Nightmare Ballad

by Benjamin Kane Ethridge

  Johnny wanted to dislike Charles for that time, Lisa’s sickness being a more intimate situation than any he had shared with the woman. They’d gone through some shit: Beltran getting put in the hospital at eighteen months old with a viral lung infection, almost losing their house to foreclosure, Johnny wrecking her new car, Lisa losing her sister to cancer. Challenges. They’d gone through them and the bad stuff always brought them closer together. After they broke up, Johnny still felt like he owned those hardships, but he wasn’t part of Lisa’s greatest crisis. Charles was.

  Then she passed away and Johnny didn’t feel as jealous anymore. It was one thing to be present to nurse an ailing person to health. Failure to do so was quite another thing. The world most likely judged Charles a better human being than Johnny, and after Charles had gone through that kind of suffering with Lisa, Johnny could scarcely disagree.

  He held the cold post to the bus stop sign and closed his eyes, tried to picture Lisa. A song played in his mind. He’d been ignoring it for the past day—week—year? It didn’t matter. He couldn’t concentrate. All he could do was stand out by this street, washed in darkness, a foot away from oblivion, always just that one step away. Would going to this place tomorrow be a mistake? Maybe that dream had been his intuitive mind telling him to stay at the bar, just forget the copper. The strange dusty taste of Time still slid between Johnny’s lips. This might be his only chance to make some real money. One day he’d be too old for these opportunities.

  For any opportunities.

  The bus arrived at 9:37 and he was shocked to see it jammed full of people. Don’t any of these assholes have jobs to get up for tomorrow?

  After being raped of four dollars for the lousiest (and last) seat on the stuffy, crotch-scented, public-transportation coffin, Johnny felt his mood turn sour. He was crammed into a little vestibule in the back, not actually a real seat like the others, but it counted the same. In truth he was taking up two spots, although the hard vinyl bench hardly afforded him space for one ass cheek. Ahead of him, two bleary-eyed kids played their hand-held video games, their parents seated across from them, both trying to get some sleep.

  That’d be nice right about now.

  The bus stopped, and an old black lady, painfully slow-moving, climbed through the door. There wasn’t a spot for her, and nobody offered one. She grabbed a loop tied to the support beam running the length of the bus.

  Johnny thought about giving her his spot, but he was too bitter at the moment. These people didn’t give a rat’s pink pucker about him. The lady was old, yeah, but nobody else was moving either. Roles reversed, she sure as hell wouldn’t move for him, and he could hardly fit in the aisle with all these people.

  He buckled a little though and said, “I’m getting off at the next stop.”

  The lady blinked a few times but said nothing.

  When they pulled over, Johnny made his way off the godforsaken bucket of humanity. The still, hot, arid night air outside felt great in comparison. As the bus pulled away, the lights flickered. The old lady still stood in the aisle.

  “Stubborn,” he reflected, walking across the street to the U-Haul center. My kind of person right there.

  He went inside the office, which blazed with hot, white light fixtures above, making the glossy gray walls look like shark skin. A rail-thin man bent over the counter, examining a card with a selection of vehicles. “I’m not sure the medium size will do it. Let’s go for the large.”

  The clerk, a blonde woman with a startlingly large mouth, pressed her rubbery lips together and nodded. “We have one more of those. Let me check.” Her eyes turned to her computer monitor, and she started clicking the mouse. After a moment, she squinted. “Okay, we have one large sized left.”

  “Hold on, Monstro.” Johnny brushed the man out of the way. “I actually need a large size.”

  “I’ll be with you next, sir.”

  “I came down here on a smelly bus to get the huge renta-truck. You’re going to sell it out from under me, when this guy isn’t even sure he needs it?”

  The clerk hadn’t worked up to being flabbergasted yet, but puddles of red expanded from the center of her cheeks. “Sir, I said I’ll be with you in a minute. You’ll have to come back tomorrow, though, if you want the XXL model. The others are all out.”

  “Bullshit. When do you open?”

  “Eight a.m.”

  “Not early enough.” Johnny turned to the skinny man, who flinched. “Come on, dude. Do you really need it?”

