Free Metro by Stephen Romano

drug dealers, doomed to go down in history at the wrong end of a murder gig, because evil men with evil agendas find you , and then they separate you from your privates and throw what’s left in the river.
    No. Who wants to die like that?
    Mark has finally lost his mind and gone postal in the worst possible way, and this is the result—the three of us sitting in a car with half the cops in this city scratching their heads about what happened to us, and wondering what the hell happens next.
    No. No. NO.
    But she feels she may be onto something with all the above.
    She runs down the list, keeps spinning through variations.
    This all happens in the space of about fifteen seconds.
    Jollie can type and text really fast too.
    â€¢Â â€¢Â â€¢
    â€œY ou guys okay back there?”
    Andy says something smart: “What’s okay , Mark?”
    â€œAre you injured? Are either of you shot?”
    Andy has no idea what to say, other than No, I’m not shot and thanks for asking, buddy —but the sound wrecks in his throat when he tries to get the words out. And then he notices his bloody stump for the first time in a while—the knot of T-shirt that was once white, pulled hard around his throbbing fist and soaked through with slow ooze. Jollie seems like she’s turned into a statue, not speaking a syllable, her eyes getting smaller, then bigger, than smaller again, her lips almost moving as her thoughts come quickly.
    Andy thinks that’s damn scary.
    She looks insane.
    He’s never seen Jollie look that way.
    â€œCome on, guys, don’t make me play twenty questions,” Mark says.
    â€œWe’re okay,” Jollie suddenly says out loud. “What the hell is happening?”
    â€œWe’re about to take another ride. Sit tight.”
    He gets out of the car and opens the back door on Jollie’s side. Sees the Black Box on the floor. Sees the two of them sitting there, grimy and flushed with tears, sees Jollie staring straight into a black ocean of possible futures and scenarios, her mouth moving silently.
    Mark has seen Jollie like that before.
    He’s watched her at her word machine, well into the wee hours of dawn, sensing the awesome shape of her mind as it made sense of the amazing, maddening, self-destructing earth under her feet. She even clutches the air with her hands now in a strange series of reflex actions, wanting a keyboard or a smartphone there, so she can write it all out—she is naked without her weapon of choice.
    Mark loves her more than ever in this moment.
    â€œJollie . . . I can see your gears working. How about it?”
    He leans into the compartment and brings his hand to her face, very gently. She recoils from him, almost shivering. “Don’t touch me, Mark.”
    â€œI know this is crazy. I know you—”
    â€œKnow me what ? You don’t know anything! This is not okay , Mark!”
    â€œCalm down. We’re in a quiet neighborhood. People are sleeping.”
    â€œMaybe I should wake them up. Maybe you’re a goddamn maniac and you’re kidnapping your friends and I should just scream bloody fucking murder at the top of my lungs.”
    â€œYou think I’m kidnapping you?”
    â€œI don’t know what I think.”
    He reaches for her again and she recoils again.
    She looks right in his eyes, says nothing.
    He sighs again. “Come on, Jollie, this is Mark. Whatever you think of what’s happening now, this is Mark —the same man I was an hour ago.”
    â€œI don’t know who that man is.”
    â€œI saved your life. I’m not gonna let anything bad happen to you. But you have to calm down. You can’t get crazy on me. Please.”
    â€œWhere are you taking us?”
    â€œSomeplace safe.”
    â€œHow do I know that’s true?”
    â€œBecause this is Mark , Jollie.”
    He looks in her eyes, then sizes the Boy Prince up.
    â€œAndy? Are you