From the instant we were conceived it was destined that we share the same soul.  Every decision of every moment was meant to bring us closer to that moment when I saw you for the first time, dragging that girl’s body from your car down into the culvert where you tried covering her with those autumn leaves.  I sat just a ways down in a tree stand, dressed in cammies and looking down the scope of my 30.06 at a beautiful ten point buck, being careful not to allow my breath to waft over the sights while watching the buck shoot twin clouds of mist from his nose.  The buck sensed you first, lifting his majestic brown head toward the foreign sound, and then I heard the crunch of your tires on the frozen ground as you drove toward the edge of the woods.  I cursed you as the deer bolted, ruining my shot, my chance to see him die, to see his eyes cloud over, and then the sweet knife slicing into his body as the heat steams out in that delicious fragrant cloud that I love.  I trained my scope on the metallic glint of your silver car and talked to you as you sat inside it.  I wanted you to step out so I could put my slug through your head, so I whispered my desire, get out of the car you motherfucker, ruining my shot, I’ll ruin you, and then you did climb out and stood beside the open door craning your neck about as a steady and annoying bing bing bing cut through the air, but even though I had my finger on the trigger and the crosshairs on your touseled blond head, I could not complete the act, did not have the courage to actually do it even though I had always wanted to so bad, had dreamed and fantasized about it my entire life.  I really believe you felt my presence just then, I know, because I saw you look around suddenly as if you heard something.  If you think about it, it was the sound of both of our hearts beating in unison.

Then you walked to the trunk of your car and I followed your movement, cursing myself for not having the balls to kill you, and you opened it and tugged the girl out, and I was suddenly amazed, awed, intrigued, jealous, fascinated as you grabbed her beneath her armpits and drug her toward the edge of the forest.  I saw your breath chugging out like a train engine as you strained against her dead weight, but I also saw her breath, thin and ragged, saw it mix with yours, and I wondered if you knew she was still alive.  Every nerve in my body was alive with excitement as I followed your efforts, saw you shuffle and slide down the twenty feet embankment and then stand over her for a moment with no expression on your face, and I was yours at that precise moment, I knew we were one soul because I had the passion you wanted and you had the courage I could only dream of.  You began gathering up armfuls of red, yellow and orange leaves and throwing them on the girl as if you were trying to hide her, and I realized you did not know she was still alive.  This was a strange puzzle to me at first.  You had the ability, the nerve, the audacity to actually hunt down and capture another human being, do what you did to her, and then so carelessly leave her alive so she could identify you later.  But as you scrambled back up the hill it occurred to me that you must have known that of all the people in the world, you left her there practically at my feet as if she were a sacrifice, a wonderful, exquisite gift. At that moment the planets aligned, the stark realization of our unique relationship became oh, so clear, the complete and utter depth of understanding was plumbed in my heart.  I almost, almost shouted out to you then, had the call in my lungs, wanted to connect with you right then, but my cowardliness reached up from my spine and clamped itself over my trembling mouth.  A single hot tear leapt from my eye as I swallowed the bitter pill of my inadequacy, but was able to catch your tag number in my scope, at least my weakness could not deny me the means to track you down, to study you, to follow your sacred footsteps, to become lost in you.

I don’t need to explain myself to you because you know me as well as you know yourself.  Anyone else would read this and think we are gay, but that’s the furthest thing from the truth.  Just because one soul shares two bodies, it doesn’t mean both people have to be sexually attracted to each other.  To say we are brothers would diminish our relationship.  To say we should be lovers would be blasphemy.  I came to know that girl you left out there in the woods.  I found out what you left inside her beautiful cunt when I cut it out of her.  I still have this gift, for gift is what it is, from your generous action to my hands.  When I was done with her she was not alive, and I thank you, O God I thank you for giving her to me because I know now what bliss I’ve been missing watching the life fade out of another human being’s eyes, watching how her body relaxes, smoothing out the tense muscles of her terror.  I forgot who I was then as I shared her annihilation, marveled at her sweet release and was transported to a sense of complete joy.  I just had to fuck her then and it was the best I’d ever, ever had.  I fucked her every way I could because the passion in me refused to go away.  The more I did the more I wanted to do.  Oh, my soul-mate, the experience was the very definition of exquisite!  When we inevitably meet I will share the details of my time with that girl, and I know you will completely understand.  
 
