Fifty

 2019

I make sure to take a souvenir

Becca and I stare at the enlarged picture again.  Mike and his nephew Pedro. 

Happy Father’s Day Uncle Mike. You’re like a father to me.

There’s scrawny bespectacled Mike. Flannel shirt, dirty jeans, no smile. 

There is something around Mike’s neck. A leather chain.  Dangling from the chain is a rabbit’s foot; a rabbit’s foot designed as a key ring.  But instead of any keys, linked to the top of the rabbit’s foot is a charm in the shape of a moon and a star.

***

It pays to be a big shot. Becca belongs to several national organizations composed of vice presidents.  They meet periodically and consequently she has formed friendships with executives throughout the country and the world.  She knows someone, who knows someone, who knows someone.

Thanks to Becca, I gain an audience with lawmakers and police officials. I detail what I know.  I also describe the plan we’ve devised. Becca is there in the room with me.  She provides moral support and also interjects details when I forget to include them. She establishes, because of her connections and reputation, a degree of legitimacy without which I’d likely be considered a quack.   There are dozens of questions directed at me. I feel like I am on the stand.  That’s okay. The more questions I hear and respond to, the stronger I feel about what needs to be done.

When we have finished with our presentation and the interrogation, we are told to leave and wait in an anteroom. Becca gives me a pat on the head—good job. I nod. I think she is right and, not for the first time, thank her for greasing the way. 

We are not in the waiting room more than fifteen minutes, when an ambassador-- someone Becca knows peripherally-comes out and says she thinks it is a go. They need, however, to gain approval from authorities before we will receive the final consent.  

We return to Boston and within a week, Becca gets a call. All systems are go.  

Again, we travel and meet with lawmakers.  We role play and role play and role play some more. I am told what I must do and what I absolutely must not do.

***

Mike Martin lives in an assisted living community in Scranton, Pennsylvania. He shares a room with another person.  There’s a curtain between his bedspace and his roommate’s.  

I walk into the facility. I am confident but apprehensive. I was up early thinking about what needs to happen.   Last night I went through it one more time with Becca. 

I have got to get this right. It is an opportunity to purge a demon that has been lurking in my gut and corrupting my insides for half a century.  Since April it has been an ever-present reminder of what I could have done and did not do.

Echoing in my head are Becca’s last words to me this morning “You can do this Z.”

We had seen a map of the facility before today.  I knew that there was a lounge on Mike’s floor for the residents. A hallway to the left led to one set of rooms. Similarly, there were rooms down a corridor to the right.  There was a central nurses’ and attendants’ station in the middle of the lounge. The lounge itself contained reclining chairs and couches spread out in a space the size of an elementary school gymnasium.  Today, several of the residents are sitting in various parts of the lounge. No one is particularly close to anyone else.   Some of the people in the lounge appear to be more with it than others. There’s music piped into the lounge. A tv is on that nobody seems to be watching.  

I see him in the lounge. He’s not reading a paper or magazine. Not watching tv. Just sitting there rocking slowly with a “the world messed with me” look across the face.  He wears a sweater. Brown and plain. He’s got on a pair of slacks that are a size too large. Baggy around the legs.  Looks like the belt pin is attached to the last notch or else he could get up from the chair and leave the pants behind. Again, as I thought when I first met him, he looks like Barney Fife’s brother who went bad. A ne’er do well who believes he has been wronged. The adult version of the kid who blew up the school and when confronted by the principal, scowled and said defiantly--with the dynamite in his hand-- “It’s my fault right?” 

The good Barney went to work for the sheriff. His twin shoplifted his way out of town before moving on up to uglier crimes.  Thin, gray hair now, balding. Still dandruffed. Mashed in nose. Sliding spectacles. Rocking slowly.

And he has the rabbit’s foot around his neck. The moon and cross charm visible.

Becca looks every bit of an orderly working the floor.  She’s left Rebecca Carey somewhere and now has an Annie name tag. She is unobtrusively moving about the lounge bringing water to the residents. 

This is it. I have to get this right.  

