Taking out the Trash

Frank Palmer could still feel the warmth of the pistol, bleeding through its holster and into his ribs—a hot reminder of the night’s deeds. It had been a long time coming, but finally the job was done. He stared down at the coffee cup on the counter, watching as his beleaguered sigh sent ripples gliding across the ebony liquid. With his elbows propped on the diner’s spit-shined counter, he massaged his face with weary hands. The stubble on his jaw felt like forty-grit sandpaper, and his eyes were bloodshot to hell—it felt like he hadn’t slept in weeks. He sighed again and pulled the brim of his hat lower over his eyes against the harsh lighting overhead.

“You’re coffee’s gettin’ cold,” said a smoky voice. “Sure I can’t get you somethin’ else, hon? Maybe a piece of pie?”

He glanced up at the woman behind the bar. She was leaning on the counter, staring at him with a look that reflected his own empty gaze. The elderly waitress seemed as if she had spent a lifetime in the empty diner with nothing but a cigarette to keep her company. Crevasses stood out on her face like dry, cracked mud, and her nicotine-stained teeth glistened with excess saliva.

“No thanks,” he muttered, tearing his eyes away from her. “I’m not hungry.”

She shrugged. “Suit yourself. Give me a yell if you change your mind.” Then she turned and retreated into the kitchen, leaving Frank alone in the barren diner.

Solitude didn’t last long. A gentle tinkle from the silver bell on the door announced the new arrival. There was no need to look—he knew the man’s face better than his own.

Footsteps sounded off the linoleum as the man circled behind him, laying a hand on his shoulder. “Thanks for calling so soon, Frank. Up for a little early-morning breakfast? My treat.”

Frank looked up at the dark-haired man as he sat on the stool next to him. “I’m not hungry, Maury. Let’s just get this over with.”

Maury smiled through crooked teeth as he brought a cigarette to his lips. “I always liked that about you, Frank—straight and to the point. It’s too bad things are the way they are these days. We could use a guy like you on the force again.”

Frank glowered at him. “You were the one who kicked me off.”

Maury shrugged, fishing a match out of his coat pocket to light the cig. “That wasn’t my fault—orders from above, you know that. What was I supposed to do? The complaints were racking up. Anyway, I gave you what you wanted. You got your chance to make a difference, didn’t you?”

“Whatever. I don’t want to talk about it anymore. Let’s just get this over with.”

“If that’s what you want, okay. Hand it over.”

Frank reached into his jacket and slipped the pistol from its holster, holding it out beneath the counter. “Here,” he said evenly.

“Is everything taken care of?” Maury asked, accepting the weapon.

“Yeah, I took out your trash. The Mancinis are out of the picture now. I’m sure your boys can handle it from here.”

Maury smiled like an eel. “I’m sure they can.”

“And now I’m done,” Frank said evenly. “You said so yourself. This would be the end of it.”

“So I did.”

Frank stood abruptly, leveling a baleful glare at the man before him. “I’m walking out that door,” he said, pointing toward the front of the diner, “and there’s nothing you can say or do to stop me. I’m done doing your dirty work.” Frank stared at him as if daring him to say anything to the contrary.

“Yes, Frank. You’re done.” He took a drag off of the cigarette. “But I can’t just let you walk out of here.”

Frank’s face coalesced into a mask of anger. “What are you talking about?”

“You’re a loose cannon, Frank. I can’t trust you on the streets by yourself. Without someone to keep you in line, you could go off half-cocked and do something stupid. You remember what the doctors said, don’t you?”

“Horse shit, Maury! That was just a bunch of pshycological bull to satisfy the commissioner. I’m fine, and you know it. I’m not going back to that loony bin again. I don’t care what I have to do, you’re not sending me back.”

Maury spread his hands plaintively. “You do what you gotta do, Frank. But I can promise you it’s not going to turn out pretty.”

“Fuck you, Maury,” Frank sneered. He turned and stalked through the doorway, the bell jingling in his wake.

A wall of cold air met him as he stepped out into the predawn streets. He started to turn up the collar of his overcoat, but froze as he locked gazes with the plainclothes men sitting in the black sedan at the curb. The driver’s side door opened, and the taller of the two stepped out. The big man straightened his jacket, giving Frank a sympathetic look. “Sorry, Frank. I hate to do this to you, but it’s the end of the line.”

The anger seemed to drain from Frank’s face as he flashed a sheepish smile. “I know, Dan. I figured as much.”

“You know what to do,” he said, opening the rear door of the car. “Get in.”

