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As the woman walked through the beach parking lot, a Hispanic man tried to get a word with her.
“Excuse me. I really don’t mean to bother you like this. But I had no one else to turn to. You see -”
“Sorry, I don’t speak English.” She kept walking.
“You spoke pretty good right there.” He was on the pudgy side, wore a San Francisco Giants cap, semi-nice tan slacks and a light-blue button-down.
John Walker watched the action from his car, an 85’ Buick sedan. He stood 6’2” 205 pounds, with bushy dirty-blond hair and a thick mustache to match. His face was weathered, from too many years in the sun, the lines also revealing his share of pain, even though he was only 37. He sat sucking on a Winston, observing the man as he hit up the next passerby, an older lady out walking. She didn’t bother to stop either.
Walker saw the look of frustration on the man’s face. He also saw the man had a steely-eyed determination, and it didn’t appear he was going to let a couple of failures throw him off his path. Walker knew the type.
Next, the man was onto a German tourist couple — they spoke just enough English to understand him. Walker kept his eye on the transaction. It took all of about two minutes. At the end, the German man opened his wallet and out came a bill. The Hispanic man smiled graciously, thanked the couple and they were on their way. The smile affirmed Walker’s suspicion.
As the man strolled past Walker’s Buick, a waft of smoke blew right in his face. He fanned it away with his hand, before looking down and noticing the burly man sitting in the car.
“Oh, hey, sorry, pal,” Walker said. “Didn’t see you there.”
“That’s all right.”
“Yeah. My bad.”
The man thought about asking Walker for help, but then thought better of it, a weird vibe pulsing through his skin. “No problem. Have a good day.”
“Hold up.”
The man stopped.
“What’s going on?” Walker asked.
“Not much.”
“You need some help or something?”
It was hard for him to resist. “Well, now that you bring it up…”
“Yeah? What can I do you for?”
“I really hate to bother you…”
“Oh no, no, bother away.”
“I don’t want to trouble you. But I just had the worst luck.”
“No?”
“Yes. I just had this very bad car accident.”
“Yeah? Shit. I’m sorry, guy.”
“Thank you. I was having lunch with some friends and as I was driving out of the parking lot: boom! Someone rammed right into my side.”
“Fucking A.”
“Totaled my car. I suppose I’m lucky I’m alive.”
“Amen, brother.”
“But now I’m stuck. My friends are long gone, on their way back to L.A. They were only up for the day. And I don’t live around here. So I have no family or friends to help me out.”
“No shit?”
“No, I live in the north county. Up in Lompoc.”
“You don’t say?”
“Yeah. And so they towed my car and now I have no way to get home.”
“Sucks when that happens.”
“Yes. It does. I only have about seven bucks in my pocket. I tried to get on the bus that drives that way, but they charge twenty-two dollars and the guy wouldn’t let me on without the full fare. I told him I could get it to him at the end of the line, but he wasn’t buying it.”
“That’s the problem with the world today: no one trusts anyone else.”
“I agree. I definitely agree. So I have no idea what to do. The last bus takes off in…” he looks at his watch, “about an hour. And that would give me just enough time to get back to the ranch in time to shut off the irrigation system.”
“A ranch, huh?”
“Yeah, I’m the foreman. And I’d call up there, but everyone is already gone for the day and the owner and his wife are off in Hawaii.”
“Don’t you hate that? It’s always the boss man who is off having fun while the little men stay behind and get all the tough work done. Not that you’re a little man or anything.”
“Yeah.”
“So it appears you’re up an irrigation creek without a paddle.”
He smiled. “Yes.” John Walker was definitely throwing him off his game.
“Well, what can I do you for, guy?”
“I really don’t want to trouble you.”
“No, go ahead, like I said, trouble me.”
“It’s just, I don’t know where else to turn.”
“I understand your predicament.”
“Thanks. Thanks so much. Maybe if I could just borrow enough to get on the bus? I could pay you back in full, mail you a cashier’s check right when I get back. With interest.”
“Now that’s mighty nice of you. You see, I can tell you’re not one of these folks who just cares about himself.”
The man smiled at Walker. “You would be my savior.”
“Well, I don’t know if that’s what I’d call it.”
There was a slight pause. The man had played his hand and he was waiting to see what Walker would show in return.
Walker pulled his wallet out, opened it. Clearly no money in it. “Damn. I just went to the ATM yesterday. That’s the problem with money, just doesn’t grow on trees.”
“That’s okay. Thanks for listening, though.” He was about to walk away.
“Wait. I’ve got an idea.”
The man stopped, more than eager to listen.
