The Garden of Eden and Other Criminal Delights Part 31

"Now you're getting nasty," Sal said. "See? Already you're chokin'."

"Don't you come with a mute b.u.t.ton?"

"Ten years, we never have one disagreement. I open my mouth one friggin' time for your own good, and this is the thanks I get?"

"Sal, I love you, but you're sounding like a broad."

"I am a broad. You made me a broad!"

"I mean a human broad."

Sal let out a cough from the engine in disgust. "Billy, I'm scared. I'm scared it ain't gonna work and they're gonna take me away from you. You know what happens if someone else gets ahold of me?"

"No one's going to take you away from me."

"It's compactor time."

"Nothing's going to happen, okay?" Billy was getting p.i.s.sed. Sal was sounding more and more like a broad with each pa.s.sing moment. Billy figured if he wanted to shut her up, he should use a little broad psychology. "Look, Sal. I promise you, it's going to turn out fine. Nothing's going to happen. We still got lots more miles in this relationship, okay? Trust me, baby. I promise you it'll be okay."

Again Sal's engine coughed. "I sure hope you know what you're doing, Billy. 'Cause I'd rather you junk me for parts than . . . than go to the compactor."

"You're not going anywhere, and no one's going to junk you for parts. Don't talk like that."

Sal was quiet.

Billy said, "Hey, baby, just get me to the park and let me take it from there, all right? What the hey. Jacopetti will probably hit a green light, just like he's been doing for the past three weeks, and this entire debate will be for naught."

"I don't know, Billy. I think it's coming to a head."

"Just get me there."

Sal got him there.

"Stay here," Billy whispered to his car.

"Where am I going to go, Billy?"

"Shhhh."

"Be careful, Billy. I love you."

"Love you too, babe." Billy closed the door gently and quietly. With practiced skill, he scaled the pine tree, taking up residence on his favorite branch, which was by now denuded of needles. The day was warm, the skies were clear, and his view was perfect. All he needed was Lady Luck to shine her sweet eyes on him this one last time and he'd be through. Maybe Sal would shut up and leave him alone for good. Because if she didn't-if she persisted in spouting off unasked-for advice-he'd definitely ditch her. There was no way, shape, or form Billy was going to put up with Sal yapping at him when he couldn't even get some s.e.x out of it.

Billy took out his gun, settling it into a V-shaped intersection of branches to help support its weight. He aimed the bore of the weapon at the road.

"This ain't a good idea," the gun told him.

Billy's mouth fell open.

The seconds ticked by. The gun said, "Did you hear me?"

"Et tu, Brute?"

The gun sighed. "If your car's tellin' you it ain't gonna work, and I'm tellin' you it ain't gonna work, then maybe you should start listening."

"This is unreal!"

"Go back to Mr. Barton-"

"f.u.c.kin'-A unreal!" Billy let go of the grip. "I'm going crazy!"

"No, you're just being stubborn as a mule."

"f.u.c.kin' nuts! I'm getting out of here!"

Billy started down the tree. As luck would have it, the light turned red. Jacopetti's wagon slowed, then braked to a stop.

"What about me?" the gun asked as Billy climbed down the trunk of the oak. "You ain't gonna just leave me here, are you?"

"f.u.c.k you!" Billy shouted.

"Don't talk like that to me! What have I ever done but given you good service-"

"f.u.c.k you, f.u.c.k you, f.u.c.k you!" Billy shouted to his weapon as his feet hit the ground.

"Hey, what's goin' on?" Sal wanted to know.

"f.u.c.k you, too!" Billy screamed.

Jacopetti rolled down his window and stuck out his head. "Hey, buddy, you need some help?"

Billy was frothing at the mouth. When he saw it was Jacopetti, his eyes went wide. He ran over to him, panting and sweating. "You gotta get outta here, mister. They're out to get you."

"It's okay, buddy-"

"No, it isn't okay, mister, I'm telling you, they are really out to get you. He sent me to do it, but then the car and the gun . . . they told me not to. They both said to me, 'Don't do it, Billy, don't do it.' So when a car and a gun start talking to you, you know you better start listening."

