CHAPTER TWO

There was silence. Stu could feel the sweat on his lip and nose and forehead. He turned out the window, watching the vicious gray and brown give way to sprawling green fields. His arm hurt from holding the phone up, so he rested his elbow down on the rest on the door, keeping it touching his right ear. The rhythmic song swelled, brassy drums growing louder as they were beaten.

"What's the fare amount?" The voice startled him and he jumped in his seat, leaning up.

Gaining himself, he leaned forward, peering through the cage separating him from the cabby. He read the neon red meter, careful to keep the gun against the back of the cabby's head, the muzzle in a break in the caging.

"It says twenty five fifty seven."

"How much do you have on you Stu?"

"I don't know."

"Check."

"I'd have to put down the phone." His face twitched.

There was silence for a moment.

"Then do. But remember Stu, I still have your wife with me."

Stu nodded - as if it would have made any difference - and hesitantly set the phone on the seat beside him. He was surprised to find how heavy his arm felt and how much his hand shook as he let go of the phone, his fingers refusing for a moment.

He shifted up onto the balls of his feet to get out his wallet from his back pocket. Then, with his shaking hand, he shook the money out and into his lap. Counting it quickly before picking up the phone.

"I have a hundred and fifty seven on me..."

"I was beginning to worry you wouldn't come back. I'm glad you know where you stand." The voice informed. "How much was the fare?"

Stu leaned forward again, having forgotten the number in the exchange.

"It's twenty six thirteen." He could feel the sweat in his palm from his hand still holding the gun against the back of the cabby's head.

"You said it was 'twenty five fifty seven', you lied to me Stu..."

"No! No I didn't! It changed!" He could hear a cry on the line. "Oh Jesus! The meter changed! I didn't lie! No, please, God!"

There was laughing on the other end.

"I'm just kidding you Stu. Calm-"

But the statement was suddenly brought to an end as the cabby made a sharp swerve, throwing Stu crossways along the seat for a moment.

"Whoa! What the fuck?!-"

Then suddenly, the cabby slammed on the brake, bringing the car to a screeching halt.

Stu came flying forward, his head crashing against the caging as he felt the skin above his eyebrow split against the metal. The phone flew from his hand.

Blackness swarmed as he lay slumped in the seat, his mind hiccuping what had just happened.

After coming to a jarring stop, the cabby violently kicked open his door and pushed his massive body out through the small opening, yelling to himself at Stu. "You come into my house! You come into my house and you fucking disrespect me!?"

Stu's door was suddenly and aggressively pulled open from the outside, a fist at his shoulder as he was dragged out of the car forcibly by one arm. He slid helplessly, his mind too fuzzy to understand what was going on, only that he was being moved.

"You skinny, white motherfucker! I'm gonna kill you!" He only faintly felt the huge, beefy fist slam across his face, splitting his lip. And he felt his body collapse in on itself as he tried to curl himself into a ball for protection. But it was of no use. He was pelted across the face several times, his skin rupturing in some places, while his attacker tired and resorted to kicking at his ribs.

He hauled Stu up by his shirt and slammed him back against the side of the cab, the car rocking at the impact, the back of Stu's head bouncing off the roof. A tight fist coming to meet its recoil.

He heard the soft crunch of his nose and suddenly there was a fiery pain in his face as he screamed. His body was shaking and wet as the cabby brought his massive leg up between Stu's legs, striking hard.

Stu could have sworn he heard one of his testicles explode.

He doubled to the asphalt with little help to catch himself on his shoulder. Rolling onto his side.

"You motherfucker," the cabby pointed at him as he pulled himself into the fetal position. "You are gonna die." Then the cabby scooted off towards the back of the cab, towards the trunk. Stu didn't doubt that the cabby had a gun in there.

Stu fought to find breath again, his numb fingers fumbling for his nuts, while his other arm stretched out, his fingers reaching towards his gun.

'Him or me' was all that would go through Stu's head.

'Him or me.'

His fingertips touched the handle, his finger pads against the pavement as he heard the cabby rummaging through the trunk, cursing encouragement to himself as he tried to fish out his gun.

Stu reached out again for his own gun, so close, yet so far away, just enough to be out of reach, but close enough to touch.

He heard the victorious breath and rolled, his upper body shifting forward, his fingers gripping the plastic.

"You're gonna die now motherfucker..."

His fingers rolled around the handle.

He heard the cabby's gun cock.

And he rolled onto his back, against the pain, gun in hand.

The cabby raised his gun. A rifle.

Stu fired twice.

The bullets exploded into the cabby's shoulder, the shirt lifting where the bullets hit him with a splash of red.

The cabby's massive body twisted backward with a cry of surprise, his knees buckling as he hit with a hollow, wet *CRACK!* face-first into his own trunk before bouncing off, spinning, and collapsing to the ground on his stomach. Not moving. Probably stunned. Stu had aimed to keep him down, not to kill.

