by Rusty Barnes
“John can run it for a couple months.”
“Months! Are you shitting me?” I said.
“You best get moving,” Tito said. “The next time I see you Imma tell the man myself.”
“Fuck.”
“Now you’re getting the idea,” Tito said. “Get your big brown mama and get gone.”
“Thanks for the warning, Tito.”
“Finish your hotcakes and jet.”
“All right,” I said. Tito tossed a fifty on the table and slid along the bench seat and out, and suddenly I was alone, swirling in thoughts. The waitress came over and filled my coffee. I could feel myself shaking.
“You OK, honey?” she said. Outside I saw Tito’s blue Lexus tear out of the parking lot at a high rate of speed. Then my phone buzzed. Rosario. I took a deep breath and answered her.
CHAPTER 32
“YOU DID WHAT?” Rosie yelled. I could hear music in the background.
“Turn the music down,” I said. “This shit is for real.”
“All right, hold on.” I heard some low murmuring in the background, and the line went silent for a moment. “You’re interrupting my French tips, Irish. You better have a good reason.”
I sighed, and then I laid it out for her. To her credit, she kept quiet for the first five minutes, then breathed out slowly, for maybe ten seconds. “You are too fucking real for me, Jason.”
“I didn’t want you involved. We were casual.”
“You were casual, Jason. Say it right.”
“OK, look. We need to hit the trail.”
“I’m supposed to just shit and git when you come calling, huh?”
“Yes, in this case. No in every other.” I took the phone off my ear. It was now 9:30 a.m. Every swinging cock in Otis’s organization would be looking for me by now. Our lives were swinging in the balance. I told her that. She hung up the phone. I gave it ten minutes, then called again. She picked up, at least.
“I’ll be at your place in half an hour,” she said.
“I’m grateful,” I said.
“Fuck off,” she said. “How long will we be gone?”
“Hard to tell,” I said. “Maybe a month. Maybe two.”
“You’re kidding me.”
“No, Rosie, I’m not.”
“You’re going to buy me a whole new wardrobe.”
Whatever it took, I thought. “Sure.”
“A good wardrobe.” She hung up.
CHAPTER 33
I RAN TO ALL MY HOLES in the apartment, raiding my fuck-you money. Five hundred here, a hundred there, a couple thousand all told. I also had money in a couple bank accounts. It would take me a half an hour to drive and ten minutes to clear my accounts. I’d have to be careful about it. Otis would know about the withdrawals within hours. Rosie and I needed to be gone by then. I went under the bed and pulled out a locked gun trunk. It was only big enough to hold handguns. I had my .357 already. I pulled out a .38 Airweight, loaded it and stuck it in my pocket for Rosie. She’d have to learn to shoot soon if she didn’t know already. I also loaded a two-shot derringer .45 and threw it in my duffel bag’s outside pocket. I had to think: simple clothes, nothing that stands out, plenty of room for the .357, and deep pockets, as I’d be carrying all my money with me for a while. I heard a deep growl outside my door. Rosie had forgotten her keys again. Not that it mattered.
I opened the door. “You recognize that growl, Jason?”
“I know I’m not your favorite guy right now—”
“You don’t realize shit,” Rosie said, one tipped finger poking me in the chest.
“How much stuff you pack?” I said.
“Hello Rosie, how are you. I’m fine—that’s how these conversations work.”
“We don’t have time, Rosie.”
“I have two suitcases and a toiletry bag.”
“That’s fine,” I said. “Anyplace west of the Mississippi you want to go?”
“Oh, I get a choice. How nice, Jason.” I’d caught her on a maintenance day. Not only the French tips, she’d also obviously been to the hair salon. She wore silky blue shorts and a tight white t-shirt with TAHITI across the chest.
I dropped off three months’ rent for my three and a half rooms in my landlord’s mailbox. Then Rosie and I stopped at the Bell Circle Bank of America, where I got a cashier’s check for thirty-two grand. I left another account with five-K in it with East Boston Savings. If I came back, I didn’t want to be short on cash. I passed the check to Rosie while I drove out the turnpike.
