Piggyback (6 page)

“
You heard me right, get in.
”

Jerrod tried to get in. His hands were still tied behind his back and his balance was off. Jimmy sped him up with a shove and the boy fell ungracefully into the trunk and quickly rearranged himself into a fetal position. Jimmy leaned into the trunk and, with the same dead monotone, said,
“
Now keep your fucking mouth shut, or, and trust me on this one, I will kill you and I will kill your friend, then I will find your girlfriends and I will kill them both. Right now you are still alive, you can stay alive; you can live to fight and fuck another day. You can get out of this mess, still. I can be a just bad memory. But if you fuck up, I
’
ve got no problem shooting you in the head, no problem at all. No one will ever find you, you
’
ll just be gone, and
you
’
ll
be the memory. Do you understand?
”

Jerrod understood. He understood this better than he
’
d understood anything in his short, stupid life. He looked up at Jimmy, tried to look into the man
’
s eyes, and nodded. Jimmy shut the trunk, eased the hammer back down, and picked up the duffle bag.

When he got back into the car, Paul sat looking at him, still hoping for an answer to his question and wanting to ask a dozen more. He was thinking he didn
’
t know Jimmy at all. He was wondering why the hell he
’
d gone to Jimmy for help. He looked as scared as the kids. He watched as Jimmy unzipped the duffle bag and swapped out the automatic for the .38.

“
My lucky gun,
”
said Jimmy.

Paul wanted to say something. He felt the situation escalating. As Jimmy turned the key in the ignition, Tristan asked the question for him,

“
What are you going to do?
”
 

Jimmy turned around a looked directly into Tristan
’
s eyes.

“
Let me ask you something. Are you as stupid as your friend?
”

Tristan was afraid to answer. The blond patch of hair stood up on his head, cartoony, like it was from sheer fright. 

“
You don
’
t look as stupid, but that
’
s a fine fucking line. Are you as dumb as that dumbfuck in the trunk of my car?
”

Tristan slowly shook his head.

“
Then shut the fuck up and don
’
t ask stupid questions.
”

Paul sighed as Jimmy turned the car around and started back toward the house. He wanted another bump of blow. He wanted one more than anything, but he thought that might be a stupid thing to do. He sure as hell didn
’
t want to ask. Instead, he took the bottle of Jim Beam from between his legs, spun off the cap, and took a pull. He
’
d called on Jimmy because he knew the man was a professional, that he
’
d know what to do. That
’
s what he told himself; Jimmy knows what he is doing.

The girls had moved to the living room. They were sprawled on a plush L-shaped sofa watching TV. There were two plastic cups of white wine in front of them. Becky held a remote control and flipped the channel every few moments.

“
This sucks, there
’
s nothing on.
”

Infomercial, music video, cartoon.

“
Go back, go back. I like that song.
”

Becky flipped back to the channel and grunted,
“
To this? Why?
”

Becky had one eyebrow raised. Shelly hated that look. Becky had used that look on her since they were in Fourth Grade. It was a look of ridicule, a look of contempt. It was the look that called Shelly a chicken-shit. That look got Shelly to do a lot of things she knew were wrong. That eyebrow was peer-pressure concentrate. 

“
It
’
s good. I like it. The singer is cute.
”

“
Are you serious? He looks retarded when he sings. Look at his pants. How can you stand this crap, Shell?
”

Shelly sat up and held up her hand.
“
What was that?
”

“
What was what?
”
said Becky, flipping the channel again.

Shelly
’
s voice turned to a whisper,
“
The door, I think I heard the door.
”

Becky turned off the TV and they both looked at each other, in the dark, listening. From toward the front of the house they could hear the clumsy metallic sounds of someone fumbling with the lock. The front door slammed shut. There was definitely someone in the house. They heard heavy footsteps creaking on the hardwood floors.  Whoever was stomping around was not shy about being there. The footsteps came closer. A dark figure filled the doorway to the right of the TV, all shadow, tall and menacing.

“
Michelle.
”
The voice was shrill and angry, half-bark, half-shriek.

The girls both exhaled. It was Shelly
’
s mother.

“
Jesus Christ, Michelle, it smells like smoke in here.
”

“
What are you doing home?
”

“
Is that my wine you
’
re drinking?
”
Shelly
’
s mother pointed to the plastic glasses on the coffee table.
“
And no coasters?
”

Before Shelly could answer, her mother spun around, her long, brown leather jacket flashing like a cape behind her. Moments later, they heard the sounds of a purse thrown across the kitchen, the fridge door opening and slamming shut, the smack of glasses in the cupboard.

“
What are you doing home so early?
”

“
Your father
’
s an asshole,
”
came a shout from the kitchen.

