The Hooker: A Reprehensible Acts Story (5 page)

Lance’s
hand wasn’t shaking when he pulled the trigger.
 
It was rock steady.
 
And his aim
was perfect.
 
The bullet opened up a hole
in Blade’s chest.
 
The pimp crumpled,
collapsing onto his back.
 
Lance still
had the gun pointed at the spot where Blade had been standing.
 
I snatched the .32 from his grasp.
 
My action jerked Lance out of his shock.
 
We rounded the picnic table to home in on
Blade.
 
He wasn’t dead.
 
He breathed like fishhooks snared his every
breath.
 
He fumbled for his drawn automatic.
 
The gun was inches out of reach.
 
I kicked the weapon away from him before
picking it up myself.
 

“Fucking
amateurs,” Blade wheezed.

We
had to go.
 
Lance’s shot must have
alerted the neighbors backing onto the park, but no one was coming.
 
No one was fool enough to investigate.
 
But I’d guarantee someone had called
911.
 
The problem was Blade.
 
He was finished.
 
Lance had dealt him a mortal injury.
 
He’d be dead in minutes.
 
But in minutes, he might have someone to
listen to his dying confession.
 
For both
Lance’s and my sakes, I couldn’t take a chance.
  
I aimed the .32 at Blade.

Blade
laughed but it came out as a gurgle.

“No,”
Lance pleaded.

I
wasn’t in the mood to argue.
 
The pimp
wouldn’t be my executioner.
 
I fired a
single round into his face.
 
The impact
whipped Blade’s face away as if he was ashamed of my action.
 
Mercifully, it prevented me from seeing the
violence inflicted by the bullet.
 
The
second shot raised frantic cries from the nearby houses.

Kneeling
by Blade’s side and pocketing the gun, I said, “Let’s go.”

“No.”

I
made a bid for the money, but Blade’s blood had soaked the envelope and the
bills inside.
 

“What?”
I said, stuffing the cash back inside Blade’s jacket.

“This
is too much.
 
Two people are dead.”

“I
know.
 
That’s why we have to get the fuck
out.”

Lance
shook his head.
 
“No.
 
It’s time to stop trying to plug the holes
and come clean.”

“Are
you crazy?”

“No.”
 
Lance flopped back down on the picnic table’s
bench seat.
 
“Just tired.”
 

“Come
on.”
 
I hooked an arm under Lance’s
shoulder and tried to move him.
 
In the
distance, police sirens wailed.

Lance
shook me off.
 
“I’m not going.”

“Come
on,” I growled.

He
waved me away.
 
“You go, I’ll stay.”

I
stared at Lance, trying to pierce the cloud between the two of us.
 
Resignation made it through the gloom, back
to me.
 
I shook my head and rifled
Lance’s pockets for his car keys.
 
“Have
it your own way,” I said and raced back to the Cherokee.

“I’ll
tell them everything.”
 
Lance’s words
chased and caught me.

I
came to a shuddering halt,
then
stormed back.
 
The siren wails were getting louder, minutes
away at most.

“What
do you mean?”

“I’ll
tell them the truth.”

My
anger and fear became fused and took over.
 
I jerked out the .32 and jammed it in Lance’s face.
 
“You’d sell me out?”

“Running
isn’t going to save us.
 
Honesty is.
 
Look where lies and deception have gotten
us.”

“I
can’t believe you want to blow it all, when we’re this close to getting away
with it.”

Lance
laughed.
 
“We were never close to getting
away with it.
 
And unless we stop, we’ll
never be at peace.”

“You
shit.”

“Mark,
you have no idea what it was like when you were in Hawaii.
 
Every day I was searching the papers to see
if they were onto us and I started believe we had gotten away with it, until
Blade called.
 
Then I thought if Blade
was dead, my problems would be gone.”
 
Lance shook his head.
 
“But
killing him only starts things all over again.
 
This will never end, unless we end it.”

I
ground the automatic tighter against Lance’s cheekbone.
 
“I won’t let you do this to me.”

“I
have to.
 
I’m a friend and I’m doing what
only a friend would do.”

He
wasn’t being a friend.
 
He was being
chicken.
 
He’d given in.
 
He was scared to go down alone and he wanted
to take someone else along for the ride.
 
Well, I wasn’t coming.

“Please
stay.
 
You know I’m right.”

Lance
was right.
 
If I killed him, I would be
running again with more lies to cover up.
 
And in that briefest of moments, it all made sense.
 
I knew what had to be done.
 
I nodded and lowered the gun.

“You’re
right,” I said.

Lance
smiled.
 
“I knew you’d understand.”

“I
do understand,” I said, smiling back.
 
“But I can’t.
 
I don’t have a
choice.”
 

I
jammed the gun under Lance’s jaw.
 
He
guessed what I was going to do.
 
There
was sadness and regret in his eyes the second before I pulled the trigger,
blowing the top of his head off.
 

The
cops were moments away, but I knew exactly what to do.
 
And, I had to be fast.
 
Using my shirt, I rubbed my prints off the
gun and stuck it in Lance’s right hand.
 
