Kenny explained which bench in the park he'd be waiting on, and then he left my office, leaving his odor of Old Spice and BO behind. Gradually it set in that my life was ruined.
I didn't move for a while, and then I called Angie at home and left a message on her machine, canceling our date tonight. I told her that there had been an emergency with my aunt and I had to go to Long Island for the weekend. I didn't know how I'd come up with Kenny's payments.
With the rest of the money Aunt Helen had lent me and the paycheck that had been direct-deposited into my bank account this morning, I could scrape up the money for the first two grand. After that, unless I drained my retirement accounts, I was in trouble. I'd have to live on Kraft macaroni and cheese and Ramen noodles, and I'd probably have to work nights and weekends.
Since I didn't have to meet Kenny until ten and I had no reason to go home, I stayed late at work. When Jeff left for the day, at around six-thirty, he poked his head into my office and said, "I love your work ethic, David. You're showing true commitment to this job. See ya tomorrow."
A couple of people in Production stayed until around seven, and then I had the office to myself; the only sounds were the hum of the air-conditioning system and an occasional horn or siren from Broadway.
I didn't feel like sitting around doing nothing, so I wrote a final draft of my article on Prime Net Solutions. Earlier in the article I'd mentioned how Prime Net had been the major sponsor of a sailing competition, so, continuing with the metaphor, I wrote:
Prime Net has weathered a great storm, and if the company stays on its current course, and market winds remain steady, the future for this DSL firm will be full of blue skies and clear sailing.
When I finished the article, I did some editing, then left my office at about nine-fifteen.
The businessmen who cluttered the midtown streets during the day had been replaced by tourists and teenagers. I went to an ATM, withdrew the rest of the money I needed from my bank account and by taking a cash advance on my Discover card, and then I took the subway downtown.
I arrived at the Avenue A entrance to Tompkins Square Park at five to ten. The park at night didn't seem nearly as spruced up as it did during the day. As I headed along the path toward the middle of the park, I passed groups of seedy-looking guys, obviously drug dealers, huddled around trees or benches. One skinny black guy rushed up to me, walking alongside me, and asked if I was buying. I shrugged him off without saying anything and continued straight ahead.
I passed the circular, courtyard-like area in the middle of the park, and kept going. On the bench where Kenny had said I should meet him, a big, bearded homeless guy was sprawled out with an old baby carriage filled with bottles, cans, and other junk parked in front of him. The guy's head was hanging to the side and his eyes were half-open; he looked dead, but he was probably just sleeping. I sat on the opposite end of the bench and checked the time on my cell phone two minutes to ten.
Two minutes later, Kenny arrived. He was walking along the path, coming from the direction of the Avenue B entrance. I waited until he reached me before I stood up.
"On time, I like that," he said. "This is how I want it to go every time, you get my drift? None of that waiting-around-for-you-to-show-up bullshit."
I'd been planning to give him the money and leave without doing or saying anything, but I hesitated, asking myself if I really wanted to give in to this scumbag. Maybe he was lying about having a will and other pictures put away. Maybe there was another way out.
"What're you waiting for?" he said. "Dig."
I continued staring at him.
"Come on, stop bullshitting around," Kenny said. "I got a whore to fuck tonight and she doesn't like it when I keep her waiting. Come on, just give me the fuckin' money."
"Maybe we should go someplace else," I said, glancing toward the homeless guy.
"What, that fuckin' bum?" Kenny said. "He probably doesn't know what year it is. Just gimme the money so I can get outta here."
The homeless guy stirred, his head jerking a couple of times.
"All right, all right," Kenny said.
He walked along the path, back toward Avenue B, and I followed him. The path was well lit by a small lamppost.
"This way," I said.
I veered off the path, through an opening in the short fence, onto an area of dirt and grass.
"What the fuck?" Kenny said.
I kept walking. Looking over my shoulder slightly, I saw that Kenny was following me. I stopped in a dark area between two trees.
"Are we done walkin' now, Moses?" Kenny said. He was two or three feet away from me. "You better have that fuckin' money, because if you're shittin' me around, I swear, I'm goin' to the cops."
"Who's that?" I said.
When Kenny turned his head I grabbed his throat. I was in an awkward position, too far away to strangle him effectively, but I'd surprised him, which gave me an advantage. I squeezed harder and his neck seemed to be shrinking between my hands, and then he reached up and grabbed my wrists and my grip loosened.
"You fuckin' crazy?" he said in a gargled, muffled voice. "I got the pictures, I got the»
I forced him back against a tree and squeezed harder. I wasn't letting go this time; I'd keep squeezing for as long as I had to. My nails were digging into his throat, and I figured it couldn't take much longer, maybe five or ten more seconds. Then Kenny forced me backward and I stumbled. I tried to grab his throat again, but he tackled me hard to the ground. He tried to pin me down, but I fought back and managed to get up again. He came after me and I grabbed him around the shoulders and got him in a headlock. I remembered ramming Ricky's head against the door, and I wanted to ram Kenny's head into the tree. But the tree was behind me somewhere, and Kenny was fighting hard and wouldn't let me turn him around, so I started twisting his head, trying to break his neck.
"Let go," Kenny said. "You stupid piece of shit. Let»
I twisted his head further, waiting for his neck to break, and then I heard the shot and felt the excruciating pain in my stomach. Kenny was kneeling over me, holding a gun.
"Fuckin' moron," he said. "What the fuck's wrong with you, you dick?"
He reached into my pocket and took the money out of my wallet, and then he stood up all the way and ran.
I tried to go after him, but when I got up onto my knees, I crumpled right back down onto my side. My stomach killed, as if the bullet were still working its way inside me. I felt the warm, wet area where the pain was centered; then I looked at my bloody hands.
I lay still, with my face pressed against the dirt, waiting to die. It was hard to breathe and I was too weak to get up, so I knew it would happen soon. I was very dizzy and I was having flashbacks. I was five years old and Barbara was seven, but she looked younger. We were playing in the snow in Aunt Helen's backyard. We were laughing, running around, throwing snowballs at each other. Then the images started coming faster. We were in Helen's finished basement, thumb-wrestling. We were adults, walking up Broadway and laughing. We were kids, playing on a slide in a park as our parents watched. We were lying in the sun in the Sheep Meadow. We were on campus at Syracuse. We were at our parents' funeral. We were Rollerblading down the steep hill near the Met. We were watching Pretty Woman. We were shopping at Banana Republic. We were walking in the rain along West Eighty-first Street. We were fighting about Jay. We were throwing snowballs at trees. We were laughing in Aunt Helen's basement. We were listening to the Police. We were running around Aunt Helen's backyard. We were thumb-wrestling. We were in a snowstorm. We were My body tingled and there was sudden pressure in my head and throat. I felt numb and weightless, and then, an instant later, I was dead.