New Jersey Respite
Louise Guardino

When not distracted by reading, paddle tennis, TV,
communing with her dogs, surviving, and the never
empty e-mail bucket, Louise Guardino thinks fiction
writing can sometimes be fun. (And sometimes work.)
Her stories have appeared in Blue Murder,
Hardboiled, Murderous Intent Mystery Magazine,
Plots with Guns, and Futures. Comments may be
sent to her at sciaccalg@usa.com
©Copyright 2001
Louise Guardino

He was exhausted. A week he’d been here and not one solid
night of sleep. Nights of TVs, squabbling neighbors, and hard rock
filtered through tissue thin apartment walls. Sure, Brooklyn had
noise, but Jersey noise was different. Daytime was the worst. Life
streamed out by nine a.m. and stayed away until regurgitated back
at six. In-between, it was empty apartments and mosquitoes. And
him stuck in the middle of Nowhereville, New Jersey like a dumb
shit.
BoomBoom Cirilli wiped sweat from his brow. Boredom had
taken him to the trail behind the apartments and townhomes along
Scudder Mill Road. Partially wooded, it offered a break from the
surrounding Plainsboro flatlands.
He walked down the artificial berm towards the line of
apartments, four to a two-story block. He entered the breezeway
between parking lot and “meadows”. Unlocking his door, he walked
into the small living room.
Right away he saw it. “Holy Jesus!” BoomBoom pushed the door
closed. No one ever said he was a tidy man. But he wasn’t slob or
stupid enough to leave a body lying around. “What the hell?” The
guy sprawled on his living room floor, dressed in suit pants, blue
shirt and navy tie, didn’t answer. Spotting the dark wet splotch,
BoomBoom sighed. From what he could tell, the guy’d been hit up
the side of the head, baseball bat style. As if the loafers, thrown
beside the body weren’t clue enough, BoomBoom could see, now
that he looked, drag marks leading from the patio’s sliding glass
door into the room.
How the hell could that be? He skirted the body, careful not to
trod on the drag marks. He yanked the sliding door. It opened. Shit!
Unlocked. He was sure he’d locked it. He inspected the mechanism.
It was in lock position. He closed the door then yanked it open
again. Angry, BoomBoom shoved it shut, hearing a click. This time,
it stayed closed. It needed a good slam to lock. He should have
checked that when he moved in last week.
But what he wondered was-who’d set him up! Who even knew
he was here? He looked out the glass; not a soul in sight. Not even
a mom with her squealing kids. The sun glared without pity on the
parched grass and distant drooping trees. Opening the sliding door,
he walked out to the small terrace and looked left, down the length
of the buildings, then right. He saw no one.
What to do? Broad, damn daylight. A dead man he didn’t even
know in his living room. And he wasn’t even supposed to be here.
Augie’d said go to New Jersey and keep a low profile. Coupla
months, he’d said. Nice and quiet. Then you come back and it’ll be
all nice-like. No problem. Go to Jersey. Stay low.
Yeah, thought BoomBoom. Geez. Here a week and look at this.
He was tempted to drag the guy out and leave him in the
breezeway. Let the first sucker to come home or open his door find
him. An unsettling thought surfaced... What if he’s not dead?
BoomBoom went into the kitchen and pulled off a piece of plastic
wrap. Squatting near the guy’s neck he felt through the wrap for a
pulse.
“Jesus Christ!” BoomBoom yanked away his hand, but then
returned his fingers along the artery path and concentrated. The guy
was still alive. A weak pulse, almost not there. This complicated
things. Dead was easy. Alive something else again.
If he called 911 he’d have some explaining to do. Things he
couldn’t explain. And once they ran a background? Might as well
forget about it. He’d learned a long time ago that, coming from him,
truth to the cops was a ticket to a roach infested holding cell.
Okay, All right. Get this guy to the hospital and dump him.
BoomBoom ran into the kitchen and grabbed a paper bag from the
garbage. He put it under the dying man’s head. Heart still beating
meant blood still pumping. He knew that forensic stuff. How they
could tell what rug and car fibers the stiff had been on. The thought
sent him to the bathroom, where he grabbed a beach towel. This he
took out to his car and draped over the passenger seat. No choice
but to take this guy out in broad daylight.
He pulled the guy into a sitting position and grappled him into a
fireman’s hold. Muscular though BoomBoom was, he was no giant.
In an awkward stumble he carried the guy out the door, reaching
back to hook it closed with his foot. Hurrying to the car, he lowered
the guy, leaning him against the car until he got the passenger door
open. Struggling, he maneuvered the guy into a sitting position in
the car then took a look.
