Florida, 1979
Life’s a Beach and then You Die
PART TEN
The pale, slender fingers pop out of the red bag. Sunlight flashes off the shiny nickel-plated barrel of a small handgun.
Quick as a flash she sticks it at the cop’s reddening face and squeezes the trigger.
I duck out of the way as brains and blood explode onto the cheap brown vinyl seats. The sound of the blast drifts away on the breeze.
“FUCK!” I scream; then jump out of the car onto the yellow, sun-baked dirt thinking she’s gonna hit me next but instead she’s reaching into the cruiser for the registration card.
I scramble to my feet, run back to the VW and jump in, hoping that Dorie is lingering behind to admire her work. No such luck.
She climbs in, breathless, beside me.
“I had to do it,” she says, matter-of fact. “The fucking pig was going to bust us. Now let’s get the hell out of here so we can screw. I’m dying to see you naked.”
“What the hell is wrong with you, you crazy bitch? You killed a fuckin’ cop. We’ll fuckin’ hang for this. Worse than that…”
“Did the pig call in your plates?”
“No. He never had time. He was too busy making fun of my name.”
“Yeah, your name. We’ll have to discuss that later. In the meantime, I think you should admit that I saved you—and you and I both know from what. I was looking around for the registration form and I found a brick of cocaine inside one of the cabinets. I think the penalty in Florida is worse for that much coke than it is for murder, so I definitely did you a favor.”
“In the future, ask me before you act on my behalf, will you please?”
Horrible vomit taste in my mouth; my heart is dead. I’ve gone beyond sadness to eternal despair. I’m looking out from inside of a damp, black cave and all I can see is the desert.
“Just one less pig around to hassle people, dude,” she says.
What the hell is this younger generation coming to?
“Yeah, I guess. Maybe you’re right. But a car went by us that saw this van pulled over by a cop that is now blown all over his front seat of his cop car. Somehow we have to get out of this van and into something else. And without any money, that might be a difficult thing to do. If we’re lucky, we’ve got a few hours before they put it all together. Got any more bright ideas?”
“It’s only a few miles to my car. If it’s fixed, we take that. Dump this thing somewhere and be gone like the wind.”
“And how are we going to pay for the repairs to your car, offer to trade some coke?”
“You probably could, with these rednecks. I was going to offer them something else, if it came down to that. But now, I think we should just use one of those credit cards in your wallet. Or should I say Elton Kirby’s wallet? Ah, Keith? By the way, it says Dan Bagley on the registration. Is that you?”
“No, that’s my brother. I’m Keith Bagley. If you found the registration form why did you have to kill the fucking cop? Jesus fucking Christ.”
“I can’t take any chances. I already have two felony drug charges on my record. I can’t take another rap of any kind. Don’t you see? But everything is going to be all right, you’ll see. We’ll get in my car and ride off into the sunset, to the Honeymoon Hotel.”
The muscles in my chest tighten up and my soul cries out for release.
(To be continued)
