When the wheel of karma turns 'round to crush you,
It doesn't matter if it's attached to a brand new BMW.
It doesn't matter if it's attached to a brand new BMW.
Never Fade Away by Angel Luis Colon
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Harry did his best to look
right through me as he held the keys to his BMW M5 in the air like a wet
diaper. He wore a refined frown on his face that seemed as tailored as the suit
and as polished as his shoes. I wondered if his smile was still the same—as
comforting as wearing a loose-fitting pair of jeans without a belt.
I took the keys and smiled,
“Harry, it’s been a while.”
Harry blinked, gawked, did that
terrible double-take you’d see a bit character do in an old Marx Brothers
flick. “Edward, I didn’t recognize you at all.” An awkward pause. “Well, how
are you?” He ran his thumbs up and down the lapels of his suit jacket and gave
me a smile—I was right, he needed more practice at that.
“I’m okay—in remission.”
“Well that’s fantastic, just
fantastic.” This was as long as a pleasant conversation Harry would want with
me. I imagined micro-fissures appearing
in his dental bonds; that smile threatening to fracture his skull and cleave
his lips in half. “About time you got back on your feet.”
I laughed. “Yeah, one step at a
time. Earning a little extra money here to get the ball rolling.” I gave him
his valet slip.
Harry grinned. “Well,” he said
and motioned towards the restaurant, “Dinner meeting. Give me a call sometime.”
“Will do.”
“Oh and do be careful.”
I nodded. “I heard about that
earlier. Somebody with a rifle a few blocks north, right? They said nobody got hurt,
thankfully, but that’s still scary.”
Harry stared at me. “Sorry, no,
I meant be careful with the car. I just had her detailed.”
“Ah, well, that makes sense.” I
slipped into the driver’s seat, careful not to reposition it. “Have a good
night, Harry.”
Harry was already inside the
restaurant.
I drove to the farthest parking
spot in the lot across the street—where the lamps didn’t cast a spotlight—that
we used for the more pricey vehicles. My grip on the steering wheel was firm. I
didn’t want to get out. I wanted to enjoy this luxury for a few more minutes.
This should have been mine, but the cancer came and ate away at not only my
body, but my career. Guys like Harry were always ready to swoop in and he did
just that. Now he drove a car I deserved to a restaurant I should have a
private table at to discuss business that was rightfully mine.
No more dwelling. I climbed out
of the car, walked over to the fencing only a few feet away, grabbed my
rucksack, and popped the BMW’s trunk. I placed the rucksack inside and unzipped
it. Procured a roll of antibacterial wipes and wiped down the contents of the
bag, the bag itself, the trunk, and then cleaned any remaining surfaces I’d
touched—steering wheel included. I slipped on a pair of gloves and walked back
to the valet station to leave the keys and five hundred dollars behind to the
real valet as payment for cutting off the CCTV camera mounted over the valet
station.
It was time to wait. I walked
the five blocks to my favorite pizza parlor, Lorenzo’s. I bought two slices of
pizza and Coke. Watched the college football game on their TV.
When I was done I dialed a
number on my prepaid phone.
“Yo.” The kid was perfectly
suited for a life of service if he answered a phone like that.
“Hi, has the BMW been picked up?”
“Oh, yeah man, guy left like
ten minutes ago. By the way, good looking out, tips have been garbage lately.”
“No problem, just make sure you
forget me is all. You’ve been working there all night.”
“You’re already fading away the
closer we get to the end of this conversation.”
“Did he ask for me when he
picked up the car?”
“Nah, well, he asked for me to
split the tip with ‘the other guy’.”
“How much was it?”
“Three fucking bucks.”
Who knew how many more lives
scum like that could tear apart? The kind of legacy that would leave behind was
staggering, wasn’t it? That a man would become known for violence, for the
singular act of wrecking lives without a care in the world—a malignant presence
on society—and be granted no other legacy? It was the most severe punishment I
could imagine for anyone.
I found a nice bench to sit on
and lit a cigarette. That first drag was agony and ecstasy. My head swam and my
scarred lungs ached, but I would not suffer the indignity of coughing—not then.
I rode that wave in the silence and let the nicotine take me to my happy place.
It was so quiet; calm. I leaned back and thought of Harry; of the glories he
snatched away from me.
It was a good night.
