I\u2019m staring at a door. It\u2019s Mike and me, and the two of us are sitting in his crappy little car staring at the door of a crappy little house in Nordeast Minneapolis on the coldest night of the year. We\u2019re staring at this particular door because inside is a guy named Neil Batteau. We know he\u2019s in there and we know he\u2019s got four of his idiot friends with him, and we\u2019re waiting to get him alone so we can grab him. Some guys wouldn\u2019t wait. They\u2019d go in there right now, guns drawn, ready to take on all five of them at once. There are people who get into this business just so they can kick in doors and bash skulls. Mike isn\u2019t like that. He\u2019s been running Friendly Bail Bonds for eleven years, and it\u2019s made him bitter and suspicious and very, very smart. I trust him. A few years ago, I was one of those guys who like to kick in doors and bash skulls, but now I only do that if Mike asks me to.<\/p>\n
He lights a cigarette.<\/p>\n
\u201cDo you have to?\u201d I say.<\/p>\n
\u201cKeeps me alert. Makes me happy.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThis car smells bad enough as it is.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSo crack a window.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s cold outside.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSo turn on the heat.\u201d<\/p>\n
I crack the window, turn on the heat. I check my watch. \u201cHow long are we going to wait?\u201d<\/p>\n
Mike gives me a look. The look says,\u00a0Don\u2019t ask stupid questions<\/em>.<\/p>\n The truth is we screwed up with Neil. Last month, we bailed him out on a drunk driving charge. Drunk drivers are usually good business. People don\u2019t skip out on bail over a simple DUI. But Neil has three of them already. A fourth means jail time. And not some twelve-step coffee and ping-pong treatment center\u2014Neil\u2019s probably going to Stillwater. We should\u2019ve kept a closer eye on him. I never thought he\u2019d actually skip out, but I guess people do stupid things when they realize their future isn\u2019t really a future at all.<\/p>\n The door opens and two guys step out. I squint through the windshield: Neither of them is Neil. One says something, the other one laughs. They walk off down the street.<\/p>\n I start to get out of the car, but Mike says, \u201cHold up.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhat\u2019s the matter?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThis is two-on-three. I\u2019m hoping for a two-on-one.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWe could be here all night.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cIt won\u2019t be long now. This isn\u2019t a slumber party-type situation.\u201d He finishes his cigarette, feeds it out the crack in the window, lights another. We go back to watching the door.<\/p>\n \u201cSo, how\u2019s the house coming?\u201d I say.<\/p>\n \u201cThe house is coming,\u201d he says. \u201cThe house is the house.\u201d<\/p>\n This thing with Neil is happening at the worst possible time. Mike\u2019s wife is pregnant, and so they just bought a house off Powderhorn Park. It\u2019s an old crack house. They got a special tax break from the city to fix it up. Mike spends all his weekends over there trying to get it ready for the baby, but time\u2014and money\u2014are getting tight. The last thing he needs right now is to forfeit a bond. He\u2019s stressed out, the skin beneath his eyes blue from lack of sleep. I can tell because I don\u2019t sleep that well either.<\/p>\n \u201cJill told me I can\u2019t smoke at the new place,\u201d he says. \u201cI told her fine, I\u2019ll smoke outside. And she said no, I can\u2019t smoke at all. The cigarettes aren\u2019t allowed to follow me from the apartment. We\u2019re starting this new chapter in our lives and she wants me to\u00a0be around<\/em>\u00a0for it.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cMaybe she\u2019s got a point.\u201d<\/p>\n He takes a deep drag of his cigarette, sighs out a clean, thin line of gray. \u201cYou\u2019re lucky. You don\u2019t have to deal with this crap.\u201d He means women. He means because of my looks. People used to call me Cod, because I have a big, white face and big eyes and thick lips, like a whitefish. Then one Christmas somebody called me Lutefisk, after the dish, and that stuck. Now everybody just calls me Lute. About the only one who calls me Andy is Mike.<\/p>\n He shakes his head. \u201cShit, man. I\u2019m sorry. That was a dumb thing to say.