Desperate Times (5 page)

“Hey,” he said in a deep, almost jovial
voice. “I think we’ll be taking your truck. You don’t mind, do
you?
”

“Shit,” said Jimmy.

“Oh, no,” said Bill, as his door was pulled
open by the other man who merely smiled, revealing half a dozen
yellow teeth.

“So, get out before I cut off your nose,”
said the big man, waving his knife in Jimmy’s face. “We don’t want
any trouble. We just need your truck. That’s all.”

“Give it to them,” said Bill. “Just give it
to them, Jimmy.”

Jimmy took a deep breath and sighed. They had
the drop on him, and he wasn’t going to risk losing a nose to this
serious-looking man. Bill was stepping down and Jimmy nodded,
holding his hands up as Cowboy Hat opened the door for him.

“What’s going on here?” asked a familiar
voice from behind the truck. Jimmy immediately recognized it as the
farmer’s.

“Nothing, old timer,” said Cowboy Hat
dismissively, “nothing that concerns you. Why don’t you just make
like a tree and leave?”

There was a distinct clacking sound and
Jimmy’s heart soared. He’d heard it many times and there was no
other sound quite like it. It was the sound of a pump shotgun
racking up a shell.

“Doesn’t concern me?” asked the old man in a
voice that was as cool as ice water. “Well, let’s just say I’m
making it my business. Call your buddy over here. Drop the knife
and get down on the ground, amigo. Now, or I’ll blow your hide
straight to hell.”

Jimmy peered out from the cab. The farmer had
the shotgun held up to his shoulder, the barrel aimed squarely at
the big man with the knife.

“Hey now,” Cowboy Hat said, dropping the
knife and holding his hands up. “Take it easy there, old timer.” He
was walking toward the farmer in slow measured steps. “Ain’t
nothin’ to get excited about, we don’t want any trouble.”

“Get back!” ordered the farmer, sounding a
little less confident.

Jimmy held his breath, watching Cowboy Hat
advance on the old man. He had a feeling that this was going to end
badly and he knew he had to do something. He quickly pulled the
keys from the ignition and reached behind the seat for the small
aluminum bat that the drivers used to thump the tires to check for
flats. The small bat was about sixteen inches long and it felt good
in his right hand. He leapt down from the cab, his boots landing on
the concrete with a thump.

“Stop!” ordered Jimmy, reaching down and
picking up the discarded knife. “Don’t move another inch!”

“Look out, Jimmy!” shouted Bill in a shrill
voice.

Jimmy turned just in time to see the tattooed
man running up behind him. He had nothing in his hands and
obviously intended to tackle him. Jimmy lashed down with the bat
and caught him square on the left forearm. There was a sickening
crack and the little man screamed in pain. He clutched at his arm
and held it tight to his stomach. Jimmy quickly returned his
attention to Cowboy Hat and was surprised to see that the big man
was rushing him, moving in fast enough to blow the hat off the top
of his head. Jimmy stood sideways. In his left hand he held the
stiletto and in his right was the bat. He cocked his right arm back
and timed his swing, waiting until the guy was nearly on top of him
before giving it everything he had. The blow caught Cowboy Hat in
the midsection and dropped him dead in his tracks. He grabbed his
stomach with both hands and rolled on the ground, a terrible pained
expression his face.

“You son of a bitch,” he whispered, trying to
catch his breath.

“I would’ve shot him,” the old man said,
holding the shotgun in shaking hands. “I would have.”

“I know you would’ve,” said Jimmy. “And then
you’d have ended up in jail for God knows how long.”

An hour and a hundred questions later, Jimmy
and Bill were finally back on the highway. The State Patrol had
eventually shown up and hauled the two crooks off to jail. After
thanking Walt Burns, the farmer, many times over, they had hopped
in the truck and headed east.

During that time the station had run
completely out of fuel and had closed up tighter than a drum. More
than one car had left rubber in the lot, having waited fruitlessly
for a very long time.

