Most Wanted

28

RANDALL WALKER CROSSED THE STREET, HEADING for the run-down bar in the middle of the next block. Its grimy windows, covered with iron bars, gave it a blank, vacant look in the blinding afternoon light.

As he stepped up onto the curb, he hesitated. He’d been walking fast, almost as though, if he moved quick enough, he wouldn’t have time to think about what he was doing. But he should think. It wasn’t too late yet. He could still jump off the runaway train. Not go into the bar. Just walk on by, like he was heading somewhere else, circle around back to his car and go on with his day. Just pretend things were okay, that this mess didn’t apply to him.

His feet slowed to a stop before he even realized he was standing still. He got lost for a minute, remembering what it was like before he felt so twisted up in his gut. One mistake years ago, and it fucked up his whole life. But no way to go back and change things now. Nope, that was the problem with time-only moved in one direction.

He recollected himself and glanced around nervously, not wanting to be seen yet by the person he was here to meet. He was still thinking he might not go in. The alley between the bar and the next building was strewn with broken glass. He ducked into it for a minute. It reeked from bags of garbage piled high, fermenting in the hot sun. At the sound of his footsteps, a plump gray rat leaped out of the pile, bounded across the narrow alley, and disappeared. What the bejesus was he doing here? Randall asked himself.

He pulled out his cell phone and dialed, to remind himself.

“Hello?” his wife answered.

“Calling to check on you, baby.”

“I’m doing fine. Don’t you be worrying about me.” There was a leaden, groggy quality to her voice that told him she’d taken more than her prescribed dose of antidepressants today.

“It’s nice out,” he said. “You ought to get out the house.”

“Naw, they got an ozone alert on. I’m staying in the bedroom with the air-conditioning going.”

“Go downstairs and visit with Della, then.”

“It’s too hot in her apartment. Besides, I’m tired of listening to her talk.”

“No good sitting alone in the house, Betty.”

“I’m doing just fine here, Randall. You go about your business now.”

“At least get up out of bed. Cook me something good for dinner.”

“Aw, come on. You don’t even know whether you coming home for dinner tonight.”

He laughed hollowly. “You too smart for me, girl.”

“You got that right,” she said, laughing. Her laugh sounded natural, raised his spirits a little. Only a little, though. She seemed worse to him as time went on, rather than better.

“Okay, I’ma check on you later, and you better be up out that bed, you hear?” he said.

“Mmm-hmm,” she said lethargically, and hung up.

RANDALL HUNCHED HIS SHOULDERS AS HE yanked open the door of the bar, so dark inside after the blazing sidewalk. The air-conditioning in the place was on the fritz, the stench of urine and beer nearly overpowering in the sultry interior. He kept his head down, not wanting to look around, not wanting to see where he was going and what he was about to do. Looking neither to the right nor to the left, he made a beeline for the booth in the back where his associate waited.

“You’re late,” the associate said, dragging on the last remnant of a cigarette and stubbing it out.

“Yeah, well, this isn’t exactly a convenient time for me.”

“Where’s your partner?”

“Skip the small talk, all right? Let’s get it over with.”

The associate reached under the table to get something. Randall stiffened, his hand flying to the gun at his waistband. But the associate simply pulled out a thick white envelope and tossed it on the table. It landed in front of Randall with a resounding thwack.

“What the fuck is that?” Randall asked, his voice dangerous.

“What the fuck does it look like?”

“You’re very much mistaken. I’m doing this because you’re forcing me, not for money. I’m not like you. Don’t think I am.”

The associate took back the envelope, frowning.

“This ‘honorable man’ routine is getting stale, Randall. It’s about money for you, just like it is for everybody else.”

“My pension is something I’m entitled to! Twenty-five years on this fucking job. I earned every penny.”

“Yeah, well, I know a few people who wouldn’t see it that way if they knew what I know about you.”

Randall stood up, livid. “You been holding that one mistake over my head for years. But, you know, I been thinking. You give me up, you give yourself up, too. Why should I even believe you would do it?”

The associate looked Randall in the eye, his expression cold and dead.

“Believe it, friend. That old shit ain’t nothing to me now. I got a lot more serious business to worry about.”

It was clear he meant it. Randall stood looking at him for a moment more, then sat down.

“Don’t call me your friend,” Randall said, but they both knew he’d given in.

“Whatever makes you happy.”

“Like I said, I don’t have all day.”

“Well, then,” the associate said, lighting another cigarette, “you better start talking.”