“No shit!” Bobby roared as a flood of images raced through his mind. “I love that place. Ice cream, baseball, lobster rolls, the flats, the ponds! It’s like my favorite place in the universe! That’s so cool!”
Maria pressed herself back into the vinyl seat, the Reaper’s enthusiasm caught her off guard.
“Sorry,” he said when he realized. “I just got excited, my bad. Sorry.”
“No, it’s okay.” Maria forced a smile. “I’m just shocked you know Brewster so well.”
“I do know Brewster. I remember it. We used to go there every year, my dad and me. We camped at Sweetwater Forest, right by the pond. We’d bike everywhere, explore the beach at low tide and swim in the ponds and all that stuff. We’d go to Grumpy’s every morning for breakfast, man those pancakes were like Heaven on a plate. Those were good times. Everybody was so nice and everything was so simple. I always felt like I was going back in time when we crossed the bridge.”
Holy shit. I remember it, I can see it.
“He’d say ‘Crossing over.’ I’d say ‘Set mission clock to 1925’ and he’d say ‘Clock set, 1925. Check. Blast-off in 3…2…1’. Then he’d hit the gas and his old Explorer would roar and we’d yell out the windows like crazy until we hit the roundabout, the one that spells Cape Cod. It was awesome.”
“He sounds fun,” Maria said, eyes brimming with curiosity.
Dad. I loved him so much.
“Dad, yeah, he was… is, I guess.”
“I’m sure he’s okay,” Maria said when she saw the pain.
“Yeah,” Bobby nodded.
“Your mother didn’t time travel?” Maria asked, trying to recapture the first sign of happiness she’d seen in him since they met.
Oh Mom, my poor mom. I’m sorry, whatever I did, I’m sorry.
“Huh?”
“Cape Cod?”
Mom, camping? Not a chance.
“Oh… no, not her, no way. Camping was definitely not her cup of tea,” Bobby explained, his face softened as he recalled the woman he clearly cherished. “Dirt and bugs, public showers, no way. Mom was a classy lady, way too prissy and girly for that kinda thing.”
Horns blared angrily as the cabbie pushed his puke yellow sedan onto the deadly curve of the eastbound on-ramp from Queens Boulevard up to the LI E. “You know why they call it the LIE?” Roger asked the driver.
“No my friend,” the cabbie gave off a serious ‘I don’t want to chat’ vibe that Roger either didn’t pick up on or didn’t care.
“It’s because it’s a lie dude! L-I-E, lie, get it?” Roger delivered the punchline and waited eagerly for the laughter he thought it deserved.
“Very good my friend,” the cabbie didn’t.
Roger got the point and slumped back to watch his fellow travelers ride the brakes along the four-lane, eastbound parking lot.
“Poor guy,” Maria saw the same thing as Bobby did.
Roger was a nice guy. Friendly, kind, a little awkward and a lot lonely.
“Not a good week for our buddy here,” Bobby said as he studied the cab’s lone live passenger. “Maybe he’ll be better once he’s home.”
“I hope so,” Maria looked as if she wanted to lean over and hug him.
Amazing. She loves the guy already.
“So what about your folks?” he asked.
Maria turned back to study the crawling traffic for so long that Bobby thought she’d forgotten the question but just as he was about to turn around she spoke, her voice hushed and heavy with emotion, “My father died in Vietnam but his body never made it home. Mom was never the same after that. She was heartbroken, but it was more than that. I think she was scared to love us in case she lost us as well.”
“Us?” Bobby wanted to climb into the back seat and wrap his arms around her, she was so real, so honest and so damn beautiful.
“My little brother, Charlie, he was five years younger than me. I raised him as best as I could because Mom couldn’t after we lost Daddy. She was lost too, in a way I guess.”
Oh man. This poor girl.
“I watched them, you know, after I died. Mom got worse, a lot worse, and Charlie….he, he had nobody else.” Maria cried, her cheeks glistened as tears cascaded over them.
Please don’t cry. Don’t be sad. I’d do anything to take the pain away. I would. I swear. I’d go back to Hell and kick Satan in the nuts if I had to.
