by Eric Beetner
I sat on a closed toilet—hands gripping my knees and staring straight ahead. I had seen the rear of him when he undressed suddenly. Wasn’t in a rush to see the rest of the show.
Dorian sucked on a pineapple ice pop. He pulled it out of his mouth and dunked his head under the water. Came back up and grunted. “I want you to take over for Ernie.”
There was pounding coming from downstairs—Ernie’s muffled pleas. I looked out the bathroom into the hallway that went on forever. Counted six bedrooms and another bathroom on our way here. “Should we let him back in?”
Dorian shook his head. “No. Jules will keep him company.”
“Jules?” I looked to him. Kept my eyes locked on his.
Dorian straightened up and ran a hand over his wet hair. “Five years ago I was in Harlem at a special dinner.” He reached behind him for a cigar and motioned to me to grab him matches that rested on the sink.
I grabbed the matches and passed them over. “Okay.”
Dorian lit the cigar. Exhaled a thick plume of smoke over his head. “When I was leaving, a junkie ran up to me and offered me two kittens for a hundred bucks. I figured ‘why the hell not’ I’d take a look. Even if I didn’t want them, I’d give the guy a fifty for his trouble.” He pointed the lit end of the cigar at me. “Can you guess what this guy had to sell?”
I couldn’t tell if this was a trick question. “Kittens?”
Dorian laughed. “To this junkie, maybe, but no—it was cubs. Later on I’d find out this guy stole two liger cubs from some weirdo out in Long Island that trained for circuses and shows.”
“I’m sorry, liger?” I’d never heard of the animal before.
“Exactly what it sounds like. Part tiger, part lion.”
“So I assume you bought them?”
Dorian chortled. “Of course I bought them. I’d have been crazy not to—they were beautiful.”
“Why?”
Dorian watched me. He puffed at his cigar. “Who else was gonna take care of them?”
Ernie screamed again.
I turned my head towards the bay windows at the far end of the bathroom. It was a big bathroom. “Are they both out there?” I asked.
“Just Jules. His sister died last year.”
“Is he going to kill Ernie?”
Dorian stood up from his bath. I diverted my eyes. Stared a hole into the marble floor.
“Hand me the towel by the door.” His pruney hand appeared in my periphery.
I did as he instructed. Saw the plastic bag that had been filled with popsicles now filled with empty wrappers. “So you’re punishing him. He stole from you.”
Dorian toweled himself off. “He got complacent. There’s no drive to do what he needs to do.” He wrapped the towel around his waist. It threatened to fall off immediately. “I don’t see the same problem with you.”
I finally looked back to him. Felt my cheeks flush. “Why is that?”
Dorian walked out of the bathroom. “I know everything about my employees, Dave. You’ve got a lot on your plate and you like money as much as I do. Come on.” He dragged his hand over his beard. “How’s your mother?” He asked as we walked down the hall.
There seemed to be no need to lie. “Sick.”
“I’ve heard. Last year I went to visit my mother and they were carting her into the back of an ambulance—heart attack. She was dead by the time they hit the first traffic light.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Don’t patronize me. I was actually relieved.” He turned to me at the head of the stairs back down to the living room. “I didn’t have to look her in the eyes after a day of doing what I did.” Dorian placed a hand on my shoulder. “You’ll get there too. I know that.”
I wanted to punch him right there. Wanted to watch him tumble down the stairs and land neck first on the granite below—to see that tiny towel unfurl and that gut wobble around longer than he took his final breaths. “I don’t know where you get off…”
Dorian’s grip strengthened. “We’re born leaders, Dave. Guys like Ernie, they take orders. Us? We give orders under the illusion we have no control. Think about it. Every signature, all those commission checks.” He poked me with a finger. “You made that happen and each person who handed you their cash did it with a free conscience because they had the belief it was their decision.”
There was a knot in my stomach. I tasted acid at the back of my throat.
“That’s why you’re my man,” Dorian said.
