I press Vic’s number. Come on, answer. Be there. Be there.
“Hello?” Her lovely voice.
“Vic! My God! You won’t believe what’s happened. You will. I know you will.”
“Jack? Listen, can you call me back. I’m in the middle of a meeting.”
“Are you serious? Vic, my life is coming apart right now. As we speak. The Indians have betrayed me! They’re after me right now and I’m hiding out wearing homeless man attire which...Vic I think there’s things crawling on me. I’m going to puke. They blew up my car! They fucking blew up my car and said I tried robbing their bank. Vic! And they stole my clothes!”
“Okay, calm down. Where are you?”
I swallow. I can’t breathe. Every time I do I inhale bum aroma.
A car enters the parking garage. I peek through the windows and it’s a fucking cop! He’s driving slow, flashlights targeting the shadows. They’re looking for me. And he’s coming around the corner.
I go limp. I curl my head in the stench of the jacket and pretend to be really, really down on my luck, which isn’t hard to pull off.
I actually feel the weight of the cop’s flashlight as it lays on me. The car stops. The light feels over my body, pinching the folds and crusts of the clothes, and then the car moves on. My heart is going into convulsions. My lungs are on breakdown.
“Vic,” I whisper. “You have to come get me. I’m in disguise but I don’t think I’ll make it out of here.”
“Okay, where are you?”
“On Terrace, somewhere, parking garage. Across from Tenth I think.”
“Okay. Give me twenty minutes, can you?”
“Fuck! Okay.”
#
...the longest twenty minutes of my life. Actually longer than that. Twenty-six minutes and thirty seven seconds to be precise. I see her car drive up, slowly, and hear her voice whispering out. Tide. Tide!
I stand up like one of the dead rising from the ground.
“Jack,” Vic says as we drive out into the main street, “roll down your window. Here.” She digs into the glove box and sprays me with perfume. It doesn’t help.
I wince as it hits my eyes.
“Jesus! Jack! You look like you had the hell beat out of you! Are you-where are your fingernails?”
“The Indians have them.”
We pass by the bank. Six cop cars parked out front have their lights flashing. I see that bastard Cochran talking to one of them. He’s shrugging and scratching his head.
“Do the cops know your name?”
“I don’t know.” I tell her exactly what happened and she’s silent.
“Where am I taking you? Home?”
“No, to Kirkland,” I tell her. “I have to go to class.” It’s ten fifteen. I have fifteen minutes to make it to Pauletto’s class.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Vic says.
“It’s my mid-term. I have to be there or I’m going to fail the class. Fifty percent of our grade is on this test.”
“Yeah but, Jack. Considering the events that have just taken place...”
“I have to.”
We drive.
“Raven,” she says. “Do you even know who that is?”
“I haven’t a fucking idea and I don’t really care.”
“Sunset said that, right? They want to kill Raven.” She sounds pissed. She sounds like they wanted to kill the President of the United States or something.
“That’s what he said. Doesn’t make sense. I walked right into that fucking trap. Goddamn it.”
She’s silent. Her hands are firmly on the steering wheel and her knuckles are white.
“Vic.”
“Hold on,” she says. “I’m thinking. Jesus fuck, Jack. You’ve really outdone yourself this time. Why the fuck didn’t you listen to me? To ValVerde? Oh, man, if he was still alive he’d fucking have your balls in a grinder. Shit!” she slams the steering-wheel. “Shit, shit, shit!”
We drive in silence.
“I think there’s some Tylenol in the glove compartment,” she says.
It’s ten-thirty. Class has started. Danielle is sitting at her desk with her head down, scribbling in answers with her number two pencil. I have to get there. I know this test. I know the subject matter. I can fucking ace it.
My body aches. My fingers feel like helium balloons of noxious pain about to burst and my head is a fever of stench. I’m wearing soggy boxers and clothes that are stiff and crusty and welts are beginning to tug on my cheeks. Fuck this day sucks!
Victoria pulls into the campus at eleven-o-five. Traffic was a fucking bitch.
“You want me to wait?” she asks.
“Yes. Please. It won’t take me long. I know this shit.”
“I know you do,” she says. She’s calmed down a lot. Her face is still strained from stress though. She looks beautiful. “Okay. Ace it.”
I walk into Pauletto’s class and there’s only one other student left. He’s sitting at the table with his head down, furiously writing.
Pauletto looks up from the book she’s reading (How to Survive Divorce in the New Millennium) and scowls, then her eyes pop open as she sees my wardrobe.
“Mister Tide,” she says, “you’re late. And you...” she sniffs the air and shakes her head.
“Hi,” I tell her, award winning smile. Nothing’s wrong. “I’m sorry. Had a rough start today. Where’s the test?”
She frowns. Her lips are pulled down towards the center of the earth, that’s what kind of frown she gives me.
“Jack, I can’t allow you to take the test. You knew the rules. You had to be on time.”
“What? Are you serious? Look at my freakin hand!” I hold up my crimson stained fingers. To give her credit she takes a moment to pause.
“Yes, I’m afraid so.”
“Bullshit. I know this test! I can ace it. Mrs. Pauletto-“
“Ms.” she says. “I’m sorry. If you feel the rules, as outlined in your syllabus, are unfair, you can take it up with the dean. Unless you can provide me with a very, very valid excuse.”
“I...” what can I tell her? The truth?
The kid (Marcus I think his name is) finishes his test. He walks by me and deposits the test on Ms. Pauletto’s desk. He gives me a sad look and leaves. Fuck him!
Mrs. (Ms.!) Pauletto sits there staring at me, her book closed in her lap.
“I was kidnapped and tortured by Indians in the basement of a large Seattle building that rendered cell phones useless then escaped but they gave chase so I accosted a homeless man’s clothes and I have returned.” Gasp.
She shakes her head. “You can take it up with the dean, Mister Tide.”
“Hell yes.” Oh fuck yes I will. I leave.
“Wow, that was quick,” Vic says.
I get in and sulk.
“What happened?” she asks.
“Surly woman won’t let me take the test, that’s what. Because I was late.”
Victoria sighs. “You could teach that class, Jack. Who does that clam-bake think she is?”
“The Queen of Everything I guess.”
“Screw her!”
“That’s exactly right!” I agree. “I could teach that class. I am the fucking Renaissance. Fucking Pauletto!”
“Go kill her,” Victoria says.
“I can’t. No one’s paid me.”
Victoria reaches into her purse and slaps a twenty dollar bill on the dash. “There. Go kill her.”
I smile.
She laughs.
“Maybe next time.”
Victoria starts her car and we leave.
“Where are we going?” I ask when we pass the exit to my place.
“My place,” Vic says. “I’m going to make a few calls and make sure your apartment’s safe. If the Indians are after you they’ll try and do something to you there.”
“Are you serio
us?”
“Yes I’m serious, Jack. Listen, don’t worry. I’ll handle it. We’ll just get you... cleaned up.”
The emerald city’s blending into the skyline, swirls of gray misting around the Needle, sprinting down through the streets. Headlights catch the rain. Umbrellas blossom and spin and birds take to flight.
We’re going to Vic’s place.
To be continued….
FEROCITY Chapter Four through Eight Page 7
