Book Read Free

The Ascent of PJ Marshall

Page 25

by Brian J. Anderson


  “Not lookin’ so good, tough guy. Thought you were made of stronger stuff.”

  Slowly, PJ pulled himself up against the gate, raising his knees to his chest and lifting his limp arm onto his lap, grimacing through the pain. He held his hand out against the light, coughing.

  “Fuck you,” he croaked, pulling the tape from his mouth.

  Phil laughed and rose to his feet, his lighter casting a flickering glow on his face, revealing the gash on his cheek as he lit a cigarette. Glancing up and down the deserted highway, he turned off the headlamp and took it from his head, tossing it aside.

  “Second chance, Paul. Talk to me and it can be over.”

  PJ hacked up a mouthful of dust and vomit and spit it at Phil’s feet. The tip of his cigarette glowed with a brief, intense orange light as Phil inhaled. PJ let his head fall back against the gate with a rattle. The faint orange ember swept to Phil’s side as he exhaled, the blast of air audible over the incessant clang of machinery.

  “Paul. I want to be done with this as much as you. Honestly. And I know what you must think of me, but I don’t take pleasure in any of this. This was your decision.”

  The cigarette again rose to Phil’s mouth, pulsed with light and fell back to his side. Shifting against the gate, PJ looked up at Phil’s haloed silhouette, tears beginning to roll down his cheek. His forearms and back throbbed, his left arm sitting dead in his wet lap. Phil stepped aside, letting the light from behind the hill wash over PJ. He went to the end of the gate and unwound the chain securing it to the steel post.

  “I’ve been nothing if not forgiving, Paul. One of my virtues, you might say.”

  The chain dropped to the ground in a ringing thump, raising the dust at Phil’s feet. He tugged at its connection with the post. Finding it secure, he picked the free end off the ground and returned to PJ’s side.

  Pushing with his feet, PJ reached over his head and wrapped his arm around the gate’s cross-member, hissing with determination as he tried to stand. With a kick to PJ’s dislocated shoulder, Phil rolled him screaming and clutching his arm onto his side.

  “Of course,” Phil went on. “I’d be the first to admit that I’m very much a work in progress. I’m pretty weak when it comes to most of the deadly sins, in fact. But I guess in His eye…we’re all sinners the same, aren’t we?”

  He stepped on PJ’s good arm, pinning it to the ground as he crouched and leaned in close, his face glowing in the light of his cigarette. PJ recoiled from the heat, tugging at his arm.

  “Anything you want to confess, Paul?”

  His stomach turning, PJ swallowed.

  “Fuck you. You—goddamned psycho.”

  Phil slowly exhaled a column of smoke into PJ’s face and extinguished the cigarette on his forehead. PJ threw his head back against the gate, his teeth clenched as he swallowed the pain. Phil rose to his feet, coiling the slack in the chain.

  “That’s for blasphemy,” he said. “For someone about to meet his Maker, you should be more respectful.”

  Phil checked the highway in both directions, the end of the chain hanging at his side.

  “Anyway, we need to speed things along here. I don’t want to keep Helen waiting.”

  PJ’s breathing slowed and he glared at Phil with wide eyes as he scraped his hand over the ground. Phil cocked his head.

  “That hits a nerve, doesn’t it? You—you weren’t hoping to get a piece of that yourself, were you?”

  He spoke in a flinty, condescending tone.

  “Because frankly, I don’t see a future in that relationship. And, to be brutally honest? I don’t think you’re her type.” He leaned over PJ, sniffing the air. “Your personal hygiene leaves a lot to be desired.”

  The chain dangled from his fist, twisting in rhythm as Phil laughed and once again turned to monitor the empty road. PJ’s hand swept over a stone, and he grasped it as he rose onto his elbow. He leaned back against the gate as Phil took a step toward him.

  “She and I will have a good laugh over that—”

  With a grunt, he swung the chain hard onto PJ’s hand, dislodging the stone and sending a stinger up his arm. The chain slithered over PJ’s throbbing hand, retreating to Phil’s side in a slow, dusty jingle. Pulling PJ’s phone from his back pocket, Phil checked the display, his face lit by its cold, sterile glow. He shrugged.

  “I suppose, though…if things don’t work out with Helen, I could give Anna a try. Seeing as she’ll be available too.”

