Terminal

“Not if you keep killing people we won’t. Jesus fucking Christ in a jumped-up frigging sidecar, Sherm! How many people have to die before you’re done? Kelvin. That cop, Mac Davis. Lucas. Now Keith. Maybe John. How many? How many do you have to kill? We need a fucking plan, man. What the hell are we going to do?”

“Seriously? ’Cause I’ve been thinking about that.”

“Of course, seriously. What’s the plan?”

“I think we should have some fun. You know. Make the most of what time we have left. Take that Kim chick for example. Did you see the ass on her? God, I’d love to pound that. And those ripe little tits? I’d like to chew my way through them.”

He licked his lips and grabbed his crotch, rubbing it through his jeans. I shook my head in disgust.

“That’s your great master plan? Bang Kim?”

“Well, what the hell else we gonna do, Tommy?”

“We surrender,” I suggested. “Tell them that you and John were just unwilling accomplices. I’ll take the rap.” It sounds stupid now, but at the time, I really did believe it would be that easy—

believed that they’d just let John and Sherm off with a slap on the wrist and a don’t-do-it-again.

“Fuck that shit. That’s all good for you, man, but John and I ain’t dying of cancer. You think they’ll just let us walk? What the fuck have you been smoking, Tommy? I’m looking at the death penalty, easy. They’ll give me a lethal injection, then strap my ass down in the electric chair just to make sure. And like I told you before, even if Carpet Dick lives, he’ll get at least forty-one months. They know they’ve got dead bodies already. They can see Kelvin and that dead cop from where they stand. No way, yo. We ain’t walking out of here.”

“Fine. Then John and I can surrender, and you can stay and negotiate separately.”

He raised the .357 and pointed it at me.

“No, Tommy. You must not have understood me. Let’s try this again. I said we ain’t walking out of here.”

My stomach felt cold and the bottom dropped out of it. Automatically, my hand dropped to my waistband, searching for my own weapon. Only then did I realize that I’d left it lying on the floor next to John and Benjy. Out of the corner of my eye, I considered the dead cop’s .38, still lying on the desk. But if I reached for it, he’d drop me before I could grab it.

“Goddamn it, Sherm . . .”

“Remember who planned this shit,” he warned me. “You couldn’t have pulled this off without me. Now, you still want to walk outside?”

“What are you gonna do, Sherm? You gonna fucking shoot me?”

He fingered the trigger, smiled, then relaxed.

“No, man, I ain’t gonna shoot you. I was just playing. But I want you to realize that you’re not thinking straight. That’s exactly what would have been waiting for you if you’d tried walking outside. A bullet. A fucking storm of lead.”

I let go of the breath I’d been holding.

“Look,” he continued, “we all knew the risks when we went into this. You were dying anyway, you said. You didn’t have to worry about getting caught. And as for John— hey, Carpet Dick was dumb enough to come along, even after we both told him not to. So whatever happens with him— well, shit happens. Life’s a bitch, then you die. That’s the rule, man. You can’t do anything about it. He made his decision.”

“And what about you, Sherm? What made you want to come along, knowing that we might end up just as fucked as we are right now?”

“I told you before, yo. We’re boys. I was bored with Hanover. Shit never happens here. I haven’t done anything fun like this since I left Portland.”

“What, you mean you’ve done this before? And this is fun to you?”

His face grew serious again. “Tommy, you got no idea some of the things I’ve done. Some of the shit I’ve pulled.”

I shivered.

He smiled.

“And yeah, this is fun. And it’s about to get funner.”

“Funner ain’t a word, Sherm.”

“Neither is surrender. At least not in my dictionary. So we cool on that?”

I looked down at Keith’s stiffening corpse, then back up at the gun still in Sherm’s hand.

“Yeah. Sure, man, I’m cool with that.”

“All right then. How about we go get this fucking party started?”

He stepped toward the door. I coughed, loud and hard, hoping that the others could hear me in time.

“You all right?”

I rubbed my throat, hamming it up as best I could.

“Yeah. Just thirsty, is all. My throat is really raw. I wish there was something to drink up in here.”

“There’s sodas in the office down the hall. They’re warm though. You want me to get you one?”

“That’d be great, man. Thanks, dog.”

“No problem.”

Before either of us could move, the phones began to ring.

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” he whined. “What the hell do they want now?”

They rang again. And again.

“Ain’t you gonna pick it up?” I asked.

“No. It’s just that asshole Ramirez, wanting to blow some more smoke up my ass.”

Three more rings.

“I don’t know, Sherm. It might be important.”

Four more.

“Fuck them.”

There was a squawk from outside, then Detective Ramirez’s voice boomed over the still-ringing phones.

“SHADY! SHADY, THIS IS DETECTIVE RAMIREZ! SHADY, I NEED YOU TO PICK