Click here for the previous installment of Dabney Coleman erotic fan fiction, ‘More Than I Bargained For’ and ‘Enter the Alpha Dog‘.
With LeDoux dead, and Gene Hackman choppered off to get his arm reattached, we stood alone, Dabney and I. His daughter was safe, but that was of little consolation. As we stood on the abandoned South Carolina road, a blacked-out Range Rover and two black Suburbans came barreling towards us, spitting up dust.
“Are you coming with me?” Dabney asked with a thousand-yard stare into the distance? “We can get you wherever you need to go.”
“No thank you, Dabney,” I said. “Trouble has a way of sniffing you out. I’m going to wait for the police.”
“Suit yourself. And at the risk of stating the obvious, I’d prefer it if you left my name out of the conversations with police and federal agents. We’ve had a rocky relationship over the years, and I’d like to just go my own way. I’m sure you understand.” He trailed off as he said that last part.
Grabbing my arm, I scanned the horizons for another sign of life. I saw none. “Yeah, I figured you were going to say that. I can keep my mouth shut about you. I was planning on it.”
“You’re a good friend, Penn,” Dabney said, staring deep into my eyes.
“Likewise, Dabs. Though you’re a dangerous one as well.” With that, we both started laughing, softly at first, then uproariously as a way of coping what we’d been through. The gunshot wounds, the kidnapping of Dabney’s daughter, Evangeline Lily’s violent death at the hands of Dabney and that bloodied cinder block. We couldn’t go another ten feet if we tried. This was the end of the line for us.
As the car pulled up, Dabney and I participated in a nine-step handshake that we both kept up with very nicely, then gave each other bro hugs before he found his way back to the Range Rover. I stood in the middle of the road, with nothing to do but wait for the police.
No sooner did I think that than a black helicopter cleared the tree line and came towards us. Finally the police had arrived.
Dabney looked up at the sky and said, “Run! Those aren’t the police!” He jumped into his SUV and took off for about twenty seconds, until, almost simultaneously, the Suburbans bookending this caravan were hit with missiles and exploded.
I watched, frozen. Of course, being the good friend that I am, my first instinct was to jump out of the frying pan and into the fire. But after taking to quick steps to come to Dabney’s aid. I froze. A million things were going through my mind, but only one stuck: I wanted to go home.
With that, I made a heel turn, then started ambling down the road, not even turning back at the secondary explosions caused by the gas tanks. I put on my sunglasses and tossed my pistol to the side of the road. I walked for about five miles before the sun started to set. Off to the side of the road was a creek. Very thirsty, I walked over to the perimeter and reached down with my hand, splashing water on my face and neck.
I looked down at the rippling water. I could see the general shape of my reflection, but the man that stood before me was unrecognizable. It’s then that I realized that the warped reflection was a metaphor. That I could no longer be the man I used to be. I had just walked away from my best friend in the face of danger, never thinking twice about it.
I read two days later in the Washington Post that Dabney Coleman had died of a heart attack. I didn’t believe that for a second. He faked his death to get back under the radar, so that he can continue to exist. But that article made me wonder if he actually was dead, to me. Would I ever see him again? Would he want to see me after I abandoned him. Though I acted out of selfishness, I like to think that Dabney would understand. He chose this life for himself, not me. I did the best I could, but I don’t have the steel constitution to make this a lifestyle.
Though my fear is that I’ll never see Dabney again, or worse, that the heart attack story was real, if I was a betting man, I would put money on the fact that I’m not done with Dabney Coleman just yet. He has a way of sucking you in to whatever mess he’s made for himself.
And I can’t wait to be a part of it.