Gary A. Braunbeck - Cages and Those Who Hold the Keys

“His gun isn’t loaded,” said the sheriff. Glancing into his rearview mirror, his gaze momentarily met mine. “I mean, look at him . Don’t misunderstand, he’s my kid brother and I love him, but seriously—would you feel safe knowing he was in possession of live ammunition?”

Deputy Dash held up his weapon. “Sure is big, though. That usually does the trick.”

“And what if it doesn’t?” I asked.

“Then I use my gun,” said the sheriff. “ My gun is loaded.” Deputy Dash puffed up a bit as he said, “But it ain’t nearly as big.” “You can put your gun away now, Dash.” “Nah.” “What was that?”

Deputy Dash looked up at his brother. “If I have to put my gun away, then the hat comes off. Since I have to keep my hat on, the gun stays out.”

“Why can’t you wear your hat and put your gun away?” asked the sheriff.

“On account I need to have something in my hands to play with or I get jumpy, and if I can’t have either my hat or my gun, that just leaves my dick, and the last time I played with my dick in the car, you throwed a hissy fit.”

“That’s because you never clean up after yourself!”

“I do so!”

The sheriff pounded his fist against the door. “You wipe up the seat , sure, but you never clean the dashboard or the steering wheel! You got any idea how it feels to start my day by coming out to the cruiser and then grabbing the wheel to find your day-old spooge all over it?”

Dash shrugged. “Never bothered me.”

“That’s because it’s your spooge! Of course it’s not gonna bother you, just like my farts don’t bother me . In fact, I think my farts smell just fine! ”

“Then how come you keep a can of air freshener in the glove compartment?”

“Because you’re always complaining about how my farts stink up the car.”

“Yeah, but whenever you use that air freshener, all it does it make it smell like someone squeezed out a load of Cleveland Steamers in a rose garden.”

I cleared my throat. “This sounds like a private family matter to me. If you want to pull over and let me out, I’d be glad to—”

The sheriff let go of the steering wheel and spun around, his arm shooting straight out, holding his gun less than an inch from my face.

“ Shut the hell up!” he screamed at me, cocking the hammer. “You’ve already caused enough trouble, Driver . You think this is funny? You getting a chuckle out of listening to me argue with my brain-damaged little brother? It’s not his fault he’s the way he is.”

“Thank you,” said Dash.

“You’re welcome.” He looked back at me. “You keep your comments and your questions to yourself until I say otherwise. One more word out of you, Driver— one more fucking word —and I will shoot you in the kneecap. Do you understand me?”

I nodded.

“We all appreciate that you brought Road Mama back home, but if someone told you that your job ended once she was delivered, well…that’s probably what they were told, but it’s not true. Ah-ah— not. One. Word. ” I mimed zipping closed my mouth. “He’s funny,” said Dash. “We don’t get many funny ones.” “You said that already.” “Felt like saying it again.”

I went cold all over. I could feel the blood draining from face. Yeah, the gun and the look in the sheriff’s eyes were scary enough—there was no doubt in my mind that he’d shoot me in the kneecap if I gave him the excuse—but even those seemed minor compared to what I’d just realized.

The car was driving itself.

Ever since the sheriff had spun around in his seat, the car had continued to maneuver along the street just as smoothly and evenly as you please. It even decelerated and signaled when cornering.

The sheriff noticed I wasn’t staring at him or his gun. Looking over his shoulder, he hissed, “Shit!” and then turned back around, holstering his weapon and gripping the spooge-free wheel once again. “I’m sorry. You weren’t supposed to see that yet.”

“Oops,” said Dash, then giggled.

I opened my mouth to ask, “See what yet?” but my kneecaps reminded me that, ahem, silence was golden.

The sheriff grabbed up the microphone again. “Nova, darlin’, you there?”

“Of course I am, where else would I be?”

“I think I just screwed up.”

“Oh, dear. What have you gone and done?”

He told her. There were several moments of silence, and then Nova said, “Well, now, that doesn’t sound all that bad. You just hold on and I’ll get right back to you.” “Will do.” He glanced in the rearview mirror at me. “May be that we’ll have a change of plans.” I mimed unzipping my mouth. “I think he wants to ask you something,” said Dash. “He can talk.”

“You know I didn’t take those memorials, right?”

“Yeah, I know.”

“And I sure as hell didn’t give that girl a ride or a beer. Especially not light beer.” “There a point you’re getting to?” “Yeah—why all the bullshit and brouhaha?” “Needed to make sure you’d come along peacefully.”

“Why not just ask me?” “Wasn’t sure you’d say yes.” “And if I hadn’t?” “Then we’d’ve had to resort to the bullshit and brouhaha, anyway. Just seemed easier to go with the sure thing.”

I looked at Dash, who offered a shrug that said, Older brothers, what’re you gonna do?

I leaned forward against the front seat. “You said something about a ‘change’ of plans? Would you mind telling me what the original plan was supposed to be? For that matter, what the hell was that girl doing back there, gathering up all those memorials? And how is it that this goddamn cruiser can drive itself? Now that I think of it, where am I , exactly? I’m not supposed to be anywhere near my destination. And what is it with everyone and—” “You know what?” said the sheriff. “I changed my mind. Shut up or I’ll shoot you.” “No, you won’t.” He turned around and shot me.

There was a lot of confusion right after that, what with the too-bright muzzle-flash, the gargantuan noise made by the shot in the enclosed space, and me screaming like a castrato with flaming hemorrhoids. Grabbing my happy sacs—that’s where he’d aimed—I knew something had happened down there because I could smell the gunshot and feel the heat between my legs and God Almighty there was something wet under my hands but I was too busy screeching and waiting for the pain to register, then I caught a peripheral glimpse of Deputy Dash laughing his ass off and realized that the sheriff hadn’t shot me , he’d shot the portion of the seat between my legs, and what I was feeling beneath my hand wasn’t blood gushing out of the hole where my nuts had previously resided but plain old-fashioned urine.

“Good shot!” shouted Dash.

“Like hell!” yelled the sheriff. “I missed .”

“ I’m sorry!” I screamed at him, my voice breaking on the second word. “Jesus Christ, I’m sorry! I didn’t…I didn’t mean anything.”

“Do you believe that I will shoot you?”

“Yes!”

“All right then.” He turned back, holstered his weapon, and took hold of the wheel once more.

I have no idea how long I cowered in the back seat with my knees pulled up against my chest, shaking and trying not to cry. I hate showing weakness in front of others. It gives them the upper hand and diminishes me in my own eyes.

Eventually, Dash leaned over and put his hand on my shoulder. I jumped at his touch and slammed the top of my head against the roof.