| |
When Stan opens his eyes, he sees his boss’s face surrounded by bright white light.
“Holy shit,” he says, “Jesus looks just like Gaymond. Or Gaymond looks just like Jesus.”
“You’re not dead, dummy,” comes the voice of Tony. “We’re just real banged up is all. We’re in the hospital. Raymond with an R, fuck-head, was gracious enough to fly down here and straighten our considerable mess out. Thank you for that, Raymond.”
Staring into Stan’s eyes, Raymond says, “Hello, Stan, whas up wich you?”
“Well, I’ve been better, Raymond,” Stan says, trying to scooch up in the bed but with little luck considering all the wires and shit attached to him. His brain, what little there exists of it, is beginning to boot up again. He pictures flying down the highway while fighting with Stan when the trooper cruiser flipped. That’s when the world went black. “Say, what happened to Sergeant Hard-Ass Trooper? He make it of that wreck alive?”
“They say he’s alive,” Stan says. “But he’s going to have to learn to walk all over again once they fit him for a couple of wooden legs.”
“Ouch,” Stan says.
“You lost both your legs too, Stan,” Tony says solemnly. “You just don’t feel it yet because you’re in shock and you have phantom limb syndrome. I’m sorry to be the one to have to tell you.”
A wave of ice-cold panic washes up Stan’s backbone. Grabbing hold of the blanket, he flips it over, exposing two, perfectly healthy, stubby Polish legs. Corrections, the legs are a bit bruised up, and there’s a bandage that covers a laceration over the right knee, but he’s otherwise no worse for wear. He flips the blanket back over.
“You’re a fuckin’ asshole, Tony,” he barks. “A real sick piece of Italian shit, you know that?”
Tony is laughing his ass off now. He’s laughing so hard he’s about to pee himself. Reaching for the portable translucent plastic urinal, he goes to pull his manhood out.
“Ummm, Raymond,” he says, “Do you mind? I’m liable to send you into shock if you get a good look at my Italian Stallion nine incher.”
“Is all this really necessary, Anthony?” Raymond says. “I mean, really. Stan and I are the only friends you have, and you insist on treating us like...like...like canine scatology.”
“That would be dog shit, Raymond,” Tony says while inserting his one-eyed pants snake into the urinal’s opening. He tries to pee but he can’t. “Shit, I can’t go. Not with Raymond staring at me. I have stage fright.”
“I’ll be leaving in a moment, Tony,” Raymond says. “You can pee your brains out then. I just thought you boys would like to know where you stand in terms of legal proceedings going forward. Is that okay wich you?”
“Shoot, Raymond,” Stan says. “Are we going to prison?”
“Lucky for you, Stan,” Raymond says, “you will not be going to jail or to prison. I’ve dropped the charges on the van. And those Border Patrol Agents...the women who tied you up and stole your wallets—”
“—And shot at us,” Tony interjects.
“Yes, Anthony,” Raymond says. “And who shot at you, are in a whole lot of trouble. They’ve not only been rolling a lot of men and women lately but also some of the illegals they process every darn day and night. They were experts at setting what you straight Americans call, a honey trap. I personally don’t know what you saw in those women. They looked like trailer trash to moi.”
When he says moi, Raymond places great emphasis on the word like he’s trying to be a man of the world. Or a loose in the loafers, man of the world anyway.
“So, we’re off the hook,” Stan says with a smile. “The U.S. government isn’t after us for sneaking across the border or stealing any of the President’s free illegal alien shit?”
“Far as the law is concerned you never took anything in the first place,” Raymond says. “And since when is it a crime for a U.S. citizen to cross the border and then come back in?”
“You make a good point, Ray,” Tony says.
“Ray-Mond,” Raymond says. “I prefer my formal name.” Then, “However, you did purposely crash into those state trooper vehicles. But then, they were illegally firing on you, and I know a friend of a friend who can get you off on a fine, which I already paid, which means...”
Tony and Stan steal glances at one another from their separate beds.
“Which means what?” Stan says.
“It means you boys will be working extra hard for me since I’ll be deducting fifty dollars apiece from your weekly paycheck, both to repay me for the totaled van and the fine for smashing into those nasty troopers.”
Once again, Tony and Stan glance at one another.
“Oh well,” Tony says. “Look on the bright side, Stan. We’re alive, in one piece, and we still have a job.”
“Yeah, the future’s so bright it’s shining out my ass,” Stan says.
“Hey, whas up wich you, Stanley?” Raymond says while reaching into the back pocket of his too-tight, high-waisted jeans that make it look like he’s got a banana in his left pocket. “Why the extra-long face? Cheer up. I have a surprise for you, boys.”
That’s when Raymond produces a half-pint bottle of Jameson Irish Whiskey.
“Why don’t we all have a drink and celebrate,” Raymond goes on.
Feeling cheered up, Tony says, “Don’t mind if I do.”
“Me too, Raymond,” Stan says. “What the fuck.”
“That’s what I say, Stanley,” Raymond says. “What the fuck.”
“What the fuck,” Tony says. “I’ll drink to that.”
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THE END
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Winner of the 2015 PWA Shamus Award and the 2015 ITW Thriller Award for Best Original Paperback Novel for MOONLIGHT WEEPS, Vincent Zandri is the NEW YORK TIMES and USA TODAY bestselling author of more than 170 novels and novellas including THE REMAINS, THE SHROUD KEY, THE EMBALMER, and MOONLIGHT WEEPS. He has also been nominated for a Derringer Award for Best Novelette for 2019. Zandri’s list of domestic publishers includes Delacorte, Dell, Down & Out Books, Thomas & Mercer, Polis Books, Oceanview Publishing, Blackstone Audio, and Suspense Publishing. An MFA in Writing graduate of Vermont College, Zandri’s work is translated in Dutch, Russian, French, Italian, Japanese, and Polish. Recently, Zandri was the subject of a major feature by the New York Times. He has also made appearances on Bloomberg TV and FOX news. In December 2014, Suspense Magazine named Zandri’s, THE SHROUD KEY, as one of the “Best Books of 2014.” Recently, Suspense Magazine selected WHEN SHADOWS COME as one of the “Best Books of 2016”. A freelance photojournalist and the host of the popular YouTube channel, The Writer’s Life, Zandri has written for Living Ready Magazine, RT, New York Newsday, Hudson Valley Magazine, Writers Digest, The Times Union (Albany), Game & Fish Magazine, Strategy Magazine, The Jerusalem Post, and many more. He lives in Albany, New York and Florence, Italy. For more go to WWW.VINZANDRI.COM
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