Hell Chose Me

by Angel Luis Colón

  “You’re changing the subject on me?”

  “I’m changing the subject.”

  “We’re not done.” He motioned the waitress over. Ordered a tonic—clean.

  “You don’t drink?”

  “No.”

  I took another pull of my beer. Studied his face and waited for a grin to break the stone. It wasn’t happening. “About all this…shit. I’m sorry you had to find out about all that so early.” I decided to change the subject.

  “It made basic training interesting, at least. Always fun to have nine out of ten assholes eyeing you up in case you desert like your big brother.”

  I swallowed hard.

  Liam shrugged. “We come from a long line of runners. To be expected.”

  “You sound like Mom.”

  “That tends to happen when she’s all the family a guy has.”

  That made me take another sip of beer—maybe a little longer than a normal sip. I pointed a finger at him. Lowered my glass from my lips and took a breath like a swimmer breaching water. “Look…”

  “I don’t need an explanation. Never needed it from Dad—definitely don’t need it from you.” He raised a hand to the waitress. “Can I get a menu?”

  There was a menu to my left. I slid it over. “Have the wet fries. They’re glorious. Though you’ll shit vinegar for two days.”

  Liam eyed the menu with a little suspicion. Couldn’t blame him. “They really worth it?”

  “Absolutely.”

  He took a sip of his tonic water. “What do I tell Mom?”

  “What do I care?” I played with the frayed edges of my Sam Adams branded coaster.

  “Bullshit, you care. I know about the money. Half the reason she was pissed you came back was the money disappearing.”

  I laughed. “Her son, the cash cow, a loser now, huh?”

  Liam raised his eyebrows. “Now?”

  “Don’t be a smart ass to your big brother.” I snatched the menu back from him. “Now you have to pay.” Drained the last of my beer. Signaled the waitress for another. “So what else you got going on besides fighting another man’s war?”

  “I’ll ignore the last part of that sentence.” He clasped his hands together like a school kid. “Halfway through college—dabble in carpentry.”

  I kept my attention on the menu. I was reading nothing. Needed something for my eyes to do instead of look at the man he had become while I was gone. “I meant girls.”

  “Oh…” He looked down.

  “You’re still cherry? With that fucking face?”

  He shook his head fast. “Nah, just…”

  “You a homo?”

  Liam straightened his posture. Looked me in the eye. He was mad again. “As a matter of fact, yeah.”

  The menu came down. “Bullshit.” I fought the impulse to apologize for being so rude about it, but I doubled down. Not the best way to rebuild bridges with my brother.

  “No bullshit.”

  “Since when?”

  “Since forever? Not sure how to answer that.”

  “Mom know?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And she’s cool with that?” Mom had a coworker that was gay. She kept him far away from me after she caught him telling me all about Interview with The Vampire and Clive Barker books. I always pegged her as a dabbler in homophobia.

  Liam shrugged. “Not much of a choice in the company I keep. I’m the only man in her life that didn’t ditch.”

  “So…” My mouth went dry. Where the fuck was that new beer? “So, was it…?”

  “Don’t go there, Bryan.”

  “No, seriously. Was it my fault? Dad’s?”

  “That I’m attracted to men?”

  “Yeah, like some kind of cry for help?”

  He sighed. Rubbed his eyes with the balls of his hands. “I’m giving you a lot of leeway here since you’ve spent near a decade with European hillbillies. The answer is a solid no. Matter of fact, you’d think with the daddy issues I have, a man is the last person I’d want to be with.”

  I nodded. “I guess.” Beer finally showed up. I snatched it from the waitress before it could touch the table.

  Liam smiled to our server—a cute blonde with a nice rack. “Can I get the wet fries?”

  “Sure.” She smiled back. Took a good, long gander into his eyes before sauntering away.

  “See?” I motioned toward her. “You’re a lady-killer. Good looks wasted.”

  He laughed. Shook his head. “Definitely not wasted.”

  “Says you. So what about this tonic water shit? What’s that about?”

  “Nah, I’m not fond of the drink. Had my fun, now I’m focused on what matters.”

  “Yeesh, a gay, dry soldier. What’ll they make of that?”

  “Don’t ask, don’t tell—for one. Also, being a drunk would be a bad thing. Pretty sure they’ll be happy with me so long as I don’t haul ass and disappear.” He gave me a look that’d melt butter.