I looked down the stairs. “But Ernie. He didn’t need…”
Dorian laughed. “Ernie’s fine. I fed Jules before you got here.” He descended the stairs. “Once he’s fed he likes to sit around. Only gets riled up if he’s hungry or threatened.” Dorian stopped. Made a face like he was trying to remember something. “You Korean?”
“No. Chinese.”
He seemed to mull that over. Nodded. “Good.” He continued down the stairs and walked back to the kitchen.
I followed. It was dark out now. Ernie was pressed against the glass sliding doors, his eyes wet with tears, his mouth obscured by the growing fog from his breath. Behind him, the biggest cat I’d ever seen. It sat on its haunches—tongue hanging out and head drooped. It looked like a tiger with its stripes half erased. It had a gut that hung low and a short, bushy mane. It was Dorian in animal form. The man had his own living totem.
Dorian moved back to the pile of pizzas and scooped a slice into his hand. He chewed on it happily and wandered over to the sliding doors. Opened them and let Ernie tumble back inside. Dorian walked outside and embraced the big cat. The liger leaned into him and purred as loud as a muscle car. Nuzzled its head against his gut. Dorian patted its neck and gave it a soft kiss on the top of the head before coming back inside. As soon as the sliding doors shut, Jules the liger wandered back into the tall grass—slipping in like a ghost.
Ernie sat on the kitchen floor—speechless. He tucked his knees into his chest and sniffed. He was completely still. No shrugs.
Dorian ignored him. It was as if Ernie didn’t exist anymore. A part of me wondered if Ernie was in on that too. Everything about him felt off.
I knelt beside Ernie and rested a hand on his shoulder. “Let me take you home.” I tucked my arm under his and brought him to his feet. His knees buckled. Took a lot out of me to keep him up. Any slack and he would have fallen right down—prostrate before his former employer.
Dorian sat at the kitchen table. “Seven ay-em tomorrow?” he asked me. He looked at Ernie with tired eyes.
I nodded. “Yeah, I’ll meet you at your insurance office in Parkchester.” I helped Ernie to his feet and walked him out. It was nice outside. Not hot, not cold. The crickets chirped and the leaves of the trees rustled above. Any other time and I’d have called the night perfect.
Before I closed the front door I heard Dorian call out, “Don’t be late.”
I didn’t answer—the conversation was done and Dorian struck me as the type to always have the last word.
I closed the front door behind me and got Ernie into the passenger seat of his car. Got myself into the driver’s seat and turned on the car. I let it idle a few minutes before turning on the headlights. In front of the car, I saw two pin pricks of burning embers in the grass behind the fencing that cut off the front yard from the backyard—Jules. He was more impressive from a distance and in the lights of Ernie’s car then he was when I saw him earlier.
It was then I realized why Dorian’s house wasn’t decorated to the gills. He didn’t collect items—no—Dorian was past that. He collected us—Jules, Ernie, and I.
Jules moved forward and laid near the fence, staring at the car—at me. I met his stare. Did he pity me the way I did him? We were both trained animals on a leash, the business end held by a man we didn’t necessarily have a grudge with. I laughed to myself when I questioned which one of us was really behind the bars of the gate. It was silly and I was over
thinking this. I needed the money—that much Dorian was spot on about. Medical bills had a habit of stacking at the worst times.
I watched Jules for what felt like hours. He panted and licked his chops. It was only when he finally looked away did I feel comfortable enough to pull the car onto the main pathway and out of the property. As I drove, I picked up speed. Looked into the rearview and watched Jules’ ember eyes fade away.
Back to TOC
THE HAMMER PARTY
Kent Gowran
If bad news had a face, I’d bet my left nut it would bear more than a passing resemblance to Joe Ray Hammer. I wondered if he worked on getting his face to look the way it did, but he really didn’t seem the sort to spend much time in front of the mirror, and so he probably came by his grim countenance naturally. I’d about given up waiting on him when he rounded the corner at the end of the block. His shoulders hunched against the cold, a fat cigar in his mouth, and muttering something at least bordering on obscene, judging by the looks the young women he passed gave him. I pushed myself away from the brick vestibule of a boarded up restaurant and out onto the sidewalk. He didn’t acknowledge my presence until he’d stationed himself in the small windbreak and got his cigar going again.