Maria went on revealing her own personal Hell witnessed from Heaven, “Charlie died in 1988. He overdosed on heroine up in Boston where he ended up selling himself for that poison. Mom died in ‘89, not even a year after Charlie. Pills…she did it to herself you know. I don’t blame her. I don’t blame either of them. They never made it to Heaven, and neither did Daddy.”
Jesus Christmas! Talk about getting screwed, blued and tattooed.
“Damn, that’s…” Bobby stopped himself, she didn’t need to hear his asinine reaction.
Maria looked at him, her emerald eyes were drowning in misery. “I did all I could. I tried so hard to keep them safe, to keep us together,” she whispered.
“I’m sure you did. It’s not your fault.”
“I think it was. I think if I lived, I’d have been able to save them or at least to keep them from hurting themselves.” She was shivering, the old wound far from healed.
“It’s not like you died on purpose.”
If you did we wouldn’t be having this extremely depressing conversation right now.
“No but I didn’t have to…I didn’t have to do it but I couldn’t… I couldn’t just let it happen,” Maria kneaded her hands in her lap as if trying to wring forgiveness from her delicate fingers.
Wait? What? Did I miss something?
“I don’t understand.”
Maria shook her head. Whatever secret she’d been keeping she wanted to keep it locked up.
“It might make it hurt less if you let it out. Hiding stuff only gives it time to grow and makes it harder to get rid of.”
Maria shook her head again but with a lot less vigor.
She’s coming around. Just don’t push too hard.
“My mom used to say that when you tell someone what’s bothering you, you let them help you carry it. You can tell me. I won’t repeat a word of it and even if I did, nobody would listen. I’m a freaking Reaper, right?”
Maria looked at Bobby for a moment but it was enough for him to see that sharing her secret was exactly what she wanted, and exactly what she needed.
“Spit it out girl, I’m ready.”
The Angel snorted, a half-laugh, half-cry kind of thing. She nodded, but it took a few minutes to work up the nerve. “Route 6A in the summer is super busy. Delivery trucks go way too fast and the summer folks are always in a rush. I never understood it, why they came for the slow life but refused to slow down.”
“I remember.”
I do. That road was a mess because of all the asshole Red Sox fans down from Boston, according to my dad. He could blame global warming on the Sox. I miss that, and him.
“I was walking home after my shift behind the counter at Scoops. A little boy ran out from between two hedges right in front of me, tripped on the sidewalk and sprawled headfirst out onto the road. A Jeep was heading north and in a hurry. It had those huge tires and was really high up you know? I remember hearing Bruce Springsteen blasting and the driver was singing right along with him as loud as he could. ‘Born in the USA’, I loved that song. It was right before the fourth of July and there was a huge flag tied to the roll-bar thingy and it was flapping behind it like a cape. Someone started screaming, I don’t think it was me but it could have been. The boy, he just sat there, staring at his bloody knees. He didn’t see the Jeep, I’m pretty sure he didn’t even know he was sitting in the middle of the road.
“I knew if I tried to save him I’d probably get hit. I knew it and I did it anyway. I ran to him and picked him up. He was crying and so scared, the poor little guy. I heard the Jeep’s motor getting louder and louder. I didn’t have tim
e to run. The driver must’ve seen me because I heard the tires screeching. They were right on top of me. I threw the little boy as hard as I could toward the sidewalk, and then I was dead.”
Wow. That’s amazing. She’s amazing.
“You saved that kid’s life. You’re a hero.”
“I saved him but I killed Charlie and I killed Mommy!” Maria cried, dropping her face into her hands, hiding shame that didn’t belong to her.
Holy deep shit Batman! What do I say to that?
“You’re a hero Maria. A real hero. You… you’re amazing. I could never be that brave, that selfless. What you did was… it was… it’s incredible. Your mom and your brother, that’s not on you. We can’t control other people. They did what they did, not because of you, not because of what you did, but in spite of it. You showed them how to be strong and brave and good. They didn’t or couldn’t or whatever, the point is they would’ve done their thing regardless of you. You’re amazing. You really are. There is no way you should be anything but proud of what you did in life. Shit girl, that outfit doesn’t lie. You earned it. You own it. You’re an Angel and for damn good reason.”
