The Innocents by Nathan Senthil (autobiographies to read .TXT) 📕

A minute later, he sniffled and rubbed his face on his shoulder. Picking up a bottle of Jim Beam, he dropped into the recliner in front of the TV. He took a huge swig; the alcohol burned its way down to his empty intestines. Though the light from the paltry infomercial flickered through his watery eyes, the images his brain saw were something utterly different—they were of Jake’s crime scene.

Who killed him? One of his criminal friends, criminal enemies, criminal customers, or hell, even his criminal wife? Too many criminals surrounded Jake’s life, but Joshua had already arrived at a supposition, considering the hole the size of an apple in Jake’s head.

Lolly.

Ballistics would later confirm or deny his hypothesis, but Joshua trusted his intuition for now.

That murdering bastard had cursed New York again with his riotous presence. The mere thought that he and Lolly were possibly sharing the same few square miles, but that he was unable to do anything about it, demoralized him. It seemed as if some greater evil protected Lolly, which begged the imminent question: where the fuck was Joshua’s greater good? Most likely cowering in some church or temple, leaving Joshua to pick after its battle.

He downed another long gulp, uninhibitedly. Not that he needed any excuses lately. These days, his waking hours were those murky gaps between morning hangovers and midnight blackouts. Not a moment of clarity there.

The presenter on the infomercial, a semi-naked girl, was now advertising a magic pill that cured baldness. Why she had to expose her cleavage and tan stomach a good three inches below her navel to sell something that men bought to restore some of their youthful confidence was beyond Joshua.

Deflated, he wrapped his fingers around the bottleneck and pushed himself up with the other arm.

But his palm slid over the armrest. The cheap rye spurted out of the bottle and spilled on the back of his hand, the chilly liquid evaporating in an instant. Shaking his head at the disappointment he had become, he placed the bottle on the floor and heaved his body up again.

Carefully navigating his way across the room, he reached the stairs and climbed the steps. His son had probably woken up due to the ruckus he and his wife had caused and might need tucking in.

As Joshua reached the landing, he thought he heard someone talking behind his son’s door. Weird. The boy had no imaginary friends.

He knocked and waited a few seconds, before entering.

The little guy had problems with his motor skills, due to his condition. So instead of standing, he was hanging onto the ledge of the window, waving. Joshua rushed to his side and peeked out.

A white Hummer parked across the street, on seeing Joshua, sped off. Its screeching tires must have woken half the neighborhood.

Hadn’t Joshua seen it somewhere before?

Squeezing his eyes shut, Joshua sifted through the drenched cabinets of his inebriated memory.

Where did I—

Outside Jake’s auto shop!

“Gabe!” Joshua turned the boy towards him. On seeing Gabriel’s face, everything spun out of control, and the alcohol in his bloodstream was not the reason.

The boy was sucking a lollipop.

Joshua darted out of the room and stomped down the stairs, taking three steps at a time. As he bolted through the front door to his car, adrenaline thumped in his ears.

But before he got inside, he observed that the vehicle sank lower on one side. Two tires on the left were slashed.

Undeterred, Joshua took off after the Hummer which was just a pair of receding taillights in the fog. He didn’t care that he was barefoot. He sprinted towards it at full speed. But for all the acceleration, he felt like he was suspended in space, like trying to punch or run in a dream.

They gained a lead on him, gradually dissolving into the distance. Inside he screamed, “No.” Joshua stretched his arm out, grabbing at the spot where the Hummer had disappeared.

The lack of stamina caught up with him all at once. His eyesight blurred, making it physically impossible for him to continue running. A lamppost provided him a shoulder. He held its sides, not allowing the tears of anger escape. Tried to close his eyes and collect his breath and his thoughts.

Having had Lolly within spitting distance, for the second time the same night, broke Joshua’s heart into pieces. Under his nose. So close. Just meters away. In front of his home. In his son’s room.

Frustrated, he shook the lamppost, punching and kicking it. Not feeling the pain of hitting the metal. Not hearing the sound.

“Stop it, asshole!” a voice carrying an unmistakable bravado warned.

Joshua opened his wet eyes and turned around. A young fat cop was holding a pistol on him with quaking arms, a cruiser parked beside him. The flashing blue and red gave Joshua a new surge of nausea. The officer must have assumed that Joshua was one of those crack junkies that terrorized the city these days with their capricious vandalism and violence. Drug epidemic, the popular news had dubbed it. So the uniform must have called it in and pulled over. Joshua couldn’t blame the poor kid though. To any passing person, a hyperventilating guy grappling with a lamppost wouldn’t look friendly. Or sane.

“Which precinct?” Joshua asked.

The bald-headed cop’s ruddy face twisted in bewilderment. “D-detective Chase?”

“Yeah, the one and only,” Joshua said. “Is that you, Ivansky?”

“Yes, sir.” Officer Ivansky lowered the gun. “What happened here?”

“Call the dispatch and request them to issue an APB on a white Hummer. I want every road exiting the city cordoned off. Also, ask them to contact the FBI and tell them that Lolly is in New York City and if they coordinate with staties and us, we might catch him.”