Hi Folks, With this story, I’m shifting my free story of the week to Friday. Mainly because Kris Rusch posts a free story on Monday and I often share it on Facebook. Enjoy!
The constant, thumping beat, beat, beat from the radio in the Lincoln was giving Eddie Potrano a headache. If he’d slipped into the back seat, he could have put up the glass. Probably he could have turned off the speakers back there too.
He glanced at the driver. He knew Sally from the old days, before he’d been sent to Chicago and got his own crew. He thought it might be nice to ride up front, maybe reminisce with the guy. But that wasn’t to be. Someone had cautioned Sally against being too familiar with Eddie now that he was a made guy.
When they came out of the airport, Sally opened the back door and held it.
Eddie looked at him. “Nah, c’mon Sally. It’s me, eh? I’ll ride up here witchu.” He swung his bag through the open back door, then opened the front door on the passenger side.
As Sally was closing the back door, he said, “Sure thing, Mr. Potrano.”
Mr. Potrano? Whatever. And that had been the whole ride, at least through the first forty minutes or so. Every time Eddie said anything, “Mr. Potrano” was part of Sally’s response.
It made for a long ride. To make it worse, now they were creeping along the New Jersey Turnpike. Well, it wasn’t stop and go. But they weren’t moving very fast.
He glanced toward the speedometer but Sally’s arm was in the way. “What’re we doin’ on speed? Like thirty or somethin’?”
Salvatore glanced at the speedometer. “Yes sir, Mr. Potrano. Almost twenty-five. I’m sorry about that.”
“Hey, it ain’t your fault.” But that damn music, thump, thump, thump. He gestured toward the dashboard. “Hey Sally, can we maybe get somethin’ decent on that thing or what?”
“Sure. Sure thing, Mr. Potrano.”
Salvatore Renozo leaned slightly forward and glanced at the radio to reacquaint himself with the knobs. Yeah yeah. Volume on the left, tuner on the right.
He reached for the tuner, then turned his attention back to the traffic. A grin curled one corner of his mouth as he glanced at Eddie then back to the windshield. “What is it wit’ Jersey, anyway, Mr. Petrano? Whaddathey, need more lanes or what?” He laughed slightly.
Eddie shifted in his seat, lay his head back, glanced left. “Hey, she’ll wait. We’ll get there when we get there. I mean, she called me, eh?” He grinned.
Why the senator from New York would want to meet him in New Jersey anyway was something he couldn’t understand. But she’d bought the ticket. Tomorrow, before he went back to Chicago, he hoped to visit the old neighborhood.
“Hey Sally, so if you ain’t doin’ nothin’ tomorrow, maybe we could visit the old neighborhood, eh? Whaddya say?”
Barely listening and without looking around, Sally nodded. “Sure, Mr. Petrano. Sure. So you want what? Like Rock or…?” The radio already had squelched through seven stations in rapid succession.
His head still against the head rest, Eddie frowned, then closed his eyes. Had Sally always been this stupid? The third or fourth station would have worked fine. But he didn’t want to tell the guy to go back. He used to be a friend.
His eyes still closed, Eddie rolled his head left, then right, stretching his neck muscles. “Hey, just find somethin’, eh? You know what I like. Like we used to listen to. Don’t have to be nothin’ great.” He opened his eyes and glanced at Sally. “Just none’a them heavy-beat raps or that alternative crap. None’a that screamin’ that passes for music, y’know?”
He lay his head back again and closed his eyes.
“Yeah, hey, I know whatchu mean, Mr. Potrano.” He shrugged, then grinned and turned to look at Eddie again. “Guess I got in the habit, y’know? My kid, he listens to this jiga—”
The passenger side window exploded. The gunshot itself was almost deafening. It fractured the world into a series of stop-action frames.
Bits of glass thudded against the right shoulder of Eddie’s suit and peppered the right side of his neck and face. The bullet tore the tip and bottom off his nose on its way to Sally.
Sally jerked once, surprised, as a spot appeared high on his right forehead. He slapped back into the pink mist now covering what was left of the driver’s side frame and window.
Tires squealed hard to Eddie’s right as Sally stared past him, open mouthed, then collapsed over the steering wheel.
Eddie turned his head to find what Sally was looking at.
A face and arm disappeared into a window in the car alongside him. The car became a dark blur as Eddie forced himself hard away to his left. In his periphery, the tail lights jumped as the car climbed the curb on the right. A second later, the back of the car disappeared beyond the right rear corner of a bus.
Eddie was crammed as far to the left as he could get, his shoulder wedged in behind Sally’s body.
Then all he could see was Sally’s back.
The back of Sally’s tight-weave herringbone blue suit. Well, it was purplish-blue when a streetlight flashed through the window. Otherwise it was grey-black.