Have no fear, no one will ever be able to connect you to that girl because I made everything alright.  That’s why you left her like you did.  You were testing me.  You wanted me to finish what you started so that we could begin our journey together. I won’t let them get you, soul-twin. You’ve got my word on that, and there is nothing more important than the word, is there?  When we finally meet, when our eyes finally connect, it will all become clear, and you won’t have to test me anymore, because in that split second you’ll know what I know and I’ll know what you know, and then we can begin to do that which we were both born to do: cut out all the divine cunts because they cut out on us.  We will fuck them together and then fuck them up, every last one of them, and then they’ll be perfect because we’ll rip out their fucking tongues, too.  We’ll do whatever we want with them because they’ll finally be perfect little bitches, the way they’re suppose to be.  You and I, me and you, goddamned Alpha and Omega. We’ll realize that we’ve been perfect all along when we finally meet.  We will start it and then
see it to the end.  Then we’ll be
fucking Gods, won’t we?

 
     When the door slammed, an involuntary lurch caused Leigh to rock back as if jolted with electricity.  In the span of time it took for her heart to skip a beat, she thought she was back at the reservation again, caught in that moment of her husband’s bowling night arrival.  Every Thursday for three and a half years he went out in his best suit and bowling bag, swaggering like some cowpoke about to get laid by the pin girl.  Eventually he would flounder in with a slam of the door and scream out her name, spitting degradation with every word as he went through his list of insults like a roll call.  She had learned early on not to accuse him of adultery – that brought the worst beatings and took extra time at the hospital.  It had taken her almost two years – ninety-eight Thursdays, to be exact – to make it to the point where she could live without any bruises, mechanizing the words and acts he demanded as she pretended to enjoy his barbaric and brutal assault upon her body and soul.  His slobbering screams of Whore! Bitch! and Slut! still bounced around the stucco walls the day she finally left, taking his wallet and truck with her as payment due while he snored away his drunken licentiousness. That was two states, six months and a thousand memories away now as she barked out a surprised laugh when Josh ambled into the kitchen.

     Had it not been for the fact that her husband’s rusted out old Ford pickup had proved to be as worthless as he, she might not have ever met Josh.  She had hailed his vintage Checker cab, as warm and inviting as it was cold and imposing outside.  Everything about him, from his dark, swarthy looks to his sharp, intelligent humor, had impressed the hell out of her that short ten minute ride to her girlfriend's driveway.  So much, in fact, that she had given him a huge tip and her hastily scrawled number on a scrap of paper.  Leigh was so glad he had called her back.  He had proven to be the most considerate, gentle, caring man she had ever known.  As she opened her arms to Josh, she almost wept from gratitude.
 
      Josh still kept her number in his wallet, folded between arcade pictures of the two of them goofing off.  When it was slow, he’d sometimes pull it out and gaze at her name below the number, and at the wistful smiley face to the side.  When he happened across Leigh and her steaming truck that night, he had just returned from a long weekend in St. Louis, the halfway point between Baltimore and Eugene, Oregon.  His soon-to-be ex wife had suggested a rendezvous spot convenient to them both in order to finalize their divorce, and he suspected she didn’t want to return to her debts on the east coast or let him close to her new stomping rounds. Since she had arranged for the cost of flights and room, he had gone, thinking it to be a deal best done quickly. Had his ex realized he was on the cusp of having his first novel published, she would have held on for half. Instead, he allowed her to use him one last time in a final frenzy of shopping, sightseeing and fucking.  He had feigned remorse as she gave him the papers to sign in hopes she would feel a small measure of guilt or shame.  She hadn’t.  Even though the divorce wouldn’t be final for a month, the flight home felt like freedom, nevertheless.  It had been a hard life living under the Bitch-Goddess’ thumb, but it would soon be over.  These things were not on his mind, though, as he dropped his tote-bag and rushed into Leigh’s embrace.
           
      She melted into his arms with familiarity, although they had only been together a couple of weeks, and for a moment passion washed over them like a blast furnace.  Josh leaned into her kiss eagerly, feeling her tongue invite his to come out and play. Her belly and breasts pressed hard against him, making him want to make their clothes disappear instantly so he could feel her silky skin against his woolen chest.  The bubble of a memory drifted past his mind as Leigh ground her hips against him, one particular afterward moment as they joked and tickled each other all around the waterbed.  She sat on his chest naked, her brown legs pinning his arms down as she deliberately brushed her long, black hair across his face.  As her face sparkled with laughter, her breasts bobbing with her every movement, he had realized with a jolt that she was without doubt the most fantastic lover he had ever known.  This sudden revelation had caused Josh to weep without wanting to, and he almost did again remembering that moment.  His lips left hers and roamed over her face lightly, savoring the taste of her skin as she giggled and undid his ponytail holder at the same time, letting his bangs fall over her upturned face.
             
