“Are you ready, Mr. Fontaine?”, he asked
two men were in a white, concrete room sitting on the only two plastic chairs in the room. A tape recorder was on the table between them
and the faint click and hiss of the revolving tape was the only sound in the room. One man had dark hair cropped close to his scalp
and was wearing a white shirt and dark slacks and a navy blue tie that he had loosened
at the neck and had a navy suit jacket slung around the back of his chair. He looked across the table at the second man who was staring down at
his hands in his lap so that his longish blonde hair fell in front of his face. He was wearing a yellow black-lined hockey
jacket, jeans and an ‘I’m with the band’ baseball cap rested in front of him on
the table. The dark-haired man spoke again.
know this is tough but it’s best if we hear your story while it’s still fresh.”
The dark-haired man waited but it was as
if the other man hadn’t heard.
“How did you end up driving?”
Dad called me at lunch. Said that our bus
driver was sick and wouldn’t be able to drive.
That we would all have to make sure our kids got to the game on their own. I told
him that I had a Class B license and I could drive if that would help.”
He looked up for the first time
and the deep crow’s feet at his eyes belied the baby face and long hair.
drove school buses for a couple of years after I got out of the Forces.”
you offered to drive? And everybody was good
“Yeah. You know how it is. It’s a 90-minute drive from Carp to Greeley and any parents that
want to see the game can hop on the bus. Only
kid that didn’t come was mine.”
His voice caught on ‘mine’.
wasn’t your boy there, Mr. Fontaine?”
“His mom wouldn’t let him come. He had a big exam the next day, Friday, and
his marks haven’t been so good lately.”
“You were okay with that?”
He shook his head but didn’t speak for
I wasn’t ‘okay with it’ but I don’t win any of those battles.”
“But you still decided
“I didn’t find out until late in the afternoon
that Mitch wasn’t going and by then I couldn’t back out. Kind
of wanted to see the game anyway. Greely’s got the best high school hockey
team in the region and I wanted to see how we stacked up.”
did you have to arrange to pick up the bus?”
The man shook his head.
“No, they parked it at the school and left the
keys with the secretary. I could leave it
in the school parking lot when we got back and just drop the keys at the depot in the morning. Tomorrow’s Saturday and they weren’t
going to need the bus until Monday.”
So, did you go straight to the school?
much. I had to stop at the bank and pick
up some cash for the weekend.”
So, the bus is there when you get to the
school and you had no problem getting the keys and getting on the road?”
He shook his head.
“Sam and her dad were a couple of
minutes late, but they always are.”
“Only girl on the team. Smart, tough,
quick. Be the best player on the team if she was a
little stronger. As it is, she gets powerplay
man paused and looked up.
about Sam? Do we know?”
sorry, Mr. Fontaine, we haven’t heard any details—they’re still trying to sort
wasn’t exactly true. Sixteen were dead,
seven were at the hospital and one of them looked like he wasn’t going to make it. There were only two females on the passenger
list they had put together and both were dead.
There were three people who hadn’t needed to be hospitalized, all adults.
He allowed a short silence.
the drive there was uneventful?”
were fine. Not too much traffic.”
“How many on the bus?”
sure exactly. There are sixteen kids on the
team but Jake wasn’t there so there were 15 kids and a bunch of parents. Carol and Frank King, John Francis, Mike’s
dad, I forget his name…I don’t know, maybe 11 or 12 parents.”
“You didn’t keep a list? Just to be sure you didn’t leave anybody
blonde man looked up from his hands.
“I knew how many kids and which
kids. The rest of them are adults. They
knew what time we were leaving.”
“Did anybody get left behind?
He shook his head.
Jason drove there with us but wasn’t on the bus back because his Dad lives
out Greely way and it was his dad’s weekend to have him.”
“So, you figure about 25 people
“Okay then, Mr. Fontaine, can you tell me what
happened on the way back?”
The dark-haired man had been expecting a long pause here but didn’t
had started snowing by the third period so when the kids came off the ice we told them
to hurry it up so we could get going but y’know kids…”
Anyway, it’s probably 35-40
minutes after the game before we get everybody rounded up and the gear stowed and by
then it’s snowing pretty good. But what
do you do…?”
“…nobody wants to get a hotel when
they’re only 90 minutes from home. “
The dark-haired man nodded but didn’t
blonde man looked at him for a long time then finally looked back down at his lap before
he started talking again.
“Anyway, we get on the road and it’s pretty
bad but not the worst I’ve ever seen. The
snow’s drifting so I can’t see the lines in spots but there wasn’t a
lot of traffic and I’m just taking it slow.
The kids are making a lot of noise in the back but that never bothers me.”
He looked up again as if not
sure the detective understood.