Frank took a step toward the car. “I guess it’s no use running. No hard feelings, ‘eh?” he asked, extending his hand.

A smile tugged at the corners of Big Dan’s mouth as he leaned forward to take the proffered arm. “Nah Frank, it’s—“ the rest of what he was going to say died on his tongue as Frank’s hand suddenly shot upward, grabbing him by the necktie and jerking him downward. “What—“ but that was all he managed before Frank’s other hand freed the Colt .45 at his shoulder. He pumped the trigger twice before it had even cleared the holster, and the big man toppled like a Barbie doll.

Before Dan’s body even hit the ground, Frank had already shifted his aim. Squeezing the trigger in rapid succession, he sent a trio of shots screaming through the side window. The glass shattered in a crescendo, but he only managed to gut the seat cushion as his target slithered out his door onto the other side of the car unharmed.

Frank didn’t wait to see what would happen next. He bolted, sprinting down the sidewalk in a headlong dash. He had only made it about twenty yards before gunshots sounded behind him. With a renewed burst of speed, he dashed down a nearby alleyway, racing down the grungy passageway as he dodged trash bags and grimy dumpsters. He had to put as much distance between him and Maury’s men as possible, because knowing them, they already had backup on the way.

Suddenly he stopped short, faced with a ten-foot high wall of chain link. He swore and whirled back around toward the entrance. Frank desperately searched for a way out, craning his neck upward toward the fire escape that extended several stories overhead along soot-stained walls. The ladder was a good five feet out of reach, but he could get to it if he wheeled one of the dumpsters underneath. Rushing forward, he grabbed hold of the nearest dumpster and began to push, straining with all of his might

But then a sudden flash of movement sent him diving for cover. Gunshots sang out as the man at the mouth of the alley opened fire, effectively pinning Frank behind the dumpster.

He could hear the other man shouting into his radio. “I’ve got him pinned down! All units converge on my position.”

Frank felt his stomach lurch. In just a few seconds, every blue boy in a ten block radius would be on top of him. He had to do something. He glanced back at the chainlink fence, momentarily contemplating trying to scale its 10-foot length. But he dismissed that thought as quickly as it had popped into his mind. As soon as he got his feet off the ground, he’d be down again with a bullet in his back. Counting through his meager options, he found that his only way out was up.

Rising up from behind the dumpster, his cold-numbed fingers spasmed on the Colt’s trigger. The pistol roared in his hand as he planted his shoulder into the dumpster, heaving with all the strength his body could muster. The figure at the mouth of the alley whirled away as bullets impacted along the brick wall. After three shots, the pistol’s magazine ran dry, and Frank tossed it away, frantically pushing the dumpster into place beneath suspended salvation of the fire escape.

He scrambled up, balancing on the dumpster’s edge as he reached for the dangling ladder. He was just about to jump when Maury’s voice called out from the darkness.

“Give it up, Frank. It’s over.”

Frank looked down as Maury’s measured footsteps echoed through the alleyway. The law man’s thin lips pulled back into a doleful grimace as he trained his revolver on the fugitive above him.

“I’m not going back,” Frank sneered. “I’m not.”

“You’re right about that much.”

For a moment, Frank’s face went lax with horror, but then it tightened into an angry mask. “You’re going to off me? After all that’s happened, after all that I’ve done for your, you’re going kill me?”

“Get down from there, Frank. It’s time.”

“No!” he roared impotently.

It has to be done,” Maury replied calmly. “You went and bit the hand that feeds you, and now I’m going to have to put you down.”

As Frank glanced up toward the fire escape, Maury seemed to read his mind.

“There’s no use running anymore.”

“You need me,” Frank implored, abandoning his earlier thoughts. “I’m the only one that had the guts to do what needed to be done.”

“Yes, but nobody can work in a dump and not come away dirty. You’ve been killing for so long that you’re just as bad as they are. For chrissake, look what you did to Dan.”

“He was going to take me back. I had to”

“You may be right. But this is what I have to do.

“No Maury, wait!”

“Too late, Frank.”

The revolver spoke. A crimson wound blossomed upon Frank’s chest as he toppled backward into the dumpster. The trash enveloped him, cradling his dying body in a loving embrace of sour milk and moldy Chinese. His lungs labored to breathe, burning with every intake of cold air. He tried to lift his arms to his chest, to stem the wellspring of crimson bubbling out of his innards, but his muscles refused to work. Frank could only listen as Maury’s footsteps receded down the alley, leaving him to rot with the rest of the garbage.