Authors: Roger Barry
Christine laid her head on his shoulder. He softly kissed her forehead, then buried his face in her hair. It smelled good. It smelled like comfort, like being home.
Maybe this was home now
?
He lifted his face from her hair, turned, and kissed her softly.
There was some earthy, primeval attraction to a woman who was bearing fruit
, he thought. He began to unzip the back of her dress. Slowly, they took it in turns to undress each other, until they were both naked on the couch. All his problems were forgotten as desire took over. Christine slid across his body until she was on top. As she sat astride him, Tom found himself gazing at her belly. Was it larger now, or were his eyes playing tricks? He fleetingly thought of his father’s life ending, just as a new life began. Then he penetrated her, and they began a rhythm, slowly at first but gradually increasing in intensity, until they both climaxed. They held onto each other, saying nothing, until their breathing returned to normal. She slowly rolled back onto the couch.
‘Not bad for an old daddy’ she said smirking, then immediately regretted saying it. A bit too close for comfort, maybe, she realised. ‘Any chance of that coffee now?’ she asked. Christine remained naked on the couch, but Tom got dressed, before heading to the kitchen, saying nothing.
‘Me and my big fucking mouth’ she muttered ruefully under her breath.
Tom returned from the kitchen a few minutes later, clutching a coffee in each hand, and sat down beside her.
‘Don’t worry Chrissie, everything’ll be fine’.
There was a sharp high-pitched ping of metal through glass, instantly followed by a deep thud, as the bullet penetrated the window and exited Christine’s forehead, sending a stream of blood, tissue, and bone fragments across the room. Tom fell to his knees, dropped on his belly, and lay prone on the floor. He lay there forever, blinking, his eyes flicking from one piece of inane life at ground level to another, the long lost remote in a cocoon of dust under the couch, a piece of pizza crust, the oddly shaped knot in the timber floor, which alternated between a soaring eagle and a floppy-eared donkey. A dull pop as a cushion erupted. Elbows and feet began working in unison, taking on a life of their own as he frantically scrambled across the floor. Animal instinct had taken control, overriding any thoughts his brain might have. He reached the hallway as another bullet ripped into the door frame, splintering the timber. He had propelled himself to the front door of the apartment much like a startled crab, and from a crouched position, slowly opened it. Then, like an athlete leaving the starting blocks, he shot out onto the landing, and ran. He scrambled down the stairs, three, four at a time, and out the front door, running wildly.
He didn’t know how long he was running, didn’t know where. He began to feel his throat on fire, his lungs about to explode, but kept running. Finally, unable to run any further, he collapsed onto all fours on the grass of an empty park, and wretched. He rolled onto his back and lay there, gasping for breath.
What the fuck? What the fuck?
kept repeating itself over and over in his head, like some insane Buddhist chant. He remained motionless for some time, unable to come to terms with what had just occurred. Images were spinning round and round in his head, like horses on a carousel in some crazy fairground.
Christine’s belly. His father’s coffin being lowered in the ground
. Faster and faster the images sped by.
Christine’s forehead exploding across the sitting room floor. Li’s head being pulled back as the blade was inserted.
Christine was gone. His father was gone.
His world had just been turned on upside down, and was spinning out of control. He began to sob quietly.
Fielding’s phone rang.
‘It’s me’ said Lowanski. No sign of our friend. There’s a small bit of collateral damage. The cleaners will be here shortly.
‘Not good enough’ hissed fielding.
‘Don’t worry, he must have taken off like a scalded cat’ said Lowanski. All his worldly goods are here boss. Phone, wallet, credit cards, id, he’s got nothing. Judging by his bitch here, I’d say he was indulging in a bit of hanky-panky when the wake-up call arrived. Must be running around town with his dick in his hands. His home is covered, so he can’t run back to mamma’s open arms. Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. I’d give him an hour’
‘You’d better be right’ said Fielding, ‘I don’t want any loose ends’.
Click.
Tom was dragged back to reality by the involuntary shivering of his body, and the chattering of his teeth. A t-shirt was no adequate protection from the elements on this frosty night.
Where was he? He sat up, trying to take in the surroundings. A park, Columbus maybe?
What options did he have? Not many. Reflecting back on the events over the last couple of hours, he knew he was in a critical situation, make no mistake. He had no money, no food, credit cards, proper clothing, cell-phone. Nothing. He wasn’t quite sure of how events unfolded in situations like this, but he knew contact with his family would be a big mistake. For some unknown reason, he thought of Crazy Horse, able to adapt and survive with nothing. He could do with someone like that Indian beside him now, giving guidance. But Boston wasn’t the Nebraska plains. Maybe even Crazy Horse would struggle here?
His thoughts kept drifting back to Chrissie, but he knew he had to focus. Focus was the key to survival. What had he got to work with? Nothing. A cell phone or a credit card would be a dangerous thing anyway. Both could be traced. Cash was the only untraceable. Cash was king. So, what else? Nothing, except the watch on his wrist. Not too many urgent appointments to make, so that was pretty much useless. Who could he turn to? Rachel was out of the equation. Even if she was willing to help, which he doubted, the only way to contact her apart from work, was a number in a cell phone he didn’t have. Who else? Chad! What had he said? He’d probably head back to the office, and work ‘till eight or so’. He checked his watch, seven-forty. It seemed like a lifetime ago when he had talked to Chad earlier. He knew the route Chad took, walking the couple of blocks down West Street to catch the red line home. Would they be watching him, aware as they were that he and Chad were friends? Possibly, but he could think of no other option.
When your options are narrowed down to one, that’s the one to go for
, he thought. He couldn’t just sit there, in the middle of Columbus Park forever. It was time to go.
