Free Terminal by Brian Keene

perfectly fucking clear?”
    “But Murph,” Sherm protested, “we’re regulars.”
    “I don’t give a shit if you’re regulars or not. I won’t have this in my place. Out!”
    “This sucks, yo.”
    Murphy nodded at the others. “The same goes for you guys. You try to follow them outside and start some shit, and you’ll spend the night in jail. I can goddamned guarantee you that.”
    Now that I’d pretty much decided what I was going to do with my last days and how I was going to make sure my family was taken care of, the last thing I wanted was police involvement. I wanted to stay below the radar. I caught Sherm’s eye, nodded toward the door, and smiled at Angie. She squeezed my shoulder, saying nothing.
    “Thanks, Angie.” I handed her my last ten-dollar bill, wondering what the hell I’d do for gas money. “Thanks for everything.”
    She softened. “It’s cool, Tommy. Don’t sweat it. Now get going before the cops get here. Murphy’s plenty pissed off right now, but he won’t rat you guys out. Just in case though, I wouldn’t come back for a while.”
    I nodded. “Trust me, Angie. You won’t be seeing me again.”
    “Stop that. It’s just for a few weeks, Tommy. It’s not like you’ll never be back.”
    Instead of replying, I just gave her a sad smile.
    The other guys stepped away, and Murphy recruited several patrons to act as bouncers. Without giving anybody an excuse to start swinging, we walked to the door. The last thing I heard as we left the bar was the jukebox playing Blue Oyster Cult’s “Don’t Fear The Reaper.”
    But I did fear him. I was scared of the son of a bitch, and I knew that I’d be meeting him soon.
    * * *
    My nose started leaking blood again in the parking lot, and I daubed at it as we walked to John’s car.
    “That was fun,” I snickered. “Good way to spend a Friday night.”
    “Thanks for taking my back, guys,” John mumbled apologetically. “I wasn’t sure what I’d do if all seven of them jumped me.”
    “Should have thought of that before you started bawling like a baby.”
    “Fuck you, Sherm.”
    “Fuck you, Carpet Dick.”
    All three of us started laughing then, great bellyaching laughs that left us breathless after they’d passed. We climbed in the car, John behind the wheel, Sherm stretched out in the back, and me riding shotgun.
    “Yo, let’s hit the diner,” John suggested. “I’m hungry.”
    “That’s cool with me,” Sherm shrugged. “I could use some coffee.”
    They looked at me for approval.
    “Sure. Sounds good. We need to finish talking anyway.”
    “Christ,” Sherm adjusted his Ford cap. “There’s more bad news?”
    I shook my head. “No. But you guys asked me what I was going to do. I figured I’d tell you. I owe you that much.”
    They were my best friends, and I loved them. I really did. But I didn’t trust them for this. I didn’t trust John because he was stupid and I didn’t trust Sherm because he was crazy. But I was going to tell them anyway. Maybe it was the alcohol talking, or the fact that we’d just thrown down together, but right then, I decided to tell them everything.
    John put the car in gear, and we pulled out of the parking lot.
    “So what are you gonna do?” Sherm asked. “You’re not going to cap yourself or something like that, are you?”
    “No, suicide is for pussies.”
    “Well what then? What are you going to do?”
    “I’m going to rob a bank.”
    SIX
    Get the fuck out of here, Tommy! Rob a bank. You really had me going for a second. Why you bullshitting us?”
    When I didn’t reply, John gripped the steering wheel even harder while Sherm twitched in the backseat.
    “Are you fucking crazy?” John continued. “That cancer’s ate away at your brain, dog! You ain’t robbing no bank!”
    I smiled. “You heard what Sherm said back at the bar. Live like there’s no tomorrow. Life’s a bitch, then you die. Well, I intend to grab the bitch by the balls before I go.”
    “Word.”