“Natz.”
No hello, no nothing, just my last name, like he didn’t enjoy the taste of it.
I went for friendly, mostly to irk him. “How’s the day treating you, Joe?”
“It’s for shit,” he said. He took the cigar from his mouth, looked at it a moment, and dropped it. “Probably already killed myself with those things.”
“It’s been awhile,” I said. “Any word?”
He made a grunting sound like I had to be the dumbest fucker on the block. “I didn’t call to catch up on the life and times of Carl Natz, now did I?” He rubbed his hands together, shoved them in his coat pockets, and said, “I hope you don’t have any plans for tonight.”
I did a quick mental rundown of my upcoming social calendar, and came up with nothing. “I can move things around,” I said. “What’s the word?”
“You, me, and Franco, we’re—”
I held my hand up and interrupted him. “Which Franco?”
“How’s that?”
“Paul or Richard?”
“Paul.”
“Shit.” I didn’t like either of the Franco brothers much, but you could at least count on Richard to have your back if things got fucked up. “Too late to switch up?”
“Richard hung himself,” Joe said. “Funeral was yesterday.”
“Christ.”
“Nice funeral, so far as that goes.”
“I didn’t hear anything about it,” I said.
“I was stopping by to talk to him, see if he had any ideas, ran into Paul collecting his mail, and he told me the story.”
“What’s the story?”
“I think you’ll like it.”
“Yeah?”
“Richard tracked down the money.” He let it sink in a moment, and said, “All of our money.”
I got my head around it, and a big alarm went off almost immediately. “And he told his brother but not us,” I said.
“Paul said they were planning on going after it. The two of them.” He held up his hands, palms out, and squared his eyes with mine. “So, yeah, they were gonna cut us out, you and me, both.” He snapped his fingers. “Just like that.”
“And now it’s the three of us?”
“He’s the one who knows where it is.”
I turned away, watched a bus rumble by, and something occurred to me. “Did he do it?”
“Do what?”
“Hang Richard.”
“Ain’t nothing impossible,” Joe said. “But I don’t think so. It was a turn of good luck for us that I came along. Can you imagine Paul even trying to track down either of us? Never would’ve happened.”
“He’s a weasel.”
“Sure.”
“We could get the location out of him,” I said. “Like we used to.”
Joe shook his head, and it was the first time I noticed how old he’d gotten. “No, not me. I don’t have the stomach for it anymore.” He gave me a look that said he could see I didn’t either, but I wasn’t so sure I wouldn’t make an exception in this case.
“He’s too chickenshit to lie.”
“Probably.”
It was only a word, but it carried a lot of weight. I looked out at the street, disgusted, and resigning myself to the fact I’d have to split the money three ways, a third going to a guy who’d never stuck his neck out. I let out a long sigh, made sure Joe noticed, and said, “He have any idea what happened to Romanski?”
“He’s dead, too. That’s how Richard found out where the money is. Guy was running scared, called him up in the middle of the night, and finally let it all out.”
“What happened to him?”
“Didn’t have anything to do with the money, I guess. Pissed off some people when he was inside. He gets cut loose, finds out he can’t go home because these people are on top of his shit there, and he takes off.”
It wasn’t hard to imagine a guy like Doug Romanski pissing off the sort of people who would hunt a guy down from one end of the country to the other. Running probably only made it worse. If he’d made it back home before Richard took himself out, we’d have split the money four ways, which meant splitting into thirds was a better shake, even if I wasn’t feeling good about where one portion would be going.
“Yeah, all right,” I said. “What time are we meeting?”
