At least in dreams I’m not sickening. With Hunchback-Ant captive, I, Super-Wade, fix the program and hook up with groovy subversives who plan to sneak me into the heart of Prometheus so I can run it on their computer, foil the plans of Particle Dude, get the truth out, and save the world. Woo-hoo! Almost seems fun until a wave comes and dumps me back in the real world. No! If I wake up, I’ll have my…
Pinkie gone.
Klot smiles. Did he really do it because I betrayed Ant or was that his idea of art?
I feel sick, dizzy. It’s hard to believe this is me. It’s like part of me is watching myself saying, who’s that poor pathetic sap?
Someone touches my wounded finger, sending needles of agony through my hand and up into my forearm. It’s the corrupt-yet-posture-perfect Officer Smelser, wrapping a handkerchief around the stub. Like a doctor, he presses it against my chest and says, “Hold that tight.”
Trembling, I do. Why so kind? Maybe he was a good cop in another life.
The tip of my pinkie sits on the linoleum floor in a little circle of blood that looks like melted cherry ices. Klot picks it up and rolls it between his thumb and index finger. He tosses it to Smelser, who puts it in another handkerchief and stuffs it in my shirt pocket.
“Know what? Don’t tell me where the car is,” he says.
“I already did. Ant…”
Klot flicks a business card and a few quarters at my face. “Whatev. I like playing with you. I find you inspiring. Get it and call me. If the car’s not in my hands by tomorrow, more fingers. Between you and Anthony, that’s twenty. Maybe I’ll keep ’em, make a sculpture.”
Officer Smelser says, “There’s an emergency room two blocks south. Maybe they can sew that back on for you. I wouldn’t wait too long.”
They stand. They walk off. As everything swims around me I hear them banter.
“Idiot. Dressed like a bagman. Imagine that beautiful jewel in that joker’s grubby hands.”
“Maybe he’s got one of those mental challenges that gives him an attitude problem. My niece is on medication for that sort of thing.”
“Nah. I know a clown when I see one. Thinks he’s immortal. Thinks nothing’s worthwhile. I’m surprised he’s survived this long.”
…
I don’t remember how I got to the ER. The pinkie tip’s back on, supposedly, but I can’t see it. A thick bandage, dark brown with dried blood, covers the finger.
“How do I know it’s there?” I ask the doc. “It doesn’t even hurt.”
“Oh, it’ll hurt,” he says. He’s overworked, tired, but trying to stay human. He scribbles on a pad, hands me a scrip for Vicodin. “That’s what these are for. Come back in ten days. If we take off the bandage and there’s no pinkie, just write ‘cancel’ on the bill. By the way, do you still want to stick to that story about how you lost it catching pennies off your elbow? I gave you a tetanus booster, in case the uh… pennies were rusty, but there may be something else we need to know.”
If I tell him, he’ll tell the police. What good would that do? Officer Smelser would show up to take my statement, and probably my thumb.
“It’s like I said. Pennies.”
Sure, now I can lie. Why not to Klot?
“Right,” Doc says, shaking his head. “You’re one lucky guy.”
“How do you figure?”
“Well, first, you got here quickly, right before you passed out. Second, a nurse saw the blood on your pocket and found the finger. Third, that’s the first finger I ever sewed on and, far as I can tell, it came out pretty good.”
“First time?”
“I did it once in med school, but that was on a corpse. Come to think of it, it fell off afterward. But hey, considering how many people come in with bullet wounds, stab wounds, or heart attacks, you’re a lottery winner.”
He’s funny, like me. Only he fixes things. Things—hell, people.
He looks down at his clipboard. “Hey! No income, no insurance, no charge. The man’s a winner again!” He points to a chair with a neatly folded robe and boxers. “Your… clothes are there. They were washed.”
“You didn’t have to do that,” I say.
“Yes, we did. You can keep the hospital scrubs, too. The nurse will have a few more questions.”
After I refuse a visit to social services and a dozen other programs, I’m released with nowhere to go but to hell in a handbasket. I walk about a block from the hospital perimeter, out of the glare of the streetlights, sit on the curb, and put my head between my knees. I half-expect to start dreaming again, but I don’t. Wonder if what’s going on there could possibly be worse than this.
