Alez Kava - One False Move

Watching his friend, he realized, not for the first time, how very different the two of them were.

"You know, we probably wouldn't have even liked each other as kids?" The beer was starting to give him a buzz.

"I don't know about that," Tommy said. "You want that last piece of garlic bread?"

Andrew shook his head. "Seriously, though. You played tackle football in the middle of the streets during the summertime. I hid between chores on the farm just so I could read."

"We didn't play in the streets," Tommy corrected him, getting up from the table. "We played in the parking lot behind Al's Bar and Grill," he added now from inside the cabin as he pulled the last two beers from the fridge.

"You and your friends would have picked on me. You probably would have called me a sissy or a wuss."

Tommy handed him one of the bottles before sitting back down. "Kids do stupid stuff."

"Even now, you have to admit we're pretty different. You're South Omaha Polish dogs with kraut. You're an usher or some flicking thing at Saint Stanislaus. You coach Little League for your four daughters."

"I see what you're saying," Tommy said. "You're saying we reversed roles or something, right? You saying I'm the wuss now?"

Andrew laughed. He knewTommy was humoring him, indulging his buzz. The beer seemed to have had no effect on Detective Pakula.

"You investigate murders. You step over corpses, collect maggots, poke around entrance and exit wounds. I just write about it."

"And you do a hell of a job." Tommy held up another forkful of potato salad in a salute.

"You deal in real life. I deal in make-believe."

"So what's your point?" But there was no impatience in his friend's tone, only curiosity.

"I guess I understand why you think I have no life."

"Oh, I see." This time Tommy sat back, finally realizing Andrew was serious and not joking around. "I didn't mean your work. I meant your personal life. When was the last time you were in a relationship? Or wait, I'll make it easier for you-when was the last time you got laid?"

"I told you there was someone I was interested in."

"Oh, that's right. A woman who's already sort of involved in a long-term relationship. The one who lives about a thousand miles away."

"See, why do I tell you personal stuff if you're just gonna make fun?"

"I'm not making fun. Hey, I can see where it might be safe to want somebody who doesn't want you back."

"Safe? Sure you don't mean stupid?"

"No, I mean safe. Especially safe for a guy like you."

"A guy like me?"

"Okay, now don't go getting postal with me." Tommy held up his hands in mock surrender.

"I'm not. Go on. Explain yourself." Andrew grabbed his third Bud Light by the bottle's neck and took a sip.

"You keep saying you don't do commitment, right? As soon as a woman starts showing any signs of getting serious you start running in the opposite direction. So, who do you choose to fall in love with? A woman who ain't ever gonna get serious on you."

"So, if your theory is correct, I'm a real schmuck."

"Oh, yeah, big-time."

"Thanks a lot."

"Actually, you're not a schmuck. It's evidently your method of survival."

"You're saying I don't really have feelings for this woman?"

"I'm saying it's safe to have feelings for her. You said she told you she's in with this guy for the long haul."

"Maybe she's confused."

"Maybe she enjoys jerking you around. You don't think she gets off having someone like you pining for her?"

Andrew sat back again, rubbing his jaw as if Tommy had just sucker punched him. The woman in question, an attractive redhead named Erin Cartlan, owned a small bookshop in lower Manhattan. They had met two years before when she introduced herself at Book Expo America and invited him to schedule a book signing at her store. She was attractive and witty, and he could still swear that she had been flirting with him that weekend though she denied it later.

pretending not to know what he was even talking about. Since then they had maintained a sort of friendship, more professional than personal, although Andrew had to admit he constantly found himself hoping it would turn into something more.

Tommy was staring at him, shaking his head. "Crap, now I've got you thinking about her. You won't get any writing done."

"I think you just like to see me miserable."

"That's my whole point. I don't like seeing you miserable. You're missing what I'm saying here. You seem content to pine for a woman you can't have. You write about crime scenes and autopsies but pass up opportunities to see them firsthand. You don't even want to eat the fish you catch." He shook his head. "From where I sit, that's not exactly living life to its fullest."

Andrew felt the heat crawl up his neck, but he kept the anger from his voice when he said, "I didn't bring enough beers for this conversation."

"You know I'm saying what I'm saying 'cause I care about you. You know that, right? Oh, fuck." Tommy grabbed for his belt, twisting the electronic pager attached so he could read the LED. "Sorry, buddy, something's going on. I'm gonna need to take off."

Tommy grabbed his cell phone and started to leave but stopped at the porch door. "You sure you're gonna be okay out here?"

Andrew shrugged with his good shoulder then nodded. "Yeah, of course." But he was still thinking about Erin and wondering how he'd ever fill those blank notebook pages now.

5:15 p.m. Highway 50

Melanie stabbed at the button on the car's door, locking and unlocking it, then finally bringing down her window. She needed to breathe. She needed some fresh air, some relief from the smell of vomit and blood. She gulped down the warm, damp wind then, grabbing her baseball hat before it blew away, she punched the button for the window to close.

"We need to backtrack," Jared told her, sitting sideways in his seat and watching out the back window.

She saw the gun in his lap, his finger still on the trigger. In the rearview mirror she watched for Charlie, The gags and awful retching had stopped. Occasionally she saw his head bob up into view.

"I said we need to turn around." Jared's voice had returned to calm and demanding. "We need to dump this car."

He reached into the back seat, and Melanie thought he was checking on Charlie. Instead, he grabbed Charlie's gun by its nose, holding it as though it was contaminated. He opened his window and tossed the gun, flinging it into the grassy ditch. He kept his own gun in his lap while he reached into the back seat and pulled up his duffel bag.

"Turn around up here," he told her again without looking at her or the road.

She heard the duffel bag's zipper, but she kept her eyes on the highway, glancing in the rearview and side mirrors, watching, expecting at any minute to see them fill with blue and red flashing lights. The highway divided up ahead- he must mean the next intersection. She could see the road sign indicating the turnoff for Springfield. Oncoming traffic had tapered to a few cars. She could do a U-ie without much fuss. She started to slow down, watching the line of traffic behind her, some cars already moving over to the temporary passing lane to pass by them. She felt relief that none of the cars looked like police cruisers, yet the uneasiness in the pit of her stomach warned her it was pushing their luck to head back into the line of fire. But she had to trust that Jared knew what he was doing.

"Forget about it," Jared said suddenly. "Just keep going."

"There's not that much traffic. I can do it."

"Fuck it. Keep going."

And then, as they got closer, she saw it. On their left at the Phillip 66 Station was a black and white, Sarpy County Sheriff's Department in bold print on its side. She hadn't noticed it before because it had been partially hidden by the gas pumps. Now, as they drove by, there it was.