I don't know how long it was until I came to, but I could figure it out. Whenever it was, I had the distinct feeling that reality was speeding past me, and I didn't have to open my eyes to say, "We're driving to Baltimore, aren't we?"
"Nothing passes you by, huh, Steve?"
"Nothing except the slick move that got us here," I admitted. I refused to open my eyes. I didn't want to have to face the horror of the open road with John controlling my vehicle.
Of course, John wasn't; I was. I felt the wheel in front of me, screamed, opened my eyes, and saw John, with his foot on the gas, guiding the car from what I suddenly knew was truly the suicide seat.
"John," I said, calm as can be, "We are not presently in England, so I'd appreciate it if you'd not drive on the right side of the car."
"Really?" John was excited, as he suddenly jumped on my lap. I yelped in shock, fear, and the fact that John's over 200-lb pleasantly-plump frame had just unexpectedly landed on top of me. I put my foot on the gas, so we wouldn't lose speed. "I didn't want to drive your car without your permission, Steve, and since we were in a rush, I figured I'd just let you drive, conscious or not. Thanks for letting me zoom like this!"
The car had been swerving then, of course, and for the life of me, I can't explain why I didn't break, then and there, and get that maniac out of my pride and joy, my '29 Mustango. Maybe it was curiosity; probably it was contagious stupidity. Whatever it was, both John and I were in the driver's seat, and he seemed to be much more in control of the situation than I.
I gave up then, as I tried desperately to ease my way out from underneath my tubby buddy. My fate was inexplicably twined with John's now, until he killed us on the road somewhere. Why fight it?
With a sigh, I asked, "Why're we going to Baltimore, John?"
"Road trip, Steve. It'll be fun!"
I ignored him. "Why're we going to Baltimore, John?"
He ignored me. "Aren't you impressed with how I worked this all out? I actually left the salami in there months ago, for just such an eventuality. I knew by now it'd be hard enough to knock someone cold without any suspicions. You know, Steve," John looked over to give me a pedagogic gaze, "You might not have fallen for it if you were in your car more often."
"I'll keep that in mind, John. This isn't about me and JJ, is it?"
"Nah," John said, "You guys seemed fine when we all hung out yesterday."
I shrugged, something John didn't notice as he took a chomp from his cold cut. He offered me some.
"Pass. Why're we going to Baltimore, John?"
"I'm on the lam. We are, actually."
"You were telling me why."
"Right. A woman's hunting me down."
"Do tell."
"Last night, I had a date."
"A date?"
"A date. Well, sort of. With Janine Beedy. Of that one-woman-show, Feminine Lesbian?"
"Who'd she play?"
"I was really impressed with the show, with the depth of character and all that, plus she was real real cute. I fell in love."
The stink of salami was overpowering, so I didn't ask him how many falls he'd taken that week.
"So I asked her out to talk about the show. I said I was going to write her up in our next issue."
"Whenever that may be."
"She didn't know that. And the show's pretty popular, so she's had to do lots of interviews. I wanted to bask in her presence a while."
"The fact that Ms. Beedy was the star of Feminine Lesbian didn't faze you?"
"Most women have to work for a more creative excuse to spurn my love. She'd already gotten that worked out. Shouldn't stop me from trying."
I nodded. Intellect, twisted as it was, was involved in John's thought-process.
"So, there we were, last night, at the Top Of The Tavern --"
" -- Swanky place."
"On the house; The owner'd caught her show. I began to interview her."
"Was it probing, hard and long?"
"Always. And I was getting some good stuff. Janine's really funny. If we ever publish again, I might have something there."
"If you haven't been hunted down and had your fingers shoved down your throat."
"Bingo. Anyway, it was a good give and take, and we were both really into going the distance, and all I'm thinking is what a damn shame that this woman doesn't go for my kind."
"I hear that."
"Which is about when she dropped the bomb."
"What happened?" "When I asked her how autobiographical her show is, her hands on my knee under the table, she answers, real slowly, sensuously, 'not at all."
"So she's not..."
"Appears not. Only plays one off-broadyway."
"This good for you?" I asked, genuinely interested. What John described was ludicrous, but if I could accept he'd been able to convince a woman to eat with him, anything else was feasible. Maybe he was growing up. Maybe he was lying, but I kinda doubted it. I mean, what reason would we have to shanghai me to Baltimore, then? I waited for John to answer my question.
