Kill Whitey

I got out of the Jeep. I’d parked next to a garbage dumpster and it reeked. Bees and flies swarmed around me. They were up early, too. The ground was littered with broken bottles, cigarette butts, candy wrappers, and used condoms. Then I walked around to the front of the store and breathed a sigh of relief. There are fewer pay phones these days, because everyone uses cell phones. Luck was with us. The store had a pay phone next to the ice machine. I dialed information, got the number of the taxi company, and then called for a cab. I gave the dispatcher our location and hung up. Then I returned to the Cherokee, dropping my cell phone into the garbage dumpster on the way back.

“Come on,” I told Sondra. “We need to be ready. Cab’s coming to pick us up.”

“Cab? What is cab?”

“You know. A taxi cab?”

“Da, I know what is taxi. But we cannot be in front of store. What if we attract much attention?”

I glanced around. “It’s pretty secluded back here. And it’s still early. And I doubt Craley’s got much of a rush hour, anyway. But we’ll wait at the corner of the building. Nobody can see us, but we’ll be able to see the parking lot.”

“What about your Jeep?”

“We’ll leave it here. Soon as some employee comes out back to smoke, they’ll find it. But we’ll be gone by then. The cops won’t be looking for a taxi. We’ll make it to GPS, at least. Then we can get Yul to drive us somewhere till we figure out what to do next.”

I grabbed the 9mm and stuffed it in my waistband. Then I pulled my shirt down to cover it. The gun was heavy and bulky. The metal felt cold against my skin.

Yawning, Sondra got out of the Cherokee. She looked tired. We both were. On a normal day, I’d soon be getting off work. Then I’d come home and sleep until about three in the afternoon. But this wasn’t a normal day. When I’d fantasized about days and nights spent with Sondra, they’d been exotic. Mystical. Hot. Not this. There were no gunshots or pissed off mobsters in those dreams. No death. And yet here she was. Daydreams were now reality.

I wondered if I’d ever have a normal day again.

twelve

The taxi driver, a middle-aged Hispanic guy, couldn’t have cared less about us. He didn’t talk much. Just asked us where we were going, checked out Sondra’s ass in the side mirror as she climbed into the back seat with me, and that was it. I figured he’d at least comment on the dried blood, but he didn’t. Maybe he’d seen worse. Or maybe he just didn’t give a shit. I’d hoped he would have the radio on so I could find out if there was any news about us, but instead, he listened to Spanish music discs. They made my head hurt even more than it already did.

Sondra and I didn’t speak. We rode in silence, except for the music. Occasionally, the driver glanced in the rearview mirror, trying to catch a glimpse of Sondra’s cleavage. Her nipples were taut against the shirt’s thin fabric.

I had the driver drop us about a mile from GPS. I paid the guy in cash and tipped him five bucks. Not enough that he’d remember us, but not so little that he’d remember us either. With any luck, he’d forget about this fare by the time he picked up his next one.

The sun was up now; gray murk gave way to daylight. We cut across a grassy field. Sharp stones jabbed us through our socks and birds took flight, squawking at the intrusion. We slowed down as we approached the parking lot. With any luck, nobody in the guard shack could see us if we approached from this angle, rather than the road. I checked my watch. Yul would be getting out any minute now. It was almost time for shift change. The Glock rubbed against my ass, chafing my skin. Sondra took my hand and squeezed it. I squeezed back.

“I don’t see any cop cars,” I said. “That’s a good sign.”

“Da.”

“Come on. Let’s get this over with.”

We stepped out of the high grass and onto the blacktop. Our socks were soaked from the morning dew. There were a few guys from the day shift sitting in their cars—listening to Howard Stern or smoking one last cigarette or finishing their coffee before they checked in at the guard house and trekked up the hill to the building. None of them looked at us. They were too caught up in their own thing. I was suddenly hit with a sense of longing. I used to be one of those guys. Yesterday, I had been. But not anymore. I wanted to go back to my boring, lonely life. These guys didn’t know how good they had it.

A long line of tractor trailers was backed up at the gate. That was good, because it meant the two rental cops inside the guard shack had their hands full checking seals and bills of lading and weren’t paying attention to the parking lot.