Kill Whitey

“No. Whitey not let us own things like that. American girls, do. Not Russians.”

I leaned back and sighed. It occurred to me that I should check the guns. The .38 was empty. I’d fired the last rounds at Whitey. Vacheslav’s pistol, the one Sondra had remembered to nab, was a Glock 9mm. It took me a few seconds to figure out how to eject the clip—or magazine. Whatever the fuck it was called. There were five bullets left. I slid the clip back into the weapon.

“What else are you thinking?” Sondra asked.

“I’m worried about Webster.”

“The fuzzy cat?”

“Yeah. The fuzzy cat. We left so quickly, I didn’t even think. When we…when we saw Darryl, I forgot all about Webster. He’s still in there.”

“I am sure he is fine.”

“Maybe. But if the cops leave the door open he could get out. And who’s gonna take care of him? No way we can go back there right now. He could end up at the pound. Or…”

“What?”

“Or that fucking prick Whitey could do something to him.”

“Whitey would get away before police arrive. He not have time to worry about fuzzy cat.”

“Maybe,” I said, “or maybe the sick fuck shoots Webster on his way out. Just to prove a point, you know?”

I ground my teeth. My head ached.

“Fuzzy cat is smart,” Sondra said. “Will hide, no?”

“Probably. But I’ll tell you right now, if Whitey hurt Webster, I’ll fucking kill him.”

Sondra’s laughter shocked me. I stared at her, wondering what was so funny. Was it that I was showing concern for my cat, when two of my best friends were dead, too?

“I sorry,” she apologized, “but what you say…”

“What? Mind letting me in on the joke?”

“You say you kill Whitey.”

“How is that funny?”

“Is not funny.”

“Then why are you laughing?”

“Never mind. Is not important.”

Before I could insist on an explanation, she slid closer and leaned against me. I wrapped an arm around her shoulder. Sondra snuggled against me, laying her head on my chest. Her hand rested on my leg, just below my crotch.

I sighed. “You know what I don’t get?”

She looked up at me. “What?”

“Why Whitey and the others would go through all this trouble. I mean, it’s not like you stole money from them or something. You’re pregnant. Why all this? It seems sort of extreme, don’t you think? Kill a woman and a bunch of other people just because she won’t get an abortion?”

Sondra flinched. Her fingernails dug into my leg.

“Sorry,” I said. “Didn’t mean to upset you. It just doesn’t make sense to me. Are you sure that you told us—?”

Sondra unzipped my jeans and slid her hand inside.

“What are you doing?”

“No more talk,” Sondra said. “While you are thinking these things, I am thinking about back at your apartment. About the bedroom. Now I am wanting more.”

“Here?”

“Da.”

“Sondra, I don’t know if that’s a good idea right now. The cops…Yul…”

“I give to you blow job. Then we go see your friend.”

I started to protest but then her lips wrapped around me, silencing my words. I forgot all about Darryl and Jesse and Webster, forgot all about calling the cops or hiding from Whitey. Groaning, I slipped inside her warm, wet mouth and my concerns melted.

When it was over, I could barely even remember what I’d been worried about in the first place.

I started the Cherokee and we drove out of the forest. The sun was almost up. The world had that blue-gray quality that exists just before dawn. Not yet light but not total darkness. Gloom.

It suited my mood.

I was worried about the Jeep. We needed another vehicle. If we carjacked someone, we’d just be back in the same situation as soon as they called the cops. Only way to prevent them from doing so was to kill them, and I couldn’t do that. Not an innocent. Not someone who wasn’t trying to kill me or those I cared for. I thought about stopping by a car lot and taking something for a ‘test drive’, but there were no car lots open this time of morning, and Sondra and I weren’t exactly dressed like we were shopping for a new vehicle.

We passed by a home along the river—a tiny trailer with a morose doghouse and sagging shed in the backyard. Both were in better condition than the trailer itself. There was a clothesline in the yard. Whoever had done laundry had forgotten to bring the clothes inside. They flapped gently in the light breeze. I stopped along the road, killed the engine and lights, and quickly nicked a shirt for me, a pair of gray sweatpants for Sondra, and socks for us both. The shirt didn’t fit me very well, but it would have to do. At least we weren’t half naked anymore. Too bad the rest of our clothes were still bloody. If I’d had more time, I would have stolen an entire wardrobe for us.

Finally, I came up with a plan.

In Craley, I pulled behind a convenience store and flipped my cell phone open. Then I reconsidered. I’d watched enough cop shows to know that they could track you by your cell phone, ATM, and credit card usage. I’d used it to call Jesse and Yul. If the cops were tracking us, then they’d focus on that location. Instead of calling, I turned the phone off and opened the door.

“What are you doing?” Sondra asked.

“Getting us a ride.”