I did the same with Blade’s gun.
 
I took a second to examine the scene I’d created.
 
There were more than a thousand words to
describe this picture.
 
The explanation
was obvious.
 
Lance slumped to his right,
gore spilling from the hole in his head.

I
jammed Lance’s car keys back in his pocket, and bolted for the creek that ran
through the park.
 
As I piled down the
bank, the cops arrived.
 
The creek was
dry, as it is for eight months of the year, and I raced along it before the
cops had a chance to cordon off the area.
 
I disappeared through a box culvert and when I emerged, I was on the
streets.

I
found a bus stop and waited innocently.
 
It wasn’t until the bus arrived that I caught
my reflection in the windows lit from the inside.
 
Lance’s blood speckled my face and Blade’s
stained my hands.
 
I waved the bus away
without the driver seeing my condition and when the bus was out of sight, I
walked the streets, keeping in the shadows.
 
Eventually, I found a standpipe outside an abandoned duplex and washed
my hands and face.
 

I
caught another bus and was home before Jane became too inquisitive.
 
I bundled my blood-speckled jacket in the
garage.
 
In the morning, I would trash it
and replace it.
 
Luckily, the jacket was
new and still in the stores.
 
That done,
all I had to do was sit back and wait for the cops to come knocking.
     

***

The cops came to my office late the
following morning.
 
I didn’t have to act
innocent.
 
Lance’s shootout with Blade
had made the local TV news and the newspapers by breakfast.
 
Jane wasn’t a problem.
 
She never watched TV before going to
work.
 
I could save the shocking news for
tonight.
 
To help give me credibility, I
had called the cops when I hit the office, saying I knew Lance and asking for
details.
 
Of course, they wouldn’t give
me any info but my name was on record as contacting them first.
 
The detectives introduced themselves and my
boss was good enough to let me use his office.

“Mr.
Page, we understand that Lance Booth was a friend of yours,” Detective Francis
English said.
 

English
was African-American, a linebacker of a man, but for all his looks, his manner
was gentle.
 
He was nothing like his
partner, Detective Rick Taylor, who was young and ferret-like with a piercing
stare.

“Yes,”
I said.
 
“He was one of my closest
friends.”

“So,
you should be able to shed some light on last night’s events,” Taylor chipped
in.

“I
wish I could.
 
I was hoping you could
tell me something.”

“You
have no information about last night’s incident?” English asked.

I
shook my head.
 
“To be honest, I don’t
think I really believe it.
 
It’s hard
enough to take in that’s he’s dead.”
 
I
shook my head again, lost for words.
 
It
was Oscar winning stuff.
 

English
and Taylor pressed a little harder but without any force.
 
Basically, we shadowboxed, no one throwing a
real punch.
 
I played innocent,
pretending not to know anything.
 
I
pretty much had the play mapped out in my head, but I didn’t want to fumble the
ball and give them something that would raise suspicion.
 
I couldn’t blow it, if I said nothing.
 
I asked for details, but they were giving up
as much as I was.
 
After ten minutes, we
ran out the clock.

I
saw them out.
 
As I threaded them through
the office, heads poked up from cluttered cubes.
 
Prairie dog faces scanned me to see if I was
a witness or a criminal.
 
To show my
innocence, and to highlight that I wasn’t blind, I nodded to some and waved to
others.
 
I held the door open and
followed the detectives out onto the street.

English
handed me his card.
 
“Call me anytime, if
you think of anything.”

“Of
course,” I promised.
 
“Anything and I’ll
call.”

We
shook and parted.
 
I returned to my
office and told my boss I was taking the rest of the day off.
 
He totally understood.
 
I called Jane to tell her.
 
She was in tears when she answered.
 
I told her I was coming straight over.
 
We’d go somewhere and talk it out.
 
I imagined the scene.
 
She’d cry buckets and I would be the strong
one.
 
Holding her, gently rocking,
telling her it would be okay.
 
Maybe, I’d
even shed a few tears of my own.
 
I would
be everything the good friend should be, mourning the death of his best friend.

Fumbling
for keys in the staff parking lot, English’s business card came out.
 
I examined it and grunted.
 
I had no intention of calling.
 
There was no need.
 
I knew they’d be back.

At
first glance, Lance and Blade’s murder/suicide looked convincing enough.
 
But I hadn’t had the time to make the
deception perfect.
 
There were loose
ends.
 
Even a third rate cop would see
the cracks.
 
But I’d taken that into
account.

Oh
yeah, I knew they would be back, but I was ready for them.

***

It took them three days to figure
out I was full of shit.
 
This time, my
interrogation wasn’t a friendly discussion over tea in the boardroom.
 
It was
downtown
in a utilitarian and musty smelling interview room.
 
They had their game faces on and I declined a
lawyer.

“How
dumb do you think we are?” Taylor accused.
 

He
leaned over the table at me, all bad cop style.
 
English was totally different.
 
He
was at ease, lounging in his chair with his hands resting across his stomach,
his bulk flexing the seatback to breaking point.
 
I wasn’t ruffled.