Maria raised her face to see who said what she had needed to hear for decades. She couldn’t believe it came from a Reaper. “Thank you. That was very kind of you to say.”
“I’m just telling you the truth. You did everything right, even after being dealt some crappy cards. What happened once you were gone has nothing to do with you, abso-fucking-lutely nothing, sorry. People do what they do, you can’t change them but you can change how you see them. Mom and Charlie did what they did, maybe they had good reason but you can’t blame yourself. You gotta forgive them and forgive yourself.”
Maria’s eyes had stopped leaking and held Bobby in their unwavering embrace. Her shoulders hitched once or twice but the sobbing had passed. Bobby had opened her up and cleaned her out. All the guilt and all the self-loathing that had kept her from healing, from letting go, he’d rooted out with his crude yet profound insight. She could, at long last, see she had no reason to harbor it, no reason to burden herself with what wasn’t hers to bear in the first place. “I can do that… forgive I mean.”
“I hope so girl. If not, you’re in the wrong line of work.”
The Angel smiled.
“It’s a big step but you gotta do it, it’s the key. Let yourself off the hook.”
“I can do that too.”
The Reaper was not what she’d expected, especially after his erratic first impression. She saw something beneath the deep hood and the pale skin, hidden behind the cursing and the fear. He was good.
Bobby felt her studying him, and quickly changed course, “All right, enough of the deep stuff for now. The bill’s in the mail though, Doctor Phil’s got nothing on me.”
Maria frowned.
“After your time. Um…Donahue’s got nothing on me. That work?”
Maria nodded and smiled.
*
“This one?” the cabbie asked as they approached the exit for Glen Cove Road.
“Yep,” Roger had almost dozed off but there was some weird tension in the air that kept him on edge. “Head north to the end of Glen Cove Road, it’s like seven miles, then I’ll guide you in from there.”
“Okay buddy, big money though, you need to stop for cash?” the cabbie tapped the meter as its red lit tally increased with every turn of the tires.
“Don’t worry bro,” Roger growled. “All talk now though, huh? Money talks right.”
“Okay my friend.”
“I ain’t your friend,” Roger snapped.
The cabbie looked at him in the rearview mirror but quickly averted his eyes after seeing the death glare waiting in the reflective rectangle.
“You see that?” Bobby asked.
“Yes I did.” Maria felt it too, the anger and the hate.
“Maybe Roger here isn’t exactly Mr. Rogers.”
Good one.
“He could just be tired,” Maria said.
“Right.” Bobby hoped she was, betting on the wrong horse would not help their situation and he’d gone all in on Rock’n Roger.
“Okay, at the firehouse just follow the road around and make a left at the stop sign,” Roger instructed the cabbie once they reached the heart of Glen Cove.
Technically it was the City of Glen Cove but it was far from a city, more like an overgrown town. The old charm of the narrow main street was now nothing more than a detour to avoid the traffic on the wider, newer roads that surrounded it. Franchises, gas stations and strip malls grew like weeds as the town sprawled. Office complexes and apartment buildings sprouted from every available lot to accommodate the ever-growing population. It was ugly.
“Ahh, the suburbs,” Bobby sighed. “Can you smell it, the desperation, the stench of the soured American dream?”
“It’s nice,” Maria replied, refusing to acknowledge the sarcasm.
Surprise. Surprise.
“Next left,” Roger commanded. “On top of the hill there’s a driveway on the left, that’s our turn.”
The cabbie obeyed in silence. A faded sign announced that Landing Gardens were a nice place to call home. Bobby doubted it. The cabbie turned into the steep, potholed driveway and crept slowly down toward the long, red brick building waiting at the bottom. Two floors high, with about as much pizzazz as a used paper bag, it was in serious need of a major update or a wrecking ball.
“All the way to the end, last door,” Roger urged the driver forward.
The cabbie let his car idle across the narrow parking lot. Six identical doors, each with four mismatched mailboxes, offered access to the building’s interior. Bobby did some quick math. At fifteen hundred dollars each times twenty-four units, whoever owned the little real estate gem was pulling in at least thirty-six grand a month.
