Oh, uh, I, uhm, er, I, uh,
I guess I don't need those.
— Faux Innocence
Steve was one of my most memorable first dates.
Memorable? Yeah, that's definitely the right word.
He picked me up after work at The Shady Lady. We were supposed to be going out for pizza and pinball, which could have been fun, but I'll never know, because other things happened. Mostly to him.
We were on our way to Needza Pizza when he parked the car in front of a warehouse in a bad part of town.
"What's up, Steve?"
"I gotta do a thing," he said. "It'll only take a sec. Wanna come with?"
I looked at the building we were parked in front of. It wasn't just a warehouse. It was an abandoned warehouse, and that extra word matters.
"I think I'm good here. In the car."
"Cool. Back in a sec."
As he opened the door, he reached behind the passenger seat to grab a large paper bag that looked heavier than it had any reason to be.
"Oh, God," I thought. "I'm an idiot. Steve's a drug dealer. And he's not dealing pot."
I watched him walk toward the abandoned warehouse, and it seemed obvious this was going to end badly.
He knocked on a door.
It opened.
A few arms reached out to yank his skinny ass in, like a cartoon character being pulled offstage by a giant cane.
YOINK!
The door slammed shut.
"I guess Steve's getting jumped."
Then nothing.
More nothing.
Eventually, the door opened again.
Five guys came running out.
Steve wasn't one of them.
They piled into a pale brown van and peeled out, which meant it was time for me to go into that warehouse and find out what was left of Steve.
Sure enough, he was a crumpled up mess, lying on a concrete floor covered in dirt and crushed glass. One of his eyes was mostly shut. The other one looked up at me as he said, "Can't... breathe."
I said, "Yeah, well. Air is for guys who actually do take their dates out for pizza. But you had to make a pitstop first. How'd that work out for ya?"
"Got... jacked."
"No shit."
"Can't... breave."
"Let's count the number of ways you messed this up. You arranged a drug deal at an abandoned warehouse. At night. You didn't scope the place first. You didn't bring backup. And you made matters worse by bringing me, so I could bear witness to your epic mother fucking disaster."
"Cah't ... bweave."
"And whose fault is that?"
"Need... hewp."
"It's hospital time, bro. Can you get up?"
"Don't... know."
"God, I suck at dating."
"Thorry."
"Thuck you, Thteve."
I drove him to the emergency room and filled out the forms because his right hand was definitely, and perhaps permanently, messed up. His right arm, too. And his left leg. Probably a lung, too.
"What's your address?"
"Thithfeen oh theven Thrankwin Terrethe..."
"Oh, for fuck's sake. I have no idea what you're saying. Just give me your driver's license."
His jaw was swelling up. He must have taken one right to the choppers.
By this point, I'd had enough.
"Look, man, you're gonna be here a while, and I never got any pizza. 'I hope you're hungry,' you said. Remember? Watching you bleed really works up an appetite, so I'm taking your car to get food. If you're lucky, I'll bring you back something you can ingest through a straw. Buh-bye."
What the hell was I thinking, going on a date with a guy my age who drives a Jag? Of course he's a drug dealer. And an idiot. His car should have a vanity plate that says "ROB MEH."
Steve ruined my night.
He bled on my sweater, so he probably ruined that too.
But he had money.
And better still, I had his keys and I knew where he lived. I wasn't going there without gloves though. I don't know how much of that TV detective show stuff is real, but there's an easy way to not find out.
First stop? Walgreens. I picked up some rubber gloves, a pair of slippers, obnoxiously-yellow-rimmed reading glasses, and a box of condoms.
Why condoms? So I could act like an idiot in front of the cashier.
"Oh, uh, I, uhm, er, I, uh, I guess I don't need those."
If you're gonna do something suspicious, do something innocently ridiculous as a distraction. Just in case.
If the cashier remembered anything about our interaction, she'd remember a chick in an inside-out sweater who was too shy to buy condoms. And if I ran into anybody at Steve's place, all they'd remember is fuzzy slippers and stupid yellow glasses, which would be a whole bunch of what the fuck.
Also, the slippers meant there'd be no chance of shoe prints.
Leave no trace.