Six Bad Things

My body is still trying to wring out the last of the poisons I’ve been dumping in it, but at least I got some real sleep. I have that stupid feeling you get when you sleep too much. I look at the clock. 9:27. Shit, I slept almost twelve hours. I go to the curtains and pull them open. It’s dark out. Sandy laughs.

– Yeah, can you believe that? Nothing like Percs to knock you out.

I look at the clock again. 9:27 PM. It’s Friday night. I’ve slept for twenty-four hours. Again.

– Where’s my phone?

Sandy shrugs.

Where’s my phone? Where’s my fucking phone? The TV. I turn the volume back up, but it’s Larry King now. They’ll cut in, right? If something has happened to Mom and Dad, they’ll cut in. Phone! It’s not in my pockets. I didn’t leave it on the nightstand.

– Is this it?

Sandy’s standing in the bathroom door with the phone. I left it in there when I cleaned up. I grab it from her and turn it on. It powers up and chirps and the LED screen shows that I have eleven messages. Fuck. I don’t even know how to get messages off this thing. I flick to the phone book and find the only number in there, Dylan’s number. The phone rings and I jump and it falls to the floor.

– Fuck.

Sandy reaches for it and I knock her hand away.

– Don’t touch that!

She holds her hands in the air.

– Excuse fucking me.

I pick up the phone, take it in the bathroom, and close the door. It rings a third time and I push the green button.

– It’s me. I’m here. I’m sorry, I.

– Dude, that you? Don’t you ever check your messages? Hey, I got someone here wants to talk to you.

I listen while Rolf passes the phone off.

– Hank? They killed Hitler. They killed my dog.

I COULD let him die. I could tell Rolf and Sid to fuck off. They have no idea where I am. I could just let them kill T, and their part in all this would be over. I mean, who is T? Just a guy I barely knew in high school. Just a crazed speed freak with a death wish anyway. Just a guy who wanted to help me protect my parents for no reason other than he misses his own.

Shit.

And anyway.

Tim is gone.

My friend took the money and he’s gone. That’s clear now. And my choices are gone with him. The ship is sinking and it’s time to get as many people off as possible.

I lie again.

I tell Sid and Rolf I know where the money is. I tell them I got Sandy to tell me where Tim is and I found him and he told me where the money is. They want to know where he is now. I tell them something they’ll believe, I tell them I killed him.

They want to meet where the money is, but I tell them no chance. I tell them we’ll meet someplace public, they’ll let T go, and I’ll take them to the money. They like that idea because it means they get the money and me. We decide to do it at the hotel. They’re calling from a pay phone outside a supermarket. Sandy gives them directions and the name of the guy at the front desk. He’ll set them up with a room, and then they’ll call us and we’ll do the swap.

After I get off the phone Sandy goes down to the front desk to pay for the extra day on our room and to tell her guy that some friends of hers will be coming in.

I make my call.

– Who the hell are Rolf and Sid, Henry, and why are they leaving you messages?

It should have been obvious, I guess. He gave me the phone after all, so of course he has the code to retrieve all the messages Rolf and Sid left for me.

– More to the point, what are they doing talking about my money?

– Take it easy, Dylan.

– Don’t. Don’t even start, Henry. I have been very patient with you, treated you like a professional, and where has it gotten us? You blow off the deadlines for two progress reports, and when I investigate your absence I discover you have been receiving calls from people who seem to be trying to make a deal for my money. And who are these people? No, don’t answer that because I think I know. Sid, I gather, would be the Sidney Cain the authorities are looking for, and Rolf is most likely the nameless gentleman whose sketch is now being circulated. Are these your allies, Henry? Are these the kind of subcontractors you have employed? If so, and I am certain that it is so, I can only call your judgment questionable. No, pardon me, I am being sarcastic, let me be more blunt. You’re fucked-up! You are completely fucked-up and you are pushing me and your parents very close to the fucking edge!

– I have the money, Dylan.

– Where?

– Here.

– Here being Las Vegas, if I am to believe the news reports?

– That’s right.

– Well it is Friday night, Henry. Don’t you think you should be rushing my money to me?

– I can’t

– Why not?

– Because my picture is on the TV, Dylan, and I can’t really travel much.

– What do you propose?

– Come and get it.

I give him the address where I plan to be and hang up.

I try to make myself see this ending with my parents still alive.

I snort two fat lines of crank to give me an edge, and eat a Perc to keep from feeling anything.

All I have to do now is kill everybody.

ROLF CALLS my cell from their room and tells me the number. I tuck the Anaconda and the 9 mm in my pants and give Sandy the keys to the Chrysler and tell her to wait here for fifteen minutes and then leave if I’m not back.

– Where?

– A lawyer, go to a lawyer and tell your story.

– And then what?

– You didn’t do anything. If they’re any good, they’ll get you out of trouble and sell your story to Fox. So just find a good lawyer.

I open the door to go to Rolf and Sid’s room.

The problem is, Sandy didn’t tell her guy at the desk not to give Rolf and Sid our room number, which is why Sid is standing right outside our door, shoving his .45 in my face and forcing me back into the room.

SID STILL isn’t talking to me. I open my mouth to say something, and he shakes his head, and I close it. He looks disappointed in me.

He takes my guns and makes Sandy and me lie side by side on the floor in the little space between the beds. He sits in the room’s only chair and watches us. Sandy is shaking. I put a hand on the back of her head.

I should have sent her to the car right after she came back up from the desk, but she took forever to get her