The Last Kind Words
by Kristofer Collins
 |
| Crossing the dark alley by Sergio Miranda |
The last kind word I heard my daddy say
Lord the last kind word I heard my daddy say
-Geeshie Wiley
Chapter 1
I’d been at Brendan’s Pub since I got the news. I’d lost track of time pouring one goddamn thing after another down my throat. It wasn’t helping any. It wasn’t time that I wanted to lose, but everything else, all those sad, worthless bits that make us who we are. That’s what I wanted to rid myself of. Like I said, it wasn’t working.
My son had killed himself.
I suppose to an observer I looked like a determined alcoholic on a binge. The few people there who knew me thought I was improvising a wake for my departed boy. I guess both interpretations brush up against the truth, but neither really gets to the heart of it.
The word of my son’s suicide arrived in the early evening of what may have been the day before, but was more likely two or three days ago. I hadn’t stepped out of the bar since I got there and between the blacking out and the lack of any clocks on the walls, well, time much like the liquor was fluid and just as easily lost down some dark hole.
It’s funny, really. I hadn’t given my son any real thought in years. We were never particularly close even before his mother divorced me. There isn’t much I can recall about the marriage. It’s the old story. High School sweethearts who don’t understand what the world can do to you. I did my hitch in the service. Saw a little light action but nothing worthy of a medal or a story. One day the letter shows up that tells me I’m going to be a father. And that scared me more than getting shot at in some jungle.
When I got home my old man got me a job working for the Post Office sorting letters and packages at the big distribution center downtown. Good pay and good benefits seemed like a good excuse to spend my weekends pissing it all away in one dive after another. Even when the kid was born I didn’t slow down. Things just got worse. The fights with his mother got violent. I imagine he lost count of how many times he watched me hit her. As a baby it just made him cry. When he got older it made him mean.
He must have been about thirteen when I broke his jaw. Not long after that I stumbled into the house around two or three in the morning, shit-faced, gargling some song I’d been playing all night on the juke. He was waiting for me. I didn’t see the baseball bat until it was too late to do anything about it. I woke up in the hospital with a tube in my arm, bandages around my head, a plaster cast encasing my back and divorce papers laying on my chest.
Maybe it was the morphine but that was the first time I felt proud of the bastard.
Needless to say after that we didn’t keep in touch. I’d hear word about him here and there, or see him through the thick barroom smoke occasionally, a girl on his arm or a crony at his side. That’s about it.
And yet there I was, drunker than I’d ever been in my life with dreams of getting drunker, and I couldn’t get the kid’s face out of my head. Not how he was the last time I saw him around, and not how he looked when the coroner pulled the sheet back. It was that fucking baby he used to be, the one I couldn’t run away from fast enough. Jesus, that poor fucking kid. I wept and drank and the days bled away but the memory of that baby’s face I so completely failed just kept getting clearer.
Chapter 2
Are you still here? What are you trying to do, kill yourself?
I looked up from where I’d been cradling my head in my arms on top of the bar, catching a little shut-eye. You’re fuckin’ hilarious, Dave, I said.
Oh, Jesus, Dave said. I wasn’t thinking. I’m sorry.
It’s alright, Dave. Don’t go frettin’ over me and mine, just keep pouring. That is if you can get those sausages you call hands around the bottle.
You’re an asshole, Crawford.
My dead son would agree, I said.
Jesus Christ, Dave muttered and walked away to get a fresh bottle. Dave was alright.
I picked up a pack of cigarettes from the bar and lit one. Much like the liquor there just wasn’t enough smoke in the world that could fill me up. I’d been smoking as hard as those industrial chimneys down around the river. The smoke pouring out of me like ghosts.
My ex-wife died a few years back. Car accident. She never was much for winter driving and one night she slid across the divider into an oncoming pick-up. If I hadn’t caught the obituary in the paper someone had left at the bar I don’t think I’d ever have known. Reading the obit, I can’t say it made me feel anything. As poorly as I treated her, she had gotten in her share of shit on her own. She never had a good word for me, which I admit I probably deserved. But she also slept around. A lot. Even before I lost all sense of proportion and started hitting her. I don’t think I deserved that at all.
But what the fuck do I know.
