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Authors: Tom Pitts

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BOOK: Piggyback
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Becky shrugged her shoulders and pulled out the bottle of white wine. She dug through the drawers and finally found an opener.


Fuck, your parents got enough shit in here?


My mom

s a shopaholic, what can I say?

 

 


Look, do you think you could pull over somewhere so I could piss? Somewhere that sells booze?

asked Paul.

There were back on the road heading south on Interstate 5.


Why didn

t you piss when we were pulled over?


They don

t sell liquor in a cornfield.

Jerrod spoke up from the back seat.

I gotta piss too.


Piss your pants; it

s an old car anyway,

Jimmy replied.

They pulled off the freeway at an exit that promised fast food, cheap motels, and gas. Jimmy pulled into the gas station.

Before he got out of the car, Paul tapped Jimmy on the knee and pointed with his head to beckon him out of the car.


What?

said Jimmy.


Can I talk to you for a minute,

Paul kept his voice low,

privately?


There

s no need to whisper, we

re all friends here.

Jimmy looked back in the rearview and smiled at the boys.

Be right back.

The two men got out and stood behind the car. 


Look man, I was thinking, maybe we should just call Jose.


What for?


These kids, man. I don

t want to get in too much deeper. Shit, I don

t wanna spend the next two days digging holes.


The only hole you gotta worry about is the one you already dug for yourself. We

re going to get your shit back. Jose is going to be happy and that

s that. I

m good at what I do, that

s why you showed up on my fucking doorstep begging for help. Remember?


Yeah, I know, I just don

t want to, you know.


What?


You know, Jimmy.


What? See anyone get hurt? Too late for that. See anybody die? Just remember the person you

re trying to keep alive is
you
, Paul.


Jesus, Jimmy.


Go take your piss.


After, you mind if I just run over to that store for one minute?

Jimmy rolled his eyes.

Paul stood there for a second.

I

m still broke, Jimmy.


Fuck,

said Jimmy, pulling a twenty-spot from his pocket.

Paul took it, but still stood there.


Um, I need smokes too.

Jimmy pulled out another ten dollar bill.


Thanks buddy. I

ll be right back.

 

 

Paul was sipping from his bottle of Jim Beam and had finally settled on a radio station. Classic rock, again. The lights of Sacramento were visible, lighting up the horizon and giving shape to a long stretch of heavy-looking clouds hanging low over the city. Jerrod spoke up.


I thill need to pith.

He was lisping now through his swollen lips.


I told you, piss in your pants.


Come on,

said Paul,

I don

t wanna smell that shit, and I know you don

t want that stink in your car. Just let him piss.

The Jim Beam had mellowed Paul. He was growing more comfortable with the situation.


All right, but his hands stay tied.


How

s he gonna piss?


You

re the one that

s so concerned, you help him,

Jimmy said as he signaled to the right and exited the freeway.

They pulled off the side road onto a gravel patch and Paul got out, opened the back door and unbuckled Jerrod. The two walked several feet from the car. Jimmy watched Paul bend over and manipulate the boy

s zipper. After a moment he heard the boy cry out,

I

m pithing all over my leg.


Shut the fuck up, man. I

m trying to help you.


You hath to undo my panths, dude.

Jimmy watched and shook his head. The phone in his jacket began to vibrate. He took it out and looked at the number—Shelly. He turned to Tristan and opened his jacket to show the boy his holstered gun. An unnecessary reminder of who was in-charge.


Tell her you

re both on the way. That

s it. Sorry you

re late. Blame it on Jerrod. That

s it, no bullshit or we

re gonna bury your friend right here, right now.

Tristan nodded. Jimmy hit answer and held the phone up to Tristan

s ear.


Hey baby.

There was a shrill female voice in the background.


No, no, no. We

re coming, we

re on the way. We

ll be there in a bit. Jerrod was having beers and lagging, you know how he is.

More bitching on the other end.


No really, we

ll see you in a bit

. I don

t know, a little while.

The voice said something else.


I love you, baby.

