Who Needs Justice?

by Rex Bolt

  The best move, which wasn’t saying much, did seem to be to get in that garage and shoot the prick when he came home at night, maybe have him turn on the engine first to muffle the sound. Still, it was prudent to be ready if a better opportunity was out there.

  He followed Thad again from Broadway Fit to the country club and realized even if he could pull it off there wouldn’t be enough time tonight because of the damn open mike. If he missed this one, they’d kill him for sure.

  There was a Texas-style rib place he’d heard about on the east side of town, so he went there for dinner. It was around 7:30 when he finished and since he had some time now, he took a drive. As he headed east there were less houses and more farms and the last bit of sunset reflected off the fences. He came to a railroad crossing and sat there waiting for a freight train to clear, and a pickup truck pulled in behind him and switched on its high beam lights.

  When the train passed, Christian started slowly, watching his rear view mirror. The guy in the pickup honked at him and then swung onto the right shoulder and as he passed Christian he stuck his head out the window, spit in the direction of the car and gave him the finger. Then he started laughing and sped by. The guy was wearing a camouflage John Deere cap and had long, stringy hair. He looked to be in his 20’s.

  Christian accelerated until he caught up to the truck and flicked on his own high beams. He followed the pickup for a couple miles until the guy made an abrupt left turn into what looked like an equipment yard. Christian kept going straight and tried to calm down. There had been no reason to get into that, the jerk didn’t like his California plates or whatever, so what?

  Bright lights poured into his car again, and the pickup was back behind him, riding him tight. They continued driving for what seemed like several miles. It was dark and there were no signs of people or even lights in the distance. It felt like they were climbing slightly.

  Christian slowed down and came to a stop, hoping the truck would move on, but the guy stopped and waited, his front grill just about on Christian’s bumper. Christian started up again, desperately looking now for anywhere to turn off and hopefully end this nightmare. Finally there was a sign with an arrow to the right and he followed it. It was a small dirt pullout area with power poles and big electrical boxes and a utility company sign.

  The truck parked parallel to him and the guy got out.

  “Ain’t you a bastard then,” the John Deere guy said, coming toward him, smiling. “Gonna teach you something now.”

  Christian opened his door, stood up and shot the guy in the chest. The guy’s hat flew off and he wobbled and went down, clutching at himself, moaning. Christian watched him for a minute, figured he better shoot him in the head too to be safe, so he moved closer and squinted and aimed for the middle of the forehead. He came in a little off to the side, but the guy wasn’t moving any more and you couldn’t make out the left side of his face, so he figured that was good enough.

  There wasn’t much room, and the way the guy was situated Christian had to make several maneuvers to avoid running over him, which would have been fine except it might put the guy on his car somewhere. So he took his time and finally got the fuck out of there without contacting anything. One good thing, the guy had turned off his engine and lights.

  He followed the road back as best he could. At one point it felt like he made a wrong turn but he went with it, pretty sure he was northeast of Pocatello and at least traveling south.

  Eventually he started to see lights way off to the right, and he stayed with them to the outskirts of town. He went to the motel and took a shower, only then noticing that his hands were shaking, and lay down.

  He bolted up with a start, remembering Allison and Monica were at the brewpub. It was 9:35 and he tore over there.

  They ignored him when he walked in. There was a list of that night’s performers on a chalkboard near the little stage, and Allison was number three and had already gone.

  There were seven musicians signed up, and number five was up there now, a man playing piano singing Billy Joel. Christian found the person in charge and was able to get on the list as number eight. He approached Allison.

  “I have my guitar in the trunk,” he said, “so I thought I’d join in the fun.”

  “Whatever,” she said.

  “What I’m going to do, I’ll play a song, and then you come up there with me, okay? What do you have, that works as a duet?”

  “Yeah right,” she said.

  Monica said, “Every time we start saying what a nice guy you are, you pull this. There’s something deep-rooted, pathologically wrong with you Chris.”