They didn’t need me to identify my son’s body. He was found in his apartment, his wallet right there on the table by the bed. The gun still in his hand. There was no reason to believe he was anybody but Daniel Crawford. My son. Still, I asked to see him. I don’t understand it myself, but I had to see him.
He was a bloody mess, but he was undeniably my son.
At the desk they gave me a plastic Ziploc bag that contained some of Daniel’s personal items and a few bills he’d had in his pockets. I asked about the ring but they said what was in the bag was all there was. My father had given him that ring on the day Daniel was confirmed. After the church service, standing outside on a remarkably sunny day for this town, my dad pulled the ring off of his finger and handed it to Daniel. I knew how important that ring was to my father. Which is why I got roaring drunk and stormed out of the little party back at the house; angry at my father for not giving it to me, ashamed because I understood why he couldn’t.
The bag with my son’s belongings sat in front of me on the bar. After finishing my own cigarettes, I opened the bag and took out Daniel’s. It was the same brand. I threw the loose dollar bills at Dave when he came back to refill my glass. I sealed the bag and handed him the rest of my son’s stuff and told him to throw it away. To his credit, Dave didn’t say a word. He just dropped the bag in the garbage can under the bar and then without looking at me he reached up and turned on the television.
I was watching the football scores when she walked in.
Chapter 3
I looked over at her as she sat down on the stool next to mine. She had long features and short blonde hair. No make-up, but she gave off a smell of ripe strawberries. She was wearing a thick, wool coat to keep out the January chill, and a too-short skirt to heat the place up. I guessed she was somewhere in her mid-twenties. Old enough that I didn’t need to feel embarrassed staring at her, but young enough that I didn’t have a hope of anything happening. They say young girls keep us from getting old. Mostly though, young girls only serve to remind us just how old we’ve let ourselves become.
She ordered a Stoli and lime, then turned in my direction, quickly sized me up, and asked if she could bum a smoke. I offered her the last of my son’s cigarettes. She leaned in close for me to light it. She inhaled deeply on the cig, and I inhaled her scent.
Thanks, she said.
Sure.
You stink like a distillery, she said.
Sure, I admitted. When Dave came back around I ordered another and paid for her drink.
That’s not necessary, she said.
I know, but I like a woman who doesn’t feel the need to be polite.
My mother always said never get friendly with men in bars. More used up assholes than a proctologist’s office, she laughed.
Smart woman, I said..
She was the biggest asshole of all, she said.
I couldn’t help but laugh at that. There was a time when sons and daughters respected their parents. I guess my generation put an end to that.
Dave put my drink down in front of me. I told him the lady will have another and bring us a fresh pack of smokes. Dave raised an eyebrow but refrained from making any comments. The hallmark of a good bartender isn’t the ability to listen to a drunk’s sob story, so much as it’s the understanding of when to shut the fuck up and let fools be fools.
We had a few more drinks and traded small talk. I was feeling pretty good and thoughts of my son got pushed to the side as thoughts of her naked body took their place. I was stupid with drink when I told Dave to turn on the jukebox. I felt like some music so I punched in some old tunes.
What the hell is this, she asked, as Derek and the Dominoes rattled out of the tinny box.
This is what real music sounds like, I told her through a grin.
What are you, like a million years old. Music doesn’t sound anything like this. You can’t even dance to this shit.
You can dance to anything if you got reason enough, I said doing a little heavy-footed shuffling. But I was feeling old and deflated. I sat down and snapped another drink order in Dave’s direction.
No need to get all pissy just coz I don’t like your lousy music, she laughed at me.
I had nothing to say to that. Nothing witty and certainly nothing charming. I felt my fists clench.
Let’s get some air, she said.
So I followed her outside. We leaned against the wall and smoked in silence for a few minutes.
Look... I started to say.
Mr. Crawford, your son didn’t kill himself. He was murdered, she said.
Chapter 4
How much do you actually know about your son, Mr. Crawford?
Crawford. Just call me Crawford. Not much, I admitted.
Daniel and I were...involved for some time, she said. I loved him.
Competing feelings of jealousy and relief were rising and falling in my gut. I was glad the kid had something as fine as this to come home to. At the same time...well, I was a man after all and that little package was hard to resist.
Things were really good, too, she said. We were sharing a little apartment, but we’d started talking about getting a bigger place, maybe even renting a house if we could get the money together. Then Daniel lost his job and it went to shit. He didn’t like my having to cover the bills. I told him it was okay, he’d find a job soon and everything would go back to the way it was. But you know how things are. Jobs are hard to find when you’ve only got a high school diploma. He was drinking heavily, staying out all night. He changed.
