by Brian Ewing
“Did you fix my toilet that keeps running yet?”
“No.”
“Then, no.”
“Sisto, c’mon. Get these fucking people off my back!”
“You want me to help you get your bosses to stop forcing you to do your job?”
“Exactly.”
“Fuck off, Dave.”
The curse word sent a jagged chill through the man, which caused Sisto to wonder if Dave would be shortly turning into a zombie and have to be taken out.
“Sisto, I will make a deal with you. If you show up, I will not only fix your toilet but get the windows facing the fire escape tinted so it stops cooking you alive in the summer?”
“Deal. You can also take my car down to the car wash today.”
“You own a car?” Dave sounded astounded.
“You charge me every quarter to keep it parked in that shitbox outside, Asshole.”
Sisto handed his keys to the drug addict and turned away before Dave could say anything, making his way with Ama through the properly lit hallway.
Leaving the building, they turned left and walked to the gated parking lot where Ama and Sisto’s cars were located. The two walked towards Ama’s shiny Jet-Black SUV and as the car audibly unlocked due to the key fab in Ama’s hand, Sisto glanced over at his ancient relic. The 1993 Honda Accord with a stereo being held in place by two energy drink cans, had a sad layer of dirt and grime on it. It had not been moved since last year when SCPD had it towed away from the crime scene where Sisto experienced his own death. Bell had come to pick up Sisto after he survived the encounter with Carson Vinnova, ending in Vinnova’s demise, which was another first for Sisto.
He had never and hoped to never again find the need to kill anyone. While Vinnova was sick and deserved what he got, it wasn’t a good feeling for Sisto. The two got in the car and as Ama started it, Sisto’s Bluetooth connected to the car first. Ama frowned and looked at her passenger.
“When your phone connects before mine, we have a problem. I have been driving you around way too much.”
“What’s wrong with my playlist?”
“It’s chaotic. There is no rhyme or reason to it.”
That was fair. Sisto had a playlist that scattered from ’70s rock to Motown, to ’90s R&B, to punk rock, and much more. Run-DMC just wrapped up Rock Box and Tom Petty’s Breakdown intro started. Sisto looked at Ama and shook his shoulders in acceptance.
“IHOP?” She muttered, after giving up on the fact her vehicle chose Sisto over here.
“Is there anywhere else?” Sisto answered, only half-joking.
The wait wasn’t too bad, considering it was a weekend. Sisto hadn’t been to IHOP in weeks. He always felt his best work was processed sitting in one of those blue vinyl booths, his office away from the office. He had been so busy getting physically drained from SWAT training, and mentally drained from the task force, he simply hadn’t found the time. It was one of the key stops Sisto had written down on his agenda for the day. He and Ama allowed a family to skip ahead of them, as Sisto insisted on waiting for the corner booth in his regular server’s section to open. Finally sitting, it was barely a minute before Amy, the waitress Sisto had grown accustomed to being served by, approached the table.
“Well, well, I thought you found yourself a new breakfast hangout!” the cheery woman with the Southern twang exclaimed, acting genuinely happy to see Sisto’s face.
“Morning, Amy. C’mon there is no better place than here. I’ll start with a coffee with hazelnut creamer and Sweet & Low, please. My lovely companion will have a Green—.”
“How do you know I want tea?” Ama asked, poorly masking a smirk. She looked over to Amy, “I’ll have a Green Tea, thanks.”
“I know you can read me like a book Navarro, but you do have your staples and Green Tea is one of them.”
“I have preferences, but you literally have a problem with change.”
“That’s not true. I can roll with the punches.”
“I have seen you roll with the punches. It’s not pretty.”
“Name one time I had a problem with change.” Sisto challenged her.
She scoffed at the request. “Are you kidding me? You own a thirty-year-old car. You only own two jackets. You can afford a mansion but haven’t moved from our dilapidated apartment that always seems like it’s on the verge of being condemned. You drink whiskey but only if it is Jameson. On top of these few examples off the top of my mind…we are here at IHOP. The only place you eat breakfast.”
