Shooting Stars

by C. A. Huggins

  “Can I see it?”

  “Nope, let me hold on to it,” I say. He thinks about coming back and trying to persuade me otherwise, but he doesn’t. “You know how it is,” I say. Then, I shoot him a sly grin.

  “Yeah . . . I know how.” He looks over my shoulder. “Here they are.”

  Two men who look to be in their early forties approach us, wearing casual clothes, as if they threw on the first thing they could find after waking up. Then, I remember it’s early in the morning. They probably did just that.

  “The one with the sunglasses is Ron, and the other dude is Phil,” Jake says.

  “Hey, guys,” I say.

  “Don’t talk,” Jake says.

  “You vouch for this guy?” Phil asks Jake.

  “He’s good. Don’t worry about it,” he says.

  “Let’s make this quick,” Ron says. “Where’s the stuff?”

  “I got everything right here,” I say, showing the USB drive. “The money?”

  “Don’t talk,” Jake says.

  “Fuck off, this is my show,” I tell him. I turn back to Ron and Phil. “These are the best we have right now. All highly compensated. All with big-time pensions. Most getting at least ten thousand dollars a month. Complete with direct-deposit info and everything.”

  “Excellent,” Phil says.

  Ron hands Jake a gym bag. I’m guessing that was another last-minute selection. I expected a briefcase, but oh well, this’ll do.

  “What’s in the briefcase?” I ask Jake. Ron and Phil start laughing at us. “Is that the money?” Jake nods. I hand the USB drive over to Phil. “How much did we get? Wait, we didn’t even negotiate. My cut is still seventy percent, right?” I keep reaching for the bag, but Jake won’t let me have it.

  Ron and Phil both stop laughing. “What’s his deal? You better control your puppy,” Phil says.

  “Something ain’t right,” Ron says.

  I stop trying to reach for the bag. “If you want more where that came from, I’d mind my business, bitch boy. This is between us,” I tell Ron.

  “Fucking chill, man. You’ll get yours. You’re making us look like amateurs,” Jake says.

  “He’s mental,” Phil says. “Look at him.”

  “Let’s go,” Ron says.

  “No one leaves until I get my money,” I say. Ron and Phil start to walk off. “Don’t you fucking move.”

  “Don’t mess this up,” Jake says.

  I sense I’m losing grip of my plan. “You would say that, wouldn’t you? Take care of me. What are you gonna do? Kill me just like you did Eddie? Are your FBI friends watching us now?” I motion to the sky. “You didn’t know he was working with the feds, did you?” I ask Ron and Phil. “You check him for a wire?”

  “What?” Ron says. He starts to look around.

  “Is that true?” Phil asks Jake.

  “I have no idea what he’s talking about,” Jake says.

  A red laser beam appears on Phil’s shirt.

  “What’s that?” Ron says, pointing to the beam.

  A deathly look comes on Phil’s face.

  “Oh shit, they got snipers on us,” I say.

  Ron and Phil both pull out handguns. Ron points his gun at me, and Phil does the same to Jake.

  “You set us up,” Phil says.

  “No. He set us up,” Jake says, pointing to me.

  “You motherfuckers start talking. I ain’t about to go to jail for this snitch,” I say as I point to Jake.

  Lights start flashing in the park. The rides turn on and start to make noise. The theme-park music is blasting over the speakers. Everyone is blinded. Floyd appears out of the lights. Jake sees him and is shocked. Floyd makes a mad dash for Jake.

  “Jack move, my nigga!” Floyd screams as he leaps on Jake like a baby gorilla.

  Jake and Floyd wrestle on the ground as I look around for Ron and Phil. They’re trying to escape under the commotion. There’s no point in me going after them; plus, what could I do if I catch them, besides serve as target practice? I need to get Jake, who’s still going at it with Floyd. He knocks Floyd off him and pulls out a handgun from his overcoat. He stands up and shoots Floyd twice in the chest.

  “What are you doing?” I scream.

  Jake points the gun at me. “Like always, you seem to fuck everything up,” Jake says.

  Floyd is groaning and writhing in pain on the ground. Jake puts two more shots into him. He stops moving. I take that as my opening to start running. I run in a zigzag motion so he can’t get a clear shot at me. The bullets whiz by. I can’t believe he’s shooting at me. I go to hide behind the carnival games and see Chloe running toward me.

  “I heard shots,” she says. “I thought you were dead. I started to leave, but then I felt bad after that guilt trip you gave me earlier.” She sees Jake coming toward us with a gun and ducks behind the carnival game too. “Dammit! I should’ve left.”

  “Who comes towards gunshots?” I say. “That was a stupid decision.”

  “Who’s that on the ground?” she says as she peeks around the table.

  “Floyd,” I whisper. I motion for her to keep quiet.

  “Now I understand. You went from being controlled by one bitch to being controlled by another. What a fucking sucker,” Jake says as he probes the area for us. “I tried to free you from bitch control.”