Jimmy called Paula again and there was no
answer on her cell or at the trailer. He cursed his phone and
dialed Ken’s number and explained what had just transpired. Ken was
happy that they were all right and then pleaded for Jimmy to get to
his place, just as soon as he could. Jimmy said that he’d be there
as soon as he got home and packed a few things. He hung up and slid
the cell phone back into his shirt pocket. It’d been some day
already and he knew it was still early. He wondered about Paula,
wondered if she’d be there when he got home, wondered if he’d ever
see her again. The thought left him feeling sick to his
stomach.

“You’re just like Rambo,” said Bill, grinning
his stupid Bill grin.

“Shut up,” said Jimmy, smiling in spite of
himself.

“Yes-sir, just like Rambo,” Bill repeated.
“You’re one genuine bad-ass.”

Jimmy laughed. He didn’t feel like a bad-ass.
He hadn’t been in a scrap since he’d been in the ring and that had
been a long time ago. His instructors had taught him the difference
between wanting to fight and needing to fight.
And he’d needed
to fight in both situations, hadn’t he?
He wasn’t sure, but
it’d felt good to lash out at someone, anyone, and he wasn’t sorry
for how he had reacted to both situations.

“Did I tell you about my cousin?” asked
Bill.

Jimmy groaned and turned on the radio. The
Rolling Stones were playing and he turned up the volume until the
speakers were on the verge of distortion. One song followed another
and Jimmy thought how odd it was that the station hadn’t
interrupted for any commercials. Hating himself for doing so, he
left the volume at a level too high for conversation as they
continued toward Crown. Bill didn’t seem to mind.

Every so often they would come upon a
homemade sign at the end of a driveway:
Repent! The end is
near!
Jimmy wondered about that. For sale signs hung in front
of many of the other homes they passed; most had been repossessed
and sat empty and lifeless. Others, with long driveways had cars
and trucks parked at the ends, blocking the entrances as
effectively as iron gates. From time to time, they’d pass armed
farmers looking over their herds. The highway was nearly deserted.
Occasionally, they’d be passed by loaded vehicles going well over
the speed limit.

The attempted truck-jacking fresh in his
memory; Jimmy drove straight into the trailer park which was nearly
empty, even for this time of day. Passing the vacant trailers at
the posted fifteen miles per hour, he noticed that those who
remained were packing their cars and heading somewhere. Where, he
could only guess. He turned down Tom Petty’s voice on the stereo as
he took the turn down his street.

Paula’s Mustang wasn’t there.

Tina’s Grand Am was sitting in Bill’s
driveway.

Bill’s head snapped back. He leaned forward
and blinked hard, as if he were dreaming. “What the hell?” he
asked. “What’s she doing here?”

Jimmy shook his head, wondering the same
thing. He pulled the Mack to the curb and set the brakes and cut
the engine. For a long moment, he and Bill sat there in silence.
“Where is she?” Jimmy asked. He had thought Paula would be home by
now and a terrible worry washed over him.

“She’ll be home any minute,” said Bill,
looking at the floor. Not daring to look Jimmy in the eye.

“Right,” answered Jimmy.

“Sure,” said Bill. “So, what do you suppose
Tina wants? Do you think she wants to get back together? I’ll bet
Larry kicked her out as soon as he found out how bad things are. I
can’t blame him. You know, I knew she’d be back. I really did. She
had her little fling, but the chips are down and she needs to be
with someone who really loves her. You know what I mean? As much as
I hate everything that’s happened, I can forgive her. She’s back
now and that’s all that matters.”

Jimmy nodded, knowing that Bill had no idea
that what he’d just said had cut him so deeply. He agreed with one
thing, except the chips weren’t just down—they were off the table.
He thought that if Paula really loved him, she’d be here waiting
for him.

“I’m gonna head inside, man,” Bill said.
“Stop over before you head out, okay?” he asked, unable to contain
the smile from his round face.

“Will do,” answered Jimmy, feeling as if he
were about to be sick.

