I Am the Messenger

Marv looks straight ahead blankly.

"Just shut up, Ed," he says. "You might be a hero to most people today, but to me you're just the dirty prick who put a bullet in my window."

"You want me to pay for it?"

Marv allows me another smile. "No."

To be quite honest, that's a relief. I'd rather die than put a solitary cent into that Falcon.

When we walk out of the police station, Audrey and Ritchie are waiting for us, but they're not alone. There are media people there as well, and a whole load of photos are taken.

"That's him!" someone calls, and before I can argue, the whole crowd is in my face, asking questions. I answer as fast as I can, explaining again what happened. The town I live in isn't small, and there are radio, TV, and newspaper people, all of whom will be presenting stories and writing articles for the next day.

I imagine the headlines.

Something like "Taxi Driver Turns to Hero" would be nice, but they'll probably print something like "Local Deadbeat Makes Good." Marv will get a good laugh out of that one.

After maybe ten minutes of questions, the crowd disperses and we walk back to our parking spot. The Falcon's got a nice big ticket slapped on the windscreen, under the wiper.

"Bastards," Audrey states as Marv rips it off and reads it. We were in the bank in the first place so Marv could deposit his paycheck. He can use it for the fine now.

We attempt to wipe the glass off the seats and get in. Marv turns the key about eight times. It won't start.

"Brilliant," he says.

"Typical," replies Ritchie.

Audrey and I say nothing.

Audrey steers and the rest of us push. We take it back to my place since it's closest to town.

A few days later I'll get the first message.

It changes everything.

I'll tell you a bit about my life.

I play cards at least a few nights a week.

It's what we do.

We play a game called Annoyance, which isn't particularly hard and is the only game we all enjoy without arguing too much.

There's Marv, who never shuts up, sitting there trying to smoke cigars and simultaneously enjoy it.

There's Ritchie, who's always quiet, sporting his laughable tattoo on his right arm. He sips on his longneck beer from start to finish and touches the whiskers that seem glued in patches on his man-boyish face.

There's Audrey. Audrey always sits opposite me, no matter where we play. She has yellow hair, wiry legs, the most beautiful crooked smile in the world, and lovely hips, and she watches a lot of movies. She also works as a cabdriver.

Then there's me.

Before I even mention me, I should tell you some other facts: 1. At nineteen, Bob Dylan was a seasoned performer in Greenwich Village, New York.

2. Salvador Dali had already produced several outstanding artworks of paint and rebellion by the time he was nineteen.

3. Joan of Arc was the most wanted woman in the world at nineteen, having created a revolution.

Then there's Ed Kennedy, also nineteen....