The Juke (Changes Book 2) Page 9

  “Dumb? I was, wasn’t I?” he now spoke confidently. He felt the power the gun afforded him. “Yeah, I trusted people. Guess that makes me an asshole. I trusted my best friend not to fuck me over.” He coughed, then spat on Tony’s back. “I trusted the police to investigate the cunt I see kneeling before me,” and now he pressed the gun to Red’s forehead, pushing just enough to sit Red back on his heels. “I trusted too much. Guess I was pretty dumb. I fix all that tonight. I fix that when I shoot you both and then everybody hears that my two accusers were in a parking lot together.”

  “You ain’t gonna shoot me, Frank,” Red said confidently. “You don’t know me…or who my connections are.”

  “Oh, you’re so wrong,” and he pushed the barrel against his head again. “I’ve wanted to kill you since I saw you in the courtroom.” That was a lie, but it sounded good.

  Though the cold barrel was against his forehead, Red didn’t flinch. “You’re not going to kill me, Frank, because you don’t have it in you. This isn’t the first time I’ve had a gun pointed at me. I know lots of cops and lots of cons. I see in your eyes you aren’t a killer, no matter how tough you’re trying to act.”

  “Shut up, Randy!” Tony shouted from his nearly prone position.

  “He’s right, man,” Frank growled back at him. “You should shut up.”

  Red just sneered at him. Frank turned the gun back to Tony. “Sit up, Tony,” and he saw his friend jerk when he spoke to him. He lifted up slowly, pushing up with his hands on his thighs. Frank saw the fear that was absent from Red. “My old friend…here in the parking lot…shady deals at night…how deep does this go, Tony?” Tony didn’t reply, but his eyes were raining. “This was all a setup, Tony? You did all this? You planned it? You couldn’t just let Shelly file for divorce? You had to have everything?”

  “You think he’s just going to confess?” Red again, regaining control of the event. “You think this is somehow going to turn around for you, and everything will be erased?” Frank again swung the gun to Red. “The gun doesn’t solve anything. Put it down and let’s talk,” he kept on, and now Frank knew Red was planning for action. He could see the mind behind the eyes working on the problem and knew it was seconds before Red made his move.

  Thinking he could intimidate him into submission again, he inched the pistol back to Red’s forehead, but Karrick was ready this time. With both fists, he punched at the pistol. With the hammer back, the strike forced Frank’s finger to jerk just enough. The pistol erupted with a flash that both blinded and deafened him, firing into the asphalt next to Tony. Shards of tar flew up from the leaden impact. Frank almost dropped the pistol, and he swung it wildly to regain his control of it. As the pistol swung his way, Tony jumped back and rolled onto his butt, kicking up with hands and feet, as if he could kick the bullets he thought were coming his way. The loud crack had made their ears ring loudly, and each could hear his own breathing echoing in his head. Red was already ten yards from him, sprinting toward the cars to his right. Frank took aim between his pumping elbows, with the burn of gunpowder still stinging his nose. But he did not squeeze the trigger. He hesitated.

  Red was between cars and then gone.

  Frank swung the gun back to Tony, who continued kicking and clawing the air.

  The intense ringing blanked all sound. The moment seemed unreal. Surely he wasn’t a man in a parking lot with a gun. Surely his best friend wasn’t engaged in a meeting with his accuser. This wasn’t Frank’s life. His life was family. Church. Hard work.

  Inside, he yearned to run to his car and leave, but instead he refocused himself and smiled at Tony, who yelped when the barrel pointed at his face again.

  “Your friend has more balls than you do,” Frank chided. He spoke loudly above the ringing and heard his own voice as if underwater. “Are you going to jump and run? If you do, I’m ready this time.” He saw the fear on Tony’s face and his trembling hands out in front of him.

  “Frank, please…” he cried, and tears were spilling down his cheeks.

  “Why, Tony…why did you do it?”

  “I never meant for that to happen,” he shrieked.

  Frank cocked back the hammer again. “Tell me why…why, Tony…why did you have to fuck up my life?”

