Free Epiphany Jones by Michael Grothaus Page A

And he flips something on the side of the gun.
    Safety is off.
    All I can think is, What Would Bugs Bunny Do ?
    ‘Uh,’ interrupts the old man, ‘shouldn’t we call the police?’
    ‘The police aren’t no good in situations like this. They couldn’t help Patty,’ Elmer says. ‘It’s best to handle this ourselves.’
    ‘But still,’ the old man protests from his supine position on the sidewalk and takes a cellphone from his jacket pocket. ‘Perhaps … let’s just give them a call.’
    Elmer shakes his head in frustration. ‘What’s your name?’ he asks and his breath drifts into my nostrils. It smells like cigars.
    ‘Tom,’ I say.
    When I get nervous, I lie. It’s always been a protective mechanism for me.
    ‘Tom what?’
    ‘Uh, Cruise.’
    ‘Tom Cruise?’ he says.
    I never said I was a good liar.
    ‘Well, Mr Movie Star, I’m gonna make you a deal,’ Elmer says. ‘You’re going to give me your wallet, and if your ID says you are “Tom Cruise”, I’m gonna let that feller on the sidewalk call the cops. If, however, you’re lying to me, I’m gonna shoot you in the knees.’
    ‘Look–’ I say. ‘This isn’t what it looks like.’
    But Elmer shakes his head, ‘Let’s have the wallet. Slowly.’
    With the barrel of the gun still pressed tightly beneath my chin I remove my wallet from my back pocket and place it in Elmer’s pudgy little hand. He flips it open.
    ‘ Jerry ,’ he shakes his head. ‘You lied to me. Now I’m gonna have to shoot ya.’
    ‘Wait, wait!’ I plead. ‘Please. I must have grabbed my brother’s wallet by mistake. We’re twins.’
    Elmer looks at the ID again. ‘Jerry Dresden ,’ he reads. ‘Don’t brothers have the same last name?’
    ‘He got married and took his wife’s name.’
    ‘Sir, please ,’ the old man interrupts again, ‘let me just phone the police.’
    But Elmer, he turns to the old man and yells, ‘I say they never help!’ And that’s when I take my chance. I smack the gun away and lunge at his little body. Using all my strength, I lift him from the ground and toss him just like they do in all those midget videos you see on the internet.
    ‘My other hip!’ the old man shrieks as Elmer lands on him.
    ‘I’m really sorry,’ I wince.
    But Elmer, he’s like a goddamned prairie weasel. He’s on his feet again and swinging the gun at me. His eyes are frenzied. The sound is so loud it sets my ears ringing and the blast is so hard it knocks Elmer back on his ass. I don’t chance another bad shot and burst into a sprint as Elmer springs up again. A chunk of greystone explodes as I turn the corner of a house, dipping down its side-alley.
    And I run and run and run some more. I jump fences and sprint across traffic-filled streets and through darkened yards. I move harder and faster than I ever have. I run with no destination in mind. I run for what seems like hours. And then I drop. My lungs burn and my legs feel like spaghetti. My right shoe is wet. I’ve pissed myself. When I finally catch my breath, I notice I’m in my neighbourhood. I almost cry. My apartment is just around the corner. A securely locked door. A shower. A quick wank. Sleep. There’s nothing else I desire at this moment.

9
The Videotape
    I t’s not until I’m right next to it that I notice what it is. I’m passing a brown Datsun that’s parked across the street from my building when a squawk comes from it.
    The squawk, it says, ‘Car thirty-four, this is dispatch.’
    Mounted to the dashboard are a CB radio and one of those heavy-duty laptops all police cars have nowadays. A portable police light sits on top of the glove compartment. ‘Car thirty-four, where are you?’ Squawk.
    My building’s door bursts open and someone hurries out. It’s the tall detective who questioned me at the museum. I hesitate for a moment before I duck beside the Datsun’s passenger-side door. I crawl onto my stomach and press my cheek to the ground as I peer underneath the car and