“
She
’
s drunk,
”
Shelly whispered.

“
No shit,
”
said Becky with no attempt to lower her voice.

“
You father
’
s an absolute dickhead,
”
shouted the voice again.

“
I heard you the first time, Mother.
”

They listened for a moment to the violent sounds of Shelly
’
s mother making herself a vodka tonic. It was peppered with various vulgarities with no apparent target. They couldn
’
t tell if the profanities were directed at them, Shelly
’
s father, or the ice cubes.

Inside the kitchen, Shelly
’
s mother struggled to make herself the drink. She had spilled ice cubes and vodka all over the countertop. Before she tried to cut a lime, she kicked off each of her heels, sending them flying into the corner, narrowly missing a full wine rack.
“
Fucking things are killing me,
”
she murmured before slicing a wedge out of the lime and squeezing it into the glass of vodka. She took a long sip and set the glass back down before picking up the tonic and topping it off. The fizz edged over the top of the glass and she took another sip.

“
God, that
’
s good.
”

She took a look at herself in the reflection of the window above the sink. She wrinkled up her face for a moment, then puckered her lips before pulling a few strands of bleached blonde hair out of her face. The face that looked back was a monster. She picked up the toaster; it made a better mirror. It bent and distorted her face, but she could stand that, even approve. She was still a good-looking woman, even after the booze, the drugs, and the unhappy years of marriage. She set down the toaster and turned back toward the living room. She reached the doorway and saw the glow from the TV lighting the room.

“
So, what are you two girls up to tonight?
”

The room was empty. The glasses were gone, wet, round rings where they
’
d stood.

“
Bitches.
”

Jimmy pulled into the driveway and parked perpendicular to the house. He climbed out of the car and walked up to the front door.

Jimmy opened the screen door and knocked on the white door. Three hard raps. Waited, and knocked again. The door swung open and a grizzled-looking man with grey stubble and greasy hair stood before him. He wore an unbuttoned plaid shirt exposing a stained white undershirt underneath.

“
Yeah?
”

“
Hi, I
’
m looking for Jerrod.
”

“
Who the fuck are you?
”
Gaps from missing teeth were exposed when he opened his mouth.

“
I
’
m Becky
’
s Uncle Richard and I was actually looking for her. Last I spoke with Jerrod, he said they may be here.
”

“
Who the fuck is it?
”
a voice from inside the house shrieked.

Jerrod
’
s father leaned back to answer and Jimmy got a quick peek into the house.

“
It
’
s not for you,
”
the man snapped back. It was the sound of timeless bickering, of unhappy marriages, of constant and comfortable bitterness. It was a tone that Jimmy remembered from his childhood. Jimmy hated them both instantly.

The man turned back to Jimmy. He looked both defensive and suspicious.
“
Look, Jerrod don
’
t live here no more.
”

“
I understand that, it
’
s just that I was wondering if you know where I could find them.
”

“
Shut the fucking door, it
’
s getting cold in here.
”
The voice again. She had to be as ugly as her voice.
“
Who the fuck is at the door?
”

“
It
’
s some friend of Becky
’
s,
”
shouted the man.

“
Relative,
”
corrected Jimmy.

“
Well, don
’
t be a jerk, invite him in.
”

The man rolled his eyes, expecting some sort of commiserating look back from Jimmy, then, to Jimmy
’
s surprise, stepped back and cleared the way for his entry. Jimmy stepped into the front room of the tiny house. The smell hit him immediately, stale, smoky, acrid, and foul. Stale beer, old garbage, rotten food and bad breath. The woman who possessed the voice was quickly clearing paraphernalia off of a crowded coffee table. A glass pipe, a small mirror, a small plastic baggy. She missed a couple of other empty small baggies, easy to do with the large amount of trash piled on the table. She hurried the stuff into a drawer in a small table at the end of the couch and then began to make room for Jimmy. She pushed aside several newspapers, a couple of beer cans, and two battery-less, useless remote controls.

The woman looked up and smiled, exposing the same toothless gaps as her husband. She patted the cushion to her left.
“
Hi there, I
’
m Maria, don
’
t mind the mess, it never goes anywhere anyway. Sit down for a minute, sit down.
”

Jimmy obliged and sat down directly in front of a beer can that was bent into a pipe. Charred, ragged holes formed a bowl in the fold with a larger one punched into the end to make a carburetor. It sat on top of a short stack of old TV guides. Years and years old. Among the heaps of clutter on the coffee table, Jimmy noticed several orange caps belonging to syringes. He hoped his ass wouldn
’
t find their counterparts in the sofa. In front of the coffee table stood two TV
’
s. The bottom one was off and had a spider-web crack across the screen and the one on the top showed a video game frozen in its frame.