Kill Whitey

Outside, the battle continued, but the gunshots and screams were distant things that didn’t affect me. I knew I should run, knew that I should find Sondra and get away—or at least get some answers—but I just didn’t care anymore. Gasping for breath, I realized that I was going into shock again. This was the second time in less than twenty-four hours. No wonder my body was rebelling against me. I didn’t like me very much right now either.

Jesse, Darryl and Yul were dead. I would never see them at work again. I’d never drink a beer or watch the World Series with them. We’d never listen to the new Mastodon disc together. We’d never tell each other jokes. Never again would Darryl bitch about his ex-wife. Jesse would never see another naked woman. Yul would never get to tell Kim that he loved her. They were gone. Dead. So were a bunch of innocent cops—slaughtered in the line of duty by some Russian fuck who could still walk around despite the fact that half his brains had been blown out the back of his fucking head. They were all dead, just like my friends.

All because of some fucked up bullshit.

All because of Sondra.

That bitch.

I hated it when men referred to women as bitches. Didn’t like it when I heard it at work or in a bar. Didn’t care for it in my music. Thought it was misogynistic crap that ought to be abolished along with racism and homophobia. But despite my feelings on the term, I thought it about Sondra now, because that’s what she was.

Her lies burned like my scalp.

My vision cleared, and so did my head. I focused on my anger. It kept me strong. Kept me going. Gave me a purpose and reason to live. Then that feeling gave way to fear again.

Something exploded outside, and the entire machine shop quaked. Broken light fixtures swayed back and forth. Huge chunks of yellowed plaster fell from the cracked ceiling. Glass shattered, spraying across the floor. Whatever it was that exploded, it had been big. The helicopter, maybe, or one of the police cars? I heard flames crackling outside, and smelled burning fuel. The tremors continued, rocking the shelving unit I was sitting against, showering me with dust. I sneezed, spraying blood from the hole where my tooth had been. Wisps of black smoke drifted through the broken windows.

Sondra…

The physical pain was nothing compared that what I felt inside. The emotional hurt and betrayal. All of this had been her fault. Because of her lies.

I’d only been trying to help. But what was the old saying? No good deed goes unpunished? I’d been punished—in spades. I’d let my little head do the thinking for my big head, and in the end, a lot of innocent people had paid the price for my stupidity. For my needs.

I’d been lonely. Then Sondra came into my life and I wasn’t lonely anymore.

And now, here I was by myself again, lonelier than ever before. Abandoned and forgotten, just like this building. Falling apart. Friendless. Women come and go, but your friends are always there, standing beside you through thick and thin.

Until a woman comes between you and them.

Yeah, maybe a lot of this was Sondra’s fault. Maybe she was guilty.

But so was I.

That was the worst pain of all.

I closed my eyes and shivered, waiting for the world to stop. Waiting for the cops to arrest me or for Whitey to find me and put me out of my misery. I didn’t care which, as long as it took the hurt away.

Suddenly, I felt warm breath on my face. Cool hands brushed against my forehead and stroked my cheeks, fluttering like butterflies. Fingers felt my neck. Then they were gone. I heard rustling movement to my right and smelled perfume—a familiar fragrance. I slowly opened my eyes. Sondra was crouched at my side, peering out the window at Whitey’s confrontation with the police. Her expression told me all I needed to know about how the cops were faring.

“Hey.” My voice was raspy. I tried to say more, but I couldn’t. Considering how I felt, that single word was like Lincoln’s Gettysburg Address.

Sondra scurried away from me, her eyes wide and shocked.

“Larry,” she gasped, “you are not dead?”

“No.” Blood dribbled down my chin.

“I think you were dead.”

“Not yet.”

She glanced toward the window. “Whitey is not dead, too.”

I struggled to sit up. “Imagine that.”

“We go now,” she whispered. “Get away before they find us. You can stand, yes?”

“No, I doubt it.”

She moved towards me. “I will help.”

“Don’t bother.” I paused, taking a deep, painful breath. “And stop fronting.”

“What is ‘fronting’? I no understand.”

“You understand more than you let on. You know what fronting is. It means stop with the bullshit. Stop with the lies. You don’t give a damn about me or anyone else, so save the phony concern for one of your johns.”

Sondra flinched as if I’d slapped her. Despite my pain, I grinned. It felt good, hurting her that way after all she’d done to me.

“Larry, you are injured. You not know what you say.”