“I could either drive to an ATM and get you a twenty-spot. Or, wait…hell, I ain’t doing nothing. I could give you a ride to your casa. To your ranch. I could use the drive anyway, give me a chance to clear my head.”
“No, that’s okay, I don’t want to put you out like that.”
“It’s not putting me out, guy. Got nothing else to do.”
“I couldn’t.”
“No. Really. You could. It’s no bother. Hop in.”
“No, that’s okay…” The hair on the back of the man’s neck began to stand at attention, he didn’t have a good feeling about this. “I can just…go try and ask some more people for help. I appreciate your listening though. You’re a very kind man, sir.”
“Hey, guy. I’m offering just what you need. What’s up? You got a problem with me or something?”
“I got no problems with anyone, sir.”
“Shit. ‘Sir.’ It’s John. John Walker.” Walker stuck his hand out the window for the man to shake.
The man hesitated to take it. “I just don’t want to take up all your time.”
Walker kept his hand out. He wasn’t withdrawing it until it was shaken properly. When the man finally took the bait, Walker used his overpowering grip to pull him closer. “Get in the car, guy. You see, I’ve got plenty of time to kill.”
That’s when he saw it, the .45 in John Walker’s left hand, and it was pointed right at his rib cage.
*
The Buick let out serious exhaust fumes as it pushed for strength up the 154 Highway. The passenger almost mirrored the Buick, letting out intermittent sighs, his anxiety level rising with each chug of the car.
Walker hadn’t said a lot, up to this point. Only asked him his name (Hector) and how old he was (45). Other than those couple of pleasantries, nothing else was exchanged, just a dead silence.
Walker still held the gun on Hector, as Hector stared out the passenger window helplessly, wondering what would become of him. Had he fucked up for the last time? And Walker wasn’t a fool: he held the steering wheel with his right hand and the gun in his left. That way, if Hector made a play for the piece, it would give Walker time to react — with a bullet in Hector’s gut if need be.
“May I please - ”
“Shut up. You been talking out of your ass your whole life. I don’t wanna hear no fucking sob story. Your shit doesn’t cut it with me. You just sit there and see if you can keep quiet. Not one word. Because I ain’t biting. Not easy for a con man, eh — shutting the hell up?”
“You mistake me, sir - ”
Walker raised the gun to Hector’s temple. “I said shut the fuck up. Does that make sense to you? Do you feel that cold steel on your face? Just fucking nod if it does — make fucking sense to you.”
Hector nodded. He then looked at Walker with a hurt puppy-dog kind of expression.
“Oh fucking pulheeze. You really don’t get it, do you? I know everything about you, guy. I know how you fleece people and I know that your entire life is built on bullshit. Yet you don’t care how your bullshit affects others. You only care about the fucking grift. Or whatever the hell it’s called. It’s a game for you. It’s no longer about survival. Because you’ve been surviving long enough. It’s just another fucking addiction now. A high. How high can you go, right? How much money you can fleece people for today? You keep going further and further out on a limb because you’re drawn to danger. Well, Hector, I hope you’ve found the danger you’ve been courting your entire adult life. How does that limb feel now? A little shaky, maybe?” Walker laughed.
Hector was about to open his mouth, but Walker raised the gun to his temple again. “Ah, ah, ah. What did I say? Not a fucking word. One little itsy-bitsy word and I won’t think twice about blowing your brains all over this car. It needs detailing anyway.”
The foreboding silence which began the road trip resumed. Hector dwelled in it, afraid. And Walker, well, he wasn’t sure what would go down either, what he would decide to do with the lousy fuck.
He looked over at Hector, wondering this very thing. Then his mind trailed off. As it did, his car swerved to the left of the center line. A minivan coming down the hill honked obnoxiously loud, sobering Walker up and getting him back on course.
“Fuck you, you goddamn soccer mom,” he cursed. “You cunts think you own the whole field.” Walker cracked himself up. He looked over at Hector to see if he was joining the party. Hector knew he didn’t really have a choice, so he let out a short laugh — yup, we’re having fun now.
“You got any kids…Hec-tor? Don’t speak, just nod or shake your head.”
Of course Hector nodded.
“Bullshit. You lied again. You think I’ll take pity on you if I think you have kids. You don’t have kids. You don’t have shit. Probably live in a one bedroom apartment. All alone. You may pay for some Lompoc skank to come jack you off on occasion. But your way of life doesn’t fit family or obligations of any kind. Because in your mind, it’s all about you. Isn’t it? You’re a selfish cunt, Hec-tor. Worse than that douche bag soccer mom. You know that? Nod your head yes, you cunt.”
