No one knew he was Jimmy “the rat” Ratzione until a few hours after he put his pistol in his mouth and pulled the trigger. Moments prior he had shot and killed Savannah, his kidnapped ex-lady friend, as she sat with her hands zip-tied behind her back in the passenger seat of his Lincoln. So, when names were googled and SSN’s checked, it soon went viral that Jimmy “the rat” had lived among the citizens of Allenton.
*****
Molly Callaghan had just returned to her kitchen from an audition, in her bathroom. The tiled tub and shower area had the best acoustics. The director was in LA in a limo on his iPhone. The ad agency guy was in NYC on speaker waiting for his vindaloos to be delivered to his office in Tribeca. She had read the script emailed to her from Bailey, the Hazeltine Productions guy. It went well and Molly was pleased with her interpretation of the side effects and contraindications of QuietZ, the rest well, rise well sleep aid. She hoped to get this gig. She really needed the money.
Now, Molly scanned the gray laptop that sat perched on her kitchen counter. She bit into her sandwich and cursed as a glob of jelly plopped out and down on to her keyboard. She dabbed and dipped between the keys with a damp paper towel. Then she blew hard across the letters. Her black cat, Coven, looked askance from her spot in a cat tree a few feet away. Molly settled onto a green wooden stool and flicked and clicked through the log-in process to her homepage. She opened the link to her local paper and the two faces staring at her from the monitor caused her to gasp. Coven leaped onto the keyboard and the link closed as the cat continued toward a drop of jelly on the counter.
Molly frantically typed to recapture the web site. As the images jumped back to her screen she stared in numbness as she read the headline: (November 2, 2009 Allenton, Tennessee) TN County Residents Die in Murder/Suicide. Two paragraphs in and Molly had to get up and walk to the back door. She pulled the curtain aside and looked down the gravel drive to the cute Cape Cod across the alley. Jim and Savvy’s place.
*****
That morning, across that alley in that cute, blue with white trim, Cape Cod, Savannah had awakened with a start as a garbage truck backfired. She bolted upright and for a second imagined she was still in the hotel room of her dream. Then she saw the cluttered vanity with her purple feather boa draped on the mirror and realized she was in her own bed. But wasn’t that boa in my dream, too? I wore it to the nightclub. Jimmy and I danced to a Sinatra tune. We drank martinis.
Her waking thoughts and remembrances of her dream continued to mingle and confuse. Jimmy was getting out of Bradford today. But he dances so well.
She was getting out of Allenton today, at least for the 10 days of the cruise and maybe a side trip to visit her daughter in New Orleans. I love that boa.
If luck would ever change for Savvy, by the time she returned from her trip, he would be long gone. The restraining order had been served and she didn’t think he had any reason to hang around. Just pack up your shit and get the hell gone. Asshole.
*****
Jimmy strolled down the sidewalk. He stopped just at the edge of the shadow cast from the Bradford Prison walls behind him and scanned the sunlit fields and rolling hills to the west. He continued into the light and then climbed into the waiting taxi. He watched a flock of starlings dance in the gusting wind. They moved in unison, hundreds of them, like a school of sardines hunted by a shark.
“Where to, pal?”
“Allenton, my good man. Yeah, Allenton.”
*****
It was back in mid-September when Pete Marsh was surfing Facebook for an old flame. It wasn’t out of some romantic desire to rekindle an ember or reminisce about the raucous days of college. No, he was under orders to do so. He had to make amends. Restitution was mandatory. If not completed, if not fearless and thorough, his guilt could ruin his recovery. Or so he’d been told.
First he found Fitz, his senior year housemate. Then, voila, there she was, listed as one of Richard Fitzpatrick’s friends. Margaret Molly Callaghan. Pete selected “Add as Friend” and then typed a personal note, “Hi, Mel, just 34 years, but who’s counting?” He positioned the cursor over the “Send” button. He felt a weird welling in his chest and next, before he even realized it, the welling raced to his cheeks and eyes and wham, a tear. He glanced at the screen and clicked.
Shit, what if she sees that friend request and thinks no fucking way?
Whatever, all I can do is try. That’s what Bruce tells me.
He dabbed the tear with his right pinky and wondered where the hell that came from. Come to think of it, he’d had a similar reaction just the other day when he heard an old Moody Blues song, something about “looking for someone to change my life, I’m looking for a miracle in my life…” and then wham again, right down his left cheek and on to the end of his nose. He had giggled and felt bemused. What a baby this sobriety was turning him into. No one had told him that would happen.
*****
Nora Savannah Lake, 56, 1301 Majestic Lane, Allenton, TN. Her passport was current. The plane tickets from Nashville to Miami were in her gigantic canvass shoulder bag along with a quart baggie with the evil liquids that the TSA would need to scrutinize. She also had her two week daily pill box of prescriptions, make-up pouch, a sweater, a paperback Stephen King novel, sunscreen, peanut M&M’s, and a spare pair of undies. What the hell, why not? I’ve got room and the bastards have been known to lose luggage.
She got up from her vanity and placed the bag over her right shoulder. She looked in the mirror and fluffed her dyed chestnut brown hair and straightened her glasses. Savvy glanced again at the purple boa. It had flown around and behind her as Jimmy swung and twirled her about on the dance floor. It must have been The Rainbow Room, in her dream, with the floor to ceiling windows all around, the lights from the Chrysler Building shining bright, and the ice cold martinis. The maitre d’ had smiled when he recognized Jimmy, and he wasted no time in directing them to the table where the Brooklyn boys were waiting.
Jimmy, the rat, how good to see you again, Jimmy boy.
How’s life in the sticks, pally? Are you home for good this time?
Nah? Well, bring us some of that Tennessee moonshine next time why don’tcha?
Jimmy the hayseed, how ’bout them apples?
Laughs all around the table except for Jimmy.
*****
Molly copied and pasted the article on murder/suicide to her Yahoo mail. She entered Pete’s address and added a note.
As you can see from below I cannot respond to your request right now. I will explain in more detail when I gather myself. You see, Savvy, the lady who was killed, was my friend and neighbor. I suppose Jim was too, the coward. Geez, Pete. This is awful. Let me figure this out and I will get back to you. Take care and hugs, mel. <<<:(>>>
Coven strolled into the kitchen, tail straight up. She weaved around the green legs of the stool where Molly sat, head in hands, crying. The cat’s tail just slightly brushed Molly’s left ankle. Then her right. Then Coven plopped onto the linoleum floor, raised her hind leg, and licked her fur, glancing now and then up at her mistress as Molly sobbed and returned the glance. Molly rose and then swooped down and scooped up Coven in her arms in a graceful, balletic motion. She hugged the cat and and nuzzled her and cried some more.
Why, Coven? Why Savvy? Shit, he coulda got me, too. Bastard. Fucking bastard.
*****
Jimmy told the cabbie to let him out at the stop sign. He could walk the half block to Savvy’s folks house. The cabbie protested when Jimmy tipped him a twenty. Not for a eight buck fare, mister. Jimmy told him to shut his pie hole and scram.
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