Check-out Time

Contributed by Matthew Hartwell on 20/02/09

“The sun don’t rise in Vegas, Jeanne,” Brice says as he flicks his match onto the carpet outside the casino we’ve just been asked to leave. “It’s just too damn ashamed to look at a place like this.”

“That why you spend your nights out?” I brace for the slap, but it doesn’t come. I’ve grown a little bit bolder with my words over the past few days, and I’m afraid I’m going to get a reminder who’s taking care of me. Not that I need him to. Not that I want him to, much, anymore.

He actually looks hurt, though I can’t see his eyes behind the shades. I’m sure they’re red. His lip trembles, and he looks for all the world like he’s about to say something profound.

“Let’s get some steaks.” Deep as the ocean, my guy. And why shouldn’t we get some steaks?

“Can we change first?” My outfit’s a mess. I know this isn’t the kind of town that cares how you’re dressed, as long as you’re paying cash, but it’s a personal issue. I’m more confident when I know I’m looking good. When I’m not sporting a couple Jackson’s worth of plasma donations on the front of my dress. When I can use a little concealer on the reddening parts of my face that are already starting to darken. I’ve still got my purse, but it doesn’t have any make-up in it.

Of course he didn’t do that. And no, I’m not covering for him. The dress does that, high-cut in the back to cover the yellowing marks running along my ribcage. He lays rough, but none of it is mean-spirited. These marks are cause of the trunk.

“No way we can go back there. I told you to grab what you need for later.” He grabs my wrist and pulls me down an alleyway. Going around the corner, I glance backwards, and spot two men in suits leave the casino.

When I met him, he had the coolest car, and like Hell if I know where it is now, which wouldn’t be too frustrating, except we’d only been together three days. Two days, to be honest. Three nights. He had a really nice suit, and I suppose he still does, except it isn’t nice anymore.

It gets worse-looking when one of the guys in not as nice, but in better condition suits comes around the corner and walks straight into his fist. The sharp crack of plastic, and the phone he’s holding comes apart. The guy drops, and Brice pushes me down the alley. He’s right behind me as I hear the first shot.

Brice isn’t as muscular as I first thought he was, though he’s strong. His frame though, doesn’t fill up the alley, and I’m as much a target as he is for the second guy to hit. I reach into my purse and pull out my insurance policy.

Brice doesn’t know I have this, and he almost barrels into me as I stop and turn around. His eyes light up in surprise as I pull the trigger twice. I never went hunting. Never worked as a cop. Never served in the military. In a narrow alley like that though, guns seem pretty easy. There’s one end you point at things you don’t like, and one thing you pull to make them go away.

The guy in the suit slumps to the asphalt, and I don’t feel the bottom of my stomach give out like I expect it to. That’s going to make this next part a lot easier.

Brice was such a cool name. Not a Bob or a Rick or a Jason. I thought we were going to do something special, and we did. Brice had a plan, and he had a voice that echoed confidence, and he was a decent enough kisser that I wouldn’t have minded if we stayed together forever, or at least until we split.

Special things split a hell of a lot better between one person than two. The gun booms like a cannon, and the sound bounces off the walls.

It isn’t cause he hit me. It isn’t cause I’m greedy. In the end, I’m just pissed I was just part of the score. Brice was in town to get money and a girl, but maybe that girl needs money more.

I fish through his pockets for money and find the key. There’s a parking stub. I take his wallet too, and toss the watch and necklace down the sewer grate.

The whole cab ride to the parking lot at the airport is uneventful. The cabbie wants to know if I need to call the police, and I tell him I already have. Once there, I tip him the rest of Brice’s cash, and swap plates with a nice family four-door mini-van two spaces over.

I open up the trunk and start laughing. I reach in and pick one up, and turn it over in my hands. It looks like all the others. I wipe it down on my dress and toss it back on the pile.

What the hell am I going to do with a trunk full of guns?