Chapter 7

"Lenny, what do we do? We need a plan!"

That would be Red, my ears gleefully reported. My eyes were still glued to the body on the ground in front of me. I was willing him to breathe for a bit, then I was simply staring. This was not good, I sensed.

"Lenny! The bus is here!"

And that one would be Sandy. Apparently she was looking around the corner, and the bus that Mister Gun was supposed to be boarding was pulling up to the station. I closed my eyes and tried to stop everything from spinning. As soon as the darkness set in, the spinning abruptly stopped, and I briefly considered just staying there like that, and hopefully the dead hit men and hookers would just disappear and leave me alone.

I snuck a peek out of one of my eyes, but Mister Gun was still there, big as life. Well, death anyway. I heaved a huge sigh, which was meant to be dramatic, but was cut short by a tremendous coughing fit. The staccato wheezes from my lungs were beautifully crafted morse code, in a pattern I knew all too well. I needed a cigarette, and bad. As I pressed my hand to my mouth, trying to muffle the noise (wouldn't want to wake the dead... so to speak), Red and Sandy both looked at me, alarmed. I shook my head at them through tear-filled eyes as the spasms subsided.

"Gotta smoke?" I croaked in Red's direction. I didn't know if Sandy was a smoker, but Red usually had a pack of menthols in her purse. Smoking a menthol is somewhat akin to blowing a pig, but it was better than nothing.

Red continued to stare at me as if I had grown another head spontaneously. I sighed, with a little more success this time, and turned away from her.

"OK, ladies. Empty his pockets. Make sure you take everything. Then let's each leave here as quietly, and separately as possible. Red, you go first. Hit the ladies' room on your way out. Wait in there for five minutes..."

"I don't have a watch, Lenny. How am I gonna know when it's been five minutes?"

A resounding crack emphasized her statement. I wondered idly at her ability to make the sound so quickly that I never even saw the bubble any more. She could teach Sandy a thing or two, I thought, eyeing the other girl as she blew a large bluish-pink bubble before popping it with a sound like dropping a rock in a pond.

I gazed up for a moment, then looked at Red.

"I'll tell you what, go to the bathroom, lock yourself in a stall, and sing the star-spangled banner twice, then flush and leave. Head for the parking lot, and we'll meet up at the cab station there. That's where Sandy and I will head. Sandy will leave after you, but head straight to the station. I'll wait ten minutes or so, and then come along bringing up the rear. Hopefully I'll notice if anyone is following us, or looking for Mister Personality here."

The girls both nodded, with somewhat blank looks on their faces. They trusted me implicitly, I realized. I was really running this whole caper. I had just killed a man, and was organizing our attempt to leave the scene of the crime. I picked up the brick from where I had dropped it and put it in my coat pocket. I nodded to Red to make her way to the restroom, and then beckoned Sandy over to help me empty Mister Gun's pockets.

"Why are we doing this?" She asked with obvious distaste.

"ID," I grunted. "We don't want anyone to find out who this guy was right away."

"Wow... I never would have thought of that," she said airily. I glanced up at her. Apparently she was too busy Thursday nights to catch CSI. Her loss, I suppose.

We finished as quickly as we could, trying hard to avoid touching any of the blood, or looking up at his face. Our efforts yielded a black flip cell phone, a money clip with some bills in it, a bulging black wallet, three ballpoint pens and a set of keys on a Ford Mustang keychain. I opened a zippered pouch on the side of the man's backpack and jammed the rest of his stuff in there. I then nodded to Sandy to get moving, and watched as she rounded the corner in the direction of the parking lot. I took a few deep breaths, closing my eyes and listening to the blood rushing through my mostly-clogged arteries. Imagining I could hear it whistling through openings barely large enough for the fluids to get through. Wished I had a cigarette.

I remembered I was supposed to be counting a few minutes later, and looked hurriedly around to make sure everything was OK. I peeked around the corner and could see Red's rear moseying towards the parking lot. In the distance, I could see Sandy standing by the taxi stand. Two hookers. I looked over my shoulder. Yep. One dead hit man. All was going according to plan... god help us.

As I made my way across the parking lot, I looked to and fro for a Ford Mustang. I figured it wouldn't kill Mister Gun for us to borrow it for a little while. The parking lot was mostly full, so I took my time, keeping my eyes peeled. By the time I reached the stand where Red and Sandy were waiting somewhat patiently, I had noted three Mustangs of varying colors and upkeeps. I huddled together with the girls and told them what we were looking for, and they both agreed to stay put while I checked the keys on the three cars I had seen.

I made my way to the closest of the three, a red 1994 or 95. One of the "new" body styles they came out with to get people excited about the car again. As I approached, I readied the key, and quickly tried it in the lock as I tried to look through the heavily tinted window. No dice. And the key didn't work either. That was odd. I figured this car would definitely had dice on the mirror. I was sure it was some kind of ordinance in Vegas. I looked around to see if anyone was watching me, then scurried to the next car. This one was a black 1983 LX. I curled my lip a little as I approached it, out of habit. I tried the key, and again struck out. And then there was one. I turned away from the 83 and looked across the lot. At the far end was a dark blue 1967 fastback. An absolutely gorgeous car, and the one that I had been hoping was our new ride. I furtively looked around for pursuers, and to check on the girls (who totally ignored me, chatting away like only hookers can), and then made my way to the '67. I ran my hand appreciatively over the hood as I approached, mentally salivating over this car. Oh, this was going to be so nice, I thought to myself. I made my way to the driver's side, and looked through the window. The interior was entirely customized, black leather all the way around, with racing bucket seats, and what appeared to be a nitrous system installed on the steering wheel.

I got my head straight by means of a vigorous shake, and aimed the key at the lock. With a grin, I inserted the key and turned it. Well, tried to anyhow. The key didn't even go all the way into the damn lock. At just that moment, I heard a shout.

"Hey! Hey man, get the fuck offa my car!"

I turned, yanking the key out of the lock, and spun towards the sound of running feet. A large man in a tanktop and crew cut was bearing down on me, hollering. I stuck my hand up and started apologizing before he even got into range. As he neared me, his eyes left mine as he scanned his baby for any sign of damage. Satisfied, his expression went from naked hostility to deep suspicion.

"Hey, I'm really sorry, man," I said, backing away the whole time. "I got one just like it, and I thought it was mine. I'm real sorry"

I don't think he bought it, but he didn't follow me, either, so I counted my blessings and headed back towards the girls. I had no clue what we were going to do next, but I knew we had to do something. Any minute now someone could go around behind the bus depot to take a leak and we'd be stuck high and dry.