“When you’ve driven a bus full of 1st
graders every day for two years you get used to the noise.”
The dark-haired man forced a smile and nodded.
“OK, Mr. Fontaine, so you’re
driving, the kids are having fun in the back, the conditions are pretty bad…what
The blonde man looked back down at his hands and his
hair fell back in front of his face. He moved his hands onto the
table without looking up. His left hand had a long red gash and twitched and jerked before
he covered it with his right hand and then pulled both hands back into his lap.
His head started to come up and then stopped. He
twisted in his chair so that he was now facing the door out of the room but still didn’t
look up from his lap. The dark-haired man
could see his hands, now fists, clenched on his lap and then he started pounding his knees
hard with his fists and rocking slightly in the chair.
“Just give me a second.”
It came out as a whisper.
They sat there for several minutes until finally the
man turned back to the table.
“I’m not exactly sure what happened. I think I must have gone on automatic pilot. You know how it is sometimes when you’re driving? You get thinking and you’re not completely focused on what you’re
doing? Anyway, I remember seeing the headlights
way up ahead. We were on a long straight
stretch and I could see that something big was coming and at the same time I noticed that
I was doing about 90. Faster than I wanted
to be going. So, I edged over a little towards
the side and just tapped the brakes to slow down to 70 or 80. I guess the combination of
turning slightly and hitting the brakes got the back end swinging a little, I tried to
correct it but overcorrected a little then tried to swing it back again and by that time
it was gone and I wasn’t getting it back.”
He stopped again.
“Can you remember what happened next,
know, I’ve heard people say that it happens so fast that they don’t really
know what happened until it’s over.”
He shook his head.
“Not this. It felt like it was in slow
motion. I could feel the back end sliding.
Twenty degrees, 30, 40 and the tractor trailer just keeps coming. I guess he’s got no place to go.
By the time he hits us, it’s completely broadside. I feel like I was watching the truck driver’s face for the last
few seconds but that doesn’t make sense because I was facing away from him by that
“The mind plays tricks, Mr. Fontaine.”
There was a knock on the door and
another detective stuck his head in the door as the dark-haired detective turned around
impatiently in his chair, but his expression changed when he saw who it was.
“Hey Barts, they got the
guy who burned Goodie. Holed up with some
chick in China town – only took three days for him to piss her off bad enough to
rat him out. Looks like a drug thing. Thought
you’d want to know.”
“Thanks Rags. Hang around eh? I want to hear the nuts and bolts.”
The detective nodded, pulled his head back and closed
Mr. Fontaine, another case we were working on.”
“That the guy that got killed in the
Bryan Goodie. We were pretty sure it was
a drug beef, but you never know for sure. So,
you were saying…?”
don’t remember the collision or any noise but there must have been. I just remember
that I’m in the aisle of the bus and the bus is on its side but when I look back
down the aisle there is a gaping hole where the back of the bus used to be and it’s
getting cold and snow is starting to blow into the bus and I’m thinking that we don’t
want to let all that snow in the bus. That people are going to get cold.”
He shook his head.
“Shock messes you up, Mr.
“Anyway, Jamie’s dad had been up keeping
me company and he’s still in the front left seat, but the seat has been torn off
the floor and is leaning against the doors. He
was unconscious but I could see that he was still breathing. And I
couldn’t see any blood. I tried to wake him but I couldn’t. And there was no
way I was going to be able to drag him out through the back, so I start working my way
to the back of the bus. I’m not sure what I was thinking. I wish I could say that
I was trying to figure out the best way to help but I actually can’t remember what
I was thinking. I get to the back but it’s a mess. Most of the seats have been torn
at least partly loose and it was an obstacle course.
One of the kids was still in the seat but I couldn’t tell…”
swiped at his eyes with a coat sleeve.
“What couldn’t you tell, Mr. Fontaine?”
“Who it was.”
“How did you know it was
one of the children, sir?”
The detective was getting used to the
extended pauses and waited without moving.
“At first I thought the bus had been torn in two, but it hadn’t
completely. One of the bus sides had held
but the back end was folded back so the bus was bent in a V and there was a big hole. The
truck was in the ditch on its side but one of the headlights was still working and even
though it wasn’t pointed right at the road it was shedding some light and the road
looked weird and uneven. I realized after
a second that the bumps were bodies.”
“Has any help arrived yet, Mr.
There wasn’t much traffic and so it took awhile. I managed to jump down out of the bus.
Might be when I cut my hand. The
first person I get to is Ronny Gervais. I
think I knew he was gone but I started giving him CPR and...”
The dark-haired man interrupted.
trained in CPR, Mr. Fontaine?”