Stu's breath was caught in his chest. As he stared at what he had just created. The large mass of man lying facedown on the pavement, blood beginning to seep through his Hawaiian shirt, cool and red.

He'd just shot a man.

He heard mumbling from the backseat of the car and wheeled round with the gun, his mind still on alert, pointing at the empty leather seats and feeling hell for it.

The phone.

He pushed past the screaming pain as he scrambled to get to his feet, but only could get up to his knees. The hand with the gun immediately went around his crotch, which felt like someone had lit a fire between his legs.

He shifted forward, his denims ripping against the rough road, as he doubled over the inside of the floor of the cab. He stretched his free arm out and jostled it a bit before grabbing the phone.

"Stu-"

"I'm sorry...he hit the brake....I couldn't....I lost the phone...."

Suddenly, there was groan behind him. The cabby was rising.

Somehow - unaware of how his body could have done it - Stu flopped out of the car,
turned and watched. The cabby clawed his way up from the pavement, juggling his rifle as he aimed once more, the muzzle wavering towards Stu.

But his finger squeezed the trigger of the pistol. He fired, right at the man's forehead. Always shoot to kill.

The man's body rocked back and came hard onto the asphalt, a great peeling sound emitted as his skin and hair husked back from his skull.

"You killed him Stu." The voice said to him matter of factly.

His mind suddenly reeled, realizing what had happened. "You did that!"

"No, no, no, Stu. You did that. You fired first."

"He was going to kill me!" Stu said, exasperated. "You- you made me! You made me kill him!"

"No Stu, listen to me. YOU killed him. YOU fired the gun."

Stu began to break. "He came at me..." he cried, "he was going to shoot me..." His shoulders shook.

"It's not like you haven't witnessed death before."

Stu's jaw trembled and his voice became hitched, the gun waving in his limp hand.

Stu slumped to the ground, falling hard.

"FUCK!" He cried as the pain in his entire body seemed to swell all at once.

"Calm down Stu."

Stu took time and did so.

"Are you hurt?"

His mind faltered.

"Wha-? Why do you care?" His face contorted into a grimace.

"Answer the question." The voice said forcefully. "Are you hurt?" The voice didn't want to explain.

"My nose might be broken..." he cradled the phone between his ear and his shoulder, wiping at the blood running down his face.

There was silence.

"Fuck..." Stu breathed, looking at his red-coated hands. "I need to go to a hospital..."

"No Stu,"

"Please..." Stu begged.

"Listen to me, you go to a hospital and Kelly dies. Do you understand me?"

Wiping his hands on the side of his pants, he gently touched his privates, feeling for blood and found nothing but agony.

"Stu?"

"I understand..." he mewed weakly.

"Twenty miles down the road is a gas station. Drive there. Find whatever you need to fix yourself up. I'm being generous now Stu. So don't go fucking it up."

Nodding to himself, Stu rolled forward onto his ripped knees, still holding his crotch and began to crawl.

"Get up and get in the car Stu." The voice instructed and Stu obeyed.

Stu wiped at the fluid on his upper lip, not knowing whether it was blood or snot. "What do I do about the body?"

"Put it in the trunk."

Stu looked, the trunk already popped, and he shifted himself upwards, using the side of the cab as a support as he shimmied his way to his feet.

He stepped forward and tested his footing, before standing straight up, his gonads screaming and he shuffled over towards the body.

Pushing away the pain, Stu leaned down and grabbed the cabby by the shoulders, refusing to look in his dead, wide, surprised eyes. The bullet wound in the center of his forehead oozed a trickle of blood, but as he began to drag the body towards the rear of the car, he saw the mass of pink and black globs of the man's brain on the road.

He clamped down his jaws and forced up his tongue as his stomach attacked him, retaliating at the large puddle of human head matter just lying there, steaming in the cool air. He got the body propped up against the tailgate when suddenly his stomach heaved and beat him.

He swung out into the grass and lost it all, falling to his hands and knees as he puked up what he didn't remember ever eating.

As he finished, he wiped it away with the side of his hand, then wiped it onto a clear spot in the grass, looking away. The smell was bad enough to cause his stomach to churn, he didn't need to see it as well.

Clambering up onto his feet once more, he gripped the corpse by the shoulders and with a heavy grunt, lifted the large man's carcass into the trunk.

The cab sunk on its back tires at the added weight and Stu could do everything to keep his stomach from revolting again as the body turned over in the carpeted trunk.

He threw the pistol and the rifle into the trunk on top of the body and slammed down the trunk.

"I'm done," Stu said into the phone, wiping away the spit dripping down his chin from straying barf.

The voice had been waiting somewhat patiently, almost cynically for him to be finished.

