by John Locke
“So when he couldn’t sell the real thing he talked them into buying the fakes?”
“Exactly. For ten cents on the dollar.”
“And you’re certain this one’s a fake?”
“Positive. We’ve got a dozen just like them in our apartment.”
“Seriously Willow? Because if you’re wrong it’s our asses.”
“Seriously. Now let’s get out of here!”
They walk briskly to the car, climb in, and start driving to Willow’s apartment.
“What about the bedding?” Cameron says.
“We should take it to a laundromat and wash and dry it. Then take it to my place, cut everything into small pieces with scissors, and scatter the pieces in dumpsters all over town.”
“I’ve got a better idea. We’ll wash and dry it and put it in your trunk. After work, we’ll take it to my parent’s house. They’ve got a fire pit. We’ll burn it while making smores.”
“What about the vacuum cleaner?”
“Pull over, and we’ll dump out the dust. I need a sweeper anyway. I’ll take it home and wash it from top to bottom, hose and everything.”
“I like the idea of cleaning it,” Willow says. “But keeping it? What if the police show up?”
“Good point. Okay, I’ll wash it out this afternoon. You’ll pick me up and drive me to work and we’ll put the sweeper in your trunk. After work we’ll toss it in a dumpster on our way to my parents’ house.”
An hour later they fold the warm sheets, pillow cases and blanket, and place everything back in the trash bag and put it in Willow’s trunk. They ride quietly back to Cameron’s duplex.
Still in the car with the doors locked, Cameron says, “We’ll never speak of this again, no matter what. If something happens and the police put us in separate interrogation rooms, we won’t flip on each other.”
“They always lie and say the other person ratted you out.”
“But we won’t flip on each other.”
“No.”
“Swear it.”
“I swear. Now you.”
“I swear.”
They sit in the car a minute, thinking about what they’ve done.
Then Willow says, “Chris Fowler.”
“What about him?”
“He’ll know we did it.”
“He won’t have any reason to suspect us,” Cameron says.
“He will. Last night was a big deal. He’ll come home, find his wife murdered, see the safe open. He’ll wonder who would do such a thing.”
“Us?”
Willow nods.
“So?”
“He knows where we work.”
Cameron thinks a minute, then says, “He won’t want to admit what happened last night.”
“He’ll have to. He’s the prime suspect.”
“Not if he’s got a great alibi. He’s at work, right? Wherever that is, there must be a dozen people who can vouch for his whereabouts.”
“If they can establish a proper timeline.”
“They always-oh shit!” Cameron says.
“What now?”
Willow turns to her left just in time to see Bobby smash his fist against her window.
She screams.
“Get out!” He shouts. “Right now. Both of you!”
Cameron says, “Drive away, Willow.”
“I can’t.”
“You have to. He’s bombed out of his mind. Drive away and wait till he crashes. He’ll probably forget the whole thing.”
Bobby punches the window again. “Lower the fucking window!”
“No!” Willow shouts. “Not till you calm down!”
“Lower the window now!”
“Not till you calm down. You’re totally wasted. I’m getting out of here.”
She looks into the rear view mirror, reaches her hand toward the steering column to put the car in reverse, but he punches the window twice.
“Stop it!” Willow yells. “You’re going to break your hand!”
“You’re worried about his hand?” Cameron says. “ Jesus, Willow!”
“Lower the fucking window!” Bobby shouts.
“Not till you calm down!”
He pauses. “Okay. Okay, fine,” he says. “I’m calming. I’m calming.”
The girls watch Bobby relax his posture, then his facial features, until he looks like a demented choirboy.
“I liked him better the other way,” Cameron says.
“See how I live?” Willow says.
She lowers the window two inches and says, “What the fuck was that all about?”
“I need a ride.”
“How’d you get here?”
“I borrowed a guy’s car.”
“What guy?”
“I’ll tell you later.”
Willow unlocks the doors, Bobby climbs in the back, behind her.
She says, “ Why are you here?”
“I was looking for you.”
“Well, I’ve got your money.”
“You’ve been gone all day.”
“I was trying to score some blow for you.”
“Where is it?”
“I couldn’t find Chuckie. We looked everywhere.”
“Right. Just start the car and drive where I tell you.”
“Forgetting something?” Cameron says. “I live here. See you later, Willow.”
She reaches for the door handle, but Bobby grabs her by the hair.
She kicks and screams, but he works his other hand around her throat to cut off her air.
Willow shouts, “Let her go!”
With one quick motion Bobby pulls Cameron into the back seat and punches her face.
“You bastard!” Cameron gasps.
She hits him back, splits his lip.
“Bitch!” Bobby yells, and smashes her temple.
Cameron’s head bounces off the window. Her body goes slack.
Willow shouts, “What are you doing? What the fuck’s wrong with you?”
“ Wrong with me? Wrong with me? If you don’t start the car and drive where I tell you, I’ll snap her chicken neck right now.”
Willow starts the car and waits for Bobby’s directions.
“Drive to Ream’s Park,” he says.
12
Ream’s is a neighborhood park, less than a mile from Cameron’s house. Bobby tells Willow to park behind the worker’s shed, next to the black Mercedes. The one that looks exactly like Chris Fowler’s, except for the rental tags.