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cIt\u2019s okay,\u201d I say. He\u2019s right\u2014I\u00a0don\u2019t<\/em>\u00a0have to deal with women problems. Sometimes I wonder if I ever will.<\/p>\n Two more men come out of the house. They get into a car and drive off in the opposite direction of the first two men.<\/p>\n \u201cTime for adventure,\u201d Mike says.<\/p>\n We move slowly toward the house, staying in the shadows as much as possible. Mike pauses at the door, looks it up and down, left, right, like he\u2019s never seen one before and is trying to figure out how it works. He does the same thing to the whole front of the house. The blinds are drawn on all the windows.<\/p>\n He rubs his knuckles under his chin. \u201cWhy don\u2019t you head around back.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou think he\u2019s going to run?\u201d<\/p>\n He rubs his chin again.<\/p>\n I walk along the side of the house and post myself in the backyard. It\u2019s dark back here, quiet, almost peaceful. This winter has been strange\u2014temperatures below zero, but no snow. The air is thin. Even here in the city I can see all the stars. It\u2019s one of those nights when the cold seems to be coming from space itself, and I\u2019m reminded that if something ever happened to knock the earth out of orbit, if we were just a few miles farther from the sun, tipped a few too many degrees one way or the other, we\u2019d all freeze to death. Then the back door flies open and Neil Batteau is running at me.<\/p>\n He looks over his shoulder as he runs, doesn\u2019t know I\u2019m here. Neil\u2019s a big guy, plays minor league hockey, but he\u2019s not as big as me. I lunge at him, elbows high, and give him a cross-check. I figure it\u2019s something he\u2019s used to. He hits the frozen ground hard, grass shattering beneath him. He gapes up at me.<\/p>\n \u201cOw,\u201d he says. \u201cThat hurt, Lute.\u201d<\/p>\n I roll him onto his belly. \u201cNow don\u2019t be an asshole. Okay?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOkay.\u201d<\/p>\n I kneel on his back, whack the handcuffs onto his wrist. I\u2019m reaching for the other wrist when all at once he jerks up and swings his hand into my face, catching me in the eye. I\u2019m only blinded for a second, but Neil, his body whittled down by a lifetime of hockey and bad living, is able to eel out from under me. And then it\u2019s a foot race. I\u2019m quick for a big guy, but he beats me to the back fence, and by the time I hump myself over it he\u2019s gone. I run up and down the alley, but there\u2019s no sign of him.<\/p>\n \u201cYou said you weren\u2019t going to be an asshole,\u201d I call out.<\/p>\n Mike\u2019s car pulls up, and he gets out and blunders toward me, leaving the car in the street, the door hanging open, like a mouth.<\/p>\n \u201cPlease tell me you have him,\u201d Mike says. \u201cYou have him, right?\u201d<\/p>\n I hold up my empty arms.<\/p>\n \u201cGoddamn it,\u201d Mike says. I notice he\u2019s in rough shape. His face is red and he\u2019s wheezing and steam rises from the tiny bald spot on the top of his head. He suddenly looks old. He suddenly looks like who he is\u2014a guy who smokes too much and drinks too much and doesn\u2019t get enough rest, a guy with a mortgage and a wife and a baby on the way. I\u2019m afraid he\u2019s going to have a heart attack.<\/p>\n \u201cYou all right?\u201d I say.<\/p>\n \u201cWhat happened?\u201d he says in between gulps of air. \u201cYou\u00a0never<\/em>\u00a0lose guys. I was going to flush him out, and then you run him down, like a German shepherd. It\u2019s your one job!\u201d<\/p>\n He shuffles out to the street. I follow.<\/p>\n \u201cAren\u2019t you the dog?\u201d I say after a minute.<\/p>\n \u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cIf you flush him out, doesn\u2019t that make you the dog?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cGoddamn<\/em>\u00a0it!\u201d He kicks the ground.<\/p>\n We take a look around, but it\u2019s pointless. Dumpsters, trees, the old Catholic cemetery, the loading yard for the cardboard plant\u2014the neighborhood has been transformed into a magical world of hiding places. Neil is everywhere, nowhere. I can feel my testicles being pulled up into my body inside my frozen pants.<\/p>\n \u201cThose were my best handcuffs,\u201d I say.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n The next day I head over to Mike\u2019s house to give him a hand. It\u2019s the least I can do. The house is a typical old Minneapolis house\u2014tiny kitchen, tiny dining room, narrow hallways, like being in a maze. Even I can tell the feng shui is for shit. Jill wants to knock down a few walls, put in a few see-throughs. She wants the house to be open\u2014open to the air, the light, open to the possibilities of the future.