Dangerous

The girl reading a magazine from the rack. Headphones on, listening to music, oblivious to the world except who’s doing what in Teen Star Magazine. Imagining herself in their world, their lives, to have it made at such a young age, anything everything you’d ever want. Where she is, where she lives, in her mind. A secret life she shares with them, more real than real life. And nobody knows but her.

Late afternoon, warm winter sun fading into cold wind. No one in the store, just the bright fluorescent lights, the girl and the clerk behind the counter. Watching the clock wondering if he shouldn’t do some clean-up or stock the shelves. Or just look at the pretty girl reading the magazine. Little angel, sex kitten who wandered into his realm. Something to look at, think about. Her narrow shoulders under slinky sweater, sweet young ass in tight blue jeans.

Wanting to go over before she leaves and never see her again. Go over and say hi, ask her what her name is. Maybe bump into her by mistake. Make contact, feel her being, her universe, become a part of it. But she’d laugh at him. Not on the outside, but inside to herself, she’d be laughing. Lowly store clerk, middle-aged pudgy going bald, working for minimum wage. Not even morning shift where you could pretend you’re the manager and nobody’d know the difference. But at least you can watch her. Your lucky day, such a hot young girl lingering in your store, right here in front of you.

A huge black man comes through the glass door, pulls a ski mask down over his face, gun in hand. “Gimme the cash” he says through clenched teeth. The clerk opens the register, scoops the bills out onto the counter. Not even time to be afraid, just do what you’re told. “And the stuff underneath.” The clerk shudders, voice hurting his ears. Imagining these are the last words he’ll ever hear. Lifts the drawer, grabs up the big bills and checks, puts them with the rest. The black man pushes them into a pile, stuffing bills into his coat pockets, eyes fixed on the clerk in front of him. The girl has her back to them, doesn’t even notice, lost in her own dreams of what could be.

The big man grabs up the last of the bills. Now to get out. The whole thing less than a minute, and nobody knows anything. It all happens so fast. Slick smooth perfect except for a couple of cops coming in to get some hot coffee. He turns, they look up, eyes meeting at the same instant. They reach for their guns. “Don’t” he says loudly. The girl looks around, awakening from daydreams, what’s going on. He grabs her, puts the gun to her neck. Glances back at the store clerk. “Don’t be a hero” he warns.

The clerk has to decide. They keep a gun below the register. He could save the girl, save the store’s money, or die trying. But the black man is so big, so huge. You might shoot him and just make him mad. Why is he so big, it isn’t fair. This one chance in life, and it’s no good. Cower behind the counter, watching and not do anything. The cops standing like statues, waiting for the big man to make a move. The whole thing, all fucked up. Grab some cash and go, but these guys gotta show up for their coffee break. How could that happen.

The big man’s heartbeat pumping in his ears. The lights, the store, like a blur. Then it clears. He’s in charge, everyone waiting on him. “Throw me the keys” he tells the clerk. “What?” “The store keys, throw ‘em to me.” The clerk reaches in his pocket, feels the outline of metal keys on a ring, tosses them to the black man. He takes the girl, pushes past the cops to the glass door, using her as a shield. They can’t shoot, can’t do anything, just watch. He locks the door, then runs for his car, parked along the far side of the store, engine running. The girl so light he hardly notices.

Behind the wheel and driving away, find some traffic, not be the only vehicle on the quiet streets. The clerk’ll have another set of keys, the cops’ll be on the radio. Or no…they’d run out the back way. Maybe in the squad car already, looking for him. Gotta find traffic to hide in. Or ditch the car, go on foot. But the girl…shoulda left her in the parking lot, but didn’t. She could give ‘em a description of the car if you did that. Maybe get the license plate. They could trace the car back to him, borrowed from a friend, and he’d tell ‘em who he loaned it to. What else could he do. But now what.

