That’s What Friends Are For

Claudio’s life was a blessed one. He had a beautiful wife, Sophia, and a loyal, if not exactly intellectual, best friend, Jimmy. Not one to take blessings for granted, Claudio nurtured these relationships. Never was a dirty dish left on the countertop for Sophia to have to clean up, nor was a toilet seat ever allowed to linger in the upright position following a tinkle. Date nights were a Friday ritual for the happy couple. However, so were Saturday afternoon golf sessions with Jimmy, hours spent on the sunny links of their South Carolina neighborhoods, hitting balls, drinking beers, and laughing like idiots. Throughout the week, Claudio worked hard as an insurance adjuster, not a fun job particularly, but honest work that paid the bills. Claudio and Sophia would attend church together on Sundays, vacation together in the summer, and make love at least twice a week. In the autumn, Jimmy and Claudio would always spend a week in the forests, tracking deer with their hunting rifles, eating baked beans straight from the can, and watching DVDs on Claudio’s laptop since there was no wi-fi in the woods. Action and horror movies were commonplace, but Cool Hand Luke was a shared favorite. Claudio loved Luke’s quiet rebelliousness, knowing that he himself could never oppose the establishment in such ways. Cutting the heads off of parking meters…imagine it! Jimmy loved when Luke ate 50 eggs in one hour. It’s possible (although never confirmed by either man) that they both cried when Luke died at the end, Claudio with feelings of conflicting complexity, and Jimmy out of simple love and adoration. Regardless, no matter how you looked at it, in every way, Claudio’s life was indeed blissful.

Claudio should have known about the transience of bliss, coming from humble beginnings as he had, but he was in no way prepared for the tragedy when it struck. Sophia was driving home from her job at the hospital, coming along the same route as always, oblivious to the impending danger ahead. A curve in the road created a blind corner where a speed reduction was suggested and passing other vehicles was prohibited. However, when Sophia went into this curve, she was hit head-on by a truck in her lane that had been passing a slower-moving vehicle illegally. Sophia’s tiny Hyundai was no match for the huge Ford F-250, and she died almost instantly. The driver of the truck, a young man named Jackson who couldn’t have graduated from high school more than a year ago, was taken to the hospital and treated for minor injuries. He was released within hours. The truck, a gift from wealthy parents, was written off by the same insurance company Claudio worked for, a reimbursement check written in his office sent to the boy who killed his wife just days after her funeral.

“What justice is there in that?” Claudio asked Jimmy that night as they sat in Claudio’s darkened living room, drinking beers and lamenting in angst. “Sophia’s dead, and this punk gets paid for doing the job. They didn’t even take his license away! All he had to do was pay a ticket. My whole life is ruined, and he gets a damned citation!” Jimmy had no answer for him.

The ensuing days, weeks, and months were dark for Claudio, but with the help of time and his best friend’s constant care, Claudio eventually began to rejoin the world of properly functioning people. He had mourned Sophia with all his heart, sobbed heartily and often (none of that ambiguous movie crying anymore), and taken up the services of a professional grief counselor. Slowly but surely, sometimes one thwack of a golf ball at a time, Claudio found a way to function. One year to the day of Sophia’s passing, Claudio began praying again. Then he began attending church again. God was no longer blamed, and some beauty began to reappear around him again, unbelievably, but somehow true in the way of gradual miracles.

God wasn’t the only one who received Claudio’s absolution. So too did his wife’s killer, the reckless boy, Jackson. Granting this forgiveness was what Claudio considered to be the final step in his journey of acceptance and recovery. “We all make mistakes,” he told Jimmy one night while wrestling with these feelings. “Maybe this kid was in some sort of an emergency. He was speeding toward the hospital, after all.” Jimmy did not comment on this possibility. His heart, unlike Claudio’s, was not prepared to soften toward the antagonist of their lives, the man who had upended all of their joy and left his best friend a sad wreck for so long. Claudio could forgive all he wanted. Jimmy would go on hating in his simple, determined way. Not that any of this meant anything. Neither of them had seen the boy since the accident. Jackson lived a couple of towns over, and evidently he didn’t play golf and wasn’t old enough to go to the bars that Claudio and Jimmy frequented, so their paths never crossed.

“Are you telling me,” Jimmy finally responded, “that if you met that kid alone in a dark alley, you wouldn’t take a free shot at him? Just a nice gut punch maybe, double-him over?”

“Jimmy,” Claudio replied with a chuckle, “you’re the best friend a guy could hope to have. Thanks for helping me through all of this.”

In Claudio’s mind, Jimmy’s question was a harmless one asked from a position of love. In Jimmy’s mind, wheels were beginning to turn that hadn’t churned before. Claudio would have been better off giving a direct response.