Annie brings me over to where he is sitting.

***

“Mike. You have a visitor.”

He looks up. “Who the fuck are you?”

It’s show time. 

“Mike. Hey Mike. Remember me?”  

Mike looks at Annie. “I never saw this bastard in my life.”

I try to look puzzled. “Mike, Come on. Mike. Albuquerque truck stop. All those years meeting up at the truck stop. Come on, Take a good look.”

He glances at me. 

“Don’t know this guy.” He says to Annie. He flips his hand up. “Get him the fuck away from me.”

I continue to look puzzled. I say to Annie, “He doesn’t remember me. Is he in here for Alzheimer’s?”  

Mike snorts. “Nothing wrong with me.” Mike is facing straight ahead. Not looking at me. Speaking straight ahead as he did in the truck coming out of Gallup.

“Cmon Mike. Take another look.” I say “We’d meet up in Albuquerque. Eat at the restaurant. You’d always order Steak and Eggs.  I mimic, “ ‘Steak and Eggs. Steak rare. If it's not rare I'll send it back.’”

Mike pauses. He looks at me suspiciously. He dismisses any doubt. Then he turns away and stares straight ahead again. “Lots of truckers eat steak and eggs.” He says.

“Sure, but we met.  Hey Mike, you told me a lot. You know, you told me about your uncle. The drunk who raised you.  C’mon Mike don’t you remember me? We ate together a bunch of times when we came through Albuquerque.  You know the big truck stop.”

“I know the big truck stop. Drove truck for thirty years. Should know the truck stop. But I don’t know you.”

I make a face like “this is tough to believe.”  “Okay I’ll leave, but if you don’t know me how come I know about what your ex-wife did. How you come home one day from a haul, and your wife has left and taken everything in the house except the toaster.” I shake my head.

Mike raises his eyebrows.  Glances at me. Still with a skeptical look. “I told you about the toaster.”

“Yeah. You come home one day and that’s the only thing in the house.”

Mike’s returns to looking forward. “Don’t know how many people I told about the toaster.”

“Well you told me” I say.  “And then you know, you told me about your sister.”

This gets a rise out of Mike. He looks over. “What did I tell you about my sister?”

“Well, you told me that she was an ingrate and” I look around and lower my voice, “even married a spic.”

A pause. “What did you say your name is again?”

“Georgie. Georgie, Tell me you don’t remember Georgie.”

Mike raises his eyebrows. Takes another look. He’s not convinced. Still sour he turns back to the straight-ahead stare.

“Pedro, right?” I say. “You told me she married a spic named Pedro.”

Mike looks down. Scratches his pursed lips. A sideways look at me “Albuquerque? We met in Albuquerque?”

“Albuquerque. Truck stop” I confirm.

Back to staring ahead with a scowl. “Still don’t recognize you. Sort of remember the name Georgie.”

“Sure you do.” I say.

“Okay.” He glances at a chair nearby indicating, in a suit yourself way, that I could pull it over and sit. I do. “What do you want, Georgie?”

“Well you know you told me if I ever was in Scranton I should look you up.” I have memorized the address he had written at the truckstop service area.  I recite it.

Mike snorts something that passes for a laugh. “I haven’t lived there in quite a while.  Been here. Nothing wrong with me. Shouldn’t be here. My sister thinks I need to be here.  Stupid.”

“The sister you raised. Right? Your mom died. At least that’s what you told me. Dad dumped you off on the uncle who liked to knock them back. So you said--you told me anyway--that you had to raise your sister. And then, well, she didn’t appreciate it. Maybe I got that wrong.”

“No you got that right. I raised the ingrate.” He turns and looks at me full on. “Georgie. Georgie. Now you’re looking a bit familiar” Mike squints. “From the truckstop?”

“Right. ‘Steak and eggs.’” I mimic Mike again. “ ‘Steak and Eggs. Steak rare. If it's not rare I'll send it back.’” I laugh.

Mike emits another snort. “I would too. I’d send it back.”

“I know it.” I nod my head a couple of times.  “That sister with that damn tattoo.”

