Chapter 7

“Fuckin' A, Herbie, what couldn't wait until tomorrow morning?” Darius stood on the development's front stoop with his mouth set in a frown. “What's the big emergency?”

            “Shut up and come on.” Herbert held the front door open, allowing passage into the lobby.

            “What happened to your arm?” Darius' brow wrinkled.

            “Shut up.” Herbert led the way up the stairs.

            “I don't like this...” Darius hesitated at a landing. “What's goin' on here, Herbie?”

            Herbert stopped and looked over his shoulder at Darius with fire in his eyes. The two climbed the rest of the way to Herbert's apartment in silence.

             “Jesus Christ. The fuck happened here?” Darius stood in the doorway with wide eyes on the corpse sitting slumped over in the chair.

            “We gotta get him out of here right now.”

            “Shit, man. Who was this guy?”

            “I don't know.”

            Herbert circled around past the body and the puddle of blood it had created to go deeper into his studio apartment. He pulled a sheet from his chest of drawers and turned back to face Darius lingering in the doorway. He shook it out, snapping thousands of flakes of dust free into the piercing glow of the light, and spread it on the floor. “We gotta wrap him up.”

            “How'd he get in here?” Darius turned and looked down at the gun on the counter. He picked it up.

            “I don't know.” Herbert said, his voice flat and tired. “Grab his legs. I'll get his arms.” He stood behind the body and grabbed the back of the chair. It scraped along the floor, the noise causing Herbert to grit his teeth as he pulled it away from the table.

            Darius nodded and took the corpse's legs. Herbert hooked his arms beneath the dead man's arms and together the two of them laid it down on the sheet. Herbert dropped to his knees and started rolling the body until it was thrice-wrapped, blood soaking through in dark red splotches. He looked up at Darius with black-ringed eyes. “The van's out front. We just gotta load him up.”

            The pair carried their load down the stairs, Herbert walking backwards, staring up at Darius' concerned face. They had done this plenty of times in countless places. In many ways, this time was just as routine as the others. But they shared the unspoken knowledge that this time was also completely different.

            They loaded the body into the back of the van and sat in the front. Darius lit up a cigarette and looked out the window.

            Herbert started the engine. “Lemme have one of those?”

            Darius looked at Herbert with wide eyes. “A cig?”

            “Yeah.”

            “Uh, okay...” He passed over a cigarette and a lighter.

            Herbert lit up and inhaled smoke. As he exhaled, electricity ran up his spine and collected in the top of his head as long inactive receptors lit up like a pinball machine. He closed his eyes and tried to remember his last cigarette. Undoubtedly, it was the same night as his last drink, maybe the next day. One went hand in hand with the other.

            “Don't think I've ever seen you smoke before.”

            “Never had a reason to.” Herbert stared at the road, weaving through the traffic as though it weren't there.

            “The fuck happened back there?” Darius looked into the back at the bloodied sheet and took a drag on his cigarette.

            “Exactly what it looked like. I came home and he was waiting for me.”

            “And you just had the gun with you?”

            “Yeah. It was a lucky break. I don't know. I...I had a feeling that I might need it.”

            “Guess you were right.” Darius smiled with the cigarette between his teeth.

            “Yeah.”

            “Any idea who he might be?”

            Herbert shook his head.

            They drove in silence. The smoke made Herbert's throat dry. The nicotine made his head light. Thoughts were flying through his brain, thousands of them in a flock all chirping and beating their wings at once. Like water under a layer of ice, there was a sense of nostalgia beneath that crippling panic. For reasons Herbert couldn't understand, there was something about this nighttime drive into the desert that made him wistful. Maybe it was the way he was whipping his car around corners. Maybe it was the cigarette smoke, or the butt hanging from the corner of his mouth as he pressed down on the accelerator. And that wistfulness turned into an old ache, somehow both dull and sharp, real and imagined. Herbert tossed what was left of his butt out the window.

            “How'd you know to bring the gun?” Darius spoke up again as they approached the sprawling wastes beyond the city limits.

            “I told you. It was a feeling...instinct.”

            “Was he the first one you ever killed?”

            Herbert breathed. The inside of his mouth felt like cracked leather. The ache in his chest sharpened into a deeper, more intense pain, but it passed. “No.”

            Darius nodded. “I had a feelin'.” He threw his cigarette out the window and placed another between his lips and lit it. He held another out for Herbert.

            “Thanks,” Herbert said before lighting up. He looked at Darius framed in shadow, his features only briefly illuminated by the glow of passing streetlights. He looked older in the dark.

            “This is fucked, huh, Herbie? We're in some fucked up shit, aren't we?”

            “Yeah, I think so.”

            “You know, I can't complain though.” Darius shrugged. “I got a job. I got a roof over my head. Food to eat. I mean, motherfuckers are coming after me, but at least I got something to lose, you know what I mean? Like, only a couple of years ago, I was living on the street. I was eatin' food out of garbage cans and shit. Stealin' shit. Wonderin' if I was gonna make it through the night. If I was gonna wake up in the same place as I went to sleep. Like, this is easy compared to what I was workin' with before.” He looked down and let the smoke trail from his nostrils. “It'd be better to go out like that, you know? Quick.” He placed his fingers to his temples and mimed getting shot. “'Stead of starvin' out. Or freezin' all slow. This is better, you know?” He smiled. “Shit, even in jail they feed you three times a day. Any way this plays out, I'll still be doin' better than before.”

            Herbert smiled. “You're a real optimistic guy, huh?”

“I got you to thank for that, Herbie. You were the one who gave me a shot.” Darius looked at Herbert with wet eyes. He exhaled a cloud of smoke.

            Herbert close his eyes for a second, overcome by a different kind of ache. He took a long drag on his cigarette as they sped down the desert road. His voice was trapped in his throat. “That means a lot, D.”

            “I mean it, Herbie. I'd probably be dead without you.”

            “Don't go thanking me yet.” Herbert tapped ash from his cigarette. “You might be dead because of me. We're up shit creek here and things are lookin' like they're gonna get worse before they get better.”

            “We'll figure it out.”