Hector did as he was told. Not being able to speak was hard for him. Ever since grade school, when a teacher tried to inspire him to be a writer, or an actor, some vocation in which he could wield his words in a positive fashion. But Hector never saw that light. He chose the dark. And he lived in it since junior high school, when an uncle taught him his first con — the selling phony coins to people under the pretext that they could one day get a mega return on their coins and put their kids through college.
The coins were never delivered. And, much like a hooker after the first trick, Hector was hooked by the lure of easy money. Since then, he had run every scam in the book, from phony sweepstakes notices to taking money from the Lonely Hearts Club people. And now, at 45, it appeared his nearly perfect batting average was being seriously challenged.
“I’m wondering what made you go into this line of work, Hec-tor. Did your mommy and daddy treat you like the piece of shit you’ve now become? Well, that’s fucked up if they did, I agree. But just because they victimized you doesn’t mean you have to victimize the rest of the world, tit-for-tat. Some day, that tit-for-tat shit has to stop. Why do you think that wars have gone on for so long? Take Israel and Palestine. Fucking tit-for-tat. Somewhere along the way, some soul is going to have to break that chain. Tit-for-tat is fucking Cro-Magnon man. And I fought for our country and I know how ugly war is, Hec-tor. You ever serve our country, Hec-tor?”
Hector thought about it for a second, then shook his head no.
“Good man. You’re learning. Right there, you told the truth, Hector. How did it feel? It was hard for you, wasn’t it? You see, your first instinct was to tell me you served your country. Your thinking being, if I thought you served, we would be among a band of brothers or some Spielbergian shit. But we’re all brothers, Hector. It doesn’t matter if some fought and died for our country and others stayed back at home fleecing people out of their hard-earned cash.”
Walker stopped talking, a painful memory hit him hard.
“I watched my friends die, Hector. You ever seen one of your friends die? Up close? Get blown to bits from a bomb, their legs and arms sailing off in all directions? It’s not an easy thing to see, Hector. And all you can do — because you definitely can’t go retrieve all their body parts and put Humpty Dumpty back together again — all you can do, is thank god you were spared. That you could go on living another day. That you may have a chance to make it back to the mainland and your home, your family. Because that’s all you feel, Hector. That you wanna go home. You feel it so badly it burns a whole in your gut, it aches, Hector. You wanna see them, touch them, kiss them and hug them, at that moment, when you see your buddy go up in smoke, more than anything else in the world. That’s right, Hector, big bad soldiers wanting nothing but their mommies.”
Hector was really becoming petrified now.
Walker looked down and noticed Hector’s pant leg dampening.
“Don’t worry about pissing yourself, Hector. I did it on several occasions in Operation Free Iraq. We all did. You’re crouching there in a fox hole, not knowing who is coming from what direction, who’s a friend and who’s a foe, your life hanging on a thread…so I know how you’re feeling right now. In fact, I bet…I bet you want your mommy, don’t you Hector?”
Hector nodded slowly.
“Your mommy alive, Hector?”
Hector nodded again.
“You’re a lucky man. I wonder if you appreciate her for what she’s given you. Namely, your life. Did you ever thank her for that, Hector?”
Hector nodded.
“You fucking liar! You have never said shit to your mother. You have never told her you love her, you have never told her how much you appreciate all the shit-filled diapers she once changed for you or all the hell she used to have to go through when the cops drove you home from school because you had fucked up again. Have you!? Have you, Hector!?”
Hector knew the game by now. He wanly shook his head.
“That’s too bad, Hector. That’s too bad you took your mom for granted and won’t have a chance to tell her you love her.”
Hector looked over at Walker, to see if he was serious. Walker was grinning at him.
“When I came back from Bush Jr’s phantom war, I wasn’t able to tell my mom I love her in person, Hector. Oh sure, I wrote her all kinds of letters from the fucking desert outpost in Kuwait. And I told her how much I valued her in those letters. Because when you’re fighting in a war, you could be there one second and the next BOOM, gone, dead. But, because I didn’t realize how vital she really was to me, until I was over there getting shot at, and watching people die all around me, and thankful for the life she gave me, I wasn’t able to do it in person. And you know why I couldn’t do it, when I returned from that godforsaken quagmire? You know why, Hector? Can you guess?”
Hector sadly shook his head.
“Because she wasn’t here when I got home.” Walker paused, the recall fresh in his mind. “The first thing I wanted to do when I got home was rush to her arms and tell her how much I cared for her, how much I really did love her. But I wasn’t able to do that, Hector. You know why? Can you guess?”
Hector didn’t have an answer.
“Because she was dead. She died three weeks before I got back from duty, Hector.”