“I’m going to lay down some ground rules,”
Bill said, opening his door and stepping to the curb. “She’s gotta
clean up her act and remember who’s boss. That’s me, damn it.
That’s me.”

Jimmy nodded, watching Bill as he closed the
door and practically strutted up to his trailer. He hoped
everything would turn out. Both he and Paula had liked Tina and
their daughter, Cindy. Jimmy got out of the Mack, locked the doors
and walked slowly up to his own empty home. He knew he should be
rushing, but the wind had left his sails. He inserted his key,
hoping somehow that Paula was inside.

He opened the door and realized immediately
that she wasn’t there. Paula’s purse was off the hook in the
kitchen and her checkbook was missing from the table. Jimmy
frowned. He knew he had a lot to do and that he had to put her out
of his mind while he took care of the business at hand. He lit up a
smoke and walked straight into the spare bedroom. The room was a
mess of mismatched knick-knacks and pieces of unwanted furniture
that he’d been reluctant to part with. He sidestepped the clutter,
opened the closet door and began tossing out duffel bags and his
hodge-podge collection of battered suitcases.

He stopped and called Paula’s cell. No
answer.

He began packing his clothes but soon found
himself packing for Paula. He packed everything he thought they
might need, even taking the bins of winter clothes that Paula had
stored away the week before. He had trouble choosing shoes for her
as she had nearly fifty pairs. He tried to choose sensible ones.
Still, he wasn’t taking any chances. Boots, sweaters, jackets,
gloves and hats, pillows, bedding, shaving kit and
toothbrush—everything went into the back of the Mack. He grabbed
the portable CD player and the AC/DC television. He bagged up what
canned or boxed food they had, dismissing what little they had in
the fridge. He tossed the perishables into the trash and carried
the bag outside to the can which he wheeled to the curb. Then he
walked back inside to the bathroom and packed whatever he thought
they might need or want, taking every last roll of toilet paper
except for the roll hanging on the wall. He even remembered the
lock box under the bed which contained their birth certificates,
Social Security cards and other important papers. The entire
process took him less than half an hour. He paced the hallway,
wondering what else they might need.

He tried calling Paula again, letting it ring
until her voice mail picked up. He left a message in a defeated
voice: “Please come home. I love you. We’re all packed and ready to
go. Call me?” He slowly closed his cell phone and put it back into
his breast pocket.

Dejected, but still holding onto a sliver of
hope, he picked up the remote control and sat down on the couch and
turned on the television. It was now five o’clock and the news
would be on. He tuned into channel eleven and was surprised to see
a different news team on the thirty-two inch screen. He’d always
watched the NBC news and this strange news team had him puzzled.
Oddly, they led off with a sports story. They followed up with a
ten-second blurb about the failing economy which was quickly
followed with an in-depth story about lawn care. Jimmy sighed and
pushed the down button on the remote, only to find the same team on
CBS. Open-mouthed, he clicked up to ABC and there was the same news
team spouting the same nonsense about the same nothing. Jimmy sat
up, clicking through the channels; each showed the same
smug-looking news crew doing the same story. One hundred and
seventy stations, all running the same broadcast.

Jimmy shut off the television and wondered
about this. He knew he should be on his way to Ken’s, but he
couldn’t leave until he’d heard from Paula. He just couldn’t. He
ran his hand through his hair, avoiding the painful spot on top,
and decided to call her one last time. He took a deep breath,
opened his cell phone and dialed her number. Nothing happened. He
stared at the small screen on his phone and discovered that there
were no antenna bars. He roamed from room to room; nothing changed.
He cursed to himself and walked out the front door into the
afternoon sun, all the while looking at the display on his
telephone. No bars. He groaned and held the phone toward the sky in
hopes of finding a signal. There was none to be found. He turned
around and went back inside and headed straight for the telephone
on the wall. He picked up the receiver and was surprised to hear a
dial tone. He punched in Paula’s number.

“
All lines are busy right now. Please hang
up and call again, later. Thank you.”

Jaw clenched, he slammed the phone back into
the cradle.