Leaving Town

Jerry stumbled into his apartment, quickly locking the door behind him. He held his hands out, trying to steady his mind. He’d walked away from the casino with some money but not nearly enough. “A bag,” he mutters. Running over to his bed, he dropped to his knees and pulled a duffel bag out from underneath it. Shrugging off his rumpled suit jacket, he ran over to the dresser, grabbed handfuls of clothing and threw them in the bag.

Opening his laptop, he opened a new email draft and titled it ‘deaht in the family,’ hastily, typing up an excuse to his supervisor. Something about a death close to home, he won’t be back at the office for some time. Sorry for any inconvenience. Was it really important? He realized he was fixating on the wrong things. It could be all the coke. A memory pushed its way up to the surface, Sal, the five grand he was expected to hand over later this day. Jerry pulled a little vial from his pocket and tapped some powder on the top of his fist and took the bump.

A light flashes outside the second story window. Jerry stepped over to the window like a cat. His eyes scanned the street. Nothing. He could hear his heart beating in his ears. Finish packing, then get out of dodge. He ran back over to the dresser and dug around the back of the top drawer until he found it. He let out a relieved sigh as he stared at the revolver. Popping the cylinder open, he made sure it was loaded. Six bullet casings stared back at him. Jerry popped the cylinder shut and slid the piece in his waistband. The cool metal pressed against the small of his back.

Throwing the strap of the duffle bag over his shoulder, Jerry headed for the door. Serena. He stopped in his tracks. She’d be better off without him. He took another step. If something happened to her because of him...fuck. The bag dropped to the floor as the cell phone came out.

Ringing several times, Jerry got her voicemail. “Serena, pick up, it’s important.” Every moment he waited was a moment lost, a moment closer to someone kicking down his door. He called again, and again.

Finally, she picked up. “Jerry? What time is it?”

“Listen, I’ve come into some money. I want to get away somewhere with you. Y-your choice, but we gotta go now.” Not a total lie.

“What?” she yawned. “What do you mean ‘you came into some money?’” There was a pause. “Why do we gotta... you in trouble?”

There wasn’t time for this. “Yes,” he replied. “I’m afraid something might happen to you if you don’t come with me. Listen, I’ll be over in,” he looked at the clock radio on his night stand. It read 3:52AM. “I’ll be over in twenty minutes. Have a bag packed and stand by the curb, just jump in.” He hung up.

Jerry grabbed his bag and walked to the door. Nervously looking through the peephole, he opened the door and ran downstairs. In the frantic run to the car, he dropped the keys. Swiping them back up, he popped the trunk and whipped his bag in. Slamming it shut, he heard footsteps behind him. Every instinct screamed danger, but he remained frozen.

“Whatcha doing, Jerry?” asked a husky voice.

Jerry turns slowly to find Vince and Mikey “Two-Hands” walking up behind him, spreading out to flank him, in case he decided to run. “I’m just...just going to get the rest of the money.” His knees felt like they might give out.

“Look at him,” said Vince, “a model citizen.” Mikey ‘Two-Hands’ let out a forced laugh. “By all means, get the money.”

Jerry waited, it felt like a trick. When no one moved, he nodded and hopped in the driver’s seat. In the dark, he struggled to fit the key in the ignition. Two other car doors slammed shut as Vince and Mikey piled into the passenger and back seat, respectively. The dread must have been obvious on Jerry’s face.

“You think we’d trust a degenerate fucking gambler like you?” asked Vince. “Why do you think we’re outside your place at four in the morning? Drive. The sooner we get our collection, the sooner we can leave.” They had to have known what he was trying to do, that he didn’t have a line on any more money. Who would lend to him at this point?

Leaning back in the seat, Jerry feels the revolver in his waistband. He glanced at Vince, sitting next to him. Trying to look casual, he looked in the rear view mirror at Mikey. There was no destination in mind. He could start driving and hope for the best but they knew. They had to know he was making a desperate move, trying to make a run for it. He could feel their eyes on him.

Shifting the car into reverse, Jerry started turning out of the parking space. Concealed with the motion of turning, his left arm fished around behind him for the gun. As he straightened the car out, he took his chance. Stomping the breaks, he pulled the gun around and put two slugs in Vince’s gut.

Blood sprayed the windshield before Jerry knew what had happened. His hand lurched up to his throat. It was slick with blood, it felt like water was trickling down the wrong pipe. He coughed a hard, wet cough. Bullets from Mikey’s gun ripped through the back of the driver’s seat and Jerry slumped forward onto the steering wheel and the horn blared.

$$$$

The cell phone read ‘4:37AM.’ Serena looked at the luggage she’d brought to the curb and took another drag from her cigarette. Jerry was late. Sleep still hung in her eyes, she felt like she was almost too tired to stand.

A memory flashed, her and Jerry down in Boca. How he’d held her hand on the beach. How he looked at her when he asked the question. Her thumb rubbed against the diamond ring on her left hand. No, he was coming. He wouldn’t just leave her standing on the curb.