“I told you about that too?” Mike shakes his head. Surprised that I know so much about him. “Let’s go back to my room where we can talk without all these jackasses around.”

This is music to my ears. There will be less ambient noise that might interfere with the recording. “Are you sure? You look comfortable here.”

“My room is more private.  Got a roommate who is a jerk, but he keeps the curtain shut. Cmon. ‘Nurse.’” Mike yells.

Becca/Annie comes over.  “Help me up. Need to go into my room. And bring me the damn walker” He looks at Becca “You new here?”

“Started last week”

“Well move.” He says to Becca. She returns with the walker. Mike leans on Becca’s shoulder and stands up from the chair. Then he opens the walker and turns to me. “Staff sucks around here. Jews or Spics.” 

I nod.  

 Mike points to the walker.  “I don’t need this damn thing. They make me use it. Insurance, they say. Bull shit.”  

Again, I nod. 

***

I follow Mike into the room. The room is spartan. There’s a curtain that bisects the space. Mike’s section is on the right. A closet is on the immediate right as you walk in the door. His bed is against the wall parallel to the curtain. There’s a dresser adjacent to the bed that is against the far wall. Next to the dresser under a window is an upholstered chair. 

Becca walks in with us and helps Mike down onto his bed. Mike doesn’t balk when she helps him get seated but once settled facing the curtain with his legs dangling over the side of the bed, he barks at her. “I don’t need you to sit on my damn bed.”

“Pull up a chair Jackie” he points to the upholstered chair.

“Georgie” I say.

“I said Georgie” says Mike. “You got wax in your ears?”

I make a self-effacing gesture. I am still standing. I look around. “Not a bad room you got here.”

“Sucks.” Says Mike. As usual, Mike is staring straight ahead speaking as if addressing the curtain.

“Not bad is what I said. It aint the Marriott. But not bad.”

“Not the Marriott. You can say that again. The Marriott. Ha…Sit down.  There’s another chair in the closet if the big one don’t suit you.  Two chairs per room.   Not that anybody ever comes to visit here.”

“Your sister don’t visit?”

Mike waves his hand in disgust. “To hell with her. She put me in here. Her kid’ll come by, now and again. He turned out not so bad. I think she forces him to visit.”

I comment, “Pedro, right. I think you told me that she gave the kid the dad’s name. Pedro Jr.”

Mike shakes his head from side to side. “Yeah. That’s the kid’s name. Can’t believe I didn’t recognize you.  Maybe I am losing my mind. What else did I tell you? My favorite position.” I see that mirthless laugh. Laughter caught behind his closed mouth.

I laugh dutifully.

I get a folding chair out from the closet and place it with my back to the door. I get as close as I can get to Mike without it seeming peculiar.

“You just passing through, Georgie?” Mike says

“Well sort of. Wanted to talk about something you started telling me about.”

“What’s that?” Not much enthusiasm in Mike’s voice.  Still staring straight ahead.

“Well” I start. “You know I told you about my ex.”

Mike squints. Shakes his head. “Remind me.”

“You know, I told you about her affair with the Indian and the damn tattoo.”

At the word tattoo Mike pulls raises his eyebrows. He speaks slowly. “The Indian and the tattoo? I need to hear more.”    

“Well, I told you that--maybe I shouldn’t have--but we were having dinner at the truck stop. You and me.” I stop, shake my head, and mimic him again.  “’Steak and Eggs. Steak Rare. Make it rare or I’ll send it back.’ You killed me with that.”

Mike smiles or what passes as a smile for him.  I can almost see teeth. “How damn hard is it to make it rare?”

“Right.” I say.

“Don’t know how many times they got it wrong.” Mike shakes his head sourly bemused. “You were saying. About your wife.”

“Right, My wife. Well, you remember I told you that I knew she was screwing this Indian.” I stop and look at him. “You do remember that I told you about the Indian?”

Mike gives a signal with his fingers moving them toward his face suggesting that he needs more information. It looks like a pedestrian helping a motorist back up into a tight parking space.