I know the type, I said.
It got to the point where we couldn’t have a five minute conversation without it blowing up into a full-scale argument, she said. One night it got real bad. I came home from work and he was shitfaced, playing records so loud the neighbor was threatening to call the police. We started yelling at each other. I was crying. I told him to turn the music down. He told me to go fuck myself. So I turned the damned thing off. That’s when he grabbed me and started shaking me. He raised his hand to hit me. I was terrified. But the look on his face. He could see what he was about to do. He looked more scared than I felt. Well, he took off fast as he could.
He came back the next night, she said. Apologizing, crying... He was so sorry. He kept saying, Babe, I’m so fucking sorry. Please, babe, please. We were both crying, holding each other. He said he found a job and everything would get better. Just don’t leave me, he said over and over. And it did get better. The new job paid well. Much better than his old job did.
Why do I get the feeling this new job wasn’t exactly on the up and up, I said.
He was dealing, she said. And those fuckers killed him.
I don’t understand, I admitted.
I was suspicious of the new money. There was too much of it too soon. So I confronted Daniel about it. We started arguing and yelling. But finally he told me where the money was coming from. I told him he had to quit. It wasn’t worth it. None of it was worth the risk. He said he had a score lined up. One big score that would set us up in style. Just give me time to do this one thing, and we’ll be set. We could get that house.
What was the plan, I asked.
He said he’d gotten a deal on a new package from one of the competitors. He’d sell from that package to his customers.
What about his employers? How was he going to get around them, I wanted to know.
He said the clientele had been dropping off. He’d been warning his people they needed to put out a better package. He’d just blame the big drop in sales on what he’d been telling them all along. That would be his reason for getting out of the business, too. No one’s buying, so thanks for the job and all, but I think I’ll be moving on.
Simple enough, I said.
Well, they found out what Daniel had going on and they killed him. How’s that for fucking simple.
I decided to shut up.
I need your help, Crawford. I can find out who pulled the trigger. I want you to help me kill him.
Chapter 5
What are we doing here, I asked. We were standing in a dirty hallway in a downtown apartment building I’d never noticed before. Something that at one point in time had been soft and wet was dried to the wall. The lights flickered producing a strobing effect. The place was making me nauseous.
This is Daniel’s place....was...this was Daniel’s place, she said and turned away from me.
Oh, I answered. I’d never been to any of the places my son had called home. After the split with his mother there was nothing to connect us anymore. They say that shit about blood being thicker than water and families always sticking together. It’s bullshit, really. Nothing holds us together other than pure, pigheaded will. You have to be stubborn to hold on to the people you care about. I never had it in me to do that heavy kind of work.
She opened the door and the stink hit us before we even stepped inside.
Jesus Christ, I said.
Oh God, she said and quickly dug her hand into her purse. She came up with a kleenex and held it to her mouth. I felt puke rising in my throat.
There’s no describing the stench of death. There’s no way you can understand the horror of it, the tangibility of it.
The apartment was a sauna. The thermostat must have been busted and the heat just cranked out of the sucker.
Daniel had been in here a couple of days before anyone knew he was dead, she said. She was clearly crying. I never should have left him alone, she said.
The landlord had left paper plates piled high with cat litter in the rooms in a vain attempt at doing something about the stink. There were little fans on the floor and the window was open. But the heat had baked in the odor of my son’s death. This apartment would never be right again.
The place consisted of three rooms. A kitchen and living area with no divider, then in the back was the bedroom and bathroom.
Why are we here, I wanted to know.
I thought there might be something that would help find the killer, she said. We need to look around.
Fine, I said. You check out here. I’ll go over the bedroom.
It was even worse in there. For awhile when I was a kid my parents made me go to a Catholic school. The nuns there beat the idea of hell as a real place into my thick skull. They’d rap my knuckles with a ruler and say that the pain I felt was the fire of hell. Those nuns were wrong. This place I was in now, this was hell. The stink of it was worse than any physical pain I’d ever experienced. You know how drunks can get late into the night, they get maudlin in the songs they play and the character of their talk. One night some sad old lush said to me, Hell is complete hopelessness. He said it was that place we all reach where no light can penetrate our hearts. Like I said, maudlin. I laughed at the old rummy that night. But he was right. The stench in this apartment could only be described as total hopelessness.