No dream, but I’m filled with horrible thoughts: I think about getting the car from Ant before he can give it to Sergei, beating him senseless if I have to, just to get it. I think about handing it to Klot, even blaming Ant for breaking it if he notices—and I’ve got a feeling he will. I think about Ant sobbing like a baby as Klot and Smelser drag him off.
“Serves you right for being evil in my dream!” I say to no one.
Got to get that car. I need Ant now more than he ever needed me.
There’s a pay phone across the street. I could call Information for his number, but I don’t even know my best bud’s last name. I’m only sorry I remembered the street when I was talking to Klot. Po’d know, but The Rat’s the first place Alek would look for me, and I have no idea how he’ll take all this. At the least he’d want his money back and Sergei did not seem open to refunds.
Denby. She’d know Ant’s cell. Her name I know, even the address. Are we still speaking? Maybe. She was pissed about the money. Imagine how she’ll feel about my giving Klot Ant’s name. Well, I don’t have to mention that. Plus, if I get Klot the car, I’m really saving Ant, right? Right. Tell me another story, Mommy. I’m starting to feel as comic booky as my dreams.
I reach the pay phone and plop my quarters in the slot. The polite mechanical voice comes up with a number and connects. A few seconds later, Denby answers, sounding so worried she must have started worrying before she even picked up the phone.
“Wade? You’re calling me? My God, what happened? Are you dying?”
“No. But I need Ant’s phone number.”
“Sure. I’ll get it.”
At that moment, I realize I put Klot’s quarters in the phone and that’s all I have. “Den, scratch that. Can you… call him and get him to meet me?”
“Okay. Where?”
Now she gets picky. “I don’t know! Uh… Gatwick’s Guitars. He walked me there once and bought me some strings. Tell him to meet me out front, stat.”
“Are you okay?” I feel her concern, all warm and bubbly, even through the phone. Usually I can’t stand it. Right now, it’s good.
“Let’s just say I don’t want to look back because something may be gaining on me. It’s… I’ll be fine. Just call Ant, okay?”
“You know I’m here if you need me, right? You know where I live.”
I sigh and say, “Yeah. I do. That’s why I called.”
Even after I hang up she stays with me. I know she’s doing exactly what I asked. I know she’s worried, thinking. Denby thinks too much, right?
A quick walk east brings the barred doors and windows of Gatwick’s Guitars into sight. They’re closed for the night, so I hang to the side, gritting my teeth at a sudden, stabbing pinkie-pain. The anesthetic’s wearing off. Oh, goody.
Before long, a familiar hoodie and chinos rise from reality’s blur. When a dreadlock slips and dangles I know for sure. It’s Ant.
What do I say? How do I act? Can’t let him see me desperate. He’ll freak like it’s the apocalypse. Got to get myself together, give myself a pep talk. Yay, me! I am so cool! I’m the Clown-king’s main man! I tug the subtle threads that connect all things! I’m here and now, not now and then! I dance atop the thin brick wall in my robe of many colors!
No, wait. Fell off that wall. Damn.
Too late, he’s here. Oh, I’ll be fine. He worships me. I saved his sorry butt back at Sergei’s apartment and he doesn’t know what came next. I’ll get the car for Klot, then figure some other way Ant can pay off Alek. Alek will probably be thrilled the car’s gone. I pick up my carefree persona and slap it on my head like that duck from Denby’s bad joke.
“Ant-man. What’s up with your bad self?”
His face is grim. White. Worse than when Sergei waved the gun at him. He raises his eyes toward me. They’re not darting left and right as usual. He’s enjoying one of those brief moments of deep focus, like his hyperactivity has been forcibly drained. His antennae shake like wobbling lips as he talks, and neither of us likes what he says.
“K-K-Klot and Smelser were at my house. They said y-y-you gave them my name and address, Wade. That true?”
He knows. I feel the carefree duck try to slip off my head and fly south for the winter. Got to think, got to say something witty, like “Oh, that, it’s no biggie!” Only better. Only I can’t. I can’t.
