by H. L. Sudler
April lay her head on his chest, getting as close to him as she knew she ever would.
“You’re welcome, Jon,” she said with tears in her eyes. “Many happy returns of the day.”
“So you weren’t drunk?” the detective asked.
“Not for a lack of trying,” Jon said from across the hideous table. The detective’s name was Brian. A last name, not a first. He didn’t offer a first name for Jon to remember. The room was airless, and Detective Brian continued to look at Jon as if this was Jon’s first day at the halfway house and he was laying down ground rules.
“So what happened?”
Jon sighed, exhausted. “I eventually worked my way around the room. I had only two martinis, despite all the flowing alcohol. I didn’t get a chance to eat anything. I was too busy playing nice.”
“How long were you at the party?”
“An hour, tops. I can’t tell you when I snuck out, I just know that I did. I was going to walk the streets of Manhattan, get lost, but I remembered it was Halloween and the streets would be packed. So I decided to head to my car, which was parked down near the Intrepid Air and Space Museum on 12th Avenue.”
“Why’d you park down there?”
“No parking nearby. And I had been stalling as much as possible to go to this damn party.”
“What happened next?”
Jon stuffed his hands in his pockets, tucked his chin down against the cool autumn night. He didn’t want to be seen. He wanted to be invisible. He ducked down a street with very little foot traffic. And he had almost made it to his car, had almost made a break for home, when the night turned.
He heard a scream. A woman. He stopped cold, listening. Just that fast the night had snatched back the scream, leaving him with a silence almost never found on New York City streets. Jon turned his head one way, then the other. And then he threw his head back and laughed a little when he spotted a pumpkin cut-out in a closed salon’s window. He had forgotten it was Halloween. Of course he’d hear screams and yells and all sorts of crazy noises on this night of all nights.
But then he heard the scream again, this time muffled. Clearly it was a woman. Clearly someone was covering her mouth. Clearly, she was struggling. Jon looked around frantic.
He was on a small street, not well lit. There was a church on one side, a darkened schoolyard next to it, some sort of office building next to that, all closed. On his side of the street, there was the closed salon, two or three office buildings, and then what looked like a medical office, also quiet. Beyond that was Hainesworth’s Service Garage, whose lot was padlocked.
He walked toward it slowly, his ears pricked, his footfalls quiet. The lot was empty. He looked up the sidewalk. No one. He looked behind him. No one. Cars passed at either end, but none along this stretch where he was now. He looked down the street, and there was a woman’s handbag near the curb, her lipstick, her keys, a pen, on the ground nearby. When he walked toward the bag, he heard her moan, and suddenly Jon knew where she was. In the darkened schoolyard. He ran inside and in a corner near the rear, he saw silhouettes, two men and her struggling.
“Hey!” he yelled, but quickly realized how wrong he was. There weren’t just two men and a woman. There were four men in the shadows. All young, in their teens and early twenties. Jon cursed under his breath.
His eyes hit their faces. Black, Asian, Latino, and a guy who looked like a redheaded Irish lumberjack. Through the darkness, Jon saw the widening of the woman’s gleaming eyes. Tear-filled. Frightened. He heard movement behind him. Fast. He didn’t have time to turn around. He was struck heavily against the head. And then everything went dark.
When he opened his eyes, a bunch of people were looking at him. Three of them had their mouths gagged, were on their knees, their hands bound behind their backs. They were staring at him, eyes wide, petrified. Two men and one woman. The men were White, in their forties or fifties, one in a suit, the other looked like a tourist. The woman was African-American. She was younger, a little heavy, pretty in the face. She wore what looked like a maid’s uniform under her coat. A real one, not a costume.
Jon blinked and grunted. His head throbbed. He swallowed. He was on the floor, on his side. His hands were bound from behind. His mouth was gagged. He turned onto his back, and that was when he saw all the other people staring at him. There were four guys in the room. All of them he remembered from the park.