These external observations may have been true but held no weight with Sisto. He liked what he liked.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He replied as they both smiled jokingly.
Amy appeared like a ninja, setting down their drinks. She took her loose silver-infused golden locks behind her ear, then pulled her notepad out.
“So, you sweethearts ready to order?” she asked, looking to Ama first.
“I will have an order of the Veggie Omelet with hash browns and a side of salsa, please.”
“Oh, nice choice with that salsa! And for you, sir?”
Amy always called him sir, even when Sisto repeatedly asked her to call him Sisto.
“I will just have the breakfast crepes and hash browns, please.”
“Oh, darling, I am so sorry. They actually updated the menu recently and took that along with a few other items off.” Amy replied with years of perfected empathy behind her voice.
What in the unholy fuck is happening? Sisto asked himself, careful to not show his hand, as he could feel Ama’s eyes scanning his face.
“They took away the breakfast crepes?”
“Yeah, I am so sorry. We do have an omelet that has bacon and that cheese sauce if you want to try that?”
Sure, while you are at it why don’t you just spoon feed me garbage, Amy?
“Oh, yeah, no big deal. That sounds great. You know what, I think I will have a side of salsa as well.” Sisto stated, forcing ease into his disappointment.
Both he and Ama handed the menus to Amy and she scurried to a terminal to enter their order. Sisto, feeling the sensation of panic flood his palette, focused on the coffee, opening two hazelnut creamers, and stirring in the flavoring along with one packet of Sweet & Low. He blew on the steaming cup and sipped, trying to force out the taste of Italian dressing that started coating the back of his throat. The Reels reminded Sisto that he may not have been as easygoing as he portrayed, as Italian dressing was a cross-wired sense associated with panic. He set his cup down, accidentally making eye contact with Ama, whose smile was ear to ear. Her eyebrow and labret piercing glimmered off the rising sunlight through the window, giving her dark eyeshadow contrast and her normally dark eyes a tint of burnt honey.
“What?” Sisto asked. “I am perfectly fine with change.”
CHAPTER 12
Following the brunch, Andrick was invited to ride with Mason and his entourage as they left Findlay towards Mustain. They would go most of the day until arriving at camp in the Sienna Grove National Park. A straight shot to Mustain was about thirteen hours away and no one in the group was in any rush. The national park campground was added to the list of collective stops last minute. In years prior, the event would go from Findlay to Delmont, then over to Mustain. Apparently, one of the leaders of the event coordinated with the rangers of the park, brokering a deal for some publicity with the local news station to do a piece on the travelers. When Andrick heard about the new stop, he got goosebumps, as he had not been in the woods since his junior year of high school. The peace and relaxation Andrick felt all morning started to dissipate as he felt a slight tapping start to form on the back of his neck.
The first few hours of the ride, Andrick had been riding on autopilot. His mind was elsewhere, buried in the fact that Tappy had never made a reappearance so close from a recent kill, two kills for that matter.
God damn you, Tappy. You greedy, greedy thing. Why can’t you let me rest? I hold pride in m
y work, but we have to be careful. Too many kills leaves too many clues.
The internal one-sided debate kept Andrick occupied until everyone pulled aside to get gas. There were a handful of bars and restaurants on the strip they pulled into and it was agreed the majority of the group would go eat lunch and head out in an hour. Mason invited Andrick to join him and the boys, which Andrick could tell Mole was not very pleased about. Andrick didn’t like to shit where he ate, sort of speak, but if Mole presented a problem, Andrick would have no hesitation about resolving it. In fact, the thought of choking Mole with his own wallet chain gave Andrick a tickle in his throat.
Mason entered a bar called Jammy’s, followed by Freddy, Mole, Rug, and finally Andrick. The men went to a table, grabbing their menus from the vacant hostess-stand along the way. Sitting down, Andrick’s focus was on Tappy’s unquenched thirst for death. Andrick loved to kill and the kill was not the problem. The problem was the severity and intensity throbbing behind his skull. How was he supposed to be thorough and avoid capture when he had less and less time between kills? His internal debate was cut short as the waitress came up and got the men’s drink order. Breaking free of his thoughts, he ordered an iced tea.
