The Max

Nineteen

Angela needed a shower, a drink, to get laid and to get – of course, as always – rich.

The drive to the Canadian border had been bizarre. Sean, muttering stuff in his stammer that nobody could follow and Max insisting they were being followed. She’d forgotten how paranoid he’d always been, long before anyone got hurt. And she was still seething about him “putting the meat to her.”

He would, like fook.

Angela was plain dumbfounded by the huge black man. With one hand he could have strangled them all and instead, he was brown-nosing Max, gazing at him with, there was no other word for it, total admiration. Was it some kind of gay thing? Prison does weird shite to people.

They reached the border just before dusk and Sean pulled into a trailer park, said as he checked his notes and found a key, “W-w-w-we’re… nu-nu-num-b-b-b-b-ber… t-t-t-t-t-twenty s-s-s-six.”

Nobody was saying much as they trudged their way to the trailer.

Angela couldn’t believe it, she had finally hit bottom: trailer trash. She’d be here for life, wearing denim shorts, her hair permanently in rollers, no AC, and three snot-nosed brats wailing at her for sodas. And she’d have no man, of course.

She shuddered.

In the car, Max had reached over, asked, “Cold? Wait till I get in you, you’ll be so hot.”

She’d nearly gut shot the bollix then and there.

Someone had made slight preparations for their arrival. There was coffee, a thermos, three bunk beds and, sitting in the middle of the trailer, a bottle of Jay and about twenty beers.

No food.

Angela heard Max whine, “No food?”

Then he grabbed the bottle of Jay, said, no, ordered, “Y’all grab some glass or other, The… A.X. has a toast to make.”

Jameson out of Styrofoam is a travesty but Angela figured it was one of the least of the sins on her conscience.

Max said, “I toast our valiant rescuers, Angela and…” He paused, getting ready for his renowned wit, continued, “Sh-sh-sh-sh-sh-sh-sh… Sean.”

No laughter, and the Irish guy was giving him a look that said, “You’re dead.”

Angela could see Max was confused by how badly his humor had backfired.

He added lamely, “The joint hasn’t been built that could hold The… A.X.”

Later, Rufus was making hungry noises and Max was famished too. Since Sean had already passed out drunk, it was decided Rufus and Angela would head for the nearest grocery store – a 7-Eleven off the highway – and stock up. Rufus would drive, stay out of view, and Angela would do the shopping.

At first, Angela was a little, well, concerned about being alone with Rufus. After all, he was a big, scary-looking guy and he’d been locked up so long, he probably couldn’t wait to get his big mitts all over a woman. But after what she’d been through in Greece, Angela wasn’t about to let a man get the best of her, no matter how menacing he was. She had a gun with her, in her handbag, and God knows she wasn’t afraid to use it.

In the car, Rufus was going on, telling her how great it was to be in the “outside” again and how the first thing he wanted to do was go see his mama in Syracuse. Angela was starting to zone out when she heard the word money.

Rabbit ears up, she echoed, “Money?”

“Yeah,” Rufus said, “from the job I pulled ’fore they sent my ass to Attica. Me an’ my crew we robbed a bank and shit. Got two hundred somethin’ thousand dollars, but they never found it ’cause I buried it in my mama’s backyard, that’s why. So when I get home, first thing I’m gonna do after I kiss my mama hello and eat some a her fine apple pie is I’m gonna dig up that money, then I’m gonna go off, live in Mexico.”

Suddenly Angela saw Rufus in a new light. He was no longer a scary, dangerous escaped convict who might rape and kill her. Now he was the sweet mama’s boy with two hundred grand in his backyard who was going to be her ticket to her new life. And, besides, she’d always liked black guys. Okay, not more than any other type, but not less either, and he was a big strong guy, he could protect her; and despite whatever awful things he might have done to wind up in prison, compared to some of the other men she’d dated he was practically a saint.

She wanted to make sure he knew she was available and interested. So she said, “Just so you know, I’m just here, helping Max out, for old time’s sake. We’re not together or anything like that.”

