Desperate Times Read online

  “What’s goin’ on, man?” asked Bill in booming voice. “Why are you walking home?”

  Jimmy shook his head with the best fake smile he could muster. “I left my truck at work. What’s up?”

  “Oh, I’ve been better,” said Bill, in what Jimmy thought was an incredibly loud voice for this time of morning. He wore new sneakers and a mud-colored sweat suit that looked suspiciously like the one he’d worn the day before. “Yep, I was up all night again; can’t sleep with this damn back. Did I tell you I ran into Tina on Saturday?”

  Bill stood between him and his trailer home. From over his shoulder, Jimmy caught the sudden movement of his own living room curtains. Jimmy wondered if Paula had been awake, which would be quite unusual for her. Had Bill’s booming voice waked her up? Jimmy thought so, thinking he’d likely waked up anyone within two hundred feet. Bill continued to talk and Jimmy nodded, barely hearing a word of what he said.

  “She wants the Honda. Did I tell you that?”

  “Huh?” asked Jimmy, noticing the bits of scrambled egg stuck in Bill’s teeth. “Oh, yep. You did say that. Yep.”

  “Really? I don’t remember telling you that.”

  Jimmy’s eyes rested on a familiar blue Firebird parked just up the street. There was no mistaking the vintage car that belonged to Skip Manson who’d graduated two years ahead of Jimmy. He didn’t know Skip Manson well, just well enough to know that he didn’t care for him. He had a reputation for being a spoiled thug who did what he wanted, whenever he wanted.

  “The damn doctors won’t refill my prescription,” Bill plowed on, hardly pausing for a breath. “I told them that I can’t sleep. They don’t give a crap. I lay awake all night and then I’m tired all day. Have you ever felt like that? I can’t take it anymore. I’m thinking about changing doctors. Speaking of doctors, did I tell you my cousin, the doctor, choked to death on his morning bran muffin? He was two years younger than me.”

  You did, thought Jimmy. Bill smelled of body odor, and he obviously hadn’t brushed his teeth or his thinning hair which needed cutting and stood out in twisted clumps. The curtains flickered again, and Jimmy looked back to the gleaming Firebird—the only car on the street without any condensation on the windshield. His heart sank, and he pushed by Bill in midsentence.

  “Don’t,” Bill said.

  “You son of a bitch,” answered Jimmy without turning his head.

  He took five steps and broke into a jog, bounding up the cement steps before grabbing the doorknob. It was locked. From inside the trailer he could hear the sound of running footsteps. He dug into his pockets and pulled out his keys. He fumbled with the ring for a second before finding the right one. He jammed the key into the lock and pushed hard on the door, his heart hammering in his chest. He strode inside, fists clenched, as his worst fears were realized. A smug-looking Skip Manson was sitting at his kitchen table. He wore a leather jacket and was tying the laces of a boot. Paula stood barefooted next to him, clad in her red bathrobe.

  “It’s not what it looks like,” Paula said in a voice filled with apprehension.

  “Right,” growled Jimmy. “Then what the hell is it?”

  “We’re old friends, man,” said Manson, his long brown hair hanging over his eyes as he battled his boot laces. “I was just stopping by to say hello.”

  “At eight in the morning?” asked Jimmy.

  “Screw you,” said Paula defiantly, tears running down her cheeks.

  Jimmy’s head snapped back as if he’d been slapped. “What did you say?”

  “She said, screw you!” retorted Manson with a sneer.

  There was a huge size difference between Jimmy and the hulking Manson. Jimmy stood five foot ten with his boots on and weighed the same lean one hundred seventy pounds as he had in high school. The confident-looking Manson was a head taller than Jimmy and outweighed him by at least fifty pounds. Jimmy wasn’t going to let this pass. He strode into the kitchen, sizing up the bigger man. Manson stood and leered at Jimmy.

  “Please don’t,” pleaded Paula.

  Jimmy never hesitated. He went straight at Manson with a right-handed haymaker that landed with a thud on the man’s jaw. Manson, stunned, rubbed his mouth with a large hand, and it came away bloody. His eyes narrowed, and he cocked his fist with an angry growl.

