THUGLIT Issue Seven by Michael Sears, Edward Hagelstein, Ed Kurtz, Joe Clifford, Christopher E. Long, Marie S. Crosswell, Justin Ordonez, Benjamin Welton Page A

might actually feel flattered that Hamed has gone to such lengths on his account. But he wonders how they've tracked him down. As if answering his unasked question, The Smiths' "Girlfriend in Coma" plays through the speakers. Chad looks at the digital display of his stereo.
    " Godammit," he grumbles, turning off the satellite radio.
    " What?" Jen asks.
    All that 's required is the serial number from a satellite radio to be able to use it as a tracking device.
    Depeche Mode just screwed him.
    He stares at the car in the rearview mirror. Following his stare, Jen begins to turn around in her seat, but Chad says, "Don't look."
    " Why?"
    " Just don't."
    Her body tens es, but she does as she's told.
    The light turns green and he drives through the intersection. The town car follows behind him matching his speed exactly.
    " We're going to park out front of the terminal and run in," he says. "I'll buy you a ticket and you'll hurry as fast as you can through security and catch the flight."
    " You're not coming?" she asks.
    " No."
    A jet roars overhead as it lands. Its tires hit the runway and kick up a plume of black smoke. "What's going to happen to you?" she asks.
    " I'll be fine," he says. "Don't worry about me."
    She angles to get a look at the town car in the side view mirror. "Who are they?"
    " I don't know."
    She takes his hand in her own. "Please come with me. Come to Vegas."
    He maneuvers the car into the airport. The t own car follows closely behind.
    " I can't."
    " Why can't you?"
    His nose begins to run profusely. He wipes his tender nostrils with the back of his hand. He suddenly feels achy and cold. The effects of his withdrawal had slipped his mind until now. The surge of adrenalin had masked the pain of detoxing. His hands tremble so he grips the steering wheel tightly. He notices Jen 's hands are trembling too, but for a different reason.
    " Why have you stuck with me?" he asks.
    She seems generally taken aback by the question, like he just asked the most personal question ever . And, who knows, maybe he did.
    " I love you."
    " But I'm a drunk and a drug addict. This weekend getaway was the first vacation we've gone on in two years, and it's to let me detox. That's bullshit. You deserve so much better than what I've given you."
    " Chad, we all make mistakes."
    " Yes, we do," he says.
    The Mercedes pulls up to the curb and parks at the passenger unloading. The town car comes to a stop two vehicles back.
    " Jen, for the last two years we have had unhealthy loves affairs. You with me, and me with drugs."
    " You can't mean—"
    He leans across the seat and kisses her firmly on the mouth. As he pulls away, he says, "I'm not the only one who needs to kick an unhealthy addiction."
    Before she can say anything, he opens the door and gets out, hurrying around the front of the car. He opens the door and offers her his hand. She hesitantly takes it and gets out of the vehicle. Arm in arm, they leave the Mercedes idling at the curb.
    " Hey!" a voice shouts. An airport curbside attendant with an orange vest points at the car. "You can't leave that car there. It'll get towed."
    " Whatever," Chad says. He glances at the town car and sees both doors opening. He doesn't wait around long enough to see who appears. Ultimately, it doesn't really matter who gets out that car, Chad figures. He might know them, or he might not, but regardless, they have orders from Hamed, and those orders will be carried out without exception.
    A blast of cold air greets Chad and Jen as they hurry through the terminal doors. He leads her by the hand to the ticket counter and walks right up to an elderly lady with permed hair and wearing rhinestone glasses.
    " Do you have a flight to Vegas?" Chad asks.
    The lady adjusts her glasses on the bridge of her nose as she looks up from the computer monitor. "Yes, sir, we do."
    " When is the next available flight?"
    The ticket agent 's long fingernails click on the keyboard like a pianist tickling the ivories. She