This Is How I Disappear

Just as I’m about to give up looking for a Dentist’s, or a sign that reads DIE, I spot a dinky restaurant with the neon sign DINER lit up, except that the N and R are out.

You have got to be kidding me, I think unhappily.

What do you suppose the next shocker will be? my brain muses. The dentist has bad teeth?

Wouldn’t surprise me, I reply.

“The diner?” I ask Gerard casually.

“The DIE, yes,” he answers as I steer us in that direction without verbalized complaint. Mentally, though, I allow my anxiety to run amok. If this shady dentist has any knowledge of the Belleville triple murder and kidnapping—so basically any access to news—it’s safe to assume he will turn us in the minute our backs are turned.

A fair assumption, my brain compliments me.

Thank you, I reply, surprised my brain agrees for once without argument or use of sarcasm.

Which is why you’re entering the restaurant right now, my brain adds, and I frown.

Well, I don’t have a better idea, I defend, tapping the bell on the counter.

Of course you don’t, genius, my brain scorns, so stop whining about everything, and have faith in your favorite psychopath.

I’m about to snap back at my brain, but just then a beer-bellied man shuffles out from the kitchen. “What can I do for you?” he asks, wiping greasy fingers on his shirt.

Gross, my brain says.

Quiet, I command, though I don’t disagree. It’s dark, so I take my sunglasses off. I do the same for Gerard, though his eyes are closed. “Um, you the dentist?” I inquire apprehensively.

He laughs. “Not anymore. It’s been years since I yanked a tooth! Can you believe people paid to have me poke and prod their mouth with sharp metal sticks? Fun job.”

I suppose it’s not unreasonable that sadists and psychopaths run in the same circles, I tell my brain.

What were you expecting? my brain jumps in. A top-notch surgeon? At least this guy doesn’t have a reputation to ruin by helping us.

True, I grudgingly admit. “Say, do you watch the news often, or read the paper?” I wonder, trying to act nonchalant.

“Has World War III broken out?” he inquires seriously.

“N-no,” I stutter in confusion.

“Have aliens invaded Earth?”

“Not that I know of,” I answer thoughtfully.

“My ex-wife’s back from the dead?”

“No, sorry.” I wince sympathetically.

“Can queers get married?”

This question blindsides me. I fumble over words for a minute before anything coherent comes out. “Well, they should be able to,” I splutter vehemently. “I mean, yeah, in some states they can, but there’s so much discrimination against the gay community. It shouldn’t even be an issue! Marriage is not about being gay or being straight or bi or whatever, it’s about love and commitment and trust—”

“I don’t pay attention to the news,” he interrupts me warily, eyeing my arm around Gerard’s waist. “It’s too depressing.”

“What about that was depressing?” I growl at him. “The fact that no one’s invading America, or the fact that gays are getting rights?”

“Last one mostly,” he answers casually, either not noticing or not acknowledging my ire.

I’m about to initiate a shouting match with this disgusting bigot, when Gerard seems to regain consciousness. “Hey, Ronnie!” he crows, smiling wanly at the offensive man.

They’re friends? I fume.

“Who the hell are you?” Ronnie demands, and I’m both glad and disappointed.

But Gerard just grins big, showing all his teeth.

Ronnie leans closer to see. “Baby teeth!” he suddenly exclaims, and I have to agree Gerard’s teeth are pretty small. “Mikey, you crazy bastard!”

Mikey? I think in confusion. But that’s his brother.... Damn it, he tricked me! His brother’s name is Gerard!

“You dirty cop!” Ronnie says in a congratulatory tone, walking out from behind the counter.

This baffles me. Did he completely lie, switching identities with his brother just to play a joke on me? But dirty cop? Dirty? Yes. Cop? That doesn’t fit.

“Ronnie,” Gerard-Mikey greets, with considerably less gusto than Ronnie is affording him.

“Come to collect?” Ronnie guesses, holding out a hand for shaking.

Gerard-Mikey holds up his hands as he leans into me more heavily. Ronnie takes in the blood on them and looks at Gerard-Mikey’s side. “You’re not wanted by the police or anything, are you?” he checks.

“Swear to god, Mikey Way has never been wanted by the police.” He grins. “Except to do traffic patrol.”

Ronnie laughs and turns to go behind the counter, gesturing for us to follow. While he’s not looking, Mikey-Gerard looks at me and winks, his grin still in place, and mouths, ‘He guessed wrong.’

I bite back my laughter, remembering that the landlady had called him Gerard as well, so unless he plays the guessing game with everyone he meets…. I smirk in amusement as I help Gerard follow Ronnie into a room behind the kitchen.