There were clothes all over the floor and a good coating of dust on the couple of pieces of cheap furniture. But the bed...
I’ve mentioned my time in the military. I never got into anything too hairy myself. But a buddy of mine described a patrol he was on one time. He was walking point and it was like the whole world had disappeared. It was that quiet. He was going down this bit of path, the rest of the company about a click back. He’s walking along, silence all around him, when he notices something moving at the base of a bush. He’s a cautious guy so he inches along right up to the thing. He can’t believe it. It’s an arm. A severed human arm and kind of moving around all on it’s own. He said he was sure he had heat stroke. He had to be hallucinating. He pokes at it with the barrel of his rifle. And the thing keeps moving, like it has somewhere to go. He pokes it again, real hard this time. It rolls over a little and he can see it’s full of maggots. There are so many maggots in the arm they’ve got the damn thing moving.
My son’s bed was moving. I mean the sheets and shit. I pulled the cover back and there were maggots all over the fucking thing. There’s dried blood all over and these goddamn things are eating it and there was this small sound coming from them like two pieces of smooth wood rubbing together. That’s when I saw the blood all over the wall. The blood wasn’t red like they show it in the movies. Real blood dries a rusty brown. There were bits of skull and brain stuck in the blood, too.
This was hell. Jesus Christ, Daniel...what have I done?
Chapter 6
I pulled it together enough that I could give the room a once over. I didn’t know what the hell I was looking for but I looked anyway. I don’t know at what point in my search through my son’s drawers I started looking for the ring, but that was the focus of what I was doing. If he wasn’t wearing it, it must still be here somewhere. I pulled apart the dresser, then went through the closet. I got down on my knees and checked under the bed, blindly ran my hand across the floor.
This proved to be a fruitless search. I got up off the floor and looked around. Where would he put that ring? Maybe, somehow, it came off him when they were taking him out of the bed. I grabbed the sheets and blanket and pulled the bed apart. Maggots falling everywhere across the floor as I shook out the bedclothes. I had blood on my hands now, but no ring. That’s when I lost it.
I started stamping on the maggots, just crashing my feet down on the fucking things splattering them everywhere. I grabbed the dresser and pushed it over and started kicking that, too. I put my foot through the back of it. It felt, if not good, then better than anything else I’d done these last few days. I guess I was screaming, too. I don’t remember that. The girl came running back and pulled me out of the room. She said she’d never seen anyone look the way I looked right at that moment.
She also said that she found something.
Chapter 7
The next night we were sitting in my car outside the Iron City Social Club, a down-at-heel after-hours joint known more for the violent nature of its clientele than for the bilge they had on tap.
You think we’ll learn something in there, I asked.
Don’t tell me you’re nervous, she said.
Not at all, but this place can get kinda rough. Stay close, I said.
She just laughed at me when I said that.
Please, I can take care of myself, old man, she said and started laughing again. Try not to lose it in there, okay, she said.
She was right. I was an old man. And a stupid one at that. What the fuck was I doing. Was she serious about killing the guy who’d done my son? And why was I really there? Justice or some other sadder reason. It’s true that I was angry some asshole had taken my son out of this shitty world, and yeah the son of a bitch had to pay. But if I was being honest with myself, which at the moment I wasn’t, I was angrier with myself than the killer.
With a guy like me for a father my son never really had a chance, did he?
But at that moment my over-boiling self-pity was in a holding pattern with my fury. And both were getting overruled by the hard-on I’d been carrying for this girl who’d been laughing in my face since I’d met her.
We entered the club to some shaggy guitar work and the boozy blue wails of Jim Morrison. Someone was prancing around in front of the jukebox, sickly contorting himself to Jimbo’s shitfaced come-ons. There was a free table in the back near the toilets. We sat down. She scanned the bar, clearly looking for someone in particular.
So explain to me why we’re here, I asked.
I told you at Daniel’s. I found something, she said.
Yeah, but what exactly, I asked.
A matchbook, she said.
A matchbook, I replied.
Yeah, she said.
Okay. Explain, I said.
When Daniel started showing all that new cash I decided to follow him and find out what he was up to, she said.
So, I said.
