I didn't know what to say, so said nothing, just watched as he lumbered out the door and into the icy white world.
Roz didn't say anything, either, didn't even make a move to pick the bills up from the counter.
Then the big mouth in the booth yelled for his bill.
Roz nearly jumped out of her skin. Then she paused and looked at me. She actually looked me straight in the eye, and it was strange to realize that, although I had known her for months already, she had never before looked at me in such an unguarded way. And I could see that there was much hurt within her, but there was also something pleading inside, too, something that acknowledged the hopelessness of her situation and begged for release-- maybe the same way I, at times, I understood just how messed up my life had become and wished it wasn't that way. For the first time I started to think maybe Bob had been right, maybe Roz and I could find some common ground on which to exist.
Then that look was gone, as though a steel door shut, and Roz hurried off to give the big mouth his bill.
After the guy paid his bill, he pulled on his jacket and went outside.
I slipped off my stool and followed him.
He was lingering in front of the diner, looking up and down the snowy street, as though he forgot where he'd parked his car.
I stopped on the sidewalk, not too far from him but not too near, either. I didn't pay any attention to him. I unzipped the collar of my jacket and pulled the hood up over my head, and then paused as though I had nowhere to go-- which was pretty true.
“Cold one, huh?” he said, just a guy on the street trying to stike up a conversation.
“Yeah,” I said, although at the moment I really didn't feel very cold.
“Well, at least it's payday,” he sighed.
I grunted. “It would be better if the currency exchange didn't charge so much to cash my check.”
“Ain't that the truth,” he said, and then fell silent. For a moment he seemed to be fascinating on the puffs of smoke that were coming from his mouth and then dissolving in front of his face. “Could you use a lift?”
“Yeah, sure.”
“Come on, my cars out back,” he said, and as soon as he said it, I knew that Bob had been right. Nobody ever parked their car behind the buiding; all that was there was a short, cut-off alley whose only traffic came once a week when a garbage truck backed in to empty the dumpsters.
I followed the guy round the side of the building, toward the alley, and somewhere along the line that got reversed and he was following me. He kept talking, rattling on about this or that-- I guessed to keep me distracted.
I walked dumbly into the alley. It was perfectly obvious that there was no where to park a car-- the back of the building was to the left, a high security fence was to the right, and straight ahead the alley ended at a chain-link fence in front of which sat the two dumpters for the building-- but I didn't turn round and say anything to the guy. He must have thought I was the biggest idiot in the world. I just walked ahead of him, pretending not to notice there was no car, and listening to his voice so that I had a good sense of his position-- just a little to my left, about five, six feet behind me.
I slipped the tube sock out of my pocket, let it hang down in front of me, so that he couldn't see it. The copper fittings tugged down pretty heavily at the bottom of the sock.
As we neared the dumpster, the guy got really quiet. I figured I better do something before he did, so I spun quickly round to my left, and whipped the sock round as hard as I could.
The guy's eyes bugged out-- making him look even more like a rat-- and then the copper laden end of the sock caught him in the left side of his head. He let out a hideous sound, like a mixture of grunt and squeal, and fell to the snowy ground. He struggled to get back up to his feet, but he kept shuffling sideways and falling back down, as if there was something wrong with his balance. I couldn't help laughing, because the guy looked like he was ragingly drunk. Finally I lashed him again with the sock. On impact with his skull, the sock ripped open and copper fittings flew all over the alley. The guy ended up flat on his back, not moving, and there was blood splattered across the packed white snow round his head. He let out a soft moan, just enough so that I knew he was still alive.
I knelt down next to him-- the way I imagined he'd done dozens of times before-- and started going through his pockets. He didn't have a wallet or any kind of identification, which, for me, confirmed he had been up to no good. I found in his jacket a sizeable wad of cash, which I quickly snagged and pocketed.
I started to leave the alley, but then remember the pack of smokes the guy had in his shirt pocket, and so I went back to grab them.
I walked back round to the diner, and started to go inside, but then figured what was the point. I'd had my fill of coffee, Bob had left, and all Roz would do was stare out the window. I had nothing to offer her, anyway-- I had nothing to offer anybody-- and I had the feeling all she could offer me was more misery. That was the way things were, and I didn't believe it would all change.
As I lingered in front of the diner, I pulled out the pack of cigarettes that were now mine. They turned out to be my brand, and I was half-expecting to see my carfare tucked inside the cellophane wrapper.
I slipped one out of the pack. I lit it, and took a deep drag. As I exhaled I started to feel better, a lot better. It really made all the difference in the world.
