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The Legend of Eddie and Lola


(page 4 of 8)

Eddie you shouldn’t have shot Freddy. I told you not to shoot Freddy. We cant go on like this. I have to leave. Signed Lola.

Lola mentioned that in movies, when robbing liquor stores or banks, people sometimes wore pantyhose on the heads. Eddie would hear none of it. That kind of thing was for perverts, he said.

They eventually decided against the masks. There wouldn’t be much point in having your pictures in the papers and on TV if you were wearing a mask. It made no sense. It was eventually decided that Eddie would go into the store and do the business while Lola waited in the car with the engine running. Eddie was not to shoot anyone. Unless he had to, of course. They were rebels. Renegades. Saviors of the oppressed...not outright killers. But if anyone were foolish enough to make the mistake of fucking with them...bang!

Then Lola noticed something. She suddenly realized the guy currently standing behind the counter at Henry’s Liquors was not Jimmy (the dirty little bastard who refused to cash Lola’s checks), as they had hoped and expected. No. It was Freddy. It was Freddy Bower who they saw through the windows of the store. It was Freddy who stood behind the counter, staring, apparently, into space. Not Jimmy at all. This was an unfortunate development. Freddy and Lola used to be sweethearts. Before Lola and Eddie. Eddie and Lola still fought about Freddy on a regular basis. Eddie didn’t like the way Freddy looked at Lola when they went into Henry’s Liquors for booze or cigarettes. He didn’t like the way they made eyes at each other at the Sunday barbecues. One time a few months earlier Eddie came home from the pretzel factory to find Freddy’s hat sitting on their kitchen table. Lola said that Freddy had stopped by to borrow something, a flashlight. Eddie only half believed her.

Lola became upset when she saw that it was Freddie behind the counter instead of Jimmy. “Shit,” she said. “Shit. It’s Freddy...”

“So?” Eddie said. Eddie didn’t care that it was Freddy behind the counter. In fact, he was glad. He imagined the look on Freddy’s dumbass face when Eddie shoved his shotgun into it. Freddy would probably get fired, after letting Eddie and Lola make off with all the money and booze and cigarettes. Eddie imagined Freddy’s boss screaming at him, telling him, once and for all, what a useless fuckup he truly was. Eddie smiled to himself, thinking about it.

“Maybe we better come back tomorrow,” Lola said, “when Freddy isn’t here.”

Eddie quickly pointed out that it was too late for that. They had trashed the trailer, had written “FUCK YOU” on the walls with Lola’s lipstick...there was no turning back. They were on the verge of a grand new chapter of their lives. What did it matter if it was Jimmy or Freddy? They would never see either one of them again.

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About William Taylor Jr

William Taylor Jr. lives in San Francisco. His latest collection of poetry, Broken When We Got Here, was released by Epic Rites Press in 2013. The Blood of a Tourist, a book of new poems is forthcoming from Sunnyoutside Press in November 2014. Right now, he should be sleeping, but isn't.


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