So he came here. A lot. I found a matchbook from here with a name and time. I figure this guy is as good a place to start as any, she said.
Who is he, I asked.
Wait here, she said and got up and walked over to the bar.
I sat there like a useless lump and watched her ass move under the tight black denim of her jeans. She got the bartender’s attention and leaned across the bar to whisper in his ear. I felt a twinge of jealousy then a larger, sharper twinge of stupidity. Then I felt the cold barrel of a gun as it was jabbed into the back of my neck.
Another Doors tune started up. I never cared for the band, even back when they actually mattered. But right now I had to admit Jim was right. None of us has a chance in hell at getting out of here alive.
Chapter 8
Try turning around, asshole, and they’ll be picking the shit in your head out of the walls long after everyone’s forgotten whose brains they are, a low, grating voice said.
Consider me a statue, I said.
I consider you an asshole, asshole. Why’d she bring you in here, he asked.
The symphony bored us so we thought we’d have a peek at how the other half lives, I said.
Funny, he said. Then he clubbed me with the hilt of his gun.
Jesus fuckin’ Christ, I said, stars exploding inside my skull. The barrel was in my neck again.
Try again and I’d better like the answer or more than blood’s gonna be leaking out of you, he said.
We were in the neighborhood, we wanted a drink, I said.
You’re lying, he said. I could hear the hammer pulling back.
You’re the one with the gun, man. I just wanted a drink, I said.
Why’s she talking to the bartender, he asked.
Well, let’s do the math. We want drinks. The bartender’s got the drinks. My guess – she’s ordering the drinks, I said. He clubbed me again, but not so hard this time. Just hard enough to remind me of my status as asshole no. 1. He seemed to be thinking things over.
I’ll be seeing you real soon, motherfucker, he said and then he was gone down the back hallway and out the rear exit. I waited a moment then went after him. The alley was empty, just a pair of tail-lights turning the corner and gone.
I walked back into the bar, rubbing the back of my head. Probably had a concussion. She was back at the table.
Jesus, every time I look at you you’re in worse shape old man, she said but she wasn’t laughing for once.
Chapter 9
Shit, she said. We need to lay low.
I had just explained why the back of my head was red and wet. She took it badly, but not for the reason I would have liked.
You’re an asshole, old man. You’ve fucked us real fuckin’ good.
No, please, your concern is unnecessary. I’m only leaking blood out of my fuckin’ head here. I can feel bits of my skull moving around under the skin. So thanks for the sympathy, I said. I was getting real tired of being the designated asshole on this outing.
We have to go, she said. Now. We’ll go to your place.
So we did. She drove while I tried to stop bleeding.
I take it you know my new best pal, I said.
No, but I can guess who he is, she said.
Enlighten me, I said, a thick wad of toilet paper pressed to my ringing head.
The guy we were in there to find, well it appears he found us instead, she said.
How, I asked.
He must know what I look like. Spotted us when we came in, she said.
It made sense to me, okay, so I said nothing. I’d just been clubbed and I wasn’t thinking too clearly.
We were driving across town and the street lamps looked like dead, black trees, their lights like flowers in bloom. I had the window rolled down and my head leaning out a little. The cold air felt good, made me feel less like I was about to puke and pass out. But that didn’t stop me from doing both.
Chapter 10
After coming to, courtesy of a few sharp slaps from the girl, we made our way up to my apartment. It was small and not particularly clean but be it ever so humble, right? I discarded the clothes covered in sick and took a quick and very hot shower. Under the thrumming water I tried to regain some hold on myself and wash the blood away. Watching the red clotted water circle down the drain, taking gulps from a can of beer I grabbed from the fridge, I calmed down, muscles relaxed. I felt completely sober for the first time in days.
Standing in front of the mirror, I wiped the steam away and examined my mug. Worse for the wear, certainly, but not nearly as bad as I expected. I dried off, threw on a mostly-clean pair of jeans and a flannel shirt. Out in the main room she was standing to the side of the window, lightly raising the blinds to glance down at the street rapidly covering in new fallen snow.
Think we were followed, I asked.
Jesus, you frightened me Crawford, she said. She was visibly shaken. It’s the first time I saw anything approximating fear in her. It was appealing. Much better than the whole, You’re an asshole routine she’d been treating me to for most the night.
Why don’t you come away from there and have a drink, I suggested.
