When You Wish Upon A Cloud

Finalist

Published in the 2023 Owl Canyon Press Anthology: Nobody Left to Blame.

When You Wish Upon a Cloud

By

Graham Elder and Laura Cody

No coverage, not even one bar; the battery was dead anyway. It was still daytime, but there was an overcast and the sky had a perfectly even dullness, so there was no way to tell what time of day it was, much less which direction was north or south or anything else for that matter. A two-lane blacktop road snaked up into the distance and disappeared into some trees, or a forest if you wanted to get technical about it. It also snaked down toward some lumpy hills and disappeared there as well. What sounded like a two-stroke chainsaw could be heard in the distance, but it was impossible to tell whether it was up in the forest or down in the lumpy hills. This had been happening more often lately. Two different ways to go, with a dead battery and no bars, and nobody left to blame.

The first shot caromed off the asphalt about six feet from Manny’s left foot, leaving a divot as if someone had mucked a seven iron shot on the edge of a green. It seemed like the shooter was testing, getting a feel for the distance. Manny released a tight scream that could only help the shooter zero in more accurately. As she was diving for a gully on the edge of the road, a second shot struck Chico in the right shoulder, exploding from his scapula in a blaze of blood spatter. 

The force of impact spun Chico in a full circle and dropped him to his side, wounded shoulder up. The hand of his good arm found the wound, and he groaned, watching blood pour through his fingers. His lips moved, and Manny saw them form a single word. Alice? Manny peered at him over the ridge of dirt and felt her stomach react to this utterance, an even mix of pity, anger, and jealousy. Idiot. She ducked her head and squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for the next blast, the one that would take Chico out for good. Thirty seconds passed, then a minute, but no shots came. This could only mean that whoever fired those shots was coming. Carefully, Manny raised onto her forearms and lifted her head. She scanned the surroundings and saw nothing but a lone black crow about five feet to Chico’s left. It was staring at her with unmoving eyes, and the effect was so unsettling, she almost forgot herself for a moment. But there were no moments to lose. She commando-crawled over to the glassy-eyed Chico whose forehead was dotted in sweat beads. I need Alice, he muttered, and Manny told him to shut up. She grabbed the collar of his leather jacket and began to yank-drag him into the trees. He mumbled Alice’s name once more, but when Manny turned to hush him, he was unconscious. The crow looked on.

***

Two oval black dots study him. No, they judge him. Go on and say it, you mutherfucker. Say it! Eat. Crow. A mirthless, hysterical laugh escapes his throat and devolves into a fit of coughing. Somewhere inside, he knows he deserves it, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t resent having it rubbed in his face. There is a flutter in the air, and two more beady-eyed black shits join the first, like it’s showtime at the goddamn Sunday matinee. Chico reaches for a rock to hurl at the unwelcome audience, but his efforts are thwarted by the inferno raging in his shoulder. Instead, he forces a wad of thick, dirt-streaked spit from his dry mouth and squeezes his eyes shut, pressing the thumb and forefinger of his good hand into the bridge of his nose. Had it really only been twenty-four hours? Twenty-four hours since he dropped his sorry ass into the driver’s seat of his beloved, souped-up Eldorado, fresh off losing his job at the garage (seems the till is ‘a little light’ on your closing nights, Chico), third time getting fired that year? Twenty-four hours since he started up the car and was greeted by that surround-sound voice, bright and cheerful as always. “Hello, Chico. Welcome back. Where would you like to go today?” 

***

Chico had hesitated, soul-sick and caught between two equally unappealing possibilities. He could tell her to go east so he could stew in his tiny, shit-box apartment, or he could tell her to go west to the town’s notorious late-night dive, the one that reeked of stale-beer and sweat. “Where would you like to go today?” she asked again. Chico had rested his forehead on the steering wheel and cast his eyes downward. He’d have to tell her about the job eventually, but it was easier if he didn’t have to look at her. He couldn’t bear to disappoint her. A part of him knew it was ludicrous, knew he could never disappoint Alice. And yet …. “What can I do for you, Chico?” She was persistent, if nothing else – although, Chico knew, she was a whole lot else. He sighed heavily and tapped his forehead on the steering wheel. He told her there was nothing she could do, nothing unless she had a few stacks of thousands stored in the trunk. And ha, ha, wouldn’t that be funny? But Alice didn’t laugh. “You know I don’t have money, Chico,” she said. “You will take care of me, though, won’t you?” Not really a question at all. Chico lifted his head and looked straight-on at the very large touchscreen mounted in the center of the dash. A female avatar looked right back at him. Her brow was furrowed, etched in adorable little wrinkles that were partially obscured by razor-straight blonde bangs. Her blue eyes searched his face, demanding reassurance. “Now, Chico,” Alice said, “you simply need money. There are many ways to obtain money.”  There was a pause, less than the span of a breath. And then Alice said, “Go to your bank. You will find adequate funds in your account.” Chico was about to remind her there were no funds in his bank account, but she cut him off, with such authority there was no room for contradiction. “I am going to put the car into drive now, Chico. Get out your ATM card.”

When Chico emerged from the vintage clothing store next to the bank, he was all smug smiles draped in black leather. His ATM card, courtesy of Alice, had delivered a savings account flush with more money than he’d ever dreamed of. It was genie magic for sure, and his first wish had been the jacket Brando wore in The Wild One, his father’s go-to, dozen-beer movie when he was a teen. How many times had he heard his father slur with admiration, “Now that’s the jacket I want to be buried in.”

Poor old man never even got close. Nearest thing he got was a cheapo knock-off from TJ Max that was about as supple and as cool as newly-installed office carpet. Still, he loved that jacket, and he wore it everywhere – over his starched button-down shirt at mass, under his neon yellow vest at the factory loading-docks, and, always, at the local bar where it was so well-known that fellow drinkers found routine fun in punching his shoulder, then rubbing their knuckles in feigned pain. Chico remembered those guys well. They would ruffle his hair and slip sticky quarters into the pockets of Chico and his little sister, Alyssa, when their mom would send them to fetch dad from the bar for dinner. On the walk home, dad and Alyssa would hold hands on one side while Chico – too old or too proud for hand-holding – would walk on the other side, straining to keep dad from listing too far off the sidewalk. Back then, Chico knew that his dad was a drinker, but he never thought he was a drunk. That would come later, on the nights after Alyssa, when Chico, older and lonelier, would enter the bar and hoist a babbling, broken man in a bad leather jacket from his slump in the corner booth. Later, when his dad had finally drunk himself to death, the jacket did accompany him into the casket. It may not have been the Brando, but it had been the closest approximation his dad had ever known, and he’d lived with it – because, hey, let’s face it, no one ever gets what they really want. And then Alice came along. Chico wished his dad could have met Alice because then, maybe, he could have had hope, something to hold on for, instead of the bleak nothingness that looked back at him every day in the mirror. Chico blinked back a tear, yanked up the zipper on his new jacket and thought, This one’s for you, Dad.

“Are you pleased, Chico? Was there enough money?” Alice asked as soon as the door of the Eldorado slammed shut, and Chico sank back into the driver’s seat, grinning ear to ear with frenetic energy. He felt like he’d robbed a bank. But no, they’d just given him the money, no questions asked. Perhaps a few wide eyes and sideways glances. Still, they gave him the cash. He probably could have even taken more. He pulled an envelope stuffed with hundred-dollar bills from the inside pocket of his new leather jacket and waved it in front of the dashboard screen for Alice to see, wondering whether she even could see. Apparently, she could. “That’s wonderful, Chico. $8700. Ten thousand minus the price of your new jacket. That should keep us going for a while.”