<\/p>\n Mike points to a big red X spray-painted on the living room wall, offers me a crowbar. He holds it out in front of himself, parallel to the floor, like a ceremonial sword. \u201cI wouldn\u2019t want you to drop it,\u201d he says. \u201cI wouldn\u2019t want it to slip through your fingers.\u201d<\/p>\n I wave it away. \u201cIt\u2019s a poor craftsman who blames his tools.\u201d I go stand in front of the X. I take off my stocking cap, carefully flatten my hair against my scalp with my fingers. Then I rear back, pause, and drive my head right into the wall. I do it again, and again. The whole time I\u2019m making these kind of mooing sounds in my throat. After seven or eight strikes I\u2019ve carved out a big me-sized hole. It doesn\u2019t really hurt. The wall is old fiberboard, barely strong enough to hold a picture frame. But it does make a lot of noise.<\/p>\n The contractor, one of Mike\u2019s old cronies, comes out of the bathroom. He looks at me, the hole, back to me. I can feel plaster dust on my face, my eyebrows. It\u2019s in my ears.<\/p>\n \u201cJesus Christ,\u201d he says.<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m trying to get ahead of the work,\u201d I say. \u201cI\u2019m headstrong.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cHilarious.\u201d He removes something from his tool belt and tosses it to me. It\u2019s a stud finder. \u201cI\u2019d hate for you to mess up that pretty face, Lute.\u201d<\/p>\n Mike rolls his eyes at me, but I don\u2019t care. It\u2019s the first time I\u2019ve seen him smile in weeks.<\/p>\n \u201cAndy, man,\u201d he says. \u201cWhat are we going to do with you?\u201d<\/p>\n The truth is I\u2019ve always done stuff like this\u2014big, loud, stupid stuff. Destructive stuff. Before Mike, I worked at Kijenski & Son Bail Bonds. The Kijenskis were total screw-ups. They would take on a risky bond, the guy would skip out, so they\u2019d take another risky bond just to pay for the first. But the really screwed-up thing is I liked it when guys skipped. It meant I got to hunt them down. It meant I got to hurt somebody. I once punched out the window of a guy fleeing in his car. He dragged me for a block, and I ended up breaking my wrist, but I got him.<\/p>\n Jill comes into the house carrying two buckets of paint. \u201cIf I have to hear one more time how one color\u00a0pulls out<\/em>\u00a0another color, I swear to God I\u2019m going to kill somebody,\u201d she says. Then she sees me. \u201cOh, Andrew. You\u2019re bleeding.\u201d She dabs at my forehead with a tissue. When she pulls it away there\u2019s a red splotch the size of a thumbprint.<\/p>\n \u201cWe need to get you a girlfriend,\u201d she says. She tries brushing the plaster dust out of my hair, and when that doesn\u2019t work, she uses the plaster to style it, first giving me spiky bangs, and then she combs it down and to the side, with a neat little part.<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m okay,\u201d I say.<\/p>\n The new bathroom mirror leans against the wall, and Jill goes and looks into it. \u201cI\u2019m a basketball.\u201d She\u2019s really showing now, and not just her stomach\u2014she\u2019s developed a small double chin. She pokes at it gingerly, like it\u2019s a strange creature that\u2019s attached itself to the underside of her jaw. \u201cI hope you know this is going to stay even after the baby\u2019s born,\u201d she says to Mike. \u201cI could do sit-ups until the cows come home, but my neck\u2019s ruined forever.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou don\u2019t know that,\u201d he says.<\/p>\n \u201cHoney, I\u2019ll love you even if you have a fat neck,\u201d she says. \u201cWhat with you carrying my child and all.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI\u00a0will<\/em>\u00a0love you. I just don\u2019t want you to give up hope. About your neck.\u201d<\/p>\n Mike is one of the sharpest guys I\u2019ve ever known. He\u2019s taught me a lot. If he hadn\u2019t hired me away from Kijenski & Son, I think I would\u2019ve been one of those bondsmen who kick down the wrong door one night and get a knife to the head. But as sharp as he is, there\u2019s something Mike can\u2019t see. It\u2019s Jill\u2019s brown eyes. It\u2019s the freckles on her nose as fine as pollen. It\u2019s the way the corners of her mouth turn down when she smiles, this weird smirk, like she\u2019s trying to hide how happy she is but can\u2019t quite manage it. She\u2019ll be beautiful again, because she\u2019s beautiful now. She reaches up to dab more blood from my forehead, and I smell the perfume on her wrist. It\u2019s sweet, kind of clovey, a winter smell. It makes me think of a house.