Maybe, she said then took another look at the street.
Have a drink, then why don’t you take a shower, too. It might calm your nerves, I said.
Crawford, these guys are serious, she said. They killed your son.
That stung just the way she wanted. In the shower I’d been able to avoid thinking about Daniel and the horror I found in his bedroom. Now it was back. I could feel very black things rising in me.
I know that, I said very quietly. Did you think I’d forgotten?
I don’t know what goes on in your head. I just know we’re in trouble, she said. She poured herself a drink and said, I think I will take that shower.
I put a towel out for you. It’s clean, I said as the bathroom door closed.
I pulled another beer from the fridge and gulped half of it right away. I walked over to the window and parted the blinds. I scanned the street. All quiet. No cars driving by or anything. Then I noticed a shadow in the alley across the way. It could be a person, I thought. Or it could be fucking anything. She’s got me all keyed up.
My head was still killing me so I decided to try to lie down and get a little rest. I stopped and listened at the bathroom door. The sound of the water rat-a-tat-ing, the wisps of steam that floated up from under the door...I could close my eyes and see her sudsing her body up and down, tiny beads of water broken out all over her skin like some wonderful rash. I felt woozy. The blood was rushing from my brain to other, hungrier, regions.
I propped up the pillows and sat back in the bed. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. If I had a concussion this would be a very bad idea. I can’t say I cared. I was asleep in no time at all.
Chapter 11
Crawford.
...
Crawford?
...
Crawford, wake up!
I opened my eyes real slow and none too happy to be dragged out of a black and soundless sleep.
Goddammit, I said.
There was a man down in the street, Crawford. I think he’s watching this place, she said.
I rubbed my eyes, then went to rub the back of my head...fuck!...still hurt.
Come on, Crawford. Get up. I think he’s found us, she said.
Wait here, I said, and walked into the other room. I parted the blinds just a hair and checked it out.
No one down there now, I said walking back into my room.
Maybe not now, but there was someone down there. I saw him, Crawford.
Alright, I said. I’ll take a closer look.
I put on my shoes and jacket. I took a sharp knife out of the kitchen drawer and walked down the two flights of stairs to the street. The apartment building was still and quiet. I don’t think I’d ever experienced that quality of silence in the place. There was always someone yelling at someone else or watching the tv at full blast or playing music. There wasn’t even the soft murmurs of conversations behind closed doors. All that quiet made me uneasy.
It was the same out on the street. The snow was still coming down. The snowflakes were fat and furry, turning the black winter sky into television static. The whole street was covered. Cars, fire hydrants, all of it disappeared under a heavy white sheet. I crossed the street to the entrance of the alley to investigate the shadow I’d seen earlier. No footprints or anything but in this snow that didn’t mean much.
I walked up to the corner and looked around. Then I checked the other end of the street. Nothing there either. Something about the alley, though. I had another look. No difference this time. I thought the girl’s paranoia was getting to me. I chuckled a little right out there in the open, snow draping me so that I looked the same as the street. That’s when I noticed the butt.
A light brown cigarette butt was just barely visible there in the snow. If it hadn’t been so carelessly tossed aside, against the wall where the snow wasn’t so deep, I’d never have noticed it. I crouched down and picked it up. Then I brushed the snow away and found a few more. Someone had been standing here in the shadows smoking the night away.
Shit, I said, my hot breath rising up into the night, the snow coming down like crazy like it wanted to bury us all.
Chapter 12
We need to leave. Now, I said walking back into the apartment.
Is he out there, she asked.
I didn’t see him, but he was definitely there. Looked like he’d been watching the place for some time. Probably doubled back at the I.C. and followed us here, I said.
Where are we going, she wanted to know.
I don’t know, but we have to move now before he comes back, I said.
She grabbed her coat and we quickly made our way to the car. I got behind the wheel and tried to start the beast. It revved and coughed and gave out. I tried again with the same result. Shit, I said.
What. What’s happening, she asked.
It’s dead, I said trying again and this time the old wreck didn’t even give me the courtesy of a dying sputter. We’ll have to go on foot, I said.
Are you crazy, she said.
Probably, I said. Come on, let’s move.
We got out of the car and started walking fast. We went up Fifth, then cut over to Calvary. It was so cold and quiet. The only sound other than our frantic breathing and footfalls in the snow was the clicking of the traffic lights as they flashed their reds. The whole town was closed up tight.