“Jesus, Jason, you weren’t kidding.” She looked at the number printed on the check, as if to verify them.
“That’s got to last us basically forever,” I said. “Don’t get excited.” I switched lanes before the Cambridge exit. I saw a black Chevy Tahoe about five cars behind us that made me nervous. I’d tried to be slick and careful, but I wasn’t used to people following me or otherwise getting into my business. I didn’t want Rosie hurt. Just then my cell phone beeped. I could see the Tahoe pulling closer in the rearview. It was Nina. I let the call go to the voicemail.
“Is that the slut?” Rosie demanded. I didn’t bother to answer. “I’d like to have a word with that sister the next time I get back here.”
“It’s going to be a while,” I said.
“I won’t forget,” Rosie said.
Tension ruled for the next couple hours. I planned to head south after crossing over the MA border, hit Route 80 in the middle of nothing in Pennsylvania and follow that fucker west until we saw somewhere good to disappear in. I wanted a small town. Less chance of Otis having a contact there. I didn’t really want a city, but I knew it would easier for us if we were near one, as Rosie and I most emphatically not country folk. So Illinois looked good to me, somewhere near Chicago so we could go in once in a while and shake the cobwebs out. After a while.
Near Albany we lost the Tahoe, which made me slightly less concerned, though they could have switched cars, I suppose, and still kept up with us. I stayed within the speed limit for the most part, and Rosie sat silently, radiating fury with every breath she took. I couldn’t even count on the radio for a break, as neither of our phones were compatible with the system in the minivan I’d rented for cover. Who would expect us to roll up in a family wagon?
“It’s going to be a long couple months if you don’t talk to me,” I said. In response, she opened up the window and spat out her gum. “I see,” I said.
“Tomorrow is a new day, right?” Rosie said. I saw the hint of a tear in her eye, which she wiped away with one immaculate nail. “That’s what the song says.”
It was a movie, I thought, but didn’t correct her.
“You know, Jason. I had to call my boss and quit my job for you.”
“I’ll take care of you,” I said. Big mistake, I knew, as soon as it had come out of my mouth.
“I don’t NEED you to take care of me, brother,” she said. “I can do plenty on my own.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Oh, I know what you meant.”
“That reminds me,” I said, and dug into my pocket. I handed her the Airweight. “Stick that in your purse.”
“Are you fucking kidding—I mean. Are you kidding me?” She held the gun with thumb and forefinger, like it was a dog turd.
“I don’t know yet what we’re messing with,” I said.
“What if I don’t know how to shoot?”
“I’ll teach you,” I said, glancing in the rearview. I still had a bad feeling about that Tahoe.
“Good thing I know how to shoot already,” she said. “Some motherfuckers think they can do everything for a woman.” She sniffed. “I can take care of myself.”
“Just keep it in your purse,” I said. “Forget it until you need it.”
“Hunh,” she said. “Is that the same Tahoe you were talking about back in Boston?” She indicated the mirror and I looked back panicked. Sure enough, a black Tahoe inched up behind us. I saw three guys, two in the fron
t and one sticking his head up from the back. The next exit off 88 said Apalachin. I took it, wrenching the wheel and barely hitting the exit. The Tahoe swerved with us and took the winding exit the way I should have, slowly. The wheels on the minivan screeched as I hit a sharp curve in the ramp. Rosie grabbed the panic loop. “We all right, Irish?”
“We will be,” I said. “First gas station we see, we’ll get off and fill up and use the facilities. Hopefully they won’t follow us.”
“Not like we stick out or anything,” Rosie said. “I’m a six-foot Dominican woman and you’re a gorilla redhead Irishman.” I laid my .357 out on the entertainment center. At the end of the ramp I saw a sign for an Exxon a mile down the way. I made a quick decision and turned down a different local road at fifty miles per, the van shaking and shimmying.
“Get that pistol out,” I said. Rosie went as white as a Dominican woman can, but pulled it out. She even looked like she could handle it.
“What are you going to do?”
“Just get in the driver’s seat and stay cool,” I said.
