They Tell Me I'm The Bad Guy

My cell phone blasted Johnny Cash's
'
One Piece at a Time
'
for the third time in twenty minutes. The ring tone was for my buddy Will, but I let the call go to voicemail because he hadn't picked up his damn phone in a week, so he c
ould wait until after the game.

I eased the footrest down on my sagging blue recliner and reached for another slice of pizza from the delivery box stained with grease. The Colts missed a blitz on TV, and the phone buzzed that I had a text message. I took a big bite of the pizza and wiped my hand on my jeans so I didn't grease up the phon
e.

U THERE? was Will's message.

I thumbed him back. YEA Y?

A referee threw a flag on the TV. Fucking Browns false started again. They got paid more than I would see in a decade, and they couldn't remember the count to go on.

The phone vibrated in my hand. CALLIN. Then the phone played Cash again.

"Hey, what?
"
I asked.

"Answer your phone, asshole."

"Watch your fucking language. Why?"

"I got
a job if you need some paper."

Fuck. And there was the word I hated to hear Will say sober. A
job
. There went my relaxing evening. I would be talking him out of it for the rest of the night. "Me need money? You know I stacks paper at the factory, man. I'm rich, bitch. Had my first interview with
Lester
today, got one with Ruiz in a couple of days."

"Uh huh. I'll bet that pans out for you this time," he said like a sarcastic prick.
"
Look, seriously, if you want to get paid real money, meet me at my place at one."

"Will, man, come on. You're not gonna do shit but talk. We put this behind us. We're
grownups
now."

"Yeah, well, I just got served today. Charlene's taking me to court for child support. The fucking bitch is trying to take everything I got."

"That's what you get for not paying her for what, like, four months? I told you that was gonna happen, you dumbass. You need a job for more than a few months."

"Fuck all that, man. Fuuuuck.
It
. I need you on this. Come on, big daddy, I'll buy you a flat screen. Just come by here at one. It'll be real easy."

The television caught my eye.
"
Oh, shit, man,
"
I said, turning up the volume on the nightly news commercial.

"
What is it?
"

"
--
Jury found Benjamin Jeffries, who signed his crimes as the 'G-Mod Killah,' not guilty today in a Phoenix court.
We’ll
give you the details tonight at ten.
"

I hit the mute button on the remote.
"
Shit. They let G-Mod Killah off.
"

"
What the fuck.
They let him off? Well, goddamn, man, I guess I'll go on a killing spree since that ain't against the law anymore. See, this is more reason to do this. Nobody cares about when we do stuff anymore. We're victims of our condition, man. We don't know what we're doing. The kids love us.
"

"Shut the fuck up. How much is this big take of yours, anyway, Capone? One-point-five, two million?
"

"
Like, ten grand. Easy, less t
han ten minutes. Just a break in
with two cameras and a simple keypad.
"

"You gotta be fucking kidding me,
"
I laughed.
"
You're retarded. You wanna do this spur of the fucking moment for ten grand? That's like liquor store money."

"
Come on. I got the access code and everything down. Nobody will be there. Come with me.
"

Shit. He had been planning this. Without me. Not five months after his parole ended.

"Hell. No," I told him. "You're being stupid. Go down to that guy in your building, get some weed, bring it over here and we'l
l
light up. Come on, man. You're smarter than this. I have to believe that after the shit you went through last time. Man up and get a fucking steady job.
"

"
Shit,
"
Will said on the other end of the phone.
"
I'm an ex-con.
Nobody wants to hire me--
"

"
Wait, wait, hang on. Let me go get my violin so I can play along with this record.
"

"
Hey, fuck you, I need the money. The guy's just some rich asshole. Come on, you have to do this with me or I'm gonna get caught, and then my son's gonna grow up without his father.
"

"
Oh, Jesus Christ, here we go. When was the last time you even went to see Will, Jr.
"
I sucked down a swig of warm beer and fell into the recliner.
"
I'll say it again. Get a job, lazy ass.
"

"Don't be a bitch, man. We're not gonna get caught. Come on."

"
Will
,
"
I barked into the phone,
"
The answer is no. You need to forget all this. Why don't you come over and finish watching the game with me. I was working Sunday and recorded it, haven't finished it."

"The Colts come back and the Browns lose. I need you on this, man."

"Just come over here. I got pizza and beer."

He hung up the phone with a flat,
"
Whatever. Later.
"

I called him back, but he didn't answer. I called him ten times more times, but he didn't
answer.

That was the first stop on the Will Bowman
fucking dipshit decision train.

Will Bowman was an ex-con. Will Bowman was a shitty father and husband. But Will Bowman was one of the top three guys I'd ever met to hang out and drink with, and at least in the top five of guys to pull a job beside. I was best man at his wedding to Charlene the Bitch after trying to talk him out of the wedding at the bachelor party. I tried to talk him out of divorce when they split up. Even though she was meaner than all hell and hated me, she kept him straight and kept him off my back about crap like this. Not long after the divor
ce, we were back to break-in's.

Break-in's led to stumbling into insurance fraud scams, which I was a fucking pro at because I could make the fire look completely natural with no accelerant and originating from whatever source aroused the least suspicion. Will helped. Kind of like a bird that eats the ticks off the back of an animal or something. He made sure pe
ople paid. Success with that le
d to our stupid idea in Miami to get into the world of serious money-mak
ing shit and back to break-ins.

Out drinking one night, he bench-pressed a hatchback at a bar to impress some Latinas. That got him busted and processed for public intoxication and reckless endangerment with enhanced biological processes. And since he had apparently left a handprint half an inch deep in the fender of the car while bailing on a warehouse we had ripped off and a partial footprint in the curb he had tripped off of, they ran his prints against those because his power set matched up. They matched, and Will became a guest of the Miami-Dade Police Department while I managed to slip out of town. He did a quality stretch at Stone Pass Penitentiary for Post-Humans up in Alaska because he didn't give up his accomplice even for a reduced sentence. And his accomplice didn't come forward to take the blame for his buddy that had a kid. That pretty much made me the asshole.

One o'clock came and went, and I couldn't sleep. I put the volume all the way up on my cell in case Will called. At eight past three, old Mr. Cash woke me up, and I fumbled for the phone, knocked over the fire extinguisher I kept beside the bed and mashed down the 'talk' button. The sound of blurting police sirens came blar
ing through from the other end.

"Hey, Donnie,
"
Will said, out of breath,
"
Can you come over here? I know I'm wrong to ask you this, but I n
eed you, man. I'm in the shit."

I wiped the crap out of my eyes.
"
Sounds like you need a lawyer. Where are you?"

He said something, but shattering glass cut him off.

"Holed up in that Texaco on Cedar. I need some cover to slip out."

All my worrying about him turned to piss.
"
You're at a gas station?
"

"
Hey, I didn'
t
plan it that way.
"
Garbled police ultimatums echoed
in the background.

"
The fuck you didn't. You're an asshole."

"It's Will, Jr.'s birthday next month. I do
n't wanna be locked-up for it."