“Sherm, I don’t—”
He sprang up, lightning quick, and his hand darted out, snatching an empty beer bottle and smashing it on the edge of the table. My reluctance to fight instantly vanished. The grin on his face was contagious, and I matched it. A surge of adrenaline and nicotine and alcohol-fueled bravery rushed through my body, and it was the greatest feeling in the world. There is no such thing as a fair fight. If you grow up like I did, that’s the first thing you learn, long before you know your ABCs or multiplication tables. You don’t learn it from watching some purple dinosaur or a bunch of puppets. You learn it from your surroundings. If you’re going to fight, fight to win. And if you’re going to win, win by any means possible. Kick. Claw. Gouge. Bite. Punch. Repeat as necessary. Win. And that was exactly what I intended to do. Win. Unfortunately, Angie stopped us before it went any further.
“Take it outside, guys. Now! Murphy’s gonna call the cops!”
“They started it,” Sherm said, not taking his eyes off his target.
“Bullshit, you sons of bitches are the one’s that started it, knocking our beers over and shit. Bunch of pussies!”
Murphy swung around from behind the bar, three-hundred-plus pounds of wiry black hair and hard fat, an aluminum baseball bat clutched in both meaty hands.
“I don’t give a fuck who started it. You continue it in here, or in my parking lot, and I’ll have the police down here so fast your goddamn heads will spin. That includes all of you. Tommy, John—Sherm— you guys go first. Get in your car and leave. I see you out there waiting for these guys, and I’m calling the cops. Am I making myself perfectly fucking clear?”
“But Murph,” Sherm protested, “we’re regulars.”
“I don’t give a shit if you’re regulars or not. I won’t have this in my place. Out!”
“This sucks, yo.”
Murphy nodded at the others. “The same goes for you guys. You try to follow them outside and start some shit, and you’ll spend the night in jail. I can goddamned guarantee you that.”
Now that I’d pretty much decided what I was going to do with my last days and how I was going to make sure my family was taken care of, the last thing I wanted was police involvement. I wanted to stay below the radar. I caught Sherm’s eye, nodded toward the door, and smiled at Angie. She squeezed my shoulder, saying nothing.
“Thanks, Angie.” I handed her my last ten-dollar bill, wondering what the hell I’d do for gas money. “Thanks for everything.”
She softened. “It’s cool, Tommy. Don’t sweat it. Now get going before the cops get here. Murphy’s plenty pissed off right now, but he won’t rat you guys out. Just in case though, I wouldn’t come back for a while.”
I nodded. “Trust me, Angie. You won’t be seeing me again.”
“Stop that. It’s just for a few weeks, Tommy. It’s not like you’ll never be back.”
Instead of replying, I just gave her a sad smile.
The other guys stepped away, and Murphy recruited several patrons to act as bouncers. Without giving anybody an excuse to start swinging, we walked to the door. The last thing I heard as we left the bar was the jukebox playing Blue Oyster Cult’s “Don’t Fear The Reaper.”
But I did fear him. I was scared of the son of a bitch, and I knew that I’d be meeting him soon.
* * *
My nose started leaking blood again in the parking lot, and I daubed at it as we walked to John’s car.
“That was fun,” I snickered. “Good way to spend a Friday night.”
“Thanks for taking my back, guys,” John mumbled apologetically. “I wasn’t sure what I’d do if all seven of them jumped me.”
“Should have thought of that before you started bawling like a baby.”
“Fuck you, Sherm.”
“Fuck you, Carpet Dick.”
All three of us started laughing then, great bellyaching laughs that left us breathless after they’d passed. We climbed in the car, John behind the wheel, Sherm stretched out in the back, and me riding shotgun.
“Yo, let’s hit the diner,” John suggested. “I’m hungry.”
“That’s cool with me,” Sherm shrugged. “I could use some coffee.”
They looked at me for approval.
“Sure. Sounds good. We need to finish talking anyway.”
“Christ,” Sherm adjusted his Ford cap. “There’s more bad news?”
I shook my head. “No. But you guys asked me what I was going to do. I figured I’d tell you. I owe you that much.”
They were my best friends, and I loved them. I really did. But I didn’t trust them for this. I didn’t trust John because he was stupid and I didn’t trust Sherm because he was crazy. But I was going to tell them anyway. Maybe it was the alcohol talking, or the fact that we’d just thrown down together, but right then, I decided to tell them everything.
John put the car in gear, and we pulled out of the parking lot.
“So what are you gonna do?” Sherm asked. “You’re not going to cap yourself or something like that, are you?”
“No, suicide is for pussies.”
“Well what then? What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to rob a bank.”
SIX
Get the fuck out of here, Tommy! Rob a bank. You really had me going for a second. Why you bullshitting us?”
When I didn’t reply, John gripped the steering wheel even harder while Sherm twitched in the backseat.
“Are you fucking crazy?” John continued. “That cancer’s ate away at your brain, dog! You ain’t robbing no bank!”
I smiled. “You heard what Sherm said back at the bar. Live like there’s no tomorrow. Life’s a bitch, then you die. Well, I intend to grab the bitch by the balls before I go.”
“Word.” Sherm agreed. “That’s how I’d do it.”
“But that’s crazy! What about Michelle and T. J.? Why would you do that to them?”
“I’m doing it for them, man! They deserve a better life, better than the one I can give them. What the hell do you think will happen to them when I’m gone? We sure as shit don’t have any life insurance. You think they can make it on what Michelle gets paid at the Minit-Mart?”
“The same thing happens if you go to jail, Tommy. How are you gonna support them behind bars? Do you want to go to jail? You know what happens in there? You ever watch Oz? The homeboys try to fuck you in the ass and make you their prison bitch, or else you end up with the skinheads just to stay alive!”
I put my hand on his shoulder.
“John, if they bust me and I go to jail, so what? What’s the worst thing they could give me? Life in prison? Big deal. I don’t have much of that left anyway. Life in prison is a maximum sentence of one month for me. Think about it. I’m fucking dying, man. Hell, I’d probably be dead before it even went to trial.”
Chewing his lip, John slowed down to turn into the diner.
“Keep going,” Sherm said.
“I thought you wanted coffee?”
“I do, but that was before Tommy dropped the robbery bomb on us. The middle of the diner isn’t the place to be talking about this shit. Use your head. ‘Hello, police? We heard about the bank robbery on the news tonight, and just last week, my husband and I were enjoying a piece of apple pie at the diner, and we overheard Tommy O’Brien and his two hoodlum friends talking about doing that very thing.’ See what I mean?”
“So where are we going?” John quit chewing his lip and began chewing the cuticle on his thumb instead.
“How about the lake?” I suggested.
“Works for me,” Sherm agreed, “but let’s stop first. I still need smokes and coffee. I’m jonesing bad, man.”
We stopped at a twenty-four-hour drugstore, the kind that sold nicotine patches right next to the cigarettes,
