White Lies

Now, tell me the truth this time.

The truth? You you’d be some dick to find it. Your briefcase is knotted tight with white lies. Its…white lies…that start it…white lies…that end it…white lies…in between. Of course, ain’t no lie ever white; maybe you’s smart enough to figure that out.

When I told the grimy cop, “I ain’t seen Jim,” it was only half true. You’ll forgive my white lie—a good woman protects her man. He leaned on the doorjamb, uniform blues untucked and the devil’s grin on his face. His gun hung outlaw low on his hip; I played my fingers over the black steel, trying to shake him from our scent.

“Let’s see it shoot,” I purred.

His squint meandered down my body, a think rolling behind his lemon-sour sneer. “I don’t take sloppy seconds.” He gleeked an amber rope through his teeth and left.

I had the phone back to my ear as soon as his car turned the corner. “I told that greasy wop I ain’t seen you,” I whispered. Thunder bowled down the street.

“Great.” Jim was ragged, sucking air. “I jacked Mikey Deuce’s car. I’ll get you. We’ll roll north to West Virginia.”

I know Mikey Deuce… I mean… I read in the papers he was muscle for the Italians. I was half drunk with worry, half drunk with gin. Jim was out of his league—jobbing with a pro like Deuce. But Jim drafted the plan, every detail accounted, I had no choice but to trust him.

Twenty minutes later we were riding 85 North…setting sun burning the right half of my face. That briefcase you’re after rode between us like a toddler. It was big as a dog with a brass handle. I asked what was inside, but Jim didn’t answer. His eyes were locked to the rearview. That…that grimy cop was tailing us, lights flashing.

“That’s…the pig that came by earlier,” I said.

Jim slammed the gas.

“It’s Mikey Deuce,” he spat. We swerved to the shoulder, the rumble strip our own personal earthquake. My press-ons snapped I was grabbing the seat so hard. The wind swirled grocery bags and bits of shredded tire across the highway, and just like nothing, the sky opened—downpour under a shining sun.

“How’d Mikey get a cop car?” I cried. Jim cut through two lanes like nothing, wipers squealing banshee against the glass.

“He asked the pig real nice, Jen.”

He squinted sarcasm at me and that’s what killed us. He didn’t see the minivan. Our sides kissed a metal scream. Rain thumped bongos on the roof. Sparks flew like comets. I covered my face as we fishtailed to the fast lane, so I didn’t see much after that. I heard a tire pop! and Deuce’s police siren closing in.

“Why’s he tryin’ to kill us?” I screamed.

“I told that greasy wop he was–”

But we hydroplaned a pool of water and went flying before Jim could tell me.

The steering wheel locked and earth spun like a carnival ride. We whirled round, putting a sick in my stomach, pushing everything out out out. My head crashed the window, glass everywhere, and I guess we slammed the concrete divider. It sounded like an explosion. We stopped sudden as to break a neck and I blacked out.

I came around feeling like a Jap diaper wrestler was squattin’ on my chest. I couldn’t suck air. My guts were fire. The car was a beach of glass, everything crumpled like used foil. I spied Jim hobbling across traffic, arms crossed like he was cradling a toddler… I mean, he probably…busted a wrist or something. Cars squealed fishtails around him.

The thing is, that case you’re asking after… I didn’t see it after the wreck. Honest to goodness, it wasn’t in the car. I crawled out Jim’s door and saw dead cars everywhere. Everything was dipped in sun-gold, burning my eyes. Horns beeped like cusses on TV. A big rig was tipped up, smoke from its nose bleeding into the sky. I was set to jump after Jim when somebody shouted,

“Don’t move!”

It didn’t take a genius to figure Mikey Deuce had his cop-killing gun aiming to blow a hole through my head. Sunblaze and police flashers filled the raindrops. They looked like gobs of hard candy from the sky—lemon, cherry, blueberry.

“You know better than to double-cross me, Jenny!”

I turned and saw Mikey Deuce’s unmistakable silhouette, his gun trained on me. And…now I remember… He had the money in his other hand. Yessir, Mikey has your briefcase. You should go chase him.

“Come here, blondie.” Mikey put on his fake smile as Jim evaporated into the thicket past the highway. “We’ll go get Jim. I’ll get my money just like you…”

But I didn’t need to hear any more. I ran. Mikey cussed and thunder clapped without lightning. Fire burned my leg and I skidded to asphalt. It went black. And now I’m here with you, repeating this story to the rapture.

That’s the truth—every white lie. Mikey Deuce chased us, shot me and took that two million dollars up to Blacksburg. That’s all I got to say, dick. If you can untangle it, you’re a better man than Jim thought

It’s just like you said, sister. “Ain’t no lie ever white.” Spun together like braided strings, all those…white lies…? They turn black and coil about your neck till you’ve hung yourself out to dry.