The First Cut Read Free

back to his room.
    I’d brought some burgers and fries over to their apartment for us to eat, wanting a quiet night watching TV. She came back and sat down next to me, picked up her beer and tried to snuggle in to pick up where we’d left off. I’d lost the mood, however; this was the latest in a long string of reminders that I was way out of my comfort zone here. When I went in for armed robbery eight years ago, I was already a criminal in his late 30s with a lengthy record of convictions for some petty and not-so-petty crimes. Tracy would have been in high school at the time, not yet knocked up by her boyfriend, her life still full of promise. Now she was a single mother who was willing to overlook the fact that I was a parolee because I would at least be a male presence in Owen’s life. We met the day I was sprung; chitchat in the food court at the mall where I had stopped to get some new clothes had turned into what was starting to feel like a boyfriend-girlfriend thing.
    I tried to stay distant, particularly from the boy, because I knew the odds of my staying out of prison were slim; the odds of my staying alive maybe slimmer. I had no real skills and couldn’t even get an interview at the McDonald’s where I’d picked up dinner thanks to my record.
    Meanwhile, my real work was to track down the guys I’d done my last job with to see if I could squeeze my share of the take out of them. Either way, I knew my stay in Tracy’s life would probably be short. A few laughs were all I could reasonably expect.
    The laughs weren’t coming tonight, so I lied about getting up early the next day to look for work and stood to leave.
    “Well, you seemed to think this thing was so funny, so why don’t you take it with you?” Tracy said, handing me the arrow. “I don’t want it in my house.”
    I clipped it to my head, bugged out my eyes and let my tongue hang out of my mouth, stumbling toward the door.
    “You’re terrible!” she said, pushing me out.
     
    ***
     
    “What the fuck?”
    I furrowed my brow at the kid behind the counter at the gas station as I handed over two twenties.
    “What’s your problem?” I asked.
    He pointed at my head. “Why do you have an arrow through your head?”
    “For God’s sake, it’s a prop. You know, ‘I’m a wild and ca-razy guy!’?” I said, pulling it off my head. I had forgotten I still had it on.
    The kid just shrugged while he rang me up; I began to wonder if anyone still remembered Steve Martin, and felt really old. I grabbed my 40 of Old Style from the counter and walked out. My cell phone started ringing as I headed over to my car.
    “Yeah,” I said after I had flipped it open.
    “So, the rumors are true,” said the voice on the other end of the line. “Lenny has paid his debt to society.”
    “Who is this? What do you want?”
    “I’m just someone who represents someone who appreciates the fact that you did your time quietly, that’s all. I understand you’ve been making inquiries.”
    “I just want to reconnect and see if I can get my share,” I said, leaning now against my car. “I need a stake, and I know there was plenty from that last job to go around.”
    “Of course. Why don’t we get together? We can discuss your situation. Why don’t you hop back in your car and drive out to the old packing plant on Cedar. Do you remember where that is?”
    “Sure,” I said. “We’re doing this now?”
    “Why not? Let’s get it taken care of,” said the voice. “I know that’s a little out of the way, but you’re not the only one looking for this money, and we don’t want to draw too much attention.”
    I got back in the car and started driving. The packing plant had been closed since before I went away, and numerous attempts by various elected officials to turn it into a park or a casino or whatever the flavor of the moment was had failed. It was mostly a place for kids to go throw rocks or shoot pellet guns. Or, for cons to meet.
    As I pulled