The African-American turned to a young guy, who looked Latino or Italian or both, and pointed to Jon. “Yo, Rico, that’s yours. Take care of it.”
The other guys turned to look at Rico, who stood alone against a wall in the shadows of this dark room. He was young, in his teens for sure. He had short black hair, a baby face, red lips and innocent eyes. His hands were stuffed into the pockets of his black jacket. He nodded and walked over to Jon. He lifted him from behind, so that Jon was on his knees.
“Where am I?” Jon said angrily through his gag.
Rico stopped cold and looked Jon in his eyes. Then he looked at the African American, who Jon guessed was the leader of whatever was going on here.
“What the fuck, man?” the guy yelled. “I gotta tell you everything? Teach him some respect.”
Rico looked Jon in his eyes, and Jon realized Rico was nervous, perhaps flat out scared. His eyes were uncertain, wavered. He hadn’t done this before.
“Just shut up,” Rico said, mimicking tough. He slapped Jon’s face, but lightly, each side. “No questions.”
Jon locked eyes with Rico, for just a moment. His eyes asked the kid, What the hell is going on here? Rico looked away. Went back to the corner. Stuffed his hands into his pockets. Lowered his head. Jon turned to the African American, and realized these guys were part of a gang. He and the other people were their hostages.
Jon looked around the room and was amazed to discover they weren’t in a room at all. They were in what looked like the inside of a train boxcar or a cargo shipping container. The space was oblong and minimally lit with a few battery powered LED work lamps. It was cold, and Jon could hear nothing outside of the echo of movement inside the space.
“Guys!” the African American said, pacing. “I don’t know why you’re here if you’re not up for this! This is B5! This is not a pussy organization! We The Five Boroughs! Tonight is your initiation! Do what needs to be done! Handle your shit! Because if you don’t, I’ll put a bullet in the back of your head and keep it moving!”
Jon’s eyes followed the leader. His face was hard, his eyes full of venom, his nostrils flared, his lips tight with anger. Their eyes met.
“Who you looking at?” he barked at Jon. He pulled a gun from under his jacket, from the back of his jeans, and pointed it at Jon’s head. Jon turned away, but the leader leaned close to Jon’s ear and whispered. “I will blow your fucking head off, muthafucka. Trust me.”
Jon closed his eyes and bowed his head. He was breathing hard and scared. On a day that was as predictable as the sun rising, he suddenly realized he didn’t know how it would end. And it was his birthday! This day should have been—he wanted it to be—dull and boring. He wanted to be at home. If he had just gone home. If he had just skipped that damn party, he’d be home. And now this. What was this? What was happening here?
“Dark,” someone called, and Jon realized it was Rico. He opened his eyes.
The African American stood up and looked at Rico.
“I’ll handle him,” Rico said, stepping forward. “He’s mine.”
Dark sauntered to Rico, stood in front of him. Although Dark was taller than Rico, he was not that much older. He hissed. “Handle your shit. Don’t make me tell you again. You want in on B5, act like it.”
Rico nodded, then dropped his eyes.
“Do you all think I’m playing?” Dark shouted to the room. When no one answered, he pointed his gun at the man in the suit, on his knees with his mouth gagged and his hands bound behind his back. His eye
s were wide and filled with tears. Dark pulled the trigger and blew the back of his head against the wall.
Everyone jumped, their eyes fixated on the splatter of blood and then on the man, dead, his eyes open and blank. The woman screamed through her gag. Jon stared in horror, air lodged in his throat, his heart pounding, pounding, pounding.
“Danny Boy, was he yours?” Dark asked the redhead with the beard.
Although Danny Boy looked like a lumberjack, he was clearly frightened. “Yeah,” he said.
“I think you need to go get another one while we wait for Horatio to bring back his. It’s almost nine now. You got thirty minutes. I want this shit wrapped up by midnight.”
“So this guy named Dark killed the man in the suit?” Detective Brian asked. He gave Jon a look.