“Well,” I continue,  “she’s screwing this Indian and I call her on it. I say, “‘I know you’re screwing the Indian’. At first she denies it. But I keep pressing her and finally she admits it.  She yells “Yeah, I’m screwing the Indian.’ Bitch. That’s the word, right? Bitch.”  

Mike nods his head.  “What happens then? Remind me.”

“Well after I call her on it, and she admits it, instead of apologizing she gets all huffy. She leaves the house and doesn’t come back that night or the next night or the next. Finally, she comes home… You don’t remember this, Mike?”

Again, Mike waves at his face, “Keep it coming. It’s sounding more and more familiar.”

“Well she comes home eventually with a damn tattoo. A warrior tattoo. An Indian warrior. Can you believe it.  This is before everybody had tattoos. A warrior tattoo. Well I go nuts.  It’s on her arm! A warrior on her arm!” I change my tone. “When I told you this in Albuquerque, that’s when you tell me about your sister’s tattoo. On her bicep right.”  

Mike shakes his head again “Shit. right. My sister’s tattoo is right there.” He jabs at his right bicep. “I can’t believe I forgot meeting you.”

“Well the thing is I tell you about my wife over dinner and I just say that I got to do something about this. You know get her back. And you say, that you can help me with that.”

Mike raises his eyebrows. “And what did I say.”

“Well, you say” I look from one side to the other “you say that you know how to take care of business.  That’s what you say. You say you know how to take care of business and you have taken care of business.”

There’s a Barney Fife proud smirk. “Damn right I take care of business.”

“The thing is you don’t tell me what you did. You’re about to start, but someone from the garage comes over and says that your truck is ready. You look at your watch and say something like holy crap. that you gotta go.”

“I didn’t tell you nothing else?”

“No, but you said I could look you up if I ever got east because you’d taken care of this kind of business before.”  Again, I look left and right. I drop my voice but make sure it is loud enough.  “As you were leaving to go get your truck, you leaned over the table and told me that you once took care of a cunt who had a tattoo on her tits! On her tits!”

At this Mike smiled such that I could almost see a tooth. He looked like someone, starved for recognition, who had just been reminded of a decades’ old accomplishment. Barney Fife’s no-good twin delighted that someone remembered how he once did something.  

We are betting that Mike is eager to spill. I stay silent for a moment and just look at him.

“I told you that?” He said.

“Oh yeah.”

Now it was Mike’s turn to swivel his head from left to right.  He leaned over to the clothes dresser to the side of his bed.  He opened up a drawer, pawed around, and took out an envelope. Then he pulled from the envelope what looks like a copy of the photo Jenny posted at UCLA.  

Mike holds up the picture.

“Who’s that?” I say.

“That’s who. That’s who I was talking about. The business I took care of.”

“You took care of her?” I ask.

Mike smirks “You could say so.”

“Can I see the picture?” 

Mike hands it over.  He’s bragging. “I got a bunch of them.”  

“You do?”

“Four or five. Took them after.”

“After? What happened? How’d you handle it?”

Mike pauses, dramatically. “You want to know?”

“Up to you, but you know maybe what you did. Maybe it can help me with my ex. I still want to punish her.” I say.  “She’s not with that Indian anymore, but I see her around. Still has that damn tattoo. And it bothers me. Like a smack in the face when I see it.”

“I can understand that.” Said Mike.  

“You don’t have to tell me…”

“It’s okay. Telling you how I took care of business might be useful to you.” He is busting to spill.  

“That would be great.”

“Well Okay then.” He’s ready. He pauses for a few seconds. “I remember it clearly.” He turns toward me. “You know they say here that my memory is for shit, and sometimes, it’s true. I can’t remember what I did an hour ago.  But I remember what I did with her” he points to the photo before continuing staccato, “like-it-was-yesterday. I’ll never forget a detail.”   

“If you don’t want to tell me.”

Mike waves me away. “Might help you with your wife.”

I nod. “Could. What happened?”