  The man rocked his head side to side. “I…my family’s moving tomorrow.”

  “Got a lot of shit? Now’s the time to throw more stuff away. Right?”

  “I just want to—”

  “So it’s settled.” Johnny spanked the counter. “Ring me up, Mackerel woman. And don’t give me looks like that. I ain’t no worm on a hook.”

  The clerk looked around Johnny to the skinny man. “My manager isn’t here, but we can call someone. He can’t just make us—”

  Looking over his shoulder, Johnny shoved his glasses farther back on the bridge of his nose and waited to hear what the weasel said.

  “No, no, I’ll just get the medium. I don’t want to get wrapped up in all this.”

  “Yes, the big truck for the big guy. That’s sensible, no?”

  The man moved to the far side of the counter, saying nothing more. The clerk shoved the paperwork over to Johnny. He took up the pen on the little chain and began filling out his information. “What’s the date?” he asked.

  “23rd,” she replied.

  “Already? Damn, I’m losing it. Thought it was only the 21st.”

  That’s what staying home from work with not a care in the damn world gets you. That’s what drinking and bad dreams gets you.

  Lost in life.

  No man. It’s freedom, shit bird. Freedom.

  After he completed everything and the clerk processed his credit card, she gave him the sales slip, told him to fill up the gas tank before he brought it back, and he was ready to go—someone would bring the vehicle up front. Have a nice day.

  Johnny walked by the other man, who seemed about to burst apart with impatience.

  “You’ll make do,” said Johnny, before pushing through the exit. He wasn’t sure if the man heard him, but fuck that guy anyway.

  Less than fifteen minutes later, Johnny Cruz sat in the comfortable driver’s seat of the moving truck. They’d put the air conditioner up way too damn high, so he fiddled with it a bit. He liked cold air, but not the Antarctica setting.

  When he got home, he put his big tool box on the passenger’s seat. Then he took another look at the wreck his Harley had become. It pained the hell out of him to see it that way, so he walked away, went inside to his bedroom. He made sure to set his phone for five in the morning. He wanted to be at the yard even earlier than Lou had instructed.

  Johnny put his head down and heard himself snoring as he drifted off.

  He woke up once during the night to take a piss and felt grateful for the hours of sleep he had yet ahead of him. But those hours went quickly and too soon, the gonging of his alarm registered on his smart phone.

  “Shut up,” he breathed and switched it off.

  He sat up against his headboard. The entire bed hitched and sighed at his weight. It occurred to him the bed had been the last big thing he bought with his wife, months before she left him. Back then, she’d still had a glimmer of attraction for him and joked in the furniture store that with Beltran going off to Kindergarten, there could be some banging of the headboard again. That thought brought a smile to Johnny’s face. I can’t believe she’s gone. She really is. Buried in the ground. That woman who once loved me.

  Me, of all people.

  Not very bright, that one, but then again, she did leave your sorry ass.

  His first wife, Mandy, had done the same, but that had been mutual, not to mention welcome. Lisa, not welcome, not at all. That fact pressed into him harder around the second or thir
d week when Beltran had come back to live with him. One day, Johnny couldn’t take his wretchedness anymore and got an itch to ride out to the beach.

  He and the kid stood there, watching the waves. It felt like hours went by before they even said anything.

  “I should have kept your mom happy.”

  Beltran had looked at him curiously. “Would she still be here, you think?”

  Johnny shrugged. “Can’t really ever know that.”

  “It’s cock-sucking bullshit.” Beltran kicked a clump of wet sand into the approaching foam.

  “Don’t say that stuff.”

  “What?”

  “You know what. Those bad words.”

  “But you say them all the time.”

  “So? I do a lot of things that are wrong.”

  Beltran’s brow furrowed. “But why?”

  “I don’t always catch myself. I’m not very smart sometimes. Not like you.” Johnny smiled down at him.

  The boy thought about this for a moment. “I could help you…to catch yourself.”

  “Really? I’d like that mijo. I really would.”

