– Sorry.
– So when?
– Later. Later sometime.
– That bites, man.
– Yeah.
I put out my hand. He grabs me and crushes me, slapping my back hard a couple times. It feels like he’s breaking more of my ribs.
Miguel goes back into the clubhouse to get ready. He has to play the rubber game of the first series of the season. Must be nice. I walk back out the tunnel.
Outside, the sun is still hot and it still feels good. Cops may be at David’s right now, but they won’t know who they’re looking for for awhile. I can figure out what to do with Anna, how to help her best, and be on my way. I may not get a full thirteen thousand mornings out of the deal, but I’m going to get something. I open the car door.
BANG!
The shock wave vibrates out of the car, ruffling my shirt, and dissipates over the parking lot. I bend over and look inside. Anna has my jacket on her lap, the pocket the gun was in is flipped inside out. Her hands are over her ears. The .22 is in her left hand, smoke oozing from the barrel. Her eyes are fixed on something. I look down to see what it is. There’s a hole in my shirt and, under that, a hole in my stomach. It’s about five inches to the left of my belly button. I get in the car. Anna is still staring at the hole she put in me. I have the tail of my shirt pulled up. I’m staring at it, too.
She says something.
I look at her.
– What?
She shakes her head.
– No.
I nod.
– It’s OK.
– No. I’m sorry. I.
– It’s OK.
I reach for the gun.
– Here, let me have that.
She lowers the gun.
BANG!
This one is up higher. The tape slows it down, but it gets through and buries itself between two ribs. I inhale and feel it grinding against the bone.
It hurts.
I black out.
I come to.
Anna still has the gun in her left hand. She’s crying. She shouldn’t cry.
I point at the gun.
– I didn’t know you were left-handed.
She nods.
– Here. I’ve got it now. I’ll take it.
She nods, and pulls the trigger again, but the gun is empty. I take it from her hand and drop it on the backseat.
– OK. That’s over, that’s. Oh. Oh, man. Wow. This hurts. This really. OK. Here’s what. Can I have my jacket please?
She hiccups a couple times, covers her mouth with her hand, holds it there, then moves it away when she doesn’t vomit.
– My jacket, Anna. Please.
She picks up the jacket. I lean forward.
– Just, just wrap it around me, around my middle.
She leans over and wraps the sleeves around me.
– Good. Thanks.
I lean back, adjust the sleeves so that they cross the wound in my belly, and tie them in a tight double knot.
– OK. That’s better. That’s. And see.
I show her the hole in the tape where her second bullet entered. There is only the slightest dribble of blood leaking out.
– That one’s not bad at all. So now. Now all we have to. All we have to do is.
My head spins. I grip the steering wheel. It stops spinning.
– I’m gonna sit still for a sec, OK?
I lean back.
– Why did you kill my son?
I turn my head to face her.
– What did he do to you?
– I.
– He must have done something.
I remember Mickey. How smug he was when he figured out who I was and he demanded money from me. I remember how he threatened to tell David where I was, how he threatened Mom and Dad. I think about Mom and Dad, what it must feel like knowing some of the terrible things I’ve done. How much worse it would be if they knew them all.
– He didn’t do anything to me.
– No. He must have.
– Anna. Nothing. He did nothing. All he did. He. He just stumbled across me and recognized me. I got scared. I couldn’t take a chance he’d tell. That’s why. I killed him. He did nothing. He was a good kid. I. I liked him.
She closes her eyes. Tears leak out.
– Yes. Yes. He was a good boy.
I’ve started. I’ve started, and I find I can’t stop.
– And. I. I dream about him sometimes, too. Like you. I. I dream about all of them sometimes. And. If I could. Anna, if I could change. I was. When I was young, when I was a kid. I was driving and I, I hit this, this tree. And if. My friend was in the car and he died, you know. It was. And I thought, sometimes I thought I wished it had been me. But I really didn’t. When I was honest, honest to myself, I was thanking God that it was him and not me. But. Now. Now I wish, God, every day I wish it had been me. All the lives, Anna. You have no idea. All the lives that could have been saved. Oh, shit.
I spin again. Stop spinning.
Anna reaches over and presses her hand over the wound in my chest.
– I’ll get someone. An ambulance.
I look past her, through the window, and see the water beyond the boardwalk.
– That’s OK. That’s. Here’s what. OK, I’m gonna go and. I’m gonna go. I’m. I think I’m gonna just go down to the beach, OK? I think that’s what. Jesus. Jesus. I’m gonna go to the beach.
She still has her hand pressed against my chest. I put mine over hers.
– What you. There will be people. David has other people. They’ll want to know what happened. So the best thing. What you should do is. There’s money in the trunk. There’s a lot of money in the trunk. You need to take it. Take the car and go somewhere. Take the money and go somewhere. Back to Russia. Somewhere. Go away.
She’s staring at the blood seeping between her fingers.
