Ziggy stopped by the house for the first time in almost a year, knowing my parents were away on business.
After chatting with Jason for a few, he looked at me and said, “Sport, you’re getting big. You must have grown two inches.” Unpleased to see him, I replied, “Yea. I’m twelve now.”
“Hey Zig, the whole house reeks. How can we get rid of this smell?” Jason asked while rolling joints in the living room.
“I have an idea. Sport, come with me,” Ziggy said. I followed him towards the garage located underneath the house. My gut sank as I thought, “I haven’t seen him since he tried to kill Janie and me.”
Then suddenly he pulled a rifle out of his truck and asked, “Have you ever shot before?”
Terrified, I answered, “Yes, an air rifle.” Then he said, “Well how different could this be?” I wondered who he wanted me to shoot.
From the driveway, he aimed the gun over the Chevy’s trunk and as I stared through the scope, I detected a skunk in the garage right below the house.
Ziggy glanced over at me and asked, “Why are you shaking, Sport? We are just out here to kill some rodents. Be quiet... or they will hear you.”
I turned my head and saw Ziggy walking toward the garage. Then he stopped midstride. The back of the skunk’s head was now in the crosshairs of the rifle. “Should I pull the trigger?” I wondered.
He stood there for what seemed like five minutes but maybe it was only an instant. Did he want me to kill him?
Then he returned to the car and looked me square in the face. I could see he was disappointed but I didn’t know why.
Then somberly he said, “Hey Sport, take the shot now, will yah?”
I pulled the trigger for the kill but nothing happened. He started laughing, grabbed the gun and said, “Okay, try it now!!!” as he released the safety. I took the shot, hitting one of the skunks right in the head, as the other two scurried out into the woods. A cloud began to bellow out of the garage. Proud of my accomplishment, I wanted to run and tell Jason but I sat and waited to see if the skunk got up.
Jason yelled from inside, “Sean, what the hell did you do now?” When I finally got inside, he handed me a bottle of Lysol and said, “This is your problem now, Sean.” I ran around and opened all the windows, trying to get rid of the seeping smell of skunk spray times fifty.
As I opened one of the windows, I watched Ziggy drive out of the driveway in his truck. This was what he did. He caused a problem then left. But I was glad he was gone.
Two months had gone by with no sign of Ziggy. It was a typical Tuesday afternoon when I came home to find Jason and Gill on the front porch in tears. “Did you hear the news?” Concerned, I replied, “No, what happened?” Then they showed me the paper. Ziggy‘s face covered the front page.
My sister Peggy came outside and said, “I think I was the last one to see him before the accident.” Apparently, she had already heard.
“Really?” Gill asked curiously.
“Yea, I ran into him at a bar last night over in Hull. He was wicked out of it. He was telling me something about blood on his hands that he couldn’t wipe clean. Also he told me that he had a baby on the way and he had done some stuff he couldn’t take back.”
Gill asked, “Like what?”
“I couldn’t tell you,” Peggy replied. “He was just drunk rambling. I had no idea what the hell he was talking about. He was worked up and guzzled a few more beers before leaving. That’s all I know.”
I grabbed the paper and read the headline out loud: “Two Boston College Teens, Killed in a DUI Related Crash.” I read along to see that it was estimated that the driver was going over a hundred mph and riding the wrong way on the interstate. I was shocked. I cannot say I felt sad for him. Just shocked. Ziggy was like a cockroach, surviving motorcycle accidents, heroin withdrawals, fist fights and all. Finally it was his time to go.
After hearing what Peggy said regarding not being able to wipe the blood off his hands, it was clear that Ziggy felt deep remorse for what he had done to Janie and me. It was not illogical to assume that guilt ultimately caused his suicidal death. What I really felt bad about were the other two innocent people who had now perished because of this man. Even in his death, he caused so much pain and sorrow for so many families. He had no respect for human life.
For Ziggy’s funeral, my mother made sure Janie and I dressed in our best clothes. While we were brushing our teeth and about to leave, Janie looked at me and said, “Now that he can’t hurt us anymore, should we tell mom and dad what he did to us?”
“I want to,” I said, “but Father Paul is still alive and remember, he ordered Ziggy to kill us.”
“You are right. We should keep our mouths shut just in case,” Janie replied.
It was a warm September day and the news crews were already at the funeral parlor, covering the media story when we arrived. When we walked in to see the casket, we noticed it only had a couple of potted flower plants from my parents and a cannabis plant hidden behind the flowers. Since he was unrecognizable after the crash, they decided on a closed casket. The good news was that he could never hurt anyone again. I secretly wished Father Paul had been in the passenger seat that night, right along with him.
It wasn’t surprising that Father Paul was the priest giving the service at Ziggy’s funeral. Father Paul spoke of Ziggy in his eulogy as if he had never met him. Too slick to be caught, he pulled off acting as though he didn’t know us either, although we had been involved in his madness for many years. He was responsible for turning Ziggy into the monster that he died as. The sad part was that he still believed he was on God's side. I was not sure if any of us would be with God when this was all over. I resented Father Paul for all he did to us and dreamed he felt that same pain one day too.
At the end of the funeral mass when everyone cleared out, Janie and I stood in the funeral parlor alone. Suddenly the door creaked open and Father Paul strode in. Surprised, we both took a step back. Without looking directly at us, he strolled over to the casket and placed his index finger on it. As he slid his finger across the casket, he started laughing hysterically.
Then he turned to us, locked eye contact with Janie and said, “With Ziggy dead now, who’s everyone going to believe? A respected Catholic priest or a couple of degenerate, vagrant kids? You two are not my problem anymore.” Then he walked out, still smiling at our terror-stricken faces.