“Irish, I—”
“Just sit. If I’m not back in the car in five minutes, drive south as fast as you can, and don’t stop till you have to.” I pulled up beside some sort of farm equipment rusting along the side of the road. The Tahoe pulled up tight to our bumper, but I was already out and aiming. I pulled the hammer back and let a round go, then another. By then I could see Eddie and Marcus, my two loyal coworkers. My two rounds starred the windshield and took out Eddie. I didn’t know the driver, but he was only halfway out the car before I landed a blow to the middle of his face with the gun and felt his nose snap under the pressure. The noise from the shots had already ballooned in my head. I was nearly deaf. Marcus had dropped his gun in the haste of the attack and I shot him twice in the chest. He fell limp against the back of the passenger side, his mouth still open in surprise. By that time the driver had tackled me against the door. His fingers grappled for my eyes but I put the pistol between us and pulled the trigger, which took him deep in the stomach. He fell awkwardly outside the car in a heap. Silence, except for a slight moan from the driver, whose eyes were bugging.
Rosie had turned the minivan around in the field, digging up wet dirt, and waited for me. She was a solid keeper. I put my last bullet in the driver’s head, the hole from which pulsed with blood in the bright sunshine. I couldn’t hear any sirens, but then I couldn’t hear much of anything. I left the bodies out but stripped their wallets of all cash, maybe eighty bucks total. None of them had password protection on their phone—idiots—and I turned off the GPS on all three phones, then threw them under the minivan’s wheels, hopefully to be destroyed when we drove out.
I got into the passenger seat, shaking so badly I could barely reload the .357, which I stowed under the seat.
Rosie drove us back toward the gas station. She filled it up while I cleaned off some blood. Somehow my ear was bleeding, and every sound had a ring and an echo. When I got back to the minivan, Rosie had more color in her face. “I got us some water,” she said.
“Good,” I said, and promptly drained one of the bottles.
“Your ear,” she said. I put my hand up. Probably I’d busted an eardrum.
“Don’t worry about it,” I said. “Just keep driving.” I crawled into the back and rummaged in my duffel for a t-shirt. I cut it apart with my pocketknife and tied the remainder of the shirt in a clumsy loop around my head and ear.
“You look ridiculous,” Rosie said.
“I’ve been worse,” I said.
“I can imagine,” she said. “Is that the first time you killed anybody?” I was still shaking with the intensity of the shootings.
“Yeah,” I said. “It is.”
“It’ll get easier,” she said, the look in her eyes unfathomable.
I didn’t think to ask her how she knew.
CHAPTER 34
WE STOPPED FOR THE NIGHT earlier than I’d intended, shifting off 88 in Binghamton NY and finding a hotel in a shit town called Elmira: The Holiday Inn Riverview. It had a view all right. Shitty-looking river across the road beyond a tricked-out Little League ballpark with two black men playing a game of catch. It was 7 p.m. and it looked like the whole city had rolled up its streets. The hotel bar was doing a healthy business, and would be doing even more if I had anything to say about it. I just couldn’t get my left ear to stop bleeding.
Rosario checked us in with her credit card, figuring they could probably trace mine. She told me they wouldn’t accept cash, even when she offered five hundred. I wished she hadn’t done that; we needed not to stand out. A tall Dominican woman with hella cash would stick out. I stayed in the room with ice against my ear. Something inside had swollen. I could reach the swelling with a Q-tip, but I had no idea what to do with it when I reached it. Rosie lay on the bed tapping her fingers against the headboard.
“There’s a hospital a couple blocks away, Irish,” she said.
“Can’t do it,” I said. “How am I going to explain it? They’ll call the cops and we’ll be fucked.”
“But I don’t know how to fix it,” Rosie said.
“Go out and get me some cotton balls, gauze pad, and some tape. I’ll figure out something.”
While she was gone, I used the internet on my phone to figure out what to do. The blood and pus would drain for a couple days, but only time would heal it. Rosie came back with the stuff, and a couple Oxycodone she got from one of the kids in the ballpark lot.
