The Client Read Free Page B

The crazy man, who was large but quick, would leap from nowhere and grab him by the neck, just like Mark, and they’d all die in the long black car. Slowly, inch by inch, he pushed his way through the weeds.
    MARK SLOWLY LIFTED THE PISTOL WITH BOTH HANDS. IT was as heavy as a brick. It shook as he raised it and pointed it at the fat man, who leaned toward it until the barrel was an inch from his nose.
    “Now pull the trigger, kid,” he said with a smile, his wet face glowing and dancing with delightful anticipation. “Pull the trigger, and I’ll be dead and you go free.” Mark curled a finger around the trigger. The man nodded, then leaned even closer and bit the tip of the barrel with flashing teeth. “Pull the trigger!” he shouted.
    Mark closed his eyes and pressed the handle of the gun with the palms of his hands. He held his breath, and was about to squeeze the trigger when the man jerked it from him. He waved it wildly in front of Mark’s face, and pulled the trigger. Mark screamed as the window behind his head cracked into a thousand pieces but did not shatter. “It works! It works!” he yelled as Mark ducked and covered his ears.
*     *     *
    RICKY BURIED HIS FACE IN THE GRASS WHEN HE HEARD THE shot. He was ten feet from the car when something popped and Mark yelled. The fat man was yelling, and Ricky peed on himself again. He closed his eyes and clutched the weeds. His stomach cramped and his heart pounded, and for a minute after the gunshot he did not move. He cried for his brother, who was dead now, shot by a crazy man.
    “STOP CRYING, DAMMIT! I’M SICK OF YOUR CRYING!”
    Mark clutched his knees and tried to stop crying. His head pounded and his mouth was dry. He stuck his hands between his knees and bent over. He had to stop crying and think of something. On a television show once some nut was about to jump off a building, and this cool cop just kept talking to him and talking to him, and finally the nut started talking back and of course did not jump. Mark quickly smelled for gas, and asked, “Why are you doing this?”
    “Because I want to die,” the man said calmly.
    “Why?” he asked again, glancing at the neat little round hole in his window.
    “Why do kids ask so many questions?”
    “Because we’re kids. Why do you want to die?” He could barely hear his own words.
    “Look, kid, we’ll be dead in five minutes, okay? Just you and me, pal, off to see the wizard.” He took a long drink from the bottle, now almost empty. “I feel the gas, kid. Do you feel it? Finally.”
    In the side mirror, through the cracks in the window, Mark saw the weeds move and caught a glimpse of Ricky as he slithered through the weeds and ducked into the bushes near the tree. He closed his eyes and said a prayer.
    “I gotta tell you, kid, it’s nice having you here. No one wants to die alone. What’s your name?”
    “Mark.”
    “Mark who?”
    “Mark Sway.” Keep talking, and maybe the nut won’t jump. “What’s your name?”
    “Jerome. But you can call me Romey. That’s what my friends call me, and since you and I are pretty tight now you can call me Romey. No more questions, okay, kid?”
    “Why do you want to die, Romey?”
    “I said no more questions. Do you feel the gas, Mark?”
    “I don’t know.”
    “You will soon enough. Better say your prayers.” Romey sank low into the seat with his beefy head straight back and eyes closed, completely at ease. “We’ve got about five minutes, Mark, any last words?” The whiskey bottle was in his right hand, the gun in his left.
    “Yeah, why are you doing this?” Mark asked, glancing at the mirror for another sign of his brother. He took short, quick breaths through the nose, andneither smelled nor felt anything. Surely Ricky had removed the hose.
    “Because I’m crazy, just another crazy lawyer, right. I’ve been driven crazy, Mark, and how old are you?”
    “Eleven.”
    “Ever tasted whiskey?”
    “No,” Mark answered