S Rozan - Absent Friends

Tom looks at Markie.

Markie says, It's what I heard.

Where? says Tom, like he doesn't quite get something.

Just, says Markie, just around.

Balls, spits Jack.

Just around? Tom asks Markie. You just heard this?

Markie nods.

Guys? Jimmy says. I heard it, too.

Jack goes wild.

Oh, fuck! Oh, shut the fuck up, Superman! Who the hell's gonna tell shit like this to you? To either of you? Squeaky clean motherfuckers like you? This shit was true, you'd be the last guys in hell to hear it.

But here's the punch line, Jack says, with his hands opening and closing. He takes a step closer to Markie. Markie's looking up. Jack's between him and the moon. The joke about this bullshit, says Jack, it's crap. It's lies. It's not fucking true.

Tom steps up, too, so he won't be behind Jack. He says, How do you know?

Fuck you, little brother. You think you're the only Molloy with cops in his pocket?

Jack's growling now, like a dog warning you to back off. Like King, when they were all kids. When the dog was trapped and couldn't get away.

Tom tries: Jack-

I pay good money to find out shit like this! Jack yells. Markie tells me this shit, I ask my guys, What about it? They say it's news to them. They check around, come back, and say it's bullshit from ass to tits. So what I want to know, Markie, what I fucking want to know is what fucking motherfucker told you to tell me this shit?

I-

Because it fucked me up, Markie.

Jack's voice is suddenly quiet, and as hot as the night is, Jimmy goes ice cold.

It was my time, Markie, Jack says in that soft voice. Dad was ready. Did you know that? he asks Tom.

Tom shakes his head.

Atlanta, next month, Jack says. I was on my way, I was out of here. And now, Jack says, in a whisper, and Jimmy hears it like a crackling flame, like a fire in the walls, you can't see it, but it's devouring everything where it hides. And now he says I'm too hot. He says, if I made so much noise the NYPD is coming after me, even with all the guys I bought, then I'm too hot for Atlanta.

Tom speaks now, but the words he says, he says them like he doesn't trust them. Did you tell Dad? That your guys say it's crap?

Of course I fucking told him! He says where he heard it, it's not crap.

Tom tries again. So you'll cool off, he tells Jack. A couple of months-

NO! shouts Jack. No, that's not what he said! What he said, he doesn't know, he doesn't know if there's going to be any kind of place there for me. For a guy like me. He said he wasn't sure anyway, but I wanted it so much, he figured what the hell, he'd send me. But this shit changed his mind. He said I better plan on staying here. A guy like me.

Jack's looking at the three of them. His shoulders drop. Not yelling now, almost sad, like he's asking them for something, Jack says: You guys. You have what you wanted. Why can't I?

He asks them again, harder: Why can't I?

Jimmy wants to answer Jack's question. He wants to say something to Jack, to help. Marian would know how to talk to Jack, like always when they were kids. Jimmy wishes he'd said to Marian, Come on with us, he wishes Marian were here. He wishes they all were: Marian, and Vicky and Sally. Like it was back then, if you got mad at somebody, you could turn away and hang with somebody else. If the girls were here, Marian would make a joke with Jack, or Vicky would roll her eyes to say to Jack, Oh, please, or Sally would smile at Jack and Jack would do anything, like any of them always would, for Sally.

But the girls aren't here, so Jimmy thinks, what can he do for Jack, what can he say? But like when you're at a call and you can't see or smell anything, everything's dark and quiet and you're not sure what you're supposed to do and then with no warning the fire from the walls explodes in a deadly roar, like that, Jack explodes.

So don't hand me that heard-it-around shit! he howls at Markie. Tell me who it was!

Even in just the light from the moon and the faraway streetlight, Jack's face is red and burning, Jimmy can see it.