***

Mike gives a little left and right again before starting. Big inhale. He looks like someone who doesn’t need much prodding to talk about how he caught the big fish. He speaks straight ahead toward the curtain. I make sure I am close enough. Plan is for Becca to come in on some pretense if the volume is insufficient.  There’s a gizmo I can press if that’s the case. But there is no need.  Nobody comes into the room. They’re apparently catching it all.

“Here’s what happened. It was in July. I was home in Carbondale between hauls and went over to the Wayne County Fairgrounds over by Honesdale. Not that far from here. Maybe 40 minutes. Have some good girlie shows at the Fair there let me tell you. 

“Anyway, I am at the Fairgrounds because there is a motorcycle show. Bunch of motorcyclists gathering there.  Ride motorcycles myself.”

“You do?”

“Yeah. Wasn’t riding that day, drove my wagon there, but I know motorcycles.  I went over to look at the bike show. And she” he points to the photo of Jenny I am holding. “she is over there.

“She’s wearing, sneakers, jeans and one of those blowsy shirts. You know a pull over type thing. Used to call ‘em peasant blouses. My damn sister used to wear them. “

“Uh huh. She’s wearing a blouse.”

“Yeah. Big blouse. A size probably too big. I decide to go over to chat her up; see if she knows motorcycles. And she does.” Mike nods a few times. Raises his eyebrows. “She damn well knows motorcycles. We get to talking. I can tell she’s got a thing for me.”  Mike shrugs, “Always been that way for me. Women are attracted to me.”

“Sure. I can see that.”

Mike shakes his head to affirm. “Always been that way. Well, it’s got to be close to 830-9 at night. She” and again he points to the photo I’m holding, “She tells me she has to get back to Callicoon and she’s hitch hiking.  Callicoon is about thirty-forty five minutes from the fairgrounds. She says she has got a job as a cleaner at some resort in Callicoon. I think it was a wop joint. Still there I think. Villa something or other.” A pause.  He pulls two fingers over the nostrils of his smashed nose. “I tell her I’m going that way myself. She hesitates because she thinks it’s a lie which it is. But like I said she’s attracted to me. She says, sure I can drive her back to work. She asks if we can get a sandwich or something before we go. She’s hungry.  I say fine.  I figure I am going to get some action if you know what I mean.”

“Oh yeah. I know what you mean.”

“Well, there was a place at the fairgrounds where you could buy burgers and fries and stuff like that. Kind of like a truck with a kitchen in it. There were picnic tables nearby. I buy her a burger and we sit at the picnic table for a while talking about motorcycles. At one point she bends over to tie her shoelaces. The blowsy shirt comes down and I can see, as clear as day, that she has got this big tattoo right on her tit.” Again a pause. The world has messed with me sourpuss stares straight ahead. “Anytime I see a tattoo on a woman it bugs me, reminds me of my goddamn sister marrying a spic and putting that damn tattoo on her arm.”

“Sure. Like my wife and the Indian tattoo”

Mike points at me, moving his left hand to the side, sticking a digit in my direction. He glances at me. “Right. Like that.”

“What happened then.”

Mike is still looking at me. “I say to her that I couldn’t help but notice her tattoo when she was tying her shoes. She says, ‘uh, huh’ or something like that. Irritates me. Just saying ‘uh huh’ like I am some kind of creep for looking at what she has put out there for everyone to look at.” 

Mike returns to staring straight ahead. Takes a breath. “But I don’t say nothing about being irritated. I just ask her about the tattoo. Why she likes it. Why she got it. She gives me this song and dance crap about what it means. Then she says something that does it. She said she decided to get the tattoo to make a statement. Make a statement.” He nods and then shakes his head--bringing the world has done me wrong scowl up a notch.  “That is what my slut sister told me when she put that spic’s name on her arm. She was making a statement.” Mike shakes his head in disgust. “Make a statement. 

“My sister wants to make a statement? How ‘bout thanking me for raising her. Giving up everything to raise her.”

“She never thanked you?”