Random visits from Jimmy were a fairly common occurrence, so Claudio wasn’t too surprised when Jimmy showed up at his doorstep near bedtime one stormy night. Jimmy’s appearance, however, was more shocking. He was dressed like a thug, black fingerless gloves, black hoodie, and black stocking cap pulled low over his forehead. Despite the intimidating garb, Jimmy’s countenance could only be described as sheepish. Instead of coming in when Claudio opened the door, Jimmy stood on the porch in the rain, gloved hands stuffed deep into the hoodie’s front pocket, rocking slowly from foot to foot, clearly afraid to say what he came to say.

“What’s going on, Jimmy? Everything alright?”

“I need you to come with me.”

“Dude, it’s kinda late. Can we do this tomorrow?”

Instead of responding verbally, Jimmy's face grew red in the porch light and his rocking became more pronounced.

Getting the point, Claudio replied, “Okay, man. Just let me grab my coat. One second.”

Claudio got into Jimmy’s car with him, and together they traveled in relative silence across town, into the warehouse district. One time Claudio tried to inquire where they were headed, but Jimmy’s obvious discomfort and short “You’ll see” response were enough to make him hold his tongue for the duration of the short ride.

Jimmy pulled the car around a block of warehouses and across a destroyed and lightless parking lot. Litter of bricks and construction debris created a series of obstacles and possible tire hazards, but Jimmy seemed to know the safe course. Claudio felt his bewilderment grow by the second. Neither this factory nor anything in the vicinity looked like it had been put to any reputable use for some time.

“Follow me.” This was all Jimmy said as he hopped out of the parked car and headed for the warehouse door. Left no real choice, and despite a growing feeling of apprehension in his gut, Claudio acquiesced.

From a back pocket, Jimmy pulled out a large, police-issued flashlight, the type that could be used as a club in a pinch. From a front pocket, he took out a ring of keys and fumbled about for the correct one. Claudio stood close, trying to get out of the rain, and really now wondering what in the world was happening with his friend.

Jimmy located the correct key and slipped it into the decrepit lock, twisting the deadbolt with a screechy grind. Together they entered the pitch-black warehouse, Jimmy closing and locking the door behind them. Claudio waited patiently for his friend to provide them with light, and as Jimmy did so Claudio’s apprehension quickly bloomed into a full-grown terror. Claudio had no idea what was in this seemingly abandoned warehouse, but there certainly was something there. Or, more accurately, someone. Claudio could hear grunts and whimpers, banging and labored breathing. They were not alone.

When Jimmy finally secured the door and turned on the flashlight, revealing to Claudio the source of the noise, he satisfied his friend’s surprise but did nothing to alleviate his fear. 20 feet in front of them, gagged and bound to an old office chair, was the boy who had killed Claudio’s wife. When the beam from Jimmy’s flashlight fell on him, the boy started thrashing from side to side, fighting against the ropes that held him, and inarticulately screaming through his gag.

“Jimmy, what the hell is this?” Claudio asked his friend incredulously. “Did you kidnap this boy?”

“Listen, Claude,” Jimmy began, obviously uncomfortable that his friend’s initial reaction was to label it a crime. “This kid is a real bad guy. I’ve been watching him for a while. He isn’t nice to anyone, and he doesn’t even feel bad about what happened to Sophia.”

“How do you know that?” Claudio asked, making his way toward Jackson to free him from his bounds. Jimmy’s simple one-trackedness had really gotten them into a pickle this time. How could he ever explain this away? Jackson came from wealth and privilege. Jimmy and Claudio were probably going to end up in jail or worse! He knew that they shouldn’t have watched John Wick so many times!

“I asked him! Claudio, please," Jimmy began to plead. But Claudio wasn’t listening. He was trying to untie the bandana Jimmy was using as a gag over Jackson’s mouth. Jimmy had tied a solid knot, and it took a few seconds of fumbling around in the dark for Claudio to figure out how to untie it. “Don’t untie that gag. You’ll see what I mean if you do!”

The warning came too late, however, for the bandana slipped loose and Jackson was free to state his case. Despite Jimmy’s sound warning, Claudio wasn’t prepared for what Jackson had to say.

“Thank God you’re here, man. This friggin retard’s had me tied up in here for hours. I pissed my friggin pants because of this idiot!”

“I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry.” Claudio meekly replied. He didn’t like that this kid was insulting Jimmy’s intelligence, but he could admit that some indignation was justified.

“Sorry doesn’t cut it, bud. Get me out of here, and I’m going to bring the whole world down on your damn heads! Do you know who my dad is? He’s a friggin important guy, dude, and when he hears about this he’s probably going to lobotomize Simple Jack over there.”