\u00a0This<\/em>\u00a0house, when it\u2019s all done. And everybody has come over and they\u2019re all talking but not too loud, and snow\u2019s piling up against the windows, but no one minds because inside it\u2019s bright and warm and safe.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Tonight we\u2019re at Maxwell\u2019s. It\u2019s an old cop bar, long and narrow, with dark wood paneling and brass fixtures, like the hallway of an ocean liner. There\u2019s Minneapolis PD, firemen, EMTs, nurses. Mike and I are at a table in the back with Ryan. Ryan\u2019s always here. He\u2019s a lawyer, good-looking, with an office suite in the Lumber Exchange and a big condo on the river. He\u2019s the one who got people calling me Lute.<\/p>\n \u201cStill looking for that hockey player?\u201d he says.<\/p>\n \u201cWe\u2019ll find him,\u201d Mike says.<\/p>\n \u201cAnd if you don\u2019t?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWe\u2019ll find him,\u201d I say.<\/p>\n In the days after we lost Neil, we went to his mother\u2019s house, his girlfriend\u2019s, we even went to his coach\u2019s house, but no sign of him. And so, with no other leads, we had to go back to his house. We\u2019ve been staking it out in Mike\u2019s car for the last three nights. My clothes are disgusting and my toes feel like ice and I can\u2019t poop right from all the salted nuts we\u2019ve been eating. We\u2019re developing a towering hatred for all things Neil Batteau.<\/p>\n Two university girls are drinking at the next table. Ryan raises his glass to them.<\/p>\n \u201cHello there!\u201d he says. \u201cCare to join us?\u201d<\/p>\n The girls stop talking, look at him, go back to talking.<\/p>\n He gives it another shot. \u201cSlumming it tonight? I get it. Rubbing elbows with the government classes. The thin blue line. Constables, night watchmen. Servants of the secret flame.\u201d Ryan\u2019s drunk.<\/p>\n The girls look at him again. \u201cSo, what do you do?\u201d one of them says. She has sandy hair and perfect teeth. You can just see her on one of those big, white speedboats on Lake Minnetonka.<\/p>\n Ryan tells her. \u201cBut please, no ambulance chaser jokes.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI don\u2019t know what that means,\u201d she says.<\/p>\n \u201cAnd what about you guys?\u201d the other one says. She\u2019s in a black sweater and has a bright silver ring on her thumb. She\u2019s older than her friend and doesn\u2019t smile and seems tired and sad and a little hopeless. Maybe she\u2019s in grad school.<\/p>\n Mike hands her a business card.<\/p>\n \u201cFriendly Bail Bonds,\u201d she reads. \u201cIt\u2019s better to know me and not need me, than to need me and not know me<\/em>.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThat\u2019s like our motto,\u201d Mike says.<\/p>\n \u201cI said they should change it to\u00a0We\u2019ll get your ass before your cellmate does<\/em>,\u201d Ryan says.<\/p>\n \u201cDo you like being a bail bondsmen?\u201d she says. I assume she\u2019s talking to Mike, but then I see she\u2019s talking to me. I\u2019m registering that a girl asked me a question. And then another part of my brain decides to butt in and remind me that I haven\u2019t said anything yet, that this whole time I\u2019ve just been sitting here staring dumbly at the girls. And yet another part of my brain tells me I need to\u00a0say something<\/em>, and do it\u00a0now<\/em>, or else I\u2019ll look like a\u00a0freak<\/em>. Of course by then it\u2019s too late. I\u2019m in full lockdown. My mouth won\u2019t open, I have no air. Part of my brain, the oldest, deepest part, says simply,\u00a0You are pathetic<\/em>. This is the part I always listen to.<\/p>\n Mike comes to my rescue. \u201cSure, he likes it,\u201d he says. \u201cDon\u2019t you?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYeah, I like it.\u201d I can\u2019t even come up with my own answers.<\/p>\n \u201cLute\u2019s more the strong, silent type,\u201d Ryan says.<\/p>\n The girls then ask Mike what kind of people we bail out, and he tells them all kinds\u2014drunk drivers, burglars, even murderers. He says we bail out almost anybody but prostitutes. It\u2019s all about having ties to the community. Prostitutes don\u2019t have families, which makes them a flight risk. If you post bail on a prostitute, she simply moves to the next town and starts over.