  “I’m getting the guitar,” he said. “I haven’t done this in a long time.”

  A woman played the accordion next and sang along. It sort of worked. A couple of her songs were in French. Number seven was a folksinger, a young kid trying to be Phil Ochs out of Greenwich Village in the sixties. He had passion but he was slightly off key.

  Christian tuned up, cleared his throat and announced here was one about Florida, the one time he visited there, called “Look Around Town”. He forgot some of the words and had to hum a few lines, but the audience seemed to like it, and it was a pretty full house. That was one thing he noticed about places like Pocatello—when there was an event, people didn’t over-think what else they could be doing instead, they showed up and paid attention and stayed until it was over.

  “I have a couple more I’m going to need help with,” Christian said. “So I’m going to bring up Allison Burdette.” Staring right at her. There was a smattering of applause and Allison made her way to the stage, clearly not in the mood.

  He told her, “We’ll just wing this. We’ll do two more of mine, you fill in the harmonies wherever you think, and then we’ll do one of yours, your best song.”

  “I already played it.”

  “So we’ll do a different one. Jesus.”

  The first had a lazy Merle Haggard feel, titled “Straight Ahead Two Times”, and the second was an upbeat number his band played twenty years ago called “Working Jupiter”. He could feel Allison getting into it, inserting herself just right, and he tried to enjoy the moment even though he kept flashing on the John Deere guy.

  He asked her which song she’d picked out for the grand finale and she said the third one from that time in his apartment, which she was calling “I’m In Love With Your Shadow”. She sang it well. She’d cleaned up the lyrics and strengthened the bridge and it flowed.

  "The part about the garden though," he said back at the table, "You'll see it through its time of toil?"

  "Yes, I added that line."

  "No. But overall, you weren't bad."

  "Al, they loved you," Monica said. "That last song got the biggest ovation of the night."

  "The other thing, I'm thinking we'll leave tomorrow," Christian said. "Might as well be on the road bright and early."

  "Already?" Allison said. "We're just getting used to it here. And the bartender asked me if I'll be at the open mike on Saturday."

  "I'm comfortable here as well," said Monica. "We spent the day in Old Town. There's a lot we haven't seen yet."

  "Either of you want to screw around with the bartender," he said, "better start on that now. We're out of here at 5 am sharp."

  "You're a real party-pooper, you know that?" Allison said.

  26 – Readjustment

  Christian slept badly, twitching awake every few minutes. Around one he phoned Bethany.

  "Hey Chris," she said. "I haven't heard your voice in a while. Interesting of you to pick now."

  "That was fun. Down in LA."

  "It was . . . I still think about it. But you sound strange."

  "Your ex-husband, any updates with that?"

  "No. But tell me honestly Chris, are you still feeling fine?"

  "A-okay."

  "And you're back safe and sound from your trip?"

  "Nah, still trying to accomplish a few things . . . What I'm thinking you do, te
ll Kyle to shove it up his ass."

  No response.

  "Anyway, how's your squash?"

  "Chris, I'm going back to bed. Nice of you to call." She hung up.

  +++

  They were two-and-a-half hours below Pocatello on Interstate 15, approaching Salt Lake City. Christian said, "Okay now, we need a meeting of the minds. We go right, we end up back in Berkeley tonight. We go straight, we visit Phoenix."

  Monica was scrunched up in the passenger seat against the window, with Allison laid out in back, dead to the world. Monica opened a slit of an eye, gave him a 'whatever' hand signal and readjusted herself and went back to sleep.

  How could he have screwed up Thad like that? It was almost there, only a matter of time before he got it right, but now they had to hightail it out of town because he wasted the whole trip on some idiot.

  He came up on the US 80 Interchange, got in the right lane, thought about it, thought about it, and kept going. It was ten hours from Salt Lake to Phoenix. Might as well call Floyd and let him know.

  Allison and Monica finally woke up when he stopped for gas near Blank, Nevada. "Where are we?" Allison said.