      “Gotcha,” Leigh whispered playfully as she stuffed a handful of Josh’s hair in his mouth.
             
      “Ack!”  Josh hacked like a cat bringing up fur, burrowing his face into her cleavage like a blind man looking for air.  He then drug his tongue up her neck in a quick, wet lick while she squealed. Before he could move away, though, Leigh drove her tongue into his eye and held his head with surprising strength as she pretended to give him a loud hickey.

     This led to a brief but furious wrestling match which ended when Leigh thunked her head on the wall trying to keep her legs clamped around Josh’s neck while he popped her toes.  Josh immediately became the nurse, parting her thick hair to get a better look at the bump.  She sat on the floor Indian-style as he kneeled behind her, leaning into her gently as he examined the injury.
             
      Josh had never seen a head wound before, and in the dim light of the kitchen the red bump didn’t look so big.  “You really shouldn’t be playing rough with someone twice your age, you know.”
             
      “Like shit,” Leigh replied, squinching her eyes.  “You trying to say I’m fourteen or something?  Guess more like eight, ouch!”  A lightening strike of pain cut like a scalpel into her brain, and for just a moment she saw tiny stars bouncing off each other in trailing jumbles of atomized light.  They disappeared into the air when she blinked.
             
      “You’ve got the manners of an eight year old, that’s for sure.”  Josh’s southern bass voice vibrated her hair and scalp.   “Don’t you know better than to wrassle with a pro?”  Her hands found his kneecaps and began teasing them despite her discomfort. “Hey, hey, kiddo!”  He groped for her ribs, her armpits, anything to tickle her back.  They rolled onto the floor together, laughing and sighing.
             
      As they lay facing each other slightly out of breath, Leigh reached up and gingerly felt the knot, now warm and swollen like a hard boiled egg. “Jeez, man, this is a wicked bump! Hurt’s like a bitch, too!”
             
      “Oh, hush, little baby,” Josh said, pouting his lips toward her distortedly in mock pity.  “In a hundred years you’ll have forgotten all about it.” He lifted one eyebrow and glared madly, reminding her of George Carlin. “If it grows to the size of Texas I promise to take you to the ER, ok girly girl?”
             
     Leigh frowned and slapped his arm enough to sting.  “Lea’me alone, bully!  If you had this you’d be crying and begging me to take you for X-rays!” She heard something click in her head, sending another bolt of searing pain this time like a wave of sick terror. Everything began to turn white with a sudden blizzard of tadpole lights.  

      Just as Josh’s face faded, she heard her husband’s rough voice.  “I told you not to do that again, bitch!”  Then the brilliance engulfed her and she disappeared screaming amongst crushing stars of pain.
             
      Josh went pale as he saw Leigh’s eyes roll up, revealing their pearly  underbellies.  “Leigh?  Leigh!”  She suddenly went  limp, as if all the life had just been sucked out of her, causing Josh to sit up frightened and shaking.  911, he thought instantly, scrambling for the phone.  As his trembling fingers found the numbers, Josh looked over at Leigh just as her bladder emptied, spreading out in a dark pool through her jeans and into the carpet.  “O God, ogod, c’mon, godamnit, c’m-“
             
      “911, what’s your emergency?”  The female voice on the other end sounded metallic and stale.
             
      “I need an ambulance!  713  Garden Street!  My girlfriend hit her head and passed out!”  Josh suddenly felt his throat tighten up with emotion and helplessness. Everything seemed so sharp and still.
             
      “Is she breathing?”
             
      Josh watched Leigh’s flat belly rise and fall shallowly.  “Yeah, yeah.”
             
      The voice took on a slightly more bored tone.  “Is your girlfriend bleeding from her wound, sir?”
             
      “No, she’s just got a bump.”  Josh spoke closer to the receiver.  “Are you gonna send the ambulance, or what?  She’s unconscious and just pissed all over herself!  I’m not a – “
             
      “Relax, sir, a unit’s on the way now.”
             
      Josh hung up the phone just as the 911 operator said in a fading monotone, “Sir, could I have your –“  He sat cradling Leigh’s head in his lap, stroking her hair and waiting, listening for the sound of approaching sirens.
             
      He knew all about her husband, and what that bastard had done to her.  It had come out their first night together. The evening had been magical up to their lovemaking, when she had broken down in tears beneath his soft caresses hoping he wouldn’t discover the wide scars and burns like a quilt over her thin body.  Josh did find them eventually and, without asking a single question, kissed each place as she wept out the story.  He heard things that night he would never had imagined, and at times had to fight the urge to show his rage and horror.   He had silently vowed to bring her more pleasure than the pain she had endured, more love than the hate she had lived with.  Now she lay crumpled, unresponsive to his touch, a victim of play.  The warped satire of this turn in fate pierced Josh’s heart like a spear, and he choked out her name like a mantra as he continued to smooth the hair from her brow.  He bent down to kiss her as faint sirens wafted through the night air. “They’re almost here,” Josh whispered as his lips touched hers.
             
