Tin bucket

I glance into the rearview mirror and watch the bills disappear into the night. The bills flow like a trail of smoke from the car. A quick mental checklist reassures me that we have them all.

“Wait, only the hundreds!” I shout while grabbing her arm before the stack of twenties disappears through the sunroof.

The car jerks to the right before I return my full attention to the wheel. She falls into my lap as we swerve to the left and then the right again as I regain control. I wonder if the reports detailing the tendency of SUVs to roll over are true and quickly decide no.

“Jesus Christ, what the hell is your problem?” The car shakes as she shoves away from me and regains her kneeling perch in the passenger seat. The hairs on my neck stand tall as I steal a glance and notice the wild look in her eyes.

“Sorry, but those are real, just get rid of the hundreds.”

“Oh,” she slowly rubs the twenties with her thumb while looking back and forth between them and the hundreds. She leans against the dash and pulls the duffel bag into her lap.

“Are there more?” She speaks into the bag while rifling through the numerous bundles.

“A couple, so be careful, just take them out and dump the rest.”

“Why the hell did you mix’m up? Jesus, you’re such an idiot.”

“Yeah, like I had a lot of time to plan and pack after getting that call.” I calculate how quickly I could get to the door and shove her out. I’m afraid she’d survive the fall and sing like a bird. I’ll take care of her later.

“Whatever,” she mutters as I glance at the bundle of twenties on the floorboard. She laughs uncontrollably while removing the rubber bands from the hundreds. She pokes a stack through opening and slowly releases the bills one by one.

I wonder how quickly they will be discovered. There are better ways to be rid of them, but nothing quicker. I convince myself that it is a necessary decision, because we can’t have them with us when we arrive.

The dashboard clock shoots four-fifteen in my direction. I smile thinking of Tommy saying the green glow of the clock resembles a devil. I wonder if I’ll ever see my son again. A loud thud breaks the trance. I put all of my weight on the brake pedal as the car screeches to a stop.

Burnt rubber fills my lungs as I step from the vehicle. The smoke slowly clears as I stand in front of the headlights and look down on a coyote as its final breath escapes. My heart races as its eyes slowly close.

“What is it?”

“Stay in the car!” I plot her out of the corner of my eye as the top half of her body protrudes from the sunroof - like the car is eating her.

“Yeah, like I’m coming out there.”

I suddenly feel exposed in the heavy night air. I’m a kid again as I scramble back to the car, slam the door and quickly lock it. The fear is unfounded, but the safety of the car is reassuring. I take a deep breath and rub my face.

“So?”

“A coyote, shit, I never saw it.” I shake my head thinking of the loss.

“Oh, big deal, they are a dime a dozen out here.”

“Yeah”

“What’s wrong with you? You act like we just hit your dog. Be a man!” She slaps my arm.

“Nothing, it’s nothing; I’m just a bit tired.”

“You want me to drive? You know, I got my license.”

“No, no, that’s okay. Thanks anyway.” The car jerks forward as I push the gas. The ride is smooth after the initial bumps.

“Are they all gone?”

“I think so.”

I jerk the bag into my lap and perform a review of its contents and follow with a quick scan of the interior.

“What, you don’t believe me?” The hurt in her voice is obvious.

“No, I mean yes, I didn’t say that, but everybody makes mistakes.”

“Yeah, you should know.”

“What the hell does that mean?” My patience is reaching its end.

“Well, I’m not the one who passed one of the bills. No, that wasn’t me.”

“Yeah, okay.” It stings.

“Jesus, what were you thinking? You know who runs that place.”

“It was an accident, okay? I thought I had one of the real ones.”

“And now we have to try to get to Mack before they do. Do you think we’ll make it?”

“Yeah. Hey, give me one of those sandwiches.” I desperately want to change the subject – there’s no need to talk about our painfully obvious situation.

She tosses a sandwich in my lap. I tear the paper away and savor the mix of bologna and cheese. It takes me back to grandma’s house - the only thing missing is the mustard.

“Hey, stop, I need to pee.”

“There’s a bucket in the back.” I motion with my hand to the back seat. I have no desire to stop again.

“What, are you insane?”

“Maybe, but just fill it up and send it into the night.”

She sits quietly while examining the tin container. She turns it in her hands before sitting it down and unbuttoning her jeans.

“Don’t look.”

I shrug as my mind wanders to her taught body in bed this morning. The thirst for her body is unquenchable. I shift at the familiar movement in my shorts. The sound of the urine hitting the tin bucket echoes through the interior as we speed through the night.