<\/p>\n \u201cCrack whores aren\u2019t picky about location,\u201d Ryan says.<\/p>\n \u201cYou can\u2019t trust somebody who doesn\u2019t have anybody,\u201d Mike says.<\/p>\n \u201cWhat about the men they have sex with?\u201d the younger girl says.<\/p>\n \u201cWhat about them?\u201d Mike says.<\/p>\n \u201cDo you bail\u00a0them<\/em>\u00a0out?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cIf they have a good job and a good family, then yes, we would.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNice,\u201d the older girl says. \u201cThat\u2019s nice.\u201d<\/p>\n Ryan snaps his fingers and points at her. \u201cWomen\u2019s Studies?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cEngineering,\u201d she says.<\/p>\n \u201cNo shit?\u201d he says.<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m going to build things.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019ve never built anything in my life.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou don\u2019t say.\u201d<\/p>\n At some point we switch to shots, and everything goes soft and warm and blurry. Mike manages to get his arm on the back of the older girl\u2019s chair. It almost feels good to see him like this\u2014the old Mike, the confident Mike, the one with all the answers. But then I think of Jill.<\/p>\n \u201cIt\u2019s late,\u201d I say. \u201cWe should call it a night.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m good,\u201d he says.<\/p>\n \u201cIt\u2019s late. You should go\u00a0home<\/em>.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI don\u2019t have a home right now. Remember?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cCome on.\u201d I reach for his arm, but he pulls back.<\/p>\n \u201cWhat are you going to do?\u201d he says. \u201cCarry me?\u201d He turns to the girl. \u201cAndy\u2019s the best partner a guy could ask for. Except when he ain\u2019t.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou\u2019re drunk,\u201d I say.<\/p>\n \u201cYou need to give me some space,\u201d he says.<\/p>\n \u201cWho\u2019s Andy?\u201d the girl says.<\/p>\n \u201cI mean it,\u201d Mike says to me. \u201cBug off.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cFine.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m waiting.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWatch me.\u201d But there\u2019s nothing to watch. I know I should get up and walk out of the bar and head back to my basement apartment, but I don\u2019t. Having an apartment isn\u2019t the same as having a place to go. I would do anything for Mike, anything he asked me to, but the one thing I can\u2019t do is leave his side.<\/p>\n \u201cYo,\u201d he says. \u201cYo, man, are you okay?\u201d<\/p>\n There\u2019s a whistling sound in my head, like the pressure\u2019s building up and my ears have been pinched off. I used to always hear it when I was about to bust in somebody\u2019s door. It\u2019s how I knew I was ready.<\/p>\n \u201cI was just kidding,\u201d Mike says. \u201cI was messing with you.\u201d I\u2019m squeezing my hands into fists so hard it\u2019s doing something to my back. Mike comes over and gives me a big drunken hug, pinning me to my chair. \u201cIt\u2019s you and me all the way,\u201d he says. \u201cYou know that, right?\u201d I\u2019m all worked up, strong and weak at the same time, like I\u2019m either going to break the table in two or else start crying right there in his arms. What\u2019s\u00a0wrong<\/em>\u00a0with me?<\/p>\n \u201cI love this guy,\u201d he says to Ryan and the girls. \u201cI\u00a0love<\/em>\u00a0him. I love this face.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cIf this was France, he\u2019d be a movie star,\u201d Ryan says.<\/p>\n \u201cThat\u2019s right,\u201d Mike says. \u201cA fucking movie star!\u201d<\/p>\n When I get back to my place I\u2019m so drunk I can barely walk. I stand in the middle of the room, heavy on my feet, and gaze around at all my things\u2014my weights and my hunting rifle and my .380 in its clip holster, my werewolf DVDs, the cactus Jill got me for my birthday that\u2019s dead now.<\/p>\n \u201cSure, he likes it,\u201d I say.<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019ve never built anything in my life,\u201d I say.<\/p>\n \u201cYou don\u2019t say,\u201d I say.<\/p>\n I ram my head into the wall. It\u2019s sheetrock, stronger than the stuff at Mike and Jill\u2019s. I have to hit it three times just to make a dent. The guy above me starts pounding on his floor.