Whadda y’do. What, what. Have to think. The girl. “Shut up!” he yells. She’s shaking whimpering like a little puppy, doesn’t even know it. Scared to death he’s gonna kill her, or worse. She doesn’t know what to do. You’re supposed to talk to them, when you’re kidnapped or taken hostage. Make them think you’re human like them. Not just some object to be disposed of. She heard that on tv or someplace. Talk to them, but what do you say. They didn’t tell you that.

Just talk, say whatever’s in your head. “You gonna kill me” she asks. Too loudly, voice trembling, not the right thing to say. Don’t wanna give him any ideas. He looks at the girl, small, pretty thing, somebody’s child. What’s she doing in that store, all alone. Why her. What are you supposed to say to her. Whatever comes to mind. “I oughtta rip your clothes off, fuck you to death.” No…that didn’t come out right.

The girl shudders, her mind categorizing. They’re talking, that’s good, but not going right. It has to connect. “I guess…if you’re going to kill me anyway…then it doesn’t matter; whatever else, y’know.” But it’s funny, tragic, and so terribly funny. You save your self, all this time. Say no, push the boys away. Saving yourself…just to be raped by some monster. These crazy variables, unplanned for, unaccounted.

He looks at her. So tiny, trembling, trying not to. He checks the mirror, no flashing lights. Eases into traffic. What did she say. “I’m not gonna hurt you” he tells her absently. “You promise.” “Huh? Yeah, sure.” That’s better, she thinks. The monster’s almost human. You can talk to it, but there’s nothing to say. “I’ve…never had sex, before” she says. What the fuck, why’d she tell him that. Shit. Dumb thing to say.

“Huh?” he glances over at her, still focusing on the road, looking for the cops. “How old are you?” “Fifteen.” “Nah…” he shakes his head, she doesn’t look that old, more like a kid. “Yeah” she says “I’m small-boned.” That sounds stupid. Something you’d say to your aunt you haven’t seen in a long time, and she asks you your age.

“I’m not” he says. Obviously, big hulking monster. “Back…where I’m from, fifteen year old girls be dropping out babies like flies.” Dumb thing to say, ‘like flies’ sounds like you’re ignorant, stupid.

“Where you from” she asks. “Here…around here.” Born here, grew up here, and now come back to die. Doesn’t make any sense. He pulls onto a side street, seedy decrepit buildings, boarded up, broken out windows. The wind blowing through everything. “Hey, don’t be asking me that stuff. I don’t want you…knowing about me. Okay?” “Sure. I didn’t mean anything.” Pulls the car into an alley, parks between a couple of old buildings. Finds a back door, kicks it open, dragging the girl with him.

Down a flight of narrow steps, basement apartment, abandoned like everything else. Whoever lived here took off with the cold weather. Took what they could carry and got out. He switches on a light, haven’t even shut off the electricity yet. Probably find a new tenant at the end of the month. That’s how it is. Everybody’s gotta live some place. Ratty furniture, foul smelling, you barely notice when you’re running from the cops. He sees the girl, the look on her face, horrified.

“I’m sorry, about this” he says. “I just gotta, think. Figure things out.” “It’s okay. Just… the smell.” She looks around the room, should sit down, try to make things seem at ease. But where can you sit, in this filth. “Don’t…try to run” he tells her “okay?” “I won’t.” “I just gotta think.”

She sits down on the torn up sofa, leaning forward, not wanting to lean her back against it. The big man drops down beside her, his huge bulk almost bouncing her off. Awkward, to be so big, not like other people. Pulls the ski mask off, beads of sweat underneath. His face and head even more frightening without the mask. A giant with its great large mouth, flattened nose, bulging red eyes full of terror. The girl shudders, wants to scream, run, get away from here, from him. Her teeth chattering with fear.

