Already Gone - By John Rector Page 0,2

will, and after he leaves, she sits next to me on the side of the bed.

“What did that cop mean about someone holding a grudge?”

“No idea.”

“Is it because of your dad?” she asks. “You mentioned some of his friends in the book. You don’t think one of them saw it and—”

“You’re reaching,” I say. “The two guys tonight were strangers, I’ve never seen them before. They were probably drug addicts who wanted my ring so they could pawn it.”

“But they didn’t take your wallet.”

“No,” I say. “They didn’t.”

“It’s strange, Jake.”

“It is what it is.” I sit up, slow, and point to my coat. “Let’s get out of here.”

Diane helps me with my jacket. My ribs are wrapped tight, and my hand won’t fit through the sleeve so we run the jacket under my arm like a toga. It looks ridiculous, and I can’t help but smile.

Diane doesn’t.

“I just don’t understand why they came after you,” she says. “There were a lot of people in that bar, but they waited outside for you. There has to be a reason.”

“I was alone. That was enough.”

“You think that’s it?”

“What else could it be?”

Diane stares at me for a moment, then shakes her head and looks away. “I don’t know.”

I take her hand. “If you start looking for answers and asking, ‘Why me?’ you’ll go crazy. They came after me because they saw me as an easy target, that’s all.”

“But it doesn’t make sense,” she says. “You had money, and they didn’t take it.”

“I wish they had,” I say. “I hate to lose that ring.”

“It was just a ring. We’ll get another.”

“We can’t do that. It’s bad luck.”

Diane laughs, soft and delicate. “The first one wasn’t exactly lucky, was it?”

“No,” I say. “I guess it wasn’t.”

When we get out to the waiting room, I see Doug sitting in a chair by the window. His head is back and his mouth is open and he’s snoring. The sound echoes.

“Has he been here all this time?” I ask.

“I guess so,” Diane says. “He must’ve stuck around after he called me.”

I don’t remember how long I was in the parking lot. My only memory is of someone pulling me up by one arm, then sitting in Doug’s backseat with him telling me to keep my hand over my head.

“You want to wake him up?” Diane asks.

I tell her to go ahead, and she does.

Doug opens his eyes and looks from Diane to me. When he sees my hand, he winces. “Shit, Jake, what’d they say?”

“Apparently, someone cut off my finger.”

Diane looks at me, frowns.

Doug shakes his head. “Who knows, maybe it’ll improve your typing.”

“Always the optimist,” I say.

Doug stands and grabs his coat and slides it over his shoulders. “What did the cops tell you?”

“That they’re working hard, following every lead.”

Doug nods. “Then I guess it’s just a matter of time.”

He winks at me.

I can’t help but smile.

The three of us cross the parking lot together. I feel fine, but Diane holds my arm every step of the way.

Doug is reminiscing.

“I never once locked my doors until I went to college, and you want to know why I started?” He doesn’t wait for an answer. “Because people kept coming in and taking my dope. Never because of this shit.”

“It’s a different world.”

“And one I don’t understand,” he says. “It’s like I woke up one day and everything was off-kilter. Not a lot, but enough to where all the rules have changed.”

“I think that’s called old age.”

“I never locked my doors growing up,” Diane says. “Now, I never leave them unlocked.”

“See, your wife agrees with me.” He looks at her, asks, “Where did you grow up, hon?”

“Name a place. My father was in the military so we moved a lot, base to base mostly.”

“Military bases are safer than cities,” I say.

“Obviously, you’ve never lived on one.”

“Not everyone grew up like you did, Jake. Some of us remember a time when you didn’t need to look over your shoulder when you stepped outside.” Doug points at my bandaged hand. “And this kind of thing was unheard of. If they wanted your ring so bad, why didn’t they just make you take the goddamn thing off?”

“You see?” Diane pulls at my arm. “It doesn’t make any sense.”

“Tell you the truth,” Doug says. “I’ve had enough. A couple more years teaching, and I’m done. I’ve got a little place on the beach in Mexico. All mine. It’ll be me, a few drinks, and the waves.”

“Sounds nice,” Diane says.

“It’s beautiful. I’ll make