AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Fuck you,” I laughed. “He’s home?”
“Yup.”
“I’m going to drop by and say hello.”
Ten minutes later, Benjy answered the door.
Jesus Christ.
His skin was pale and sickly, and I could see the outline of bandages under his wifebeater.
He brightened up considerably when he saw it was me, though it took a few seconds for him to react. Benjy never was the sharpest tool in the shed, but he was even slower than normal. I figured they must have him on painkillers.
Not his usual choice of drug.
That brought up a lot of bad memories, so I brushed the thought away.
“Jack!” he beamed. “Hey, man!”
“Hey, Benjy. How you doin’?”
“Good, real good! Hey – you wanna come in?”
It was a shitty apartment, a one-room studio with peeling paint and a stained futon bed. I felt bad for the kid – then reminded myself that in a couple of months, I’d be lucky to have a place like this.
“Can I get you anything?” he asked me as he hobbled feebly over to a mini fridge in the corner. “I got some Budweiser.”
“No, I’m good. Sit down, don’t tire yourself out.”
“Okay.” He settled gingerly back onto the futon. “It’s nice to see you, Jack.”
“It’s good to see you, too, kid. Sorry I haven’t been around earlier, it’s just – some shit went down and… well…”
“I heard,” Benjy said sadly.
Ouch.
When you’re getting pity from a mentally deficient guy who’s just been shot, you know your life has turned to shit.
“You did, huh?”
“Yeah. Chuck gave me a ride home from the hospital yesterday. He told me. I’m real sorry, Jack. You were a good president.”
“…thanks, Benjy.”
That moment reminded me that it wasn’t just the Lou’s and Dan Peters of the world – there were good people, too.
We talked for a while about this and that. How the Dodgers were going to do this year. What he’d watched on television since he got out of the hospital. Just shootin’ the shit.
I thought about mentioning I found out the name of the guy who’d shot him, but decided it wasn’t the right time. He’d been through enough, so I just kept things light and pleasant.
There’d be plenty of time to talk about bad shit after the Santa Muertes started raining down a world of hurt on the Midnight Riders.
18
Except they didn’t.
The counterattack never came.