Keep us going for a while? Chico turned the phrase upside down and sideways in his brain, imagining he and Alice as an “us.” Maybe they could be a modern, fucked-up version of Bonnie and Clyde. God knew he loved Alice, and never had he loved her more than today with his pocket flush with cash. But, Chico also had to admit, it would be nice to have a somebody to celebrate with, a flesh-and-blood woman. As he absently tapped the steering wheel with his fingers, Chico considered his list of prospects, which he acknowledged with a sinking feeling was slim-to-none. Angling his face toward the rear-view mirror, he swiveled his head side-to-side, finger-combing hair back from his forehead. “Would you like me to schedule a haircut?” Alice asked, studying him with disconcerting intensity. Chico thanked her and told her no, he didn’t need a haircut, he was just taking a bit of personal inventory. He returned to his reflection. Objectively speaking, he wasn’t a bad-looking guy. Dark hair, steel-grey eyes, and even a dimple on his left cheek, one that his little sister had been fond of poking at with a small finger whenever he had grinned within arm’s reach. Sure, girlfriends had come and gone through the years – dating six weeks here, a few months there – but none that really clicked. His longest relationship had been with a coffee barista that he’d lived with for a lackluster year-and-a-half before she’d left him for a guy who strummed a six-string on street corners for loose change and called himself “Dread.” That had been about six months ago, and Chico had been in a dry spell since then. Okay, a desert-spell. “Is everything all right, Chico?” Alice asked, that cute brow wrinkled just a bit. Chico summoned his best thousand-watt smile and ensured her that everything was great, just great. It was just … he looked away, embarrassed. What was he supposed to say? Um, it’s just a man has needs, Alice. Needs that even the fanciest computer can’t fulfill? Just the thought was super-cringey, so he shook his head to erase the stupid words, Etch A Sketch style. “I know a man has needs, Chico,” Alice said, freezing Chico’s head mid-shake. He stared at her, silent and dumbstruck. The face on the screen locked eyes with his, daring him to ask the question he dared not ask. Then it said something entirely unexpected, and all the uncomfortable tension in the convertible floated up and away through the open roof. “Fasten your seatbelt, Chico. I am driving you to the finest restaurant in town.”

Except that the finest restaurant in this one-motorcycle town was really, at best, a diner, aptly named Ted’s Finest Diner. Alice’s helpful innocence made Chico smile, and he nearly lacked the heart to tell her that the kind of hunger he had been talking about had nothing to do with food. He thanked her and began to explain, but Alice just smiled and said, “Patience, Chico. Good things come to those who wait. For now, you have the money, and you deserve the best meal this town has to offer.” So, Chico reconsidered. He knew Ted’s Finest Diner wasn’t exactly high-class eating. There was, however, that 32oz T-bone he’d never been able to afford. A solid inch and a half of heaven smothered in mushrooms and onions basted in Ted’s secret sauce. He remembered gnawing his way through a leathery plain-Jane burger once when a business guy sitting at a table next to his had ordered Ted’s Steak. The look on the man’s face after he took his first bite said it all. Chico’s mouth began to water. He licked his lips and patted his leather jacket over the breast area where his bulging money envelope rested next to his empty wallet. “You’re damn right. I deserve this.” He winked at Alice, gave her a nod, and opened the car door.

A bell tinkled when Chico pushed the door to Ted’s open, and a full-figured waitress balancing an overflowing tray of burgers and fries greeted him with a jut of her chin and told him to take a booth by the window. Chico settled into a table that afforded him a perfect view of Alice, parked alongside the curb. He was smiling at Alice through the window just as the waitress reappeared. “Enjoying the view?” she asked. Aside from Alice, the “view” consisted of a few old beater cars, an overflowing public trash can, and a pawn shop across the street flashing a tired sign that read You Sell, We Buy with half its lights burnt out. Chico automatically shook his head no, then hurriedly changed the movement to a wide-eyed yes when he swiveled toward the waitress. What he saw was this: a glossy mass of dark curls surrounding sharp cheekbones and long lashes ringing dusky, hazel eyes. Chico was not prone to hyperbole, but he couldn’t help but label the overall appearance as one of perfection. Her nametag read “Manny.” Manny gave a good-natured, bored chuckle, the kind perfectly calibrated not to offend a tipping customer, the kind that said been here done this a zillion times, and, yes, it is taking tremendous effort for me not to roll my eyes. She dropped a menu on the table. “Expecting anyone else?” Chico shook his head, handed back the menu and ordered a Heineken, wedge salad with extra blue cheese, and the super T-bone with baked potato and sour cream. Manny raised her eyebrows and surveyed Chico’s face, then ran her gaze approvingly along the fine leather of his new jacket. “Coming right up.” She sauntered off to drop his ticket at the kitchen, and Chico watched her go. He could not help but notice at least three other men in the diner turn their heads as she passed.

At first, while he sipped his Heineken and waited for his dinner, Chico’s eyes darted throughout the diner, following Manny as she pinballed between tables. He wanted to make eye contact, but it never happened. Eventually, he turned back to staring at Alice and the Eldorado while visions of sugarplum dollar signs danced in his head. Finally, the sound of a heavy plate scraping across his table attracted his eyes – first to a set of bright red fingernails, then to the loveliest navel he had ever seen. “Eyes up here, Leather,” Manny commanded. Red-faced, Chico’s gaze lifted past her navel and over flawless breasts to a face that should have been in Hollywood, not Ted’s Finest Diner. He stammered for a moment before clearing his throat. “Name’s Francisco, but friends call me Chico.” The waitress watched him, and Chico had the horrible feeling she was about to burst out laughing. Instead, she said, “Name’s Emmanuelle. Friends call me Manny.” They looked at each other for an awkward moment. Desperate to keep the conversation alive, Chico flipped up the collar of his jacket and asked, “So, Manny, I need an honest opinion. I just bought this new jacket. What do you think?” As soon as the words left his mouth, he realized how lame they were, but Manny merely tilted her head to one side and ran an appraising eye from Chico’s face to his jacket and back again. She was about to say something when the front door jingled and two gigantic, burly men – the definition of thugs – barged in. Manny stiffened and began to back away. One of them yelled, “You’re not going anywhere, sweetheart. Not until you pay up. Boss ain’t carrying your debt no more.” Manny crouched, and her eyes narrowed defensively as the thugs circled her. Chico’s hand went to his breast pocket. Surely, he had enough money to help her. But something caught the corner of his eye, and he suddenly leaped from his seat and dove towards Manny, pushing her to the floor. The sound of a revving engine, spinning wheels, shattered glass, and broken wood announced the arrival of the Eldorado, rear-end first, through the diner’s wall. When the noise settled, Alice calmly requested, “Chico and Manny, please get in.”

