Fifty-Boy
21
The Art Of Saying Nothing
I looked around and Lieutenant Wilmont Mathers was breathing in my face. He squeezed my neck again and said, "What's in the case? What're you doing in that building? You breaking into that building? Were you in that building, parasite?"I bent over trying to relieve the pressure but he just tightened his grip and walked me to the back and tried the door. "Fucking door's locked." He said to himself without loosening his grip on me. "Couldn't get in, could you? Too stupid." I was hunched over the briefcase. "You're not saying much, Jake."
I was so happy this asshole didn't know my real name. It wasn't all bad being officially dead. When we got to his car he took the briefcase, threw me in the back seat, and walked to the drivers side. "You know what's in the case?" He looked at me in the rearview with the case on his lap.
I just looked at the back of his thick head.
"Couldn't get it open, could you, you dumb fuck." He smiled in the mirror. "Thought you'd sneak in that building and have a safe place to check out the contents of your stolen booty, didn't you?"
My four hundred thousand was slipping down my back."He hefted the briefcase. "Heavy."
Yeah, seaweed and sand, same stuff your head's packed with. 'Course I didnt' say that out loud, or tell him I spun the dials and locked it last night after I filled it on the beach.
"This isn't yours," he turned toward me, "Is it?"
Sounded like a rhetorical question to me. One thing I learned in the year out here was the art of saying nothing.
"You got a key?" He fumbled with the lataches. "You under the Boardwalk near Roosevelt Place this morning at three?" He looked me in the face. "Now don't you fucking lie to me, Jake."
"No." I said. "It's not mine."
"Good boy." He put the case on the console and stared me down. "You can go."
I thought, no shit!
He got out and opened my door.
I was afraid if I moved, the plastaic bag would drop and he'd find my money.
"What're you fucking waiting for? Get your soggy ass out of my car."
I looked at the briefcase. He looked at me and said, "You better go while you fucking can."
Holding the package against the seat with my back was giving me a serious cramp up the back of my right leg. It hurt like crazy. I was pointing my toe toward the ceiling but it wasn't helping.
He got impatient and said, "What the fuck are you doing back there... In fact, you know what? I changed my mind." He slammed the door.
I said, "Oh, shit."
He got in and started the unmarked car. The windshield wipers started clapping and we pulled out onto Atlantic Avenue. "You know what, Jake, you and me're going for a ride. I don't want to see you homeless bundle of rags ass around my town no more."
"I only had a cramp."
"Fucking parasites."
By the time we reached the bus terminal I'd adjusted my package. He turned around in his seat and gave me a ten. "This'll get you to Philly.""Costs eleven, Lieutenant."
"You want it or not?"
"Yeah. I'll take it. But I like it here. I like the ocean. I don't know nobody in Philly. C'mon Lieutenant, please."
"Greyhound therapy, one way. And I don't want to see you around here no more."The briefcase was still on the console. I inched across the seat. He got out and opened my door. I limped out holding my back, twitching my head, looking at him and rubbing my neck.
He said, "Don't you look at me like that. You're lucky I didn't break your fucking parasite neck."
I made a scene in the bus station, panhandling for the other dollar and almost got thrown out the the AC Transit Police, but when I told them Lieutenant Mathers gave me ten dollars and told me to get out of Dodge and I needed an extra dollar, they let me board the bus to Philadelphia where I spent the night in Love Park.
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