Obeying the law of action/reaction, Sally slumped over to the right. The steering wheel turned under his weight and his upper arm lodged against the console.
Eddie grabbed the upper right arc of the steering wheel with his right hand. The back of the bus was receding. So they were slowing down. Good. Or the bus was speeding up. Still good.
The radio thumped through another threatening, crotch-grabbing song on some bones-through-a-meat-grinder radio station. Loud. Jeezus, did Sally turn the damn thing up?
Maybe dead-Sally did it.
The air conditioner was on high somehow too, blowing air across his knuckles and up into the arm of his coat. The air was practically frigid. Was the AC on high before?
He pushed upward with his right hand on the steering wheel, dragging it against Sally’s body weight.
No, that ain’t right. The other car went around the bus to the right. They’re gone. I’m alive.
But they went right. Right. Up over the curb. Must be a way out over there. Maybe an exit.
Sally had us in the right lane anyway. Maybe an exit.
Maybe if he steered right a bit, straight a bit.
Fighting panic, he pulled down on the steering wheel, forcing the car toward the right curb.
Use that for a guide. Stay behind the bus and get off on the exit. Get outta this traffic.
But he couldn’t see the exit. He couldn’t sit up. Maybe they were waiting.
The curb would disappear at the exit. Stay along the curb. Stay along the curb.
He tugged on the steering wheel and the right front corner bumped up over the curb.
He steered back to the left slightly.
The tire dropped.
The other car passed the bus on the sidewalk. He could use the bus as a shield. Stay behind the bus.
Finally he got his left elbow under him and leaned up a bit so he could see.
Just as the bus angled right.
Good.
He peered through the darkness, trying to see past the bus on the right. When the land stopped dropping away so sharply maybe there was something he could steer into. Brush maybe. An old building. Jersey was chock full of old buildings.
Hard to see past the glow of the dash lights.
Then the brake lights on the bus glowed red.
He flicked his gaze right. The headlights reflecting off the bus blinded him too.
Damn it. Is it flat out there? Is there a building? Brush? Is it still a drop off? One thing he didn’t need was to gain speed.
But the brake lights on the bus—
He steered hard right.
The front of the car dipped hard away.
Sally’s body shifted.
The brake.
He let go of the steering wheel and tugged hard on Sally’s trousers at the left hip. The body moved a little.
Eddie squeezed his arm between Sally’s left thigh and the steering wheel.
The steering wheel turned back to the left a bit.
The right side of the car dipped lower but the left almost leveled off.
Then it rolled.
Metal wrenched all over the world and the seat flung Eddie into the air. His right shoulder hit the steering wheel and rolled over it as his body flipped. His shoulders slapped against the windshield and the back of his head broke something. Glass? Must be my day for glass.
Just below his right shoulder blade he hit the rearview mirror with a resounding crack.
Hope that was more glass.
Blinding pain seared through his right side. He strained to reach for the steering wheel. His fingertips brushed it and—
Everything turned around and speeded up.
One of his knees hit him in the chin and his arms disappeared.
His back popped, then twisted and wrenched.
He was in the seat again, against the roof, against the dashboard.
Against the driver’s side door, the roof, the passenger seat and door.
His chest atop the head rest on the driver’s side, then his chin and throat, his head against the frame, his neck bowed. Up against the roof again.
Sally flashed past, lying still, moving only with the motion of the car.
Dead weight.
Eddie couldn’t be still. Back against the back seat, against the roof, rolled from his back to his chest. Dropped lengthwise but facing the passenger door. Weird.
Again he was jerked up and back. His left shoe was torn off, his ankle and knee wrenched hard between the bucket seats.
He was flung hard against the back window and his leg pulled free of the seats. He slapped against the roof, dropped against the back of the back seat, then fell across to the back passenger window. He flashed back to the driver’s side back window, down to the back of the front seat. He was glued there for a long second, then dropped face-down onto the plush cushion of the back seat. He tried to turn his head. There, the back of the driver’s side bucket seat. It was leaning at an awkward angle toward the other bucket.
Chomping on my leg.
He flexed his left foot. No, his leg was on the seat with him, his foot pressing against the passenger side back door.
He squeezed, tensed against his next flight.
But no. No, this is good. I wanna stay here. Lemme stay here. This is good.
The car teetered, leaned, strained to flip one more time.
Then it groaned angrily and settled with a jolt.
It bounced once, twice. It stopped. The world stopped.
He allowed the gentle motion to close his eyes.
The radiator hissed loudly. The engine began the tick, tick, ticking as it cooled.
The smell of gasoline and oil and scalding, angry, steaming water wafted in through the shattered windshield.
At least the shocks are good. It only bounced twice. His dad checked the shocks on his mom’s car by pressing down hard against the back bumper.