Joe checked his watch. “I’ll pick you up in front of Arturo’s on Western tonight at eight. Get there early enough to pick us up some tacos for the drive out.”
I should have been fucking elated at the prospect of the money finally being in my hands, but something about it didn’t sit right in my gut. I thought it was probably Richard’s death. He never seemed the type to me, but I guess that’s nothing more than a thing people tend to say whenever someone decides to exercise their prerogative. Could be splitting the money three ways had me in knots. Paul was, to my mind, coming along for the ride and collecting without having done any of the work. Goddamn leeches. Always someone who thinks they should get something for nothing, maybe by virtue of the family they were born into, or hey, I’m a good guy, give me a boatload of cash, and it’s all horseshit, but it’s the world we live in.
My train of thought was threatening to start sounding like the punk rock records I used to listen to, and, almost reluctantly, I changed tracks. By the time the sun came up again, I’d have a quarter of a million to my name, in cash, and maybe that’s strictly small time, but I started stacking the cash in my head, and I liked the look of it there. Yeah, I liked it a lot.
By the time Joe’s car rolled to a stop at the curb on the other side of Western from Arturo’s, the tacos in the bag were far past cold. I hustled across the streets, drew a few honking horns, and went around to the passenger side of the car. Paul was in the front seat, looking out at me, and nearly dropped out of the car when I yanked open the door.
“Get in the back, Franco.”
Paul looked like he wanted to protest, but Joe said, “Go on, get in the back. Let the grownups ride in the front.”
Paul mumbled something as he climbed out and I took his place in the front. I dropped the bag of tacos on the seat and slammed the door. “Freezing my ass off.”
“I had to stop for a few things,” Joe said as he dropped the car into gear and pulled away from the curb.
“Jesus,” Paul said from the backseat. “I barely had time to get the door closed.”
Joe grabbed the bag of tacos and tossed it over his shoulder. “Shut up and eat something.”
“They’re cold now,” I said.
Paul ripped into the bag. “I’m starving.”
Joe looked at me. “How’s your back doing?”
“Fine. Why do you ask?”
“Long ni
ght ahead.” He looked to the backseat. “You want to tell it?”
“Nah,” Paul said around a mouthful of food. “You can.”
Joe reached out, turned down the sports talk radio, and jerked his thumb toward the back. “Got shovels, a lantern, and some good work gloves in the trunk.”
“Gotta dig up the money, huh?”
Paul giggled. He actually giggled, and I wanted to reach back and knock his teeth out. Maybe I needed to set aside some of the cash for a bit of therapy.
“You remember the car Romanski drove off in the last time we saw him?”
Oh, I remembered it. “Yeah, a fucking Maverick.”
“He buried it.”
“Buried what?”
“The car.”
“Why the hell would he do that?”
“Doug was kinda…” Joe trailed off as he took the entrance to the expressway and pointed us toward the suburbs. “I don’t know. Funny, maybe? Might be he had a reason, could just as well be he wanted to be a pain in the ass.”
“Good thing you’ve got me along,” Paul said as he hung his chin on the seat between us. “Digging will go a lot faster with the three of us.”
He wasn’t wrong, but his breath stank, and I pushed his face back. “You smell like death, Franco.”
Paul got quiet, maybe sulking, and I said, “Hey, sorry about your brother. Richard was a good guy.”
“Thanks.” Sullen as fuck, just like a kid.
“So, here we are,” I said. “Three guys traveling to the ’burbs on a winter night to dig up a pea green Maverick.”
“A Maverick with three quarters of a million inside it,” Joe said.
Paul perked up. “It’s like being explorers. Or treasure hunters. Like the Donner Party.”
“They were pioneers,” Joe said.
He wasn’t deterred. “We can be the Hammer Party. Tell our grandkids about it and shit.”
I couldn’t look back at him. “Paul?”
“Yeah?”
“You know the Donner Party?”
“What about them?”
“They ate each other. Things got tough, and they went cannibal.”