He gives me an “Are You Kidding Me” look. “Never. My drunk uncle was worthless. I had to work. Had to protect my sister from my uncle. Come home and try to do stuff to her. Try to do stuff to me.”

“No kidding?”

“No fucking kidding. Grabbing her. Grabbing me where he shouldn’t a been grabbing. I protected her from that damn bastard. Mom dies and I’m the father. I’m a kid myself. I watch out for her. Make sure no jerks take her out. Make sure she gets to school. Gets home from school.

“And then she goes ahead and gets a damn tattoo to “Make a Statement” Mike is close to shouting now.  He realizes this and takes a breath before lowering his voice. “Make a statement that she belongs to a spic name Pedro. Where’s her appreciation for me. Where is her statement for me?”

“Damn right.” I say. “You had a big thanks coming to you.”

“Damn right.” Mike pauses.  “Anyway when this” he makes a gesture toward the picture “bitch says she got a tattoo to make a statement, on her tit no less, I got real angry.  She asks if anything is the matter. I say nothing, but it is time we start driving to Callicoon.”

“Right.” I say.

“Right. But we never get to goddamn Callicoon.”

“What happened?”

“We never were going to get to Callicoon. We start driving and get to a hamlet called Galilee. Galilee probably got a population of about ten. West Bumfuck has skyscrapers compared to Galilee. Nothing to the place. Got a general store that closes at like 4.  We get to Galilee. It’s pitch black. Instead of continuing on to Callicoon, I pull over in the middle of nowhere and take out my knife.” Mike nods his head up and down. 

“Well she is startled of course and wants to know what I am doing. I tell her I want to see her tits up close and personal.  I want to see her goddamn tattoo. Her make a statement tattoo. There’s a cost for driving her to Callicoon, I tell her ‘Maybe I want to make a statement.’ I say. 

“Her eyes get wide for a minute or two. Then, it seems that she figures, what the hell. She says that I can feel her up and she’ll even blow me, but only when we get back to Callicoon.” Mike shakes his head from side to side.

“I say to her ‘What do you think I am a moron? Once we get to Callicoon you’ll run. I want to see those tits and that damn tattoo now.’  Well, she smiles and says that she knew I was too smart for that, but she just needs to get something to drink.  We’d passed that general store a way back and she’d noticed a coke machine out on the porch. She wants me to go back to the machine so she can get a Coke. Then, she says, I’m all hers. Just to entice me, she takes her tits out and starts to shake them for me. But she puts them back in and says she needs a drink.

“Okay that’s fine with me. I go back to the dead as a doornail general store, but before I let her out of the car to get the Coke, I wave my knife at her and tell her just what I am going to do. Give her a damned description of just what I plan to do. I tell her I am going to fuck her and tear that goddamn tattoo off of her. I also tell her that I got a thing for twats with tattoos. That my no-good sister that I raised myself got a spic tattoo.

“Well, there’s this minute pause when she’s looking at me, and then she just goes wild. She opens her eyes wide again, but this time even wider, like she recognizes me or something. Eyes bugging out of her head. Not kidding.” Mike still staring straight ahead makes a meal out of demonstrating how wide Jenny’s eyes open up.

“After like a second of these eyeballs bugging out, she starts to scream. I got the windows down and we are nowhere. No one is going to hear her, but I whack her across the face anyway. You know to discourage her from screaming. 

“Before I know it, she has a knife out and the bitch has cut me under my chin. Right here.” Mike points to a scar. “I grab her, but she takes out a can of pepper spray from somewhere and sprays it in my eyes Then while I’m still blind, she bangs my head against the door.”

“Holy smokes.” I say.

“Yeah, that’s right. Well, I must have conked out for a few seconds. When I come to, I see she has run up to the general store porch where there is an outside pay phone. She’s making a damn call. I stagger out of the car and pull her by the hair away from the phone, hang the damn phone up, and throw her in the car.  

“Then and there I go to work on the tattoo, but she is a feisty bitch. I smash her head but good into the window and that knocks her out. There’s an old Jew kids camp about a mile from the general store. It’s out of business I know because I know a trucker who delivers food to the Jew camps up there.  