“Yes,” Jon answered, running a hand through his hair. His eyes were distant, haunted. “He just…shot him. Dead. Just like that.”
“In the head.”
“In the head.”
“What did you do after that?”
Jon swallowed. “I cursed myself.”
Detective Brian grimaced. “Why?”
“Because I shouldn’t have gone to the party. I should’ve made an excuse. I should have gone straight home after work. I’ve never seen anybody killed. I’ve never seen anybody shot…let alone shot in the fucking head. And it just happened.”
Jon’s face reddened and he covered it with his hands. He was breathing hard, trying not to cry.
“All I wanted to do was go home. Be by myself…”
“Not celebrate your birthday.”
Jon looked at Detective Brian and nodded. “But life had other plans.”
“What happened next.”
“I knew I had to get out of there. I didn’t know how. But I knew I had to try. You see…I knew they were going to kill us. They didn’t want money or our cars or anything like that. They flat out wanted to kill us. And…it’s funny but…I wanted to live.”
“Why is that funny?”
“Because I felt like I was dying inside. Not an hour before that, I felt like I was dying and I wasn’t sure I cared.”
“And now you wanted to live.”
Jon looked at Detective Brian with an earnestness in his eyes that made the detective sit back.
“Someone was trying to kill me on my birthday. Do you know how that feels?”
“No…”
“It’s not a good feeling. It’s like you’re being robbed. Robbed of a most precious thing—I don’t know.”
“So you felt like you had to defend yourself in order to get out alive…”
“I felt like I had to take back what was mine. I felt like…I had given something away by mistake, and I wanted it back.”
“Your life.”
“My life.”
“How then did you manage to escape? Because that seems to be the biggest mystery to me. How did you get out of there alive, when it seems that hardly anybody else did?”
Jon swallowed. He didn’t dare look at the clock. He looked directly at the detective. In his eyes. He didn’t want to give Detective Brian any reason to mistrust what was going to come out of his mouth next. He needed him to believe his story. Every word of it.
They were on their knees, all of them. The tourist, the maid, and Jon. Side by side. They were told to be quiet. The dead body remained where it was, lifeless on the floor, lying in a pool of blood. It was a reminder to them all to behave.
The scene remained foreboding. The three of them bound, gagged, encapsulated in darkness, separated from the world they knew only an hour ago, separated from any sound outside this echoing chamber.
“Fuck!” Dark yelled, and his voice bounced off the walls of this space like a cave. “Where the hell are they? They were supposed to be back here by now!”
Dark paced, and everyone’s eyes fell so that they didn’t meet his.
“Do you know why you’re here today?” he yelled to his prisoners. No one answered. “You’re here to die. And trust me, you’re gonna die.”
He kneeled in front of Jon, the maid, and the tourist. He was holding his gun.
“You’re the initiation test of B5,” he announced. “Each man here has a kill to make to get in. And well…today’s your lucky day. You’ll all get a bullet in your skull. If you’re extra lucky, it’ll be quick.”
The maid began sobbing loudly through her gag, and the tourist followed suit. They were both sweating, shaking.
Dark looked at Jon, who was looking at the floor. Not crying. Not shaking. Only staring.
“Yo, White boy! You ain’t scared? ‘Cause I can put a bullet in your ass right now and make pussy Rico over there in the corner go out and get another sucker.”
Jon looked up slowly. He was red in the face. His eyes reflected disbelief.
“You got something to say?”
Jon continued to look up. Up to the ceiling. And it was then that tears rolled from his eyes, down his cheeks, over his beard and onto his chin.
He was thinking of Rodney, the bartender. His words of wisdom. Sometimes a man celebrates his birthday with a large party, girls, food, too much drink. And sometimes a man celebrates his birthday by thinking deep thoughts. Who’s to say which one is right.
“Aww, you scared. Look at you. Crying like a little bitch. You in your suit, trying to look fly and shit, and you about to die in it.”
Jon continued to look up to the ceiling. His chest pumping.
