out on us — we were always going to go
to shit.
The Toyota came to rest on its roof; Craven watched the
wheels spinning and shook his head. He tried to crack his backbone into place. ' The car's fucking finished. We're finished. '
' Oh, y'think? ' said Lois. She had a deep cut above her left eye, it looked like jello when she
dabbed it with her shirtsleeve. As her flannel rode up I saw the SIG Sauer was
still tucked in her waistband. That was something.
' You need to get rid of that, ' said Craven, ' 'we're finished! '
She turned to me, gave a slight sigh, then looked back
to her shirtsleeve. ' Oh, I'm good for now. '
Her tone was enough for Craven to fire up. ' Someone's been killed. We're fucked. '
He strode forward and flagged his arms like he'd lost
control again.
Lois didn't like that. The way her lip twitched, the way
she narrowed her eyes ... I could almost smell her anger.
She removed the pistol.
I knew to look away.
For a second, the spinning wheels of the car were lit by
the muzzle flash.
****
I'd met Craven at NA, it was three weeks after my
split with Pam, two weeks before Lois crossed the dark divide into the long
drop that was my life.
Craven was an old hand at kicking; he was wrapped far
too tight for the real world and meth was his crutch. I liked to think I had
the edge on him in that regard. When I used, it was because I was bored. Or
working a job.
' So, how'd you end up here? ' Craven collared me at the coffee counter; he twitched and
oozed sweat from his heavy brows. His hairline was receding and some freckles
on his crown looked like they were ready to slide down his face.
' Do I know you? '
He shot up his hands. ' Whoa,
easy cowboy! '
' Don't call me that, please. '
' You object to being called
cowboy? Or, you're just not real friendly? ' The tone
was queer, but I didn't have him down as a homosexual. Either way, it had taken
less than two minutes for me to tire of him. ' I don't
like people messing with me. '
' Well, fuck you! ' He made a dramatic flourish with his coffee cup; some grey
liquid spilled on the floor. A few heads turned.
I moved off, found a vantage point by the doorway — it
seemed a good place to assess the crowd. I soon had them sussed. The room was
full of trembling, bug-eyed losers, all except the one. I watched over the cold
decaf as Craven made a bee-line for her.
I wished I had his courage — Pam had taken that.
****
The lot held only two vehicles, three if you
included the trail bike a group of kids were using to burn doughnuts on the
asphalt. I watched them from below a to-let sign hung over the door of a
long-vacated HoJo's. The neighbourhood had lost its sparkle. Brownstones
were being boarded-up left and right; cops kept clear.
'This'll do,' said Craven.
'You sure?' I said.
'Oh, yeah ... these Toyotas, can't kill
'em with an axe.'
I took his word. Watched him approach
with his steel rule outstretched; it didn't take him long to make the ignition
kick, then the engine purred to life.
I ran to the passenger's door. Craven
gunned the gas.
As we drove he lit a Montecristo; said
it was 'his thing' on a job. I didn't question it — I had met a lot of guys
with strange rituals and superstitions. This wasn't any take down, though. We'd
moved up a league. The thought made me edgy.
'Hey buddy boy ... you keeping it
together there?' said Craven.
I turned to face him, 'Me?'
'You think I'm talking to Mr Magic
Tree? Fucking-A I mean you.'
'Don't worry about me.'
His voice dropped, took on a mocking
tone, 'Oh but I do buddy boy ... I do.'
'Cut the shit, Craven ... just spit it
out, where you going with this?'
He started to laugh. He laughed me up.
'I ain't going anywhere ... and neither are you! Isn't that what your little
woman used to say?'
I felt a rush of adrenaline enter my
veins; I grabbed the SIG and pushed it in his throat. 'Pull this fucking piece
of shit over now.'
His face changed colour, dropped
several shades. His mouth turned down