Bill and I stood immobile.
Gripping the door and car frame for support, Gus lifted a boot and stomped Paul below the ribcage. He stepped back and faced us with satisfaction, as if singularly mastering a pesky chore which had thus far defeated us all. “That’ll do him.”
Paul contracted into a fetal pose on the ground, his face darkening to mauve. Gus strode back into the bar.
A woman thrust a cell phone at me. “Do you need to call 9-1-1?”
I took the phone absently in my hand then dropped to my knees to see Paul. His eyes bulged. His face got darker. There was little breathing if any. I was about to hand the phone to someone and try to remember my CPR training when two pairs of black-clad legs appeared in my peripheral vision. An officious voice declared: “Ambulance is ninety seconds out.”
I stood up and sidestepped casually into the crowd. I found the lady and gave her phone back. Bill and I edged with care through the crowd and away from the cops.
Gus was no longer in the bar.
Nick saw me looking for him. “He went out the back.”
“Nowhere near soon enough.”
“Yeah. Sorry.” Nick took a drink from one of several near-full glasses on the table. “Yesterday I was in here. Moment of weakness. Bad day at the data centre. Anyway we got talking about our plans about Paul …”
“It was supposed to be just you, me, and Bill.”
“I know, I know.”
“So you let it slip.”
“I only mentioned it in passing. Right away he said it sounded like it would be fun.”
“An intervention? Fun?”
“Some guys are weird, man.”
I took a seat. My hand shook as I tried to lift a drink.
Next day at the hospital, Paul was sitting up and smiling. “I might look fine but don’t tell me any jokes. It hurts like hell to laugh.”
“Don’t worry. I have no material.”
“Sorry about the van.”
“I don’t mind having a friendship relationship with you. But now we have a car insurance relationship.”
“I hope it’s not going to ruin anything.”
“Who knows?”
We sat for a time talking about the work he was missing and the wisdom of avoiding the police in all circumstances and the best auto body shop and how the bar would be buzzing about this for a long time.
PART TWO: PROCESS
Fractionating
When I got to the office my rubber soles were squishy like warm Jell-O. I ignored the reek and leafed the phone book to find a car dealership.
Rodney paced in talking: “I don’t know, man. There’s still no resolution to my mind …” Rod and I had worked together for years and were friends before that so I’d seen him obsess over marks at college and struggle with cocaine and mess up a first marriage and fail, like me, to get traction in a career—we’d been flailing away at a property management firm for longer than was decent—so I wasn’t surprised it took him a second to notice I wasn’t listening. “Why does it smell in here? It’s like you’ve been walking around in gasoline or something.”
“In fact, that is exactly why it smells in here. I have been walking around in gasoline. Clean, fresh, smelly, dangerous gasoline.” I kept flipping pages. “It leaked out of my car.”
“Whoa.”
“I’ll say.”
“What happened?”
“Well it was like usual but different. I stop for gas and put the nozzle in and pull the lever and start fuelling. I’m standing there daydreaming. Then the guy in the booth shuts the pump off. I look down and I’m standing in gasoline.”
“Whoa.”
“Then there’s this sizzling sound …” I looked up from the phone book, deciding to get Rod’s mind completely off his troubles and onto mine. “And the guy says, ‘Know what that steak-cooking noise is?’ ‘No,’ I say. ‘Gas dripping onto your tailpipe,’ he says.”
“Whoa!”
“I’ll say ‘Whoa.’ You can say ‘Whoa’ again.”
“Explosion hazard.”
“No kidding.”
“Lucky you don’t smoke.”
“I never smoked. I hate smoking. You know that.”
“Better get it fixed.”
I lifted the phone book and let it plop loudly back down.
“Wouldn’t a computer be faster?”
“You know I’m old-fashioned.”
“You just go to the White Pages site. Simple.”
“While we still got these big hunks of paper around I’m gonna use ’em.”
“Huh.”
“Yeah. Huh.”
“Anyway …” Rod parked himself in a chair. “I can’t figure out how to do it, you know? It just won’t make sense either way.”
“We’ve been through this so many times.”
“I know, I know.”
I returned my attention to the phone book. “Do you know anything about fuel systems, Rod?”
“Naw …” He stood up and started pacing again. “She’s no good in the sack. That’s the real problem.”
I found a number and reached for the phone.
“Well, I shouldn’t say she’s no good …”
I held the phone to my ear, poised a finger over the keypad and looked at him. “But it’s a sex problem in essence?”
“In essence, yes.”
“And it’s not specifically a technique or attitude or inner moral conflict problem as such?”
“Not as such, no. It’s tough to figure exactly. I mean, I’m not a sex fiend or anything.” Rod paused. “You know I appreciate your taking the time to help refine my issues here.”
“No problem.”
“Especially when you’re … you know. Trying to keep your car from exploding.”
“I can’t find the dealership that sold me the thing. They seem to have gone out of business or something.”
“I’m hung up on this.”