Hector tried to show him a look of commiseration. But it wasn’t exactly truthful, it came more from a place of his own fear of dying.
“How do you think that makes a son feel? Pretty shitty, right? Like it was all for nothing. I was helping to “liberate” some backass country, so we could get their oil, and I could protect my country, our country, Hector, for my mother. And I couldn’t even come home and feel the reward of her loving arms around me.”
Walker moved onto another painful memory.
“My dad had passed just before I was sent over. For the second time. Because I had been in Desert Storm, and I supposedly knew my way around there and got promoted to Captain because of it. But with my dad passing, my mom had to be alone for two years. Oh sure, they told us it would only be a matter of months when we were going in. But I was there for two fucking years. And I don’t have any brothers or sisters, and our nearest relatives were back in Ohio. So mom generally had no one to look after her here. The only people she ever really saw were the Meals on Wheels folks. Yup. Since dad kicked it, she was pretty much alone, Hector. And vulnerable. Susceptible. To cretins like you.”
Hector looked at Walker out of the corner of his eye.
“That’s right, Hec-tor. She had the misfortune of meeting your type. Could have even been you, for all I know. And there was nothing anyone could do about it. Of course, she must have thought she was doing a good deed. I’m sure it made her feel warm to be asked to help someone out, make herself useful, after a year and a half removed from helping my old man out…He died from diabetes, Hector. You ever seen what that does to someone in the end? It takes them, limb by limb, vital organ by vital organ, until they’re a shell of their former self. My old man had two legs and an arm missing the last time I saw him. His kidney had already failed, and the kidney that a donor gave to him had failed. I just remember the painful look on his yellow face. He was all yellow and green Hector, the blood sucked right out of him. A champion of a man before it struck him. And my poor mom had to be there with him every step of the way. And, in a way, every time they took a piece of him, they took a piece of her. Because when we get that tight with someone, Hector, we mirror their feelings, their soul. And unless we’re the most unfeeling, selfish person in the world, chances are, we are going to become connected and take on everything they do. Like right now…I feel your fear, Hector. I can’t help not feel it.”
Hector looked over at him, wondering if this might be a reprieve.
“But I don’t trust you, Hector. I don’t imagine you’d change your ways if I let you out now. Do you?”
Hector looked at him. It was a trap to answer so he didn’t try.
“Yeah. That’s what I thought. So, anyway, where were we? Oh right, my old man. When he died, Hector, he took a piece of my mom’s soul with him. And, I’ll tell you, the hardest thing I’ve ever had to witness in my life was the pain on my mom’s face, and watching her buckle up and scream the day they took my old man’s body away. Never, even in Iraq, did anything hurt me that badly. I’ll never forget that look, Hector. And there was nothing I could do about it. Fucking nothing.”
John Walker was not the kind of man who cried. But he felt like it now.
“And there was nothing I could do to save her when I was busy ‘freeing’ Iraq. When one of your type took her for everything she was worth. My old man’s savings, too. How do you think that made her feel, Hector? Do you suppose she was feeling all rosy and shit, when she all of a sudden figured out she didn’t have a dime left to her name? I’ll tell you how she felt. She went to bed one night with the stove on and never woke up in the morning…You probably want to know how they did it, don’t you, Hector? Being a part of the ‘biz.’ You’re wondering if you ever ran the same scam.”
“No, sir, I - ”
“SHUT THE FUCK UP, HECTOR, I NEVER GAVE YOU PERMISSION TO SPEAK!”
The gun was pressing firmly against Hector’s temple now.
Hector thought about jumping out of the moving vehicle. He wasn’t sure which fate would be worse.
“Say it, Hector. Say it.”
Hector had no idea what Walker meant.
“Say it, go on, say it. How does it feel? Say it. Say it!”
Hector didn’t want to speak when he had no idea what to say. For the first time in his life, his words were frozen in time, someone had taken them right from his mouth, from his very soul.
“When there’s nothing left to be said. When you’re life’s on the line. When there’s no one to turn to for help. Who ya gonna call, Hector? And you better not say Ghostbusters, because I’ll fucking beat you silly with the butt of this gun. Who ya gonna call. Say it, go ahead. I am giving you permission to say it. I want you to say it. Now! Fucking now! Who do you wanna call, Hector? Who ya gonna call?!”
Walker rammed the gun harder into Hector’s temple, so his head was being forced against the car window. “Say it, motherfucker! I want you to say it now!”
“Mommy!…Mommy!…Mommy!” Hector completely lost it.
Walker grinned. Sadistic. He used his free hand to reach in his shirt pocket for his pack of smokes. He held the pack out to Hector. “Go ahead, take one. They won’t kill ya.”
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