“Were you there when they showed up?” I ask, trying not to stammer myself.
“Mom was. When I got home, she was sitting on the floor in the kitchen, sobbing, surrounded by broken dishes. Her best china. I thought Klot did it, but she said it was her. After they left, she smashed them herself, because she was so upset. I told her everything, Wade, about you helping me, about the money, about Alek, about the car. She thinks it’s her fault because she didn’t raise me well enough.”
“At least she’s not blaming you. That’s a plus.”
His brow furrows. “My name! Did you give it to them?”
I’ve never heard him angry before.
“No! Did you… uh… give them the car? I mean, it’s all over now, r-r-right?”
The stammering gives me away. Ant looks me up and down. His expression changes. He knows I’m lying. “I wasn’t there. I couldn’t give them the car. Good thing, too—since it’s broken.”
One of his antennae points toward my bandage. “What happened to your finger?”
“Cut myself shaving.”
“No, Wade. No.” There’s a new tone in his voice. Contempt. He’s trying it on for size, to see how it suits him. “What happened to your finger?”
“Someone cut it, okay? No big deal. Klot cut it…”
He narrows his eyes even further. His dreadlock antennae straighten.
“… off. Klot cut the tip off, okay? But the doc sewed it back on. It’s fine! And I’ve got a prescription for Vicodin! See?” Grinning, I hold up the crumpled paper. “Want some?”
“You did do it. You did tell them I had the car!”
“No… yes. A little. Just your first name, and the streets, but that’s all I knew. I wasn’t going to abandon you or anything. I have a cunning and ingenious plan that’ll take care of everything.”
He lifts his head like I hit him. “Like you took care of your debt to Alek by taking my money?”
“Hey, I won that fair and square!”
“Did you? Or did you know how to catch those coins? My mother thinks you cheated.”
“What are you talking about? I’ve never done that before in my life.”
“Just be honest, Wade. Tell me.”
“I am being honest!”
He pulls a sterile plastic bag from his pocket and dangles it. It’s the car. My lifeline.
“Tell me. Tell me you hustled me and I’ll give you the car.”
It sparkles through the plastic. The broken wheel is wedged in the folds, separate from the body. Like my pinkie was.
“I need that toy car, Ant. We can work the rest out.”
“You need it? Then say it, Wade. Say you cheated me.”
“Okay, fine! I cheated. I always cheat. That’s all I do! I can catch thirty frakking pennies if I feel like it. Believe what you want, I need that car!”
I scream the last sentence so loud my throat hurts. The sound echoes up and down the block. Ant tosses the bag to me. I snatch at it with my left hand, but drop it. The pinkie throbs. I go to the floor, scooping it up, making sure it’s not scratched or…
He shakes his head. “You’re over, man.”
“Right. Once I get this to Klot I’ll clear you with Alek, I swear. So it’s broken. I can figure that out, too. I can…”
He flips open his phone and presses some numbers.
“What’re you doing? Now’s not a good time to call—”
“Alek? Anthony. You got the money, right? No, I haven’t got the car, but I know who does. Keep me out, and I’ll tell you who has it so you can get word to Klot. Deal?”
“Ant?”
“Wade’s got the car. He’s in front of Gatwick’s Guitars. You’re going to tell Klot he was the one who stole it in the first place? Fine. No, no hard feelings.”
He flips the phone shut. We look at each other.
“My mom emptied her savings to pay Alek. She worked eight years, overtime in Walmart and it’s all gone because of you.”
“Not because of me. She didn’t have to—”
“Yes, she did. She didn’t want to take any chances, because she loves me! I used to think it was so great you don’t care about anything, but—”
“Ant, Klot will be after me. What am I going to do?”
“Whatev,” he says. “Whatev.”
Then he walks off.
I lean against the wall, a hollow feeling in my hollow gut. I look around, up and down the street, up into the sky. Nothing but directions everywhere, wisps of air, smells, sights, sounds, any one of which might lead me someplace wonderful, on some great adventure. But for the first time, even though the world is wide open all around me, I have no place to go.
I kind of wish that Prometheus accelerator were still running just so it could destroy the world. Now would be good.