All the creatures of planet Milo, extincted.
Purdy unwound the ball, slapped it into the air. The pole creaked. The ball sliced through the patio lights.
"What a crappy setup," he said.
"It's not so bad."
I whacked the hunk back. Purdy caught it.
"You know what?" he said.
"What?"
"I always regretted not convincing you to work for me back in the day. It really was the best thing you could have done. We both knew the art stuff wasn't going to happen."
"We did?"
"You didn't?"
"No, I didn't."
"Right, I guess you didn't. Or you wouldn't have kept trying."
Purdy tossed the ball up, smashed it into orbit.
"Why didn't you tell me?" I said.
"How could I? Besides, what did I know? I'm not in charge of everybody's destiny."
"You're not?" I said.
Purdy stared until he seemed to understand.
"No," he said. "I'm not."
"Oh."
"Don't be so down, buddy. I'm sorry about this job of yours. I know they pulled the rug out on you today. We all just thought it was best to uncomplicate things. To disentangle. But I'll make it up to you somehow."
"I'm sure you will."
"There's that negative tone again. You know, Milo, it was always pretty hard to be your friend. You have a lot to offer but you're so afraid to give up your best. It's like at the supermarket, when they put the old milk at the front of the shelf, so people will buy it. That's you."
"What's me? The milk? I'm the milk? Or am I the supermarket? Or am I buying the milk?"
"I'll get back to you on that."
"Get back to me on this: Why did you come here tonight?"
"I came by to say hello. To make sure we were cool."
"Cool?"
"That's right, Milo. Are we cool?"
"Sure, we're cool. I mean, you are definitely cool."
"Good."
"What could be cooler than all the stuff you've done? To your wife. To your girlfriend. To your son. That's cool shit. I could be cool, too. I could learn."
"See," said Purdy, caught the ball, cradled it. "You're confusing things. You think you're talking to me, but you're not. Because you have no right to talk to me that way. And because you're talking to somebody else."
"To somebody else? Whom would that be?"
"Fuck if I know," said Purdy.
"No, really," I said. "Tell me. I'm so curious."
"Are you?"
"Absolutely."
"Probably you are talking to yourself, Milo. You are probably talking to yourself. Or the deadbeat junkie that bought this ridiculously sad tetherball set for you."
I lunged, snatched Purdy by the collar, yanked him into my chest, wrapped the cord around his neck.
"Jesus!" he gasped.
"Sonofabitch," I said.
"Milo, cut this shit out right…"
I tugged hard on the rope. Purdy clawed at his neck. "Where are the bodies?"
"Bodies?" gurgled Purdy.
"Where are the bodies, you motherfucking murderer!" I said.
"You're… insane," said Purdy. "Bodies? No bodies."
"I know," I said. "It's just fun to say. I'm making my own fun. I just really feel like choking you right now. Is that cool? Are we cool?"
"Stop… this shit. Can't breathe. Help!"
I heard the patio door swing open, a swish in the grass.
"Help!" said Purdy, choked, drooled.
I pulled Purdy to the ground, cinched the cord tight. Something heavy stabbed my head. A pointy hammer, I thought, right before thought stopped.
I woke a moment later in the wet grass, saw a blur of boots and black trousers, a flicker of metal, gone. Michael Florida stood over me.
"Man." Purdy coughed. "This is ridiculous. What the hell? You can't do that. Who does that? My fucking neck. My fucking trachea. What the… I mean, that's… what, were you going to kill me?"
Purdy coughed again, stood.
"Probably not," I said.
"Ridiculous. Unbelievable."
"I think it was a joke," I said. "I can't think."
"Get up," said Michael Florida, pulled me to my feet.
The patio door swung open again.
"What's going on?" said Claudia.
"Nothing," said Purdy, unspooled himself from the cord, coughed once more, hocked phlegm into the hedges. "Every-thing's fine."
"We heard these noises."
"Ladies," said Purdy, "it's been a beautiful evening. Let's do it again real soon."
Francine and Claudia nodded, frozen. Some sound, almost a growl, started up Claudia's throat, fell back.
"Milo," said Purdy. "Walk us to our car?"
Part of me considered resisting this little frog march across the street, but I was still dizzy and Michael Florida's grip on my arm was strong. He shoved me in the back of the sedan. He and Purdy slid in front. The door locks clicked. Purdy stared straight ahead. I rubbed the throb from my skull.
"Well," said Purdy. "We tried. You can't say we didn't try. But I really don't think we can be buddies anymore. It's so hard to keep up the old friendships, isn't it? People change. Priorities change. It's sad, but it's also natural, I guess. Let's remember the good times. The parties, the high blood-toxicity levels, the laughs. We had a lot of laughs. But those days are over, I think. Those days are definitely done. Let's just leave it back on Staley Street, shall we? Let's just never write or speak to each other ever again. That would be wonderful. Let me not ever see your face again and I will die, well, not a happy man, but maybe vaguely content on the subject of Milo Burke and how he tried to strangle me-with a fucking tetherball rope, mind you-because he happens to be a sick freak living in a pathetic hallucination of a life, though you wouldn't know that right away because he comes off as fairly normal at first so you might even befriend him, or re-befriend him, as the case may be, and then go so far as to trust him with some sensitive information until you realize, almost too late, that he is completely out of his fucking tree. Yes, I foresee vague contentment on my deathbed if we stick to this plan. Does that sound okay by you?"
"Sure," I said.
"I can't hear you, you piece of psychotic shit."
"Yes," I said.
"Good. Now, I know you're getting some severance from the university. But I also know how tough things are out there, and you with a kid, who nobody can blame for having a father like you. So, here's our severance to add to your other severance. Mix all that severance together. It's like a jambalaya of fucking severance. It's tasty and you can stuff your fat treacherous face with it. Michael?"
Michael Florida slid an envelope between the bucket seats. Everything with Purdy had been these envelopes, these seats. It could really put you off envelopes.
"That, along with the other cash I've given you, it should hold you for a while, no?"
"Sure," I said.
"Sure, he says."
"This should be sufficient," I said, everything still blurred from the blow. I felt the tender bloom of the wound under my hand.
"Sufficient," said Purdy. "You're a fucking loser, Milo, and it's got nothing to do with the fact that you didn't win. Do you understand that?"
"Maybe," I said.
"All I ever did was give love, Milo. To everybody, I gave love. Even my old man, and that bastard…"
Purdy pinched his eyes shut, punched the glove box, lightly.
"I didn't wreck her car," he said. "I didn't put her in a coma. The doctors recommended she be moved. The state place was better suited. That was their phrase, better suited. It was their suggestion. I was still going to pay. I loved her. I still love her. I can't help it. And I am really tired of trying to help it when I truly cannot help it. You can all go to hell. None of you feel. You are feeling's assassins. Get out of my car."
The door locks clicked again.
"Wait," said Purdy. "Give it to him."
Michael Florida swiveled back. There was another glint in his hand.
"Jane heard you at the party," said Purdy.
"Pardon?"
Something dropped in my lap.
"And one more thing," said Purdy. "I never texted any drink order. That mojito? It was a mistake. They just made a mistake."