Drool leaked from the left corner of his mouth to the seat cushion. How long’ve I been asleep? It was a dream? Maybe it was a dream.
He pushed against something solid with his feet and a blinding pain fired up through his left leg. As he jerked it away it felt like jelly. Like pulling a rope tied to nothing. He reached with his head for his pillow. It wasn’t there.
The night air was cool. It rushed through the windshield and draped over the top of the bucket seats.
His head hurt. So he was alive.
His neck hurt. Something pinched in there.
His nose and top lip were on fire. His nose was bleeding. No, not his nose.
He ran his tongue over his teeth. All there.
His arms were back again, and his shoulders. The left arm was beneath him, his hand cupping his crotch. The back of his right fingers lay on glass pebbles on the driver’s side floorboard.
The hammer on his 9mm gouged against the bottom of his ribcage on the left.
Is Sally still on the front floorboard? Gotta be. But hey, everybody’s gotta be somewhere.
Dead weight. Dead weight saved Sally a lashing about as the car rolled.
Didn’t matter. Dead’s dead. Alive’s alive.
The rolling car punished him for being alive.
Then through the hissing steam and ticking engine and foul smells, two car doors closed. Then another car pulled up, roughly, groaning to a stop. Another door opened and closed.
Sounda like the hinges were rusted. Maybe a pickup or a truck of some kind. Do they have trucks bigger than pickups in Jersey? Maybe a delivery truck or something like that. Not a big rig though.
And not a delivery truck like UPS or FedEx either. Those sound unique when they stop.
When Eddie was a kid and Sally lived three doors down some guy got UPS and FedEx deliveries across the street a couple times a week. Eddie couldn’t tell without looking out the window whether it was UPS or FedEx, but he could tell without looking that it was one of them. All because of the sound they made when they stopped.
And the hinges. The door of whatever pulled up just now closed on hinges, like a car door. It didn’t slide shut like a door on a delivery truck. Well, a UPS or FedEx truck. One of them has a sliding door next to the driver. FedEx maybe. On UPS the door is just open. I think.
Like the woman said, what difference does it make anyway?
No, that wasn’t it. “At this point,” she said. At this point, what difference does it make?
What an asshole. Such an asshole. But a client’s a client.
She wouldn’t be pleased when he failed to show up on time. Or even close to on time. He’d have to apologize to her. He frowned. Of all the distasteful thoughts he’d ever had, that was probably the worst. Nah, he wouldn’t apologize. Not to her.
What was it that guy said that time? Never apologize. The right sort of people don’t want it and the wrong sort will take mean advantage. Something like that.
She was definitely the wrong sort. Most of his clients were the wrong sort. But she could teach the others a thing or two about all kind’s’a shi—
A distant but frantic voice filtered in through the busted windows.
“Jeez, didju see that? Holy shit, mac! I mean, holy shit!”
A calmer, authoritative voice followed. “Yeah. Hey, stay back. We got this.” A pause. “Unless you know these guys.”
An instant’s hesitation, then, “What? Oh, no, no. I don’t know nobody.”
“Yeah? So stay back. We got it.”
Where do I know that voice from?
“So you guys— you cops?”
“Yeah, you could say that. Yeah, detectives, that’s it. We was drivin’ by so— you know.”
More hesitation, then a tone of recognition. “Right. Hey, right. Sure, uh officer. Hey, you got this, right? I’ll just get back to my truck. Hey, I’ll see you around, eh? I mean, I won’t really see you around but….” To the sound of quickly receding boots or work shoes, something heavy, the first man’s voice grew faint and faded out.
The boots were crunching too. Weird. Must be gravel. When did Jersey stop putting grass on the side of exit ramps? Ain’t they the garden state or something like that?
Ha. I knew it was a truck. I can always tell a truck. It ain’t UPS or FedEx though.
The sound of scuffing shoes came through. Two set of scuffing shoes. Approaching.
The scuffing shoes got louder. Then a quiet, low whistle sounded, and a third voice came in. “No way they’re alive in there.”
“Nah, ‘course not. But we still gotta check, right?”
“Yeah, but hey, that was a rough ride. No way they’re alive. We might as well line up for coffee.”
I’m alive.
The voice that seemed familiar also sounded impatient. “So let’s hope it was rough enough, right? But we still gotta look.”
“Yeah. Well, let’s get it over with, eh? Then coffee.”
The scuffing shoes stopped, replace a moment later by a short, derogatory laugh. “For you, maybe.”
Eddie had heard that laugh before too. Who is that? I gotta know this guy.
The man laughed again, though with a less desultory tone. “You can drop me at the club. Then you can go get your coffee. Every night I get a salty dog in an old fashioned glass. Secret of my success.” He laughed one more time.