      She felt him on top of her, his hands kneading her breasts viciously as his full weight threatened to push her through the floor.  It was always like this at the end with his hurried, grunting thrusts.  She had to pretend this was the best fuck of all, had to moan and shout out just the right words or he’d punch her in the abdomen, twisting his heavy diamond ring into her flesh upon impact.  She’d learned what to do and when to do it to avoid his outbursts.  If all went well, it would be over in just a few minutes.  Soon he’d make a more guttural sound as he came, roll off her in a sweaty heap and be asleep within minutes, leaving her with a wetspot and a chorus of snores.  This time, though, he seemed more aggressive, calling her name out over and over as his fat belly made slapping noises in a way that assaulting her ears.  “Ah’m goin’ where no man’s gone before,” he snorted suddenly, pulling out.  His drunken hand slipped between them for a brief second and then she felt him trying to enter her anus.
             
      “No!”she screamed, unable to squirm out from under his weight.  He grabbed the top of her head with both his hands and pushed, crushing her screams with his mouth.  The agony of this new pain, searing through her lower half like boiling oil, was nothing like the torture he was inflicting on her head with his fingers digging into her brain.  The pressure in her skull was building up so fast she had to do something or die. Everything was going black except for her husband’s twisted grimace bearing down on her, forcing his bloated tongue down her throat as he croaked,“I’m almost there!”  She bit.

             
      Just as Josh’s lips touched Leigh’s upside down, her head lurched forward as a seizure rocketed through her brain, smashing the bridge of her nose against his chin as she chomped on his entire bottom lip.  For a second Josh knew nothing but the essence of pain as Leigh bit down with all her might.  A primal scream erupted from his throat, and he clawed frantically at her bloodied face. “Ahhhr!  Aaahhr!”  A corner of his lip tore loose and he shrieked an octave higher, stuck staring at her quivering neck.  The small hollow at the base of her neck was his favorite place to nestle, but now it filled with blood from his mouth.  He didn’t know what was happening to him, or why she would do such a thing, but the absolute terror of losing his bottom lip caused him to instinctually wrap his hands around Leigh’s neck and squeeze while moaning out in tormented agony.
             
      He never heard the cop, never heard him say “Get you hands off her neck or I’ll shoot,” never heard the same warning as a paramedic tried to get into the room behind the cop.  The cop, startled by the sight before him, then suddenly jabbed from behind by the paramedic’s kit, lurched forward and fired directly into Josh’s skull, sending bits of bone and brain against the couch as the bullet tore through and lodged into a far wall.  
            
      “Shit, Pete,” the cop gagged, “she was biting his freakin’ lip off!  No wonder he was chokin’ her!”  He whipped a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his face with it before laying it over the dead man’s vacant, ravaged face staring blankly at the ceiling.
             
      “Get away from her!” the paramedic ordered, shoving the cop to the side. “This chick’s still alive, but it looks like she’s having a grand mal seizure.  Hold her down and keep her from thrashing into anything while I give her an injection and start an IV.  NOW, godamnit!”  The cop looked as if he wanted to throw up, but held the woman down as he was told. Another paramedic burst in, and soon they were racing to the ER. 
             
      Josh’s lip was never found, assumed to be ingested by his lover.  When his wife came to claim the body she was given his possessions by Leigh’s parents, who had temporarily moved into her apartment while she recuperated in the hospital.  As soon as Josh’s wife discovered the novel and contract, she phoned her lawyer to cancel the divorce, then followed up with a weepy call to his editor to give the news while offering permission to publish.  The editor seemed interested in hearing the bizarre circumstances surrounding Josh’s death, and was careful to hide his excitement from the author’s widow.  How would Josh have known that his steamy, dark, psychological thriller would be imitated so closely in life?  That the heroine feasted unsuspectingly on her lover at the novel’s climax was just too much of an irony for the marketing department to pass by, and the publisher went all out to pitch A Woman’s Revenge posthumously.  Josh’s wife had him cremated and sold his ashes on Ebay for half a million dollars.
             
      Leigh returned to her husband where she died six months later on a Thursday night of an overdose of sleeping pills while laying next to her snoring, drunken husband.  She’s buried next to the grave of her only child, a son she named Lee, born dead in her eighth month of pregnancy as the result of repeated blows to her abdomen.
             