“Is Cameron okay?”
“Don’t worry about Stringbean,” Bobby says. “She’s coming to. And when she does you better tell her to keep her mouth shut.”
Looking at him in the mirror, this Bobby seems more reasonable than the one who tried to smash her window. But the crazed look in his eyes concerns her.
“Why’d you hit Cameron?”
“Cut the engine and hand me the keys.”
She does.
“What now?”
“We’re changing rides.”
“The Mercedes?”
“Yeah, that’s right. We’re moving up in the world, baby!”
Do they even rent Mercedes sedans? They must, she decides, since this one’s clearly a rental. But Bobby didn’t rent it. He has no credit. He said he borrowed it from a guy. If true, why would he stash it here and walk to Cameron’s house?
He wouldn’t. Unless it was stolen.
“What’s going on here, Bobby?”
“We’re about to have an adventure. Soon as Cameron’s up for it.”
It takes five minutes for Cameron to get lucid, and when she is she’s mad as a wounded wolverine. She and Bobby get into a slapping and yelling match that ends when he punches her forehead and knocks her semi-conscious.
He cocks his fist to hit her again, but Willow purposely interrupts his train of thought by asking, “Who’s car is that?”
“Huh? What?”
“Who’s Mercedes is that?”
“I told you. I borrowed it from a friend.”
“What friend?”
“Guy I met at Shady’s last night.”
“What is he, a drug dealer?”
A strange look comes over Bobby’s face, like he just remembered he’s the one supposed to be angry here. Angry and in charge.
He says, “Get your ass out of the car, Willow.” He looks at Cameron. “You too, Stringbean.”
Willow looks at Cameron. She’s trying to mouth something. Trying to get Willow to read her lips. She’s…
Gun.
She’s mouthing the word “gun.”
Willow has Bobby’s gun in her purse.
She shakes her head.
Like she’s supposed to what, pull a gun on crazy Bobby? He’ll rip it out of her hands and pistol-whip them both.
“Now!” Bobby says.
Willow opens the door, gets out, then leans back in.
“What about my car? I can’t leave it here.”
“We’ll get it later.”
“When?”
“Tomorrow. We’re having a sleepover.”
The girls share a quick look of panic.
“I’ve got some things in the trunk,” Willow says.
“What sort of things?”
“Bedding.”
“ What?”
“I’ve got some bedding in the trunk.”
“You mean like sheets and shit?”
“Yeah. And a blanket. And pillow cases.”
“So?”
“I need them.”
“What’re you, nuts?”
“I’m not leaving without them.”
“ What?”
“Or my vacuum cleaner,” Cameron says.
“Your what?”
“That’s right,” Willow says. “I’ve got bedding, Cameron has a vacuum cleaner. In the trunk. We need them.”
Bobby’s practically delirious from the speedball. He knows his brain’s all over the place. Nevertheless, he’s positive he’s not dreaming.
“We don’t have room for bedding and a vacuum cleaner. You’ll have to leave them here.”
“No!” Willow says.
“Don’t you tell me no!” Bobby yells, and launches a fist toward Willow’s face. She easily avoids it, backs out of the car and dashes around the front.
Bobby grabs his door handle intending to jump out and chase her, then realizes Willow’s rounded the car. She’s heading for the front passenger door, reaching for the handle.
She wants to open the door?
To get what, her purse?
His drug-addled brain is reacting slowly, but not so slowly he can’t figure out why she wants her purse. It’s the reason he fired up his motorcycle to go looking for her this morning after waking up and finding her gone.
After realizing his gun was missing.
Willow gets the door open just as Bobby lunges forward.
The purse is on the edge of the passenger seat, just right of the console. They grab it at the same time, but Willow’s got the angle and the leverage, and easily rips it from Bobby’s grasp. Unfortunately, the purse is open, and as she pulls it free, Bobby’s gun falls out. He grabs it and points it at Willow’s face. She backs away, slowly.
Bobby turns the gun on Cameron and says, “Say goodbye to Stringbean!”
“ Stop!” Willow yells.
“I’ll stop if you open Stringbean’s door.”
Willow could probably get away, but she can’t leave Cameron with Bobby. He’s capable of anything when on drugs. Not to mention she can’t abandon her car while the items are still in her trunk. They’re evidence of the murder.
Willow opens Cameron’s door.
“Okay, Stringbean,” Bobby says. “Get out.”
Cameron climbs out, gives Willow a look of disappointment.
Bobby follows her, but when he tries to stand his knees are so shaky he has to put his left hand on the car to steady himself. His head’s swimming, urging him to lie down, close his eyes, drift. It would be so easy to lose control of the situation.
He focuses on the women.
“Get in the Mercedes,” he says. “Both of you.”
“Not without my bedding,” Willow says.
“And my vacuum cleaner,” Cameron adds.
“ This again?” Bobby says.
“Kill us now, or give us our stuff,” Willow says in a voice so strong and steady she seems to mean it.
“You’re willing to die for a fucking vacuum cleaner?”
