The Subtle Art of Brutality

“I don’t know,” she said, her face in her hands. “I just don’t know. I feel like this is it. Like this kid is coming out of me today. I’m so tired.” She slumped forward and rested her head on her forearms. “I am not up to this today. My back hurts. And why didn’t we find out the sex?”

Because you didn’t want to. You said it was a good thing to be surprised. You said we wanted to experience the wonder of birth like they did in the old days. “We just didn’t,” I said. I ran a hand over her hair and kissed the top of her head. Then I pulled the filters from the cupboard, poured water in the coffee pot, and spilled coffee beans on the floor. 7:50.

Madeline looked at the beans. “I can’t clean that up. I can’t bend down and clean that up.” She sniffled and started crying again.

“You don’t have to, babe. I’ve got it.”

“Those are expensive beans, too.”

FIVE: Close shop doors at 5:00 p.m. and wait for instructions. At some point this evening, I would receive directions to the envelope containing a debit card and access to an account with my money. It was safer than cash and smarter, and I had done it a few times before already. This time was big, though. This was the last one, the one that would set us up forever.

I swept up the beans and tossed them in the trash. 7:52. I was late. There was no way I’d make it there in time.

I buttered the toast and spread peanut butter on it. Then I set it in front of Madeline and kissed her on the forehead. “I’ve got to make a call. I’ll be right back.”

I knew I should offer to stay with her, to sit and hold her hand and stroke her hair and reassure her. If she only knew that this was all for her. I stepped out onto the front stoop and auto dialed Brent’s cell.

There was fumbling as he picked up and a frazzled, “Yeah.”

“You at the office?”

I heard him clear his throat. “In the car in the Starbuck’s drive-through. Want anything?”

“Need you to open.”

“Sure.”

“No. Listen. I need to you to open. This is important.”

I listened as Brent ordered a Venti Caramel Macchiato and then came back on the line. “You sure you don’t want something?”

“Nothing.”

“Right. Open the lot. Got it.”

“Shut the fuck up and listen to me, Brent. There’s a Chevy Tahoe near the front. I need you to jockey it to the back under the maple tree. Got it?”

“Chevy. Maple. Tahoe. That’s a shitty tree. What do you got against that car?”

I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Just do it. Don’t fuck up. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

I could almost hear Brent shrug through the phone. I had no idea what was worse. Having Madeline pissed at me or trusting the car arrangements to Brent. It’s like asking how do you want to die? Fire or drawn and quartered?

2

BRENT

What the hell was up his ass? Clyde used to be such a great boss. I guessed it was the kid that had him on edge recently. I mean, I took the job because the hours were good, the pressure was low and the policy on smoking was lax.

I watched all those Hertz and Enterprise jerks running around in their matching shirts and scripted sales pitches and I thanked sweet Jesus that wasn’t me. Still never thought I’d be renting cars out at the airport. Beats digging ditches, as my dad always said.

I tried to understand what Clyde was going through though. A baby. That’s heavy. And him being a business owner. Entrepreneur. Sole breadwinner. I know I’m not ready for that yet.

I kept feeling like something had been up for a while now, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. He would get all sweaty about once a month, giving orders on certain cars like this Tahoe now. When he told me his wife was pregnant I put two and two together. Lately, seemed like they added up to five.

Not my business, though. We were friends, sure, but his life was his and my life was mine. To each his own, as my mom used to say. They said a lot of stuff, my parents.

I opened the rental counter only five minutes late. Not bad for me. I’d almost finished refilling the brochure holders and the maps to Colonial Williamsburg, when the first customers of the day came in.