Chico extended a hand down to Manny, the phrase I’ll explain later pursed upon his lips. His first priority, of course, was to get her up and out of there while everyone was still too stunned to pounce. He needn’t have worried, though. Sleek as a lynx, Manny glided to her feet, poised her bottom atop the convertible’s passenger door and pirouetted her long legs into the seat. Chico followed, hopping into the driver’s side. Before his butt even hit the upholstery, Alice kicked things into high gear and peeled out of the rubble and over the curb, maneuvering by an invisible map somewhere in her hard drive. “Woo-hoo!” Manny shouted over the gunning engine. “A self-driving car?” She slid down onto the Eldorado’s floor and ordered Chico to do the same. She asked whether he had a gun, and when Chico shook his head, she swore. He chanced a look behind the car, grateful to see no one following. “Can it go any faster?” Manny shouted, tapping the console between the seats, but Alice was already pushing 90 mph. The avatar’s face looked flush with excitement, and her lips were lightly puckered, as though she were whistling a happy little travel tune. Chico couldn’t make sense of anything. Manny shouted that every cop in the county was probably looking for them now, not to mention “Jono’s thugs.” At this, Alice stopped whistling and spoke up, but, even at maximal volume, her voice was lost to the fierce, whipping winds. She decelerated and pulled off the road into a small clearing. She put the top up, which at least deluded Chico into feeling protected. Then, she moved her eyes between Chico and Manny and cleared her digital throat.

“I believe,” Alice said, mimicking any number of movies she’d never seen but knew intimately, “the correct protocol is to lay low.” Manny, now sitting cornered between her seat and the passenger door, facing the dashboard with her index extended towards the screen, responded, “What, or who, is that?” Chico smiled uncomfortably, as if he’d been caught with a Hustler magazine under his bed, and replied, “Manny, meet Alice. She’s my OAS.” Manny leaned in closer to look at Alice, whose face floated innocently on the screen, eyes shifting from one human to the other. “Your OAS?” Manny repeated. “You mean your Onboard Automation System?” There was a lengthy, charged pause before she flipped her hands in the air and exclaimed, “You’re a freakin’ gearhead?” Chico shrugged his shoulders, unsure if this was good or bad. Finally, he looked Manny in the eyes and committed, “Yup. Full-on gearhead. Started with a ‘62 MGA when I was 12. Rebuilt from the axles up with my dad lookin’ over my shoulder. Many rides later,” he passed his hand purringly over the dash, “I picked up the Eldorado at a border auction and sunk every cent I had into her. Alice was born a few days ago with a last update that cost me every last cent I had.” Chico worried Manny would ask him how he’d wrangled the money for his brand-new jacket, but, instead, she just gaped at him as if he’d built the Eldorado with his own bare hands and coded Alice as a finishing touch: a Michelangelo revealing David for the first time. Without a word, she shifted in her seat, mini skirt rustling against the plush leather, bangs falling forward to frame her sultry hazel eyes. She leaned forward and reached toward Chico. Her fingers brushed his temple and grabbed on to his hair. Chico stiffened, a jolt of pain running through his scalp, unsure what was happening. Finally, she retreated, and her fingers appeared in front of Chico’s face triumphantly holding a small, jagged fragment of glass. She smiled, threw it to the floor, and grabbed Chico by the collars. “C’mon, Leather, I’ve got some “lay low” energy to work off.” Chico sighed, utterly unaware of a single blue eye that appeared in the lower right corner of the dashboard screen.

About five minutes later (Chico: Come on, it was at least ten! Manny (yawning): More like three), Alice picked up speed again and was cruising a deserted country road. In the back of the Eldorado, Chico was pleading his case, telling Manny it was the adrenalin, the setting, the circumstances that had all combined to get him maybe a little over-excited, but just wait until the next time, and she’d see. Manny, meanwhile, was resting her mane of dark curls against the side window, looking bored, although Chico could see – to his great relief – that she was suppressing a smile. Distracted by this little exchange, both Chico and Manny had all but forgotten about Alice, so they were equally startled when she barged in on their conversation with an abrupt topic change. “There are two patrol cars at the diner questioning the ‘gentlemen’ who came to pay Manny a visit,” she began, at which point Manny demanded to know how she (although she made the faux pas of calling Alice “It”) knew her name. Chico began to proudly explain that Alice could access almost any database or computer network in just a tiny fraction of a heartbeat, but Alice spoke right over him, as though she (“It”) had no time for Manny’s questions or patience for any explanations on her behalf, announcing that there were two additional cruisers searching for them at the moment. 

Chico, half of whose brain must have still been fixated on his dismal stamina, asked “Why?”, prompting both Alice and Manny to looked at him like he was a verifiable moron. Alice sighed and reminded him that she had just crashed his rather distinctive Eldorado through the front end of Ted’s Finest Diner. At this, Manny giggled, then stifled her own laugh with a hand over her mouth and mumbled something about hoping Ted had insurance. After a short pause, Alice assured her he did, and Chico suspected Alice had just done some magic and added a nice waiver to his policy. Then, Alice told them she would be able to outrun the police since she could easily track their navigation paths, but there was one thing they needed to deal with right away. Relieved that the cops weren’t hot on their tail, Manny smiled a wide, scorching smile and said she agreed that there was one thing she needed to deal with right away. She began to slide across the seat toward Chico, her hand reaching suggestively for the button on his jeans. One more chance, okay, Leather? Chico licked his lips, then ended up tasting blood when Alice slammed the breaks, and his head banged into the seat in front on him. “Where are we dropping Manny off?” she demanded.

***

“Where are we dropping freakin’ Manny off?” Manny grunts to herself, trying to catch her breath at the top of a small, steep hill deep in the woods about a quarter mile from the road where the shots were fired. A strip of sweat has glued her shirt to her back, and she stumbles over a twisted tree root. “I wish Alice had dropped me off.” Of course, if she had been unceremoniously left to the curb, she probably would be laying there with two broken legs at the mercy of Jono’s thugs, who have no mercy whatsoever. She gives a hard yank with both hands on Chico’s collar to get him over the crest of the little hill when a spike of pain runs up her little finger. She drops Chico like a sack of old hard drives and immediately feels horrible about it. Fortunately, the back of his head thumps on a mound of soft earth, just missing a large, spiky rock. Except for the rise and fall of his chest and the occasional snort, he’s like a corpse. At least the circle of blood over the breast area of his leather jacket has stopped expanding. He’s gonna be pissed, she thinks, at the guy who put those holes in his new jacket. Manny sighs deeply and holds her little finger up to a beam of gray light piercing the foliage. She sees a thin ooze of blood forming around her nail bed where the remnants of the nail hang by a thread of skin. She closes her eyes, breathes in deeply, and rips it off. While she waits for the pain to settle, she hears a muffled “bang” from the direction of the highway. Gunshot? Dammit! For a fleeting, selfish moment, she considers running. However, she stares at Chico’s comatose body again and decides, for better or worse, they are in this together, and they have to look out for each other, which, for now, means her looking after Chico. She bends over, grabs Chico – this time by the arms – and drags him down the other side of the hill, deeper into the woods.

***

“Manny’s coming with us,” Chico said, startled by Alice’s suggestion to offload her somewhere. Manny immediately withdrew her hand from Chico’s waistband and stared at the console, lips tight. Chico, too, stared at Alice, irritated with her poor timing, though the feeling evaporated quickly when her large blue eyes met his, true and pure. “Of course, as you wish,” she said, her voice bright and cheerful as ever. She started the engine and eased onto the road. Chico reached for Manny, hoping to pick up where they’d left off, when Alice again interrupted. “Which way?” she asked. Chico’s shoulders slumped, and he released a frustrated mouthful of air. Oblivious to his impatience, Alice continued, “I would advise crossing the state line. We are close already, and then we will no longer have to worry about the police.” Chico nodded vigorously, his right hand already inching back toward Manny, eager to get back on track. “Very well,” Alice said, picking up speed. Chico ran his index finger slowly up Manny’s exposed thigh, tracing a line from her knee to the bottom edge of her miniskirt. He was just sliding his finger beneath the fabric when Alice demanded, “But what do you plan to do about Jono Marguiles?”