He quietly moved up West Street, aware of the curious glances he was attracting from the few passers-by he encountered, possibly due to the fact they were aware he’d witnessed multiple murders today, but in reality probably because he wore just a t-shirt on such a frosty night. There was a poorly lit alley at the side of ‘Fajitas & ritas’, a Mexican restaurant half-way up. He slipped in, checking the surroundings. It was a dead end. I’m in a box canyon, he thought. One way in, one way out. An open dumpster was by the back door, near full with vegetables, scraps, and a couple of chicken carcasses. I might be joining you soon, if Chad is being tailed, he whispered to the chicken bones. He stood close to the alley entrance, deep in shadow, and waited.
What if Chad decided to leave early, or not go home ‘till later, or something else came up?
he thought to himself, as he checked his watch for the thousandth time? What’s the plan B? Don’t try and think too much, he answered, you’ll hurt yourself. One plan at a time.
Finally, he saw the shadowy but immediately recognizable figure of Chad coming down the street. He waited until he was parallel to the alley.
‘Chad’ he hissed.
‘What the fuc….Tom?
‘Don’t look in’, Tom ordered.
‘Look up the street. Turn around. Now, reach into your pocket and take out your cell phone. Act like you’re taking a call. Walk up and down near the alley as if you’re engrossed in conversation. Notice anything?, anything suspicious?, anyone following?, any people in parked cars?’
‘No Tom, just looks like a normal street. What the hell’s going on?
‘Listen Chad, I didn’t do anything wrong, ok?. No matter what they say, no matter what you hear, I’m not a subversive, I’m not a murderer, got that?’
‘Yes Tom, but what the fuck is this all about. You’re frightening me.’
‘Chrissie’s dead, Chad. Those fuckers killed her, they’re looking to get me next.’
‘What, who Tom. Who killed Chrissie, who’s after you?’
‘Your employers, Chad’
‘What?’
‘I need money, Chad. Have you any money?’
‘I’m broke, Tom. I was going to hit on you if we were gonna go see that band’
‘Nothing at all? shit’
‘I’ve about eight dollars Tom’
‘Give it to me, when you’ve nothing, eight dollars is something. Listen Chad, come by again, same time, same place, Thursday. Check your back, and if you suspect anything, don’t show.’
‘What are you going to do, Tom?’
‘Run’
‘On eight dollars?’
His stomach felt like there was a giant rat gnawing away at his insides. He was hungry, and he was full, both at the same time. Whether I’m hungry or not, I’d better eat something. Eight dollars wasn’t going to get a slap-up meal at the Ritz, he knew. What he needed was a cheap, greasy pile of something. He began to walk towards the docklands, and spotted a diner in the urban wasteland. Albert’s Grill, ‘breakfast served all day - $4.95’. ‘That’ll do fine’ he thought.
If Albert was expecting a tip, he was hitting on the wrong guy. He pushed through the creaking, unwashed door. Heads turned. Someone strolling in wearing just a t-shirt, on a night like this, was sure to arouse interest. A man he presumed was Albert, standing behind the counter, a portly, slightly scruffy man with slicked back oily hair, looked up.
‘Yeah?’ he said, suspiciously.
‘I’ll have the $4.95 all day breakfast’, Tom answered.
I’d better say something
he reasoned,
Albert isn’t happy.
‘Fuckers jumped me’ he said, to no one in particular, ‘took my jacket and all. Lucky I had a few bucks tucked away for a rainy day, eh?’
This seemed to allay Albert’s fears. Tom wasn’t some crazy after all, walking around in sub-zero temperatures with no coat. Just some dumb-ass sap who walked down the wrong street at the wrong time.
‘Comin’ right up’ he said.
He tucked in.
Now what?,
thought Tom. Albert was wiping down the Formica –top tables with a filthy rag, looking agitated. Better not overstay my welcome. He couldn’t think of what the next step should be, so he just up and left, heading deeper into the docklands.
As he approached a crossing, he became aware of a group of hooded youths in his direct line, standing on the deserted street. All conversation stopped as he approached. He couldn’t see their eyes in the shadows, but he knew they were sunken, and he knew they were following his every step. Nothing for it, he thought. Too late to run, and I’m too fucking tired for running anyway. I’ve nothing left to lose. They can help themselves to three dollars for their troubles. I don’t care anymore. The hoodies probably reckoned he must be a crazy, walking straight towards them in his Born To Run t-shirt. Either that, or they thought that if he can’t afford a jacket, he must be piss-poor. Whatever the reason, they just let him pass. He had to get his head down, he knew. He was exhausted. He was shivering again, too. But the three remaining dollars wasn’t going to go too far. Passing a dis-used red brick viaduct, he noticed a row of small cave-like openings beneath. Maybe it’s worth a try, he thought. He slowly, cautiously approached one of the dark openings. He was feeling his way inside.
Suddenly, ‘get the fuck outta my squat’ a voice shouted.
Surprised, he stumbled backwards, tripped over, hit the back of his head on a stray breeze-block, and was out cold. As he regained consciousness, he became aware of a female of indeterminate age standing over him in the dim light.
‘Well, look what the cat dragged in’ she said, ‘now what the fuck have we here?’
Tom raised himself slowly to his elbows. His head throbbed. He tried to focus on what stood before him. It was female, definitely, possibly in her twenties, but he couldn’t be sure. She wore a long floral print dress, a dark leather jacket, and her shoulder length hair was unkempt. She looked like she hadn’t showered in a while.
‘Well boy, what the fuck are you doing on my stoop?’ she asked.
There was a long pause.
‘I came here to die’ he said finally.