Jericho

    Inside the Camaro we were incognito to the passing police sirens.  I was surprised they didn’t notice me in the driver’s seat with the blood all over my face.

    “You gotta towel?  Get me a towel, Benny …” I mumbled.

    “Uh … I think there’s something in the back seat, hold on …” he reached in the back and brought out a dirty green tee-shirt.  “This good enough?”

    “Yeah, whatever, just give it here.”  I swiped it out of his hand and pressed it against my face.  When I removed it the green shirt was now a red one.  I put it back against my forehead and steeled with my left hand.  That little pimp had really messed me up.

    About an hour later we arrived back in Indiana.  I still had to drop off the money; it’d be an extra bonus to come back with the drugs, too.  I could have gone straight to the Sears Tower, but I was sure somehow Benny would screw something up.  I was almost to the trailer park when he said he was hungry.

    “Cook something when you get home,” I said.

    “Man, you know there ain’t shit there to eat.  Stop off at that McDonalds.  Come on, Maddox.”

    The only reason I agreed was because I was pretty hungry, too; killing had always made me ravenous for some reason.  The drive thru had a mile long line so I parked in the parking lot.  “What do you want?”

    “Can’t I come in?” Benny wondered. 

    “What are you, nuts?  You know how much money we got in the trunk?  Hell no, you’re staying right here.  Now, what do you want?”

    “Big Mac and a Coke.”

    “You want fries?”

    “Uh … nah, I’m good.”

    “Alright, now stay here, Benny.  Whatever you do, just stay here.”

    I got out of the Camaro and entered the fast food restaurant.  My head was still smeared with blood but it was better then before.  My white tee-shirt and jacket were also stained with my blood.  I hoped no one would notice, but of course they did.  Most just got that first glance when I came in and turned the other way, staring at the ceiling.  The others couldn’t keep their obnoxious eyes off of me.  I hated lines so bad, especially when I was covered in blood -- not that I was always covered in blood, mind you.  There were ten other people waiting in line but I was the center of attention.

    A young kid (probably still a college student) gasped, “Jesus, man, what happened to you?”

    “I was stabbed in the back by an inside-out Oreo,” I replied.

    “Oh … well, we all have one of those days …” the kid said, and turned his head in the opposite direction.

    I stood there in the nonmoving line for two more minutes and then I got a tap on the shoulder.  It could have been anybody, even a cop.  But no, it was my brother.  “Benny?  What are you doing here?  Go back to the car.”

    “Well, Maddox, I thought about something while I was in there.  I thought long and hard --”

    “About what?”

    “Now, I really thought about this and --”

    “What are you talking about?”
   
    “And I think I’ve made the right decision --”

    “Benny!  What do you want?”
   
    He sighed.  “I want … fries.”

    I could have sworn a blood vessel was about to blow.  “Benny.  Go.  To.  The.  Car.  Now.”

    “Okay, okay, fine.  Off I go.  Bye, Maddox.  I’ll be in the car if you need me.  The car is where I‘ll be.  Catch you on the flip side.”

    I wanted to clock him.  I really did; right in the face.  Ooooh, wouldn’t that feel just great?  I shook some blood off my cheeks like a wet dog and approached the counter.  The cashier literally jumped back in fright. 

    Benny was sitting Indian-style on the cold slushy pavement of the parking lot.  He was in an empty space where the Camaro used to be.  “Benny … where’s my car?”

    “Well, do you see it here?”

    “No, Benny, I don’t.”

    “Yeah, I don’t either …”

    I tossed the two fountain drinks across the parking lot and they splattered like carbonated grenades.  “What the hell, Benny?  I told you to stay in the car, why didn’t you just stay in the goddamn car?!”

    “How’d somebody steal it anyways?  You didn’t leave the keys in it, did you?” Benny asked.

    “Yeah, I did!  I thought you were going to stay in the car otherwise I would have taken them with me!”

    “Well, looks like somebody stole it.  Man, I was only in there for a couple minutes, too.  Those crack heads are getting faster, huh?  Hmm … looks like you’re screwed, dude.  I guess I’ll start walkin’ home unless you’re gonna get a cab, ‘cause then I’ll just catch a ride with you.  Oh, can you hand me my sandwich?  I would have liked a Coke to go with it but you know … you lost your temper so now we don’t have any.  It’s alright, though; nobody‘s perfect.”

    The vessel popped.  “You want your sandwich?  Your little fuckin Big Mac?  Here, take your goddamn sandwich, Benny.”  I reached into the McDonalds’s bag and whipped a sandwich at his head.  “Here, have mine, too!”  I threw mine at him and the box exploded against his forehead; lettuce drifted with the wind like dandelion seeds.  But that wasn’t good enough.  I wanted to actually beat his face in.  There was five million dollars in that trunk and he blew it for me.  Somehow, I bit my lower lip and held in the anger.  “I’m sorry, Benny.  I shouldn’t have done that.  I apologize; it’s just that you really screwed me, man.  What am I going to tell King?  He’s gonna kill me.”