Had the truck radiator hose waited two minutes to burst, Josh would have
passed Leigh unnoticed, and who knows where they would be now? 
Fate is as fickle and unpredictable as a tornado. 
Touching down at random, it leaves behind the most unusual
ironies.

 
She was in the music room playing something soft and good.  Jacker Backers, his morning self-grooming out of the way, sprawled on the carpeted floor right in a sunbeam’s warm light, dead to the world. McDuff, our resident Macaw and sworn enemy of Jackers, crouched on his tall perch across the room and practiced his purr.  Everyone accounted for, I stretched out for a nap on the deep and cozy couch hoping to get a couple hours sleep before having to go to work at 5pm.

As I reclined on that couch, listening faintly to the muted piano and outside to the low buzz of a distant lawnmower, I began to relax by concentrating on the thin, reedy keen of silence that pierces every sound.  Within five minutes I was drowsy and calm and well on my way to the beginning of what I hoped would be a refreshing pause from life.  As I floated in the warm, peaceful sea that separates this world and dreams, I suddenly heard a thin, scratchy voice say from under the couch “Can we go now?”  Normally something like this – although nothing quite like this had ever happened to me before, or since – would have launched me at least three feet in the air for any one of a dozen reasons, but I was so far from the shore of sensibility that I only nodded child-like, as if somehow I had been asked the question and felt the situation safe enough to‘go’.  My vision was still wrapped in black gauze but this did not concern me as I continued to slide toward sleep.

Then I heard a deep, stony voice under the couch also, as if it were not accustomed to being quiet. “Help me move this.”  A distant part of me still clinging to logic very much wanted to know what ‘this’ was, as it might be something that belonged to me and thus something I didn’t want anyone to carry away.  My imagination, however, provided plenty of logic by constructing from just those two sentences two bushy brown squirrels, their noses and tails in a constant state of twitch, trying to make off with a coconut they had acquired from God only knows where.  Had the stony voice not spoken again I would have fallen completely asleep and missed the events that followed.  “Stop starin’ at him and help me!”

Curiosity over who or more probably what was staring at me (being the only ‘him’ in the house, not counting the cat and bird) dragged me up from the well of unconsciousness I had been slipping into and demanded I at least open one eye just a smidgen, but when I tried I found this simple act impossible to do.  This prompted both of my eyes as well as the majority of the rest of my face to want to come to life, but I was as frozen as the grape popsicles in my fridge.  I wasn’t accustomed to being immobilized, and with rising panic tried to move anything , with no results at all.  This wasn’t as if I were somehow trapped in a blanket or being held down somehow.  I literally could not move a single muscle! As if that weren’t enough, I could only see the inside of my eyes; I was as blind as a potato.  Abrupt and gripping terror instantly replaced any casual interest that might have lingered in me, but I could not even tremble on the inside.  There were two beings under my couch trying to move something, and I was unable to move at all!  It then occurred to me that I might be the‘thing’ the two wanted to move, and I began to panic.  Unfortunately the only thing able to panic was my mind, and all it wanted to do was deny that this was happening.

“I fixed it,” the smaller of the two squirrels said.  Again, I immediately imagined being the ‘it’the thing somehow fixed.  If being completely paralyzed was fixed, I was without a doubt.


“Big deal!  Get over here!”  The gruff-sounding voice under the couch seemed impatient, and this heightened my anxiety.  Boss squirrel had a job to do and didn’t want to be distracted by something obviously not a ‘big deal’ that needed fixing.  For some strange reason I found myself rooting for the big squirrel.  The little one had no business staring or fixing anything, not when there were things to move.  Then a thought struck me that blew all the others away.  They were supposed to move me!  But where?

Just then the couch shuddered as the ground beneath shifted heavily as if someone were pushing a thousand bulldozers across the living room floor. The piano suddenly grew quiet and I heard the sound of the bench sliding backward as she stood up.  The normalcy of that familiar scraping I had heard so many times before brought me completely out of whatever dream-state I had fallen in, and I took in a deep breath that sounded like fabric ripping.   I was able to move!  I opened my eyes just in time to see the fifty two inch television fall from its place in the entertainment center and land with an electronic crash on the tiled floor below, startling McDuff from his contemplation with a squawk and a flurry of feathers.  McDuff launched himself from the perch just as I stood up drunkenly, waving my arms as if I wanted to testify.  She came into the room with all her beauty, holding onto the swaying door frame, her eyes round with fear.  “We’ve got to get out of here!” I felt the words come up from my throat but did not recognize the voice as mine.  
 