“And bedding. So either pull the trigger, Badass, or let me have my stuff.”
Bobby knows the drugs are working on his mind. Even so, Willow never speaks to him this way.
“Am I missing something?” he says.
“We want our stuff,” Willow says. “We’ll go with you, but we want our stuff.”
“We want our stuff,” Cameron says.
“We want our fucking stuff!” Willow shouts.
“Jesus Christ!” he shouts. “Shut the fuck up!”
“We want our stuff!” Willow shouts. “Give us our stuff!”
“You’re insane!” he yells.
It suddenly dawns on Bobby he’s standing in a park in broad daylight holding a gun on one woman, while another is shouting at him. And yet both are willing to go with him quietly if he’ll let them bring their stupid things.
“Fine,” he says. “Get your shit. Put it in the other trunk.”
To Willow he says, “While she’s doing that, get in the Mercedes. You’re driving.”
Bobby pops Willow’s trunk open, then watches Willow get in the Mercedes. When she closes the door he turns his attention to Cameron, who’s carrying the bedding toward the back of the Mercedes.
He scrunches his face in thought. Something about the back of the Mercedes.
But what?
Cameron opens the trunk and screams like she’s uncovered a dead body.
Oh yeah, Bobby remembers. That!
13
Bobby runs to the back of the car, grabs the bedding from Cameron’s arms, and throws it in the trunk. He slams it shut, then grabs the very shaken Cameron by the wrist, and throws her in the front passenger seat.
“What’s wrong?” Willow asks. But Cameron’s too shaky to respond.
Bobby points at the papers in Willow’s hand. “What’s that?”
Willow says, “The rental car agreement.”
“You opened the glove box?”
“I wanted to see whose car we’re stealing.”
“And now you know. How does that make you feel?”
“I have no opinion on it either way.”
Bobby laughs. “I guess we’ll know a helluva lot more when the party starts.”
He circles the car, gets in the back seat and says, “Okay, let’s go!”
He suddenly seems in a good mood.
Willow says, “Not without the vacuum cleaner.”
“Shut the fuck up!”
So much for his good mood.
Willow says, “I’m not leaving without Cameron’s vacuum cleaner. Period.”
He punches the back of her head with his fist and waits to hear her cry.
“Fuck you!” she yells.
“Fuck me? What the hell’s wrong with you? Drive, bitch!”
“Get the vacuum cleaner or drive yourself.”
“Drive!”
“Vacuum cleaner!”
He shakes his head. What is this bullshit? Yesterday’s world was a simpler place. He’d smack Willow around, she’d cry, they’d have sex, she’d cry some more, next morning everything’s back to normal. This whole vacuum cleaner attitude makes no sense.
He sighs.
Then again, why dwell on it? He’s got more important things to think about, like the bag full of drugs and black toad powder Chuckie sold him.
Bobby suddenly laughs and wonders why. He didn’t hear or say anything funny. He’s just sitting here, wondering about-wait, there it goes again.
Now he’s giggling like a moron.
Must be the speedball.
He’s never had enough cash to mix the gravy before, and he’s suddenly feeling giddy. Seconds ago his senses were deadened. He had to struggle to remain standing. Thought he might collapse.
Now he’s flying!
He’s hit that level where half of him wants to shut down and sleep and the other half wants to party.
Chuckie the drug dealer was right when he said, “H and blow’s a hell of a show!”
Bobby can’t wait to try the Black Toad. And what’s the only thing stopping him?
A vacuum cleaner.
He gets out of the car for what seems the millionth time and pops Willow’s trunk open again.
While he’s retrieving the vacuum cleaner, Willow notices something attached to the sun visor that has no use being in a rental car. She takes a tissue from her purse, uses it to remove the device, and places it in her purse.
Who knows what might be of value later on?
If there is a later on.
Meanwhile, Bobby throws the vacuum cleaner in the back seat, climbs in after it and says, “Before the night’s over, you’re going to tell me what’s so special about this piece of shit used sweeper.”
He presses the lock button on her key and says, “Your car’s locked, and you’ve got all your shit. Let’s roll.”
Willow looks at Cameron and says, “Are you okay?”
Cameron shakes her head no and says, “There’s a dead body in the trunk.”
Willow’s eyes grow huge.
“Start the car,” Bobby says. “ Now!”
“You killed the doctor?”
“What doctor?”
She picks up the rental agreement and reads, “Dr. Gideon Box, Royal Tower, West 64 ^th Street, New York City.”
Bobby says, “Right. Like you don’t know him.”
“What I know is you’ve apparently killed someone and stolen his car. And you’re making me drive it. And you’re leaving my car here at the murder scene.”
“He’s not dead,” Bobby says. “He’s resting.”
“Who the hell is Gideon Box?” Willow says. “And how do you know him?”
Bobby says, “Tell her, Cameron.”
Cameron says, “It’s Chris Fowler.”
“That the name he gave you, slut?” Bobby says.
“He’s dead, Willow,” Cameron says.
Bobby says, “He’s not dead, you dumb bitch. He’s unconscious.”
“I know a dead body when I see one!” Cameron snaps.
Bobby says, “Drive, Willow.”