“Don’t blame you.”
“It’s a mental kick in the crotch. So close to the date.”
“You’re for sure gonna have to work it out. It’s crazy to just go along like there’s nothing wrong when you don’t feel comfortable with the whole thing. I mean, there’s examples all over the place.”
Rodney went silent, looking at me and knowing what I was talking about.
“And now look what’s happened to my car.”
“It must be a royal damn pain to have something like that go on you.”
“It sure is.”
“Absolutely.”
“Stupid thing.”
“It’s still new, isn’t it?”
“Five years old. And it was used when I bought it. But I just need a new filler hose or a grommet of a particular kind or attachment or some such mechanical thing like that.” I mimed with the phone a nebulous auto part in the air above my head. “Probably put it in myself if I wasn’t so hectic.”
“Part’ll most likely cost way less than the labour.”
“I figure.”
“Can you get any gas in at all?”
“Some, but not much. I’d have to sneak a little in every day and make a flammable mess everywhere I went. That’d get pretty thin pretty fast. A real nuisance. I’d be an outlaw to every gas bar person in the world.”
“Yeah …” Rod turned to the windows and gazed. “She doesn’t even cook, you know that?”
“You’re gonna have to eat out or end it, man.”
Rod didn’t laugh.
•
When I got the dealership service guy on the phone he sounded all serious and said they would check out the problem right away. I drove down there, walked into the office and spoke to the first guy I could find. “I got the gas tank problem.”
“Oh …” A man who looked like he was in charge overheard and came over. “You’re the guy with the gas leak.” He glanced past my shoulder to the service bays. “You didn’t bring it in here, did ya?”
“No, it’s out at the curb. You want to come
look at it?”
“Naw.” The man wrote on a form. “Just leave us the key.”
“But you better see where it’s leaking. I mean, it’s kind of tricky. You might not find it; it only does it when you’re filling gas.”
“We’ll find it.”
“Are you sure? The problem seems to be in the hose between where you put the nozzle in and the actual tank.”
“That’s okay. We’ll find it.”
He took my key.
By afternoon I needed the car. Over the phone the man said it was ready.
“Did you find the leak?”
“Well they tightened up the clamps in there. They were kinda loose.”
“But did you actually see where the leak was? How do you know it was clamps?”
“The boys were pretty sure.”
“They were, huh?”
“And you just don’t get that kinda thing with that type of car.”
“You don’t, eh?”
“Nope.”
“With that type of car.”
“Not that kind of thing, no.”
“An inexplicable gas leak from somewhere around the filler hose.”
“Yeah. We never seen one.”
I grabbed a taxi down to the shop. The man handed the keys right over.
“You’re sure it’s fixed.”
“Oh yeah.”
I paid the price they charged and dashed away.
•
Next day at the office, Rod kept it up: “What do you think? A late-night flight to Rio de Janeiro under an assumed name?”
“Small-time jerkoffery.” I shook my head. “You don’t want that. If you’re not going to take executive action and call it off, legit to everybody’s face, then go through with it and quit your whining.”
“Yeah I guess. The invitations are printed.”
“And you’ve known her long enough. You should have some idea if you like her or not.”
“Like her?” The notion seemed to hit Rod as fresh. “Hmm …”
“If you don’t like her now, based on all you know of her and all you think she’s likely to become, then logic tells us there’s no substantive reason you’ll just magically like her later.”
“I like her.”
“Gee, that’s great.”
“I do.”
“You do. Okay, you do.”
“You can’t stand her, can you? You told me that once.”
“I don’t actively dislike her. She’s cute and everything but kind of a cow about it. Certainly more than she should be, commensurate with the actual grade of her cuteness. Or something like that. By my calculations, anyway.”
“You’re my friend.” Rod was not looking at me. “I asked your opinion, so you’re allowed to talk like that.”
“I certainly wouldn’t marry her.”
“You don’t have to. You just have to help me decide whether I should.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I don’t know why I’m asking you. You’re not exactly an authority.”
“No reason to be sarcastic.”
“Well you’re not.”
“You’re my friend, so you’re allowed to talk like that.”
“Sorry. But you’re just not a guy to testify about marriage, that’s all.”
“Some might say I was. Who do you know who’s done more research? Anyway, whatever. I’d never tell anybody what to do or what not to do.”
“Yeah, I guess that’s a good policy.” He turned back to me. “I value your opinion.”
“Thanks. It’s free.”
“How are you doing with Sally?”
“Who?”
“You heard me.”
“What do I need with her? After my history.”
“Don’t let it get you down.”
“Never mind Sally. She’s a fine person. I’m sure she can get along.”
Rod smiled and sneered. “Whatever.”
“I don’t think I like your tone.”
“Oh, relax.”
“If you say so.”
“Everything’s cool.”
“If you say so.”
“I do.”
We’d had this conversation before.
“Ask her out.”
“Maybe.”
“Have a good time.” Rod was leaving as he said this.