The thick sliding intensified and we both fell to the floor.  We reached for each other and drew close, our faces tight and grim.  I glanced beneath the couch, and what I saw made me forget all about being crushed to death or trying to escape the earthquake.  “Look,” I said to her and she followed my gaze.

On the floor beneath the couch, between a stuffed catnip mouse and a kernel of popcorn, two tiny black spiders crouched side by side as if they were holding on to each other for support.  As I strained my eyes it seemed as if the spiders were trying both trying to stand on the same spot with all of their legs, an appendage here or there popping out from the knot and then diving back in.  The building shook and quivered around us as we clung together with our eyes glued to the unusual phenomena happening beneath the couch.

Then I saw one of the spiders break away from the dual en pointe and unless my mind was playing more than its usual bag of tricks on me, it seemed as if the little creature actually pointed at me with one of its hair-thin legs.  The other spider immediately stepped off the spot and fled with an unnatural sense of urgency.  After a moment that seems to stretch with every telling, the other little spider followed its partner and vanished from sight.

We were both so astonished we lay transfixed to the spot where the two spiders once stood, not aware that the earthquake stopped the instant the they ran away, nor later, once the broken things had been thrown away and life tried to return to normal and the official earthquake authorities guessed that the seismic event originated in our vicinity, we were astonished even more but decided to keep the incident to ourselves in the name of prudence.  After all, who would believe that two tiny spiders caused an earthquake?

 
(Author's note: The following story was narrated by a retired Chicago policeman who drove a taxi in Kalamazoo, Michigan, one lazy winter day at the bus station while waiting for fares. You will find the story  being told as if I were the cabby's fare, and can only hide behind artistic license in an attempt to make the environment more interesting. According to the narrator this event really happened, and I have tried to make his telling of the story as original as possible. Unfortunately, most readers have stated that they have difficulty getting around an old black man's dialect, particularly in print, so I have included a transliteration just after the original story. May one or both of these help bring you closer to the story as I heard it. jth)

 
He told me about the amnesiac cop on the way to Flint, and fifteen years later it still sticks in my mind like dirty nails. I think it was more the way he said it than the story itself; his slow, black, southern bass rising and falling over the highway whistles coming through his taxi’s windows seemed a mystical chant. It was more like a dream then than now.

“Don’t know if ah should tell yuh‘bout the wust t’ing evah happen’d to me in mah yeahs on de foce, but since you write ‘n awl, I reckon ah maht as well. May be you could put it in one o’ yore books.”

I sat behind him, could see his mud-brown eyes and bushy white eyebrows in the rearview. He would often look at me this way, sometimes for so long I would break from his gaze and crane over his shoulder to see the traffic ahead. His eyes would always be waiting for mine to return, his words never breaking rhythm.

“Ah’d been on de foce twenty–six yeahs when it happen’d.” The plexiglass behind him was scratched with undecipherable symbols, creating a mosaic of anarchy between us. “Joe Lorenzo –may de Lord bless an’ keep him – was mah pahtne’ den. He took one obeh on Cicero jus’ a mont’ later, right in de chest, by some punk nigga’ kid wid a foty-fahv. Di’nt ebben get to testifah at de trahl for de one ahm bout to tell yuh.”

The skin on the back of his neck and head wore the etchings of time like old leather left out in the sun. “We wuz on Challs ‘n Foth at de station, waitin’ fo’ owa shif’ to staht when dis cawl comes in to dispatch ‘bout a domestic distuhbance a block down on Fif’.Joe ‘ n I hopp’d up frum owa seats, jump’d in owa patrol cah’ and headed on down deh, afteh de dispatchuh tol’ us he’d send hep soon as dey sho’d up.” He paused while a semi growled by in the passing lane.

“Fo’ we’uz haf way deh, dis ole lady cum runnin’ up de street in huh nahtgown, holl’in an’ carr’in on ‘bout sum’n gettin’ killed, so we hump’d it de res’ of de way deh. Lemme tellya, it don’t mattah how many yeahs you on de foce, ebby tahm you gets a cawl lak dis, yo hart getsa poundin’ lak it wansa jump outta yo’ches’. Ah din’ no what to espec’, so ah grabb’d mah gun jus’ in case.”

For a full minute the only sound came from the clicking meter, the taxi’s tires on the highway and the steady whistle from a window not entirely up. His reflected eyes bored into my head like he was trying to determine whether I would be able to handle the rest of the story, so I sat quietly, patiently, all the while screaming at him in my mind to continue. At last he spoke again, his voice slightly lower, causing me to lean forward just to hear him.