“Wh-wha-what’re you gonna do” she asks. “I dunno...wasn’t ‘sposed t’happpen like this.” He’s calming down, broken almost, back here in this slummy hovel. What can he do. How do you hide when everybody knows who you are. Big hulking monster, check the files for a physical description, his name on top. The girl can feel it too, like when you’re done running. Everything was moving so fast, adrenaline pumping, senses alert. Then you stop, you’re here, and you know you’ve lost. Hurts to look at him. A monster of a man, defeated, crushed into little pieces.

His huge body sagging the weary couch down to the floor. Him sitting there, leaning forward, staring at the floor. She reaches her hand out to his. “It’s okay” she says. “No, no, it isn’t. Look around, look at this…filth, garbage. This is me, this is what I am.” “It doesn’t have to be.” “Whatta you know.” He squeezes the girl’s hand. Too hard, could crush it with his huge meaty grip. “Ow!” She pulls away. But he didn’t mean anything, just the fear anger panic. “I’m sorry.”

Wringing his hands, like sorry sums up everything. Everything he ever did, ever was. Sorry for ever existing. “It’s okay. Just don’t…give up.” He looks at her. Pretty little kid, got no idea of what it’s like here, the real world. She wouldn’t last five minutes. Shakes his head. Thoughts rattling around, how every step in his whole life had led him to...here and now. And it pours out of him, as if to find some meaning to it. Or just to waste time, til it's over; like a last testament or words on a grave stone. Just so someone would know.

“By the time I was your age, had a rap sheet…a mile long. The baddest bad ass on the street. Never thought I’d…live long enough to worry about it.” “How old are you?” “What, huh? Oh, I dunno, thirty…seven, I guess.” ‘He’s old' she thinks. Close to her parent’s age, but they have jobs, a home, family. And this guy, this place, how, why does it come to this. So awful.

His breath is labored, panting. Oughtta be thinking about how to get outta here. But it’s no use, there’s no way out. Easier to just talk to the girl, lose yourself in meaningless words about nothing. Killing what little time there’s left. It’s up to her, if they’re going to make it. “You can still…be anything you want to” she tells him. “There’s time, plenty of time, to be…whatever.” “Yeah. Thing is, I’m no good. Got no schooling, y’know. Can’t hardly read or write. Can’t hold a job. Never...a good one anyway. Shit, who cares. Fuck it, huh? Fuck all of it.”

He looks around, the sleazy dirty room, and it’s all clear to him. “I’m a criminal. A fucking lousy con. And that’s it.” “You’re not…a bad person” she says. He turns toward her. “Look at me. What do you see?” She looks into his eyes. “You’re big, really big. And, kinda scary…at first. But you could be something. Something good. You could. I know it.”

“You’re a nice kid. But you don’t know shit.” “Oh yeah. Well, this isn’t…what you want. Is it? It’s not what I want. What’re we doing here?” “I wish…I wish, everything was so easy. Like you say. Snap yer fingers. Just like that.” Thoughts running through his head. Something about Alice in Wonderland or Dorothy or something. Click your heals, close your eyes. And you’re…here. Back home. Come back home to die.

“So let’s just go” she says. “Get outta here. Just leave.” The big man takes a deep breath, tries to relax, not worry about it. “When it gets dark, I’ll drop you off somewhere. And then…make my way, I guess.” “No! Unh-uh, you won’t. You’re gonna…get in a shoot out with the cops. And they’ll kill you. That’s what’s gonna happen.” He doesn’t say anything, makes her even more upset. “You think it’s like a game. You give up and they shoot you, and the game’s over.”

Surprises him, how she can put it into words, the ideas spinning around in his head. Like reading his thoughts, but they’re all spelled out when she says it, not jumbled up bits and pieces like it is to him. “So what’s your idea” he asks.

“We can go to my house.” “Where’s that?” “A little town up north.” He doesn’t follow that. “I’m not from here.” “Then whatta you doing here?” “We’re visiting my aunt…for Christmas, y’know.”