  "On the way to see my brother. We got six hours left. You've been missing the scenery."

  "What's he like?" Monica said.

  "Floyd is seven years younger than me, so it's hard to say. He's generous, has a good heart, that much I know."

  "But you're close, right?" Allison said.

  "Not really. I ignored him growing up, which I regret."

  "What does he look like?" she said.

  "Ah Jesus, you're not planning to mess with my kid brother now, are you?"

  "I wasn't thinking that."

  Monica said, "She might be. I know Al, that's where she's going with her questions. Anyway, this should be fun, I've never been to the southwest."

  "Don't hold your breath," Christian said.

  Floyd lived in a tract house in Mesa. Not only did the houses look the same but the neighborhoods got you mixed up too. The people next door to Floyd had a giant Winnebago in the driveway with a flag flying off it, so Christian figured Floyd could use that as a landmark to find his house.

  The inside smelled like fresh paint. "I'm drawing a blank on when you were down here last," Floyd said. "Pretty sure though I was still in that first condo."

  "Big spread with a couple pools, bikinis walking around, the whole nine yards," Christian said.

  "That's right, downtown. Then I had another one in Tempe. I got a sweet deal on this place though. You know, the housing downturn. No pool, but I joined a club to cool off and shit. It works."

  They were having cocktails at the little kitchen table. Allison said, "You don't look that much like Chris, but you kind of talk the same."

  Floyd said, "Not sure I want to hear, but how did you all get together for this adventure?"

  "I met Chris at a coffee place," Allison said. "He was having a difficult day, and I asked him if he wanted to go do something."

  "A little shaky on the details, but it doesn't matter," Christian said.

  Floyd freshened everyone's drink. "And we took a lovely, long walk through San Francisco at night," Allison said.

  "I was there too," Monica said. "We had that really good Indian dinner, remember?"

  "Oh that's right," Allison said. "Then you went to the lesbian party."

  "You're a lesbian?" Floyd said.

  "No."

  "She sort of is," Allison said. "She brings girls home sometimes."

  "Interesting," Floyd said. "Could you see yourself in a long term relationship with a woman, or is it just for pleasure?"

  Monica said, "The second thing. You're worse with the direct questions than Chris."

  "So Floyd, what do you do, for your job?" Allison said.

  "I scramble a little bit, no set thing. I teach some golf at a resort, you get the snowbirds coming down from Chicago and New York, and the money can be good. I've been a little lucky in real estate also."

  "Doing what?" Christian said.

  "Actually the same type stuff I was doing for Chip. Distressed houses, flipping them. He screwed me, but then again he taught me the ropes."

  Monica said, "Who's Chip?"

  "Guy in Las Vegas, sort of a player," Floyd said. "Smart, but sleazy. I told Christian he got murdered a few weeks ago."

  "My God,”Allison said. “What happened?”

  Floyd said, "He'd moved out to L.A. and someone got into his office and killed him. At first I was kind of celebrating because Chip owed me money and he didn't care. Then I started thinking he wasn't that bad of a guy."

  "But they think it’s mob-related, right?" Christian said.

  "They thought so, but now they don't know. I hear bits and pieces from my buddy in Vegas. They're pretty sure someone used a baseball bat on him though."

  "Well," Christian said. "Anyone hungry? Whatever's your restaurant of choice, it's on me."

  "Nah, I got steaks and burgers ready to go on the grill. That's how we do it here in Arizona in late March."

  The girls went for a walk and Floyd and Christian hovered around the backyard barbeque. Floyd said, "Still not clear on how you pulled it off my big brother, but those are two righteously foxy women."

  "They have their moments. They can be impulsive though, which you have to roll with.”

  "Are you currently hitting on either one of them, or what?"

  "No."

  "You're sure."

  "I'm sure. Almost happened once, Joyce got in the way. Never re-ignited itself after that."

  "Jesus, Joyce. What happened to her?"

  "She's around, we're on good terms."

  "Little more subtle with her, but she was one hot number too."