“I’ve been a coach and a trainer for Mitch’s minor
is your son, sir?”
and all coaches and trainers have to have basic first aid.”
“How long did you work on the boy,
He shook his head.
“Not sure. For a while. I stayed with
Ronny ‘till the ambulances showed up. Just
couldn’t bring myself to leave him. Big,
strong kid but one of the outsiders on the team.
First year on the team and not one of the favorites. Always managed to
say the wrong thing…and not a great player.
Funny how that seems to matter to the other kids.
But, I had a soft spot for him. He
loved being on that team…maybe more than anybody.
I think he would have found his place.”
“So, you didn’t move from there
until the police and ambulance showed up?”
The blonde man shook his head. They sat
there for a long minute then the dark-haired man reached forward and hit the stop button
on the tape recorder.
think we’re done here for now, Mr. Fontaine.
We’ll probably want to speak to you again, but I think we’re good for
man didn’t look up.
dark-haired man cleared his throat.
“Have you got somebody who can come get
The man looked up startled.
“Have you got somebody who can pick you up?”
He shook his head.
“Well, we can find somebody
to take you home if you need a lift.”
The man looked at him blankly for a
second and then realized what was happening.
“I can go home.”
“Yes sir. We’re done for now.”
The blonde man just stared at
his hands as if he could see something there that they couldn’t. The detective shifted in his chair, impatient
now that the interview was over. The other man began to speak without looking up as if
he had forgotten that he had been dismissed.
“You had some magazines out front.”
Still looking at his hands something
shifted in his face, almost a smile.
“No offense but…Discover magazine? Not
what I expected in a cop shop. I would have guessed Sports Illustrated…
maybe Time, I don’t know.”
The detective frowned.
“Mr. Fontaine, are y….”
“So, there was an article about parallel
universes. You ever heard of that?”
He looked up then, waiting. The
detective held his gaze for several seconds before shaking his head
“I don’t know anything about physics but
I guess folks who do, they say that if the laws of nature work the way we think they do,
then there are an infinite number of other universes out there, universes almost exactly
like ours but each one differing in some small detail.”
The blonde-haired man paused, staring
again at his hands. When he spoke, the detective had to lean in to hear him.
“Do you think that might be true? Is there a place out there somewhere, where
my boy gets on the bus, where his Mom doesn’t mind that he misses school to play
blonde man pushed himself up from the table but staggered a little bit and had to catch
gave a little embarrassed smile to the detective.
“Foot’s asleep. I’ll be alright.”
He stamped the floor twice, hard, picked
his hat up off the table, walked to the door of the concrete room, opened it and walked
All he remembered was coming
out of the door to his apartment and somebody calling out his name.
had turned and there was a guy in a hoodie and low riders and a gun held straight out in
front of him in one hand. Probably a jig
but you never knew these days – everybody was a wannabe. The shooter’s face had been shadowed by the hoodie and he barely
got a look before the bullets hit him.
He had no idea why he was still
walking. He had woken up in an alley about
4 blocks from his house and he had 3 scars that looked like bullet wounds. One had almost taken out his left nipple, another was high on his chest
just below his right shoulder and the other was high on his left thigh.
stood in front of the mirror in his boxers touching the scars. They weren’t even a bit sensitive. But they were new. Fuck
it. Didn’t have time to worry about
old scars he had never seen. He had to figure
out how he was getting Sofa off his ass. He
turned away from the mirror and walked into the bedroom and flopped on the mattress. He
lay for a second with his hands laced behind his head. That fucker would kill him twice
if he didn’t get his money back. Fuckin’ hookers
and tweak were gonna be the death of him. He
needed ten large. Either use it to pay off Sofa or the nut he needed to get out of town.
He got up again off the bed and back into the bathroom to stand
in front of the mirror staring at the scars.
He wasn’t sure how long he was in the
alley, but somebody had been in, maybe the cops, while he was gone, ripped the place up
and a bunch of stuff was missing. They had
found his stash and taken it. Fuckers. They hadn’t taken the bread and peanut butter
or the beer. That was something. And the cable was still working.
He hadn’t left his apartment in two
days. It was too fucked up. Maybe
Sofa knew he wasn’t dead and he’d be waiting.
Or one of Sofa’s boys would see him and it would be same shit, different day. He’d gone down and stood looking out the
front door window…even opened it a crack and looked up and down the street but couldn’t
get himself to step out. But he couldn’t
stay here forever.
Only one fuckin’ way to do this. Take
down a bank. They must have 10 grand hangin’ around. Maybe
more. Maybe get lucky and it’s payday or
of his buddies said that banks were easy because tellers were told to give up the cash. It was all covered by insurance, so nobody
minded handing over the money. But he’d
still need a piece. Couldn’t go into a
bank with empty hands and a hard-on and hope somebody would give you money. He’d had one but those fuckers had taken it too. Fuckin’
dickheads. Probably end up getting’
into it with the cops and get shot with his own gun.
