Down the street from where the car was stashed we found an all night diner tucked into the lobby of a shared office/apartment space. The building looked as if someone had bought the first floor then smashed a stereotypical diner right into it, like fitting a VHS into a VCR, except the tape stuck out a bit. A neon sign blared overhead. Diner: open twenty-four hours.
Inside, the smell of coffee punched the nostrils: an overwhelming aroma of synthetic coffee flavoring, boiled water, and caffeine powder. A waitress and another patron brought life to the sleepy place, clinking cups and shaking silverware. The lights were left dimmed in the early morning to keep from hurting drowsy eyes.
I thought I’d never eat again after having to scrub blood out from under my fingernails, but when the smell of faux egg substitute and fresh toast hit me, my stomach growled out loud. Mackie slumped into the seat across from me with his black coffee. He ripped open a handful of sugar packets and dumped them into his coffee cup.
“I’m surprised you still eat anything you got so much shit in your body,” I said absently. Sitting down felt good. It felt like I could sleep for twelve hours.
“What can I say? I’m a growing boy.” I chuckled at that. My mood had dramatically heightened. Money had a funny way of doing that.
“So what’s left of you that’s real?” I asked. He looked up. I thought he was offended, but he was just thinking about it.
“Shit, the only thing that matters.” He pointed to his brain.
“Yikes.”
“Funny.” He sipped his coffee. His robotic fingers clinked against the ceramic cup.
Mackie was still wearing my coat and it was ridiculously tiny on him. His wrists poked out at the sleeves, and though the jacket was too big for me, it was tight around his chest. I wonder if he even realizes. I didn’t mention it.
His tattoo poked out of one of the sleeves. The dragon chasing the rabbit. The rabbit poked his little head out near the cuff.
“Is your other arm still real?” He wondered why I asked for a moment before pulling back the sleeve. The dragon… The tattoo was Japanese artistry, solid black with beautiful line work. Whoever had given it to him had been very skilled.
“Yup. All flesh and bone.” Mackie squished his fingers together as if he’d forgotten what the sensation felt like.
The waitress brought the food, balancing the plates in the crooks of her arms. She wore a checkered apron and double-shift exhaustion.
Even though the eggs came from a bag, I didn’t care. Wet. Sloppy. And smelling like sulfur, as soon as the plate was in front of me, I wolfed them down. Mackie had a heaping plate of steaming pancakes and fake oily sausage.
We ate in comfortable silence, finally filling our bellies. The slap of chewing and the clink of forks on ceramic... the breathing streets outside the window... The man in the corner doggedly stirring his coffee, whisps of steam floating up into his mysterious face... No one broke the rhythm with words like the silence was sacred. Our emotions from the day quietly resolved themselves.
Outside, a street cleaner whirred by, finally breaking the solemn air. The machine shook the windows and tossed up a cloud of dust that put a film on the glass.
“One point five million,” I reflected after pushing away my empty plate. Mackie laughed to himself.
“Shit. I can’t believe it,” he said, barely able to keep it to himself. The more I thought about the number, the more excited I was, too. No taxes. No cut-ins. No gangers robbing our corpses. It was all ours. Seven hundred and fifty thousand minnies each. Goddamn. Our happy bellies only reinforced the feeling of exuberance.
“So, amigo, you leaving town now or what?” Mackie asked, leaning back in the booth, the leather crunching underneath him.
“Huh? Oh. No. This was a good take, but not near enough.”
“How much you need to leave?” I thought about it, still mulling over the bitter aftertaste of fake egg.
“Need some dough for bribes. Gotta clean some debts up. Or pay for a new identity. With that in mind, I’ll need maybe… two million.”
“Two million is a lot.”
“Yeah. But this went a long way to getting me there.” The fact didn’t escape me that it was all because of Mackie.
“How you think you’re gonna get it?”
“I don’t know. Drug dealing and car lifts ain’t gonna cut it, that’s for sure.”
“You could go legit. Get a job.” I snorted, even though he was serious. He knew as well as I that we weren’t the type to go legit…
“You’re serious? With the debt I have? Not even in my dreams. I don’t know what I’ll do.” I took a sip of sour coffee.
“Two million still ain’t enough, though, is it? To live off of your whole life?”
“Nah. But wherever I settle down, Imma lay low. No high life for me, no cars, or women, or...”