“I drive into this out of business Jew camp and keep going until I find a lake. All these camps have lakes. So, I’m down at the lake. She’s still conked out. I take all her clothes off.” Mike stops and looks directly at me. “Gotta do that. If you don’t take their clothes off, they can trace it.”

“Good to know” I say.

He returns to looking straight ahead. “I got all her clothes off, but then she comes to. And she’s kicking and screaming. Finally I just stab the bitch. Don’t get quite the whole tattoo but she is dead, dead. I drag her to the water. 

“Before I dump her, I find some rocks. There was a long rock wall near the lake. I got a bunch of rope in my wagon. Get a few of the rocks and tie them to her feet and arms and then drop her in the lake. Probably still there now.  Dumped her right in the lake.” He stops again to look at me to be clear about the tutorial. “You gotta find a place to dump em Georgie, or else, you know there could be problems.”

Again I say, “Good to know.”

“Anyway,” Mike inhales with a sense of pride. “That’s what I did. I made a damn statement. Took care of business. Got home bandaged up my chin. Cleaned out the wagon.  The next day I started a three week haul out West.  Maybe that’s when I saw you. Out in Albuquerque.”

“What did you do with her clothes? 

“I burned them. Easy.  But I kept souvenirs. Up to you if you want to do that. But I did. Kept souvenirs.”

“You did?”

Mike snorts and points to the picture I am holding. “I told you I had more of those pictures. She had about five of these in her pack. Took ‘em all.”

“You took the pictures as a souvenir?’

Mike nods. “That aint all.” Mike puts his hand around his neck. “In her pack was a rabbit’s foot.  For good luck.  Guess it didn’t work.” I see Mike’s mirthless smile.

“I take the damn rabbit’s foot. I got some leather afterwards and made a lanyard. Put the rabbit’s foot on the lanyard. Now I wear it around my neck all the time. My damn statement.” He nods his head “It’s got silver on it.  Take a look.” He turns and holds the rabbit’s foot up for me to see. “Real silver charm here. Moon and star.  Real silver. Not going to sell it though.”

“You killed her?”

“Damn right. Took care of business.”

“You killed the woman in the picture here.”

“I killed her.”

I pause. I feel and hear a buzz in my back. It’s the signal to tell me that they got it.

“What’s that noise?” says Mike.

I don’t answer. I grab the sick bastard by his sweater, lift up the scrawny prick and ram him against the wall.

Mike’s eyeballs retreat. He looks at me stunned. “What the fuck?”

***

Into the room come the suits who have been listening. Must be about five of them. Mike starts moving his head back and forth like he’s watching a high-speed tennis match. “What the fuck” he says again.

“Let go of him.” I am yanked away.

The officers tell him he is under arrest for the murder of Jennifer Smith. They read him Miranda.

“What the fuck? Who the fuck are you?”

“We are the people arresting you.”

Mike tries to rally.  He laughs that mirthless laugh that can’t come out of his mouth. 

“Well,” says, Mike, trying to regain his swagger, “the joke is on you.”  He makes a face that in another context would look like someone exaggerating puckered up lips waiting for a kiss. A piece of his tongue sticks out from the pursed lips. He nods his head up and down.

One of the officers takes the picture from my hand. He shows the picture to Mike. “Did you kill this woman?”  

Mike snorts. Opens up his pursed up lips with the tiny bit of tongue sticking out. “Damn right. Killed her and threw her in the lake at the Jew camp.”

“You know you have the right to remain silent.”

“I know. I know. Fuck you. Doesn’t matter. I killed her. But so what.” Mike shakes his head from side to side. “You morons. Ha.”

“Ha. Is it?”

Mike is almost laughing with his mouth open. “Yeah, I killed that tattooed twat in the picture. But nothing you can do about it.”

“Nothing we can do about it?”

“That’s right you morons.” And then he smirks. “It was a zillion years ago. Ever hear of the Statue of Limitations.

“Statue of Limitations” Mike shakes his head from side to side. “You morons. Statue of Limitations.”