•
Car-wise, though, I was having a hell of a time. I went to fill up and knew right away by the smell and the splash on the pavement. The attendant shot open his sliding glass window and leaned out. “What the heck you doin’?”
“Trying to fill up.” I pulled the nozzle out.
The man glared.
“I’ve got a leak, okay? No big deal. Just don’t smoke for a while.”
“I’m gonna have to ask you to get that vehicle out of here.”
As I drove away he got busy with a water hose.
•
Next day I was at the dealership sharp at eight a.m., trying to do a convincing mad-dog routine. I went away thinking it might have worked or it might not.
Later on I went back to pick up the car. Rodney gave me a lift. His driving was brisk and confident.
“You’re sure having a lot of trouble with that thing. Time to trade it in.”
“Hey it’s the first time anything’s gone wrong. Besides, I couldn’t afford to buy the wheels off a new car right now.”
“Oh.” Rod’s driving became conservative while he was thinking. “Yeah.” He slowed the car right down. “I wonder if she’ll ever do that to me.”
“Well all autos get finicky. No getting around it.”
“No, no. I mean her. I wonder if she’ll ever nail me to the wall.”
“Sooner or later maybe.”
“Yeah.”
“But cars’ll do the same.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I have an instinct about it. It might translate to some kind of personal philosophy. Something like: Don’t spend your last dime on a car. Ultimately, it won’t get you where you want to go.”
“What else is new?”
“Nothing is new.”
“Man, that’s so empty.”
“Like my gas tank. Last time I saw.”
•
At the garage the man assured me they’d found the problem. “It was a buggered filler hose.”
“A buggered filler hose, eh? Just as I kind of figured in the first place.”
“You were kinda right, I guess.”
“Well, I’m sure glad you finally fixed it. How much will it set me back?”
“Nothing yet. We don’t have the part.”
“What?”
“We don’t have it in stock. We ordered one.”
“So you haven’t fixed it.”
“Didn’t say we did. Just told you we found the problem.”
“How long will it take?”
“’Bout a week.”
“Why so long?”
“It’s rare. It’s just not a thing we ever see. Somehow it seems to have got nicked way up inside. What’ve you been doing with this car, anyway?”
“Nothing. Just driving. Maybe it was defective in the first place.”
“Anyway. It’s all fouled up. We gotta get you a new one.”
“What am I supposed to do in the meantime?”
“You’ll just have to drive less.”
“Great.”
“We tried to wrap some tape onto it. Should hold it for now …”
•
Later in the week I was driving along with Sally. We’d had dinner. Watched a movie.
She wanted to see my place. “A house in the suburbs. How domestic.”
“Yeah. Don’t know if I’ll keep it, though.”
“Hey, the ’burbs are comfy.”
She was being sweet, Sally was. But my house was twenty klicks away, there wasn’t much gas, and I hadn’t planned on having an accomplice when next I tried a high-risk fuelling manoeuvre. Nevertheless, with Sally�
��oblivious to the situation—sitting beside me, I pulled into a station. The far pump was dimly lit and sloped perfectly away from the pay-booth.
I turned to her, tense, and smiled. “We’re nearly out.”
“Then we’d need a fill-up, wouldn’t we?”
“I’ve been having some mechanical trouble. It might be a few minutes.”
“Do you need help?”
“Oh heck no. You just stay in the car.”
“I will.”
I theorized that the split in the filler hose was only on one side or the other. If I jockeyed the nozzle right I might be able to stream gas away from the nick and avoid overt spillage. I’d have to experiment to find out. I only needed a few litres.
But no. After only a dozen seconds the sound and smell of so much gas pouring from under the car unnerved me. I stopped pumping and looked around to see if anyone was watching. The place was beautifully austere. Sally sat forward in the passenger seat, the overhead light on, browsing through a magazine. The attendant was nowhere in evidence, the lone light in the booth the only indication someone was even on duty. I was pretty well alone. I began to pump again.
The gas rivered down the pavement and laked into a shimmering basin several metres away in the dark. Were it not for the stench I could imagine by the undulation of light on the body of wet that it was a placid cove somewhere, or a good fishing spot nobody knew about. The fumes got strong. I got woozy for a second and shook my head. My brain felt shrunken.
Then the sound of the engine ticking away its heat jolted me alert. So much flammable liquid so close to hot metal. An image arose of the blaze I would author. I could not stop projection in the cinema of my mind; an encompassing blossom of orange fire; the panic, fumbling attempts at releasing the car door; screams; the beating of moist fists against a clouding car window. HI suffered the whole smoke-shrouded attempt—Sally terrorized and suffocating—and measured in my mind how much damage I would allow to my own body in the struggle.
At what point could I morally save myself?
I unflexed my hand on the nozzle and carefully slid it back into its bracket.
I pulled the receipt from the credit card slot and slipped back into the car, careful of where I was stepping.
“What have you been doing out there?” Sally grimaced. “Pouring it on the ground?”
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