  Smiling, he looked over the phone, watching as PJ clutched at the gate, shifting and hissing with rage.

  “Again, pardon my language, Paul, but…I’ll bet she fucks like a mink.”

  With a hoarse scream, PJ drew up his feet, kicking wildly into the air as he rolled aside. The chain snapped tight against Phil’s legs, buckling his knees and toppling him onto his back. PJ scrambled to a crawl and lunged on top of him, driving into Phil’s groin with his knee and delivering repeated blows to his face with his fist. Like a fighter soaked in adrenaline, his offense was brutal, his damaged arm painlessly supporting his weight as he overwhelmed his opponent with relentless jabs and backhand blows. Phil’s arms flailed in the air in search of some advantage as he struggled under PJ’s weight, his body jerking with each strike to his groin. PJ hissed through his teeth, spraying blood that dripped from his torn lips as he yelled in Phil’s face.

  “Fuck you! I’ll kill you motherfucker! You—”

  A fierce uppercut caught PJ’s jaw, causing his weak support arm to buckle, knocking him off his rhythm. He roared as Phil took him by the arm and pulled him to the ground, wrenching his shoulder with a crunch. Phil rolled him aside and jumped to his feet. Clutching his shoulder, PJ writhed on the ground, growling as he swung his legs in desperation. Phil laughed, working his jaw and checking the injuries to his face. He picked up the phone and dusted it off, panting as he searched the display.

  “Scrappy son of a gun, aren’t you? And you’re not a quitter. I’ll give you that.”

  PJ swung his legs again and then collapsed on his back, releasing a weak, final scream. Phil stepped around him, giving PJ a wide berth as he approached the gate, shaking his head.

  “What a waste.”

  PJ closed his eyes and began to tremble.

  Phil braced himself with a hand on the gate and drove his heel into PJ’s shoulder, drawing an exhausted, guttural moan. With tears rolling down his face, PJ tipped his head back, his mouth agape as he looked up at Phil—now looming over him from behind, the phone pressed to his ear. His face bathed in diffuse security lighting, Phil stared back at him, waiting.

  “Hello, Anna?”

  PJ closed his eyes and rolled his head aside, his teeth clenched as he clawed the ground at his side.

  “Well, I’m a friend of Paul’s, and I just wanted to let you know he’s—”

  Silence, and then gravel crunched impatiently under Phil’s boot during a brief pause.

  “You sound like a nice person, Anna, but it’s very rude to interrupt. Please don’t do it again.”

  PJ opened his eyes, watching the small, distant glow of the Roughneck’s street lamp.

  “As I was saying, it was good of you to make arrangements for him, but Paul won’t be making his flight this evening.”

  A crunch of gravel and then a kick to PJ’s shoulder. PJ closed his eyes, his breathing slow and silent. A second, harder kick forced him to his side, clutching his arm, gasping.

  “Because he’ll be dead.”

  Phil held the phone away from his ear, snickering at the muffled buzz in the receiver.

  “Quite a mouth on this lady, Paul. I’m guessing the two of you didn’t meet in church.”

  PJ rolled to his back and coughed, his voice reduced to a weak rattle.

  “I’ve never met her. You piece of shit.”

  PJ shook under an intense coughing fit, its rolling croup echoing off the hill. As it settled, he stared at Phil’s boots, swallowing the bile rising in his throat and blinking wate
r from his eyes.

  “I’ve got no one,” he said. “I am no one. Like you.”

  Phil stepped around to PJ’s side and lowered into a crouch. Keeping his distance, he held the phone out at arm’s length. PJ could hear Anna crying.

  “You either underestimate your effect on people or you’re full of shit,” Phil said. “I’m inclined to believe the latter.”

  PJ turned away. Phil rose and put the phone to his ear.

  “Okay, I guess he doesn’t want to say goodbye, Anna. I thought you two had more of a connection, but I guess that was my mistake. Sorry to bother you.”

  Phil laughed and pointed at the phone as he listened, his hand flapping like a jabbering puppet.

  “Okay, I’ve really have to go, Anna. See you later.”

  He turned off the phone and put it in his pocket, walking around behind PJ’s head.

  “Sassy girl,” he said. “I’ll have fun with her.”

