On the Nickel by John Shannon

he’s run off yet.’
    It was only an eight-block jaunt to the park but the nuisance of oddity had found Jack Liffey nevertheless, as he stared out the side window of the rented van, strapped this way and that against sudden momentums. Gloria, at the wheel, had undoubtedly missed it entirely and he had no way to call her attention to it, in any case.
    A woman wearing only a white bra and panties and an old flying-nun nurse cap carried a gigantic mock-up of a syringe under her arm and stepped quickly from street tree to tree (mostly stunted Chinese elms) pretending to inject them with the blunt needle, then giving each tree a genuine pat of condolence.
    I’ll have a little of that, Jack Liffey thought, whatever it is. It must be good to escape contingency for a while.
    Gloria held the control lever down to send the power-lift of the van grumbling down to the curb, and when it stopped Jack Liffey unhooked all the shock cords and wheeled himself off the shelf. She carried the bags of food and he fought his rubber wheels across the ragged Bermuda grass of Greenwood Park toward a picnic table that didn’t look too hacked up with carved graffiti. Across the way, young wannabe gangsters were sitting in the baseball bleachers passing around a slim dark Sherman, probably laced with something, and punching shoulders playfully.
    ‘You know, I could get used to doing all the talking,’ Gloria said as she started to dig into the food bags for their picnic. ‘It’s a little creepy sometimes when you nod and smile like crazy, but I think I could just go on yakking for years – it suits me well. When I run out of cop stories, I’ll tell you all those yarns from my aunt up in Owens. Paiute nonsense about how the gods hide themselves inside animals and rocks and trees. I wonder if there’s some shaggy little god hiding out in Loco?’ She laughed.
    REALLY WORRIED ABOUT MV SORRY.
    He smiled tightly and showed her the notepad.
    ‘Aw, shit, Jack. Give it a break, please.’
    He shook his head as she started to set out burritos and chips and salsa.
    ‘Remember that bushido guy? It was when we first met? The guy that killed Ken Steelyard and almost killed us. I never forget that he said the secret to being a great warrior was deciding you were already dead. I don’t mean Maeve’s dead, but there’s something to just relaxing into what’s inevitable, OK? What she’s doing she’s doing. It’s already a happening thing. And your fatherly concern ain’t going to undo a bit of it. You got to decide she’s running with the native sense you taught her and won’t do stuff too stupid. And I promise I’ll do what I can to watch over her.’
    He nodded his thanks, but he was obviously still fretful.
    ‘I probably shouldn’t tell you this. I caught her with those business cards off her computer again: Liffey and Liffey, Investigations, with the big stupid eyeball from some old black-and-white movie.’ She smiled. ‘But I really think she’s safer than if she was trying to protect herself in a suit of armor. I got a cop on her – though I know it worries you.’
    EXPLODING WITH FRUSTRATION.
    She reached over to press a strong hand on his arm. ‘I get it, Jack. You’re the original guard-all-the-gates dad, but I think that time’s probably about over. Get with the new program. For right now, you get to park in the gimp spaces and let others help you out.’
    ‘Ak, ak!’
    ‘Come on, lighten up. The salsa is the fresca kind you like. I made it with lime juice. You can still enjoy your senses.’
    He ate a few chips, scooping up the terrific homemade salsa, and then gave in to his worried nature again and wrote painstakingly.
    WHAT’S UP WITH MIKE LEWIS’ SON? I KNOW MIKE CALLED IS MV LOOKING FOR HIM?
    ‘So you know about that. You’ve got a sixth and a seventh sense, don’t you, Jackie? Like Loco.’ They both looked over at the rented van, but despite the front door standing open, Loco was sound asleep on the front floor