Authors: James Roy Daley
James was surprised to hear Elmer stand up for himself; he was stronger than James had considered. It was an admirable quality, but Elmer’s car was something James needed and acquiring it was a non-negotiable state of affairs.
“
Elmer, listen.”
“
No. You listen. You’ve—YOU
KILLED
MY WIFE! How could you? How?”
James glanced at the crowd of people that were staring at him through the large tinted windows. He wondered what it would be like to start picking them off with the shotgun. It seemed pleasurable. “I have no time for this,” he said.
“
I really don’t care.”
“
But the police are coming, and––”
“
So? I want them to come. Don’t you know that?”
“
Elmer, give me the keys!”
“
No.”
“
Now!”
“
Go fuck yourself.”
James lifted the shotgun. He pumped the chamber and aimed both barrels at Elmer’s chest. “I let you go man. Don’t be difficult. Please, I’m trying to be the nice guy here. And I don’t want this. I don’t want to hurt you. I just need the keys.”
“
Are you kidding me?”
Yes, James thought. I am kidding you. I want to murder you right now you bookish little fuck. I want it so bad I’m getting an erection. I’d love to see your insides splash against the wall. It would make me blow a goddamn load right here in my pants. “Just give me your car keys and I’ll walk away.”
“
You murdered my wife! Does that sound like something a nice guy does? You’ve got to be joking! You’re not a nice guy, you’re… you’re a psycho!”
James tried to say something but couldn’t.
Elmer was right.
James wasn’t a nice guy now. Maybe at one time he was nice, like back in high school, or when he worked at the daycare center in his neighborhood. But that was a long time ago and he was a different person then. He was guy without bills, a guy without debt, a guy without a string of cheating girlfriends under his belt; he was someone who trusted his friends and believed in people––but not now. Now he was jaded and cynical; now he was an adult.
“
You’re right,” James said. “Murder isn’t something that a nice guy does. But that doesn’t mean I want to hurt you. I just want out of here. So give me those keys––”
James heard a siren.
It had taken a while but the police were finally coming. It seemed the boys in blue had been sliced pretty thin today.
“
Elmer,” James said. “I’m going to shoot you and take the keys. Is that better somehow? Is that what you want?”
“
Go ahead asshole, shoot me. I don’t care anymore.”
“
I’m not kidding.”
“
Either am I.”
James felt the muscles in his hands tighten and the gun shook apprehensively. He got into character and said, “Okay you stupid fuck. Change of plans. You’re going to get up, go outside, and drive me where I want to go.”
Elmer laughed out loud, without a trace of happiness or enjoyment in his voice. “I’m not doing that,” he said. “Why would I do that?”
“
Because I have your wallet, and your address happens to be in it. And if you don’t do what I say, I’m going to murder you and your children, one, two, three.”
Elmer could hear it, James sounded different this time, more serious, more insane. Elmer was at a loss for words. He wasn’t so sure of himself now. He wasn’t convinced that James was bluffing.
“
You wouldn’t,” he said.
James unleashed a wicked grin. “No?” He was almost chuckling. Clearly, his sanity was slipping. “Why don’t you take a good hard look at your ugly fucking wife? Why don’t you ask her if I’m serous or not? Maybe you should reconsider what I may or may-not do. If you think I’m bluffing, you’re more brainless than I am.”
Elmer looked at Tina, and the empty place her head had once been. He looked at her lifeless hands, the lumps of meat on the floor, and the wash of blood that had sprayed the walls.
He was beaten.
Elmer got up. He made for the exit. His expression suggested that he was no longer interested in arguing, no longer interested in making a stand. The time for bravery had come and gone, it seemed, leaving Elmer with nothing but the memory of failure.
And the desire for revenge.
54
As the two men got into Elmer’s car, a huge, near-voiceless crowd watched them leave. They stood together—men, women, and children alike—around Elmer’s vehicle in a structure that was not completely unlike a human horseshoe. In a way they resembled spectators at a concert, where only the musicians and crew were permitted access to the performing area. The performing area in this case was not the stage, but the vehicle, the open road, and the faceless, inexhaustible journey.
Most people in the crowd took note of the car, the man with the gun, and/or the hostage. Many tried to snatch a glimpse of the license plate number, and more than a few of those people were able to write that number down. Some people phoned the police while others dialed the people they cared about. One woman slammed her fist on the hood of the car, cursing under her breath. At the same time, a man with a gold tooth was bold enough to put his hands against the passenger door and press his face against the glass. He got an eyeful, all right; James extended him the middle finger and told him to fuck off. But no one––not the people writing down the license plate number, or man with the gold tooth, or the woman that pounded her fist on the hood––tried to stop James, or question his actions with a sizable amount of authority.
They weren’t completely voiceless however––the crowd that is. There was an underlying continuous murmur, the odd grunt, a rustling of feet and a hushing of lips. There were sirens in the distance, a child announcing that he was hungry for McDonald’s. There was a woman asking a stranger, ‘What’s going on?’ While another woman was caught in an annoying bout of muffled sneezing. On the far side of the street, in a shop that sold rock t-shirts, glittery belts, oversized earrings, and other teenage friendly items, a radio played Led Zeppelin’s ‘When the Levee Breaks’ through a pair of small speakers with no bottom end. John Bonham’s booming bass drum was lost in the mix. And finally, high above Debra’s building, a commercial airliner ripped the sky in half with its blaring, knife-like, mechanical noise. The reverberation blanketed all other sounds nicely.
James looked at the horde and felt ashamed of them. Why didn’t they saying something? Why didn’t they do something? He wondered if he’d be brave enough to stand against a madman with a shotgun if the situation had been reversed.