Fuck that. He’d do the shootin’
if there was gonna’ be any shootin’
Mo always had a piece. Maybe he’d give him a loaner.
That would mean phoning him and then Sofa would know for sure he was still walking. But he couldn’t do this without a gun.
He went to the phone and stood with the
receiver in his hand for a long time until it started with the busy signal. He put it back
in the cradle, picked it up again and hit Mo’s number.
“Mo, it’s the Goods.”
was a long silence.
“Who the fuck is this?”
Goodie, man. What the fuck?”
There was another long pause.
“Goodie got done, man. Stone done. No doubt.”
“Well, then I’m a fuckin’
ghost, Mo. Boo. Stop fuckin around I need some help.”
He pulled the receiver from his ear and
banged it twice hard on the table and then stood with it in his hand breathing deep, his
eyes closed, the veins on his skinny arms standing out as he clenched the receiver tightly
in his hand. This had been a bad idea. He slammed the receiver back into the cradle but
missed and caught his finger between the receiver and the phone.
“Fuckin’ fuck, ratfucker!!” He hopped up and down sucking on his injured
finger. He could hear the faint voice still
coming from the receiver and he tore the wire from the wall and hurled the phone at the
wall. It smashed hard, bounced back and he
had to hop quickly to avoid the receiver as it flopped back at him. He stood in the middle of the room, his chest heaving and his fists
clenching and unclenching at his side. Fuck,
fuck, fuck. That had made things worse. Much
worse. Even if Mo wasn’t sure it was really him,
he would still get word to Sofa and Sofa wouldn’t let it lie. He had to move quick. And
still no piece.
his landlord had one. He and Rudy never talked
but he had heard him chatting with the new girl in apartment 3. Showing off. Saying if she
had any trouble to come get him. He had just
the thing to take care of any problems. She
had asked what he meant and he had held out his arm like it held a gun and squinted through
one eye. “Feelin lucky, punk?” Yeah,
that’s what he had said. Like anybody
would mistake Rudy for Clint. Fat, bald,
pit-stained Rudy. He’d be lucky he
didn’t blow his own dick off. Actually
hard to believe he owned a gun and had lasted this long.
Goodie stood across the street,
watching people walking in and out of the bank.
Might be more money if he waited a day, they probably loaded up on Fridays, people
taking out money for the weekend. But, he
couldn’t wait another day. It had all
seemed easy thinking about it last night. Now his hands were shaking and he had to bury
them in his pockets so nobody would see. His right hand gripped the gun and it made him
feel better. It was a good plan. Go in the door with the hoodie down and flip it
up as you walk in. He hadn’t been
able to see the guy who shot him, even looking straight at him. No way the cameras were going to be able to see him from an angle. Shout
for anybody who was in the bank to get on the ground.
Make sure to wave the gun around so everybody sees it. Get all the tellers to lie down except for the hot one, the one with
the big tits that worked the far counter. She
could scoop from all the other tellers. Maybe
get her to do it with no shirt on just for kicks. His mouth felt too dry to even
grin. Who knew, maybe she liked the bad boys? Maybe she’d be looking at him while she
was pulling out the money. Looking at him
like she wanted some of that bad boy.
had gone wrong from the minute he had opened his mouth. He had shouted for everybody
to get down and one lady hadn’t moved, frozen where she was standing. He had whacked her with the butt of the gun
and she still didn’t go down. He had to
hit her twice. Fuckin’ twat. The
hot chick wasn’t working, some skinny fag in a yellow suit jacket with rolled up
sleeves behind the counter. And then that
crazy fucker. Look around and the guy in the ballcap and
hockey jacket is sitting up tying his shoe lace. You fuckin’ believe that? Not even looking at him at first, just tying his
shoelace like that’s what he sat down to do. He shouts at the
guy “Lay down, motherfucker!!”
Nothing. Doesn’t even look up. He shouts at him again and this time the guy looks
up but he doesn’t look real scared. A
little maybe but not bad. The guy just looks
at him and keeps tying. Stupid fucker. So, he walked over and the guy just kept looking
and tying his shoe. So, he burned the guy. One shot to the head, right through the ‘b’
in band. Then, one more. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Didn’t
even get the money. Flipped out and left. Now, he’s back here. And Sofa
knows he’s out there with no place else to go.
Jeff Houlahan has
a B.A. in Psychology, a B. Sc. and Ph. D. in Biology and has been published in Blackheart Magazine, Eunoia Review,
and Apocrypha and Abstractions.