Tell me

"I am not sure I understand." The leather chair squeaked as he leaned back. He removed his glasses and held them up to the light before wiping them with his tie. He slapped them back on his face and sat very still.

"I am sorry if I was vague, but I need an answer - the sooner the better."

Turning point

"You know, he's not really your son." She closely scrutinized her fingernails while talking - a chip on the right index finger made her frown.

"What?" He had been absently staring at the young blonde cashier. His mind slowly returned to the woman on the other side of the table - a woman he thought he knew, or thought knew him.

"I'm just saying, you know, biologically he isn't yours, so there really isn't any legal reason for the attachment." She gently rubbed the chipped nail before holding it up to compare with the others. She seemed satisfied with it as she met his gaze.

"I guess." He felt the stomach muscles tighten as her red lips turned upward to flash a smile. It was a smile that had meant so much only moments, seconds before, but the spell was suddenly broken.

"Don't get mad. I know you are attached to him, but he'll be okay. You know, you could think of me from time to time." A nail file appeared in her right hand as she pushed back and forth against the ugly duckling of her nails.

"Yeah." His mouth moved but the voice was barely audible. All of his air was suddenly gone, like he was back playing little league and had the wind knocked out of him.

"You okay?" She reached over and touched his hand.

"I'll be right back." He quickly pulled his hand away. It was a touch he never wanted to feel again. The room was spinning as he banged against the restroom door. He didn't bother lowering his pants as he plopped down on the toilet. With head resting in his hands, he leaned forward and tried to process what had happened.

He could not believe her words - her nerve. He wondered if she had ever listened to anything he had ever said. Their many conversations rolled through his mind like a home movie. A pattern slowly materialized as everything seemed to be focused on her. He sat upright and realized everybody had been right, he had been so stupid to miss it.

The cool water felt good as he rubbed his face. He slowly wiped the water away and wadded the towels into a ball. He tossed the paper ball from hand to hand while staring into the mirror. The ball slammed against the brushed aluminum trash can as the door closed behind him. She was talking on her cell phone as he returned.

"That was Jose. You okay?" She unsuccessfully tried to grab his hand while waiting for an answer.

"Yeah, I'm fine." His hands rested in his lap while she continued to speak. The words were unimportant as she talked endlessly about her day at the office. He scrutinized every line on her face, each blemise and imperfection suddenly revealing themself. He felt sick at how far he'd gone, gone with her. The mind switched gears, contemplating the next move.

"So, I told them, it was me or him. And, you know, I'm serious, I am not going back if he is there." She stabbed at the air with her index finger - the crack in the nail polish still evident - to drive home the point.

"No doubt." He had no idea what she was talking about, but he now knew it didn't matter - as long as the stage was hers, the focus on her, she didn't care. He suppressed the overwhelming urge to reach across the table and force the last breath from her still moving mouth. He craved the moment where her windpipe collapsed, but he knew it would have to wait. He had watched a documentary where a quick punch to the throat was outlined by a former hitman. He made a fist and examined it while she continued to speak.

"Look, I know I shocked you with what I said, but somebody had to say it. I mean, you've been living a dream and he is old enough to take care of himself. You need to think about me and, of course, yourself."

"Don't worry about it." The words made him smile as he knew she worried about nothing but her own future. Her words had poisoned his brain. Hate and disgust slowly filled him - pushing the idyllic love from his system. He had thrown away everything for nothing. He now knew she was no different than the rest.

"You know, I love you, I want you to be happy and you can always visit him. No matter what happens, I want you to be happy." She smiled and waved, as if she had said something funny.

"Yeah." He recognized the all-too-familiar downward spiral of his mood, but he wanted no medication or doctor or anybody. He wanted to feel the pain, experience the trauma, to remember. Hate and disgust were old friends he welcomed back into his world. He slowly calculated how to bring it to hers.

The old softy

"The body doesn't lie." I wave in the general direction of the bartender with no luck.

"What do you mean?" Jim leans forward and tugs the bartenders sleeve. The startled face is met with Jim pointing to me.

"I mean, you can't make yourself do something - or someone - that you don't want." The bartender frowns in disgust at my ginger ale order. I am embarrassed, feeling like I should order a real drink, but I resist the temptation as the yellow drink is placed in front of me.

"We're men, we fuck, that's what we do!" Jim drains half of his beer as a few other people turn as his swearing echoes around the room.

"Not really, haven't you ever been unable to go?" I grimace as the ginger ale burns my throat. From a distance, it probably seems like I am drinking something strong.

"That is confidential information." Jim smiles while waving for another beer. "So, what happened?"