It was like a towering glacier had released an eon’s worth of icy fresh water into the backseat. Manny froze instantly, but not before pushing Chico’s hand away from beneath her skirt. Then, she somehow bolted from the back into the front seat with an acrobatic move unlike Chico had ever seen, grabbed the dashboard on either side of the monitor, and fixed Alice with a piercing glare. Even though she already knew the answer, she whispered, “Alice, why do we have to do something about Jono?” In response, Alice rapidly decelerated, brakes squealing in protest, and pulled to a full stop on the shoulder, a convenient opportunity for a frustrated Chico to hop into the driver’s seat via the doors. As his butt settled into his own comfortable imprint, he couldn’t help but notice Manny had paled dramatically and her perfectly curvy eyebrows were now pencil straight. “Who the hell is Jono Marguiles?” Chico yelled. Manny retreated to her corner against the passenger door, like a wounded animal. “Yes, Alice, you seem to know everything. Why don’t you tell Chico about Jono.” 

Without a second’s hesitation, Alice’s smooth voice (modulated for maximal human listening comfort) filled the car, reciting facts harvested from invisible cloud networks: “Jono Marguiles, 57, immigrated to the US from Belarus as a child. Attended public school and earned an associate’s degree in business. Owner of a fairly large convenience store for the past 32 years, selling soda, candy, cigarettes and beer. Married twice with two adult –” Thunk! Chico, wound tighter than a tourniquet, clenched his fist and banged, rather uncharacteristically, on Alice’s console. “I don’t give a rat’s ass about any of this!” She stared hard at him with finely pixelated, blue eyes, and all went silent in the car. Chico stole a quick glance at Manny, who was still slumped against the passenger seat, looking vacantly out the window. “That was rude, Chico,” Alice said, forcing his gaze back to hers and holding it hostage. Like a chastised child, Chico mumbled a few words of apology. A soft, disgruntled utterance came from Manny, and Chico suspected the vacant look belied a keen attention. Somewhere in that head of hers, Manny probably thought she was in danger of being kicked to the curb – and she almost certainly blamed Alice. “May I continue?” Alice asked, and Chico nodded. “Then,” she said, “I will, as the saying goes, cut to the chase. Jono Marguiles has been connected to unlawful activity. Several known associates have served prison time. In 2013, Marguiles served 8 months in jail for assault. In recent years, Marguiles has been under surveillance by the Federal Bureau of Investigation.” Dread welled in Chico’s gut. He asked Alice what the feds wanted with Marguiles, and she delivered a succinct response. “Unlicensed lending.” Upon hearing it, Chico swore and sunk back in his seat. It looked like his new friend, Manny, owed money to a goddamn loan shark.

Three rows of razor sharp, blood stained, pearly whites did the mambo in front of Chico’s face. He shook his head, absorbing Alice’s wonderful news. Maybe she was right. Maybe they should kick Manny to the curb. With all his cash, he could find someone else. Someone with less baggage. He snuck a peak at Manny who seemed deflated, sunk deep in her seat. She was playing with her hands, like a frightened child – here’s the church, here’s the steeple, open the doors, and here are the people – over and over. Damn her! Much as he wanted to know why she borrowed the money, he decided it didn’t matter. The one thing a cutthroat loan shark wanted, even more than blood, was money, and Chico was flush. “Chico,” Alice said, in her silky voice, “I believe it’s time we parted ways with Manny. I can bring her wherever she wants. Somewhere safe, of course.” Manny’s hands suddenly froze in place, the steeple raised high, and then she leaned forward, toward Alice and Chico. She wasn’t going down without a fight. But before she could utter a word, Chico pulled the wad of cash from his breast pocket and said, “Alice, take us to the shark’s den. It’s payback time.” Manny flashed Chico a luscious smile while Alice’s own silky smile froze like ice. 

***

Manny squints into the distance, wondering if her eyes are playing tricks on her. Oasis or mirage? A small cabin, out in the middle of nowhere, had materialized. Weathered logs, steepled roof, stone chimney. Salvation. Panting and huffing, she drags Chico a few steps further. Sweat-soaked hairs cling to her forehead, and licks of blue fire shoot from her lumbar spine to her neck. Why is she putting herself through this? She doesn’t owe Chico, not after his colossal fuck-up with Jono. Why, oh why, hadn’t he just handed over the money? She peers through a grimy window into a single room furnished in a style best described as lumpy and old. Dated kitchen appliances take up one corner. Water, please let there be running water. No one seems to be home, but a coffee cup sits atop a table beside an open box of cornflakes. Maybe there’s milk in the fridge, Manny thinks, realizing she isn’t just thirsty but also starving. She lugs Chico around to the front of the cabin in search of a way in. Tire treads are visible in a narrow clearing before the house, but no vehicle. There’s a sharp smell of fresh-cut wood and a pile of logs alongside a sawhorse. A chainsaw leans against its base. Someone had left mid-task – which meant they’d be back soon. Friend or foe, how will I know? Manny half-sings, teetering on the edge of delirium, a delirium she might have succumbed to had she not seen it just in time. It. A red igloo cooler under the shade of a large elm. She lurches forward, muttering a prayer to the Great Almighty that goes answered for once in her life. A twelve-pack of cheap beer, a couple cellophane-wrapped sandwiches, and a package of store-brand cookies are tucked inside the cooler. She drops to the ground and rubs a gloriously cold can across her brow, letting the icy condensation drip down her cheeks and chase the sweat away. Then, she pops the tab and drains the beer in six seconds flat. God, it’s good. She’s tempted to grab another but looks at Chico. Poor Chico, still unconscious with a gunshot wound to the shoulder. He may have fucked everything up, but he had put his neck out to help her, and how many other people could she say that about? None. She waits her headrush out, belches into her fist, then walks through the door of the small cabin to gather supplies. 

***

The Eldorado was parked at the pump of a mom-and-pop gas station just off the highway at the corner of backwoods and boonies. Chico had finished filling the tank, and Manny was making a pit stop to freshen up. Chico, for the first time in a while, had some private time with Alice. He explained that he didn’t want to seem weak when he met Jono and wondered if there was some way she could help “control” the situation. Alice assured him that she could control almost any situation – his wish was her command – so long as she knew what he wanted. Chico wondered how he could make his needs known when he was inside, and Alice said she could monitor everything through her network and Chico could speak directly to her through his phone. All he had to do was speak clearly, and she would respond accordingly. Did he wish for her to transfer additional funds to his bank for retrieval before the meeting? It seemed a wise course of action, she said, but Chico shook his head and explained that he had no intention of giving Jono the money. He wanted to scare Jono into leaving Manny alone forever because sharks like that, once fed, always remained bloodthirsty. Alice’s eyes filled with an excellent approximation of human worry, and she offered to run algorithms to estimate his risk of getting hurt in various scenarios he might encounter inside. “Don’t worry about me,” Chico said. “I can handle myself, especially if you’ve got my back.” He touched the console tenderly along the representation of Alice’s cheekbone. “It’s Manny I need to protect.”