  “I wanted her, Frank…I wanted what you had…” Tony’s eyes were pleading at Frank’s.

  “Why didn’t you just have her file for divorce for fuck’s sake?” He adjusted the gun in his hand, and was lining up the sights with Tony’s forehead. He saw his old friend was losing his hair.

  “She wouldn’t do it…she wouldn’t leave you…I just wanted to bring you down a notch…make her see you’re not perfect…”

  Frank’s face again flushed hard. “So that’s it…get me in a fight, get me in some trouble, then steal the woman you’ve been fucking from her oblivious husband.” He was squeezing the grip so hard his forearm began to cramp.

  “I...I never meant for you to lose your job…I never thought they’d fire you over a fight. I’m sorry, Frank…I love her!”

  And the flashing memories again competed for his attention. The smell of beer and crashing glasses. The lockup. The whipping baton in the county jail. All to bring me down a notch, so that my cheating wife would leave me.

  “Are you ready to die, Tony?” And he lessened his grip and stroked the trigger with his index finger.

  This is it. This is where it ends. There’s no turning back now. I kill him, then kill myself. She can lose everything all in one moment. Let that bitch suffer. Maybe she knew all along. She must have.

  “No, Frank!” Tony shrieked. “No…NO!”

  “The life you took from me was all I had!” Frank shouted, not just to be heard. “You took one hundred percent of everything…one hundred percent of who I was. Why shouldn’t I kill you? Why should you live? Why should you win?”

  “Please God…” he pleaded, and now his voice was weak. His energy gone. Resignation for the death that awaited him.

  “We die today! Today, Tony! They’re gonna bury us and all we were. We’ll rot in the same cemetery. You like that, Tony? Are you ready to die? Just remember, you put us here. We die today because of you. You wanted what I had, and you killed us both, motherfucker!”

  He would squeeze off four more rounds, and then use the last one on himself. It would all end neat and tidy. Crime of passion. Jealous ex seeking revenge. Let the cops and local papers sort out who did what. Maybe his family would learn about this meeting and put things together. Maybe enough would care to clear his name posthumously. Tony was bawling openly, preparing himself to die. Tony mouthed the word “No” but only croaking chokes came out.

  An ammonia smell reached him, and Frank saw Tony had peed himself, and a large wet spot was on the ground beneath him. Acid washed jeans with a deep blue patch.

  It would not occur to him until later, but it was the pee stain that changed his heart. His best friend, with whom he had shared so much of his life, was a small man covered in his own urine, rolling around in a parking lot. A little boy scared for his life. A sniveling runt who never thought he would pay for his actions. He looked like a dying cockroach, hands and feet busily working to block the inevitable copper-jacketed lead bullet that would crush his bone and muscle, ripping holes in his organs and letting the blood flow out of him.

  Pity, it was. He hadn’t lost empathy, no matter the injustice Tony had sent his way.

  Frank stepped forward to build his nerve, the pistol in his hand leveled straight at Tony’s forehead, arm stuck straight out, elbow locked, barrel just two feet away from its target. The pistol was the sharpened tip at the edge of a spear. Tony’s hands and feet continued to kick and swing. He then turned his face to the side, eyes clinched tight, waiting for the explosion that would end his life.

  Resignation and surrender.

  And then Frank turned and ran back to his car.

  PART III: THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW

  XI

  Just north of Jasper Count
y in the borderland straddling old and new worlds, a panel van with Mississippi plates pulled to the shoulder. A hulking man with thick, meaty hands and a grimy ball cap motioned him in. Frank threw his army surplus duffel bag onto the fast-food wrappers and then climbed in after it, wrapping his legs around the bag as he slammed the door. He tried not to shake off too much of the rain, so he sat dripping. He knew there was a towel at the top of his duffel, but underneath it was his pistol. Better to avoid that. He winced slightly at the acrid body odor of his host.

  “Thanks for picking me up. Pretty wet out.”

  “Yeah, pretty nasty. How did you end up out here on the highway?” His voice was rough and deep, like an old diesel engine. The driver jerked the van into traffic.

  “I’m hitching. Just wanted to see the countryside.” He wanted to say something more introspective, but didn’t have anything.