"Not too. She took a while to tell me this, and I was just swallowing a Strawberry Screwballer. Then she was wearing it."
"No."
"Yup. Spat it straight on her previously dry, and presumably expensive, white shirt."
"So now we're fleeing in shame?" This would not be such a leap for John. He's had varying bad experiences with wetting clothes before.
"No. I fled in shame as soon as it happened. Now we're fleeing for our lives."
"Your life."
"Well, literally, yes."
"Why your life?"
"Dunno. But after I ran from the restaurant, she was after me, and somehow, she got my number, and called at home, and then there were some knocks on the door. She's hunting me down, Steve!"
"John," I said, putting my hand on his shoulder, "You're probably over-reacting. And you're definitely driving past the side of the road."
"Sorry." John corrected the action, no easy feat at 88 mph. "But I'm not over-reacting. She probably did some research, figured out that the Moon's Edge has... discontinued publication, that I lied to and humiliated her, seriously damaging her very admirable wardrobe in the process. Now she hates me. I've probably turned her off men forever. She'll hunt me to the grave!"
I didn't mention that the grave could be found pretty soon; John almost crashed us into a cemetery. It was a wonder John had ever gotten his license.
"Hold on..."
"What, Steve?"
I tried to phrase it in the most positive way I could. "Just when was it that you got you driver's license?"
"Well, I'm hoping for next --"
"Stop the car."
Stopping a car at 88 isn't as easy as John thought, I guess, but eventually, after a bit of skidding and a panoramic view of the entire 360° highway, it happened. The fact that we didn't hit anyone was due more to the amazingly coincidental lack of any traffic on the road.
"Out of my driver's seat, John. I don't trust you."
"You don't trust me?" John was aghast, "Is that any way to build a relationship?"
"No more than knocking me out with cold cuts," I said, "Or spitting on the woman you love."
"Don't you mock my beloved Janine. My love for her is true!"
"Long as she doesn't kill you," I muttered. "Out of the driver's seat."
And we were off again, this time, with me going the much safer, more mature speed of seventy seven. And I wasn't sure if I was looking for an exit off the highway or not.
"How far are we from Baltimore, J?"
"I'd say about half an hour." John said, looking at his wrist.
"Well," I begrudged, "I figure we can stay there for the day, and head back later tonight. I can cope with a day-trip, John."
When I said that, John just flipped out. I guess I did, too. I hardly noticed passing the border into Connecticut.
"What a dump."
I think it was me who said that, but I can't be sure. The driving had been tough for me, since I refused to let John within a salami's length of the wheel until he got his license, and I refused to let him drive until I was ten years dead. John's 'half an hour' turned into... a long time. A very long time. But John had the directions, and, just like any good brainwashed kidnappee, I had tons of faith in my captor. We'd reached Baltimore, and were in front of our host's place, which was fine by me, as I wouldn't have minded getting in a seat that didn't require me to press pedals. I hadn't seen Juan in years, and, though he was John's friend, anything but listening to John sing alone with Mitch, riding in my car, would be a welcome change.
"Where's Juan, John?" I said, hoping I wouldn't have to repeat myself.
"He's expecting us." John called back to me in the car. My legs had so far refused to function appropriately. "Juan told me we could hole up here all winter if necessary."
"That's nice. It'll only be a day, John."
"Whatever."
I let that go for the time being. "Which window is Juan's?"
John pointed to a well-lit room on the second floor of the brownstone, which had several silhouettes flowing before the drawn curtain. "If I remember right."
I nodded, as I got out of the car. "Why isn't anyone answering the doorbell, then, John? Why is that?"
Why was I here, was a more important question, one I had no good answer. It was a visceral thing; I guess I was looking for adventure, or something else. The way John had been talking about me and JJ had gotten me paranoid, because I didn't really want to wait around the house, afraid she'd call from Barbados or something. So maybe I'd call her from Baltimore, once we got inside someplace with a phone. I could tell her all the new exciting things that were happening in my life, and she'd be real impressed, and it would improve our perfectly all right relationship. Only problem: while I was looking for a change, I found I didn't have any. A pay phone was out, and I was pretty sure I needed to get in. And I was pretty straight on the fact that, whatever I needed to do, a life with John was probably not the change I was looking for.
"I'm not too sure, Stevey, but I'll tell you this: With my life on the line, I will not be dissuaded."
Sound words. I thought I'd reply with more of the same.
