Paul’s hands shook as he unlocked Cooper’s Chevelle and got into the driver’s seat. He immediately found he needed to move the seat back and took a moment to figure out how to do that. He looked towards Josh’s apartment hoping to see Josh running to join him, having changed his mind. But he didn’t. Instead, Paul imagined Josh might be looking at the front door thinking the same of him.
He started the car and heard the roar of the motor. This thing had some power. He shifted the car into gear and tried to slow down his breathing. Byron would tell him that in times of stress he should just try to be mindful of the present moment. Right now he was just driving a car. That’s all. His hands, while literally bloody were simply that. It didn’t matter right now where the blood came from or where he was driving to. By focusing on the present moment Paul could ignore everything he did or might do. That’s what Byron would say if he were here and giving him advice through tokes from a fragrant joint.
But Byron wasn’t with him. Josh wasn’t with him. And Dano had betrayed him. How had it all gone so wrong.
He tried to practice mindfulness, but while Paul could understand the concept, using it in extreme circumstances he found almost impossible.
He recognized suddenly that all this thought was keeping him from the present moment and began to focus on his driving. He drove fast, but being unfamiliar with the vehicle, he didn’t want to push it too much. The last thing he needed was to wreck on his way to Cooper’s office. Dano might already be gone.
He turned right onto North 30th and gunned it. The two lane road had light traffic. And with 30th Street Hill coming up, he knew too much speed might bottom out the car as it went down the half-mile long hill.
When had Dano decided to betray him? Was he just waiting for the right moment? And it’s not like Dano gave Paul his last gun. Dano would be armed. His hands were shaking again.
Josh had rejected him and refused to go with him to get the money. No, Paul had rejected Josh by insisting on going to do this crazy thing. He could turn around right now. He didn’t have to face a 350 pound bounty hunter. They could be together right now. And then what? Turn themselves in? Hide the body, pretend nothing happened, and hope no one ever asks questions? Go on the run with no fucking money? No, he hadn’t slept on Byron’s couch for a year, worked as a bail bondsman, gotten arrested, and forced to kill a man all so he’d end up with no money on the run. Fuck that.
Dano didn’t get to win.
Despite himself, the Chevelle bottomed out scraping the pavement as it hit the end of of 30th Street and headed towards Schuster Parkway. From there, Cooper’s office was only blocks away.
With any luck, maybe Dano left the bag in the car. He might not have to deal with Dano at all.
Dano entered the building from the second floor and made his way downstairs to Cooper’s offices. He had zipped the duffel bag shut and brought it with him. There remained enough room for at least some of what he might find in the office.
He looked at the flimsy door with the new lock and gave it a kick that shattered part of the door frame. He flipped on the light and started looking through the desk and quickly found a small cash box. He took the whole thing and stuffed it in the duffel bag. He should go. But what if the combination to the safe was somewhere obvious?
Dano checked the Post-Its on Cooper’s desktop. Some phone numbers. No combinations. When he started going through the papers in the desk he got that feeling he’d get at the casino sometimes. He’d be riding high on a series of Blackjack wins and rather than being happy with doubling his money, he’d try to quadruple it, and then he’d lose everything.
He stopped. Fuck the safe. This was a bad idea. He was ahead right now. Time to go home with his winnings. He walked away from the desk and back towards the office door.
As Dano walked into the shattered doorway he saw a flash and heard a gunshot. Something behind him splintered. He backed up and ducked behind the desk using it for what little cover it provided.
“Then next one goes in your melon fucking head, Dano,” Paul’s voice yelled.
“I see you found a gun with bullets,” Dano yelled back. Dano shifted the duffel bag and reached inside his coat for his .45.
“I’ve got one myself,” he said adjusting his grip on the pistol.
Paul entered the room slowly. Dano had a shot, but one shot rarely results in the cops showing up. If anyone pulls another trigger, they’ll be running out of here with the police on their tail. His eyes met Paul’s.
“I’ve got seventeen rounds in my .45. Hydrashock bullets. They go in small and blow out your back the size of a grapefruit. Drop the revolver and walk out of here, bail bondsman. This isn’t your kind of rodeo. Don’t make me end you.”
Dano hoped he sounded as menacing as he intended. He’d gone out of his way to avoid any direct violence on his part. Not because he wasn’t capable of it, but just because violence tended to cause annoying consequences. He walks out of here with some stolen money, no harm, no foul. He walks out of here with a dead body left behind and sooner or later, they’d catch up to him.
“Why couldn’t you just be happy with the twenty grand?”
“Because I don’t have to,” Dano said. “Last time I’m asking you, drop-”
The first bullet hit Dano in the hand; the second one hit his left shoulder; the third bullet missed and hit the wall; the fourth and fifth bullets hit Dano in his chest. The final chamber was empty, but Paul pulled the trigger a sixth, seventh, and eighth time. Dano fell back. He’d dropped the .45. Everything was suddenly wet. It took him a moment to realize that wetness was his own blood.
The duffel bag was open and leaking cash, as Paul made his way down the hallway, but he wasn’t thinking about that. He was thinking about the fact that after emptying five rounds into Dano, the guy was still alive. Paul had walked around the desk and pulled bag off of him. Dano pulled at the bag, but there was no strength behind it. A cash box fell out of the bag thanks to Dano’s attempts to stop him. Paul glanced back through the doorway and saw Dano getting to his feet.
Now Paul’s sole thought involved getting out the front door and into the car before that hulking Pacific Islander caught up to him. Luckily, while the bullets hadn’t stopped him, the last he saw Dano, the guy was leaning against the wall and slowly lurching towards him. Dano was probably thirty seconds behind him. Maybe even a whole minute.
Everything was happening so damn fast. Had Dano bothered to pick up his gun? Why hadn’t he thought to pick it up? So focused on the fucking bag. Goddamn it.
Paul pushed open the front door, walked out to the green Chevelle still parked where he’d abandoned it on the sidewalk a minute earlier. He opened the passenger side door, climbed in, and left the bag of money on the floor of the car before sliding into the driver’s seat.
Just before he started the car, he heard sirens. He turned the key and put the car in reverse, backing it off of the sidewalk and pulled into traffic. He was turning left onto 9th Street when he saw multiple police cars pulling up in front of Cooper’s office.
Ten minutes later, Paul had driven back to the Proctor district only to find that this time his spot across the street from the apartment building was filled by the Medical Examiner van with a police car in front of it.
He drove by the building quickly and turned right on North 30th Street. He needed to leave town.
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