Yeah, Christmas time. People do that, go…visit somebody, relatives, or whatever. He’s seen that in movies on tv, but never paid any attention to it. Never did it, so it doesn’t mean anything. Something other people do. Like everything else, a part of life he’ll never know, never understand except by its absence. Things other people do. People who have money, friends, relatives; and Christmas means something besides its cold outside, or they serve a special meal in the jail or prison. Hurtful, like everything else.

So what, no time to think about it now. Oughtta make these last few moments count, be worth something. “What’s your name, kid?” “Huh?” She hesitates. “Um…it’s Ginger, okay. But I hate that name.” “So whatta they call you?” “Gin, or Ginny; that’s what I tell people.” “That’s nice” he says “I like it.” “What about you? What’s your name?” “Me? I’m Ben.” The girl wonders why he’d tell her that. But better to not reason everything out. “Is that what your friends call you?”

He laughs at that. “Don’t have any. People I know, just use you, for whatever.” Then he’s serious again, down in the dumps. “I’ll tell you something…makes me so mad, I can’t stand it.” Clenches his fists, like getting ready to kill something, makes her nervous. “The guards…staff at the jail, the prison, they call me…King Kong. Like I’m some kinda fucking ape, or something. And I can’t, do anything about it.” “How come?” “One time” he says “when I didn’t know better, a guy called me that. I punched him, hard, in the face. And they beat me, over and over and over. Oh well, hospital ward aint bad. Just, takes a while to heal, is all.”

The girl thinks about it. Great big man, could break you in half if you make him mad. And yet, he’s helpless as a little kid, when they got him behind bars. Like a rat in a cage. Funny, strange, being so big and strong doesn’t really mean anything. “Is it…okay, if I call you Bennie?” Makes him smile.

“What?” she asks. “My momma used to call me that…a long time ago.” “Where is she now, your mother?” He looks at her face, so smooth, clean, beautiful young kid. “You don’t wanna be asking that stuff. Just…make you feel sad, is all.”

Looks up at the windows, getting dark out. “Time to get going.” “Where” she asks. “I dunno…your house, I guess. If that’s what you want.” The girl smiles, it’s gonna work out, everything be okay. Like the weight of the world lifted off her shoulders, you can finally relax, breathe easy. The big man gets up, takes her hand. Then the door bursts open, three angry young men with guns. “We just want the girl, that’s all.” The big man reaches for his gun, they shoot, and he goes down. They grab the girl and take off.

Hours later, the big man face down on the floor in a pool of blood. It was quiet, blank, peaceful almost. Something starts screaming in his head, yelling for him to get up, get up get up! He can’t. The blood dried, sticking to the floor. Eyes won’t open. Forces himself up onto hands and knees, feels the blood leaking out again. Rubs his eyes, makes his way to the kitchen sink, splashes water on his face. Trying to focus. There was a girl here. Ginny…that’s her name. He has to find her, get to her, find the guys who took her. Looks at his watch, it’s late. His heart racing, hoping there’s still time.

Finds a flimsy towel, rips it in half, ties it around his head. But it’s hard to move, dizzy, legs weak, unsteady. It doesn’t matter, he’s gotta find her. Outside the air is cold on his face. That’s good, helps bring you around. Lightheaded, but it doesn’t matter, just makes you more dangerous. Down the street a few blocks, turn up the alleyway. Steps lead down to dirt and debris below. He pounds on the door and they let him in. An all-night bar of sorts, hole in the ground for the dregs and leftovers. Old fat man behind the bar. Hokie Shavers, a fixture in these parts for as long as anyone can remember. The big man staggers in, a wounded bear looking for something to kill.

“Whatta you hear” he growls. “Heard you was dead.” Old man looks him in the eye, shows no fear. “I need answers” says Ben “don’t have time to fuck around.” Big crazy giant, bloody towel around his head. The little old fat man, drying whiskey glasses with a bar towel. Sets the glasses down, leans forward against the bar. Hands reaching for the sawed-off double barrel. Ben comes around behind the bar. Sees the shotgun leveled at his waist. Means nothing to him.

