Reed Coleman - The Brooklyn Rules

She could not move. Her arms, her legs, her neck, her eyelids, her lips were just not in the mood. In her head she heard … The shin bone's connected to the ankle bone. The ankle bone's connected to the … What next, the fucking Hokey Pokey? She'd seen a bumper sticker once:

THE HOKEY POKEY- IS THAT REALLY WHAT IT'S ALL ABOUT?

At least it didn't ask you to honk if you agreed. This was just stupid, she thought. What next, the Pledge of Allegiance, a Hail Mary, dirty limericks? There once was an escort from … Where was she from? Wherever it was, they spoke English there. The voice in her head spoke English. Well, it didn't have to be that autobiographical. There once was a whore from Lahore who loved to get down on all four. She could drink and fuck and drink and fuck and drink and fuck and drink …

She felt herself tiring. If her eyes weren't already shut, they'd have been fluttering closed. And she wasn't thirsty for a drink, only sleep. She felt herself relax for the first time in her fucking life.

The surgeon walked over to a bored-looking detective sitting in the waiting room. He smelled like a thousand old cups of coffee and someone else's cigarettes. Even so, the surgeon didn't mind dealing with cops. They could be such fucking assholes, but they weren't family. They didn't need to hear his repertoire of false hope and comfort. They just wanted the real deal.

"Hey, Doc. So …"

"I got the bullet out. Looks like a nine millimeter. Bagged it for you."

"Thanks. It was a nine. Very good, Doc."

"You knew?"

"Yeah. If all my cases were this fucking easy, I'd stay on the job until I was eighty."

"What happened?"

"Woman found the vic fucking her 'partner' and decided she wasn't fond of the idea. Put one in the vic's noodle, twelve into her cheatin' 'partner,' and swallowed one for good measure. Nice, huh?" The detective snickered.

"You'll have to excuse me, detective. I guess I missed the punch line here."

"Sorry, Doc. The vic had a blue rubber, twelve inch strap-on stuck inside the girlfriend. The EMTs had to like pry them apart. Good thing they carry crowbars with 'em."

The surgeon was right. Cops could be such fucking assholes. Said, "What's the world coming to?"

"I know what you mean, Doc. Time was you'd expect this shit with husbands and wives. Maybe it is time to put in my papers."

"Maybe."

"So what's the prognosis?"

"Who the fuck knows? Bullet went in pretty clean, but it did some damage along the way. She's in a coma. Could be there for quite some time."

"Hey, at least she's alive, right? The other two are history."

"That's one way of looking at it."

###

When she woke up, the world wasn't as cold, but it had gotten soft around the edges. She had dreamt of pearls in a sea of pink, but couldn't think of why. She laid back and enjoyed the buzz. There was fuck all else to do.

Lesson 1 - Never trust men named Jake.

Lesson 2 - Let men named Jake solve their own problems.

The setup was sweet, so sweet I didn't waste time beating my wings and just went straight for the nectar. Jake knew I would. I was a fixer by nature, a problem solver. Worse, I was vain about it. I was that kid who saw the bus stuck under the overpass and knew without contemplation to let the air out of the bus tires. Solutions just seemed to appear in my head. So when Jake, my former partner in the trucking business, mentioned his problem to me over beers at the Cinderella Pub on Pembroke Avenue …

That was the thing with Jake, he was smart. He knew the best approach, the way to hold the mirror up to my vanity so that I'd fix his "situation" without him ever asking for help. And man, did I jump. I jumped like Dr. J picking C-notes off the top of the backboard.

Let me slow up some, because it would be a lie to say the whole thing started at the Cinderella or that I swallowed the bait in one chomp. No. It began two weeks prior when I called Jake from the road, Milwaukee as I remember, to see how the man was faring. Now as I look back, it seems clear what he was up to. That's just too bad for me. Some people like the word hindsight. I prefer retrospect myself.

"Hey, Jake, what's up?"

"Nothing good. They broke into the office last night."

"What they get?"

"Not much to speak of: the little TV, fifty bucks in loose change, one of my cell phones."

"How they get in?"

"Crowbarred the side door, bent up in half. But they ain't a bunch of rocket scientists. I called that cell number and the dummy picked up. Let's just say him and me had an interesting conversation."

"You called the cops?"

"Absolutely. We're getting the cell records and the cops are going to pay a visit to every local number that moron called. Can't wait till they haul his bee-hind in. I'm going to sit in the front row at his trial and laugh at him. In the meantime, I had an alarm put in."

"Okay, bro, you take care and I'll call you when I get back into town."

That was it, a simple burglary. Perfectly believable, nothing suspicious, but even now I feel like I missed something. It's what I missed that I can't figure out. Then, when I got back home, came the beers at Cinderella's. Man, it didn't take him but five minutes to suck me in and all he had to do was look put upon.

"What's with you, Jake? You acting all distracted and bothered."

"The women, man, they're getting to me. It's like I can't breathe no more."

"The wife?"

"Both. It's bad enough my wife makes me want to cut my own throat, but now I got this other ball and chain. Nothing I give her is never enough. I been trying to hint to her for more than a year now. I treat her bad, don't call her, but she won't let go. She just won't let go."

"And you can't risk being straight with her cause you're afraid if you hurt her too bad, she'll go right to your wife."

"See, man, I knew you'd understand. You always get stuff without me having to explain it to y'all. I'll never get involved with no divorced woman again. She all gun shy, if you know what I'm saying. She been hurt once and don't want to go there again. There's just no dealing with her."

"She want you to leave your wife?"

"She says no, but she's always wanting more. That's the weird thing. On the one hand, she don't wanna be responsible for breaking up a marriage. Cause, like I say, she got hurt herself. On the other hand, I can't never give her enough. Either way, I can't win. And just lately she tells me about how her crazy-jealous ex-husband been sniffing around again. Hey, it's one thing I got to contend with her, but I didn't bargain for no jealous ex. Keeps getting worse and worse. Man, I just got to find a way to get her to cut me loose. But just like you say, I hurt her bad enough, no guarantee she won't go to my wife to get back at me."

Bang! The solution popped right into my head the way it always does. There are just some gifts God gives you that you wish you could return after Christmas. You're right, I know it, I didn't have to say nothing. I could've kept my yap shut, let Jake deal with his own mess, but there's that vanity of mine.

"This woman, the one you been trying to get to cut you loose, she know about the break-in at the yard?"

"Uh huh, she knows. Why you ask?" Jake wondered, all wide-eyed and innocent-like.

"She know about the cell phone?"

"Yeah. Had to tell her. It's the one she always calls me on."

I didn't have to look in the bar mirror to feel that self-satisfied grin on my face. "Man, I do this you're gonna owe me. All you gotta do is follow along and I'll saw right through that ball and chain like it was butter."

"How's that?"

The plan was simple. I would go to a payphone in the town Jake lived. I'd call his girl's cell phone number, wait till she picked up, said hello, and hang up. She call back, I'd pick up and slam the phone down in the cradle. I'd do it for a few days in a row, making sure that Jake was at work. This way if she suspected it was him and called the office number, he'd be there. The second step was the charm, but only if Jake could play it cool. I was a little worried about that. What an idiot I was to worry.