Phoenix Noir

“We count it at your place. We count it, then we go to bed. It will be good for both of us, Karl. I promise. Soon, you’ll not worry anymore about Cooper. Valerie will worry for both of us.”

“No,” I said. I reached for her and pulled her next to me.

“We’re in it together, Valerie. I said I’d do this with you.” But I didn’t really mean it anymore.

I kissed her. I closed my eyes and kissed her in the darkness of the car, tasting the vodka and cigarettes. I tried to put it out of my mind but I could only see her now above Cooper, the gun in her hand, the look of triumph in her eyes.

We parted.

I started the Impala and backed out onto Grand.

Once we got back to my place we would split the goods. I would let her stay the night, if that’s what she wanted, but after that I was gone. I needed to get a story. If anyone connected me to her I’d just tell them she was a pickup and that’s all. I didn’t know shit about Cooper, the money, any of it. It was better that way. I’d let her go. I would miss her, a lot, but I didn’t have any choice.

I had driven about half a mile when she told me to pull over, that she was going to be sick.

I steered the car off Grand, beneath the eastbound lanes of I-10. She lurched out of the car and stumbled to one of the pillars that held the freeway above us. I could see her hunched over in the shadows of the overpass, shoulders hitching.

I waited.

The bag was on the floor of the passenger seat next to the bottle.

The jewels were all there in it.

All I had to do was shut the door and drive. Get on I-10 and drive west and don’t stop until I hit the Pacific.

She’d have to go back to the stripper pole and escort jobs. Too bad about that, but I didn’t ask to be part of a murder.

Her door remained open, leaving the interior light on. I reached over to pull the door shut when I heard her cry out. I wasn’t sure. The cars were so loud above us. I called out to her.

No answer.

I got out of the car and went around to her side. Her door was still open. Before shutting it, I looked down at the bag.

I had to see them. Seeing them all there would make it easier leaving her.

I leaned down and reached for the bag. That’s the moment I felt the punch of the bullet hit me from behind. Right under my rib cage. It knocked me down against the seat of the car. I could smell her there on the vinyl, and the hot odor of the dirt and tires beneath me.

I slid down from the seat and onto the hard, dry ground.

I could see her above me, gun in her hand, pointing it at me. I tried reaching up to the door handle. Then something slammed into my chest and this time I heard the pop of the gun against the rushing of cars above us.

I couldn’t breathe. My mouth worked but nothing came.

She leaned over me.

She kissed me then. The last one.

You ever think about the last kiss you’ll get? Who will give it to you? If perhaps it’s someone like Valerie out there waiting to do it?

Maybe there are worse things than that.

“I’m sorry, Karl. You don’t have to worry now.”

I tried to speak, spitting blood at her instead.

The train’s whistle brought me back.

Valerie was gone.

So was the Impala.

I could see the ribbon of the overpass above me. It seemed so high. I’d never noticed that before. How high above Grand the interstate was. I couldn’t hear the cars on it anymore. They had all gone away.

Everyone had gone away.

I’d reviewed the pictures of Valerie enough. I was tired of it all. There was just the last one of her left anyway.

I could see the moon between the lanes above me. Just a fingernail, really, that was all.

Paint it red and claw my fucking heart out.

The train off Grand cried out again. Maybe it was heading west. It didn’t matter. I would be riding that whistle into the black, bringing that last picture of Valerie along with me.

BLAZIN’ ON BROADWAY

BY GARY PHILLIPS

South Phoenix

Somebody Told Me” by the Killers pumped from the overhead speakers as Ivan Monk entered the busy fitness club. The facility took up the fourth floor of a new high-rise offering a pool, sauna, and a large expanse of machines and free weights.

Passing by the spin class, he heard the instructor joke into her hands-free set, “My friend told me, looking at the mess of clothes on my bed, ‘Girl, you need to get you some new gear.’” The woman, a bronze-hued Latina in a form-fitting outfit, laughed gleefully. She would have been at home on the cover of Maxim. “And I realize that light blue sports bras against dark skin can be distracting, but I can get them three for a good price at Big 5. I guess I kind of had it hanging out in some of my outfits, but you know, really, I hadn’t noticed.” She chuckled again.

Monk noticed. Every man in the class and a couple of the women noticed too. He regretted he couldn’t linger and hear more about her choice of workout clothes. He asked a trainer, “Excuse me, where can I find Nazeen Loveless?” The guy pointed a veined finger at a door, and continued his count as a sweating hausfrau completed a series of crunches.