  Grabbing PJ by the hair with both hands, Phil dragged him backwards along the gate. PJ held onto Phil’s wrist, blowing and cursing and working his feet to keep up, the chain around his ankles ringing over the gravel as it trailed behind. Phil hoisted PJ into a sit and tied him by the neck to the steel post, wrapping the gate chain several times around and fashioning a crude knot on the post’s back side. His ravaged back burning in agony as he shifted against the post, PJ pulled at the links over his throat, his eyes wide with panic and rage as he kicked his feet, sending waves up his leg chain that hammered and shook the truck’s bumper. He twisted his body, trying to create some slack around his neck, the effort given up as Phil emerged from behind the post dangling the remaining length of chain at his side. PJ reached over his head behind him, his hand shaking as he worked it frantically up and around the post, trying to wiggle his fingers between the securely wrapped coils.

  “You sick fuck! I’ll see you in hell!”

  Phil stepped closer and sank into a crouch.

  “Actually, I’ve made other plans. You should too, Paul. Now’s the time.”

  PJ began to hyperventilate. Digging his fingers under the chain around his neck, he coughed and sputtered, his left arm hanging uselessly at his side. Conceding, he slumped against the post, lifting his blank gaze to his amused captor.

  “They’re gonna…slam the gate in your face,” PJ said. “They don’t let in…fuckups like us.”

  Phil rose and swung the chain hard into PJ’s chest, forcing the air from his lungs with a grunt. Pulling in the slack, he stepped back, waiting as PJ awkwardly tipped his head back against the post to catch his breath.

  “Blasphemer. Haven’t you heard the Good News?”

  PJ’s laugh, stifled by the crushing pressure around his neck, became a weak, raspy cough. He swallowed and looked up.

  “It’s a lie.”

  Phil dropped the chain and drew the gun from his belt behind him, aiming at PJ’s chest. His body tensing, PJ dug in his heels, pushing back against the post, watching Phil’s slow, measured approach.

  “I don’t get it,” Phil said, kicking the chain aside and leveling the gun at PJ’s face. “This would have been so easy.”

  PJ took hold of the post chain beside him and began to drag its tail end towards him over the gravel. His face flush, Phil slid his finger over the trigger and ground his heel into the chain, holding it fast. PJ let it go and pulled his hand to his side as Phil spoke in a low growl.

  “Last chance. Who else knows?”

  PJ shook his head.

  “Nobody.”

  Silence, save for the ceaseless rattle and hum of progress over the hill.

  “Fine,” Phil said, lowering the gun and taking aim on PJ’s feet. He swept the muzzle slowly up PJ’s body to his neck. “It’s a pity, though. It seems like you have a pretty good head on your shoulders. Such a shame to lose it over something so trivial.”

  He stepped back and slid the gun back into place in his belt.

  “I guess it’s time.”

  Nausea and unchecked fear washed over PJ, and a knot rising in his throat caught against the chain in a violent, hacking cough. He writhed against the post, trying once again to work his fingers under the links around his neck, his eyes glazing.

  “Let’s say a few words,” Phil said, sinking to his knees on the gravel. “This is for you, Paul, so feel free to join in. If you know it.”

  Placing his hands on his thighs, Phil lowered his head as PJ began to cry.

  “The LORD is my shepherd; I shall not want—”

  Oh my god, oh my god. I’m sorry.

  “He maketh me to lie down in green pastures—”

  I’m sorry mom. That everything got so fucked up. That you lost your angel. I’m sorry—

  “He leadeth me beside the still waters—”

  That you couldn’t help it—you were sick. I’m sorry I couldn’t forgive you. I forgive you.

  “He restoreth my soul: He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for His name’s sake—”

  Forgive me father, for I’ve been a fucking asshole. For lying to you. For making you worry.

  “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil—”

  Thank you for kicking my ass. For trying to make me right. And Joe and Tommy. And mom.

  “For thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me—”

  I’m sorry you couldn’t. That we wouldn’t let you. Forgive us.

  “Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies. Thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over—”

  Thank you for showing me…everything. For taking me with you.

  “Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life and I will dwell in the house of the LORD—”

  I love you.

  “Forever. Amen.”

  Phil genuflected and rose to his feet and approached. PJ was slumped against his restraints, trembling.