“Shit!” The guy’s bloody temple waved hello to the world through
the passenger window. BoomBoom hurried back to his apartment’s
bedroom closet. Pulling down several baseball caps, he found an
old Budweiser-logoed cap. Back at the car he stuffed the cap
sideways on the wounded head, pulling the bill down over the side
of the temple. Welcome, New Jersey gang-banger.
BoomBoom wound his way out to Scudder Mill Road, heading
towards Princeton and the hospital. He still didn’t know what he
was going to do. This was going from bad to worse. Augie’d kill
him.
Reaching Route 1, BoomBoom kept to the right-hand lane. Traffic
slogged along, but why risk a car alongside his right with a too
curious driver looking over at his passenger. The sweat trickled
down BoomBoom’s side as he drove up Washington Street, wary of
the students crossing in front of and alongside the car. He turned
onto Nassau. The guest, as BoomBoom had begun thinking of him,
slipped sideways. BoomBoom pushed him back. Now, the guest
leaned against the door.
BoomBoom caught the glance of an elderly couple crossing the
street in front of the Nassau Inn. He smiled. They smiled back, the
woman’s gaze passing over the guest’s fixed stare, pale skin, and
tousled hair. BoomBoom saw her frown then nudge her partner.
BoomBoom quickly turned to the guest and began a conversation.
“Some shit’s gonna pay for this. Making me a fricking spectacle.
And you-what do you have to say for yourself?”
The light changed. BoomBoom pulled away.
Taking the automated parking ticket, BoomBoom entered the
hospital’s parking building and drove up towards mid-level. Too
many eyes at the emergency entrance. He found a slot facing the
hospital and near the stairwell. He put on yellow rubber gloves he’d
grabbed from the kitchen, got out and looked around. There was no
one around. He scanned the hospital windows. Clear, but no sense
wasting time. Pulling open the passenger door, he leaned the guest
prone and hauled him out. He carried the guest to the stairwell
doorway then put him down so he was sitting against the cement
wall, facing inwards to the lot. He took the guy’s pulse at the
neck-none. He tried the guest’s wrist-not a beat. Maybe it was
the gloves.
What the hell, BoomBoom thought, let the docs figure out if he’s
dead or alive. BoomBoom was getting up when he heard voices
approaching. He’d two choices. Take off and hope he got away fast
enough or stand and hope no one noticed the stiff. He stayed
where he was.
Two men came through the door, neither looked to the side. But
now BoomBoom heard the clicks of a woman’s heels. His watch
said ten-fifteen. What’s with all the activity? He crouched. The door
opened.
“Something wrong?”
BoomBoom looked at the twenty-something woman.
“Yeah. My friend’s a little overwhelmed with grief. Just taking a
few moments.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.” Looking uneasy, she hurried to her car, buckled
up, and pulled out.
A change in plans was needed. If this guy’s mug and story came
out on TV, the woman would remember BoomBoom. He checked
for pulse one more time. Lifting the baseball cap, BoomBoom
looked at the head wound. Nothing was seeping out. The guy was
really a stiff now. Soon he would stiffen and stink. BoomBoom
carried the stiff back to his car. Rummaging in the glove box, he
found an old pair of sunglasses. They went on the stiff. Time was a
wasting. Dumping grounds were waiting.
Traffic was medium on the New Jersey Turnpike. It took
BoomBoom forty minutes to get to the Meadowland’s exit. He’d
thought about dumping the stiff along one of the lesser used
general aviation access roads near Newark Airport, but decided to
stick with what he knew.
It was daylight. Things were different. The streets he drove were
used only by commercial trucks, waste management haulers, and
lost fools. This was marshland territory. Only naive wildlife used
these wetlands. BoomBoom turned onto a gravel road leading to
Elizabeth Bay. Finding a good spot, he stopped. He was about to
unload into the tall weeds when he heard the crunch of wheels on
gravel. Looking up, he saw a cop car coming from the other
direction. BoomBoom, still in the car, moved further to the right to
make room for the passing car. Instead, it stopped, driver’s window
sliding down. BoomBoom lowered his window.
“Morning. Can I help you?” The cop’s sunglasses reflected
BoomBoom’s image.
Another cop car came up from behind. BoomBoom’s Brooklyn
street smarts took over. “Yeah. We got lost. We was looking for a
spit of land just off the road,” BoomBoom jerked his thumb back
down the road, “But it looks like this ain’t it. Must be the next one.
They didn’t say if it was gravel or dirt. There don’t seem to be a
place to turn around.” He’d reverted to the expected street talk.
“What business you got there?”
