“How you know my name?” she asked.
“Huh?”
“My name. You say it to your friend when you help me. You say, ‘Sondra’. How is it you know my name?”
“Oh…” I laughed, nervous. Already, the gunshot and escape seemed distant and unimportant. This—having the girl of my dreams in my backseat—was far more unlikely.
“My name’s Larry Gibson. I watch you dance.”
“Yes.” She nodded, studying us both carefully. “Yes, I see you both at club. You talk to the other girls but you watch me long time.”
“Well,” I said. “I guess I do watch you a lot. I enjoy your show.”
“Me, too,” Darryl said. “And my name is Darryl Moore. And now that we’ve made introductions and we’re all friends and shit, how about you fucking tell us what the fuck is going on and why the fuck you were hiding beneath Larry’s fucking Jeep and why the hell those motherfuckers were fucking shooting at us?”
Sondra pursed her lips. “You curse very much.”
“You’re goddamn right I do,” Darryl said. “Now talk.”
Before she could respond, my hands went numb and I started shaking. I managed to roll the window down, but then I turned on the heat. I felt cold all of the sudden, but I was sweating like a pig. The road blurred. Darryl said something to me, but I couldn’t understand him. His voice sounded like it was far away. He grabbed the steering wheel and I tried to focus on him.
“Pull the fuck over,” he said. “You’re going into shock.”
I was and I did. I felt weak and tired and out of breath. Darryl and I switched places. I wasn’t worried about him wrecking the Cherokee. Not anymore. Such concerns seemed silly and trivial now. It’s not every day that someone tries to kill you. They’d shot at us. They’d actually fucking shot at us. It wasn’t like a movie or a TV show. This was real fucking life.
While Darryl readjusted the seat and familiarized himself with the Jeep, I lay back in the passenger’s seat and tried to get my breathing under control. Sondra leaned forward, staring at me. It felt good, seeing the concern reflected in her eyes. She reached out and touched my forehead.
“Thank you again,” she said. “For help. You good. Both of you.”
Her fingers slowly caressed my skin. They felt cool to the touch. I closed my eyes and sighed. Then her hand went away again.
Darryl pulled back onto the Interstate and fumbled out his cell phone. He flipped it open. The keypad glowed green in the darkness.
“Who you calling?” I asked.
“The cops, man. Who the fuck do you think?”
“Nyet,” Sondra shouted. “You no call police. Very bad. Much trouble if you call them!”
Ignoring her, Darryl began dialing with his thumb. Sondra leaned farther forward and snatched the cell phone from his hand. The Cherokee swerved into the passing lane. A GPS tractor trailer blared its horn at us. Darryl jerked the Jeep back into our lane. Before we could react, Sondra rolled down the window and tossed the phone outside. It smashed against a concrete construction barrier. The trucker blew his horn again.
Darryl gripped the wheel. “Larry, I’m gonna kill your new girlfriend.”
“She’s not my girlfriend…”
“Shut up.” He glared at her in the rearview mirror. “What the hell did you do that for? Fucking phone cost me a whole goddamn paycheck. You know you’re paying for that shit, right?”
Sondra’s bottom lip trembled. “No hit me, please. No more. I am sorry. I buy you new phone. Just no hit.”
“Hit you?” Darryl’s voice immediately softened. “No. Relax. Ain’t either of us gonna hit you. We don’t beat on women. We ain’t no chumps. It’s okay. You’ll be okay. Just tell us what’s going on and why you don’t want to call the cops.”
“Let’s get off the road first,” I suggested. I was starting to feel a little better. “I don’t like being out here. If they called the cops and gave them my plate number, then the State troopers might be looking for us.”
“Why would they call the cops? Aren’t they the motherfuckers that shot at us? That doesn’t exactly seem like the behavior of law-abiding citizens, does it?”
“No,” I agreed, “it doesn’t.”
“Damn straight it doesn’t. These guys are mobsters. They ain’t gonna call the po-po. ”
“We don’t know that for sure.”
“Jesse and Tonya said—”
“Fuck Jesse and Tonya,” I interrupted. “We don’t know for sure if these guys are Russian mob.”
“Yes,” Sondra said. “They are.”
“Oh…”
Darryl chuckled. “Well, that’s just fucking wonderful, now ain’t it?”
We were silent for a few minutes. Darryl took the exit for Interstate 83 and we headed back to York.
“Let’s get off the road,” I said again. “We need to go somewhere and think. Sort this whole thing out.”
“Where?”
“My place. If the cops aren’t looking for us, then we’ll be safe there. The Russians don’t know our names and they don’t know where we live.”
Darryl arched an eyebrow. “Your place?”
“Yeah. My apartment. Sondra can get cleaned up a little and then explain everything.”
Sondra smiled.
I blushed. My ears burned and my cheeks felt warm. Her smile grew broader and so did my embarrassment.
Darryl looked at me and then at Sondra. He shook his head and sighed.
“There you go, thinking with your goddamned dick…”
“Shut up, Darryl.”
That was how I finally met Sondra.
And it was the last time I was ever truly happy.
Things got worse after that.
eight
Webster greeted us with a hiss. His food dish was half-empty again. In protest, I noticed that he’d flipped his water bowl over, soaking the doormat. He sat on his haunches, glared at Darryl, and then growled.
“Don’t growl at me, fur ball. I’ll tell Larry to sell you to the animal testing people.”
Hissing at the threat, Webster retreated to safety beneath the kitchen table. After a moment, he crept out and investigated Sondra, who was busy looking around. Darryl went to the window and peeked through the shades.
“Anything?” I asked.
“Nobody out there,” he said. “We’re cool.”
I didn’t reply. My attention had returned to Sondra. She’d been timid at first, half afraid to come inside. But now she was crouched on the kitchen floor, holding Webster in her lap. She slowly stroked his fur. Blinking, Webster purred. He seemed as surprised as I was. Then he licked her fingers and Sondra giggled. It was the most beautiful thing I’d ever heard.
“His tongue is rough, like paper sand.”
“Sandpaper,” Darryl corrected her.
“Da. Sandpaper. What is his name?”
“Webster.” I grinned.
“Web-ster…” She looked back down at him. “Hello, Webster. You are fat cat, no? Larry feed you good. You are fuzzy cat.”