"Fix yourself up Stu," the voice spat, "but remember your doing me a favor."

He got into the car and started the engine, making it jump from a growl to a purr before shifting it into gear.

He pulled back onto the road precariously, the hair on the back of his neck standing on end as he felt eyes watching him. Even though this side road was deserted.

Luckily, as he approached the gas station, it was void of cars. He brought the car to a rolling stop just outside the front door and turned off the engine. Hesitating at the pain, Stu stumbled out of the cab and went towards the front door.

Standing inside behind the counter was a woman, about twenty-six, with red hair, she was reading a magazine, not looking up.

Stu limped past her and into the aisle of fishing tackle, finding what his blurry mind could only guess on what would be appropriate. Bending awkwardly - with his shoulder screaming in protest - he reached down and picked up a lure with a big orange, floppy bug strapped to the sharp, straight hook, the only straight one in the box. Then, he fished out a roll of fishing line and a pair of scissors from another aisle.

"Do you have a bathroom?" His voice was weak and hurt, but the girl at the counter paid no attention. Without looking up, she snapped her gum and raised her arm to point towards the back of the station to a fading sign that read BATHROOMS.

Stu hunkered down and made his way there. Once inside, he locked the door behind him and fell against it, sliding down as he began to tear up. The phone was still against his ear, his wife's breathing having been put on as a soft abrasive music.

"Kelly," Stu tried, but got no answer but a shift in the breathing pattern, "Kelly baby I love you. And whatever happens, you're going to be alright...I promise..." He wiped at his tears as he stared at the things on the floor about him.

"Stu?" The voice was back.

He shut his eyes, but he knew that the nightmare would not go away.

"We've both decided that you need some alone time."

"Who? Who's decided?" His heart sank in his chest.

"Kelly and I, we'll call you back in twenty minutes," and with a click, the caller hung up. Stu's heart crumbled and his balls hurt like a motherfucker.

Scooting forward on his heels, he reached down and undid his belt, unbuttoned his pants, and lifted the top of his jeans, relieved to find his manhood still fully intact. His only worry was that one testicle looked slightly darker than the other did. He thought maybe it had imploded and was now filled with blood.

Reaching over, he cracked one of those ice packs and waited for it to turn icy cold, before hesitating as he placed it against his crotch. He jumped at the contact, "...aw, fuck..." and worked quickly to zip and buckle his pants back up, the top of the bag protruding to lie against his solar plexus.

Working carefully, he stood, made sure the ice pack was safely secured, and hobbled over to the rusty window with his new items, dropping them onto the top of the toilet tank.

In his reflection, he looked almost as bad as he felt. His shoulders sat unevenly on him, his right slumped a little lower to lessen the pressure on it.

His arms felt heavy and shook as he turned on the water and splashed the cold moisture onto his face, rubbing away the blood and revealing the wounds beneath, not as bad as he had initially thought from his reflection. An inch long gash seeped blood from over his left eye and a crescent shaped cut finished it off to the side. His nose was clipped pretty bad from the blows and the side of his bottom lip was trickling blood as well.

He strained to get his hands to pull the fly from the hook and make a crude instrument for sewing with the hook and line.

Then, biting down on his tongue, Stu began to sew the sides of the gashes together.

As he finished with wetted cheeks, his breath heavy, there was a knock at the door. "You alright in there? You been in there a long time." Then a pause.

When he didn't return with an answer, there was a flustered sigh and the click of heels away from the door. "Hey man, you better not be jacking off, I just cleaned the floors and the toilets-" typical New York.

He'd pulled off the side of his shirt to look at his shoulder, which was bruised slightly, belittling the pain that he felt. Now, he worked to button it back up.

His heart vaulted into his throat as the phone rang and he slid to it, actually welcoming its feel to his hands. He answered it on the second ring, but didn't speak.

"Are you done?"

"Yeah," Stu threw the remaining items into the trashcan. Gave his crude sewing job a once over with a grimace and washed his hands of his blood. He swallowed hard at his reflection before straightening his clothes and heading towards the locked door.

He opened it onto the distressed face of the girl, whose crossed arms immediately fell to her sides on the sight of his face. "Oh shit man, are you okay?"

Stu didn't look up, instead, he buried his face in the floor and walked with a quickened stride, veering towards the narrow isles of chips and dip. The girl hounded him interested, "hey, don't I know you from somewhere?" He quickened his pace, the phone pressed against his ear but no voice coming from it. "

"Hey! Weren't you that crazy guy in that phone booth...??" But he shoved open the door and headed straight towards the cab.

Then the realization hit her. "You have to pay for that shit you took!" But he wasn't swayed, instead, he slammed the cab door in behind him, thumbed the key, and hit the gas, sending a spray of dirt in her direction.

She answered by flipping him off.