  “Paul, I—”

  Phil’s feet crunched to a halt.

  “I have another confession. I feel terrible about this, but…I’m afraid I misled you earlier.” PJ raised his head. Phil stepped closer. “I—your father’s not dead, Paul. At least not yet.”

  PJ searched Phil’s shadowed face, shaking his head as tears once again welled under his eyes. He looked away, his blurred gaze falling onto the gate chain, which sagged from its connection to the post onto the gravel like a wounded snake retreating into the dark.

  “It’s true,” Phil said. “For some reason, Ward sent one of his office goons to deal with him. And—as you can imagine—this retard couldn’t finish the job, so I get called in to play cleanup. He’s my next stop.”

  PJ looked at him, his fist clenched.

  “You’re lying.”

  Phil’s sidelong glance down the highway revealed a crooked smile.

  “Well, given my blatant dishonesty earlier, a valid assumption. But, in this case—wrong. Anyway…it’s time.”

  Phil turned away. Clawing the gate chain from the ground, PJ swung it hard toward Phil’s ankles with a scream.

  “I’ll kill you, motherfucker!”

  The chain’s rattle telegraphed the attack, and Phil took a quick step forward, letting it swing harmlessly past. It continued on its arc, wrapping around the post and striking PJ in the back. He arched forward off the post, screaming as Phil looked over his shoulder and shook his head as he walked away.

  “Goodbye, Paul James Marshall. May God have mercy.”

  PJ drew his knees to his chest, snapping his ankle chain tight on the truck bumper. With wide, darting eyes, he drew the gate chain out from behind him, his breath coming in a shallow wheeze. His hand shaking and slippery with sweat, PJ tied the two chains together with a one handed bowline, their heavy, rusted links protesting as he struggled to manipulate them through the knot. His eyes flashed over the finished knot as he tested the connection, sweat dripping from his nose as Phil got in the truck.

  “I wouldn’t worry about God’s m
ercy, asshole.”

  PJ untied his boot and kicked it off and reached into his sock, finding the lock-blade knife under his heel. Holding the handle in his teeth, his sweaty, trembling fingers slipped and fumbled as he opened the blade. The truck turned over as PJ lowered the knife to the ground next to his leg—clutching it tightly in his hand. The truck’s tail lights flashed through the gears in a chilling final countdown as Phil shifted into drive and PJ closed his eyes, holding his breath.

  Oh god, please.

  The truck lurched and started up the wash, tightening the chain and stressing the truck’s bumper with a groan. PJ opened his eyes, watching his knot as the knife bit into his hand. The bowline twisted and settled with a clunk and PJ dropped the knife, taking the knot in his hand. The chain turned on the post with a metallic screech, rotating Phil’s knot to the front, the links bumping and closing over PJ’s throat. Coughing, he worked his fingers underneath, watching the rear window of the truck as it labored up the hill, its tires slipping and spitting gravel on the ground at PJ’s feet.

  The post bent forward with a hollow bang, but held. Phil’s knot settled over the front of PJ’s throat, crushing his fingers into his neck and tipping his head forward, closing his airway. He pushed with his heels and twisted his body as he pulled at the chain with his pinned hand, his face turning a deep red, his eyes bulging. The truck lurched up the hill as the tires struggled for purchase, wrenching PJ’s neck in cruel rhythm. Cries of sadistic victory echoed from the truck as PJ’s resistance waned. He went limp, and with sudden calm, PJ cocked his head and looked to the sky. The stars, clear and brilliant through the briny glaze began to wink and fade as he closed his eyes.

  It was a new moon.

  With a hollow snap, the driver’s side bumper support gave out, and the truck—momentarily free of its restraint—accelerated. PJ looked down, greedily pulling hot, dusty air into his lungs as he watched the chain again tighten on the loose bumper. The bumper bent ninety degrees on its remaining support with a groan of twisting, rusted steel and then broke free. PJ coughed, laughing as the bumper clattered across the ground and came to rest at his feet.

  The brake lights blazed as the truck lurched to a stop. PJ fell limp against the post, hanging his head and staring at the ground as he clawed the knife into his hand, concealing it against his leg. He shut his eyes, suppressing an overwhelming urge to cough as Phil stepped out of the truck and approached in a shuffling slog.

 

‹ Prev