“My Ship Comes In” is the fourth story, a novella, in T.K. O’Neill’s Northwoods Pulp Reloaded collection of three short crime stories and this longer story.
Dory comes up to the driver’s window of the cruiser and hands the card to the cop. “I found it, honey,” she says, leaning in until her tits are damn near falling into the guy’s face.
I see his eyes lock onto the luscious mounds. Then he looks distractedly up at her face and then over at me. And then back to the card. He stares blankly at it for a second before glancing at Dory’s chest again, and then back at me. I’m smiling sheepishly when I see Dory’s hand dart into her purse like a cobra going for an egg. And I stare, transfixed, as her pale, slender fingers pop out of the red bag and sunlight flashes off the nickel-plated barrel of a small handgun. Then quick as a flash she sticks it in the cop’s reddening face and squeezes the trigger. I duck out of the way as brains and blood explode onto the cheap brown vinyl seats.
“FUCK,” I yell, as the sound of the blast drifts away on the breeze. I jump out of the cop car onto the yellow, sun-baked dirt, thinking she’s gonna hit me next. Instead, she reaches into the cruiser and plucks the registration card off the dead man’s thigh. I scramble to my feet, run back to the VW and jump in, hoping that Dory is lingering behind to admire her work.
No such luck.
She climbs in—breathless—beside me.
“I had to do it,” she says, matter-of fact. “The fuckin’ pig was going to bust us. Now let’s get the hell out of here so we can screw. I’m dying to see you naked.”
Jesus.
“What the hell is wrong with you, you crazy bitch? You killed a fuckin’ cop. We’ll fuckin’ hang for this. Worse than that. I—”
“Did the pig call in your plates?” She’s acting like nothing much happened,
“No. He never had time. He was too busy making fun of my name.”
“Yeah, your name. We’ll talk about that later. Now I think you should admit that I saved you—and you and I both know from what. When I was looking around for the registration card I found a brick of cocaine inside one of the cabinets. I think the penalty here in Florida for that much coke is more than it is for murder, so I definitely did you a favor.”
There’s a horrible vomit taste in my mouth and my heart is dead. I’ve gone beyond sadness to eternal despair. I’m looking out from inside of a damp, dark cave and all I can see is the desert.
“Just one less pig around to hassle people, dude,” she says. “Lighten up.”
What the hell is this younger generation coming to?
“Yeah, I guess. Maybe you’re right. But a car went by when we were stopped. And they saw this van pulled over by a cop that is now blown all over the front seat of his cruiser. We have to get out of this van and into something else. And without any money, that might be a bit difficult to pull off. If we’re lucky, we’ve got a few hours before they put it all together. Got any more bright ideas?”
“It’s only a few miles to where my car is. If it’s fixed, we take that. No problem. Dump this thing somewhere and be gone like the wind.”
“And how are we going to pay for the repairs to your car, offer to trade some coke?”
“Probably could, with these rednecks. Everybody digs coke, don’t they? I was going to offer them something else if it came down to that but now I think we should just use one of those credit cards in your wallet. Or should I say Elton Kirby’s wallet? And, ah, Keith? It says Dan Bagley on the registration card. That you?”
“No, that’s my brother. I’m Keith Bagley.” I give her a hard stare. “Jesus fuckin’ Christ, Dory, if you found the registration form, why did you have to kill the bastard? I think he was just going to give me a speeding ticket for fuck sake.”
“I can’t afford to take any chances. I already have two felony drug charges on my record and I can’t take another rap of any kind. But everything is going to be all right, honey. We’ll get in my car and ride off into the sunset and the Honeymoon Hotel.”
Fuck, I’m honey now.
The muscles in my chest tighten up and my soul cries out for release.
(End of Chapter 8)
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