Thank god you’re here, officer! This man just confessed to murder.
Get away from him, says the cop, who looks a little like Matt Damon.
It’s true, says Mineo. He told us he killed a woman near the bridge last night.
Damon’s eyes widen. He’s heard about the dead woman.
Is that true?
I didn’t kill anybody, says Petey. They did it. You saw them attack me.
We took the knife away from him, says Widmark.
Ask him why she died, says Mineo.
The cop is frowning, not sure where to point the gun. Why’d she die, sir?
Be silent, boy, says Strabo, but Petey can’t help himself.
She was a spy. For Starbucks.
See? says Mineo.
Petey shakes his head, trying to clear it. They attacked me by the dinosaurs. Then I came up here, past the rocket, and saw Lenin.
Damon nods. You were attacked by a dinosaur and came here by rocket. Was that after you killed the woman?
Dear, dear, says Strabo. The constable’s not from around here.
Damon has his handcuffs in one hand, gun in the other. Put your hands on your… What happened to your arm?
He’s afraid you’ll get his cuffs bloody. Har har.
Your honor, says Strabo, my client pleads not guilty by season of inanity.
Petey falls back on the tiles. He’s crying.
You’re under arrest, says Lenin.
The detective is Bill Cosby, except his hair is gray and he has a thin mustache. He is scowling and Petey figures it is because he’s only a TV star and the movie stars outrank him.
Mr. Gottesman, he says, you say you saw those two men following Ms. Mantello, but you didn’t do anything about it.
I was scared. Did you see him in Night and the City?
Who?
Petey explains about Richard Widmark. Cosby frowns more. Mr. Gottesman, where do you think you are right now?
Petey looks around. I’m sitting at a patio table in a Mexican-style plaza in the middle of Seattle. Dozens of tourists are watching me. I’m handcuffed to an umbrella, staring at Lenin’s giant butt, while a medic patches up my arm and a cop interrogates me. How much of that is real?
Cosby shrugs. All of it.
Petey repeats something Fox had said before disappearing again. Just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean there aren’t two men chasing you with a knife.
The detective thinks that one over. He looks at the movie stars standing on the other side of the plaza by the taco shop, talking to Matt Damon.
You said Ms. Mantello was a spy for a coffee company.
They told me that.
Cosby sighs.
Okay. Here’s what’s gonna happen. You’re still under arrest. We’re gonna take you to the hospital to get that arm looked at. Then I think a judge will order an examination-
No hospitals, says Fox. They wipe your freaking memory there. You know that.
Think, Petey, says Strabo. Make him see the truth and the truth will set us free!
Listen, Bill, says Petey, I followed that woman because she looked like Abby, my ex-wife. I didn’t go near those guys because they scared me. But I didn’t kill her, and when it happened I couldn’t get near them because of the drawbridge.
The drawbridge? She came from Queen Anne?
We all did. But the drawbridge went up-
You didn’t mention that.
Nobody asked, says Petey.
I’m asking now. Tell me the whole route.
Petey does. Cosby nods and stands up.
He calls for Officer Bestock and Damon hurries over.
There’s a bank on Nickerson Avenue and they’ve got a security camera out front. Tell ’em we need the tapes from last night. He looks at the movie stars and raises his voice. If that woman was over there, we’ll know. And if someone was following her, we’ll see who it was.
Mineo starts to cry. Widmark tells him to shut up, but it’s too late.
Cosby turns to Petey. How’d you know my name is Bill?
It’s in the credits.
Petey tells them he has no insurance, which usually saves him from medical care, but this time they insist he’s going to the hospital.
Cause you’re a hero, says Fox.
Indeed, says Strabo. A veritable Hercules or Adonis.
The paramedics strap him on a gurney and are ready to wheel him into the ambulance when another cop comes up, one who doesn’t look like anybody.
Jesus, Petey, is that you?
You know him? asks Cosby.
Yeah. I do security shifts at the clinic downtown. He used to be a regular. Remember me, Petey? Officer Lazenby.
He shakes his head.
You went off your meds, didn’t you, pal?
Had to. My friends didn’t like them.
What friends?
Fox and Strabo.
They aren’t your friends, pal. They’re just voices in your head. You don’t have any friends.
Thanks a lot.
I didn’t mean it like that, says Lazenby. Oh, Jesus.
Should we notify anybody? asks the ambulance guy.
About what?
Tell ’em you’ll be in the hospital.
No. There’s nobody.
What about your ex-wife? asks Cosby.
Ex-wife, Lazenby repeats.
He said her name was Abby.
Jesus. Lazenby shakes his head. Abby wasn’t his wife. She was just a nice barista who used to sneak free coffee to the homeless people. When she quit and moved away, Petey went on a one-man WTO against Starbucks. He got locked up for a while for throwing rocks through their windows. Didn’t you, pal?
They took her away from me.
Lazenby pats his arm, the one that isn’t cut. It’s gonna be okay, pal. The drugs keep improving. You just listen to the docs and pretty soon you’ll be back in the real world.
What else’ve you got? asks Petey.
PART II.WHAT COMES AROUND
BLUE SUNDAYBY KATHLEEN ALCALÁ
Central District
It was a blue night, a blue car, and Danny was full of shots of blue tequila.
“Slow down, man. Aren’t you going too fast?”
“Can’t catch me, I’m the gingerbread man.”
“Shit, man, I thought I was the crazy one. Just get me back to my old lady in one piece.”
“No problem, bro. How’s she doing, anyway?”
“Good. She’s happy to see me alive.”
Chucho gunned it to make a light. That’s when a cop car came out of the parking lot and the sirens started.
When Danny came to, he was lying on the ground.
“Get up… I said get up!”
A foot prodded him.
“Okay, okay,” said Danny.
Danny was on his back. He slowly rolled over and got to his hands and knees. Chucho’s car was nearby, the passenger door open next to Danny. He vaguely recalled Chucho’s nervous laughter as they had careened past the fancy new condos on 23rd, past Garfield and the fire station to Jackson. The Seven Star Mini Mart was still open. Chucho made a bat turn left onto MLK in front of half a dozen cars and flew past the playground to Cherry.
“Híjole, man, that cop is mad!” he had said gleefully.
Danny wondered where his cell phone had gone. The last he remembered was Catfish Corner.
“Get up!” the policeman shouted again.
“Okay, I’m getting up now,” said Danny as he began to rise. “I’m going to get up.”
The policeman fired three shots into him.
“Shut the fuck up!” the cop shouted. “Shut the fuck up!”
Dying had seemed easy in Iraq-people did it every day. And when people were not dying in front of you, your buddies, the cooks, the officers, or the civilians who brought in supplies, they were telling you stories about people dying. About how they died, how long it took them, and what it looked like afterwards. Who killed them, or who might have killed them.
There was no death with dignity, only death. Danny spent most of his free time pretending he was someplace else. He plugged his iPod into his head, turned on some tunes, and tried to think about Aimee and the kid they were expecting early next year. Would it be a boy or a girl? It was too soon to tell, but when he went home on leave, they would visit the doctor, and maybe have an ultrasound done. Danny was ready to think about a little life-a little life after Iraq, if that was possible.