Aloha from Hell

llsr="#000I take his hand and drop Traven’s car keys in them.

“Do you remember the hotel where you came to see me?”

“Yes.”

“Drive this car over there and leave it on the street. Leave the keys under the driver’s seat.”

He looks at the keys like I just shoveled dog shit into his hand.

“Why would I do that? I’m not your errand boy.”

“Because it’s not an errand. It’s a loose end and loose ends are what ruin plans and get people hurt. Understand?”

He takes the keys and gets into the Metro.

Before he closes the door he says, “Go to Hell.”

“Why didn’t I think of that?”

As he heads out I check on the older cop. His heart and breathing are on the low end, but steady. I take the car keys off his belt and go back to the patrol car.

Inside, I reach across the laptop bolted between the seats and unhook the mike from the dashboard.

“Officers down at the corner of Adams and Eleventh Street. One is alive but hurt and the other is pretty much dead. For the record, I didn’t do either one of them, but you wouldn’t believe me if I told you who did.”

The cop’s communication unit crackles. I look for an off button but can’t find one, so I kick everything on the dashboard until the noise stops. While I’m in Hulk mode, I punch the shattered windshield out of the way. The safety glass comes out in one piece. I shove it across the hood and let it fall on the side of the road.

Sorry, boys. I really wanted both of you to go home tonight. But sometimes pianos really do fall from the sky and sometimes you’re the Coyote and catch it in the teeth. I’ve been there plenty of times. If I see you on the other side, I owe you a drink. If not, maybe it’ll help knowing I’m about to do something that’s really going to hurt.

I start the patrol car and the Crown Vic’s V-8 engine screams. This is what I need for a Black Dahlia. This is the right way to leave, like Vidocq likes to say, le merdier. I slam the car into drive and floor it, smoking the tires and fishtailing down the street before I get hold of the thing. Suicide is still a goddamn scary idea, but burning rubber in a cop car at least makes it a little more fun.

Crenshaw is up ahead.

Candy flashes in my head. Red-slash eyes in black ice. Mad-dog teeth in my shoulder. Yes, I’m leaving you for another woman, buacrer womat she’s dead and it’s only for three days and I’m coming back. I promise.

Shut up. Not the time for that. I push her back with the angel.

When Alice’s face rolls up, I don’t run from it. I examine it from a dozen different angles. Was Medea telling the truth? Is it possible Alice lied to me the whole time we were together? To my surprise, the angel comes up with an answer: “Who cares?”

It’s right. Even if she’s Lizzie Borden, am I going to leave Alice down there?

No.

Am I going to give up a chance to twist Mason’s head off when he sees I’ve rescued her?

No.

Don’t think. Just go. There’s no time. No thought. No consequences. Just a bright flash of pain and then I’m home. There’s nothing but the rush.

When I can see where Crenshaw passes under I-10, I stop, shift into reverse, and drive back a half a block. I can see cop lights in the distance, heading for the officer-down call.

Fuck Bava. Fuck doubt. Fuck everything.

I stomp the accelerator and aim the car for a freeway support midway under the roadway, in the center of the crossroads. I take the plastic rabbit from my pocket and hold it in my teeth.

I hope you’re up there, Mustang Sally. I never prayed to God, but I’m praying to you right now. Please know what the fuck you’re doing.

I’m doing just a hair over a hundred and ten when I hit. Time slo-mos as the car jumps the curb and takes the last few yards airborne.

It doesn’t really hurt when we hit. It’s more like a supersonic body blow as all the air and fluids in my body explode out of me like butcher-shop fireworks. My eyes can’t focus. The world is a liquid blur. I hear the scream and groan of metal as the Crown Vic pancakes against the support. The steering wheel twists upward and turns my skull to cake batter. The front of the car comes apart and a million metal and plastic razor blades rip my skin off the bones. My arms break as I flip over the dashboard and out the window. One knee catches and is torn apart on the way out. I glide over the car hood like an Olympic figure skater and into a whirlpool of flame as the engine explodes.

Time shifts again. Shoots back up to normal speed. I slide through fire and gas and come out the other side a limp ball of flame. My eyes focus long enough to see the freeway support. Funny thing. It doesn’t look like I’m flying at it. It’s like it’s coming for me.

And the world goes away.

THERE’S GidtEȁRIT IN my eyes. When I try to brush it away, I just grind it in more. I roll over so my face is to the ground and run my hand all over my face so whatever’s there falls down and not back onto me. The grit is all over me, like I’ve been rolling around in kitty litter. When my eyes are clear, I work up a little saliva and spit, clearing more grit from the back of my throat.