“We come up on dis young man standin’ on de sahdwok holdin’ a lil baby nex’ to him lak dis,” he curled his right arm as if he were holding a football in front of him “an had a big ol’ butcheh naaf in his ubber han’, wavin’ it ‘roun’ lak he wuz tryin’ to cut up de air aroun’ him. Dere wuz a woman behin’ him standin’ haffway up a set of rowhouse steps screamin’ ‘Mah baby! Mah baby!’. Man, dere wuz blood ebbyware! On de woman, on de steps, on de sahdwok, on de man, on de baby, ebbyware.

“Joe ‘n ah bot’ staht’d yellin at de man ‘Put de naaf down!’ but ah cud tell he wadn’ about to, cuz his eyes wuz wild-lookin’. Jus’ seein’ how he wuz actin’, de fus’ thang ah thought of wuz PCP.” His eyes furrowed in disgust. “Whenebba sumbody on de PCP, dere ain’t no reas’nin’ wit ‘em. Deh go crazy, ah tellya, get as strong as ten men, can ebben break han’cuffs! I seen it wit mah own eyes!

“Joe ‘n ah look at each uddah fo’a second, ‘n we bowf no’d whut we had to do. We bowf staht’d edgin’ to’d de man‘n split up, me on de man’s naaf sahd, ‘n Joe on de baby’s sahd. Awl de whil’dat woman on de steps kep’ screamin’ ‘Mah baby! Mah baby!’ and now de ole’ lady who we fus’ saw was cummin’ up yellin ‘O lawd! Jesus hav’ murcy!’ De scene wuz getting’ hectic, ah tell ya.

“De man swang de naaf at me and staht’d hollerin’ ‘Leeme alon! It’s mah baby!’ an’ ah began tawkin’ to him awl calm lahk, sayin’ ‘Man, you don’ wanna huht dat lil baby, jus’ throw de naaf obbeh dere an’ we’ll awl be ok’. Ah moved a little bit closah’, awl de whil’keepin’ mah eyes on dat naaf.

“De man had awl his ‘tenshun on me, an’ dat’s jus’ de way we wanted it, cuz awl a sudden lahk, Joe snatch’d hold obbah de baby’s legs and pulled. ‘Cept only de bottom haf of de baby came away – de man dun cut dat baby clean in two! Jus’ as soon as Joe pulled away, his eyes fixed on his haf of de baby an’ den it wuz jus’ lahk summun tuhn’d a switch off insahda him, coz he kinda flopped down where he wuz an’ jus’ sat dere, holdin’ de baby’s legs in his lap.

“De man lunged at Joe an’ I shot him wit’out thinkin’, akshully emptied mah clip in him an’ den stood obbeh de man still thinkin’ ah wuz still shootin’ him. Ah lateh tol’ de ‘vestigatuhs ah tho’t de man wuz tryin’ to get away, ebben doh the corenuh said mah firs’ shot prob’ly kilt him. Awl ah ‘membeh is thinkin’ ‘muddah fukkah’ obbeh and obbeh agin.

“When de reinfoc’ments got deh, dey had to pull me offa standin’ obbeh de man, pullin’ mah triggeh on empty chambehs. But ah sware as Gawd is mah witness, when dey lifted Joe up offa de sahdwok, he dropped de bottom haffa de baby ‘n jus’ strolled back to de station, went ‘n changed outta his bloody unifohm into a clean one, den sat in de lobby chattin’ wit ebbyone lahk nuttin’ had happened. When ah show’d up, shakin’ lahk a leef and bout as sick as a man can get, Joe jumped up outta his chair ‘n said ‘Its ‘bout  tahm you show’d up! Les’ get rollin’!’

The air in the taxi felt heavy and static and I suddenly had the taste of copper in my mouth. The cabby fixed me again with his eyes, and they shined with a glaze of tears. “From dat moment on til dat bullet kilt him a mont’ lateh, ole Joe nebbah ‘membeh’d a thang ‘bout dat naht.” After a brief pause he added, “Wish ida been dat lucky.”

The rest of the trip was shared in silence.



~~


He told me about the amnesiac cop on the way to Flint, and fifteen years later it still sticks in my mind like dirty nails. I think it was more the way he said it than the story itself; his slow, black, southern bass rising and falling over the highway whistles coming through his taxi’s windows seemed a mystical chant. It was more like a dream then than now.

“Don't know if I should tell you about the worst thing ever happened to me in my years on the force, but since you write and all, I reckon I might as well. Maybe you could put it on one of your books.”