  I should’ve picked a better hiding spot or coerced my feet into running, but not now since I have Chloe with me. It’s a lot harder to escape. Whom am I kidding? She’s probably faster than me.

  I look around the corner, and he’s not there. I look back at Chloe, ready to motion her to make a break for it, and he’s pointing his gun right at her head.

  “You had to betray me,” Jake says.

  “Leave her alone. She’s got nothing to do with this.”

  He keeps the gun on her.

  “It’s between me and you. I got a little scared. We still got the money. Everything is all good,” I say.

  “I could always tell when you were lying,” he says. “It’s so obvious.”

  “No, it’s the truth. Chloe is a genius. She’s been running all these different hustles past me,” I say. “She’s got connections. Major connections.” I look at Chloe. She starts nodding, even though her body is rife with fear. “All of her old Ivy League classmates. That’s old money right there. Imagine if we get in with those people. Not these two goofballs. That’s small potatoes.”

  Jake pauses. It’s like he’s mulling it over.

  “I can do all of that. I know CEOs, hedge-fund managers, big real-estate moguls,” she says.

  “Keep talking,” he says.

  “That’s why we’re here. I was trying to run off those jokers Ron and Phil. That’s small money. You always talking about the big picture. I’m bringing you the big picture,” I say.

  “You must think I’m an idiot,” he says. He points the gun right at my chest. “I’m the smart one. You’re the dumb ass. Don’t try to switch roles now. I’m sorry, but I have to do—”

  A cloud of smoke blinds all of us. The gun goes off. Chloe and I run in opposite directions. A man dressed in a black outfit pulls Jake’s arm close to him and head-butts him. Jake drops the gun. The man follows with a karate chop to Jake’s neck and subdues him with some sort of wrestling arm takedown maneuver. The man takes off his mask; it’s the pharmacy worker, Ray. I knew Chloe and I couldn’t do it alone, and I called him right before I came here for added muscle. When I didn’t have anyone to turn to, I looked in my pocket and saw his card, which read “graphic designer/martial artist/vigilante/Walgreens professional clerk.” The weirdest card I’ve ever seen, but it was worth a shot. He was more than willing to come have my back.

  Ray, Chloe, and I walk toward the parking lot. Ray is carrying an unconscious Jake. “He should be out for a few minutes,” he says.

  I now know not to fuck with Ray.

  Looks like the feds made it right in time to do absolutely nothing. I open the door to the white
van parked in the lot. Inside are the three agents and an adolescent boy with his shirt off and a red bandana tied around his head, holding a rubber commando knife. The agent who was driving is now holding a handheld camera. They must not have thought I was serious enough to show up, because they are startled when the door opens.

  “I knew you were molesters,” I say.

  The one agent puts down the camera.

  The man with the beard says, “We were making a Lil’ Rambo short film. It’s for a school project. Helping this kid out.”

  I see at the scared kid shiver as he mouths the words help me.

  “I don’t want to hear it,” I say.

  “But it was tasteful,” the bald black agent says.

  I cover my ears. “Here’s your criminal,” I say as Ray drops Jake on the pavement outside of the van. “You would’ve gotten his connections, but you were in here doing strange after-school-special-villain-type shit.”

  The agent with the beard handcuffs Jake. I hold out my voice recorder. “That’s all the evidence you’ll need.” The bald agent reaches for the voice recorder. I don’t want him to touch me, because I don’t know where his hands have been. I drop the recorder into his palm.

  The agent with the beard leans closer to me after Jake is cuffed. “This Lil’ Rambo thing, can you keep it between us?”

  “You’re never gonna bother me again, right?”

  He nods. Then, right as they’re pulling off, more gunshots. Everyone ducks down. We look up and Eddie’s there holding a gun, with Ron and Phil in handcuffs.

  “What the fuck are you doing?” I say

  “Just doing my job,” Eddie says.

  We all get up from our various ducking positions. I hoped the feds would’ve reacted a little bit better, but they were all sprawled out in the van, just like us civilians. But then again, I also would’ve hoped they weren’t molesters.

  “You know this isn’t a part of your job description,” I tell Eddie.

  He pulls out his wallet and flashes a badge. “I’m a cop.”

  “You’re leaving STD to become a cop?” I say.

  He shakes his head. “No, always have been a cop. I’m a part of a special task force of young, almost teenage-looking, police. I go undercover as an unassuming mark and get whatever information we need. For this case, it was fraud and identity theft.”

  “Like 21 Jump Street?” I say.

  “Yes, exactly like 21 Jump Street,” he says. “I’m really thirty years old, not twenty-one.”

  “So all of this time you were getting my references to stuff that happened in the eighties?”

  “Yep, I had to play it off,” he says. “They had me watching you to see if we could get to the culprits. At first they thought it was you, but I knew that wasn’t possible after my first day. But you led me right to them. Thanks.”

  “Err . . . you’re welcome,” I say. “Well, looks like my work is done. I’m a leave now, I have to get up early tomorrow. You know, I’m a manager.”

