The Night Before by David Fulmer Page B

cheer, and no one would ask what he was doing there. That’s what he needed: a place where he could forget for a little while. He would decide what to do about the rest of the night and the rest of his life later.
    Turning back the way he had come, he heard music from a private playlist running through his head. So entranced did he become with a breathless mouthing of half-forgotten lyrics that it took a few seconds for the car coming to an idling stop a half-block behind him to register.
    For a brief second, his heart tripped. Had Mariel loaded the kids and come searching for him, as if he was a dog that had gone astray? But then he saw that it was an older model Chevy and not in the best condition. The engine clattered in a rough rhythm and the exhaust smoked with burning oil. In other words, not a vehicle his wife would drive, even if her life
and
their marriage depended on it.
    He caught sight of the Chevy creeping through the intersection ahead and guessed that the driver was lost. Or maybe had been wronged by his or her mate this night and looking for a tender place to land; though looking in the wrong place, to be sure.
    He tramped on, turning his thoughts to his book, to certain scenes and the actors who would play the parts in the movie. He knew that an option didn’t mean a film would be produced. That was still a long shot - it was Hollywood, after all. And yet what better time for fantasies?
    When he reached West Avenue, he saw the Chevy had come to a stop across the intersection, dirty smoke wisping from the tailpipe. At that moment, he felt a buzz in his pocket. He fumbled for a crazy few seconds until he could get the phone out and stare stupidly at the six letters: Mariel.
    He whispered her name. In response, a voice coming from behind made him jump. “You don’t need to be talkin’ right this minute.”
    Joe turned around to find a man standing there - a kid, actually, in his teens - staring at him from beneath the bill of a baseball cap. He was a few inches shorter than Joe, muscular, with light chocolate skin, a thin nose, and hard green eyes. He wore a new winter coat with the hood pulled up part way. Gold glinted on the lobes of his ears. Both his hands were gloved and one held a buck knife with a glinting blade pointed at Joe’s gut.
    For the second time in a few short hours, Joe found himself frozen where he stood, in this instance by sheer craziness. This couldn’t be happening to him; not on top of his family disaster, and not on this night. His mind traveled to an irrelevancy. What kind of muggers hunted victims on Christmas Eve?
    The answer was the sort with partners who drove battered Chevys. Through the blood pounding in his ears, he heard a door creak open with a metallic wince. Another kid, this one taller, thicker, and even younger than the first, stepped up to form a triangle on the lonely corner. He looked excited and scared, his mouth open as he tried to catch his breath.
    â€œGive that fuckin’ thing here,” the senior partner said, and snatched the phone from Joe’s grasp. “Now get out what all’s in your pockets.” Joe stared at him, unable to connect word to action. “You hear what I said?” the kid barked. “Give it up.”
    â€œOkay, okay,” Joe said and went fumbling for his wallet.
    He had barely drawn it from his pocket when the bigger kid jumped in to grab it. His knife-wielding partner gave him a sharp look, peeved at the break in protocol, then turned back to Joe. “What else you got?”
    Joe swallowed, found his voice gone.
    â€œYou deaf? I said, what else you got, motherfucker?”
    Joe held up his hand. “Watch,” he said.
    The mugger peered, then curled his lip in haughty distaste. “That ain’t worth shit. What else?” His partner flipped Joe’s wallet open. “Ain’t no cash.”
    â€œWhere is it?”
    â€œHere,” Joe croaked and pointed to his