“You owe me” he says “I saved your boy’s ass, back in slam, dozen times or more.” “Yeah…you’re right. I owe you. But I aint fixin t’die just to pay you back.” The words mean nothing, just wasting time, and the big man’s in a hurry. “Where’s the girl, who took her. If you know…you better tell me.” Old man has to decide. If he talks, they’ll find him and kill him. That’s a given. But if he doesn’t, the big man’ll break him in half, right here and now. He raises the shotgun, finger on the trigger. The big man doesn’t care. “If you gonna kill me, get it over with.” He walks forward slowly. Reaches the old man and takes the shotgun from his hands.

“I’m a dead man” says the old guy. “Whatta you mean; whatta you talkin about?” “Who you think…runs this place; everything around here, huh?” Ben looks at the man’s face; weary with age, fear in his eyes. Then it comes to him. “Jack Tucker.” The boss man, crime lord, his fingers in every dirty deal that goes on around here. Everybody knows that, but Ben can’t piece it together. “What’s he got to do with it?” “Money” says the old man. “Pretty little white girl, fetch a lot of money…if that’s what you’re selling.” Yeah…selling kids for money. That’d be Boss Tucker all right. “Where is he.” His voice is thick, tough, mean, like an animal.

Old guy looks at the clock up on the wall. It’s late, very late. “Might be…at one of his clubs yet, I dunno.” “Take me there.” “Now hold on. That’s insane. You can’t, you can’t do that. What’s wrong with you?” “I’m gonna find that girl. And kill anybody gets in my way.” Ben looks into the man’s eyes, and the guy knows he means it. His wrinkled old hands trembling, knees weak, shuffling through the back room, up the steps. Maybe just drop the guy off, and get out, nobody’ll know. They’ll kill him, and that’ll be that.

Get in his old car, parked in the alley, been sitting there forever. It’s cold, hard to start. The old man shivering against the cold. Should be inside on a night like this. Inside where it’s warm, have another drink and a smoke. Let your mind go blank until you’re tired, ready for bed. Not out here in this wicked cold, wind howling, so dark you can’t even see. A person could die out here.

The big man behind the wheel, revs the engine to get the car running good. “Where to” he asks. The old man giving directions, yeah…you wanna go to hell, I’ll take you. Not far, nobody else on the streets this time of night. A string of clubs, bars, liquor stores, on both sides of the street. The better part of the seedy part of town. A lot of money spent here, night after night where the people go who got no place else to go.

“Which one” he asks. “In the middle, the big fancy one” says the old guy. Park the car down the street, engine running. Check the trunk for tools. Flashlight, tire iron, jack, shotgun shells, hunting knife. Old man’s a survivor, gotta hand it to him.

Walking down the street quickly, the old guy trying to keep up. All these buildings, old brick painted over, three four five stories high. Offices back in the day when business was downtown. Now just bars and strip clubs, storage space, ratty apartments for the workers here. Down the alley, around back, rickety wooden steps leading up to an apartment. Get up to the roof from there. And across the roofs, look out over the edge down to the street, see where you’re at. It all looks the same up here. Cold, dark, windy.

Up the metal ladder attached to the side of the big building, fire escape. So cold your hands almost stick to the metal. The roof of the big fancy building, carpeted, clean. They use this in the summer, warm weather. Barbecue, drink beer up here. Bring girls up here from the clubs and bars down below. Must be nice. A rooftop doorway in the corner. Steel door, locked, bolted, no way in. Shoulda guessed that. Fat Jack would have everything locked, sealed up tighter’n a drum. Even the cops couldn’t get in. Back down the metal ladder, sees the old man just making his way up to the roof.