  Chloe looks right at me. I avoid eye contact.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Movies like Shawshank Redemption and American History X don’t put prisons in a good light. Even the TV show Oz has had me on the straight and narrow as a result of pure fear. The only time I thought about being in a prison was right after those agents in the van dropped me off. I didn’t know why or how, but that’s the first time I was presented with the notion I might end up locked up. I immediately began to think of all of the images I associate with jail, like chain gangs, homemade shivs to the neck, bench-pressing in the yard, Aryans, ass rape, and aggressive tattoos. None of those things sound appealing. That’s why I was a bit reluctant to go visit Jake, but my therapist (whom I started seeing again) coerced me, as it was something I needed to do. My only goal was to get some closure, and my sub-goal was not to inadvertently see a man get raped in the ass . . . unless it was Jake. Now, honestly I must admit, if he was getting raped in the ass, a small part of me would feel good about that. He does kinda deserves it.

  In the visitors’ room, you see prisoners in their orange jumpsuits with their friends and family, separated by glass like in the movies. I wonder when the black-and-white-striped suit gave way to the orange jumpsuits. Anyway, everyone is pretty close together. So it makes it hard to have a private conversation. I was relieved the meeting room wasn’t us sitting at tables like a cafeteria and we have this glass in between us. I wouldn’t have been surprised if he had a shank hidden and tried to jab me in the kidneys if given the opportunity. He looks sad and unshaven, which is a stark contrast from my dapper friend. I was expecting the first words out of his mouth to be those of a beaten-down man pleading for me to send him help.

  “You making out okay?” I say into the handset.

  He gets really close to the glass, with the phone in his hand. “Look around, motherfucker. I’m in prison.” Then, he laughs. “Sorry, man, I had to do that. It’s federal prison. This is like a cool country club, but with jumpsuits.”

  “That’s good. I guess. But you look different.”

  “I worked on this unshaven face for a few days. Only because I knew you were coming. Wanted to make you feel bad. But this place is better than just good. I’m learning all types of good tips too. It’s like going to white-collar-crime college. Making connections left and right.”

  “Rehabilitation at its finest,” I say.

  He laughs. “I should thank you.”

  I laugh too. “You should.”

  “But it’s still fucking prison. I gotta shit in front of another man, listen to him beat off at night, shit like that. And most importantly, no pussy.”

  “So I should say sorry?” I say.

  “Kinda.”

  “You tried to frame me, send me to jail, and kill me.”

  “Okay, call us even then,” he says.

  He really thinks I owe him an apology, but that’s typical Jake. “You look like shit.”

  “I gotta keep up my appearance. Look tough and they’ll think you are. Works pretty well. If I would’ve went to a state pen, I’d be a bitch for sure. But here, I’m a boss.”

  “Funny how that works out. Floyd?” I say.

  “He’s doing okay for himself. He’s kinda like a legend. Walking around talking about all the bullets he took. Thinks he’s 50 Cent. He linked up with the Aryans his first week here.”

  “I always knew he was a racist.”

  “Yeah, you did call that one. I heard Chloe is running the show at STD.”

  I pause for a second.

  “Told you. I got ears and eyes everywhere,” he says. “Being here is like having my finger right on the pulse of the business world.”

  “Well, STD has never been more successful. That’s what they tell me anyway.”

  He looks like he’s bored and unsatisfied with the direction of our conversation.

  “Did you bring those cigarettes?” he says.

  “Why’d you do me like that?”

  “It’s just cigs. Not a big deal.”

  “You used me,” I say.

  “Oh . . . I don’t know. You know how it is. It was easy. Either me or someone else was always telling you what to do,” he says. Then, he shrugs his shoulders. “Who knew you’d stick up for yourself and start making your own decisions. And look at you now. You proved me wrong. You’re your own boss. Got that comic strip jumping off. I still owe your artist for that sleeper hold he put on me. I still don’t have a full range of motion in my neck. But anyway, you go national yet?”

  Before I can answer, he says, “Yep. Told you I know everything. That comic is big in here. Inmates won’t even wipe their ass with it when they’re out of toilet paper.”

  I don’t know whether to be disgusted at that compliment or to smile. I smile; I’m not used to getting compliments for something I love doing. “And you used to make fun of me for keeping a journal. Them shits are a treasure-trove of good stories.”

  “The way you depict me in the strip even ad
ds to my celebrity,” he says. “Even had an inmate offer to suck my dick cuz, you keep writing that I fuck so many hoes.”

  “Lucky you.”

  Two inmates start fighting in the background. It causes a big commotion and everyone looks as the guards try to subdue them.

  Jake turns back around to the glass. “Hey, Kev, can you do me a favor? . . . Kev?”

  I’m gone. He sits there for a few seconds, thinking I might come back. And when he realizes I’m gone, he gets up. But before he leaves, he puts a booger on the glass partition.

  Thank You

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  About the Author

  C.A. Huggins is the author of the the acclaimed novel Labor Pains. He is a graduate of The College of New Jersey with a degree in English literature. C.A. currently resides in San Diego, CA. Get in touch with him and let him know what you thought of his work.

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