The Law of Second Chances by James Sheehan

him a while to come to grips with what happened that night. He’d spent most of the last two days smoking a lot of weed to calm his nerves and doing a little coke to keep his spirits up. Benny lived on the street—actually in a vacant condemned building—in a very rough section of the SouthBronx, but he had never even witnessed a shooting before. He’d never seen a dead person close up—at least not before the makeup, the powder, and the formaldehyde. Seeing Carl Robertson lying there dead had truly flipped him out.
    The story had been all over the
Post
and the
Daily News
, but so far the police didn’t seem to have any leads. Benny was fervently praying that they would continue to remain in the dark.
    Tillie’s was a small place and it was empty except for Tillie, who was working behind the bar. Tillie was half Puerto Rican and half Italian and about forty-five years old, and he enjoyed his own booze a little too much. “I can’t go to the party and not play,” he’d told Benny one night after they’d both had a few too many. Tillie’s compromise with his demons was to work the day shift. It was usually slow, and he had no desire to drink during the day.
    Benny was not in a talkative mood, so Tillie stayed at the other end of the bar catching up on some paperwork, approaching only when Benny called for a refill. They were in their respective positions when she walked through the door.
    Benny didn’t notice her right away—he was too busy praying to his beer. Tillie hardly noticed her either. He just walked over to where she’d sat down and waited for her order. There were no solicitous greetings in this place.
    “Vodka and tonic,” she said, and Benny looked up. She had dark glasses on, her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and she was wearing a tight white tank top with jeans and sneakers, but there was no mistaking—it was definitely her.
    Benny looked back down at his beer and tried to appear as inconspicuous as possible—no easy feat in an empty bar. After Tillie put her drink on the bar, she picked it up and started walking toward him. Benny didn’t budge.
    “How ya doin’!” he said, turning toward her. “I’m glad you finally showed up. You know, I still don’t know your name.”
    “Never mind,” she said as she came closer.
    Benny snuck a glance at Tillie to make sure he was watching and listening. Tillie had a sixth sense about trouble—youdidn’t last as a barkeep in this neighborhood for long if you didn’t. Benny knew he had a gun under the bar as well.
    “Pull up a stool,” he said. “You’re making me nervous standing over me like that.”
    “You should be nervous.” He could tell she was angry. “You should be real nervous. Is there someplace we can go to talk?”
    “This is it. I don’t have a place. It’s okay, though. Tillie’s almost deaf,” he said, nodding toward the far end of the bar. That would have been news to Tillie if he had heard the remark.
    Benny figured this was the safest place to be at the moment. He and Tillie weren’t great friends, but he knew Tillie would blow this woman away in a heartbeat if she pulled a gun. She clearly wasn’t from the neighborhood.
    “Where’s my fucking money?” she demanded.
    “I’ve got it, I’ve got it. I’ve been saving it for you,” Benny said quickly. He wasn’t lying. He’d been afraid that she might find him, so he hadn’t spent her share yet.
    “Give it to me.”
    “It’s not here. It’s hidden. You wait here and I’ll go get it.”
    She laughed, causing Tillie to look up.
    “I’ve got a better idea,” she told him. “We’ll go together.”
    Benny had known she’d say this, but he hadn’t yet worked up an appropriate response, so he decided to be truthful.
    “I don’t want to go anywhere with you. I don’t want to get my head blown off.”
    “I’m not the shooter in this group, Benny. Besides, I don’t have a gun. I’ll let you search me before we leave.”
    As afraid as he was,