Piggyback (8 page)

They sat on Shelly
’
s bed with the ashtray between them. The window was wide open to air-out the smoke from the joint they
’
d started downstairs. The room had changed very little since Shelly
’
s high school years. There were outdated band posters on her walls—walls still adorned with girlish pink wall paper. There was white wood furniture to match her white four-poster bed, and a small pile of stuffed animals stacked in a pyramid near the pillows. In fact, Shelly
’
s room hadn
’
t changed much since she was twelve.

“
Worst case scenario,
”
she said, using a phrase that she
’
d borrowed from her father,
“
she
’
ll be conscious enough to embarrass us.
”

“
What
’
s the best case scenario?
”

“
She
’
ll die of alcohol poisoning.
”

Tristan sat quietly in the backseat trying to think of ways to communicate with his friend in the trunk. Once or twice threw his upper torso backward before realizing that this, even if they had worked out some sort of primitive Morse code, would be pointless.  There was no way thumping on the soft seat would be noticed by anyone but his captors. He tried sticking his hands in between the cushions, vainly hoping that his fingers would penetrate the solid steel that separated them. Stomping on the floor might bring better results, he thought, until he saw Jimmy eyeing him in the rearview mirror. He sighed, felt like weeping. He realized that, even if he could communicate with his friend, he had no idea what it was he would tell him. That he was in exactly the same spot as he had been an hour ago? That the situation seemed as hopeless as the moment they walked out of their house?

Jimmy noticed the kid in back getting bolder. Squirming and fidgeting like a punk in the back seat of a squad car trying to hide his stash. He looked at the clock on the dash, it was still before midnight. This long day was going to get longer. The thought occurred to him that he never should have answered the feeble knock at his door so many hours ago. He looked over at Paul, who was getting drunker by the moment. Paul was now singing along to almost every song on the radio. Words that he didn
’
t know, he made up, substituting child-like rhymes where the commonplace lyrics were. Jimmy watched the level on Paul
’
s bottle of Jim Beam get lower and lower. Soon he
’
d be asking for another liquor store stop.

Paul was mangling the lyrics for Cat Scratch Fever when he finally gave in to his impulses. He took the square baggie from his pocket and keyed himself four healthy bumps of coke. Jimmy gave him a flat unemotional look and Paul said,
“
What? Fuck it. What
’
s he gonna do? Complain?
”

“
I think it
’
s time that I called Jose.
”

“
Jose? What for? I thought you were onto something. Do we really need to call him yet? I thought we were gonna find the stuff first, then call, so he wouldn
’
t be so pissed.
”

Even the mention of Jose
’
s name had a sobering effect on Paul. He immediately unscrewed the cap on the bottle and threw back another hit of the whiskey. Emboldened by the blow and the booze, he turned toward their prisoner in the back seat and said,
“
You fucks better tell us what we wanna know or this night ain
’
t never gonna end. What the fuck is the matter with you two? Do you have any idea how deep in the shit-pile you are? Do you have any idea what or who you
’
re fucking with?
”

As Paul
’
s threats turned to pleas, Jimmy turned into an empty lot in front of a mini-mall. There were spots for five shops, three of them vacant, the other two closed. Jimmy pulled the Camry under a streetlight and killed the engine.

“
I want to talk with you.
”

“
What, there ain
’
t nothing open here.
”

“
Outside, c
’
mon.
”
Jimmy
’
s voice was deadpan, like always, but even Tristan could see that Paul was suddenly nervous. Jimmy and Paul got out and Jimmy pointed with his chin toward the rear of the car.

“
C
’
mere, I want to show you something.
”

“
What?
”

“
Look, Paul, sometimes things complicate themselves. There ain
’
t no problem that can
’
t be handled, but sometimes problems just present themselves.
”

“
Yeah,
”
said Paul, but he had no idea what his friend was getting at.

“
I
’
m going to show you something, but I swear to God, if you freak out, if you don
’
t handle this like a man, you getting in the trunk, too.
”

“
Okay, what?
”
Paul could feel himself teetering some from the whiskey, he flared his numb nostrils and blinked his eyes to ready himself for whatever Jimmy was going to show-and-tell.

Jimmy popped the trunk.

Jerrod lay there looking stiff and blue. His eyes, wide open, had begun to cloud over and the once free-flowing stream of blood from the center of his forehead had begun to blacken and crust.