“Fucking tea?” Mole started in.
“You have something against tea?” Andrick asked, becoming tired of delivering false pleasantries.
“Not at all, if you have a vagina,” Mole said, belting into a laugh.
The men surrounding him chuckled but had not been nearly as abrasive as Mole was displaying.
“No offense, Mason.” Andrick politely looked in the leader’s direction. “Do you mind if I take care of this situation?”
Not sure if he was serious, Mole looked around the table with a grin from shock, plastered around his face that someone like Andrick would even attempt to stand up to him. All eyes led to Mason, who looked back at Mole to assess his next move.
“Mole, chill out.” Mason scolded the greasy-haired vagrant.
Mole huffed from across the table, standing out of his chair. Mason tapped Andrick’s left forearm, indicating he had the approval to stand up for himself. At that moment, it looked like Mason had been smarter than Andrick had assumed. Mason wanted to see what Andrick was made of and unfortunately for Mole, Andrick was plum empty on his polite factor. Mole approached Andrick with all the rage of a bull. Andrick read the man and chose to play into that rage. Seeing the man with his right shoulder pulling back to release a punch, Andrick remained calm, dodging to the side, like waving the muleta held by a bullfighter before removing it last minute. As Mole missed his target, his momentum left him off-kilter, giving Andrick an easy opportunity to knee the man in the crotch.
Mole curled into a fetal position on the ground next to the table. Assuming his friends would back him up, he slowly rose to see his brothers-in-arms giggling like middle schoolers that had pulled up a Jackass video on YouTube. Mole, protecting his eggs, hobbled back to his seat and shut up the rest of lunch. He glared at Andrick, not with distaste, but pure hate. Andrick sat across from him and ate his rare burger with fries, staring at the embarrassed man the entire time.
Tap, Tap.
Indeed, Andrick thought. Mole very well may fall victim to a freak accident.
CHAPTER 13
“Are you serious?” Ama inquired.
“Absolutely,” Sisto said, believing the words with every ounce of his being.
“You’re telling me,” she paused, trying to visualize how the process would work, “if I punched you hard enough in the armpit, you would shit yourself?”
Nodding furiously, Sisto replied, “Yes, swear to God! I saw something online about it. There is a nerve that runs down the body and if you uppercut someone in the armpit with all your force, you can literally make them shit their pants.”
The elderly woman standing in front of them at the thrift store checkout line whipped her head around in disgust. She huffed but didn’t reply to the vulgar imagery, took her bag, and stormed off. Sisto looked back at Ama, who had a devilish smile on her, then proceeded to interact with the cashier who had a look of intrigue on her face as she rung up their items. The younger lady, who seemed to have some sort of jaw problem based on the way she couldn’t chew her gum with her mouth closed, grabbed a beat-to-hell pair of black boots, a used surgical-grade knee brace and arm sling, worn leather sheath with a three-inch curved knife called a karambit and rang them up. Ama had also found some skull rings that she picked out for Sisto to add to his hardcore look.
“$31.54.” The woman, who wore a nametag that said Dolly and chewed like a barnyard animal, said to Sisto and Ama.
“I love the thrift store,” Sisto exclaimed, as he pulled out his black metal Amex card.
“You going to a Halloween party or something?” Dolly inquired.
“Or something,” Ama replied on Sisto’s behalf.
Dolly gave Sisto his receipt and grazed his hand as he took the paper, activating an unwelcome movie presentation from The Reels.
Sisto was yanked out of the thrift shop and immediately placed in a run-down apartment living room. Emotions crashed into his heart as the memory holder he was in, was crying profusely. The audio was dim but coherent since the conversation had involved screaming on both sides. Sisto felt his lungs inhale then belt out an ungodly amount of beratement. The tone while muffled, was clearly a woman, presumably Dolly. From what Sisto gathered, it seemed that Dolly had confronted her boyfriend about cheating. He was on his knees swearing up and down she was making it up in her head. Between the sobs, Sisto constructed her reply to be something along the lines of Look me in the eye and tell me you love me and that you aren’t cheating on me.
