Do They Know I'm Running? by David Corbett Read Free Book Online Page B

“How come you’re not pitching in with money?”
    “Who says I’m not?”
    “You’re really starting to piss me off with this.”
    “I’ve got a line on a band gig. Maybe.”
    “Maybe?”
    Roque shrugged. “Hard to say.”
    “Really? Hard to say what, your family needs the bread? Hard to say they’re fucked, my old man deported?”
    An eighteen-wheeler thundered past, rattling the pickup’s windows. The crow on the gutter fluttered its wings. “Maybe we can get a lawyer.”
    “Fucking hell—you stupid? What’s a lawyer gonna do except take our money? You think—” Happy stopped short, glancing in his rearview mirror. A patrol car pulled into the strip-mall lot. Murmuring, “What’s this asshole want,” he stubbed out his cigarette, dropped the butt between his feet. “Keep talking,” he told Roque.
    “About what?”
    “About anything. So we don’t look like we’re casing this dump.”
    Roque let his glance dart once out the cab’s back window, then started babbling, launching into the first thing that came to mind. Happy, eyes glued to the mirror, spoke to the reflection: “Come on, fuckwad. You run the plates, we’re gonna do this.” With painful slowness, the patrol car eased along the storefronts, shining a flashlight through the window glass.
    “Open the glove box,” Happy said.
    Roque obeyed. The butt of a pistol lay exposed within a folded newspaper. “Jesus—”
    Happy turned toward him, their eyes met. The menacing sorrow was gone, replaced by emptiness. “Tell me another story.”
    “You’re not gonna shoot a cop.”
    “I’ll shoot you, you don’t calm down. Tell me another story.”
    The black-and-white, having finished its check of the stores, eased toward the end of the parking lot, only to circle back and come abreast of the pickup, so the driver sides matched up. The cruiser’s tires were muddy, the windshield caked with rainy grime. The cop lowered his window and gestured for Happy to do the same. The glove box remained open.
    The officer said, “Mind telling me your business here?”
    Happy turned so his body blocked whatever view the cop might have through the window. “I’m just sitting here talking with my cousin, officer. He’s getting married next month and he’s worried about money.”
    The cop studied Happy at length, an occasional attempt to glance past him toward Roque. The man had a thick putty-colored face with baggy eyes, more bored clerk than cop. “Kinda early, don’t you think?”
    “Only time we had. We both gotta head off for work soon.”
    “What say you do that now.”
    “Yes, sir. You wanna see my license and registration?”
    Happy reached for the glove box. Roque’s throat closed up, he couldn’t get his breath.
    The cop glanced away, dipping his head toward his radio, deciphering a sudden shock of words ensnarled in static. “Just get to where you need to be.”
    “Okay, sure.” Happy toggled his keys, cranking the engine. “Thank you, officer.”
    He pulled out and the cop stayed put, the two of them watching each other in their rearviews. Happy turned south, heading back toward the trailer park. He dug another smoke from the pack in his shirt pocket, set it between his lips, then rummaged in his pants pocket for his matches. “I’m gonna drive a ways,” he said, “not pull in, understand?”
    Roque nodded. He could finally breathe. “You’re the one driving.”
    Happy lit a match one-handed, held it to the tip of his cigarette, tilted his head back as he waved out the flame, then tossed the matchbook onto the dash. “Let’s get back to what we were talking about.”
    Unable to stop himself, Roque glanced over his shoulder out the back window. Like a nagging itch, the cop was there, trailing several car lengths behind.
    Happy said, “I see him. Relax, will you?” He glanced toward the glove box, which Roque had yet to close. “With Godo fucked up the way he is, it’s gonna be up to you. No excuses.”
    Roque went