“
Oh, shit,
”
was all Paul could manage.

Jimmy kept his eyes on Paul, gauging his reaction, making sure he didn
’
t go into shock
…
or vomit.

“
Shit, shit, shit.
”

Jimmy shut the trunk and Paul snapped out of it.

“
Oh, man, did you shoot him, Jimmy?
”

“
No, I didn
’
t shoot him, his old man shot him.
”

The single gunshot echoed in Paul
’
s memory.

“
Holy fuck, what
’
re the odds? The old man?
His old man?
How did that happen? This is no good, man. What
’
re the fucking odds?
”
he repeated.
“
Not to mention the obvious irony. Holy shit, poor kid got taken out by his own father? Shit.
”

Paul was babbling enough to convince Jimmy that he wasn
’
t going into shock.

“
This is why it
’
s time to call Jose. It
’
s time to reassess.
”

“
What the hell are we gonna do with him?
”

“
Keep your voice down, I want the dumbass in there to keep thinking he
’
s alive.
”

The reality of their backseat witness suddenly dawned on Paul and his voice got even louder.
“
What are we gonna do with
him
?
”
he said, hooking a thumb at Tristan.

“
I dunno, the prognosis ain
’
t good, though.
”

Paul was confused. He wasn
’
t sure what a prognosis was.

Jimmy held his hands out.
“
Look, in this game, this business, accidents happen. Shit can be fixed—sort of. But for us to go on, we need to talk to someone with a little more authority, someone who
’
s a little more invested.
”

“
Invested? Who the fuck is more invested than us? We
’
re travelling around with a fucking dead body in the trunk of our car,
”
Paul squeaked.

“
Sshh, I know, I know,
”
said Jimmy, suddenly sounding more like a real-estate broker or insurance salesman,
“
Look, Paul, no one is more invested in seeing you get through this problem than me. Okay? Okay. This is just a setback. We
’
re still going to do what we came to do. You just need to calm down, shut up, and stop being so fucked up so we don
’
t spook the kid in there. Now go stand in front of the car and have a cigarette while I call our friend Jose.
”

“
Jimmy?
”
Paul shared his tone with every eight-year-old who
’
s ever been scolded by his mother for ruining his appetite with too much cake and then comes back to the kitchen to ask for a cookie.

“
What?
”

“
Can we still stop at a liquor store?
”

Twenty more minutes had gone by and the boys had still not called. The girls were listening to an endless playlist of mp3
’
s Shelly had programmed onto her phone. The phone was plugged into her portable stereo. The girls, the stereo, and the phones all sat atop the four-poster bed.

“
Are you sure it
’
s gonna ring while it
’
s playing songs?
”

“
Yes, I
’
m sure. I
’
ve done it a million times.
”

Becky looked at her own phone, devoid of any attachments. It, too, sat mute.

“
What the fuck, they should have at least called by now, it
’
s almost midnight.
”

“
I told you, I talked to Tristan. He said they were running late, but they
’
d be here. It
’
s Jerrod
’
s fault, he
’
s the one that
’
s all fucked up. He should have been driving too.
”

“
No kidding. Tristan can
’
t drive for shit, that
’
s why I
’
m worried.
”

“
Don
’
t worry, they
’
re fine. They
’
re on the road, that
’
s why they
’
re not answering, they probably have the tunes turned up or Jerrod
’
s passed out, or something. They
’
ll be here. Tristan promised, I talked to him.
”

Becky
’
s tone turned snide.
“
I don
’
t know what you see in him anyway, he
’
s such a dweeb. Anything Jerrod tells him to do; he does, just like a little puppy. You two are so gross in love, you wouldn
’
t know if he was a half-a-fag or not.
”

Shelly let out a careful chuckle, she didn
’
t like the way this was going.
“
I think I
’
d know, he
’
s
my
boyfriend.
”

“
You know what I mean. Guys are so full of shit. It
’
s like nothing for them to keep secrets. Bros before hoes, all that bullshit. Who knows what the hell they
’
re doing.
”

“
They
’
ll be here
…
soon.
”

Becky picked up her phone and checked the charge and signal. All five bars and a full battery. She tossed it back on the bed.

“
Let
’
s smoke another one.
”

“
That was all I took out.
”

“
What happened to
‘
there
’
s more where that came from
’
?
”