Sisto, courtesy of The Reels’ privacy invasion, saw through Dolly’s eyes, her boyfriend look right at her. The memory got quiet, probably similar to the actual event, as Dolly shut her raging mouth and listened to hear what she wanted. Sisto couldn’t make out all the words, but after a few sentences, he felt Dolly’s rigid muscles start to loosen. He felt the foreign heartbeat start to calm. He felt her warm tears run down his face as if they were his own. He saw her feminine arms extend out towards the kneeling man to embrace him. They hugged, the boyfriend’s head in her chest, Sisto’s chest for the time being, and nuzzled in tight. He stood from his bent position and grabbed her face before kissing her. Quiet as anything, Sisto could make out the last words the boyfriend said before going in for a kiss.
“I love you, Dolly. I didn’t and wouldn’t ever cheat on you. You have to believe me.”
Sisto was released from The Reels, blinking to see both Ama and Dolly waiting on him to grab his items and quit blocking the checkout lane.
“Dolly, I got some bad news.”
“How do you know my name?” The young woman got immediately apprehensive.
Sisto pointed to the nametag. She looked down and took in a sigh of relief.
“Your boyfriend, the scrawny wifebeater-shirt wearing guy with a poor excuse of a mustache? He is cheating on you.”
The woman, who hadn’t stopped jaw-jacking her gum since they walked in the building, stopped and let her mouth drop open.
“What? How do you know Perry?”
“He looks like a Perry.” Sisto nodded sadly. “You see, I sort-of have a gift. I know you were in a fight recently and he swore up and down he wasn’t cheating on you and this and that, right?”
Not understanding how a stranger knew a private conversation in her apartment living room, Dolly just simply nodded.
“Well, when Perry was confessing his devotion to you, his lips were tight.”
Dolly stared, not knowing how to respond. Sisto looked to his left, to see Ama looking more intrigued than anything, so he continued.
“Not only that but as he told you he had never cheated on you his eye-contact broke.”
“Are you peeping on me and my boyfriend?” Dolly got lost in the thought that the man in front of her may have been some sort of voyeur.
“No, but even if
I were, it seems more is going on out of the apartment, than in,” Sisto said, harsher than intended. “Last thing, when he told you he loved you so much, he blinked…like, a lot. I have taken extensive studies on micro-expressions and have to say in my opinion, Perry is out playing a few rounds of Hide the Penis, while you are at work. Sorry to be the bearer of bad news.”
Sisto grabbed the bag full of junk and he and Ama headed back to the SUV to continue the escapades of the day.
“That was mortifying,” Ama stated, as the two got in on each side of the recently detailed black vehicle.
“I don’t ask to see these things. I felt her hurt, her pain. She deserved to know the truth.”
“I don’t get it,” Ama said, changing the subject after pondering a moment. “You have a magic black card with millions of dollars on it and you are making me take you to a thrift store? Why not just get these items new, at least you know they are clean?”
Ama was referring to his inherited wealth, due to the untimely demise of his family’s brutal murder.
“First of all, I got everything I needed for my attire right here. Fitz told me that he had an extra vest, or cut, or whatever the cool kids call it, for me. It was from his days as a prospect, so it’s in mint condition, only seventy-five years old, I’m sure.”
Ama frowned, “Fitz is so fucking nice, and he loves hanging out with you. Why are you talking shit?”
Sisto wanted to explain that Fitz making googly eyes at Ama was not acceptable in his mind, as he had growing feelings for her. Not feelings he could act on at the current time, but selfish feelings that made him feel like a kid in grade school hating the guy that was going after an innocent crush he may have had.
“I am not talking shit. Fitz is always trying to be my buddy and I am not used to being chummy with people like that anymore.”
She reviewed his face before speaking, “I am supposed to have dinner with him tonight, so please, let’s get going to wherever we need to go next.”
“What in the holy hell do you mean you are having dinner with him?” Sisto asked.