A salty dog in an old fashioned glass? And secret of his success? I knew I recognized that voice. That’s Sammy the Gypsy. Only Sammy the Gypsy has about a b’jillion secrets to his success. Everything’s a secret to his success.
A thought fired and Eddie’s lips moved. “Hey Sammy. Get me outta here, wouldya?” Pain fired through his nose.
But no sound came out. His throat was sore. It felt funny, like it was less or something.
Sammy the Gypsy Romano was made one week before Eddie was called up to the big leagues and subsequently sent to Chicago. Why they kept Sammy here at home and sent Eddie away was a mystery. But Chicago was a good place. Small-town atmosphere and all that. Only who needs a small-town atmosphere?
Maybe when they got him out, he’d ask Sammy about that. Maybe Sammy knew why.
Eddie tried to twist his body around. Get up maybe. The roof was probably crushed but maybe up to his knees. The least he could do was help them help him or something like that. Somebody said that one time. Help me help you. Something like that.
The voice he didn’t recognize came again. “Yeah, yeah, the club. I’ll do that too. Probably need it after this anyways, eh?”
Sammy said, “Yeah, well, look already, okay? Then we’ll go. Check the front first. They said both of ‘em was in the front.”
What? Who said? Who else saw this mess?
“Yeah, okay.”
Scuffing shoes again, turning, sliding a bit. A pause. The distant sounds of cars on the turnpike filtered back in. Occasionally a horn. People deciding at the last second to take an exit, flashing their brake lights, eliciting the drivers behind them to hit the horn.
Probably arms with fists on the ends with middle fingers extended flying out driver’s side windows. God I miss the city. Eddie grinned.
He tried again to shift his position. Help them help me. Yeah.
I wonder who else saw this mess. And who would tell Sammy and whoever else that is?
He worked his right hand across under his abdomen, tried to force himself up.
“Nah, there’s only the one guy in the front. In the floorboard, too. Hard to tell, but I think it’s Sally.”
He thinks it’s Sally. He knows Sally? I mean he knew Sally?
“Hey, imagine a big guy like Sally squeezing into a floorboard, eh?”
“Dead?”
“Like dried moss.”
“Yeah, huh? Good one. But you sure?”
“Back of his head’s gone.”
“Yeah, okay. So then—”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m checkin’ the back too.”
But the seats were dislodged. The roof was crushed. He had to move to the passenger side back window.
A shoe scuffed on gravel, then another one. Then the first one again.
There was a pause, then, “I’ll be damned.” The voice became slightly faint as the guy turned to look at Sally. “Hey, Sammy. I think Eddie’s alive here.”
Yeah, I’m alive, so get me outta here. I got a date with a senator over in—
“Yeah? The boss won’t like that. She wanted ‘im dead.”
She? The boss? She?
Wanted me dead? Me? What Eddie are they talkin’ about? It’s me. Eddie Potrano.
“Yeah, okay.” Then came the soft sound of a pistol leaving leather. And a soft mechanical sound. A click, like. Something being affixed to the pistol. A silencer?
Eddie shifted again, pulled his hand back. He craned his neck down toward the floorboard, back toward the passenger side back window. Worked his right hand free.
“So then the club, right?”
A broad, joweled face appeared in the window. Light from a nearby street lamp reflected off the left side of the face. His lips were stretched in a slight grin. The brim of his fedora shaded where the eyes would be if it wasn’t so dark.
A smooth cylindrical object moved below the face to the side, reflecting a narrow line of light from the same street lamp.
Sammy said, “Yeah, yeah, all right? And then the cl—”
In the compacted, confined space of the back seat of what was left of the Lincoln, the explosion was deafening.
The face jerked away from the window, a new hole in the bridge of the guy’s nose. The fedora flew up as the pistol hit the bottom of the window and clattered to the gravel. It discharged, and a metallic thud sounded as the round hit the outside of the door.
Scuffing shoes approached, calmly. The voice came from behind the car. “Hey Eddie, how’s it goin’?” A pause. “Hey, No Nose really ain’t got a nose now. Nice shot, eh?” Another pause, and scuffing shoes, but receding to one side.
“Hey, this ain’t nothin’ personal, y’know. Just business.” The short, grating laugh came again. “See, that’s why they sent you to Chicago. You were never able to see the end game.”
The end game? What end game? Damn, Sally, get me the hell outta here.
There was a creaking, as of small hinges on a tight door. A small light flickered, a flame. It reflected on what was left of the glass along one side of the back window on the passenger side.
“The boss, she never wanted’a meet with you, Eddie. She wouldn’a been there. You know, just me an’ No Nose.”
Oh no. No no no no no.
The flame got bigger, reflected bigger as something else ignited. “Hey, see you around, buddy.”
No no no no no—
There was a whoosh.
Then there was an explosion.
But Eddie didn’t hear it.
* * * * * * *