One-eighty on the 401, then it wasn't the 401Side streets, one-twenty in a fifty, her hand on the dashMercedes hot again—third time they clocked itThird time I thought I'd outrun a radioLeft, right, left, weaving through parked carsShe said my name once. Just the once.Corner came faster than it shouldOvercorrected—left—right—Into a parked car.Airbags.Powder and glass.Steam off the hood. Engine gave up before I did.Everything we owned came off the shelf at once—her bag, my shoes, the paperwork, up in the air.Then down.She was moaning in the seat beside me.I looked.One time.Blue lights coming up the block.And I ran.Walls close in and I grab who I can, or I let go of who I can, same reflex other hand, and I'm telling myself the whole way she wasn't driving, they'll take a statement, they'll let her go, she wasn't driving, she wasn't drivingFence.Driveway.Fence.Backyard.Fence—Something went through my arm like a wire.Didn't know it was broke till the shaking started.Hospital by morning. Nowhere else to go.Cuffs at the bedside.Game over.Every move got a shadowEvery risk got two livesPASSENGER SIDE (SIDE)Never had the wheelPASSENGER SIDE (SIDE)Never touched the gasI caught the case—she caught the restNot every crossfire leaves blood on the glassStarted in her basement room, her name on the leaseShe didn't have to work—I said I'd handle itAnd I did, for a bit. Finessing. Talking. That's my degree.Then the rent got behind and I never said whyAirbnb, then the car, then a Tims till they moved us onTwo suitcases, her passport, everything in the trunkI stole a car with all of it still insidePawned what I could and told her I'd get it backBig score, Montreal, casino, gone by SundayCar seized on the Sunday—so she didn't even have a passenger seatAnd she stayed.Every time I said I'd fix it, I meant it when I said it.That's the part nobody believes.Whole point was to never need Dukes' money again.Never blamed her. Never blamed the city. Knew exactly whose it was.The number just got bigger than me.And once it got too big to look at, I stopped looking.So I drove.Every move got a shadowEvery risk got two livesPASSENGER SIDE (SIDE)Never had the wheelPASSENGER SIDE (SIDE)Never touched the gasI caught the case—she caught the restNot every crossfire leaves blood on the glassThey arrested her at the scene.Past her papers. Had been a while. Because of me.So they had something. And they used it.Sat her down and asked for the locker.Asked what I'd sold. Asked who I knew.Stacked it up—evading, assault, theft—throwing it at the wall to see what would hold.I got steel and a range. She got questions at dawn.She was already losing the country.She had nothing left to protect and no reason to protect me.She didn't say a word.Not one.Airport board lit like a sentence in green.I was inside. I never saw it.Eighteen months. Most of it fell apart in court.Walked out and she was already gone—different country, somebody else's problem nowEverything she owned is in a locker three hours outDukes paid that locker every month the whole timeAnd made sure the whole family knew the numberNow I'm in my brother's car, three hours to a padlockHe's got a young family, bills, something he was buildingAnd he spent it on my mess and he won't say itI can see it on him. That's worse than if he said it.Her suitcases are in there.Woman's gone and I'm driving out to collect her luggage.Every move got a shadowEvery risk got two livesPASSENGER SIDE (SIDE)Never had the wheelPASSENGER SIDE (SIDE)Never touched the gasI caught the case—she caught the restNot every crossfire leaves blood on the glassPASSENGER SIDE (SIDE)Now that seat is mineThree hours out. Three hours back.My brother driving. Me on the passenger side.I asked him to get her phone out of pawn.He'd already done it. Long time back. Never said.Little ziplock. Glitter on the case. Screen cracked across.Dukes could tell you the number to the dollar.My brother's never once told me a number.Nothing in that locker is mine.And I'm sitting here thinking—this is temporary.Soon I'm back in the driver's seat