“Drugs?” He asked with a smile. I gave him a look... not sure what kind of look.
“No drugs... No selling that shit either. I want it cheap, clean, and simple. Might get a job somewhere eventually, something easy like flipping burgers, and use my money for good shit here and there. You know, sensible living.” Mackie laughed to himself like he couldn’t believe what I was saying.
“That sounds miserable, amigo. I’d put money down you don’t survive that kind of living for a straight month.”
“That’s a bet you’d lose.”
“I don’t think so, hermano. I know you. You know what I think? I think you’re just saying that shit to make yourself feel better.”
“Psh. Feel better? About what?”
“About all that shit you whine about. About living here in this, what you call, a shit hole. But you like it here.”
Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
“No, I definitely do not.”
“You do. You do. That’s why you’re still here. That’s why you do all the drug dealing and shit. You don’t race anymore cus that could’ve gotten you enough money to leave this place for good, and that scares the shit out of you. Then you’d really have to move out there and live your life like a nobody. And that’s what all this complaining is about. I got you figured out. I’m up here, in your head.” He pointed to his skull with a metal finger.
“Fuck you. And fuck what you think.”
“Yeah, right. I can see right through you.”
“Whatever, man. You live here all you want. Die for all I care.”
“You’d miss me.”
“Shit,” I replied simply, sipping my coffee as if saying without words: No the fuck I would not.
“You living like a normal? No way. Think about it. What happens when you get all old and wrinkly?”
“I do what was intended. I die.”
“That’s what they all say.”
“What’re you gonna do then, hot shot? What grand plans have you cooked up?”
“You know me.” He smiled, showing off his shimmering gold teeth. “Gamble. Try to turn it into more money.” Mackie was a good gambler, admittedly. He could take five dollars and make it twenty. But no one wins forever, and the house always has a way of taking what it’s owed. Especially in the little dingy smoke filled joints he gambled in.
“I feel that.” He eyed me for a second, a suspicious look in his eyes. He thought I didn’t believe him. I didn’t.
“I’m gonna get as high and as drunk as I can first.” I laughed.
“That’s more like it.” Mackie shot down the rest of his coffee.
“Alright, finish your coffee. Let’s ditch this car before the sun comes up.”
The sky had turned a pale, dim blue. Though there wasn’t much traffic on the street, we took the back roads through LowDowns, pulling over whenever another car got behind us. Imagine getting caught this far into it.
The dull roar of tires on pavement took over the city noise. Normals were going to work. And we were just finishing ours.
Welcome back to KW RMP, where we play the classics all day. Upcoming on the hour is the King of electroswing, Mercury and the Five Hand Band. Stay tuned for more classics to come. At the bottom of the hour, Electric Rodeo by the Sanjuro Kids, and the new flash hit Buzz Grash’s Burn Down Night City.
Meanwhile, I know it’s early and many of you folks are finding it hard to get up this morning, so I want to thank you for choosing us to wake up to. Here are some scheduled products that might make it a little easier on you this morning…
… The sweet smell of sinocream. The bitter aroma of premium coffee powder. Doesn’t it make your mouth water…
“No, no, no. That was Arty… something or other. He was the guy in the tomb when the mummy was limping around in all that shit,” Mackie tried to cut me off.
“No it wasn’t. You’re talking about that big dude with the tank top and breaker jacket from that action movie we saw in ‘91. No Cost for Tomorrow, right? The one where he kills all those street dudes in the factory at the end.”
“Yeah.”
“That wasn’t Arty whatever. Arty whatever is the guy from those terrible Sio food commercials. Remember? Had the guy with the big green hat on, looked dumb as hell. The catch phrase was something like, ‘cheap food doesn’t have to be cheap tasting’... or something like that.” I struggled to remember what the actual line was.
“You can’t even remember what the guy says. And I’m supposed to trust you know what you’re talking about?” Mackie said just to poke at me.
“Oh come on. I know you know. In ‘91 you had that haircut with the buzz off on the sides.”
“My haircut huh? Must’ve liked it,” Mackie said with a shitcan grin.
“No, I remember cus you were loud the whole time, throwing stuff at the screen. Talking about how ugly the guy was the whole time. Someone said something to you and you almost beat the shit out of them. Got us kicked out of the theatre.” Mackie looked over at me and the car went quiet.