“What you thinking ’bout, White boy?” Dark said scooting over close to Jon. “That’s my new name for you. White Boy. Whatchu thinking ’bout? All the shit you gonna miss? Some bitch you done left behind? How you should a minded your own fucking business? Let this bitch here get what was coming to her?” He waived his gun at the maid.
“What you gonna miss most when you dead? Pussy? Money? Them fly clothes you got on? It’s a shame I don’t want nothing you got, ‘cause you look like you doing well. The only thing I want is for you to die.”
Jon looked down slowly from the ceiling, his gaze descending into Dark’s.
“What? You got something to say, White Boy?”
Jon’s eyes sharpened. He raised an eyebrow.
“Oh, you do got something you want to say to me.”
Dark yanked down Jon’s gag.
“Order in the court, order in the court! The monkey wants to speak. Speak, monkey, speak. The first one to speak is a monkey.”
Jon stared at Dark.
“My grandfather used to say that shit all the time when we was kids. You got the floor, White Boy. ‘Cause it look like you want to speak. Speak…”
“What did you say?” Detective Brian asked.
“What I was thinking,” Jon said, his voice barely above a whisper. He was not looking at the detective directly. He was looking off to the side. Remembering being on his knees, looking into Dark’s eyes.
“What was that?”
“At first about April, and then the party. I was wondering if I was appreciative enough. That the last time I saw April was probably the last time I would see her. Then I thought about all the trouble she went through to put the party together. A party I snuck out of and I was mad that I’d done that. I could have been having a good time at that party, but instead I was here, about to die.”
Jon’s eyes shifted to the detective.
“Then I realized I wasn’t mad because I snuck out of the party. I was mad that someone was going to kill me. And not just somebody. This…kid. This group of children. I had 20 years on them. And they were going to kill me. And I wanted to live. I deserved to live. To not to die like that. On my hands and knees.”
“I hate to say this,” Detective Brian pointed out, “but not an hour before that it sounds to me like you were ready to give up. If not living, definitely fighting.”
“I know…” Jon said. “But that’s what I was thinki
ng.”
“You said all that to him?”
“No. What I said was worse. Much worse. I was suddenly angry. Furious. Defensive about my life. And it changed the whole night.”
“Speak, monkey. You got the floor.”
But Jon didn’t speak. Not immediately. He did something that caused Dark’s face to fall. To slacken. That caused his eyes to shift from humor to rage. Jon stared at Dark, looked into him, through him. Jon’s eyes narrowed, seized upon Dark. His youth. His soul.
“Who are you, boy?” Jon spat. It was a growl, with a bass in his voice that made it seem as if Jon were speaking to a child. That caused every head in the room to turn and look at him. “Who are you?”
“Who the fuck you talking to?”
“That’s not the question I asked! Answer the question I asked you, boy!”
Dark stood. “Oh, I’m-a kill this muthafucka today!”
“Shut up!”
“What?”
“SHUT UP!” Jon growled again.
The space grew quiet. Dark looked confused, as if someone had suddenly slapped him.
Jon continued. “How is it that you young people always think you have a monopoly on anger? Like you invented anger. Like you’ve had it so goddamned hard—!”
“You don’t know shit about me!”
“And you don’t know shit about me either! Do you? Do you? And yet, here I am on my knees because you decided to get your period today!”
Dark backed up surprised.
“Oh…did I shock you? Are you stunned? Would you like some ice cream and a cookie? Would you like a pat on the head? Would that make it all better?”
“Are you fucking crazy?”
“Are you?” Jon shot back. “What did you expect? People my age have had a whole lifetime to be angry! I have a whole fucking childhood that I’m still pissed about! I get taxed too much! My mortgage is too much! My commute kills me every day! And then there’s you! How’s your commute? Doesn’t look like it’s put any stress on you. You don’t look hungry, judging by your fat ass. And when’s the last time you’ve been passed over for a raise?”