"What now, then, fearless leader?"
"A pebble on the window," John replied, "Get someone's attention." And he began looking around the gutter.
"John, it's..." I looked at my ultra-new, super-spiffy wristwatch. "Late. Maybe we're not as invited as you thought."
"Nonsense! Juan said that anytime I needed a place to hide from the killer women who were bound to hunt me down someday, there was a place for me in Baltimore."
"He didn't say this today, did he, John."
"It was an open invitation. A principle thing!"
I sighed. "Maybe a hotel room is in order."
"Your treat?" John grinned.
"This is your hideaway weekend, John! You pay."
"With what?"
"You're broke?"
"Bingo."
"I think I found a pebble." I said, pointing next to a garbage can, hoping John would bend over long enough for me to place a firm kick up his butt.
"Thanks," John said, picking up something and throwing it, all before I could wink an eye.
I couldn't even tell what he picked up to throw, but it was certainly bigger than a pebble. It looked the size of an alarm clock. What an alarm clock would be doing laying on the street is beyond me. Why it wouldn't break whatever glass object it was speedily hurled into was also beyond me (I took physics, once).
The window shattered.
"I guess we'll see action now, huh?" John smiled proudly.
I shrugged.
Out of the house came three large men in three large suits. They were very tidy, and they were very upset. The property damage on the window was probably vast. So was the anger they seemed to be prepared to inflict on the vandals, who were us.
"I don't understand," John said. "None of those people are Juan." John looked down at his instructions. "This is the right address, isn't it? 785 University Lane?"
Trusting John is a dangerous thing. Never again. "John, we're at 1185 University Lane. Maybe we should go."
The suits, as they came closer, sure looked crammed with muscle.
It didn't seem like the neighborhood that suits would establish, but it did seem like the neighborhood where heads would be busted. I didn't think there would be such a paradox if these mighty looking men were to be involved in both types of neighborhoods. John came to the same conclusion, but had arrived at a solution far more succinctly.
"Flee!"
Trusting John when he seems to make sense is also dangerous. I thought I'd chance it. As it turned out, that was a very good move, because just as we'd begun to run, 1185 University Lane exploded.
John and I were jogging away, as the flames ate out the guts of the apartment, as well as one moose slipper and John's well-done porkpie headgear.
"Are they still after us?" John called, crunching on cold cut.
I turned. They had stopped following us to put out the fire in their home. Good plan, I thought to them, and continued running.
"Nope. Home free, buddy," I panted at John.
"Good job," John called, munching salami, "Pretty big pebble, that."
It wasn't too hard to find the right apartment,. now that I knew what the address was. I just hoped that my Mustango was all right, parked in front of that overpowering inferno with the suits. But I wasn't about to go back and see how my vehicle was doing. Proprietorship is powerful, fear much more so.
"785 University Lane," I said, looking up from the numbers I'd just read off the building. "Try this doorbell, John."
The bell rang. The intercom crackled. A voice called. A buzzer yelped, and we entered.
I had to begrudgingly admit, this building looked very much like the one we'd inadvertently firebombed. John's mistake, by appearance, at least, was justifiable. I guess John isn't as consistent an idiot as I'd like to give him credit for. He can't even do that right all the time.
We walked up to the only door on the second floor. It had a big nasty spray-painted picture of a lightning-bolt on it, but otherwise, the door seemed friendly enough. John knocked and walked right in.
"Juan, it's me! Your anglicized namesake: Johnny!"
Juan was sitting at the head of a big round table. He was not alone.
Some twelve guys, dressed straight out of west side story, were all sitting round the table, waving their zip guns and their crazy eights and whatever else they had.
"Who're these bozos, Juan?" Someone else (we were never properly introduced, so his name's lost to me. Let's call him alex, but with a lower case A because it's probably not his real name) asked.
"Uh, John..." I began, wanting to remind John of the charges that had removed his friend Juan from our fair town. But I couldn't finish. One of Juan's companion's seemed to be in the process of generously offering me a chance to see his butter knife. Up close.
Juan shrugged, looked at us, and said, "Tactical meeting's adjourned, gang. These're friends from home."
The punks, gangsters and young turks flowed away from the table. They smoothly, effortlessly, left the apartment, so that Juan and we were the only people left about.
"Juan...!" John went up to his old friend and gave him a hug.
"Sorry for dropping in on you, man," I said.
