We're gonna go over this.  Concentrate, Jimmy.

It's raining that night, yeah?  You pick her up out in front of the Amber Lounge, couple miles up from the beach, and she's got this guy with her.  Sullen-looking dude in a tight tee-shirt, jeans cost more than hers probably, tattoos he probably picked out of the book at the shop.  You know?  You size him up and move on.  But her?  She's something else.  Real Bettie Page look about her, and, you know how it is, out here on the beach, everyone's trying to look like a goddamn James Dean movie.  Really says something when that sort of thing gets to be worth mentioning, you know? And you almost tell her, "nice gams," but you figure that'll throw the vibe. 

That's important, alright?  Look at me.  You have to include details like that.  But don't be a fucking squirrel about it.  Wait until they ask.  Remember it, you know? Play it by ear.  Bullshit with the good cop.  Act like you really want him to help you: makes you look stupid, and they love that.  They eat it up.

That's if they come for us.  Alright?  If.  Jesus Christ, Jimmy.

So as they're getting in, you kind of mentally catalog these motels on the boardwalk, maybe if the dude's rolling in it you'll take 'em over to one of the condo developments, let him show her the ocean view and whatnot.  And they look at me, right?  I'm in the passenger seat, they've never gotten into a taxi with two guys in the front seat, so you tell 'em I'm a trainee.  You didn't know that?  You have to be a trainee to drive a cab.  That's what you told them.  The couple.  But the cops, tell the cops that, hey, you really didn't want to break agency rules, but you were getting ready to take your friend Barry out to the fair.

What?  I don't look like the kind of guy goes to the fair? 

Fuck you, Jimmy.  Alright?  You looked in a mirror lately?  You got a lot of nerve saying I look like crap.

And - okay.  Here's where we got problems.  You leave a gun there?  Okay.  Did you get your prints off it?  You don't know?  Yes?  If you're lying to me, Jimmy,  I swear to God.  You got your fucking prints off it and left it in the guy's hand?  I swear to God, Jimmy.  I set this thing up for us like a fucking machine, alright, this job was a fucking train toilet, and look at what you did with it.  This, here, is all you.  So don't mouth off to me.

Alright.  So let's say this.  They asked you to drive them into the hills.  So, remember, you're stupid.  Stupid cabbie.  You think, it's dark up there, they want to get a little outdoor action going.  Right?  Maybe you can keep the meter running while they do the deed. Forget where they asked you to take them.  Forget that.  That didn't happen.  They asked to go to the hills.

You awake?  Wake up.  You shoot yourself or something?  You look like hell. Stay with me.  We're not going to no hospital, Jimmy.  You shot yourself, it's vodka and forceps, my friend.  So be honest.  Stay with me, yeah?

So let's say this.  We get up there, right?  Top of the hill.  And the guy, right?  He pulls a gun.  Puts it at my head.  Tells you to give him the keys.  You give him the keys.  Still with me?  And the girl gets out of the cab, and she tells you to get out.  And you do.  Because I got a gun to my head, you don't want any trouble.  So that's how you and this chick ended up out in the trees together.  It works?

Okay.

Jimmy.

(cough)

I'm not clear on what happened out there.  What really happened.  She came up behind you?  I thought you led her out there.  So how the fuck did that happen?  And you shot her, right?  I mean, I know what happened on my end, I heard gunshots, so I lit mister tattoos up.  No helping that. 

How many times did you shoot her, Jimmy?  I counted eight.

What the fuck do you mean she flew away?  Like, what, a bird?  Jesus Christ, you go in there talking like that, you better hope they put you in the funny farm.  Flew away.  That's good.  So is that how you're gonna explain shooting her eight times?  I counted the shots, Jimmy.  How dead did she need to be?

Sit down, Jimmy.  No hospital, alright?  It's not going to happen.  Get your shirt off.  Jimmy, if you could see yourself right now, you'd be saying, yeah, I look like I shot myself.  Just listen to me on this.  Sometimes you don't feel it at first.  There's this story, right, about Andrew Jackson?  Guy got shot in a duel, didn't know it until the next day.  Well, they didn't bathe much back then.

No, there's nothing in your back.  I fucking looked, Jimmy.  What I look like to you?  You see a walking stick anywhere?  I told you: No hospital.  Take your pants off.  Well, if it's not bleeding out, that's worse, because it's bleeding in.  I mean, hell, you're probably just spooked.  Right?  Bathroom's right there.  Go check.

You're fine?  No bullets.  You scared the hell out of me, though. 

So where did you leave her?

Jesus Christ, Jimmy.  Sit down.  We're going to go over this nice and slow, alright?  Act like this thing went down with fucking physics and everything, yeah?

I said.  Sit down.

You back off.  You're a liability here, Jimmy.  Tell me why I shouldn't fucking kill you right now. 

Sit.

Down.

What are these, blanks? Why aren't you -

Jesus Christ!  Die!  Oh my God!  Get off me!  Get -

Pickman's Nodegel: The 2009 Halloween Horrorquest