  Beltran leaned up against his leg, and they watched the gray ocean slowly change to dark blue.

  “We’re going to be all right, aren’t we mijo?”

  “Yes, dad. We will.”

  Johnny didn’t remember the rest of the day, but that was a hell of a time. He wished he could have had more memories like that.

  He blew out a whistling breath. “You’re pretty sentimental when you’re sober, Johnny boy.”

  He got up from bed. He thought about showering, but the idea of loading heavy crates of copper would have him fairly well funkified again; in no time at all, he’d be sweating like a nun in a field of cucumbers. Or so he imagined.

  He did put on some organic armpit slick and brushed his teeth; so he wasn’t entirely savage.

  Even at 5:42 am, the weather was still hot as shit, so the air conditioner in the U-Haul was welcome. He supposed it was a good thing his bike had suffered its Mad Max conversion and fallen apart. He wanted to reconsider his stance about what had happened last night at the bar, how odd the outcome with those Bone Men might well have been, but these things are bound to happen was what his mind cheerily informed him, again and again, until he just dropped the subject.

  He checked his text messages at a stoplight and read the text from Lou. It was mostly just to make sure; looking up the address wasn’t even necessary. Johnny knew the street well. He’d grown up in this part of San Bernardino. In fact, he figured that this place was the site of the old steel mill that went under just around the time the black guy got elected president. Not that Johnny blamed him, or the white-guy president before him, for that matter. For places like these, deep in the heart of San Berdoo, it was just a matter of time before they got caught contaminating ground water. The businesses would scream, “This is how we’ve done it for fifty years,” and the city regulators would say, “Well, that doesn’t make it right,” and then the businesses would respond, “Oh, go fuck a tree. In the meantime, we’ll be packing for China, where anything goes!”

  Johnny stomped the brake, lost in images of Chinese people shuffling barefoot through alleyways running in radiant green sludge. That’d be pretty fucked up, but this industrial street, with its sullen concoction of litter and graffiti, its thoroughly cracked and pitted road, its dead shopping carts overrun with weeds and broken beer-bottle glass, wasn’t far from such a ridiculous scarceness of spirit. Then again, it never had been. This place was just like he remembered it.

  Johnny compared the address on his phone with the painted numbers on the rusted aluminum plate zip-tied to the chain link fence. Yep, I knew it was the steel mill. End to end on the large multiple-acre lot, he could see crates neatly stacked twelve feet high. Had to be thousands. If Lou and Jimmy had more time, they could fully load several truck trailers. From the size of the crates, it looked like Johnny’d only fit about eight to ten in this U-haul. How much copper would that be? Depending on how full the crates were and what types of fittings were inside, that could be a few hundred thousand dollars. Johnny’s heart hammered. Not too shabby for gravy money. That could start a little bike shop. What if it was more than that? Holy shit. Maybe a bike shop with a brewery attached to it!

  A dirt road led to the back of the facility. Luckily, the stationary security camera pointed at the front gate probably hadn’t picked him up, but rather than chance a three-point turn, he backed up and climbed the gravel-dirt ledge where the sidewalk crumbled away.

  As he drove the length of the lot, it was impossible not to harken back to his childhood, when he’d played in the nearby field. So many lazy afternoons spent out here; this desert scrub had been a second home. If his mother, Sandra, rest her soul, hadn’t worked so much and his jellyfish of a father had actually stood up to his kid, then maybe Johnny wouldn’t have ever ventured into this wasteland of spent condoms and gnarled tires. It was the perfect sanctuary for him, though, even if he got bullied occasionally out here. That was before he grew into his body and flipped the tables on those motherfuckers. No more Fat Alberto. He was Johnny, and that meant he didn’t take shit from nobody.

  He wheeled around the corner. The road got a little wonky in the back. Judging from how far he’d gone, the place had to be around ten acres. He spotted the cut in the chain link and above it on a pole, the dummy camera (pretty obvious, since it didn’t look to have a power supply—then again, it probably worked fine to detract teenagers). Johnny parked the U-Haul and got out.

  It was damn silent outside.

  He checked his watch.