Claudio looked over at his friend, and he was shocked to see the turmoil of emotions playing out on Jimmy’s face. Fear was obvious and expected, but there was anger there as well (probably from the name-calling), and something else that was totally unexpected. In Jimmy’s eyes, Claudio could sense a deep sense of pain, almost as of betrayal.

Claudio’s fingers slowed on the untying of the cords that bound Jackson’s hands behind his back. He mentally stoppered his ears for a moment from the tirade of Jackson’s threats and insults. Somehow, despite the tension of the entire episode and his desire to only do the right thing and end it all as soon as possible, he took a moment to figure out what it was that was causing this last emotion to rise in his friend.

“What is it, Jimmy?”

“He’s not a good guy. I told you.”

“I know, Jimmy, but we can’t do this. It isn’t right. This isn’t how people deal with problems in the real world.”

“You think this moron lives in the real world?” Jackson scoffed.

“Shut up!” Claudio snapped back with more vehemence than he knew he was capable of. “You shut your damn mouth!”

“Or what? You’ll let the monkey gag me again? Ooga-booga, dickhead!”

Without thinking, Claudio slapped the boy across the mouth. It did nothing to dispel Jackson’s vituperation.

“Oh dang, we have a crop of dumbwheat in this building. You just bought yourself an extra ten years in the slammer, Forrest Gump! Add assault and battery to that kidnapping charge. Maybe if you’re lucky they’ll let you and Slingblade over there be bunkmates. You can wrestle to see who gets to be on top each night, you fairies!”

By this point, Claudio was back behind Jackson, but instead of continuing to untie the knots that were holding him to the chair, he found himself reaching for the gag that had fallen to the ground. He just needed a moment to think about the situation, and it was impossible with the vomit of abuse spewing forth from the bound boy.

Jackson, aware that the untying had stopped, paused for a moment with his insults and threats to ask what was going on. “Hey man, you’re not thinking of putting that do-rag back in my mouth, are…”

Before he could finish, Claudio had the gag secured back in place and was retying the knot just as firmly behind Jackson's head as Jimmy had tied it. The verbal assault stopped, and immediately Claudio felt better. Jackson thrashed against his bounds, but Jimmy had done a solid job, and the boy wasn’t going anywhere.

“Do you see what I mean now?” Jimmy asked. “Do you see why I did this? He’s evil, Claude.”

“I see it, Jimmy. But what can we do about it? We have to let him go. We can’t hurt him.”

“But,” Jimmy replied as only a vessel of simple love and devotion could reply. “Why not?”

“He’s a person, Jimmy! He’s just a spoiled kid! He’s done stupid and terrible stuff, but it isn’t up to us to make him pay for that. We aren’t the law, Jimmy. We’re good people!”

“Good people fight evil, Claude. He killed Sophia. He isn’t even sorry.”

“I KNOW!” Claudio exploded, suddenly crying and shaking all over. “I know, but we can’t change the past. We can’t bring her back!”

Claudio broke down, crying in Jimmy’s arms, and Jimmy began to sob too. It took them a minute in this sorrowful embrace to remember the presence of their prisoner. But, in true Jackson fashion, the boy made his existence clearly known. His grunts of anger and wild gesticulations couldn’t be ignored for long.

Claudio and Jimmy broke off their embrace, and Claudio turned toward Jackson again, ready to face the music. Perhaps the boy’s father would show Claudio the same grace that Claudio had shown his son after Sophia’s accident. Before he could undo the gag a second time, however, Jimmy asked him one last question.

“Hey Claude, you remember when we watched that Hostel movie together? The horror movie about the rich people that pay money to torture hitchhikers over in Europe?”

“Yeah, I remember,” responded Claudio, turning back to look at Jimmy. “But what does that have to do with…” The question was left unasked, as the answer presented itself in the form of a toolbox Jimmy had resting at his feet. From its depths, Jimmy was extricating a power drill.

“Jimmy, we can’t bro.”

“He knows our names and our faces, Claude. We could go to prison forever, just like he was saying.”

“I won’t do it, Jimmy. It’s not okay.”

“Good is here to conquer evil, Claude. We’re the good guys.”

Instead of responding, Claudio undid the gag a second time. He had to end this.

Jackson picked up right where he had left off. “About time, Batman. I was afraid that you and the Sound and the Fury over there were actually going to hurt me. Man, remind me never to run over another one of your wives, dude. I hope you homos enjoy your time in Shawshank together. Hopefully, you can each find some big dude’s pocket to cling to.”

Claudio was grabbing the bandana a third time, getting ready to secure it over Jackson’s mouth again.

“Dude, what are you doing? When my dad…” He didn’t get to finish the thought, gagged thrice now.

“Claudio?” Jimmy inquired, eyebrows raised.

“Fuck it.” Claudio replied. “You got any pliers in there?”