  Jimmy was surprised that the punch hadn’t brought Manson down. His next punch was a left jab that caught Skip Manson flush on the nose. Manson countered with a looping right that caught nothing but air. He spun with the whiff, knocking over a chair and nearly lost his balance. Had Manson been more observant, he might’ve noticed the trophy case from Jimmy’s five years of boxing golden gloves. Most of the trophies and ribbons were second and third place, but while Manson had spent his youth drinking beer and breaking laws, Jimmy had been training in the ring and boxing under the name Kid Logan. People still called him that to this day. The fight was no contest.

  “Jimmy, stop,” pleaded Paula.

  Jimmy barely heard her as he continued to throw his fists into Manson’s face and body. The big man had already given up trying to throw any punches of his own. He covered up his face as he lurched toward the kitchen counter. Blood splattered the tile floor as another chair crashed to the ground beneath the weight of Manson. Paula moved in, grabbing Jimmy by the waist. Bill now stood at the open door and screamed for Jimmy to stop. Jimmy suddenly held his hands up as if Bill were the police.

  “I’m done,” said Jimmy with labored breath, turning away from Manson. “I’m done. Get that piece of shit out of here.”

  Jimmy never saw the vodka bottle that Manson clubbed him with.

  Jimmy woke up flat on his back, lying on the couch. Paula was hovering over him, Bill at her side. He felt like a freight train was roaring through his head. Paula held something cold on the top of his head, and the stench of alcohol hung in the air.

  “Stay still. The bleeding’s almost stopped,” said Paula, her eyes swollen and her face as white as a sheet. “I thought he’d killed you.”

  “How do you feel?” asked Bill, his face full of concern. “Can I get you something? Vicodin? Percocet? That must hurt like hell.”

  “No,” answered Jimmy. “I’ll be all right. Where is he?”

  “Gone,” Paula said through gritted teeth. “He’s gone.”

  “Wow, that was some show!” said Bill. “You whipped his ass!”

  “Shut up, Bill,” growled Paula. “Look, Jimmy, there was nothing going on. I don’t know why he stopped over. Jerk. He bought me a drink once up at the bar. That was it. I never told you about that because I know how jealous you can get. Anyhow, I ran into him at Country Market, and he asked where I lived. All I said was that I lived here with you in the trailer court.”

  “Manufactured Home Community,” corrected Bill.

  “Shut up, Bill,” repeated Jimmy, wishing Bill would go home, knowing he wouldn’t.

  Paula continued. “He must’ve driven around until he saw my car. I don’t know. I really don’t know.”

  Jimmy narrowed his eyes and nodded. He wanted to believe her. That still didn’t explain the way Bill had acted outside. He’d forgotten how angry he’d been about that. He turned to Bill and glared at him.

  “I don’t know anything, Jimmy,” said Bill. “Anything except the way I felt when I walked in on Tina and Larry. I didn’t want you or anyone else to have to live with the memory of that. All I can say is that’s the first time I saw that car here, it wasn’t here long and it did drive by a couple of times before he parked it.”

  Jimmy nodded, accepting what Bill had said. Bill’s days were spent at the window, waiting for Tina to come back to him. Jimmy wanted to accept what Paula had told him. Right now he didn’t have much choice. The pain was subsiding, and he knew the clock was ticking.

  Three

  Zimbabwe’s inflation rate was estimated to be as high as 79.6 billion percent per month. Those who managed to survive in post Second World War Hungary would consider them lucky. Try to i
magine living with an inflation rate of 12.95 quadrillion percent per month.

  The thought is unfathomable. The numbers are too large.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” Paula said. “This is a joke, right?”

  After finally getting Bill to go home, Jimmy had changed clothes and made coffee. Paula had straightened up the kitchen, swept up the broken glass and washed the floor. She opened a window and a slight breeze made the curtain billow. She now sat at the table with her arms crossed. Jimmy’s head throbbed. The bleeding had stopped, and he wasn’t going to need stitches. He knew that time was a luxury he couldn’t afford. He had to tell Paula everything. He’d gone over how he’d put this to her, but in the end he’d just blurted it out. She sat there and stared at him with sad, empty eyes, as if he were telling her that he’d just been sold the Brooklyn Bridge. Telling the story himself, he began to have doubts of his own. If those words hadn’t come out of Ken Dahlgren’s mouth, he never would’ve believed them. He had to keep working on her. He emptied a sweetener packet into Paula’s cup and stirred the coffee with a spoon. Handing it to her, he sat next to her at the table.