  Still plenty of….

  Time.

  If there was one thing he hated (but there certainly wasn’t just one), Johnny Cruz did not enjoy idly hanging out in the sun. It was twenty minutes until the others were due to show. No sounds came from inside the yard, so he felt it relatively safe to take a peek inside. The break in the fence could only be seen if you were looking for it, but the chain link had corroded and gone slack over time, so prying it apart and sliding his wide body through was no problem. Directly on the other side, a panel of blue fiberglass leaned against the fence, as though another barrier of protection. Didn’t do a whole lot of good, and Johnny had to wonder why these guys hadn’t gotten ripped off before. Perhaps they had. Maybe there was so much cheese here the rats couldn’t be bothered with a few other rodents visiting the nest.

  Didn’t seem likely, though. People enjoyed money too much. Even a slow leak could do damage over time. Although, it wasn’t out of the question these guys were the reckless sort.

  Johnny stayed close to the fence and peered out over the yard. He could see the shadowy, hulking shape of the old steel mill, a jungle of weeds and wild flowers growing through its many weak points. The crates were stacked at the fence-line, three rows deep. A large rectangular formation also sat in the center of the yard, piled three high. Johnny couldn’t imagine they’d be able to get those without a forklift. It’d be smart if they brought one, but that would leave less room in the truck trailer.

  The sound of a dog barking, distant, muffled, made Johnny grab the fiberglass piece, ready to flee. He waited for a beat. Nothing else came.

  Must have come from another property.

  Hopefully.

  Many of these yards had dogs. Lou would have mentioned that, though. Unless that asshole didn’t know.

  The dog barked again, but it definitely wasn’t nearby. Johnny felt slightly more at ease. He went over to a crate. Plastic bottom and top, with wooden panels. Sturdy. He pulled opened the clasps. Dust exhaled from inside. A rancid scent lifted.

  Fertilizer.

  What the shit?

  Literally.

  Johnny chose a crate two rows back. He opened the clasps on these and stood on his tip-toes to look within. Copper meters, two or three that he could see, and an entire band of copper wire.

  Thank fuck.

  Johnny guessed it made sense to have
some decoys out here if any city official came by to inspect. Still, they’d have to double check these crates before loading them. He didn’t want to take home a U-Haul of fertilizer; that was for damn sure.

  Six o’clock had rolled around by now, and Lou and Jimmy hadn’t shown. He texted Lou.

  Here. Want me 2 unplug front camera? Or wait?

  A semi-truck came plugging up to the front gate.

  That unseen dog started barking again. Johnny looked around, hoping no pit bulls would come rushing out to gnaw his dick off.

  He texted again.

  Nevermind. Saw u pull in. I’ll head up.

  Johnny put his phone back in his pants and slid through the fence once more. He grabbed his tool box from the passenger seat and fought off the urge to whistle a merry tune. It took a bit of a struggle to fit through the fence with the toolbox in tow, but in only a few minutes he was back inside and heading for the little shack near the front gate. He thought he heard the dog bark again, but then wondered if it was only his imagination.

  This was a hike, going all the way across the yard like this. He’d probably drive his truck up to each crate rather than lug them back and forth. Halfway across the yard, and he was getting winded. He dragged his arm across the sweat peppering his forehead. This already sucks.

  He heard a padlock clang against metal. A strange face hovered outside, looking through at him with a baffled expression. From the shadows cast by the plastic shade wound through the gate, Johnny tried to make sense of the face. From its fullness, it definitely wasn’t Lou. He’d seen Jimmy once before and maybe he just didn’t recognize him. But Jimmy was Korean. This guy looked white.

  No, this guy was white.

  “Oh shit!” Johnny dropped his tool box and ran.

  He heard shouting rise behind him. It lanced through the pieces of a dead song in the back of his mind, pushing it forward, but still inaccessible. His heart drummed. The veins in his thighs stung with pressure. He might have heard the dog bark again, so possible, too possible.

  Dirt exploded in front of him. He knew the sound. Just like a map of the neighborhood, he could probably guess the caliber of the bullet.