We stopped outside Willeford’s Odeon, the rundown movie house, to catch our breath. A few of the letters from the title of the last feature to play there were still stuck to the marquee. L NG DBY. My lungs ached from the frigid air. The girl was breathing hard, too, and she looked tired and afraid. Snowflakes caught in her short blonde hair.
Up the street I noticed a black car idling with its headlights off. Odd, I thought. Then came that moment of recognition. He’s here, I said.
What, she said wheezing a little.
Our friend, I said. He’s found us. Look, I said nodding in the direction of the car.
Oh my god, she said.
I grabbed her arm hard and took off running. She did her best to keep up. The black car hit its brights and charged after us. The snow was deep and made running difficult.
We took a hard right into a narrow alley off Garrison Way, knocking over a bunch of old garbage cans, and ran full tilt into the intersection at Loucks and Silsbe slipping and sliding across the snow covered pavement. We went north on Johnson, then east on Donato landing on Steck Boulevard. The girl hit a patch of ice and went down hard. Looking over my shoulder as I lifted her up I couldn’t see the black car anywhere.
Jesus, my chest feels like it’s going to explode, she said wiping the snow from her clothes.
I don’t see him, I said. We can rest for the moment.
I scanned the streets. Nothing. Let’s pick up the pace, I said.
Is he back, she asked whirling around wide-eyed.
No, but he will be, I said. The angels have abandoned us tonight, honey.
She laughed a little at that, gulping and puffing the cold air.
Let’s go, I said. Up there, I pointed at Bachorski’s Bar & Grill where the lights were still on. We can lay low in there. Come on, I said.
She let out a scream when she put her weight on her right ankle.
Jesus, my leg, she said.
I crouched down and took a look. Does this hurt, I said putting some pressure on it.
Fuck yeah, that hurts, she said.
Shit, I said. Probably sprained. Lean on me, okay. Let’s go.
Slowly we hobbled our way up to Bachorski’s which, thank Christ, was open.
I got her into a dark little booth where we could watch the door. I’ll get us some whiskey, I said and went up to the bar.
Waiting for the whiskey I scanned the barroom. A typical late night crowd unaware of anything but the glass in front of them. How I envied them. At least we were out of the snow, inside somewhere warm with whiskey on the way. Safe for the moment. What a fucking night, I thought.
The bartender put the drinks down and I paid for them. I had just picked them up when the guy on the stool next to me turned around and said in that same low gravelly voice, Did you really think I wouldn’t find you, asshole.
Chapter 13
You remember this, don’t you, he said giving me a good look at the gun under the bar.
How could I forget, I said rubbing the back of my head.
Move, he said. He walked me back to the booth. The girl’s face, usually a nice mix of contempt and bravado, fell apart when she saw who was with me.
Hello, bitch, he said to the girl.
Fuck you, she said gathering her mask with a practiced ease.
Both of you in front of me, he said. Walk to the back there. Down the steps.
He walked us down to the basement. The clutter and detritus of a million drunks’ dearest dreams was stacked all around. Cases of empty bottles – beer, whiskey, wine, all of it. The memory of where I was and what I was doing only a short time ago hit me square between the eyes. What I wouldn’t give to be back on my stool at Brendan’s Pub drowning myself in liquor and remorse.
Over there, he said waving the gun. Move.
I could hear the muffled footsteps of the people upstairs. Little clouds of dust broke free from the ceiling as the blissfully unaware drunks passed back and forth above us. Me and the girl were standing up against the stacks of empties. Fitting, I thought, dying here surrounded by the empty bottles of the cheap swill I’d been using to run from my life ever since I was a kid. From there to here, it wasn’t much of a journey. It wasn’t much of anything, really.
I looked at the girl. My son loved her. My son was dead and it looked like I’d be joining him tonight. But the girl. I had to try to get her out of this, if only not to fail my son one last time.
You fucking son of a bitch, she said.
That’s real funny coming from you, he said and he did actually laugh a little.
Fuck you, she said.
How did you think this was gonna go. Did you think this asshole could help you, he said pointing the gun directly at me.
That’s right, I thought. Just keep the gun on me.
Just let the girl go, I said. We can settle this shit just you and me. Haven’t you done enough to her by killing my son.