“It’s no good, all locked up.” “Coulda told yah that, if you’d a waited.” “Now what? How we get in?” “Can’t. Might as well go. Come back in the morning.” Old guy’s outta breath, cold, scared to death, not where you wanna be in the middle of the night. Ben ignores him. Looks for another way. Halfway down, back windows on one of the buildings, facing the alley. Dark, dirty, like they never been opened for ages. Got bars on the windows. Takes the solid steel bar of the old-fashioned tire jack, pries against the old soft brick. Sturdy, doesn’t budge. Leans all weight into it, all his muscle, and the bars pop loose from the brick of the building.

Inside full of boxes, dust, chairs, barstools, everything you might’ve had use for once, and don’t even know it’s still up here. Dark hallway, faint glow of an exit sign somewhere down below. He follows it, down to the first floor. Strip club. In the basement, dressing rooms for the girls, and for paying customers. A big room for storing case after case of whiskey and beer, glasses, bar supplies. Door on the other end leads to the fancy building, the night club. Through there, up the steps, another steel door bolted shut. Ben wedges the tire iron into the gap of the door. Pries against it ‘til the tire iron bends double. No use, the door set in concrete, impassible.

Finally the old man comes waddling up behind him. “It’s no use” he says, shaking his head. “Knock. Knock on the door. Wake somebody up.” “Aint nobody gonna be answering this door. Not this time a night.” “Do it.” Old man doesn’t have a choice, pounding on the door, trying to think up something to say. Pounding with his fist, and heart pounding in his chest. No way for an old man to die. Finally a light comes on, voice says whatta y’want. “Gotta see Jack.” “Go ‘way.” “It’s me, Hokie. Hokie Shavers, gotta see Jack. Right now!”

Door opens up a crack. Ben rips it open, grabs the big man on the other side. Gun at his head. “Jack Tucker here?” “Yeah…upstairs. In his room.” “You got keys.” “On the ring. In the door. One key, opens all the doors.” Ben slugs him with the gun. Grabs the key ring. Upstairs, down the hall, faint flicker of light from one of the rooms. Inside, the big fat man on a big soft bed. Velvet sheets, couple of pretty girls on either side of him, caressing, stroking. A movie on the big tv screen.

The fat man sees Ben, bolts upright, reaching for a gun. “Don’t do it!” he yells. Fat man slumps back down on the bed. “Ben King…thought you were dead.” “Yeah, and you gonna join me. Where’s the girl?” Tucker sizes the man up. Big mistake to assume those punks had killed him. Shoulda made sure. Too late now, but he’s just a big dumb con. Three time loser though, and that makes him dangerous. Lifers do crazy things. “That girl…cost me a lot a money, Ben. Maybe…we can make a deal.”

Ben moves toward the bed. The two naked girls scramble for cover. He sticks the gun in the man’s cheek. “Where is she!” “Next room, on the bed. Okay? Take her. Take the girl, and then get outta here.” A door leading to a room behind this one. Ben kicks it down, sees her on the bed, half-naked, hands and feet tied to the corners. Takes the knife and cuts her loose. She grabs him, hugs him tight, saying thank you, thank you, over and over. He puts his coat over her, big old coat like a tent. Lifts her up and goes back out the doorway.

The old man’s just coming into the room, double barrel in his hands. Fat Jack sees the old man, the gun. “Shoot him, shoot him, c’mon!” The old man doesn’t budge. Fat man runs toward him, grabs for the gun, and it goes off. The girls screaming, blood and guts everywhere. Ben steps over the body, nods at the old man. “Thanks.” “Go on, get outta here” he says. “I’ll make sure nobody follows.”

Ben takes the girl, out to the street, the car. Warm now, with the engine still running. “We gotta go to the cops” she says. “What? I can’t.” “I gotta tell ‘em. Big Jack Tucker kidnapped me…and you came and got me out.” “They’ll never believe you.” “Have to. My word against his. And he’s not gonna say anything, right.”

Driving away in the nice warm car. Little blonde girl wrapped up in the great big coat, staring straight ahead. “What did they do to you…back there” he asks. “You don’t wanna ask that” she says. “Let’s just get outta here.”