Should’ve been in the slumlord business.
The cabbie stopped, put the car in park and pushed a button on the meter to stop its relentless accrual. “Ninety-three dollars and sixty-two cents,” he announced greedily.
“Worth every penny,” Roger grumbled, opened his door and climbed out with a wince and a groan.
“Wait!” the cabbie cried. “Where are you going?”
“To get your money bro, you see what I’m wearing right? You picked me up at a hospital remember? Do the math Mohammed.”
He’s really turning on the charm.
“I am not Mohammed man!” the cabbie shouted.
As an Arabic cab driver he’d heard every racist slur at least a thousand times. He couldn’t give a shit about one more but what he gave a big shit about was his money. “My name is Ron Akash bro and you owe me ninety-three dollars and sixty-two cents plus tip.”
“I’m going to get it right now Ron Akash bro,” Roger snapped and turned toward door number six.
Ron grabbed something from beneath the driver’s seat and scrambled from the car. He’d fallen for the same trick on more occasions than he’d like to admit. In the front, out the back, and bye-bye fare. “No way man. If you go, I go with you,” Ron said, and the hand by his side, the one with the twenty-two caliber pistol, shook as adrenaline flooded his bloodstream.
“Relax, you ain’t coming in,” Roger snarled as his face reddened, all the bullshit from the last few days was coming to a head. “Just sit the fuck back in your cab and I’ll be out in thirty seconds.”
Ron wasn’t getting burned for a hundred bucks. The two hours it took to get to Glen Cove and the two to get back to Queens already ruined his shift. He’d have to work at least an extra four hours just to break even. “Fuck you man! You’re trying to rob me, I know the trick. I’m calling the cops.”
“The cops?” Roger spun, the cabbie was turning into a real pain in the ass. “Listen you little shit, if you don’t calm the fuck down you ain’t getting a dime.”
The cabbie raised the trembling pistol. “No you listen fat man. Pay me my money! You pay me my money right now!”
“This is bad
. This is really, really bad,” Maria pointed out the extremely obvious.
“No shit!” Bobby agreed. “We gotta do something.”
“We can’t,” Maria snapped.
Bobby slid out of the cab as Ron’s finger curled around the trigger.
Shit! This isn’t going to end well. You gotta do something Bobby, and you gotts do it fast.
“He’s going to shoot,” he said without turning. “I gotta do something.”
“We can’t get involved! We have a deal!” Maria cried, sliding out to dance nervously at the cabbie’s side.
“If he kills Roger it’s all over,” Bobby explained what he thought was quite obvious.
Marie refused to relent, shaking her head and folding her arms like an angry teacher.
“But we didn’t even get to…” Bobby started to say but stopped.
“What? Get to what?” Maria asked.
Get to spend time together. Get to know each other. Get to hold hands, maybe hug, maybe more.
“Find evidence…get to find any evidence,” Bobby lied.
“We have a deal, remember? We can’t interfere.”
With Roger.
An idea popped into Bobby’s head. It was a bad one but the only one he had.
“With Roger?” he asked.
“Yes,” Maria unknowingly gave him the permission he needed.
Bobby leaned as close as he could get to Ron’s ear and whispered, “It’s cool Ron. He’s getting the money. Don’t shoot Ron.”
Ron’s eyes darted around in confusion.
“Bobby!” Maria cried in shock.
“Put the gun down Ron,” Bobby continued, ignoring the Angel’s furious protest. “Money is better than jail. You will go to jail Ron and you don’t want that. You won’t survive in jail.”
Ron was sweating like a pig in a sauna despite the November chill.
“Easy Ron. Think,” Bobby pushed. “Let him get you your money Ron.”
Ron took a deep breath and slowly lowered pistol. “Thirty seconds,” he said, his voice unsteady.
Roger didn’t know what changed the crazy cabbie’s mind but he wasn’t waiting for him to change it again, “Thirty seconds.”
“Go with him, make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid,” Bobby ordered Maria.
Death Sucks Page 19