Your son, he asked, a look of confusion on his face.
Daniel Crawford, I said. My boy. You murdered him.
That was about the funniest thing he’d ever heard. He was nearly doubled over he was laughing so hard.
Fuck you, I said. Fuck you.
He was wiping tears from his eyes.
You poor, stupid son of a bitch, he said. I didn’t kill your son.
That’s when the girl dove for the gun.
Chapter 14
I stood there frozen. If he didn’t kill my son then what the fuck was going on. Before I could process any of this, I found myself jumping into it, grabbing for the gun. The three of us struggled, pushing each other, trying to wrench the gun away from the others. The girl dug her nails into the back of his hand. He recoiled slightly and I pushed the girl out of the way. She fell backwards over some loose boards on the floor, her bad ankle giving out on her, and as I continued to fight for it the gun went off.
The noise was so loud in there, bouncing off the cement walls and empty kegs, it caught us all by surprise. In that moment I got the gun away from him. I threw a right and punched him in the eye. He fell back and I was the only one standing, there in the middle of the basement, the gun in my hand.
I could hear the people above us running around. The shot probably sobered them up real good and now they were knocking over tables, dropping glasses to the floor, and trying to get the fuck out of there.
I looked at the gun in my hand, then at the man splayed on the floor. He had a hand up to his eye.
You fucking asshole, you have no idea what the fuck you’re doing, he said. I’m a cop, motherfucker.
I heard the girl groan behind me and I turned my head in her direction. That’s when the son of a bitch tried grabbing something inside his coat.
I put three bullets in his chest right there. He just slumped over.
I turned back to the girl.
Let’s get the fuck out of here, I said.
She made some gurgling sound and I saw she’d been shot. Trying to save her, I got her shot. That’s the asshole I am.
I bent down over her, dropped the gun, and started apologizing like some fool.
Oh, Jesus, I said. Oh, Christ. I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Come on, I can still get you out of here. Get you some help. Christ.
She looked at me with such hatred. Then the light went out of her eyes and I was the only one left alive in there.
Chapter 15
That’s when you cops showed up, I said to the detective.
You’re in the middle of a real fuckin’ mess, he said. He offered me a cigarette and I took it.
Thanks, I said lighting the smoke and sucking it all the way down.
You killed a police tonight, Crawford. No getting around that, he said.
I thought he was going for another gun, I said.
Yeah, when we found him his badge was in his hand, he said.
Christ, I said.
We’d been on to him for awhile. He was crooked, cutting deals with offenders, blackmailing them. We didn’t have any hard evidence, though, and he had the right kind of friends. And bad cops are still cops and that means something in this town so some of us were willing to look the other way. But this right here is just a mess of shit, he said. Someone’s going to have to pay.
I’m the fall guy, huh, I said.
Crawford, you were the patsy the minute that girl walked into your life, he said.
I don’t..., I started to say.
She murdered your son, Crawford, he said. Her. She’s the one who put a bullet in your boy’s head.
I couldn’t form any words.
As best as we can figure, he said, they’d been arguing over the take on their little drugstore. That’s right, they were in it together. The cop you iced was about to bust them when he found the girl staging the body.
Still no words.
Looks like he tried shaking her down and she ran to you. Figured to put your stupid ass between him and her, he said.
What could I say.
Guess it almost worked, too. Almost, he said with a smile starting to show.
I looked at him grinning at me and I couldn’t say a fucking word. The cigarette rancid in my mouth.
You’ll stand trial for killing a cop, he said. They’ll paint you as her accomplice. Try to say you were in on your own son’s killing. Get yourself a good lawyer, Crawford, you’re going to need one. Juries don’t much like cop killers. Or fathers who murder their sons. Even when the killer’s as fuckin’ stupid as you.
He let out a heavy sigh as he stood up.
You poor asshole, he said shaking his head but still with the little grin.
He reached into his pocket.
We found this on the girl, he said. Thought you’d want it.
He slid a clear plastic bag across the table to me. Inside, the gold dull from the years, my father’s name inside the band, was the ring. My father’s ring. Daniel’s ring. Now, it was mine. The final stop down the Crawford bloodline. Unlike me the ring seemed to have a million things to say, but only I could hear the words. They were all meant for me and none of them were kind.
The End
Kristofer Collins is the editor of The Pittsburgh Book Review.
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