I sat behind him, could see his mud-brown eyes and bushy white eyebrows in the rearview. He would often look at me this way, sometimes for so long I would break from his gaze and crane over his shoulder to see the traffic ahead. His eyes would always be waiting for mine to return, his words never breaking rhythm.

“I'd been on the force twenty–six years when it happened.” The plexiglass behind him was scratched with undecipherable symbols, creating a mosaic of anarchy between us. “Joe Lorenzo –may the Lord bless and keep him – was my partner then. He took one over on Cicero just a month later, right in the chest, by some punk nigga’ kid with a forty-five. Didn't even get to testify at the trial for the one I’m about to tell you.”

The skin on the back of his neck and head wore the etchings of time like old leather left out in the sun. “We were on Charles and Forth at the station, waiting for our shift to start when this call comes in to dispatch about a domestic disturbance a block down on Fifth. Joe and I hopped up from our seats, jumped in our patrol car and headed on down there, after the dispatcher told us he'd send help soon as they showed up.” He paused while a semi growled by in the passing lane.

“Before we were half way there, this old lady came running up the street in her nightgown, hollering and carrying on about someone getting killed, so we humped it the rest of the way there. Let tell ya, it doesn't matter how many years you're on de force, every time you get a call like this, your heart gets to pounding like it wants to jump out of your chest. I didn't know what to expect, so I grabbed my gun just in case.”

For a full minute the only sound came from the clicking meter, the taxi’s tires on the highway and the steady whistle from a window not entirely up. His reflected eyes bored into my head like he was trying to determine whether I would be able to handle the rest of the story, so I sat quietly, patiently, all the while screaming at him in my mind to continue. At last he spoke again, his voice slightly lower, causing me to lean forward just to hear him.

“We came upon this young man standing on the sidewalk holding a little baby next to him like this,”he curled his right arm as if he were holding a football in front of him “and had a big old butcher knife in his other hand, waving it around like he was trying to cut up the air around him. There was a woman behind him standing haffway up a set of rowhouse steps screaming ‘My baby! My baby!’. Man, there was blood everywhere! On the woman, on the steps, on the sidewalk, on the man, on the baby, everywhere.

“Joe and I both started yelling at the man ‘Put the knife down!’ but I could tell he wasn't about to, because his eyes were wild-looking. Just seeing how he was acting, the first thing I thought of was PCP.” His eyes furrowed in disgust. “Whenever somebody's on the PCP, there ain't no reasoning with them. Theh go crazy, I tell ya, get as strong as ten men, can even break handcuffs! I've seen it with my own eyes!

“Joe and I looked at each other for a second, and we both knew what we had to do. We both started edging toward the man and split up, me on the man’s knife side, and Joe on the baby’s side. All the while that woman on the steps kept screaming ‘My baby! My baby!’ and now the old lady who we first saw was coming up yelling ‘O Lord! Jesus have mercy!’The scene was getting hectic, I tell ya.

“The man swung the knife at me and started hollering ‘Leave me alone! It’s my baby!’ and I began talking to him all calm like, saying ‘Man, you don't want to hurt that little baby, jus't throw the knife over there and we’ll all be ok’. I moved a little bit closers, all the while keeping my eyes on that knife.

“The man had all his attention on me, and that's just the way we wanted it, because all of a sudden, Joe snatched hold of the baby's legs and pulled. Except only the bottom half of the baby came away – the man had cut that baby clean in two! Just as soon as Joe pulled away, his eyes fixed on his half of the baby and then it was just like someone had turned a switch off inside him, because he kind of flopped down where he was and just sat there, holding the baby's legs in his lap.

“The man lunged at Joe and I shot him without thinking, actually emptied my clip in him and then stood over the man still thinking I was still shooting him. I later told the investigators I thought the man was trying to get away, even though the coroner said my first shot probably killed him. All I remember is thinking ‘mother fucker’ over and over again.

“When the reinforcements got there, they had to pull me off of standing over the man, pulling my trigger on empty chambers. But I swear as God is my witness, when they lifted Joe up off the sidewalk, he dropped the bottom half of the baby and just strolled back to the station, went and changed out of his bloody uniform into a clean one, then sat in the lobby chatting with everyone like nothing had happened. When I showed up, shaking like a leaf and about as sick as a man can get, Joe jumped up out of his chair and said ‘Its about time you showed up! Let's get rolling!’

The air in the taxi felt heavy and static and I suddenly had the taste of copper in my mouth. The cabby fixed me again with his eyes, and they shined with a glaze of tears. “From that moment on til that bullet killed him a month later, old Joe never remembered a thing about that
night.” After a brief pause he added, “Wish I had been that
lucky.”


The rest of the trip was shared in
  silence.