part0067

That’s what Martin said before he disappeared. That’s how Jake knew he wasn’t dying.

He hefted himself up from the cold floor, groped for the railing. The word EXIT was barely visible on the chipped and abused steel door that danced before him. He reached for the doorknob, missed. Better wait until you can see just one of them.

What did that mean? It meant he was not going to die today. It meant, as Jake had suspected, that money had never been the main motivator. It was merely payment for a job well done.

The upbeat tempo the door had been keeping slowed to a lull. Jake attacked the knob, made his way back to the platform.

Commuters backed away, cut a path for what to them was another crack-smoking, wine-guzzling homeless person looking to take some of their hard-earned money.

Jake frisked himself in search of his phone and his gun. He had neither. A terrified young mother pulled her son close to protect him from the horrible man staggering toward them.

The woman said something. Jake couldn’t hear her over the army of ringing bells in his head. He fell to one knee, reached into his pocket, groped for his badge.

The mother backed away, dragged her child with her. A kind-faced elderly man, whom Jake decided looked like a college history professor, stood over him. The man said something, but the ringing in Jake’s ears had moved from obnoxious to deafening. Jake managed to flip his badge open. The man’s concerned face told Jake he understood.

The darkness scooped him up once again.

Bud knew the dream was over.

There’d be no tropical beaches. No blonde beauties telling him they loved him. He knew the man outside was a fed. He could tell by the way the man moved. By the way he held his gun. By the determined look in his eyes.

And Bud knew the man wasn’t alone.

When The Pig With Orange Hair waved the gun in front of him he should have taken it from her. But there were a lot of things he should have done, could have done.

He should have enlisted in the Navy with his cousin Ronny, now a highly decorated officer with a pretty little wife and two pretty little rug rats, instead of knocking off that 7-Eleven with the Hicks brothers.

He could have listened when Lisa begged him to clean up his act. Maybe they could have had a couple of rug rats of their own. Officer Ronny could have invited them down to his tidy little government-financed home. He and Ronny could have sat in the hot sun with their cold Budweisers talking about the good old days while their four little rug rats ran through the lawn sprinkler and their pretty little wives swapped cooking recipes.

That’s how it should have been.

“Kill the kid.” The Pig With Orange Hair said it so matter-of-factly and with such conviction, Bud knew it had been her intention all along.

He should have said something. He could have taken the gun.

“Chance said you wouldn’t have the balls,” The Pig With Orange Hair said. “He also said you weren’t worth the price of this bullet.”

She leveled the gun at his face.

A moment’s hesitation was all Bud needed. He swatted the gun away, took The Pig down with a blow to the face.

The Pig With Orange Hair crashed into the bed. Inches from the gun.

And Bud knew it was over.

The Pig raised an unsteady hand, cocked the gun. The first shot, intended for Bud’s head, tore through his left thigh. He’d been shot two times before, once in the shoulder, the other in the abdomen. Neither of those compared to the pain that screamed in his leg.

The Pig leveled the gun at his head again, her hands steadier now. Bud squeezed his eyes shut. He waited for his life to flash before his eyes. Definitely not worth the price of admission.

A muffled moan. Metal hitting floor.

The Pig With Orange Hair was on the floor. The kid’s manacled legs hung over the edge of the bed. Thanks, kid. The gun rested in the pool of blood beneath Bud’s wounded leg.

The Pig scrambled across the floor, groped for the gun.

“Game’s over, Sweetheart,” Bud said. His leg was an inferno. But it was nice to be on the other end of the gun.

The Pig fingered a bloody lip. “You’re gonna just give it all up after all we’ve been through?” she asked.

“The only place we’ve been is to hell.” He was so tired. “And there ain’t no place lower to go than that.”

The Pig nodded as if in agreement. Then she was upon him.

Bud remembered a struggle. Claws swiping his face. A flash of light. A hollow pop. The Pig’s weight pressing down on him.

He pushed her lifeless body off. Pain tore up his left side, exited through his head. The boy looked at him with wide-eyed horror. His mouth moved beneath the duct tape.

Bud staggered over to the bed. The boy recoiled. Bud removed the tape as gently as he could.

“Thanks for saving my life, kid.” The kid opened his mouth to speak. Terror crept back into his eyes.

The command was deep, urgent, right behind him.

“DROP THE GUN AND STEP AWAY FROM THE BOY.”

The gun dangled from his hand. He stood motionless, rested for a bit.

“I SAID DROP THE GUN AND STEP AWAY. NOW!”

“Mister, don’t,” the boy said, anticipating his plan.

Bud pivoted on his good leg, raised the gun. He was jerked back by the initial shot. The second threw him onto the bed beside the boy.

This time his life did flash before his eyes. But instead of passing by quickly, he was able to slow down the good parts and speed up the bad.

Most of it was bad. But not all.

He watched himself playing catch with his father on the old ball field behind the library. He could see bruises on his own neck and arms. But this was his movie, and he imagined them away.

He fast-forwarded through his teen years, slowed briefly to see his cousin Ronny, his only real friend in life, then sped up the film again until…

He went into freeze-frame mode. He lingered on her face. The soft curve of her nose. The light creases formed when her mouth turned up into a smile.

Hers was a quiet beauty, the kind that goes unnoticed in a crowded room until you got up real close. He zoomed in, traveled up and down the contours of her face, her body.

His life had been shit except for the final reel. Lisa.

The screen flickered, but he could still see her. She was foggy now, her blonde hair blurred into her peach complexion. She called out to him, offered him one more chance to get it right.

He was in blackness now but could feel her beside him, swimming through the dark, her hand lightly brushing his.

A pinpoint of light broke the darkness. The light grew, engulfed them. He turned his head. Lisa smiled at him.