"Nice outfit," Juan said to me. "Bad timing, though. We in the middle of a war here. New group in town invading our territory. Further on down the block. We gots t' get rid of them, tonight."
"Who're the new guys?" John asked.
"Ah, buncha punks. Hey! You two could take them out. We set a time bomb outside their place tonight, time delay. Figure they wouldn't know who it was. Bet you could throw it in on them, and nobody would ever know the difference. Steve, you might want some more footwear, first."
"Uh, Steve..." John looked at me questioningly. I nodded. Coincidences are a bitch.
"The new guys don't happen to live at 1185 University, do they?"
"Yeah. The Raiders. They play like they're civilized n' stuff, but they're in the same game we are."
I was never sure just what Juan's game was, but it sure was a damn sight more interesting than mine. Clearly more dangerous, too.
"Relax, Steveski," John said, noshing on salami, "What's the chances of them figuring out where we went?"
The machine gun chatter outside told me the odds I'd have given would've earned me only a small return.
"Juan?" I asked, making a point to let terror take over only about ninety three percent of my being, "How many members are there of the Raiders Clan?"
Juan was gone. Juan was tough, and Juan was gone. Juan had gotten off two charges of manslaughter because of disappearing witnesses, and Juan had fled. And the suits were looking for us.
"Time to go, John."
"But..." John said, but his words meant nothing next to my iron grasp.
"We're going home. Now!"
There was chaos outside, but not exactly what I'd expected. I guess the machine guns had drowned out the sirens, or maybe I just blanked them out, because I really didn't want to hear them, the gunfire being so much more comforting. But there were lots of people with hands in the air by the time we got downstairs. Juan was there, leaning over a patrol car, and a very nice police officer convinced us it would be impolite for us not join our host.
I had one phone call.
"Hey, JJ?"
"What's up, Steve? I called you when my car got all shiny and new, fifteen hours ago. I let it ring twenty eight --"
"Yeah, well, I'd love to see it. You want to come show it to me?"
"Sure. You at home?"
"Nope. Baltimore Central Holding Cell."
"What?"
"Long story. Wanna pick me up?"
"I'll be there as soon as I can."
"Fine, JJ. Make sure you don't go North, though. That's the long way."
"Steve, Baltimore's directly South of us."
"My point. Also, bring my check book."
"You alone down there, Steve?"
"Yeah, just me and the riff-raff. I'll see you soon, huh?"
They were going to let John out with me, but enough well-planted hints about John's connection to the Kennedy Brothers and Ms. Monroe got him an invitation for another night or thirty of questioning.
My first breath of fresh morning air was a good one, and followed by being very very happy that JJ was there with me.
"Thanks for picking me up, JJ."
"No problem." She seemed glad to see me, too. "Where's your car, Steve? We can play leapfrog on the road!"
"Let's go up North together in your clean car, all right?"
JJ looked confused. "What about the Mustango?"
"Impounded. Plus, it smells like year-old salami."
"That's nothing new," JJ said, as she opened her door.
"JJ," I said, suddenly very tired, "It's good to see you again."
"Yeah, well," she blushed.
I was sitting at home, alone again, pouting that there were no more birds to shoot. They'd all gone away by now. Sad things like that happen sometimes. John called.
"What do you want, John?"
"Just wanted to know if you and JJ wanted to get together with me and Janine. We could double, or something."
"JJ and I aren't -- what?"
"Yeah, Steve. Turns out that Janine was just intrigued by my behavior, running away and all. Wanted to get to know me better."
"So she wasn't hunting you down?"
"Well, she was, but in a good way. She even found me in prison, got those trumped up charges waived, and drove me back home. Kinda psycho woman, really." He didn't seem too upset.
"That's great, John. Sorry I couldn't wait around for you down there."
"I understand," John said, "You had some heavy-duty smooching to do."
"Yeah..." I said, looking at a picture of JJ. "Well, congratulations about the babe."
"Yeah, cool stuff. You guys want to meet her?"
"Love to," I said. I didn't feel like being alone just then. "Meet at Good Food."
"Sure. We'll see you two there, soon."
"Not two, John. One."
"No shuck?"
I put down the letter I was writing. "Nope."
"Well, catch you in a few."
"Yeah, John. See you."
I hung up, put on my coat, and walked downstairs to see what kind of new bull John was pulling. I'd really hate it if he was right. Again.