  “Getting dark soon…you might’ve had to sleep out in this rain…”

  “Yeah, glad you came along. Didn’t see any overpasses up ahead.”

  He looked out at the long gray ribbon. It cut a four-lane path through the trees on either side. The storm obscured the outer edges of the horizon. Headlights hit the pools that collected at low points. The road humped and fell off as far as he could see.

  “So where ya headed?” he asked with a slight twang now.

  “East. Maybe Florida. Maybe up north. Not sure.”

  “Might be smart to head south until spring sets in.”

  “Yeah, I might do that. Dunno. Taking it one day at a time.”

  Frank felt the large man’s gaze on him. An unblinking stare. He didn’t turn to him and kept his eyes forward, as if he was studying the road.

  “Well, I’m going to Jackson, Miz-sippi, but up through St. Louis first to get some parts. You can ride that far, if’n you want.”

  “Thanks. Yeah. That would be great.” St. Louis sounded like a good city to work from, large enough he could stay anonymous and likely to have some shelters and cheap rooms.

  “Name’s Bill.” No hand.

  “Hey Bill. Fred Thompson.”

  “Nice to meet you, Fred.”

  “Likewise.” He wondered if Bill’s name was as fake as his own.

  He felt the old van accelerate. He thought it was a bit fast, considering the rain, but didn’t say anything. Suddenly, they jerked left, hard enough to make his head hit the window. He let out a “whoa” involuntarily.

  Flashing lights lit up the cab. He turned and looked over his shoulder. A lifted pickup with chrome brush guard was inches from the back of the van. The headlights were directly aligned with the small windows on the back swing-out door. He could see the tools and car parts scattered haphazardly in back.

  He looked at Bill, who was alternating between the road and his rearview mirror. The corner of his mouth was upturned. They were passing a row of semis, lined tightly on their right.

  The lights flashed again. Frank could see the grease inside the windshield and the garbage piled on the center console. He could clearly see the hand grenade tattoo on Bill’s neck, illuminated by the truck’s lights.

  He knew he shouldn’t, but he asked anyway. “You gonna let him by?”

  “Fuck that asshole.”

  Frank let out a nervous laugh.

  Bill’s eyes still flickered between his rearview mirror and then to the road ahead. “Assholes like that think they own the fucking highways. I have a right to be in whatever lane I want. If he doesn’t like it, he can pass me.”

  “Ah…understand, Bill.” He didn’t really, but wanted to be on his side. He pulled in breath, though, when he noted him slowing down, foot off the accelerator. “What are you doing?”

  “Gonna have some fun with this prick!” The needle slid left. The flickering lights behind him turned to high beams and stayed that way.

  “Might be best to just let him by.”

  “Fuck that! I have every right to drive how I want. He doesn’t own this fuckin’ road.”

  Frank saw the Slower Traffic Keep Right sign and the speed limit listed as 70; they were going much slower than that. He heard horns behind and around him.

  “Ready for some more fun?” Bill asked him.

  “Yeah!” But he wasn’t.

  The semis to their right had been pulling ahead. The last truck in the line moved past them. The high beams behind him disappeared, and Frank could feel the pickup swinging to the right to pass them, lights now in the side mirror.

  “Here we go!” Bill shouted with the gleeful voice of a child running out to recess. He floored the accelerator, and though old and slowed, the van jerked forward. Frank could see the large black Ford pulling past them on his side, but coming up quickly to the back of the last semi. “Yah! Look at that prick!” Bill shouted.

  Frank saw the Ford’s driver stick out his arm into the evening rain, and try to signal that he was going by. When the panel van moved forward, it cut off his path, and the large pickup had to slam on its brakes to avoid hitting the semi. The hand stuck out its middle finger as they went by. He heard the sharp crescendo and decrescendo of the Dopplered horn, at once before them, and then to the rear of them. He felt the large truck swing violently back behind them, and the high beams were again lighting the cab.

