The
casino
had it's draw. Time sunk away. You entered. Then before you noticed it was night. When it was night, you need not leave.
Marc did leave early. One thing he enjoyed more than hanging out at the casino was picking up
cans
early in the morning. That's when people were in a better mood. Not yet worn by the day's toil.
On weekends he picked up cans at night. When people were at the bars. This is why people thought he was
homeless
. Who picked up cans on Saturday night?
The house was out in the middle of nowhere. Mortgage was under Denver's name. Marc Love no longer existed. Hadn't for awhile. And The Blue Man was now considered dead by official accounts.
They had 15 acres. You could see anyone approaching minutes before they arrived. Cars would need to weave and swerve on windings roads. The two never spoke about what they would do if a stranger came. It was not something they were oblivious to however.
Love had a
shotgun
somewhere. If the man in the expensive suit ever found him he had no doubts what he would do. He hadn't shared this with Denver. Denver never asked.
One Tuesday it was between seven and eight. Marc was drinking a lager when he overheard that his favorite blackjack dealer had recently lost her car. The timing belt snapped on it. Thing would need a brand new engine.
Her hours were reduced. She could only come when a certain coworker gave her a ride.
Love nursed his beer while waiting for an opportunity. His favorite blackjack dealer didn't smoke. So he couldn't talk to her then. When could he talk to her? Instead he got Denver to slip her a paper note.
It had Love's phone number and a message saying "I can drive you to work and back. I'm here all the time."
He had almost signed his name on it. Had to catch himself.
She asked what his name was. John he said.
I'm Jane.
John and Jane. That sounds a bit fake doesn't it?
It sounds like an alternative beginning to the
bible
.
It does, Marc grinned.
He enjoyed driving Maria to wherever she needed to go. He even started collecting cans less because he'd rather spend more time on chauffer duty,.
Thanksgiving
was near. Maria asked if John would join her family for dinner.
My brother is coming this year, she said.
Jane did not sound excited about that. Love said he would be there.
Maria and her mom were horrible cooks. The mashed potatoes were from the box. The stuffing was from a box. And the chicken -- they didn't like turkey -- was dry and rubbery. It was great to have a nice home cooked, albeit horribly, meal.
Then when it came time for desserts the door opened. And lo and be hold it was the man with the expensive suit.
Marc cursed himself. He did not come prepared. No gun on him. He looked for a knife he could use.
Oh hi brother. Maria said.
Marc eased the grip on the knife. Kept it hidden where nobody could see. Denver could see though. Was watching the whole time. Watching the two men stare at each other.
This is John. Maria introduced.
Hello, John. The man in the expensive suit came over to shake his hand. Pretending to have never met him. It's niec to meet you, John.
Likewise.
Denver could feel the sweat on both hands. Or maybe the man in the expensive suit didn't sweat. He was a psychopath. The type who'd kill two babies to avoid tipping at a restaurant.
I apologize for being late. There were no rental cars available. And of course I couldn't find a cab in these neck of the woods. I ended up having to pay 180 dollars for an
Uber
.
Oh that's too bad. Maria, if you told me your brother was going to need a ride I could've picked him up.
Oh him? He's got his own schedule. Plus he can afford the Uber. You better have tipped!
The man scowled underneath a fake smile. A drink arrived in his hand. He took a sip.
Say, I could use a ride back. After dinner of course. If you wouldn't mind, John.
Love tilted his head. Stared into the eyes above the expensive suit. No problem. I love driving.