Piggyback by Tom Pitts

Now, Becky, ” his voice was patronizing, as though he were speaking to a 10-year old. “ I want you to ask Jerrod where my duffel bags are. I want you to make him understand how serious this situation is. ”
    Jimmy opened the trunk.
    Becky saw her boyfriend laying there, dead. The few hours that had gone by only furthered his grotesque appearance. Bluish-gray with rigor mortis setting in, Jerrod resembled a zombie. Becky had never even seen a dead body before. She wanted to scream, but instead her body convulsed. She turned slightly to the left and promptly threw up. The sour stink of the white wine mixed with bile rose up from her feet.
    Shelly cried out, “ What is it? What ’ s wrong? ” But Tristan knew exactly what was wrong. He ’ d guessed it before. He tried to shut it out, tried not to believe it. He hoped against hope that their little scheme would not have this kind of price tag. All those miles in the car trying to communicate with Jerrod in the trunk. He felt his stomach churning as well.
    “ Go ahead, Becky, ask him, ” said Jimmy. “ Ask your stupid boyfriend if he knows who he told about your little plan. Ask him if he regrets getting in over his head. Ask him how it feels to steal from me. ”
    Becky heaved, her stomach emptied. Only bile was left, but she still heaved.
    “ What ’ s a matter? You want to comfort him? Why don ’ t you climb in there with him and give him a hug? ”
    “ Is he okay? ” Shelly was crying now. “ What ’ s wrong with him? ”
    The garage door started to open. Jimmy pointed the gun at Tristan and Shelly, but neither of them had moved to hit the opener. He saw headlights reflected in the rear window of the Camry. He slammed the trunk shut and concealed the .38 under his jacket.
     
     
    As the door rolled up, Damon Lafleur first was angry about the strange car sitting in his garage. He thought the girls had some male guests over to visit. They ’ d better not be smoking weed here in the garage. It was not a good time for company and he planned to say so. Then he saw Becky on her knees retching. The girls were fucked up, now he was going to have to mete out some discipline as well. He stopped his car and, leaving his headlights on, unbelted and climbed out, slamming his door.
    “ What the hell is going on here? ” he said. It was taking him a moment to realize that the man in front of the car was way too old to be a friend of the girls. The man wearing the leather blazer was stone-faced, angry. Before he could ask the question again, the stranger pulled a snub-nosed .38 from under his jacket and said to Damon, “ Get in here, fuck-hole. ”
    “ Fuck you, ” spat Damon. He didn ’ t even think about it. His face was still numb from the last blast of blow. He was angry to have his plans for the evening tampered with. He wasn ’ t sure if this was a robbery, rape, home invasion, whatever, but, one way or another, it was the girls that brought this scumbag with a gun into his home. He wasn ’ t going to let this asshole order him around in his own house. He had his own gun under the seat of the Mercedes, a Glock. He had two more upstairs in the master bedroom. He squeezed his right hand, wishing that he was holding one now. He tried to take in what was happening in his garage. Becky on the floor, Tristan looking scared—that pussy—and Shelly in tears, choking back sobs. He scanned for some solid object he could hit this prick with. Then Damon noticed the suitcases on the floor. The gears in his mind snapped into place.
    “ Fucker, ” was all he said.
    Jimmy stepped forward and lifted his right hand. He smashed the butt of his gun into Damon ’ s cheek. At the same time, with his left hand, he grabbed a hold of Damon ’ s white shirt collar and yanked the man forward as hard as he could. The combo surprised Damon and he fell forward to the rear of the Camry, smacking his head on the bumper, making a deep, hollow bell sound. Jimmy gave him two hard kicks