Not that he considered himself a madman.
Elmer put the car into gear and pulled away from the curb. He drove for a block and then turned left; people watched him go. He was heading for the highway, following all the rules and regulations commissioned in the International Navigational Rules Act of 1977. He drove without instruction, which was fine with James, who hadn’t quite figured on a destination.
After three green lights in a row Elmer and James approached a poorly designed on-ramp, the kind that forces the cars to merge onto the highway quick. Leaning on a yellow guardrail at the side of the ramp was a man with a cigarette. The man saw Elmer and lifted a hand. “Steel,” he said with a rough voice. “Over here!”
Elmer spotted the man, nodded and cloaked a smile.
I’ll call him later, he thought.
Elmer, who continued being a mystery, intrigued James. He showed signs of strength and courage in the face of death. And now a man with a cigarette calls him Steel. Why? Was this a reference to Superman, the Man of Steel? Ageless Elmer––with his odd-looking mustache and his long forehead? Really? Or was the nickname a jab, an inside joke. Perhaps it wasn’t Steel at all––but Steal. Was Elmer a thief? Was Elmer a criminal?
While James chewed over the possibilities Elmer pushed a CD into the stereo slot. James recognized the band immediately. It was Slayer, ‘Reign and Blood’. For some reason the track made James feel nervous.
“
West?”
James shrugged. “Slayer huh?”
“
Yep. The highway is here. You wanna go west?”
“
Yeah, sure. West is good. There’s nothing east.”
Elmer turned onto the highway.
“
You’re a strange one, Elmer. You know that?” When Elmer didn’t respond James said, “Why did that guy call you Steel?”
“
Is that what he said?”
“
Yes.”
“
I have no idea. I don’t know the man.”
“
But you nodded.”
“
It was a reflex,” Elmer lied. “I’ve never seen him before in my life.”
As James ran a hand across his chin, Elmer grinned like a shark—he loved lying. It was his greatest skill.
Needless to say, Elmer knew the man with the cigarette; he knew him well.
The man was Donald Markus McGivney. Until the age of fourteen, his friends called him Don. Then Don became Switch. He earned his nickname skateboarding, in reference to a trick he mastered.
Elmer lived with Switch for two years; they had lots in common. They both liked boxing. They both liked women. They were cellmates in prison.
They both committed murder.
55
Patricia walked into the hospital room and said, “Mrs. McGee, there’s something you need to see.
Anne looked at the nurse apprehensively.
What is this? she wondered. This didn’t seem like the same girl that brought her cookies and tea. She was acting strange and different and looked like she had been sucker-punched with a shovel.
“
What is it dear?d mu Anne asked, guardedly. “Is something wrong?”
Patricia turned the television on and skimmed through the channels. Then she stopped skimming.
Anne turned her eyes away from Patricia and watched the screen for a few seconds before she clued in.
The people on TV were talking about James––her James! His image was on the plastered across screen and he looked absolutely frantic. The new people were saying he was a cold-blooded murderer that killed a man and a woman with a shotgun less than fifteen minutes ago. They were saying he was responsible for the killings in High Park. They were saying he was armed. They were saying he was dangerous. They were saying a whole lot of things, none of which were designed to make a mother proud.
After an awkward moment, Patricia said, “The police are on their way here, Mrs. McGee. They’re coming to see you. They want to ask you a few questions. Although I didn’t want to be the one to tell you the bad news, I thought it was important that you know.” Her voice was colder than icicles on an outhouse.
“
But I don’t know anything about this!”
“
I’m afraid that doesn’t matter. They’re on their way.”
“
But this can’t be right! That can’t be James, not
my
James! He’s a good boy. He wouldn’t hurt a soul!”
Patricia shrugged and left the room. On her way out the door she said, “Try telling that to the police.”
Anne never moved a muscle for ten seconds or more; she was too shocked. Her eyes became glued to the screen. When she had seen more than enough, which was none too soon, she picked up the phone and called James.
Of course, there was no answer. He had turned his phone off.
56
Shortly after Elmer pulled onto the highway James phoned Debra on Mia’s phone.
“
Hello?”
“
Hey,” James said. “It’s me.”
“
I just called you.”
“
My phone is off.”
“
Where are you?”
“
Driving.”
“
Where’re you going?”
“
Not sure yet.”
“
Is everything alright?”
James leaned back in his seat. He shifted the shotgun on his lap and considered jumping out of the car. He briefly touched the door handle, then he changed his thinking and looked over both shoulders nervously. After that, he looked at Elmer. Elmer was behaving himself; he was driving a straight line. “Yeah, everything seems to be okay. I’m on the highway, getting away from the action.”
“
Are the police chasing you?”
“
Not yet. Do you think they will?”
“
It’s only a matter of time, don’t you think?”
James closed his eyes, and said, “Maybe.”
“
What will you do when the cops see you?”
“
I don’t know.”
“
Are you going to run? Or will you do the smart thing, own up to the situation and surrender. You need to think about that.”
“
Yes. I know.” James exhaled a deep breath and unleashed an awkward, creepy smile. “You know Debra, I hate to say this but… you seem awfully calm, considering the situation.”
“
Well, I’m not calm, so don’t get me started. I feel like strangling you, you stupid fucking asshole. What kind of life are we going to share now, huh? A life on the run? Wow, you’re becoming quite a catch there, buddy. Lucky me.” Debra turned her sarcastic dial up to eleven, making each word sound absolutely dreadful. “Oh, look at me! I’m the luckiest girl in the world! I feel like I’ve died and gone to bum-fuck heaven!”