  “Did you see the look on that prick’s face?” Bill was gripping the grungy steering wheel with his meaty fists. He gave his thigh a good slap. “Man, I love showing pricks like that what I got!” His teeth were showing through the grizzled growth on his face. His eyes locked in the rearview mirror, and he was nodding to the driver behind him, acknowledging a game only one of them was playing.

  “Dude…what if this guy runs us off the road?” Frank was gripping his knees tightly. His knuckles showed white.

  “I’m not worried…you worried?”

  “A little…”

  “Don’t be a fuckin’ pussy…I ain’t scared of no pricks…if he wants a fight, I’m ready…”

  “Yeah, but I’m not.”

  Frank felt his driver’s head turn to face him and saw a blank stare coming back at him.

  The van then accelerated. Fast. Bill’s foot was to the floor again. He looked forward and then back to Frank and then forward again. Blank eyes. Dead eyes. When he reached the front of the row of semis, he pulled over hard to the right until the tires screamed on the roadside grooves and then farther onto the shoulder. Frank saw the large black Ford fly by. The passenger window was partly open, and someone threw an empty beer can at them.

  Frank felt the van grind to a jerking stop.

  “Get the fuck out,” Bill said, jerking his thumb to the door, eyes on the semis now powering by, tossing heavy sheets across the windshield.

  Frank regarded the heavy downpour outside, and then looked back at Bill. He knew his pleading look would not evoke any sympathy.

  “I said…get the fuck out, asshole!” Bill reached under his seat and produced a black semi-auto pistol. Frank popped open the door, grabbed his duffel, and was out into the rain, taking a few old burger wrappers with him. When he closed the door, the van peeled out and moved into traffic, cutting off a red Camry, which jerked hard, horn blaring. Frank watched the van drive away, a meaty forearm was out the driver’s window waving a chunky middle finger. He didn’t know if that was for him or the Toyota. Probably both.

  He looked down both sides of the highway and didn’t see an overpass in either direction. He considered the trees off the road. The trees would offer some shelter, but the ground around them was likely soaked and muddy.

  “Fuck it,” he mumbled. He slung the duffel over his right shoulder and started walking. He knew he needed to get off the highway before a cop picked him up. Even though he carried no identification, if fingerprinted he would be fed into a database of some kind. He was walking east.

  As he reached a low point between hills, he felt the rain slacken a bit. A good sign. Perhaps he could cover some distance. The trees to his right were behind a fence line. Better to walk until he
found unclaimed area. He felt his soaked shoes squishing under him. Water was down the back of his shirt, in his ears, and running over his eyelashes. This was going to be a miserable evening, even if the rain stopped.

  Something made him stop his strides, something he heard or felt. He turned and behind him saw a large red and chrome Trailways bus, struggling up the small hill he had just summited. It was shifting gears and slowing down the semi behind it. Above the windshield he saw Philadelphia in bright amber letters. He stepped one foot into the road and held out his arm to it.

  Though he couldn’t see the driver inside, the bus swung away from him, tossing water from its wheel wells. Frank felt gritty rocks in the water as it washed over him.

  But the bus then swung to the right and pulled over onto the shoulder ahead of him. Frank sprinted, duffel back tossing about on his shoulder, shoes making farting sounds as they squeezed out water and air. He reached the door as it opened.

  The voice inside wasn’t welcoming.

  “What the hell, pal…I almost ran you over!”

  “Sorry...” He stood there panting, and the bag slipped down to the ground.

  “What are you doing out here? Trying to kill yerself?”

  “No…I got dumped off out here…trying to get a lift. Somewhere.”

  He saw eyes inside peering down at him. Few passengers. His eyes adjusted, and he saw the driver’s blue uniform lit by the dash, though he couldn’t see his face in the darkness. He did his best to take on a needy countenance.

  “Look…I can’t pick up people…this is a Trailways bus. Going to Philly. These passengers are paying customers. Can I call a taxi for you or something? Do you need the police?”

  “No…please don’t.” Frank stepped up on the first step, thankful for even the tiniest covering.

  “You can’t get on this bus, pal,” the driver cautioned. But Frank didn’t step down. “You gotta get off, and I gotta get these folks to Philly.”