  "Yeah, well, what can you do."

  "I know it . . . How'd she get in the way though?"

  "Allison came over to my apartment. Joyce shows up unannounced to ask a question, broke up the whole flow. I was already irritated because I had a chance to see someone else that night."

  "Did you follow through with the someone else?"

  "I did. A very warm lady. She says she's got an ex-husband messing with her mind, holding her back. Physically."

  "You buy that?"

  "I go back and forth. I'm tempted to talk to the guy though."

  "Now why would you want to fool with something like that, man?"

  "I know, there are other opportunities, without the baggage. Just something that's been bothering me, that's all."

  "Okay whatever. At least coming down here, you can put all your concerns behind you for a few days."

  27 - Line of Baloney

  Christian was drinking coffee in the kitchen, the patio sliding door open, birds chirping, sunshine flooding in, when Monica appeared wearing an Idaho State University tee shirt that only covered half of her turquoise thong.

  "You've got to be kidding," he said.

  "Good morning to you too. What?"

  "To be laying that on someone this early, that's unfair." Not taking his eyes off her as she opened a cabinet and reached for a cup.

  "Chris, we're in Arizona," she said. "It has to be seventy-five degrees out already."

  "Fine, not to change the subject, but you sleep okay?"

  "Like a baby. I had the window open. The air here . . . "

  "Dry, right? I'm going take a run, you want to come?"

  "Hmm. Okay, I'll try. I feel like I've been gaining weight on this road trip."

  "I wouldn't worry about it, honestly," he said.

  Everything outside was cement. Even the high school, a few blocks away, had a fake grass football field with a fake dirt track surrounding it. Christian ran laps on the track so Monica could go at her own pace, but she didn't last long and ended up sitting in the bleachers.

  "You have a fluid stride," she said when they were walking back. "It must make jogging easier."

  "Pain in the ass is what it is," he said. "The best thing, find a sport. Then you don't have to know you're
exercising."

  Christian's phone rang and it showed Maierhaffer. He stopped walking and took the call. "So, how's the butter-butt pretty boy?" Maierhaffer said.

  "Fair to middling."

  "Someone's looking for you. Says you're never home. It's nice to know you're still alive."

  "Steve?"

  "What."

  "Have you stopped doing your thing?"

  "I'll be in touch," Maierhaffer said.

  Christian called Birgitte. "Everything still good?" he said.

  "Yes, of course it is . . ." she said. "Chris, it's not necessary for you to continue interrogating me."

  "I don't think it's still good," he said.

  "All right . . . Steve has admittedly been grouchy of late. He's experiencing a withdrawal of sorts . . . I can't hold that against him."

  "He touch you at all, scare you in any way?"

  "No . . . Nothing like that." Taking a little too long to answer a simple question.

  "Okay then," he said.

  He waved Monica away as he plugged one ear and dialed Ray. There was no answer. "Damn it," he said. "What time is it in California?"

  "I think 12:20, the same as here, now that it's Daylight Savings," Monica said. "You seem upset."

  "I got a friend I can't reach. It's Saturday, he's probably getting dialysis as we speak."

  "Some of that sounded bizarre. Did someone scare someone and so forth. What's up with that?"

  "Hard to say. Hopefully it's just me putting my nose where it doesn't belong."

  "Chris you're on a holiday, okay? You have to eliminate these projections. Stay in the here and now, let yourself have fun."

  She was standing close to him, concerned. He bent down, grabbed her behind the knees, and when he straightened up she was upside down over his shoulder. "Wait . . . .what are you doing . . . don't," she said, but she was laughing and he kept her up there dangling and jostling around until they got to Floyd's house.

  "I see what you mean about that weight gain," he said. "I could only carry you two blocks."

  "You're not funny," she said.

  Floyd and Allison were next to each other on the couch, Floyd flipping pages of a photo album. "Hey, morning Chrissy, Monica. Remember the summer mom and dad dragged us to that lake in Wisconsin?"