Coincidences are typically happenstance.
In The Gutter, they'll haunt you for life.
In The Gutter, they'll haunt you for life.
Fortunately for Him by Nicholas Manzolillo
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I find driving to be peaceful, cause I haven’t killed
anybody in a while. The intersection is quiet, even though there are two gas
stations side by side and fast food shops line the road. It still feels like
the country. I can still smell the deep woods just a half a mile behind me. I know
I’m not safe here.
When driving across as many states as I have, you develop
a real good sense of the populated areas. Where people live, there's usually a
nearby dumpster spilling its black rotting guts into the night. I prefer them
roads with no streetlights, but when driving state to state, sometimes the best
way, the only way, is the highway. You have to ride the highway every now and
then, if you want to find the best detours.
When the stars
start vanishing, I know the city is close. My father was a grease monkey mutt in
the hills and my mother was a mall parking lot whore who I never met. I was
raised in the suburbs. The horrible purgatory between the clogged, trash-filled
streets and the loose embrace of the woods.
The star swallowing
glow from the city is a pulsing, living thing. It’s a crashed meteorite that
has something growing on it. Something from beyond the imagination of even the
gods. If cities have one blessing, it’s that they got lots and lots of people.
So many people with customized lives, you could just follow them anywhere and
you’d never quite know where they’d lead you.
I’m alone on the
street when I stop for a red light. The radio is a slow dribble of static with
the occasional burst of an instrument or lost vocal. You hear the most
interesting stuff from the static stations. Sometimes, when I’m in a real
state-hopping mood, I’ll listen to the static to see if it eventually turns into
something. On the road, there are millions of ways to stay entertained.
I’m resting my
head on the window when my unlocked door is pulled open, and as a result my stupid
ass without a seat belt comes tumbling out like a jumping nugget of popcorn. I
hit the pavement and land on my face. I’m stepped over and by the time I roll
onto my back, the door to my jeep swings shut.
A young guy my age
with a lip piercing scowls at me. The car-jacking jerk-off screams down the
street before hanging a hard right. If he’s not careful, he’ll flip that thing.
I laugh into the night. Someone from a Subway across the street is staring at
me with crossed arms. I raise a middle finger their way and they mind their own
business. I love me a hunt, but I’m not one for company.
I have a knife in
my back pocket because I always tend to find a good use for a knife. My grandpa
gave me this one before the cancer ate him up like a caramel apple next to an
ant mound. He taught me everything I know, while my dear greased-up dad tried to
scrub it from my mind. I hold the knife in my palm like a compass, and when I
close my eyes there is that familiar thing that only people like me can see
when they shut off the lights. It’s time to review my options.
The man with a
brand-new jeep is going to stop at some point. Assuming he has a place to scrap
that thing, he’ll drive straight there. He’ll stay at the shop for a little
while because the people paying him will want to make sure they aren’t being ripped
off.
At some point, the
man with the hole in his lip will be sitting in some smoke-stained office,
drinking a glass of something sweet with an ice cube or two. The shop boss will
burst in and slap him. The man with the hole in his lip will be surprised and
angry. A fight will break out. The office might be trashed, the drink will
surely spill. The playboy pinup poster on the wall will be knocked to the floor
and maybe get more wrinkled than it already is. The manager’s boys will
probably come in and depending on how much of a dick the manager is, they’ll
either help or watch the scuffle. A gun may be drawn but I doubt anybody will
be murdered.
The man with the
hole in his lip will eventually be directed to the back of my jeep. There, he’ll see the pair of severed legs sprinkled with salt and two-dozen pine-scented
air fresheners. The legs will be stumpy because I used a hacksaw. I was in a
rush and I’m not an artist like some of my people. I imagine, then, that the
man with the hole in his lip will be in a real panic when he’s told he has to
ditch the car.
Now, considering
I’ve barely dipped my toes into the city, and depending on the man with the
hole in his lip’s IQ, he’ll come back this way. Sort of. He’ll head toward the
countryside. There are fewer roads when you get to the woods. It shouldn’t be
that hard to spot him. I’ll wait beside the tall trees. It’ll be a nice gamble.
If I actually see that man again. Can you imagine the look on his face? Like
finding out Santa Claus is real and he’s been living under your bed.