<\/p>\n \u201cSome of us have to\u00a0work<\/em>\u00a0tomorrow,\u201d he says.<\/p>\n In the morning I wake up to a giant hole in my wall scalloped in chunks of plasterboard. There\u2019s blood around the edges. I forget for a moment how it got there. It looks like an animal was trapped in the wall and injured itself trying to chew its way out.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n On my way into work Mike calls me and says he needs to do some stuff at the house today and he might not make it to the office, and I should start without him.<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m supposed to work by myself?\u201d I say.<\/p>\n \u201cIt\u2019s almost like you\u2019re my employee and I\u2019m telling you what to do.\u201d<\/p>\n I spend the morning getting caught up on paperwork\u2014sending copies of our latest bonds to the surety company, checking and re-checking the court schedules\u2014and then I go to Neil\u2019s. I park across the street in our usual spot. Staring at his empty house like this, I can\u2019t help but feel a little proud of the guy. He\u2019s somewhere out there, out in the city, running, hiding, doing what he has to do to stay free. Is he scared, freaked out, or is he strangely calm? Is this the first time in his life he\u2019s ever truly risked something? Is this the first time he\u2019s ever felt alive? My head still hurts from the wall.<\/p>\n At four I call it a day and drive to Mike\u2019s to see how it\u2019s going with the house. His car\u2019s gone, but Jill\u2019s is here. Inside the house everything\u2019s quiet, and then I hear it: Jill is singing. I follow her voice. She\u2019s in the baby\u2019s room brushing white paint onto window trim. The walls are dandelion yellow. There\u2019s a crib, a changing table, a rocking chair, and next to it another rocking chair, an exact replica of the first, only this one\u2019s super tiny, with a toy bunny sitting in it. Jill has headphones on and hasn\u2019t seen me come in. She\u2019s singing along to something by one of those old female folk singers\u2014Joan, Joni, Judy. It\u2019s weird when people sing how their voice never comes out the way you think it will. In conversation, Jill is strong and confident, no bullshit, but now, singing, her voice is high and thin and scratchy. It\u2019s like I\u2019m peering down into her life, the way she was when she was a girl. I don\u2019t want to sneak up and scare her, so I stomp the floor to get her attention. Still, she jumps\u2014once when I do it, and again when she turns around and sees it\u2019s me.<\/p>\n \u201cOh,\u201d she says. \u201cI thought you were Mike.\u201d The music is still going in her headphones: acoustic guitar, flute.<\/p>\n \u201cNo,\u201d I say. \u201cJust me.\u201d<\/p>\n The song she\u2019s listening to stops, another starts. She turns off the music. This is the first time we\u2019ve ever been alone together.<\/p>\n \u201cSo, is Mike here?\u201d I know he\u2019s not, but I don\u2019t know what else to say.<\/p>\n \u201cHe\u2019s in Shakopee,\u201d Jill says. \u201cHe\u2019s getting the new dishwasher.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cShakopee?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThey sent it to the wrong warehouse.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cBastards. What a pain in the ass.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI know.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNobody cares about quality anymore. Have you noticed that? Quality\u2019s gone down the shitter.\u201d I tell myself to shut up.\u00a0Shut up, idiot!<\/em>\u00a0This is how it always goes: When I\u2019m supposed to say something I freeze, and when I\u2019m supposed to be quiet I talk and talk and talk. \u201cWant me to go down there?\u201d I say. \u201cLet me go down there. I\u2019ll knock some heads together. I\u2019ll get your dishwasher.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNo,\u201d she says. \u201cNo, I think Mike can handle it.\u201d<\/p>\n I\u2019m about to leave when she says, \u201cHe\u2019s lucky to have you.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI guess.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cIt\u2019s true. You guys are good partners.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cHe\u2019s the brains of the operation. I\u2019m only the muscle.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cIs that what you think?\u201d Suddenly, she\u2019s crying. Big tears fill her eyes. \u201cFucking hormones,\u201d she says. \u201cI can\u2019t wait to not be pregnant anymore.