"Buddy, I'm going to call someone for you," Jacopetti said. "I'll wait until someone gets here-"

"No, you can't wait. You've got to leave. Just because I didn't do it don't mean that it's not going to get done. He'll just hire someone else for the hit. I'm telling you, you've got to get out of here!"

"I will, just as soon as someone comes to help you!"

A horn honked. Jacopetti pulled the wagon onto the side of the road. "Just stay here. I'll wait with you."

"No, you've got to get out of here!" Billy pounded on the hood of Jacopetti's car. "Out!" Another series of sharp pounds. "Out, out, OUT!"

And that was the way the ambulance found him-thumping on the hood of Jacopetti's car, warning him of danger and murder and ranting on about cars and guns that could talk.

The day was beautiful-clear skies with a slight perfumed breeze. The lawn was exceptionally green and sparkling from its early watering with the hose. Almost everyone was outside today, enjoying the wonderful weather. Even Fiona's spirits were lifted as she sc.r.a.ped the bottom of the bowl with a spoon, offering its contents to the man huddled in the rocking chair. As the spoon neared his mouth, his lips opened like automatic supermarket doors.

Fiona smiled as she extracted the spoon from her brother's mouth. "Billy, you ate very well today."

There was no response.

"Ah, Billy, it's such a pretty day. The flowers are blooming, the birds are singing. The sky is blue . . . a perfect day for just lounging around. Maybe we should take a swing on the hammock. You used to love the hammock. Remember at Grandma's, we used to swing on the hammock? And then Daddy would set up the tire and you'd push me high in the sky?"

Billy remained mute.

"So high," Fiona recounted. "I used to feel like I was flying. I felt as light as a bird. You were such a good big brother."

Nothing.

Fiona sighed. "Oh, Billy! If you could just nod or something . . . it would help. It would . . ." Tears in her eyes. "All you have to do is talk, Billy. When you start talking, the doctor says that'll be a breakthrough. Then . . . then there's a good chance that we can get you outta here. You'd like that, wouldn't you? To come back to my house? I got a room set up in the back with a TV and a treadmill."

She punched her brother's arm. "Just in case you want to keep in shape."

Billy continued to stare out through vacant eyes.

"C'mon, Billy. Nod or grunt or fart or do something. You don't want to stay here the rest of your life, do you?"

But Billy didn't answer.

Fiona blew out air. "Billy, I'll be right back. I gotta take a pee. You just . . ." She patted his knee. "You just enjoy yourself. I'll be right back."

The warm sun beat down on Billy's back. In the stillness of the summer morning, if Billy strained hard enough, he could hear the sound of waves lapping on the distant sh.o.r.eline.

A small smile tickled his lips.

He wasn't going anywhere.

Why should he?

He finally got his place by the beach.

HOLY WATER.

"Holy Water" brings together two of my

favorite writing elements-humor and

religion. When I first heard that the

closely guarded secret recipe for Coca-

Cola had to be divulged to rabbinic

authorities in order to get kosher

certification, I knew I had a story that

would cross the fine line between the

sinister and the absurd.

UNTIL HE FELT THE GUN IN HIS BACK, RABBI Feinermann thought it was a joke: somebody's idea of a silly pre-Purim schtick. After all, the men who flanked him wore costume masks. The Marx fellows-Groucho and Karl. Two old Jewish troublemakers, but at least one of them had been funny. The revelers spoke in such trite dialogue it had to be a hoax.

"Don't move, old man, and you won't get hurt."

Although he was fasting, Feinermann was always one to join in the festivities, though this prank was on the early side. So he played along, adjusting his hat, then holding up his hands.

"Don't shoot," Feinermann said. "I'll give you my hamantash. I'll even give you a shot of schnapps. But first, my two Marxes, we must wait until we've heard the reading of the Megilla-the scroll of Esther. Then we may break our fasts."