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“Who was the first person you ever killed?”
Scout’s heart stuttered. He coughed into his fist, trying to regain composure. “Why the hell do you care?”
“I’m a nosy cunt.”
Scout snorted and studied Sniper’s face. His head was craned up, hand on his neck, watching the stars. Through the speeding clouds, they seemed as though they were all moving together at a steady pace. It was an armada of tiny little UFOs, never breaking formation. Sniper promised a meteor shower. Lying ass bitch.
Scout thumbed his nose. “Yeah, tell me about it.”
Sniper adjusted his hat. His breath was visible in the brisk night air. “So? Are ya gonna tell me?”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever you say, ya gump.” His right leg swung over the ledge at a constant tempo, his foot dropping hard against the side of the RV. His left leg was bent up near his chin, arms wrapped loosely around it.
He took another glance at the sky. The stars were still on their intergalactic conquest, but none shot by like he was promised.
“So I was headin’ up some street– can’t remember which– but I was comin’ from the packie downtown. I remember I slammed that box of liqueur on the counter so loud you’d think I owned the place. The fella at the counter barely even looked at me before he figured I wasn’t old ‘nuff to drink and I got booted.”
“Did’ja kill ‘im?”
“Naw, I’m not there yet. Lemme finish.” A breeze bit at Scout’s nose and ears. He rubbed them idly. “So I was headin’ up the street, one eye lookin’ out for the cops, the other lookin’ out for booze. I cut through an alley and there's a homeless fella sittin’ there, sippin’ at a beer with a Charlestown briefcase sittin’ right next to him.”
“Did’ja kill ‘im?”
“Man, would’ja lemme finish?” Scout punched Sniper’s arm. “I figured I was tougher than this skeeze, so I grabbed that beer right out of his hands. He was sippin’ at it, and I grabbed it right outta his hands. I stood there and waited for him to react. I was havin’ a borin’ day and I was hopin’ he’d chase me around a little.”
Scout pulled his leg up over the edge of the RV. “But man, he just sat there. And then, real slow and spooky-like, he looked up at me. I was preppin’ for him to take a wicked gross mental fit. Like, I sorta expected him to grab that twelve-pack and start swingin’ it around like a cutlass. But he just sat for a while and looked at me. Well, I guess I was kinda doin’ that that to him too, but, y’know.”
Scout paused, looking over at Sniper expectantly. “You gonna interrupt me again?”
“D’you want me to?”
“Heck, Sniper,” Scout turned at jabbed his pointer finger in Sniper’s face. “Someone oughta point a gun at your frickin’ head. Shoot some sense into it.”
“Finish your damn story.”
“Right, so we’se was havin’ our little starin’ contest and I finally decided to just grab his damn 12-pack and book it. I take the handle, but he grabs my wrist and pulls me hard. He’s bigger than me, so I sorta stumble. So then I realize that this guy’s lookin’ for a fight. I’m always down for one’a those, so I kick ‘im as hard as I can in his side. He lets go of my wrist and there’s frickin’ blood on it. Like, he grabbed it so hard that it made me bleed.”
Scout took another look at the sky. Still no damn meteors. Sniper was a goddamn lying son of a bitch.
“I says to myself ‘this guy’s really askin’ for it’, so I remember I’m still holdin’ the beer he was sippin’ on and smash it over his head. Only that didn’t do much else than scratch ‘im up and make ‘im mad. So I grab that Charlestown briefcase and whack ‘im in the head. I get ‘im real good. Real good. I hear a gross, like, crack. I drop the beers and look at the mess I made.”
Scout glanced at the sky. “There’s no goddamn shooting stars out here, you liar.”
“Finish your damn story.”
“Fine. I look at the fella I just whooped and he’s not movin’. My little scuffles never went this far, so I kinda started freakin’ out. My ma’s at home, waiting for me to come home for supper, and I’m out knockin’ some skeeze. I look at ‘im, and he’s so still. He’s not movin’ at all. I put my hand on his neck and he ain’t breathin’. I start thinkin’ to myself ‘heck, I must’a killed the sorry son of a shit’.”