\u201d She blinks and lifts her chin, like she\u2019s trying to keep the tears pooled in her head. \u201cI know Mike\u2019s having a hard time right now. I know he\u2019s kind of scared. I\u2019m scared too.\u201d Her hand goes to her belly. I don\u2019t think she\u2019s even aware of it. \u201cBut it\u2019s good that you\u2019re out there looking after him,\u201d she says. \u201cI know you\u2019ll always bring him home safe. You will keep him safe, right?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOf course.\u201d I move closer. \u201cEverything will be all right.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYeah?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou\u2019re going to be an awesome mom,\u201d I say, and it\u2019s the truth.<\/p>\n She smiles. Her cheeks go round and dislodge the tears in her eyes, and then she\u2019s smiling and crying at the same time. A car passes by, the tires skidding on a manhole cover. It echoes through the exposed pipes in the bathroom. I kiss her. Our bellies bump, my mouth finds hers. It\u2019s not until now I\u2019m able to admit to myself just how badly I\u2019ve wanted to do this. I\u2019m afraid she\u2019s not going to kiss me back, that I\u2019ve made a huge mistake, and it makes me want to punch myself in the side of the head. But then slowly her lips part. It\u2019s only a little, and it\u2019s only for a second, but I feel it. It\u2019s a real kiss, the first I\u2019ve had in years. And then we\u2019re pulling away from one another. Jill backs up against the window so hard the glass rattles in the frame. Her eyes are on the floor, like she can\u2019t look at me, and her cheeks are red. I can\u2019t tell if it\u2019s from the pregnancy or excitement or shame.<\/p>\n A door slams at the other end of the house. \u201cWhere is everybody?\u201d Mike yells. \u201cI\u2019ve been honking for like five minutes. I need help with the dishwasher.\u201d We listen to him walk into one room. Another. \u201cHello?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWe\u2019re here,\u201d Jill manages to say.<\/p>\n Mike appears in the doorway. He looks at her, at me. We haven\u2019t moved since he\u2019s come in. It feels like we\u2019re standing either too close or too far apart.<\/p>\n \u201cWhat\u2019d I miss?\u201d he says. \u201cDid I miss something?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNo,\u201d Jill says. I wait for her to say something more, but she doesn\u2019t. She\u2019s still leaning against the window. Mike points.<\/p>\n \u201cYou\u2019re going to smudge that paint, babe,\u201d he says.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Mike and I are back at Neil\u2019s. The cold snap has finally ended and the warmer weather has brought snow, big, wet flakes that fall with a soft rustling, swallowing up all the other sounds. I think we\u2019ve both given up on finding Neil, but we keep coming here night after night, and afterward we always go to Maxwell\u2019s. It\u2019s become a ritual, our punishment for having lost him in the first place.<\/p>\n \u201cWhat\u2019d I tell you about cracking the window when you smoke?\u201d I say.<\/p>\n Mike rolls down the window, drags at his cigarette, and blows the smoke directly into my face.<\/p>\n \u201cMuch better,\u201d I say.<\/p>\n \u201cWhat\u2019s going on with you? You\u2019ve been moody lately.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m not moody.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou just sit there and mumble. It\u2019s a real drag. What\u2019s up?\u201d<\/p>\n It\u2019s been a week since that afternoon in the house. I want to talk to Jill, want to get her by herself, but she\u2019s always with Mike, or else he\u2019s with me, and I don\u2019t know what to do. I\u2019m exhausted and hungover, and Mike is waiting for me to answer, the moment hanging there, and something has to happen.<\/p>\n \u201cI kissed Jill,\u201d I say.<\/p>\n \u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cJill and I kissed.\u201d<\/p>\n He stares at me, and then his face jerks into a smile. \u201cBullshit.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cIt was when you were getting the dishwasher. We were in the house alone.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou\u2019re so full of shit,\u201d he says, but already his smile is fading.<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m sorry, Mike.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou\u2019re serious? You guys kissed?