Ryan Jahn - Low Life

Simon walked in a counter-clockwise circle, mind racing.

‘Oh, God,’ he said.

He looked around frantically. There was nothing to do in here. Nothing useful.

He shook his fists, looking for something to grab, to throw, to break, and when he saw nothing and the pressure in his gut which demanded action of some kind was too much to deny any longer he simply swung loose, throwing punches, one two three four, goddamn it, into the wall. It was an old building and the walls were lath and plaster, so he didn’t break through. He dented the plaster and managed to crack the rotting wood beneath – dark and moist – and bruise his knuckles, but not much else.

He’d been Jeremy for less than twelve hours and already it was unraveling.

It wasn’t fair.

They had bought it. They had fucking bought it. Samantha, Professor Ullman, his students, they had all bought it, but it was unraveling anyway.

Walk the mile.

He didn’t have a choice now, did he?

He’d set his course the moment he decided to step into Shackleford’s life. And someone knew. Someone knew and had taken the body before he could take care of it, before he could destroy all the evidence.

No – wrong. He’d had time to get rid of the body, but instead had kept it, afraid of doing what he’d known had to be done. Afraid that if he ditched the body somebody would find it. Well, someone had found it anyway. What had they done with it?

And who else besides Zurasky might know?

He sat down on the toilet and tried to think. It was difficult to do with a heavy dread in his gut, with panic on the verge of completely taking over his mind and doing with him what it wished.

Someone had taken the body.

Calm down. Think.

What next?

He had to do something to this situation before it did something to him. He had to calm down and think clearly. If he could only think clearly he’d be able to make a decision and then act upon it.

What next?

And then he knew.

‘Robert,’ he said aloud to the empty room.

He sat in the Saab, watching the building’s entrance in his side-view mirror. It was about time for Robert’s late-afternoon smoke break. Despite the fact that he could see dozens of cars driving along the streets and dozens of people walking along the sidewalks, he felt like he was in a completely different place. The car deadened the noise of the outside world and made him feel apart from it.

A homeless man walked to the window and knocked. Simon shook his head. The guy knocked again. Simon rolled down the window.

‘Get out of here.’

The homeless man – forty, maybe, with a thick beard and no teeth – said, ‘You gonna get out? You want some time on the meter?’

‘No.’

‘No you’re not gonna get out or no you don’t want no time on the meter?’

‘Just go.’

‘I’ll give you some time, anyhow,’ the homeless man said. He walked to the meter behind which Simon was parked, pulled out what looked like a bent paperclip, slipped it into the coin slot, jerked it up and down several times, each flip of the wrist adding fifteen minutes to the meter, stopping when the meter was at its max of two hours.

‘See?’ the homeless guy said. ‘Gimme a buck and it’s still half the price.’

‘I’m not getting out of the car.’

‘Come on, man, it’s just a buck.’

Simon gave the guy a dollar to get rid of him.

‘Now leave me alone.’

He reached into his pocket for his cigarettes, stuck one between his lips, and lighted it.

‘Are those Camels? Think I could get one? I love—’

Simon threw the pack of cigarettes at the guy. It hit him in the chest and then dropped to the sidewalk.

‘Get the fuck out of here.’

‘Thanks,’ the guy said, picking up the cigarettes. ‘Got a ligh— Never mind. Thanks.’

He held the cigarettes up close to his ear, like a kid with a seashell, and gave the pack a shake to see how many were inside.

Simon took a drag off his cigarette and glanced in the side-view mirror toward the building’s entrance. But it wasn’t Robert’s reflection he saw. It was the actual man. He had already moved past the side of the car and was walking onward. He must have been out of cigarettes himself, walking to that liquor store on Fourth Street to grab a pack.

Simon pushed open the door and stepped out and slammed it shut behind him. He followed Robert down the sidewalk, and when Robert walked past an alleyway Simon rushed him, shoved him into the stinking gray air of that narrow slice between two buildings, and slammed the man against a rusted green dumpster.

‘Was it you?’ he said as the burning cigarette bounced around in his mouth.

‘Wha—’

‘Were you the one who took it?’

‘Took what?’

‘You know what, goddamn you,’ Simon said, shaking Robert, slamming him against the dumpster a second time. ‘Did you take it or not?’

‘I don’t know what you’re talk—’

Simon grabbed him by the shirt collar and threw him left, slamming him against a red brick wall. Then he grabbed the shirt collar again and put his face inches from Robert’s face, the cherry of the cigarette in his mouth floating a mere jostle from Robert’s waiting flesh.

‘Don’t you fucking lie to me.’

‘I don’t.’

‘You don’t what?’

‘Know what you’re talking about.’

‘Oh, bullshit!’

Robert fumbled for the inside pocket of his thin suit coat. ‘I have money.’

‘Do I look like I want your money?’

‘I don’t know what—’

‘Just answer the fucking question.’

‘I didn’t, okay? I didn’t fucking take it.’

Simon let go of the man and he crumpled to the dirty ground amongst a litter of paper cups, rotting food, and other refuse.

Robert wasn’t lying. One thing Simon knew was that Robert was incapable of lying convincingly. He didn’t know what Simon was talking about despite the suspect circumstances under which he had visited Simon’s apartment. Maybe he really had simply dropped his cell phone into the toilet. Maybe his visit had been exactly what it appeared to be. It didn’t make sense to Simon – he was the only person Simon knew had seen the body, who Simon was sure knew about it – but a lot of things didn’t make sense today.

He turned away and headed back out of the alley, taking another drag from his cigarette. It tasted bad, but he smoked it anyway.

‘Fuck,’ he said.

Maybe Robert had improved as a liar. Either way, he wasn’t going to get anything out of the man himself. Coming here had been dumb, a panic move. Had he expected Robert just to crumble? ‘Okay, you caught me. I took the body. I thought I could use it for the carpool lane.’

As he walked back toward the Saab he decided to go to Robert’s apartment and see what he came up with. Maybe he had the body there – or something that would help him figure out who did have it and why they took it. Any information would be better than what he had now.

After driving toward the ocean for several miles Simon turned right onto Western and took it toward Hollywood. Bent palms jutted upwards, drooping above the houses and businesses like wind-frayed umbrellas. By the time he reached Lexington he could make out the Hollywood sign through the mist, perched crookedly on its hillside.

It didn’t rain much in Los Angeles, but he liked it when it did. The downpour cleared the sky and made it so you could see for miles in every direction. It washed the filth away. The town was due for a good cleansing.

A block or two shy of Sunset Boulevard Simon made a left and drove till he came to Robert’s pink stucco apartment building. The narrow strip of grass in front of it – what some might call a lawn – was dead and brown. A pile of dog shit sat on it near the sidewalk, buzzing with flies.