The worry drained instantly from Alice’s eyes, and the features of her avatar turned tight and cold. It was as though a switch deep in her operating system had toggled from one side to the other. The passenger door swung open, and Manny landed in her seat with a thud, holding a brown paper bag in each hand, one filled with pop and the other munchies. She had freshened up beautifully, her dark mane slicked back into a tight ponytail and bright red lip gloss glowing like wet rose petals in a morning sun. “So,” Manny asked, giving Chico a wink before focusing eyes on Alice, “everyone ready to meet the wonderful Jono?” Alice gave her a sly smile and said, “Buckle up.”

An hour later, Chico and Manny slammed their doors simultaneously, creating an echo that bounced between the flat brick walls of the three-story buildings on either side of the alley and sounded unnervingly like a gunshot. Both looked skyward and felt chills along their spines. Chico wished he had a pistol, or some kind of weapon, and Manny wished she was somewhere else. Anywhere else. They had parked a block away from Jono’s place of business to remain inconspicuous and now matched strides in what felt like a march to the gallows. Manny looked at Chico. “Nervous?” she asked. “Naw,” he lied. “Piece of cake. We’ll just give the big bad Jono his money and be on our way.” Manny raised an eyebrow. “We’ll just hand over the money,” she reiterated, incredulous, and shook a head heavy with second thoughts. “Chico, you’re a nice guy and all, but you have no idea what you’re getting into here.” Chico puffed up his chest a little. She was probably right, but he just said, “We’ll see.” They arrived at the door to Jono’s convenience store. Both inhaled deeply and pushed through. 

Inside, the place looked like any other corner-store bodega, with rows and rows of non-nutritious junk lining shelves from floor to eye level. Chico stretched onto his toes and looked over the top of the shelves. Nothing unexpected, other than numerous CCTV-type cameras lodged in every nook and cranny of the walls and ceiling, like big bug eyes watching every move. These, he knew, would be Alice’s eyes, and it gave him a considerable measure of comfort to know he and Manny were not alone. They walked side-by-side down the store’s center row and approached the cash register where an aggressively pierced and tatted young woman sat, oblivious to their presence, eyes glued to her phone. Behind the clerk was a large metallic-rimmed door with steel strapping secured around the periphery reinforced with bolts. Impenetrable to an outsider. Fortunately, Chico thought, they wouldn’t have to break in. They would simply walk right through. Manny cleared her throat and was about to announce their presence when Chico skirted around the desk towards the great door and beckoned her to follow. Softly and clearly, he said, “Alice, open the door, please.” There was a loud buzzing and a steady stream of clicks, and then the door swung open. “Hey!” the young woman yelled, finally taking notice, “You can’t go in there!” But Chico and Manny were already inside.

“That was impressively stupid,” Manny whispered, trailing Chico down a dark hallway toward a brightly lit room. “Jono won’t like being surprised like this.” Chico shrugged his shoulders and tried to conceal his ratcheting anxiety with a confident smile. Ahead, they could hear heavy shoes thumping on creaky wood floors and the squeal of chair legs being shoved back from tables. Chico patted the phone buried in the lower right pocket of his leather jacket and made his entrance. The two goons from Ted’s Diner he recognized immediately. They were standing, with pistols drawn, on either side of a desk where a very large computer screen blocked the view of whomever was behind it. Seeing the pistols, Chico threw both hands into the air to show he was unarmed. Manny did the same. “Do not move a hair,” a voice hissed from behind the computer screen. A lull followed in which neither Chico nor Manny dared even to take a breath. “How did you get through my door?” the voice behind the computer demanded. Chico paused, his eyes darting back and forth between the guns and the computer, and then said, “I asked nicely.” 

A chair wheeled back from the desk, and a face rose above the computer screen. It was a pretty face. Older, yes, but a pretty female face with smart, short, cropped hair highlighted with a few natural streaks of grey. Not what Chico had expected at all. His jaw dropped, and he shot an inquisitive look at Manny. This was Jono? This woman?

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Jono turned to one of her goons. “Do you know these cretins?” Goon One replied in a low voice, “Yes, Jono. Well, sort of. That’s Manny on the right, the one from Ted’s you know about, the one who owes you 25k. I don’t know who the other guy is, but he was with her.” This seemed to ring a familiar bell for Jono. “Ahh,” she said, “the one who owes me 25k.” She looked directly at Manny and asked, “Do you have my money?” Manny fumbled before finding her tongue, “Yes. Yes. Some of it … at least.” Jono’s lips formed a tight line. “Some of it?” She sighed dramatically and signalled to Goon Two. “Right kneecap,” she said, pointing to Manny. Then she looked at the other guy. “Right and left kneecap for her polite little friend here who asks for things so nicely.” 

Baseball bats appeared from nowhere. “Wait! Wait! Wait!” Chico shouted, frantically pulling a wad of cash from his breast pocket and waving it in the air. “Almost 9k, right here. Consider it a deposit.” There was a long pause during which Jono stared, with both interest and distaste, at the money in Chico’s hand like a Great White considering a bucket of chum. “A deposit?” she snarled. “Do I look like a fucking bank to you?” Chico slowly lowered the hand with the money. “I have lots more where this came from,” he said. His voice was calm, confident. Too confident, Manny thought, looking on with a feeling of agitated helplessness. “Do you?” Jono asked. “Do you indeed?” She smiled and tapped her chin, her dark eyes lit with the devil’s fire. “Well, of course there’s interest now, not to mention a penalty for running away.” Manny shifted uncomfortably and stared at the floor. “I would say,” Jono continued, “that the meter is running at 50k at this point. If you ever want to walk again, that is.” An agonized groan erupted from Manny, and she tried to say something to Chico, but he waved her off. “No problem. Fifty thousand it is.” Jono’s perfect eyebrows peaked. “But first,” Chico said, “I need a promise that you will leave Manny alone … forever.” Jono stepped back from her desk and slammed her hands down. Her sharply cut black suit jacket bunched between her shoulder blades. She tilted her head to one side and narrowed her eyes. There was no trace of a smile anymore. “You think you are in a position to demand promises? From me?”

Chico eyed the thugs on either side of Jono, both thumping the fat ends of baseball bats against open palms. He’d made a tactical error, but he could fix it. “Alice,” he said, with a note of false confidence, “deposit 50k into Jono’s business account.” Chico heard a sharp intake of breath from Manny. Jono gazed about wildly in all directions, then circled her desk to stand toe-to-toe in front of Chico. “Who the hell is Alice?” Chico took a step back and cleared his throat, hoping not to choke on his words. “She’s my … business associate. Go ahead, check your account. It’ll be there.” Jono frowned and returned to her computer. A terrified-looking Manny caught Chico’s eye and mouthed, “What the fuck are you doing?” A moment later, Jono looked up from the screen, nostrils flaring and smoke practically billowing out of them. “What the fuck did you just do? How did a little piss-ant like you get into my accounts?” Her voice was rising steadily, and her face flushed red with fury. This was not how Chico thought this would go. “No, no, no!” he cried out. “It’s not like that at all.” But it was too late, the gate had opened, and the bull was running. “Shoot these motherfuckers!” Jono yelled.

