“Where’ve you been, Stella?” I asked softly.
“I was mad,” she said.
“At what?”
“At you, Triple.”
“You wanna tell me why so I don’t do it again?”
“Not really,” she said with a small shrug. Her shoulders were narrow. They looked cute shrugging.
Okay. I picked her up and carried her into the kitchen. Propped her ass up against the sink and fucked her there. I’d never fucked anyone against a sink before. It got Stella pretty worked up. Her black eyes showed fire. Something close to passion. And, at the same time, she was nicer than usual. Almost tender.
In the morning, she didn’t leave. Was still lying in my bed as I got dressed. I felt a little conflicted about it. Half of me wanted her to stay as long as she pleased, but the other half didn’t want to go through the changes when she left me for good.
“I gotta go to work soon,” I told her.
“Okay,” she said.
“Don’t you?”
“What?”
“Have to go to work?”
“I got fired,” she said casually.
She’d been working at a convenience store over in Howard Beach. I couldn’t really imagine how anyone could get fired from that kind of job.
“What happened?” I asked her.
“I got mad,” she said, leaving it at that.
“And now you’re moving in with me?” I asked.
“If that’s all right,” she answered, looking at me, not showing anything.
“I guess it is,” I said.
I’d had a few women move in with me before. For various reasons having little to do with love or affection. One to get away from a rough husband. Another to be closer to work. I hadn’t had one move in out of poverty though. Always room for a first.
I told my new roommate I was heading out to the barn.
“Okay,” she said.
I put my clothes and boots on and went out. Fed the horses and mucked their stalls. The sun rose up from its hiding place and another bright day came on like a curse.
I walked back to the house to get some money out of my drawer before heading in to work. I did this in plain view of Stella. If she wanted to hit my little stash then so be it. As I stuffed a twenty in my pocket, Stella actually got up off the bed and kissed me goodbye like an old wife.
I walked to the bus stop.
I sat lording over the pool, reading my horse books. Once in a while Stella would come into my mind, but I didn’t let her stay there. Thinking about her too hard might make her vanish.
At the end of my shift, I got the bus back to The Hole. I wanted to spend a good hour working with Culprit. I went into the house first to see if Stella was still there. She was lying on the floor, wearing a pair of baggy gym shorts, reading a tractor manual that for some reason I’d held onto from my days working on a horse farm in Maryland.
She glanced up and smiled. She looked so sweet and good. I got a hard-on and had to do something about it.
We were rolling around against the filthy carpet when I heard the car and saw the flash of cherry lights against the window.
“What’s that?” Stella asked.
“Police,” I said. I’d been expecting it so long it was almost a relief.
“What do they want?” Stella asked, standing up.
“No idea,” I said.
A few heartbeats later they were knocking on the door. I put my pants on, gave Stella a minute to go in the other room, then opened the door.
One cop was white, the other black. They were both wide but built low to the ground. They looked like shrubbery.
“Yes?” I said.
“Triple Harrison?” the black one said.
“Yes?”
“’86 Chevy Caprice Classic? Blue?” the white one asked.
“Yeah, it was stolen,” I said. My insides felt funny.
“Right, we got the report,” the white one again. What report? I wondered.
“Vehicle was abandoned in the Rockaways. It’s at the tow facility near JFK. You’ll have to deal with it,” the black cop said.
“Oh,” I replied, waiting for the other shoe to drop. It didn’t.
The black cop had me sign some papers and wished me a nice day. I stood in my doorway, watching them get back in the patrol car. Mrs. Nagle from next door had her head sticking out of her house.
“They found my car!” I shouted over to Mrs. Nagle. She cocked her head but said nothing. She was mostly senile.
“Your car turned up?” Stella asked as I closed the door. She hadn’t found a reason to put her clothes back on. “Yeah, my car,” I said, frowning.
“I reported it stolen,” she said proudly. “I went and filled out the forms while you were at work. They found it fast.” She smiled, showing teeth.
“Oh,” I said, deciding not to tell her this might lead to my being locked up for life.
“Let’s go get it,” Stella suggested, her face lighting up like we were planning a trip to Disneyworld.
“In a minute,” I said. “I got some business with you first.” I pressed my body against hers, ran my hands down her sides, then tucked them under the slopes of her ass cheeks.
A half hour later I told her I was going to get the bus over to the tow place. She wanted to come but I told her no, without offering an explanation. She pouted a little. She’d never done that before.
I went and gave the horses an early supper. Figured I’d use my one phone call to tell Cornelius, the cowboy who owned the stable, that he’d have to feed and muck in the morning.
I walked up the slope of 78th Street and out to North Conduit Avenue to head to the bus stop.
The sky was still violently blue.
The people at the tow facility didn’t do anything quickly. There was a lumpy white woman who was mad to be alive. By the time she’d gone through all my paperwork and I’d been taken to my car, night was coming on like a headache. My skin felt cold even though it was hot out.
I got into my car and saw that all the trash was gone. I’d had empty soda cans and candy wrappers in there and they were no more. There was one big muddy boot print near the gas pedal.
I pulled the car out onto the road. Expecting some kind of ambush. Dozens of cops, maybe even the feds. Nothing happened. I drove two miles, then finally, when it seemed certain no one was following me, I pulled off onto a side street not far from Aqueduct. It was a narrow road choked with vinyl houses. American flags stood guard over flatline lives. Some kids were throwing a ball at each other. I drove a ways, till the residential area surrendered to a strip mall. Went around the back of the shops and parked the car. Got out and unlocked the trunk. There was nothing there. Not only was Dwight’s body gone, but so was all my crap. The empty feedbags, the horseshoe, the cooler, and the panties. I closed the trunk, got back in the car, and drove. I decided to head on over to the upscale stables off the Belt Parkway. Whenever I felt rich, I went there to buy nice alfalfa hay for Culprit.
For once, I had plenty of room in the trunk.
Fade to… Brooklyn
by Ken Bruen
Galway, Ireland
Only the Dead Know Brooklyn.
Man, isn’t that a hell of a title. I love that. Pity it’s been used, it’s a novel by Thomas Boyle. I read it years ago when the idea of moving to Brooklyn began to seriously appeal. Don’t get me wrong, I’m going, got a Gladstone bag packed. Just the essentials, a few nice shoirts. See, I’m learning Brooklynese, and it’s not as easy a language as the movies would lead you to believe. I’ve had this notion for so long now, it’s “an idée fixe.” Like that touch of French? I’m no dumbass, I’ve learned stuff, not all of it kosher. I don’t have a whole lot of the frog lingo, so I’ve got to like, spare it. Trot it out when the special occasion warrants. Say you want to impress a broad, you hit her with a flower and some shit in French, she’s already got her knickers off. Okay, that’s a bit crude but you get the drift.