  “Ken thinks things are going to get bad. I agree with him. Do you really want to be here if the government declares martial law? Honey, what are we going to do when there’s nothing on the shelves at the grocery store and no gas at the pumps? We’ve got to get out and get out now.”

  Paula sipped at her coffee and lit up a cigarette. She had dressed in jeans and a tee shirt; her long golden hair was pulled back into a ponytail. One look at her and Jimmy knew she hadn’t heard a word he’d said. “So, we just go on vacation with the Dahlgrens?” she asked sarcastically. “What if he’s wrong? Have you even stopped for a moment to think about that? We leave, the world keeps chugging along and what do we come back to? They’ve got money, we don’t. What are we supposed to live on? I am not asking my parents for money, Jimmy, not a dime.”

  “Come on, I would never ask you to do that. We’re just getting out of Crown until things get back to normal. Ken has his place stocked, and it’s all ready to go. That isn’t like going on vacation. We’re just being careful, that’s all we’re doing.”

  Paula rolled her eyes and took a long pull on her menthol. “Go ahead. I’ll just go back home. I’m sure my parents won’t be running away.”

  Those were the words he’d been both dreading and expecting. “You don’t understand,” he said, reaching for Paula’s hand.

  Paula jerked it away and stood up, her face suddenly angry. “What don’t I understand, Jimmy? That Ken Dahlgren has cut your hours in half, making us live in the poorhouse for the past six months while he spends buckets of money on his lake place? He doesn’t care that we’re behind on our lot rent and your truck payment! I understand that, Jimmy. I get that!”

  “Please lower your voice, Paula. Let’s just talk rationally about this,” said Jimmy, holding his hands up to her. “There’s no need to yell.”

  “Don’t tell me what to do! You come blasting in here, practically accuse me of cheating on you, and then you’ve got the guts to ask me if I want to run away? Why, Jimmy, why? Because Ken Dahlgren says we should? What the hell does he know? Does he have a crystal ball to see into the future with? Is Ken going to make our payments for us while we’re gone? Is he? What happens when this is all over? We won’t have a home to come back to. Your credit will be shot, and you won’t have a job. What are we supposed to do then, smart guy?”

  Jimmy felt the anger welling up inside of him and fought desperately to control it. Paula stood at the sink, her eyes wet and full of contempt, her arms crossed at her chest. “Just think about it,” he said in a calm voice. He then pulled the envelope from his back pocket, opened it, and began to count out hundred dollar bills onto the table.

  “Where did you get that?” Paula spat. “Why didn’t you put that money in the checking account so we could get caught up around here?”

  After Jimmy had counted off ten of the hundred-dollar bills, he returned the remaining bills into the envelope and slipped it back into his pocket. “There’s a thousand bucks. Ken gave it to me, to us. If you really want to go stay with your folks, just take it. I suggest you buy food and gas as fast as you can. When the trucks stop running, the stores will be empty and all that cash won’t buy you a pizza.”

  “Right,” Paula said scornfully.

  “I’m heading over to Saint Cloud; I’ve got some things I have to get over there. I should be home in a couple of hours. Just think about what I said, okay?” He got up from his chair, his eyes locked on hers. “I love you, Paula. I want you to come along with me. We’ll be safe up there. Let’s just give it a week or two. That’s all I’m asking. Think about it?”

  “Whatever,” Paula said, turning away from Jimmy as he tried to kiss her.

  “I love you,” Jimmy whispered into her ear, kissing her cheek.