“Surveyor. My sleeping friend here,” BoomBoom jerked his thumb
at the stiff, “Is an engineer. Had a hard night.” BoomBoom
chuckled.
“Yeah? Well, you better turn around. We got a situation up ahead
a you. Police business.”
“Oh. Yeah, okay.” Damn place’s getting like a public cemetery.
The cop car moved on. BoomBoom waved around the one
behind him. It took five back and forths to keep from getting stuck
and to turn around. He was pissed. Two dumping opportunities
blown and the stiff getting stiffer by the moment. Despite the A/C,
BoomBoom was sweating.
He couldn’t take the guy to Brooklyn and it was too busy here.
There was nothing for it but to head back to Plainsboro. At this rate,
he’d drive the whole state of Jersey, stiff at his side. He was about
ready to find a side road and roll the guy out. Maybe he should find
out who the stiff was, now that he was dead. BoomBoom cut
through the streets, searching for a place he could pull over and
search the guy without onlookers. He found one with boarded up
storefronts, burnt-out autos, and a large “Coming Soon, Luxury
Condominiums” sign. Good enough. He cut the engine and turned
to the stiff. First things first. With gloves on, he pulled down the
dead guy’s eyelids before it was too late. The hot sun coming
through the windows offset the A/C’s cooling effect so the guy
wasn’t as stiff as BoobBoom had expected. He found the guy’s
wallet in the right rear pant pocket. After the name, which meant
nothing to him, he noticed the address. “Shit!” Freaking apartment
right across from his.
He should have suspected it would be close by. Now he was
good and damn pissed. He’d no idea who lived there besides this
guy, but they sure had a strange concept of a welcoming gift.
BoomBoom stuffed the wallet back in the stiff’s pocket. Time to go
home.
It was close to one when BoomBoom neared his apartment lot.
That’s when he realized he was about to screw up. He couldn’t just
pull into the lot with this guy sitting in his car. Suppose someone
came out? Cursing, BoomBoom altered course and drove until he
found a weedy turn-around just beyond some railroad tracks. Here,
he transferred the body, beach towel and shoes, from seat to trunk.
When he pulled into the apartment lot, no one was about. He
entered his apartment, found his tools, came out and walked across
the breezeway to the door opposite his. Gloves on, he fiddled with
the lock until it released. He opened the door and listened. All was
quiet. Leaving the door partially ajar, BoomBoom went back to his
car and retrieved the bundle from the trunk. Once in the stiff’s
apartment, he shoved the door closed with his elbow and headed
right for the bedroom. He put the stiff down on the bed, which had
been neatly made. Curled as he was, the body looked peculiar until
BoomBoom turned him to the side and slipped the beach towel
from beneath. The injured portion of the head was now hidden.
BoomBoom removed the baseball cap and bundled it with the
sunglasses in the towel.
“Welcome home, Bud. Night night.”
BoomBoom closed the bedroom door and made sure the front
door locked. He returned to his apartment and dumped the towel,
cap, and latex gloves into a black plastic bag. Closing the curtains,
he stripped, adding his clothing to the bag. This included his
favorite New York Mets t-shirt. He was beginning to develop a real
dislike for Jersey.
After showering and dressing, BoomBoom ran a vacuum over the
carpet and transferred the vacuum bag to the plastic bag. Installing a
new bag into the vacuum, he vacuumed the bedroom and hallway.
If anyone checked, they’d find a bag with nothing incriminating
within. He double-checked the sliding glass door before placing the
plastic bag into a paper sack, loaf of bread on top and sticking out,
then exited his subleased apartment.
On the way to the shore, he stopped at various dumpsters,
leaving portions of the bag’s contents behind at each. He also made
a stop at a car wash, making sure that all surfaces of the passenger
window were cleaned and trunk vacuumed.
He thought about his exile to New Jersey. He’d worked harder
today than he had in two years in Brooklyn. Some relaxation!
Someone had to pay for this. It wouldn’t be the broad who’d
bashed her boyfriend-he now recalled that he’d heard arguing
behind their door a few times-because even if she went away for a
few years, it wouldn’t be satisfaction enough for his troubles. Nah.
She was the immediate cause of his stressed nerves, but she wasn’t
the reason he was in Jersey. No. It was Augie who’d sent him here.
Augie. His gumbah, his rabbi, his cousin. Augie-who couldn’t
protect him from a little mistake.
Humpf. Maybe Augie deserved a little surprise. Maybe a closer
acquaintance with some fish-in their native environment. The
thought made BoomBoom hungry. Forget the corn. You couldn’t
beat New Jersey Blue Fish.