    “I’m sorry, I was stupid, I know.  I’ll try to help you with whatever way I can.”

    “How far away are we from the trailer?”

    “About two miles.”

    “Well … let’s start walking.”

    “Alright.”

    “Who the hell steals a car in Indiana anyways?”

    “I dunno … Indians?”

    “Shut up, Benny.”

    “Alright.”  We started walking along the icy street when he asked, “Umm … Maddox?  Do you have those fries or not?”

    “Nope, I didn’t get them.”

    “What?  Why not?”

    “I don’t know; you forgot to tell me I guess.”

    “Man, that was a real asshole move on your part.”

    “Benny?”

    “Yeah?”

    “Shut up.”

    “Alright.”

    When we got to the trailer I asked if Benny had any money.  “Why?” was how he replied; an answer with a question.

    “Because I need to call a taxi.”

    “What, you’re moving out already?  Shit, you just got here, man.”

    “Benny, don’t be an idiot.  I gotta go tell King what happened.”

    “Are you mad, man?  He’ll fuckin kill you.”

    “Yeah?  Well he’ll kill me if I stay here, too.  I just have to tell him the truth and hope he shows mercy.”  That might had been the most stupid thing I had ever said.  “So, do you have the money or not?”

    “Yeah, hold on.”  He ran in his bedroom and came back with two hundred bucks.  “Dude, I’m gonna need this back then.”

    I resisted the urge to punch him and instead grabbed the money out of his hands.  I picked up the phone and dialed the Krazy Cab company in town.  The operator said a car would come by to pick me up shortly.

    I should have brought a gun.  No, they would have caught me in the metal detectors right there by the door if I would have done that.  But still … I should have brought a gun.  Standing in his secret underground office I knew I was going to die.  He was going to reach into one of the drawers in his desk and pull out a giant hand cannon and blow my brains out all over the carpet.  Or maybe he would take me to the Room and torture me a little.  But either way, I was going to die; I just knew it.

    “So …” King said, “where are the bees?”

    What?  “Sorry?  What was that?”

    “Bees and honey equals money.  Where are the fuckin bees?”

    “Um … well …”

    “Jules better had died for a reason.  Where the fuck are the J and bees, Maddox?”

    “Uh … well, the thing is …”  I told him exactly what happened.  I couldn’t think of a good enough lie; I probably should have thought about it better before I came there.  After I was done with my tale he pounded his fists into his desk.

    “Damnit, Maddox!  I should take you out right here and now, you know that?  Damnit!  But … I like you.  I also like money.  So, I’m gonna give you a second chance.  You got two days, you hear me?  Two days.  Two days to get my money back.  Don’t think you’re gonna get paid for this, either.  You life is your payment.  Five millions dollars, Maddox.  You got two days.  And to make sure you’re not gonna run outta town on me, Winston will be following you around.”

    Vincent’s bodyguard, Winston Anderson, was standing beside where his boss was sitting.  “Excuse me, Mr. King?  I’m not a damn babysitter.”

    “Well, for the next forty-eight hours you are.”

    Winston sighed in anger and agreed.

    “Two days, Maddox!” King shouted as I left the room.

    We stepped out into the cold Chicago wind.  “So, you got a car?” I asked the quiet Negro standing at my side.

    “Yeah, I got a car.  It’s pretty tight, too.  Somebody should be bringing it around here any second now …”

    And as he finished that sentence a yellow Hummer pulled up in front of us.  A skinny teenager infested by acne hopped out of the driver’s seat and tossed the keys to Winston.  “All yours, Mr. Anderson,” he said.

    Winston handed him a twenty and said, “Keep it real, Billy.”  The teenager jogged down the sidewalk with a grin across his face.  Before he got in the car, Winston turned toward me and smiled, “Pretty tight ride, huh?”

    The Hummer was very conspicuous in the trailer park, almost as conspicuous as you can get.  It was about the length as Benny’s piece of crap trailer, and it gave out a death cloud of exhaust.  When we entered the trailer I found Benny sitting in the broken lazy boy, reading the paper. 

    “Since when do you read?” I asked, and laughed.

    “I dunno, just bored, man.  I found all these old newspapers in the bathroom.  The weird thing is, I don’t even think I have a Times subscription.  I wonder how they all got here … hey, did you know a couple months back this real poor family won a shit load off the lotto?  Two times in a row, man!  Can you believe it?  They must have the best fuckin luck ever -- hey, who’s this?”  His attention turned towards Winston, who was standing by the doorway.

    “He’s um … Winston.  He’s watching over me until I get that money back.”

    “Oh, so I take it he didn’t kill you?”

    “Nope, no killing yet.”

    “That’s good … so how long do you have?”

    “Two days,” I replied, and sighed.

    “Shit, that isn’t that long, man.  How much do you need?”

    “Five mil.”

    “Holy hell, that’s a lot of dead presidents!  So … how are you gonna get it.”

    “Well, that’s simple,” I said.  “Today we’re going to rob a bank.”

    “W-w-we?”