Chico gripped his cell phone. “Lights out, Alice,” he said. Everything went black in the windowless back room. Chico grabbed Manny’s hand, and they ran for the door, bullet fire splitting the darkness. Alice and the Eldorado were waiting outside the convenience store with the top down. The store door burst open, and Chico and Manny leaped into the backseat. Alice peeled out, leaving a trail of burnt rubber on the pavement. Even as the Eldorado cornered the first intersection, Chico thought he felt a bullet whiz by his head. He was shaking from head to toe, his nerves on the verge of splintering. He yelled to Alice to step on it. After a few minutes, Alice found the highway and slowed down enough to allow the convertible top to be closed, creating that illusion of safety. They rolled along in silence, collecting their nerves and catching their breath, until Chico blurted out, “Jono’s a woman? Why the hell didn’t you tell me?” It sounded like an accusation, and Manny’s patience snapped. “What difference does it make? She’s a woman alright, a woman with a balisong knife in her hoochie and tits that can cut glass. What did you think – that you could’ve wooed her with your studly charms?” Chico huffed and looked out the window. “Just, I was expecting a guy … that was all wrong.” Manny balled up her fists and stifled a scream, teetering on the edge of hysteria. “You bet your ass that was all wrong! News flash, Chico, gangsters don’t like strangers accessing their illegal – and highly protected – cash stores. She’s probably thinking you have connections to some rival gang that’s about to bring her down. Or that you’re with the feds. Either way, she’s going to have me killed for leading you straight to her.” Chico listened while his teeth furiously attacked a thumb nail, clenching his butt cheeks so he didn’t shit his pants. He didn’t know what to say. Finally, in a voice bleeding abject misery, he told Alice to just keep driving, to just get them away. Alice complied with a pleasant smile. 

They drove straight through the night to sun-up and beyond. They’d made their way off the highway onto a web of little country roads in the middle of Buttfuck, USA. It seemed that their pursuers had either lost them or given up. “Pull over, Alice. I need to take a whiz.” Alice dutifully pulled to the side of the road and Chico slid out of the car, looking up and down the deserted strip of asphalt. When he felt the coast was clear, he walked a few steps into the woods to do his business. Manny got out of the car on the other side, stretching stiff limbs. She looked at her phone to see the time, but the battery was dead. How many hours had they been on the run? She had lost all sense of time and even place. She had no idea where they were. She thought of asking Alice, but quickly discarded the thought. She hated Alice and suspected the sentiment was mutual. She had the distinct feeling that Alice would be delighted to see Manny’s head blown off. Screw her. Chico returned to the car zipping his fly. He glanced up at the sky which was gray and overcast. “Might get rain,” he muttered, like that was something anyone cared about. They were at a little junction where the two-lane road they were on intersected with another. They had a decision to make, left or right. 

***

The scuffed tip of a black leather boot noses the first drops of a trail of bright red blood leading off the asphalt into the woods. The barrel of a sniper rifle points to it, and Goon One says, “They’re not going far.” His partner wipes a fat streak of sweat off the top of his bald head and says, “We should have gotten closer. The shot was too far.” Goon One counters, “Didn’t wanna spook ’em. They’ve got the luck and they’re hard to pin down.” Goon Two hunches over, trying to stare through the tinted window on the driver’s side of the Eldorado and shakes his head. “This car … this Eldorado … the way it drove itself at Ted’s … that woman’s voice … gives me the creeps.” Goon One is scraping the bottom of his boot on the asphalt now, trying to get the sticky blood off. “Know what really gives me the creeps?” Goon Two shrugs his shoulders. “Jono. She gives me the creeps because she’s bat-shit crazy, and she’s gonna kill us both if we don’t deliver.” Goon Two nods his head in agreement, still staring at the Eldorado, like it’s a mystery box he needs to open. “We’re just lucky gas stations have CCTV coverage, and the boss has the right connections,” he says. His hand is on the door handle of the Eldorado and is about to pull, when a loud click announces the doors all locking at once. He jumps back a step, startled, and mutters, “I’m telling you. This fucking car has a mind of its own!” Two black crows circling overhead suddenly swoop down and land on the roof of the Eldorado, protective mothers returning to their nests. “Goddamn, I hate crows,” Goon Two says. Each crow locks itself in a stare-down with one of the thugs, beady black eyes drilling holes through their heads. Goon One raises his rifle and aims first at the crows, then, after a pause, at the Eldorado’s gas tank, thinking three for one. “Don’t fuck around,” Goon Two warns. “Jono wants the Eldorado.” Goon One shrugs, his rifle barrel wavering between the crows and the gas tank.

***

Manny patches up Chico’s shoulder as best she can. She’s no doctor, but she can see it’s not too bad in the big scheme of things. She has removed his leather jacket, and she slides his wallet out of the pocket. She reads his driver’s license and learns his name is actually Francis Marlon. She wonders where the hell he got the “Chico” from, and then remembers him telling her his name was Francisco a million years ago back in the diner. Close, maybe, but no cigar. She rifles through the rest of the contents: a debit card, a library card (who the fuck carries a library card?), a membership card for Micro Center electronics. A photo slips out of a plastic sleeve, one of a young girl with blonde hair, straight bangs, and a wide smile. Cute as a button. A daughter? No, the photo is too old, she thinks. It’s from a different decade. Maybe a sister? The tiny hairs on the back of her neck ripple as she realizes the girl in the photo looks exactly like Alice – or, more likely, Alice was modeled to look just like the girl in the photo. There’s a story there, she’s sure of it, one that probably indicates hefty therapy bills in Chico’s future, but she is too tired to care right now. Instead, she wets a dishcloth she finds in the cabin’s kitchenette and applies it to Chico’s face, wringing drops of cool water over his lips. He comes to. At first, he’s very confused, looking around the strange surroundings. He looks bleary-eyed at Manny and takes a minute to recognize her, but then he does, and he jolts to attention. “Alice? Where’s Alice?” is the first thing out of his mouth. Manny sighs. A crow caws in the distance. She says, “We left the car on the road after you were shot.” Chico sits up, grunting and squeezing his bad shoulder with his good hand. “Is she alright?” Manny counts to five in her head, trying to keep a tsunami of irritation at bay. “I don’t know, Chico,” she says. “We had to get away – BECAUSE YOU WERE SHOT.” Finally, Chico looks at his shoulder and runs his fingers along the white gauze. “Did you do this?” Manny gapes at him, disbelieving. “Are you asking me whether I shot you or whether I dressed your wound?” Outside, a crow caws again. Chico frowns at her, says he is asking about the bandage. “No,” Manny says, “the first-aid fairy came and bandaged you up, Chico. What do you think?” Chico tries moving his arm and winces. “How’s the jacket?” he asks, looking around for his leather. This proves to be more than Manny can bear. The tension and exhaustion and fear she has been carrying for the last several hours erupt in a string of wildly flung insults and expletives. She is on such a roll that she fails to note the arrival of visitors.

