Charlie Huston - Caught Stealing

I park myself in front of the door and stretch out with the Yankees jacket as a pillow. I haven’t slept since I first showed up at Yvonne’s, whenever that was. Once I’m still, I realize just how bad the pain my wound is and I have to take a full Vic.

I lie there and stare at the money as the fog rolls into my brain. It’s just over four and a half million and I know exactly what Russ is talking about. I’m starting to feel stupider by the second.

It comes as no surprise when the nightmare wakes me up. Cold has begun to creep up out of the floor and into mybones, I sit up slowly, stretching out the kinks and shrug my way into Russ’s Yankees jacket. He’s still asleep, his breathing is deep and even, I leave him alone. Sleep is certainly the best thing for his head right now. Looking at him, I realize for the first time the slight resemblance he bears to Rich. Same color of curly brown hair, though not nearly as long.A similar toothy grin. The same wiry build. They couldn’t be brothers, but perhaps cousins. I leave it alone and look at the cash instead.

I do some math in my head. Four and a half million divided by nine comes out to five hundred thousand. As far as I know, nine people have died for this money at a price of half a million each. I think about Yvonne’s family.Her crazy philosopher father and yoga-teaching mother. I think about Wayne ’s daughter and Amtrak’s ex-wife that he still lived with and loved. My stomach flops. I can’t want this money. And yet I do. I have the key and Russ and the money. For the first time since I was seventeen I have everything everybodywants, and I don’t want to lose it this time.

I close my eyes and, yet again, Rich shoots past me, through the exploding windshield and into the tree. The mediocre years of my life pile up around me. This money is not mine. It is not meant for me, but for someone either more deserving or more ruthless. For me, it is a tool that will allow me to rebuild what is left of my life. Iinhale, exhale, until my heart stops jumping and I feel I am myself again.

I open my eyes and see that Russ is awake. He’s looking at me with a little smile on his face.

– Makes it hard to think clearly, doesn’t it?

Russ packs the money back in the hockey bag while I find some news on the radio. His concentration is better, but the left eye is the same and he still phases out a bit in the middle of talking. I keep a close eye on him to see that he doesn’t start pocketing any of the cash.

Paul’s is all over the local stations. My name is still out of it, but they continue to mention the “former employee.” Then I hit NPR and they’re breaking the story nationally.

– A botched robbery attempt at a bar resulted in seven dead in New York City this morning.

I switch off the radio as sweat breaks out all over my body and tears try to well up behind my eyes. How could I be so fucking stupid not to see it coming?

– Russ, we gotta go.

– Wait a sec.Mmmm. I’m almost done.

– We gotta go now.

– Just a sec.

I grab him and pull him to his feet and push him toward the door.

– Now, fucking now!

– OK, man, OK.

I start to step out of the unit, then go back in. Most of the cash is in the bag, but some is still scattered on the floor. I grab a pack of twenties and a pack of hundreds and follow Russ out.

We stand by the elevator, waiting.

– What’s up, man?

– I have to make a call.

– What about the, like?Mmmm. What about the money, man?

The elevator is taking forever. I push the button again, leaning on it hard, and hear the bell ringing loud down the shaft.

– Man, what about the money?

I jam the button down and squeeze my eyes tight. What is taking so fucking long?

– MAN, LIKE, WHAT ABOUT THE MMMMONEY?

I take my hand off the button and put it on Russ’s throat and slam him back into the wall. His eyes spin around and the concrete scrapes part of the scab from his wound and it starts to bleed again.

– Fuck, man. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

I squeeze his neck and he stops cursing and starts gasping.

– There is no money, Russ. There is no fucking money! My friends are fucking dead, they’re fucking dead! There is no fucking money because my friends are dead because you gave me your fucking cat and now there is no fucking money!

His face is going from red to purple. I let him go. He slides down the wall to the floor and sits there gasping and holding his throat while I lean my forehead against the wall.

– Fuck, Hank. Fuck.

– Yeah, fuck.

We are quiet for a moment,then he slowly climbs back to his feet.

– Hey, Hank?

– Yeah.

– Where.Mmmm. Where is Bud, anyway?

I take my forehead from the wall and open my eyes.

– Roman has him.

– Shit.

– Yeah. Russ?

– Yeah?

– You’re bleeding again. Put your hat back on.

He puts the hat on, I push the button again, and the elevator doors open. The operator is standing there.

– Get the fuck off that button, man. I’m here.

On the way down, he takes our passes. I tell him we may be back later, but he says we’ll have to get new ones then. When we get to the ground floor, I trot right over to the pay phone and pick up the handset before I notice the littleOUT OF ORDER sign taped to the wall next to it.

It’s a typical day for New York pay phones. We work our way east, trying to find one that works. At Eighth Avenue, I pick up my fifth phone and get a dial tone this time, but when I try to punch in the number none of the buttons produce a tone of their own. I slam the handset against the phone over and over until the earpiece snaps off and dangles by a couple wires. I’m searching for the next one and Russ grabs my shoulder and points at the electronics store across the street. I nod and we cross over.

I pay for the phone itself with cash and open the service account with one of Russ’s credit cards. When he sees that I have his wallet, he starts to say something but stopshimself before it can get out. The sales guy keeps offering me this and that. To hurry it along I tell him to give me deluxe everything and never mind the cost. It takes about twenty minutes in all and I end up with one of those phones where the antenna is angled away from your head so you don’t get tumors from the signal.

Back on the street, I drag Russ to a quiet doorway off the avenue and make my call.

It’s Saturday. They’re both home.

– Hi, Mom.

– Henry! Oh, God, Henry! Oh, God! Oh, God!

– Mom.

– Henry. Oh, my God, Henry.

– Mom!Mom, I’m OK, Mom. I’m. Listen to me, I’m OK.

– Henry, We’re so, just so. People called, and the news, we saw the news, we saw the bar. Oh, Henry, the police and all those people.

– Mom, it’s OK, I’m OK.

– We’ve been so, so scared, Henry. Oh, God.

She cries and can’t get any more words out. I hear the phone being fumbled around and my dad comes on the line.

– Henry?

– Hey, Pop.

– Jesus, Hank,are you all right?

– Pop, oh,Pop.

– What’s going on, Hank? Thank God you’re OK, but we just need to know.

– I know, Dad.

– Oh, son. Jesus, I’m glad to hear your voice.

– Dad. I’m in some trouble here, Dad.

– What is it? What do you need us to do?

– Dad,it’s big trouble.

– The police called, we’re… They want to know where you are.

– Big trouble, Dad.

– Tell us.

– Dad, I can’t, but I was there, at the bar and the police, Dad, the police think I did it.

– What?

– Dad, they think I did it, but I didn’t and I needed to call to tell you I was OK and that I didn’t do that. I would never do that, Dad, I would never kill people. But they think I did.