm not going back in,” she yelled, almost panic-stricken.
Shane gave her a quizzical look, then took Zuni Road and headed home in silence. About halfway home, he veered into the back parking lot of a random apartment complex and rolled to a stop. Without getting out of the car, he flung the clipboard into an open dumpster and sped away.
***
Back at Shane’s apartment, Esther hauled up the clear plastic bag of money and Shane carried the guns. Neither spoke.
Esther threw the money bag onto the coffee table and headed to the bathroom. Shane sat on the couch, massaged his forehead for a moment, then got down to business.
First, he gave the money bag a quick once-over, pawing through the contents before tossing it aside. Then he retrieved the store's VHS surveillance tape from his jacket pocket and jammed it into the VCR.
Fighting back a yawn, he pressed “play” but the tape didn’t play. He immediately realized the tape was at the end of its reel, so he hit rewind. A few seconds later he pressed play again. Now it was playing.
Esther returned to see silent, flashing black-and-white frames on Shane's TV, showing various shots of the video store. The tape showed views from a couple of cameras focused on the front registers, another on the parking lot and two more in the back of the store—one of them specifically focused on the back office. Customers could be seen wandering around the store while employees worked the registers and restocked shelves.
Then they got to the part Shane wanted to see. He leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees and his hands on his chin. In the video, the Fiero pulled into the parking lot and Esther and Shane got out of the car.
“There we are,” Shane said, elbowing Esther. He was transfixed.
“Ow,” she said and shifted over. Part of her wanted to walk out the door but another part of her wanted to watch.
The security video played on. They saw themselves strolling around the store, picking up tapes, putting them down. Shane’s mouth hung open as he stared at the screen, his pupils dilated almost to black. Farther along in the tape, Esther saw herself in the back room, pointing the BB gun at the manager.
“Wow.” Shane pressed the remote to freeze the frame. “Did you see that?” he asked.
“Yeah,” Esther sighed.
“You look like a badass.”
Esther opened her mouth to speak but nothing came out.
He pressed play again. The last scene on the video showed Esther reaching in to take the surveillance tape out of the VCR. Then the screen went to video snow. Shane rewound the tape to slightly before the scene of the Fiero driving up and hit eject.
“This shit's good but its gotta go,” he said matter-of-factly, and snapped the cassette’s plastic casing in two with his bare hands. He ripped out the reel of tape and snipped it into tiny little pieces with a pair of nearby cuticle scissors. He dropped the tiny little pieces into a big amber ashtray on the coffee table and lit them with a match. Esther and Shane watched in silence as the pieces turned black, then were reduced to ashes.
He returned his attention to the bag of money, and dumped the contents onto the table. Some of the money was still in blue bank bags and some of it was loose. As he counted, he turned to Esther and said, “Go get some Windex. It’s under the sink. You’ve gotta clean this jacket.” He pointed with his thumb to the leather jacket lying on the couch.
With little will of her own left, Esther retrieved the Windex and some paper towels. She sprayed the jacket and rubbed.
“Take your time,” he said. “You need to get the blood off. And I mean all of it.”
Holding the jacket to the light, Esther saw blood up and down the right side, large spatters smeared on the left shoulder near the lapel, and even some on the Star Trek pin.
Esther cleaned while Shane counted. He put the cash on the floor in piles of a hundred. The piles were various heights due to the mixture of denominations. He ended up with ten plus piles.
“This isn’t enough,” Shane said, his face darkening. “There should be way fucking more than this.”
Esther tensed.
He kicked the table. “Where’s the rest of my goddamn money?” he yelled. “There should be twice this much. Five times!”
Esther shrugged.
His eyes blazed as he shuffled the money from ten piles to three.
“One for me, one for you and one for John Lausell,” he said, spitting out each word. Shane pushed Esther’s pile toward her.
“I don’t want it.” Sh
e pushed it back.
“What do you mean you don’t want it?”
“I don’t want it. It wasn’t supposed to happen that way. If you want to send something to John, go ahead, but I don’t want it.”
Shane folded his arms.
“I don’t want it,” Esther said again, staring at her lap.
“Just fucking take it,” he screamed. “You know you’re gonna need it.”
Before she could respond, he picked up one of the stacks and threw it at her.
Now covered in fives, tens and twenties, Esther leaned away from his rage and plucked the money off her chest, stuffing the bills into her jacket pocket.
She decided not to argue with a man who had done what he had done. It was true, she did need the money, no question about that. She just did not want this money.
***
“Sorry to break this party up but we gotta go back out,” Shane said. “We gotta get rid of the rest of this shit.”
Meaning he needed to destroy the remaining evidence.
With a black garbage bag slung over his shoulder, Shane and Esther left the house. The bag contained the broken video tape, the bank bags, and a wad of bloody paper towels. Shane drove up and down Zuni Road, stopping at various city drains and gutters. Esther tossed one item out per stop. After they had gotten rid of everything, they returned to Shane’s apartment.
“I’m gonna bury the guns,” Shane said matter-of-factly.
“What?” Esther said, startled out of her daze.
“I’m gonna take these guns that we used and bury them in the mountains so the cops won’t find ’em.”
“Do whatever you want,” Esther said. “I’m not going back to those mountains.”
5 AM
From Shane’s house, Esther called Denny's Restaurant.
“Hi Eloy, it’s me, Esther. I can’t make it in today. I'm sorry. Yeah, I know I'm usually so reliable, but I got car troubles today. My car’s broke down. I can’t get it started. It was acting up last night. I just got a new battery but the piece of shit won't start. I got a guy that can maybe look at it today. No matter what, I’ll be there Wednesday — for my next shift. Sorry. If I can get a ride from someone else, I will. Sorry again.”