“How do you walk into a city and know where the hookups are?” I said.
“I’m magic,” she said, and stuffed a cotton ball in my ear, put a gauze pad over it, then finished with an X shape of clear medical tape over the pad.
“I guess so. You want to go down and get a drink?” I said.
“Time to relax,” Rosie said, the two Oxycodone in her hand extended toward me like a talisman. I admit they looked good. I dropped them both and drained a bottle of water with it.
“I’m taking a shower,” she said, and slipped out of her clothes right there.
“You always undress in the hallway before you wash?” I said.
“Sometimes,” she said and laughed. “Sleep.” So I did.
CHAPTER 35
I WOKE UP AROUND TEN. I heard bustling around outside the room. Rosie had fallen asleep in her bathrobe beside me. I’d taken care, even in the Oxy haze, to sleep on my left side. The gauze dressing had come undone. Pus and blood spotted the pillow. I got up long enough to put the do-not-disturb sign on the door, then came back to the bed. We’d be doing some night driving today. Right now I needed more sleep. I redressed the ear and lay down on my right side this time. Rosie stirred next to me. I pulled her close and put my hand between her breasts. The next thing I remembered was Rosie shaking me awake at four-thirty in the afternoon.
“Rise and shine,” she said. “This town makes me fucking nervous.”
I yawned. “How come?” I said.
“Walking around last night,” she said. “I felt like there was more trouble around me than there is in New York. Place just skeeves me out.”
“We’re out of here anyway,” I said. “I want to hit I-80 and get through the shitholes in PA.” I motioned to Rosie. “Leave the money on the table. We’ll jet now.”
“Not soon enough,” Rosie said.
“You hungry?”
“Now you mention it I could eat.”
“See if the restaurant onsite will do takeout.” While Rosie went and got us sandwiches I planned out the rest of our route through to the Midwest—easy stuff—stay on I-80 until Missouri. I checked headlines in upstate New York and Boston, looking for clues, anomalies, anything that might hint at the fact that there were more people gunning for us. I had to think Otis didn’t expect his boys to fuck up so badly. I don’t know if he ever realized my true potential. I knew I’d never be able to show anybody else at this point. If I surfaced anywhere under my real name Otis would track me down and kill me, Rosie
would just be added incentive. I didn’t want to think about that. I checked my gun, and made sure the little .45 was in my front pocket with my wallet, the .357 holstered at my spine under my shirt.
“Everything cool?” Rosie said, carrying a large plastic bag in one hand and a couple bottles of soda in the other.
“Excellent,” I said. “Ready to rock and roll.”
I took over the driving, heading into Pennsylvania on back roads until we reached I-80 near Williamsport. It was pretty country, for the most part, low mountains that were really high hills, deep green in places, mint in others. We stopped for a pee break somewhere on Route 15. Mansfield, maybe, again Rosie the biggest blackest mama for miles. I didn’t send her out to do much for us during this stretch. You didn’t have to be smart to know there weren’t any black people in this neck of the woods. Might as well be looking for Sasquatch.
Things felt better when we reached Williamsport and reached 180 then I-80. I knew then we were a smooth seventy-five miles per hour for the next thousand miles if we wanted. Nothing much to see, but nothing much to distract us either. Rosie turned on a country station just so we’d have something to listen to other than each other. My phone buzzed. It was Nina. That crazy bitch was going to get me killed, and I couldn’t very well respond to her as long as Rosie listened. It didn’t take much to set Rosie off.
“That the bitch?” she said, looking at me over her sunglasses.
“What can I say?”
“Call her back. I’ll talk to her.”
I laughed harshly. “You bet.”
“Hmm,” Rosie said.
We drove straight through past Pittsburgh then into Ohio, where the land flattened like magic. I needed a place to sleep.
“How you feel about driving?” I said.
“Your name’s on the lease, so whatever you want.”
I play-snarled at her.
“Oh no you don’t,” she said. “How much longer you going to play that other chick along?” She wouldn’t even say Nina’s name, though she knew it. Something about women and empowerment.