in the backseat with me. He has the window on his side rolled down and the chill fall air blasts into the car as Paris winds it up past eighty on the speedometer.
– Nice ride.
Ed keeps his head turned toward the window.
– You want to drive it a little?
– No thanks. I don’t really drive.
– You from California, you don’t know how to drive?
– I know how, I just don’t.
Paris has tuned in a classic rock station on the radio andJimi is playing “Voodoo Chile.”
– Can’t argue with a man don’t want to drive, but she drives nice ifya change your mind.
– Thanks.
Ed rolls up the window. He leans back into the far corner of the big bench seat, looks at me, and takes off his sunglasses. He’s got sleepy brown bedroom eyes.Beautiful eyes.Crazy eyes. He exhales and gives a little grin.
– So the key was in the cat’s box?
– Right.
– And you found it?
– Yeah.
– And then you got drunk and lost it?
– Right.
– That’s pretty fucked up.
– Yep.
– And you didn’t give it to Roman?
– I did not give the key to Roman.
– He wants it, though,don’t he?
– Yep.
– You sure you don’t have it?
– Yep.
– Give us that fucking key, you fucking motherfucker!
Paris has suddenly twisted around in his seat to scream this at me. His left hand clutches the wheel while he reaches into the backseat and tries to grab me with his right. I’m pushed as far back into the seat as I can get and his hand flails at the air inches from my face as the car begins to swerve out of its lane.
– Give us that fucking key or we’re gonna kill yourmotherfucking ass, motherfucker! It’s fucking ours!That fucking Russ, piece of fucking, backstabbing fucking piece of shit.
The cars around us are blowing their horns and trying to get out of the way.
– Hey! Hey! Hey!
Ed has grabbed Paris ’s huge right arm and is keeping him from taking hold of my face.
– Keep your eyes on the damn road!
Paris snaps out of it. Ed lets go of his arm and Paris turns back in his seat and gets the car under control. The flow of traffic settles down around us. Ed leans back into his corner and smiles at me.
– We need that key.
They all know each other.
– See, Russ had a very simple job.
We’re seated at a booth in a diner just outside Jersey City. Ed and Paris are across from me, eating steak and eggs smothered in Tabasco sauce. I’m having ice water and staring at the sweating bottles of Heineken they both have in front of them. Ed is talking between mouthfuls of food and beer.
– All he was supposed to do was meet us somewhere with something. Instead he fucked around an’ got a bunch a people looking for him.
– Uh-huh.
– Yeah. An’ in the deal he also got you, his buddy, in some steep shit.
– Uh-huh.
Paris empties his beer, holds the bottle up in the air and waggles it at the waitress, signaling for two more. My mouth waters and I drink more water.
– What did Roman tell you?
– He said there was an object you all wanted and the key wasn’t it, but it would do.
– True enough. If the key is what Russ left, it’s what we want.
The waitress shows up with the new beers, sets them down, and leaves. Ed finishes his last bite of egg, pushes his plate aside, gets up and heads for the bathroom.
– I’ll be right back.
Paris takes a huge swallow of his new beer, pokes at the remains of his steak, looks around to check for eavesdroppers and leans toward me a bit.
– I had a dream last night. I shot my dad. The fucked-up thing, I mean, shooting him was fucked up enough, but the fucked-up thing? When I shot him, he was dressed like a Nazi, like a SS motherfucker. And I shot him in the back.
He drinks more beer.
– Anyway, sorry I lost it in the car. I’m not like that.Really.
– No problem.
He sticks his hand out across the table. I take it and we shake.
– Sure you don’t want a beer, something to eat?
– Yeah, but thanks.
– Sure.
Ed plops back down in the booth.
– Sorry about that. Whenya gotta,ya gotta.
The diner is mostly empty, just us and a mixed bag of travelers. Under the table I’m silently clicking my heels together while in my head I repeat to myself over and over, There’s no place like home. There’s no place like home. There’s no place like home.
We cruise around Manhattan, Paris at the wheel. Ed tells me a story.
– When we were kids, me an’ my brother, when we were kids we used to hang out at this Boys Club in Queens. We hatedgoin ’ there. Kids always wanted to fight, everybody,fightin ’ all the time. Me an’ Paris, we hatedfightin ’. Every day, we’d tell our mom we didn’t want to go, an’ every day she’d tell us to get the hell over to the Boys Club an’ let her get some damn work done. They had this wood shop; supposed to make things. All they got to make things with is wood an’ old tires. No shit. Not even real wood, scrap shitfulla knots an’ sap an’ nails an’ shit. You ever try to make somethingouta old tires an’ scrap wood?A birdhouse? Bullshit, nofuckin ’ way. Kids, what they did, they’d cut long strips of rubber from the tires an’ have whip fights up on the roof of the club. Go up there an’ whale the shit out of each other. One day this kid,Dex, he gets Paris up on the roof, but Paris, he don’t want trouble. Don’tfuckin ’ matter toDex. Him an’ his friends, they go after Paris, they pull down his pants an’ whip shit out of his rear end. Leave him up there cryin’, snotty, blood all over his butt. I get him home an’ our mom flips, wantsta call the club, call the cops. Tells us she’s sorry, we never have to go back. Next day, we go right back. We go to the wood shop an’ cut us some long-ass strips of steel-belted radial. Have to cut that shit with a hacksaw. Then we break off these little slivers of razor blade an’ stick ’em in the tips of our whips. I find thatDex kid an’ tell him I’ll see him on the roof. He shows up with his boys an’ before he can even open his mouth to start talking shit, I rake that whip across his eyes. Fucker went right downscreamin ’. His boys try to step up an’ I just startwhippin ’ all over ’em. Paris, he’s all calm an’ shit. He walks over to whereDex is on the ground holding his eyes in his head, yanks the boy’s trousers down, an’ cuts his ass up good.Dex’s crew freak out, can’t handle the action, so they bug out. But Paris just keeps the whip onDex till he’s pretty much dead. Once he stopped, we were both a little worked