  “I might not be here when you get back,”

  “I hope you are,” answered Jimmy. He then donned a Twins cap from the hook by the door and walked out into the bright sunshine. He pulled his sunglasses from his shirt pocket, watching with dismay as one of the lenses fell to the ground. He tried to straighten the bow and saw that it was a lost cause. He dropped them where he stood and started to walk. He could feel eyes upon him, looked up and saw Bill watching him from his driveway. Bill waved meekly, and Jimmy nodded in his direction. Jimmy lit up a smoke and began to walk back to the Mack, his thoughts jumbled, his hands trembling.

  “Care if I ride along?” asked Bill, who was suddenly beside him.

  “What?” asked Jimmy, his heart sinking, knowing that Bill must’ve heard everything that had been said.

  “To Saint Cloud,” said Bill. “You look like you could use a friend.”

  “You heard us, didn’t you?” asked Jimmy, not losing a step.

  “It was hard not to.”

  “Fine,” said Jimmy. “Not a word of this to anyone, understand me, Bill? You’ve got to keep this under your hat.”

  Bill nodded, waddling along as Jimmy stretched his legs. “I understand.”

  They walked the three blocks without another word, passing the yapping terriers without so much as a second glance. Bill hopped up into the passenger seat as Jimmy hit the ignition and released the air brakes. The large Caterpillar engine hummed as Jimmy began going through the gears. Soon they were making the left onto Highway 95 and heading toward Saint Cloud.

  “She doesn’t want to go?” asked Bill, watching cattle graze in a field outside his window.

  “I’m not sure,” said Jimmy. “I guess I’ll find out when we get back. She’s got to think about it. All I could do was ask her. I know it sounds crazy, but I had to ask.”

  “It doesn’t sound crazy,” said Bill, turning to face Jimmy. “Not to me. I’ve been watching this thing for a while now, and the bottom’s about to drop out. I’ve tried to warn people, but nobody listens. They’re scared, and they don’t want to know. They don’t want to believe it could happen.”

  “You got that right,” agreed Jimmy.

  “I’ve read that this is all a conspiracy to create a one-world government. I don’t know if I believe that. Then again, a lot of people are saying that these are the end times. Have you heard any of that?”

  Jimmy nodded. He’d heard the dire warnings the extremists were saying on television.

  “I don’t know about any of that, but it sure makes you think, doesn’t it?”

  Again, Jimmy nodded. He definitely didn’t want to think about that.

  They rolled down Highway 95, passing what little traffic there was on this beautiful, early summer morning. They’d talk for a few minutes and then ride in silence for a few more. The radio was set to a classic rock station, playing softly over the rumble of the engine and the whine of the truck tires on asphalt. Before they knew it, it was after ten and they were on the outskirts of Saint Cloud.

  “Look at that,” said Bill, pointing out the windshield. “Ten bucks a gallo
n!”

  Jimmy squinted in the bright sunshine. “Are you kidding?”

  “That station, there,” said Bill. “Look at the line!”

  Jimmy found the sign above the busy gas station and saw that Bill’s eyes hadn’t been playing tricks on him. Cars were lined up to the street, and people were milling around outside the station. Jimmy returned his attention to the road, and after a silent mile he signaled his turn into the jam-packed Town Square Mall parking lot. Many of the shops had been closed for months, and there’d been talk that the mall would be closing its doors soon. The crowd only added to the empty feeling in Jimmy’s stomach.

  “Looks like the Christmas shopping season has started early,” said Jimmy, parking the truck in front of an empty flower shop on the far side of the lot.

  They got out of the truck and made their way to the mall entrance, doing their best to avoid the cars that buzzed angrily around the large lot. Horns blared in the distance. Jimmy knew they wouldn’t have much time. Leading the way, he walked briskly through the doors of the mall and made straight for the drug store. Bill followed, hands stuffed deep into the pockets of his rumpled sweat suit.

  To Jimmy’s relief, he got the last available shopping cart and began to fill it immediately. The prices had doubled on most items, but Jimmy plowed ahead. Toothpaste, shampoo, bar soap, deodorant—he grabbed six or eight items at a time. He felt as if they were in one of those super market contests where you try to spend as much money as you can in as little time possible. Bill would occasionally hold something up, and Jimmy would just nod, knowing they’d likely need it at some point. He grabbed bags of disposable razors, lotions, ointments, bandages, whatever caught his eye. The cart filled up quickly.