Here is the third and final installment of my Cadillac Payback history short story. If you missed the first two parts, just scroll. They were my last two posts.
This writing has not been through an editor. This writing is my intellectual property. No AI was involved in these words, and I do not give permission for it to be used to train AI of any kind. With that being said, enjoy!
Cadillac Crew: Part 3, Charlie
It’s not that late, maybe eleven by now, and festivities are winding down. The poker game dispersed a while ago after Freddy took everyone’s money. Relative sobriety was in his favor, as well as lady luck, which is usually the case.
Jack and Noah have passed out on the couches in the living room. Josh has gone the way of the spare bedroom upstairs. I’ve lost track of Freddy and my sister. I try to stay out of that no matter how much I hate it. Maria deserves her own decisions on some matters.
The end of the night finds me sprawled against an old plastic chaise lounge in the backyard. At some point I lost my shirt. Several citronella torches are strategically burning around me. A few mosquitoes still find their mark, but I’m drunk enough to not care.
Usually on a night like this I pace slow in case something happens that requires an intelligent decision to be made. Not tonight. I’ve got a full body buzz that makes me feel like I’m floating a couple inches above the chaise lounge. I’m staring up at a crescent moon that reminds me of the Cheshire Cat. Vaguely, I want a cigarette, but I’m not really sure where I left them.
Movement beside me catches my attention but doesn’t trigger my defenses. The only part of me that moves are my eyes. I watch Izzy pull up a lawn chair to my right. He relaxes against the back of it then methodically extracts a cigarette from his pack. He lights it then hands it to me.
My arm feels heavy as I accept and say, “Way to save the day. Thanks.”
He laughs but it’s dry. He grabs another smoke and lights it, too.
“They’re yours. I found your pack in the kitchen,” he says. His lips form a smirk around the end of the filter.
I chuckle and say, “Doesn’t change what I said. What’s up, Iz? Why are you so sober?”
He props his elbows on the chair arms and shrugs. The smirk fades and he says, “The others don’t notice that it’s usually you who is. You deserve to let loose sometimes, too, so I took it easy in case something happens.”
The alcohol in my system carries his words straight to the emotion center of my brain. Sometimes I wonder if I’m worthy of such a solid crew. I’m not one to get teary eyed so I smile into the night.
“You’re a good man, Isaiah,” I tell him.
He shrugs again and says, “You’re a good leader. It’s the right thing to do to have your back like you always have ours.”
Since he’s sober it’s surprising that he would say so much. If anyone else were here he probably wouldn’t say anything. He’s not like that with me. He still doesn’t offer up history, which I don’t ask for, but he will speak his mind freely. To everyone else he’s a clam.
We smoke in introspective silence for a stretch. I flick some ash and watch it flutter down to the grass. His eyes roam to the moon. I almost hate to ruin the moment, but the timing feels right.
“Are you ready to tell me what’s bothering you about Josh?” I ask, sliding my eyes sideways on the off chance that he’ll give me a reaction.
He doesn’t. His face remains blank. He lets the quiet stretch as he takes a drag. That’s Izzy. He won’t rush the moment for anyone, not even me. It’s one of the things I appreciate about him, something I’ve come to rely on.
He meets my eyes with a slight turn of his head and says, “We don’t know anything about him. He’s completely inexperienced. What if he balks and runs to the cops?”
I hold his gaze as I take a my own hit. It’s a valid point, but he’s not saying everything. I shift so I’m sitting up more than lying down.
“My gut says that he won’t. It’s the same feeling I had about you when you were a stranger. Ya know, I still don’t know much about your past, but you’re real to me, so you stay. As for his past, what we do know is he’s not from our world so he has no former loyalties to anyone else.”
Izzy scoffs out some smoke.
“You’re gonna use him?” he says, his tone incredulous.
I push myself into a full sitting position and turn my body toward him. The world threatens to spin, but I still make sure he’s looking me in the eye before I speak.
“Did I use you? Or did you want some place to be? A place that I gave you with a respectful distance from the issues you obviously carry close.”
Sure, I’m still drunk but a nerve has been struck that changes the mood. Since he said it, I have to wonder if he does think I’ve used him. I cock my head to the side.
He sighs but he doesn’t break the eye contact. His forehead creases. He says, “You’ve always done me solid.”
The tension I didn’t notice creep into my shoulders eases.
“So what is it really?” I ask.
He sucks the cherry toward the filter then flicks the cigarette out into the yard. He watches it sail away. He doesn’t look back at me.
“You’re changing a good thing,” he says softly.
I watch him stare at nothing as his words chug through the booze to sense. The real truth is buried there. If I were any more drunk I’d miss it.
“Ah. It’s the change part that’s getting to you,” I say with a small nod. I follow suit and flick my smoke. It hooks to the right.
He nods. He shakes another cigarette from my pack and says, “I trust your gut better than my own.”
He lights the cigarette and I sink back onto the chaise lounge. His reluctance makes sense now. The subject feels close to the skeletons he won’t talk about. If I push any more now he’ll shut down.
“He’ll make a great teammate, Iz. Just like you did. I know he’s young, but I think it will work to our advantage. We can train him the right way, without having to break down old betrayals. Some day he’ll have our backs, too.”
Izzy doesn’t answer. He just smokes and stares off. I know I won’t get any more out of him on the subject and that’s okay. For me, silence around him is as comfortable as conversation.
After a while I start to doze off. He wakes me up with a nudge.
“Let’s get you inside. If you sleep out here the mosquitoes will make a feast of you,” he says.
He helps me to my feet. I stumble so he fits a shoulder under my arm and urges me to walk. As we head toward the house, I mutter, “You’re a damn fine friend, Izzy.”
Aj Elmore, Author 