"We were in bed and I suddenly lost interest - well, I'm not sure if I ever really had interest. So, you know, I went down and did my duty and she was happy."

"She was happy? I thought you couldn't perform?" He grabs the new beer and takes a drink while giving me a quizzical look.

"Not exactly, but I went down on her." I make a triange with my hands and push my tongue through it a few times to drive home the point. I drop my hands as a group of women at a nearby table cheer rowdily cheer the demonstration. My face is hot as I smile, wave, and turn away from them.

"Oh, okay, gotcha, so she was into that?"

"Yeah, it was hard work, but I got her there." I mimic wiping the sweat from my forehead while laughing.

"I really don't like doing that." He looks reflectively at his beer as his mind seems to wander.

"Well, you think they like sucking dick?"

"Some do."

"Well, anyway, I did that. She came and we were done. She tried to repay the favor but I had lost interest."

"They usually take a non-performance personally."

"I thought you didn't know anything about that?"

"Yeah, but anyway, wait, you turned down a blow job?" He coughs as beer runs down his chin. He stares curiously at me, as if I just told him the world is flat.

"I couldn't physically do it. I don't know why I got into that bed. You know, we're men, we are trained for sex so turning it down is not part of the program. Shit, I'm not even attracted to her." I shake my head while chewing on a piece of ice.

"Very true, but I am questioning your masculinity. Who turns down head?"

"Lots of people. Especially from women who are not their wife." I slap his shoulder reminding him of Jill waiting for him at home.

"I guess, but I've never been in a position to turn one down - especially at home." He returns the slap while laughing. "So, you gonna see her again?"

"I dunno." I place a twenty on the wooden surface to cover both mine and his drinks.

Around

"No more secrets." She falls back into the plush sofa and touches a hand to her forehead.

"Secrets?" Both her words and their tone confuse me.

"You know what I mean. This family, this household is full of secrets." She stabs at the air with her hands for dramatic effect.

"You're mistaken, we don't have any secrets, we have lies. It’s the one thing we do well. When we're not lying to each other, we are lying to ourselves." I slowly lower myself into the wingback chair to my right - her left. I marvel at the chair's lack of comfort all the while wondering why we ever bought it.

"You were always so proud of your ability to lie. I just didn't think it would come back to haunt me." A blank expression washes over her face. She stares straight at me, through me. She seems to be waiting for an explanation, maybe even a defense.

"Well, it is a way of life. It's kind of like a Pringle's chip, you can't stop at one." I smile while admiring the comparison, but her expression doesn't change. "What do you want from me?"

"I want the truth."

"We've been down this road and you know everything. Believe me, there was no embellishment." A smirk appears and vanishes just as quickly as I await questions or more details of what she wants.

"Why did you tell me?"

"What do you mean?" There is no stalling in my voice; I am honestly at a loss for the meaning of her question.

"Exactly what I said. After so long and so much, why did you tell me?" She folds her hands across her lap, patiently waiting.

"Oh, I got it, well, I felt guilty and I was tired." I lean forward with elbows resting on my knees watching her process the words.

"Yes, but the guilt - or I suppose - was there for quite a long time. Guilt is rampant in your family. Seriously, why did you reveal the latest? Were you scared?"

"Yes, I wanted you to hear it from me." The swiftness of the reply surprises me as I realize the true nature of the questioning. She is no longer concerned with the event, rather why I confessed. I know it will be my true undoing.

"Ah yes, trying to maintain some level of control." She smiles while slowly nodding her head, but it is not a happy smile.

"I guess."

"No guessing needed. No, it was calculated like everything else. I wonder about your next move." She sits with arms folded while her mind seemed to be elsewhere.

"Not really, but you won't believe me." I feel the moisture in my armpits. I wonder what she knows.

"That's the problem."

"What is?"

"I've always believed you; that's how we got here."

"Really?" I smile while thinking of what good have been.

"Something funny?"

"Not really, just a bit of irony. I always assumed you didn't believe me. Actually, I rarely believe myself." The words and their ramifications startle me.

"I am not sure that fits the definition of irony and it doesn't make sense. Why would you continue to tell me things when you thought I didn't believe you?"

"I just assumed you didn't care."

"On the contrary. I cared more than you could ever know, but those days are long gone." She makes a long sweeping arc with your arm to signal what is in the past.

I slowly shake my head as various thoughts arrive and disappear. I suddenly realize my confession - not the actual deeds - were my ultimate undoing. I chide myself for ever telling the truth. Our eyes meet as I stand and turn toward the door. I squeeze her hand before leaving. The wind is gusty as storm clouds swirl overhead as I stroll to my car.