\u201d<\/p>\n My heart beats so hard I feel it in my collarbone. He turns away and puts both hands on the steering wheel, gazing out the windshield. He looks like he\u2019s driving after somebody even though we\u2019re not moving.<\/p>\n \u201cSo, what are we going to do?\u201d I say.<\/p>\n \u201cDo?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cAbout this?\u201d<\/p>\n His knuckles go white against the black rubber. Mike\u2019s tough for a little guy, knows how to do damage, and I brace myself for whatever\u2019s going to happen next. But to my surprise all he does is laugh.<\/p>\n \u201cThere is no\u00a0this<\/em>,\u201d he says. \u201cWhat, do you think you and Jill are having an\u00a0affair<\/em>? Do you think you\u2019re going to steal her away?\u201d He turns back toward me. \u201cYou may\u2019ve kissed her, Lute, but she didn\u2019t kiss you back.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cShe did,\u201d I say. \u201cWe kissed.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou sure about that?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWe kissed,\u201d I say again. We did, right? She opened her mouth. I\u2019m not the kind of person who\u2019d imagine something like that. Am I? That whistling sound\u2019s in my head so bad it hurts.<\/p>\n \u201cEverybody\u2019s right,\u201d Mike says. \u201cYou\u2019re a Lute.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cShut up.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cCan\u2019t get any girls yourself, so you go after my pregnant wife. What a Lute.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI said shut your mouth.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m an asshole. I\u00a0know<\/em>\u00a0that. But at least I\u2019m not you.\u201d His eyes narrow with anger and scorn, but there\u2019s something else too. Pity. He honestly feels sorry for me. And that\u2019s what finally makes me reach out my big hand and take him by the neck and squeeze.<\/p>\n \u201cGet\u00a0off<\/em>\u00a0me,\u201d he yells. He goes for my neck too, but his arms are short, his fingernails raking my face. This is my friend, my only friend, and still I squeeze harder. Somehow, he is able to open his door, and the two of us tumble out onto the street. He\u2019s trying to get away, but all it does is allow me to get a better grip on his throat. He\u2019s flat on his back on the slick asphalt, I\u2019m kneeling over him. The whistling\u2019s gone, but maybe it\u2019s gotten so loud I don\u2019t hear it anymore. He says something that sounds like Lute. I shake him until his head flops like a doll\u2019s.<\/p>\n \u201cNo,\u201d he says, his voice tight, barely a whisper. \u201cLook.\u00a0Look<\/em>.\u201d<\/p>\n I follow his eyes. There, watching us from under a streetlamp, is Neil Batteau. It\u2019s like he\u2019s appeared from out of the night, snowflakes clinging to his shoulders and his hair and the thin, wispy beard that now covers his face. His clothes are rumpled, there\u2019s a dirty paper bag tucked under his arm. I wonder if he\u2019s got my handcuffs. I look at Mike, who looks up at me, my hands still around his neck, and then we both look back at Neil. We all stay like that, the snow falling down, each of us waiting to see who\u2019s going to move first.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" I\u2019m staring at a door. It\u2019s Mike and me, and the two of us are sitting in his crappy little car staring at the door of a crappy little house in Nordeast Minneapolis on the coldest night of the year. We\u2019re staring at this particular door because inside is a guy named Neil Batteau. We […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":13797,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[6],"tags":[1309,1308,1307],"class_list":["post-13491","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-fiction","tag-bounty-hunters","tag-hockey","tag-lutefisk","writer-robert-voedisch"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/13491","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=13491"}],"version-history":[{"count":4,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/13491\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":13798,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/13491\/revisions\/13798"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/13797"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=13491"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=13491"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=13491"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}