Absent Friends

him.

Jack points the gun again. Jimmy's covering Markie, so Jack shoots at Jimmy. The bullet slams into the wood an inch from Jimmy's face. The third shot, Jimmy hears it and thinks he's dead, dead for sure, but he doesn't feel anything. He twists around, looks up at Jack. Jack is standing over him, and Jimmy waits for him to shoot again, but Jack just says, Fuck. He says, Oh, you fucker.

Then he falls.

Jimmy turns, looks for Tom. Tom's on his belly, covered in sawdust, right arm straight out, and there's a gun in his hand.

It's like some freezing wind came and blasted them all, changed them to ice or to frozen stones and it's been centuries now, forever, and still no one can move.

That's how it feels, but Jimmy knows it can't be true. The echoes of Tom's shot are still fading as he scrambles across the plywood to where Jack's sprawled. He checks for a pulse in Jack's neck, they taught him that in paramedic class, but he doesn't have to do it. He already knows. The dark spot on the front of Jack's shirt is small, but the blood under him is spreading so fast, the sawdust can't soak it up.

Jack, says Tom, whispering. Jack.

Tom, still flat on his belly, stares at his hand, his own hand with his own gun in it, his eyes wild like he's seeing a monster he never knew was there on the end of his arm. Very gently, he puts the gun down on a bed of sawdust, like now that it's quiet he doesn't want to make it mad again. He lurches to his knees and crawls over to where Jack is, leans close to Jack. I'm sorry, he says. Oh, Jesus, Jack, I'm sorry, man, come on.

Jimmy takes hold of Tom's arm, pulls him back. Don't, Jimmy says. Tom, man, there's nothing you can do.

Tom looks at Jimmy like Jimmy's speaking Chinese.

I have to, Tom whispers. I'm supposed to do something.

You can't.

When he gets like that. I'm supposed to do something. Get him to stop. I'm supposed to. Jack? Hey, Jack, hey, man—

Tom, says Jimmy. Tom, he's gone.

Tom looks at Jimmy like he still doesn't understand a word. Markie gets up, moving like he's asleep. He crouches down with them, all three of them next to Jack. Jack's gun is lying in the sawdust, too, like Tom's, two coiled serpents, resting now like they just fought a battle.

Something happens Jimmy's never seen before: Tom starts to cry.

After a while, it's not very long, Tom pulls away from Jimmy, from where Jimmy's been holding him tight. Jesus, Tom says. Shit.

He would've killed us, says Jimmy. Me and Markie. You, too, maybe. Jimmy's shirt is damp on his shoulder, from Tom's crying, and he can't stop shivering.

Tom looks down at Jack, like maybe something's going to happen, like maybe he's wrong about what happened already. Softly he says again, Jesus.

Nobody else says anything.

Then Tom says, Mom.

This'll kill my mom, says Tom.

Jimmy sees her, Mrs. Molloy, he sees her eyes watching Jack, and he knows this is what she's been afraid of, been waiting for all his life. Something like this, Jack getting in the kind of trouble no one gets out of.

I'm supposed to look out for him, says Tom. My job, make sure something like this doesn't happen to him. He laughs, a quick growling bark. Shit, he whispers, oh shit. This will kill her. Jack . . . Tom doesn't finish that. He can't say the word.

He whispers, And me going down for it! Jesus.

You saved our lives, says Markie. He was shooting at us. You won't go down.

Don't you know who I am? says Tom, raw and wild. The cops'll fucking love it, one Molloy wasting the other! Oh, you bet your ass I'm going down for the rest of my fucking life.

Jimmy knows that's right. The cops won't let this go.

And like the cops were wolves, like they smelled blood in the night air, Jimmy hears sirens, far away, coming closer.

Shit, oh shit, says Tom.

Come on, says Markie. He grabs the bag, starts shoving the beer cans back in it.

Wait, says Tom.

What the fuck for? Markie scoops up Tom's gun like it's just another beer can, drops it in the bag. He says, They find you here, you're fucked. Jimmy, they find you here, maybe you don't go to jail, but they'll kick your ass off the Job, you know they will.

This hits Jimmy hard. Markie might be right.

Or they'll tell you, says Markie, they'll say to stay on the Job, you gotta rat Tom out.

When Markie says this, Jimmy feels like he's buried under tons of concrete, like he can't breathe.

The sirens howl louder.

Tom rubs his hand over his head, and Jimmy can see now he's thinking, he's working this out. No, Tom says.