Kill Switch

I love this laugh. It feels so good it just perpetuates itself. Then Jarrod catches it; then, Da. It is joy.

The waitress comes over with our bill, hands it to the old guy, and says cheerfully, “Thank goodness for stoners, or we’d never move this food.”

We walk back into Venus Exotics, leaving Da in the car. He is in no running mood, a sore hip and a lit cigarette keeping him reliably planted in the backseat.

True to his word, Matt hands over a bag with a few pill bottles inside, just like the pharmacist does.

“I even gave you a little note with instructions inside, just like the pharmacist does,” he says with no small pride. “You take care of that ol’ boy. Sorry to say, kid, but I know that look. Good things don’t usually follow that look.”

It stings.

“So then, Matty, why don’t you give us one of your other products, that give an old boy a look that good things definitely do follow?”

I did not say that.

Matt quickly reaches out and bops Jarrod on the side of the head with something like a baseball bat that isn’t one. “There, that’ll give you a look.” He’s laughing; now he’s serious.

“Here’s to wash it down,” he says and grabs me a large can of something called POW energy drink off a shelf.

“Thanks,” I say warily. “But is this going to make him feel anything more than we want him to?”

“Only a little extra consciousness, I’m afraid.”

I shake his very warm, strong hand. I wait till I am out the door before giving it a precautionary wipe on my shirt.

We tear away in the Subaru after a successful excursion, feeling a little like maybe we can do this.

“All the best people are rascals,” Da says as he takes this pill and this pill and this pill with a swig of POW and we all cross our fingers.

8

Moods are elevated as we make the last turn into the college. Right stuff or not, the medication seems to be combining well enough in my grandfather to have produced a goodwill and camaraderie that fills the car up nicely. We are all pretty much tired of driving for now, though, and everybody’s looking forward to doing some nothing.

But that doesn’t look like it’s going to happen.

Jarrod quick-pumps the brakes before we get into the parking lot itself.

“Damn,” he says. “There shouldn’t be anybody here.”

“What?” Da and I say.

I go a little bit frantic, and my newfound control and strength go floating like so much smoke straight out the passenger window.

Da remains slouched way back in the car, out of sight, as we sit and ponder.

“I got nobody else visiting, I swear,” Jarrod says. “And that isn’t any car connected to the college I know of. Nobody has been on campus for weeks, nobody is scheduled for another two, they always let me know in advance anyway, and if this is a student, lost and confused, it’s way early for that.”

Da’s voice has dropped an octave.

“You didn’t use that phone, like I told you not to, did you, Young Man?”

I am absolutely certain he hears my Adam’s apple go ga-lulk right now.

“No,” I say, clipped. “You took it, anyway, remember? So, see-”

“Did you call anyone, Daniel?”

Oh no. There are no lies of omission with Da.

“Yes, but I used a landline-”

“Who did you call?”

“Lucy,” I say, flattened. “I called her cell from a pay phone.”

“Drive,” he tells Jarrod.

The driver tears away with surprising speed, and focus.

“Go easy,” Da says. “Stealth is more important than speed. Stealth is more important than everything. They can’t catch you if they don’t chase you, so don’t make them chase you.”

I sit, hands folded, in the shotgun seat, and I believe if my grandfather had a shotgun back there, I would not be in any seat at all. I remain silent for as long as-

“That kind of screwup can be lethal,” Da says to me coldly. “It may be yet.”

“I am sorry, Da. I am so sorry. I wasn’t-”

He punches the back of my headrest. I think it is not violence. I think I am beginning to learn the difference between what is and isn’t violence. I think that was just “shut up.”

“Driver,” Da says.

“Yes, sir.”

“Have you got one of those godforsaken cell phones?”

“Doesn’t everyone?”

There is a barely nonviolent silence.

“Could you please loan your phone to my foolish grandson? His is back at the college. As long as they already know we are with you, one quick call won’t hurt. GPS can’t help them much if we are already right around the corner from them.”

I take the phone, turn to Da.

“Phone your sister, please. Get what you can.”

I do what I am told, as I will continue to do for as long as I know him.

“Lucy?”

“Dan? Now whose phone are you using?”

I try to focus through a separate conversation here in the car.

“We will need a place to stay quiet for a while,” Da says.

“I know a guy,” Jarrod says. “But I kind of figure you’re the kind of guy who would know a guy.”

“I am the kind of guy who would know a guy, but all those kind of guys I know are the kind of guys we don’t want to know now.”

“Um, what?”

“Do you know a place?”

“I do.”

“Very good. For the time being, though, drive the opposite way to there.”

“Why?” he asks.

I punch him in the arm and he complies.

“This is Jarrod’s phone,” I say.

“Please, Dan, just come home, all right? They are not going to do anything to you. But Granddad has done stuff that you don’t even know. They just want to protect him and everybody else and just get him secure…”

The phone is one of those annoying ones that sound like a little radio broadcasting to everyone in the vicinity.

“Secure!” Da nearly vomits the word. “They want to make me secure. Isn’t that just kindness itself.”

“I think he can hear you,” I tell her. “And he’s not wildly in favor of your plan.”

“Too bad. You have to stop this before it gets all serious.”

“Did you rat us out?” I ask as Da gives my headrest a hurry-up punch.

“Why would I even have to do that? They were in my room so soon they practically hung up the phone for me. Please, Dan.”