The line went dead. She didn

t say it back.


Good job, kid. You may get out of this one yet.

Tristan looked down and nodded. Mostly to himself.


She

s anxious, huh? Pissed too. No
I-love-you
? Be terrible if that was the last time she talked to you.

Tristan didn

t say anything; he just kept looking at his feet.

Paul led Jerrod back to the car by his elbow. There was a large wet stain down the front of the boy

s left pant leg. Paul opened the door for him and buckled him back into the seat.


Little trouble?

said Jimmy.


Fuck you, man. The kid

s an asshole, wouldn

t hold still.


Maybe he didn

t want you holding his dick too long.


This fucking sucks. I got piss all over my hand. Where the hell are we going?

Jimmy turned his head toward the back seat and asked the boys,

You want to tell him, gentlemen? Where is it that I want to be? Where am I going to find those sweet young girlfriends of yours?

The boys made no sound, didn

t look at each other, gave no sign as to where they had arranged to meet the girls.


All right, have it your way.

Jimmy stepped hard on the gas and let the tires spit out some gravel before they gripped the pavement.

Rio Linda

 

As the downtown skyline came into view, Jimmy pulled out Jerrod

s driver

s license and checked the address in the light from the dash. They finally reached the connector from the I-5 South to Interstate 80 and began heading east. They were going to an area just north of downtown called Rio Linda. As soon as he exited the interstate, Jimmy checked the rearview. This time, the boys did look at each other, just a furtive glance. It should have told Jimmy something, but he didn

t know what. To Jimmy, it was a simple equation. Jerrod had the bigger attitude, seemed to be the alpha between the two, so it was his house they

d hit first. Sooner or later, the boys would give up the girls or the stash.

They crept through the rural streets of Rio Linda. It was as close to countryside as Sacramento got. Small-acreage lots looking run-down and impoverished. The streetlights were far and few between and made it tough to see. Each house had a few vehicles in their driveway, usually trucks, and a couple lights burning in their kitchens. Every property seemed to have dogs coming out to greet them with angry barks. Occasionally there would be a well kept home, secluded from the road with an ornate gate, looking out of place amongst their poorer neighbors. Many of the homes had scattered livestock wandering behind them: horses, cows, chickens, even goats, but never more than a handful of each.


Fucking hillbillies, eh?

said Paul.

After zigzagging for a long time, Jimmy finally pulled up under the street sign they were looking for, he turned right and began to drive slowly, trying to see the numbers on the houses or mailboxes. After he was sure he was heading in the right direction, he looked into the rearview mirror and asked Jerrod,

Who

s home, kid?

Jerrod furrowed his brow like he was trying to think of what to say.

Jimmy asked again, more slowly this time,

Who is home?

They had almost reached the address on the license; Jimmy slowed the car even more and turned the lights and the radio off. He rolled down his window and listened. There were trees leading up to the fence that lined the road. Jimmy pulled the car off the road with just the grill poking out from behind the trees. Lights were on all through the house, but there was no sound, no dogs barking, nothing. Jimmy sat and squinted at the house, trying to read it, wanting it to tell him something. The house told him nothing. It was one story, brick. It was dirty, the yard was overgrown. There was a screen door with the screen ripped out and a solid white door behind it. There were three cars parked in front, two of them looked like they hadn

t run for years. He listened hard. No voices. Nothing.

Jimmy threw the car into gear and pulled back onto the road.


Was that it?

asked Paul. Jimmy stayed silent, looking for a place to pull over. When he found a spot secluded enough, he shouldered the Camry, pulled the automatic from his holster and got out of the car. He opened the back door and undid Jerrod

s seat belt.


Get out.

His voice was low and monotone. Jerrod obeyed and Jimmy took him by the elbow and led him around to the back of the car. He opened the trunk and pulled out his duffel bag. It sounded heavy when it hit the ground.


Get in,

he said to the boy.

Jerrod looked at him confused. Jimmy cocked back the hammer and pushed the barrel against Jerrod

s swollen lip.

BOOK: Piggyback
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