It was Spano, wasn't it? Jack yells. You're fucking working for that wop asshole, and he wants to cut me down! Eddie, right? He doesn't give a rat's ass about Tom or Dad, but what I got Eddie wants! That's right, right, Markie? You're lying for that fucking wop?

No, says Markie, Jack, that's stupid.

Stupid? Who's fucking stupid? You're fucking stupid, Markie! You and that fucking wop Eddie!

Jack, says Tom, what are you talking about? Why would it be Eddie?

Who the fuck else? Who's gonna do shit like this to me? Shit! This didn't happen, I'm outta here, Eddie could have it all, good fucking riddance! But he couldn't wait! And what the fuck, Markie, you had to help him? Why'd you do this to me, Markie? Why?

Jimmy says, Jack. Jack, listen.

Oh fuck! Oh fuck, Superman! SHUT THE FUCK UP! screams Jack, and there's a gun in his hand.

Tom says, right away: Jack. Put it down.

This is Tom, the old Tom, he knows everything about you, he's only telling you to do what you want to do anyway, and everyone always does it.

Jack, Tom says again, but Jack doesn't even look at him. Jack, this is fucked up, man, put that thing down.

Jimmy hears something in Tom's voice he never heard before. Jimmy flashes back: a warehouse fire last month, four alarms. A roof collapse takes a guy from a ladder company with it. His brothers on radios, searching frantically; the guy at first responding, but sounding so exhausted; then apologizing; I'm sorry, guys. I can't. Going silent. Jimmy's there when they bring the body up.

Jack, don't, says Tom again, in that guy's voice.

Tom, Jack says, hard and so cold, Little brother, I should've stopped listening to you years ago.

Jack takes a swaying step toward Markie, looks at him. Say it, he screams at Markie. Say it was Eddie! You're sucking that wop motherfucker's dick, and I want to hear you say it!

Markie opens his mouth, maybe he's going to say it, maybe he'd say whatever Jack wants him to, but nothing comes out.

Jack, says Tom.

Jimmy, too, he says, Jack, and he starts to stand.

Fucker! screams Jack, and the gun screams, too, the loudest bang Jimmy's ever heard, the brightest flash he's ever seen. Splinters fly out of the wood above Markie's head. Jimmy dives for Markie, pushes him down flat. Tom grabs Jack's arm, but Jack flings him off. They both stumble. Jack's the one who's stinking drunk, but it's Tom who can't stay on his feet. He thuds onto the plywood, a sawdust cloud flying up around him.

Jack points the gun again. Jimmy's covering Markie, so Jack shoots at Jimmy. The bullet slams into the wood an inch from Jimmy's face. The third shot, Jimmy hears it and thinks he's dead, dead for sure, but he doesn't feel anything. He twists around, looks up at Jack. Jack is standing over him, and Jimmy waits for him to shoot again, but Jack just says, Fuck. He says, Oh, you fucker.

Then he falls.

Jimmy turns, looks for Tom. Tom's on his belly, covered in sawdust, right arm straight out, and there's a gun in his hand.

It's like some freezing wind came and blasted them all, changed them to ice or to frozen stones and it's been centuries now, forever, and still no one can move.

That's how it feels, but Jimmy knows it can't be true. The echoes of Tom's shot are still fading as he scrambles across the plywood to where Jack's sprawled. He checks for a pulse in Jack's neck, they taught him that in paramedic class, but he doesn't have to do it. He already knows. The dark spot on the front of Jack's shirt is small, but the blood under him is spreading so fast, the sawdust can't soak it up.

Jack, says Tom, whispering. Jack.

Tom, still flat on his belly, stares at his hand, his own hand with his own gun in it, his eyes wild like he's seeing a monster he never knew was there on the end of his arm. Very gently, he puts the gun down on a bed of sawdust, like now that it's quiet he doesn't want to make it mad again. He lurches to his knees and crawls over to where Jack is, leans close to Jack. I'm sorry, he says. Oh, Jesus, Jack, I'm sorry, man, come on.