She could tell Rufus wanted her badly. Jaysus, it looked like his dick was about to burst though his pants.

He said, “Yo, that’s good, cause I like you and shit, yo. I think you fine. I never seen a set a titties on a white woman before like the ones you got. You got big ol’ black titties, know what I’m sayin’? They kinda like my gran’mas. Yo, I don’t mean I been lookin’ at my gran’ma’s titties an’ shit, but you know what I’m sayin’.”

Angela knew there had to be a compliment in there somewhere and said, “Thank you, I’m so flattered.”

Rufus continued, “But the way it is, yo’, I don’ wanna move in on the boss’s action, know what I’m sayin’? I know how much the boss love your titties too. ’Fore we broke out, every night he was goin’ on ’bout your titties, goin’, Wait till you see my bitch’s titties. I ain’t callin’ you bitch, that what The… A.X. be callin’ you.

He be goin’, You’re gonna love my bitch’s titties, they so big, they’re the best titties you ever seen. An’ wanna know somethin’? Muthafucka was right.”

Angela, thinking about that money, how it could change her fucking life, said, “Don’t worry about Max. If you want my titties they’re all yours.”

They pulled into the lot next to the 7-Eleven.

Rufus cut the engine, said, “Mind if I kiss you? Been a long time since I kissed a woman. Talkin’ about a natural-born woman, know what I’m sayin’?”

Angela batted her eyelashes, went, “I thought you’d never ask.”

Wow, Rufus knew how to kiss! He was tender and slow and he really knew how to use that big, long tongue of his. Was Angela imagining it or was she feeling a serious spark between them? She couldn’t remember the last time she’d enjoyed something as simple as a kiss with man.

There was no doubt what she had to do: Ditch Max and go with Rufus. Max was broke anyway, so what use was he? And she had a feeling this Rufus thing had legs, it was the real deal.

Rufus waited in the car. Before Angela left he said, “I’ll be missin’ yo ass, baby.” He was such a sweet man, so thoughtful.

Angela stocked up on all the food Max had instructed her to buy: Yodels, Ring Dings, Fritos, Pop Tarts, lots of Slim Jims, etc. As she was paying at the register, she noticed a dark blue car pull up in the parking lot out front and just idle there. She didn’t think much of it, though, just collected her change from the guy at the counter and wished him a good night.

She was imagining life in Mexico, as Mrs. Rufus, when she stepped outside and noticed the guy walking toward her through the shadowy lot. She couldn’t see his face well but, fuck, there was no doubt he was Greek, and he looked familiar somehow. Then he passed under a lamppost and she saw why he looked familiar. He was a dead ringer for Georgios. She remembered the woman back in Santorini, vowing vengeance for Georgios’ murder, and she knew this had to be connected. A voice inside her head was saying, Oh, come on, stop with the paranoia, you’re starting to sound like Max. The Greek network for tracking people down is good, but it couldn’t be this fookin’ good.

But she knew that little voice was fooking wrong as soon as she saw the knife in the guy’s hand. He was coming at her, baring his teeth, and somewhere in the distance she heard a woman shriek. The man was almost on her, and he was saying something – it sounded like “she-devil.”

She managed to reach into her handbag, grab the gun. Before the guy could reach her she whipped the gun out and fired a shot, hitting him right in his goddamn face.

Then she ran, past the guy’s idling car, trying to get to Rufus. She didn’t make it. She had her hand on the door when she felt an intense pain ripping through her chest. The next moment she was on the ground, lying on her stomach with her cheek on the pavement. She saw a blurry image of a guy leaning out the open door of the idling car, holding a gun. It was Sebastian, that bastard.

Her last vision was of Sebastian, smiling, blowing spoke away from the barrel of the gun. She couldn’t believe it. Of all the guys who could’ve done her in, it had to be that useless fookin’ wuss? Talk about last laughs. That God, he had some fucking sense of humor.