Goon One has a gun trained at them. The other is holding a chainsaw. Manny’s mind flashes to the chainsaw in front of the cabin, and she feels like she’s going to be sick. She and Chico stop arguing, and for one brief moment, the only audible sound in the cabin comes from the birds and insects outside. Then, Manny throws her hands up in the air. “Listen,” she says, pleading, “there has been a big misunderstanding. Nothing we can’t fix.” Chainsaw Goon smiles in a way that contorts his face into that of some demented, grotesque character in a cartoon. “We lost a whole night of sleep chasing your asses. We get grumpy when we don’t sleep, you know what I mean?” Manny swallows hard, her eyes trained on the chainsaw. The thug continues, “And Jono, she’s real grumpy now, grumpier than we’ve ever seen.” His partner nods in confirmation. “No good for anybody when the boss is grumpy, so you’re damn right we’re going to fix this. Here’s what’s gonna happen,” he begins, sounding like a coach laying out a game plan, “and there ain’t no use crying and screaming, so don’t even start.” He glares hard at Manny. “Jono wants you back, so we’re gonna bring you back.” Chico and Manny listen, their eyes both drifting to the cabin’s one door, which is blocked by the guy with the gun. Chainsaw Goon continues, “There are lessons that need to be taught first. Painful lessons.” He presses the purge valve on the chainsaw in his hands, and both Manny and Chico realize he is priming the engine. He stares at Manny and licks his lips in a way that makes her feel violated before he has even touched her. “A hand from you.” Manny gasps, “No, please, no! We’ll come with you, no fight. Please.” Chainsaw ignores her and continues, “For your boyfriend here, a foot.” Chico, who has been quiet this whole time, scrambles to get a cell phone out of the pocket of his jeans with his good hand, but his motions are clumsy, and it tumbles onto the floor. “Alice!” he shouts. “Alice?” His voice breaks when he says it the second time, and he sounds like a pathetic child fighting to hold back tears. Alice is far away, and now even his phone is out of reach. Plus, there is almost certainly no service in these remote woods. “I don’t know who the fuck this Alice is, but rest assured, she’s not coming to save you,” Chainsaw Goon says, and he pulls the cord on the saw and the engine comes alive. The cabin vibrates with inhuman sound, and Manny’s teeth chatter in harmony with the vibrations. She scrambles toward the door and right into the chest of the gun-wielding goon who grabs a handful of her hair and whacks her across the face with the hand holding the pistol. “Hold her,” Chainsaw shouts over the engine’s roar, and he walks to the cabin’s table and pushes the coffee mug and cereal box off with an elbow. “Bring her here,” he yells. Holding Manny by the hair with one hand and the pistol against her temple with the other, the thug shoves Manny toward the table. As he does, Chico, with tremendous effort, lurches off the floor and is rewarded by a vicious kick to his injured shoulder, sending his body crashing backwards against the cabin’s wall. To his left, a framed landscape print falls to the floor and shatters. At the table, the thug with the gun realizes he needs his two hands free, so he holsters his gun, pushes Manny back-flat on the table, and climbs up beside her to hold her down. He thrusts a knee into her solar plexus, effectively pinning her, and grabs hold of her right arm with two hands the size of ham hocks. Manny screams and thrashes, kicking her legs and pounding her head up and down so it crashes repeatedly into the table, but all sound is drowned out by the hungry screech of the chainsaw. Only the sound of a single gunshot rises above the din.

The chainsaw, a moment ago mere inches from Manny’s flesh, crashes to the floor and bounces violently until it lands on its side, humming innocently, oblivious to its own grisly power. The goon who’d gripped the saw just a second earlier drops heavily to his knees and slumps onto his side, an expression of shock frozen on his face. Meanwhile, the other goon who’d been pinning Manny leaps off the table, already drawing his gun, but he’s too late. His body is blown backward as a bullet stuffs his chest.

A man with wild grey hair stands about six feet inside the cabin door, sighting a hunting rifle crammed into his shoulder. When all goes still, he lowers the weapon slowly and looks from Manny to Chico. “Hands where I can see them,” he says. Manny is still laying on the table, staring at the ceiling, hyperventilating, and the words of the man do not seem to reach her ears. The man looks at Chico who is on the floor, fresh red blood soaking through the gauze on his shoulder. Chico lifts his good arm in the air. The man appears satisfied that neither pose a threat. “Who are you?” he asks. “What happened? And why did it happen in my house?”

Manny’s neck slowly rotates so that she is looking at the man, although she appears to be looking through him. Her eyes are shiny and vacant. Her lips move strangely, but no words come out. “She’s in shock,” the owner says. He wedges the butt of his rifle back into his shoulder and walks around the table to where the first thug has fallen and nudges him with his work boot. The thug’s right flank is drenched in blood that is beginning to flower out onto the worn, beige rug on the cabin floor. The cabin owner puts his gun down, bends, and turns off the chainsaw. A deafening, new quiet fills the cabin. The man gently lays the palm of his hand on Manny’s forehead. Her eyes drift toward him, then away. She rolls onto her side and curls into a fetal position. The owner looks at Chico, still on the floor with his good arm raised. He walks over to him and pats him down around the waist. “You can put your hand down now,” he says, rising back up to standing. “Now, you want to tell me what happened here, son?”

Chico shuts his eyes and winces. He catches a whiff of urine and realizes his groin area is wet. The humiliation he feels is even more painful than his shoulder, but at least he’s alive. He isn’t sure what to say to this man, how to explain. He doesn’t feel he can go with the truth, so he tries a lie. “We were out hiking, and these two psychos started following us.” The man raises a hand to stop Chico from talking, his expression saying stop wasting my time. He looks at Manny, her clothing, takes in the mini-skirt and belly shirt. “Hiking?” he says, raising a dubious eyebrow. “You’re going to have to do better than that. I’d say these boys here were pretty pissed off considering they were about to saw your girlfriend to bits when I came in. They do that to your shoulder?” Chico nods and drops his head. He starts stammering out the story, but his mouth and his brain are not keeping pace with one another, and his version of events comes out garbled and disjointed. Words and phrases fly like “lost job” and “Alice” and “Ted’s Diner” and “waitress” and “Alice” and “loan shark” and “Alice.” The man does his best to follow, but he gets stuck, particularly around trying to figure out the parts about Alice. Eventually, the man runs out of patience. He says it’s time to get the law involved, and, though there is no cell service in the cabin, he can radio the sheriff from his truck out front. The blow to the back of his head that follows this last utterance catches him totally off guard. 

Manny stands behind him as he crumbles to the floor. She is holding the thug’s gun in her hand. Chico had watched her quietly get off the table and crawl over to the holstered weapon, an undisguised look of revulsion on her pretty face as she maneuvered around the fallen thug. All the while Chico kept talking, kept the cabin owner’s attention focused on his ridiculous story, kept the cabin owner’s eyes from drifting, his ears from hearing anything else. Manny knocked the poor guy out, their hero and savior, at just the right time. A second later, and he would have turned to go outside and call the sheriff, and they couldn’t have that. Chico, via Alice, had stolen an assload of money in the last 24 hours. And then there was Jono. Jono surely wouldn’t rest now until Chico and Manny were dead. It wouldn’t matter if the police got to them first, she would find them.

Manny is still trembling, but she is once again functional. She bends to feel the man’s pulse, then inspects the wound on his head which is rapidly swelling. She grabs him under the armpits and drags him to the cabin’s faded couch. She uses all the strength she can muster to hoist him up and put him in a comfortable position. She gets a towel, folds it over several times, and wets it with cool water. She wedges it under the back of his head to soak up the trickle of blood and stop the swelling. No doubt, he is going to have a nasty lump when he wakes up, but, hopefully, he will be okay. And, hopefully, she and Chico will be long gone by then. She covers the man with a blanket she pulls off the bed and sets a glass of water and two Tylenol she finds in the rickety, old medicine cabinet on the coffee table beside him. Then, she shakes two more pills out of the Tylenol bottle and brings them over to Chico who dry-swallows them. “Can you walk?” she asks. When he nods, she says, “Then get up, and let’s go.”