“Oh yeah, I remember that.” He started laughing as if the memory came flooding back. His stupid face made me laugh in response though I tried not to. “Yeah, alright. I remember that guy now. Had a big nose with all those holes in it.”
“Yeah, those are called acne scars, brain rot. I definitely remember because it made me think if someone that ugly could be an actor maybe my chances weren’t so bad.”
“You’re dramatic enough to be an actor for sure.”
“You aren’t kidding. My life is more nuts than any of those movies. I can’t imagine what a movie of your life would be like. Pornographic. And it would make no sense.” I shuddered at the thought.
“That movie would blow people’s minds. They’d walk out of it wanting to be me. Much better than those piece of shit movies you took me to.” I chuckled.
“What did I know? I’d never seen a movie before.” Our moods had improved quite a bit. I could almost say I was happy as the events of the night came to a close. It felt normal again to drive around the city and with Mackie in the car it almost felt like old times. Hard to imagine that a couple hours ago we were almost murdered in the street and on the brink of arrest. Now, we were seven hundred and fifty thousand minneat richer.
“Hey. That’s alright. As far as movies go, there are worse ones to take someone to. I haven’t seen a movie in almost a decade.”
“I tried to watch one about five years ago. Don’t remember the name of it, but it was awful. Went alone. I was so depressed I left before the thing even finished. I don’t know how people can stomach that shit.”
“Pff. Much better than what we’re doing.” I looked over at him. There it was again. That strange introspection. He was looking out the window as the buildings flashed by. “Much better to escape there than to go outside…” he mumbled to himself. The words sunk in deep.
“What did you say?”
“Huh? Nothing. Just talking shit.” He resettled my jacket over his shoulders before snapping back to his normal self. That was odd.
We turned a corner when suddenly a single headlight flushed through the rear window. It was a biker’s light. My skin turned cold. I looked at Mackie. He was mortified.
“No fucking way,” I said, checking behind us. “You think that’s them?”
“No way. They couldn’t have followed us all the way here.” Mackie turned to look, but neither of us could see through the blood stained window. I half expected bikers to appear out of the shadows en masse. But no. It was just paranoia.
The motorcycle sped past us, turning down the street. Then they were gone. We couldn’t see the rider, but gangers wouldn’t be caught dead this far in the city. It must’ve been nothing.
“Fuck. That scared me,” I gasped.
“No, kidding.” Mackie breathed a sigh of relief. He watched the road the bike disappeared down with an eery level of attention. Finally, as we passed the street the biker turned down, Mackie looked at me like he’d dodged a bullet… but I could tell. He was wary that another one was one its way.
I smacked him on the shoulder to reassure him. We both chuckled uneasily and forgot about it.
We found the parking garage eventually. It was an abandoned hunk of white concrete set in a cluster of finer buildings. The streets were empty, except for some tires and trash scattered around the roads. We drifted into the parking garage, the grumbling engine echoing in the absent space. The car rolled to a stop, and with happy bellies and content minds, we breathed a sigh of relief.
This was it. It was over. I could ditch this blood-covered car, and we were home free… with one and a half million minnies. Mackie was noticeably relaxed, too, a hidden anxiety suddenly relieved. A sense of worry I hadn’t seen him display before dissipated, which both worried and relaxed me.
“Just park it, and let’s get the fuck out of here. I swear, Sleeper, you are the best fucking driver in this city. Drinks, pills, women, fuck, those lame-ass comics you’re always reading, whatever it is, it’s on me tonight, amigo.” He gave my shoulder a rough slap. A drink sounded good.
“First, Imma shower. I think I got some of that chick’s blood on my neck.” I wiped at the spot like it would help.
“I feel that. Imma get a shower, some Zan, and a nice fucking room at a fancy hotel. Then I’m gonna sleep for twelve hours, my friend. We did it,” Mackie said. He held out his hand, and I slapped it. Before I turned the key off though something happened.
Suddenly, through the entrance of the garage came a stream of headlights. Biker’s headlights. They filed in one after the other, skirting around the garage, circling around the Charger. The parking garage became a flood of engine noise, amplified by the empty space. The sound was deafening, like thunderous drums announcing the presence of doom. But they were motorcycle engines, instead.
They rolled in one after another, speeding around our vehicle on either side, encompassing us, trapping us. Mackie’s face said it all. We were in trouble.