And I knew I had to go to them. I had killed two men and I had more or less killed this girl I had never really met. If I hadn’t interfered, they might have let her go. Without me bringing the news, it could have been awhile before they found out Vincent was dead, if they ever did find out, and so they probably would have just threatened her, said they’d be watching her until Vincent showed up. She’d still have value to them as a link to their money and so she’d be alive, and maybe she would have been smart and gotten far away from New York. She could have been safe. But I had complicated everything and so because of me she was dead.

I drove north on the Belt, and the lights of the oncoming traffic were killing my eyes. I knew I must have a bad concussion and I couldn’t stop morbidly running my tongue over my fractured teeth, which made me think of the old man in the garage. I didn’t like the fact that he probably had my phone and my wallet. Maybe I wouldn’t be able to pin anything on him and he’d come after me. He could find me.

So I changed my mind and I didn’t go immediately to the police. I drove over to Coffey Street and pulled into the garage. The blue Caprice was there and there was a light under the door in the corner. I don’t think he was expecting me and I had the fat boy’s gun in my hand.

McSweeney’s Issue 24, 2007