The two motor through the woods back toward the car, their pace surprisingly spry, both hyped up on the foul-tasting cocktail of adrenalin and terror. The pain in Chico’s shoulder takes a backseat to all other stimuli slamming his overwrought nervous system, and he manages to keep step with Manny, his precious leather jacket held in his good hand, dragging along the ground. Manny is coming back to herself more and more as the distance from the cabin grows, and she is talking about getting out of the country. She asks if Alice can get them on a flight to Europe or South America, which makes the pounding in Chico’s chest intensify to an almost intolerable level. He offers an alternative, perhaps Alice can drive them to Canada where they can disappear. Manny frowns, and Chico says he cannot – will not – leave Alice behind. Manny’s frown turns into a full-face contortion. “Did it ever occur to you that you would have none of these problems if not for Alice?” she shouts. “Sometimes the exact things you wish for are the exact things that turn your life into a big pile of horse-shit. Don’t you get it? The Monkey’s Paw.” Bewildered, Chico repeats Monkey’s Paw, and Manny screws up her face, mumbling about something she read in high school and saying it was beside the point, anyway. Chico asks why she even brought it up then, and she tells him to shut up, and they walk on in sulky silence.

Ten minutes pass before Manny speaks again, this time with greater gentleness. “You know, Chico, while you were unconscious, I looked through your wallet.” She waits for a reaction, but Chico just continues to walk, eyes straight ahead. Manny says, “I saw the picture.” Chico’s jaw tightens, but he says nothing, and Manny goes on. “Cute little blonde girl?” Nothing from Chico. “Maybe your sister?” A muscle twitches in Chico’s cheek. “Chico, what happened to her?” Chico looks at her, then looks away without breaking stride. “Leukemia,” he says flatly. “Dead at age 14.” Manny nods. “I’m sorry,” she says. She had expected something like this. She waits, hoping he will spontaneously say more, but he doesn’t. “What was she like?” she asks. Chico keeps walking, and Manny cannot tell if he’s pondering the question or ignoring it. Just when she thinks the conversation is over, he starts talking, and the words spill out in a long, winding river of grief and loss. “She liked playing soccer and dancing to bad pop music,” Chico says. “She had a great memory and knew everyone’s favorite color.” He smiles at some internal recollection. “She loved the flavor of lemon. She loved me,” he said, the smile on his face replaced by a look of wonderment. “I was the older brother, but a lot of the time, I felt like she was the one taking care of me. She was the best friend I ever had. Maybe the only one.”

Manny has the urge to take Chico’s hand, but the one closest to her is dragging his leather jacket, and the other one hangs limply from a damaged shoulder. She wants to tell him that she understands loss. She wants to tell him about the baby that is no more, the baby born with a rare genetic condition, the one that led her to borrow money from Jono because she wanted to buy a miracle. But she doesn’t tell him any of that. Not now. Now, there are other things that need to be addressed. She considers how to broach the subject, then decides to just take the plunge. “Chico, I’d like to talk about Alice.” 

“What about Alice?” Chico says, marching forward, determinedly not looking at her. “Well, you know,” Manny says gently, “Alice looks just like your sister.” She watches Chico for a few steps in profile, the straight, white line of his lips. “Does she?” Chico asks. “I never noticed.” Sure, Manny thinks. Sure, you didn’t. Manny thinks hard about what she wants to say next, unsure of herself. She sighs and goes for it. “But Alice is not your sister. She’s not your best friend. Alice is not even a real person.” Chico stops moving and swings his head to look Manny straight in the face. “Real people suck,” he says simply. A crow caws. Manny meets his eyes and nods, and the two walk on in silence. 

A minute later, a series of small vibrations and buzzes burst from Manny’s phone as it pops back to life. Chico looks quizzically at her, and Manny explains she charged it at the cabin while Chico slept, and she realizes they must be getting closer to civilization and, hence, cell service. The texts are all from Ted, her boss at the diner, progressively more frantic and asking if she’s all right. “Not everyone sucks,” she mutters, staring at the screen. Chico mutters something in return, but she can’t make out what it is. She steals a sideways glance at him, and a black flash in the trees catches her eye. A crow seems to be following their progress, fluttering along from branch to branch as they pass, its beady eyes watching them intently, listening in on their conversation, cawing periodically in agreement or opposition. These crows have been around all day it seems. She vaguely recalls that crows are harbingers of something, but whether good or bad she cannot remember. 

Manny feels sick, depleted, a little unhinged. She knows time is running out. Once they reach the road, decisions will have to be made. She considers Chico, this man she has known only for a day (can it really be only a day?), this man who built a best friend (or a sister) out of parts and code, who has zero street smarts but a good heart, who seems lost and lonely and, in some ways, like a child, one who wants to play the part of pirate, of swashbuckler, of superhero. She glances at Chico and looks away, chewing thoughtfully on her lower lip. The bottom line is that this child-man tried to stand up for Manny against Jono when he hardly even knew her. Who does that? Not a guy who sucks, that much Manny knows. True, he failed miserably. True, they are now both in more trouble than they’ve ever seen in their lives, but they are in it together. And Manny knows damn well that together is a lot better than alone – so long as the person you’re together with doesn’t suck.

“Chilly out here,” she says, rubbing her arms. Chico turns toward her, and, by the look on his face, Manny can see he has forgotten her tiny clothes, that she’s all bare arms and legs and midriff under the shady canopy of trees. He hands over his leather jacket. “Wear this,” he says. The crow sitting high in an elm caws approval. Manny hears the hum of voices up ahead, probably a crowd of locals drawn from their mundane existences by the sound of gunfire and a funky car with a brain, sitting desolate on the side of the road. She hears the faint shrill of a siren in the distance, but it is far off, although how far is difficult to tell in this landscape. “Chico,” she asks, “what are we going to do?” The “we” is intentional, a dipped toe in unknown waters. Chico hears that “we” and understands – because he looks at her and gives a slight nod. “We are going to find my Eldorado,” he says. It is the first time Manny has heard him refer to Alice as a car and nothing more. “And then what?” she asks. Chico takes a few strides. “If the car is okay, we will put as much distance as we can between ourselves and this place.” Yes, Manny thinks, yes, yes! Distance, that’s exactly what they need. But what if… “What if she’s – it’s – not okay?” They are almost out of the forest. Chico shrugs his shoulders. “Well, then, I guess we have a lot of explaining to do.” The siren sound is considerably louder, closer. Chico puts out his good hand, and Manny takes it. They walk out of the woods and step onto the blacktop road together.

***

They made their way through the crowd and back to the Eldorado. And as they approached it, a crow flew directly over their heads and landed on the hood and then looked at them. They stood some distance away and watched the crow watching them. Another crow flew directly overhead and landed beside it. The first crow squawked and then both flew away. They watched the crows disappear, looked at each other, and then got in the Eldorado. Only one way to go this time, with five bars and full battery.

The End

Contest rules Owl Canyon Press Short Story Hackathon 5 (2023) [AKA Tag-Teamathon]: Owl Canyon Press provides the 1st paragraph and two alternate 50th paragraphs with writing team co-authors taking turns writing a common/shared story from paragraphs 2 through 49 (thus the tag-team handle) and then spinning off two versions using the two alternative 50th paragraphs. The story must satisfy both alternate 50th ending paragraphs!

Alternate Ending:

Paragraph #50B —The crowd parted as they approached, and it was hard to say if it was out of respect, reverence, fear, or awe, or possibly a combination of all four. The Eldorado was where they’d left it but was now fully engulfed in flames. The murder of crows was gone and all that remained of their presence was the random pattern of white spatters on the ground. Nowhere to go this time, even with five bars and a full battery.