Scout shivered a little. He rubbed his arms. “So I– you know what I do?” He chuckled under his breath. “I–” He choked on a laugh. “I take this guy and I lay ‘im down. I drape his shitty little blanket over ‘im and I cover his face with his arm. I even– you know what I do? I grab a couple’a beers from the pack and I crack ‘em open ‘n empty ‘em out. I placed ‘em around and really made it look like he drank himself silly. Like, wicked bombed. I stuffed the beers that were left in my jacket’s inside pockets.” He waved his hands as he spoke, grinning and giggling throughout.
Scout leaned back. “And after, I just go home for supper. Sure, I’m lookin’ over my shoulder for cruisers the whole way back, but I just go home like nothing happened. My ma made Shepherd’s pie and I ate it like I didn’t just kill someone.”
Scout craned his neck to look for shooting stars. “I passed by that alley every day after that. Every day, I looked down it and saw that guy was still there. Still sleepin’. After two weeks– two goddamn weeks– I finally see three fellas carry out a trash bag on a stretcher. It took ‘em two goddamn stinkin’ weeks to figure out that guy was dead.”
They sat in silence for a moment. Scout scoured the sky for any glimpse of a shooting star. The sky disappointed him. He huffed into his hands, hoping to warm them even slightly. The moon was barely visible from behind the grey clouds.
“Your turn.” Scout smirked, looking over to Sniper.
Sniper put up his hand. “Nah.”
Scout’s legs swung wildly over the edge of the van. “I bet,” he started. “You cried like a pink little naked baby the first time you killed someone.”
“Whatever you say, Scout.”
“No, no, really.” He stretched his hands out in front of himself. “I can see it now. ‘Boo-hoo, oi, why did I kill that bloody wanker? Oh, boo-hoo! The poor bogan’s bung, oi, boo-hoo!’ ”
Sniper stifled a laugh. “You sound like a dinky-di Aussie.”
Scout smiled and leaned back. “So? Was I close?”
“Yeah, yeah, somethin’ like that.”
Scout leaned back and looked back up at the sky. There were fewer clouds now. The moon seemed to illuminate the area. The stars were still. They stared into Scout’s eyes mockingly. He laid down, legs dangling, hands under his head.
“Why haven’t we seen any shootin’ stars yet?”
“Maybe,” Sniper laid down next to him, legs dangling, hands under his head. “I just wanted an excuse to talk to ya.”
“Man, really?” Scout sat up. “There aren’t gonna be any shootin’ stars?”
Sniper waved his hand. “I didn’t say that.”
“But that’s what you meant, huh?” Scout leaned over him. “What did you mean?”
But he didn’t say anything. Scout only waited a moment before he ripped the hat off of Sniper’s head and slammed it over his face.
“Aw, hell!” Sniper exclaimed in shock.
“‘Hell’ yourself! Golly, Snipes! What did’ja mean by that, huh? Snipes?”
Sniper grabbed Scout’s arms, trying to pull his hands off of his face. “Oi, get off me!”
“What did’ja mean?”
Scout pushed the hat on his face harder. “Augh!” Scout let a giggle escape his mouth. “Okay, okay!”
Scout relented, pulling the hat off his face. Sniper huffed and ran a hand through his hair. They sat together, catching their breath and straightening themselves out.
“Did’ja just wanna look at the stars with me? Is that it?”
“Uh,” Sniper felt himself get hot. “Yeah.”
Scout scooted closer. “Aw, heck, Snipes. You could’a just said that! Here I was, thinkin’ I was gonna have shootin’ stars fallin’ outta my ears! Heck, Snipes, you could’a just said you wanted to shoot the shit. I’m always up for shootin’ some shit with you.”
“Yeah.” Sniper grinned. “Yeah, you’re right.”