  I raised my hands in surrender. “Point taken.” I wasn’t trying to be callous about his coming out to me. In fact, I was a little proud. It meant something for him to have the courage and the love to tell me he was gay. If he hated me, then he wouldn’t have said a damn thing. There was hope yet.

  There was uncomfortable silence until the wet fries showed up.

  “Jesus, fuck. What is this?” Liam gawked at the plate, mouth agape. There were French fries piled high with a mountain of cheese and meaty goodness. The smell was intoxicating.

  I leaned in, closed my eyes, and let the heat cover my face. I loved that dish. “Oh, it’s insane. A ludicrous pile of chili and cheese on French fries is all.”

  “Yeah, but this is like, three pounds of food.”

  “Brilliant, no?” I closed my eyes. I could already taste it.

  “You’ve eaten this whole thing?”

  I nodded. “Weekly.”

  Liam scoffed. “And you think I’m the damaged one.” He plunged his fork into pile, shoveled a wad into his mouth, and chewed. After he swallowed, he nodded. “Okay, this is pretty delicious. A heart attack waiting to happen, but damn good.”

  “Said so. They got this Haitian cat in the back—swear to fucking God he must do voodoo on this food. It’s all delicious.”

  He laughed. “So where are you living?”

  “Riverdale.”

  “Oh, wow, how’d you manage that?”

  “Sean got me some documents. Took the money I’d saved with me. Trying to stretch that as long as I can.”

  “And how’d you get back?”

  “Snuck in through Canada. So long as you’re not bringing in weed or cocaine—nobody gives a shit.”

  “Basically, you’re like, a triple fugitive.”

  “Pretty much.”

  “I’m impressed.” He took a few more bites of his food. Slid a fork over to me. “Dig in. No way I’m finishing this on my own.”

  “Thanks.” I joined in.

  “I didn’t agree to meet up so we can bond, Bryan. Have a favor to ask of you, actually.” The look on his face was a warning—we were going to talk about Mom.

  “What’s that?” Played ignorant.

  Liam leaned in—looked me in the eye the way we were taught when we asked a favor from family. “I need someone to keep an eye on Mom while I’m away.”

  I nearly choked. “That a joke? I’d get arrested almost immediately if I even step foot in the old neighborhood.”

  “Not like that. You remember Paulie G?”

  “Course I remember Paulie.”

  “Mom said you guys had some history.”

  I ran through the memories of childhood I bothered to cling to. “Yeah, we used to drink and be idiots together. His crazy ass used to bring football spreads to school every week. Last I heard, he went full bookie.”

  “Not a bookie anymore. He got made after what’s-his-face got sent up to Rikers. I’ve done a little
on and off work for him.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  “Eh, show up with him to collect cash. Put a little fear into a junkie or loser from time to time.”

  “All right, so what’s this got to do with Mom?”

  “He’s agreed to make sure she’s taken care of.”

  “That’s a good thing.”

  “But…”

  “The catch.” I placed my fork down and picked up my beer. “Now we get to the damn catch.”

  “I mentioned you were back and he was interested in talking. Said he could maybe use you—he’d pay you—but would also do us a solid and give Mom sort of a stipend.”

  Fuck me. Back in the country less than a year and already someone else was going to slap a leash around my neck. “Liam, I recently got out of doing…side work for Uncle Sean. Not sure I’m keen on jumping back in.” Scooped some more fries into my mouth. “Isn’t Mom working?”

  “Look, it’s an open secret that you chose the Republican Army over the military. There’s guys that’d probably shit themselves if you walked into a room with Paulie. I get that you’d rather do most anything else about now, but—God forgive me—you owe me. Shit, you owe us.”

  “Bullshit, I paid your way through fucking high school. Fordham Prep wasn’t cheap when I was in high school; can’t imagine it being cheaper when you went.”

  “And it’s not that I ain’t thankful for that, but…”

  I sighed. “But we got to take care of Mom.” He was right. I hated to admit it, but he was right.

  “Exactly.”

  “So what—I do a few jobs for that fat ass and we’re good until you’re back?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “Any weird strings?”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “Well, are you two fucking around or do you, like, owe him any cash I should know about.”

  Liam frowned. “Ugh. Never. I’ve got better taste.”

  “Hey, only making sure there aren’t surprises.”

  “Why wouldn’t I tell you about surprises? We’re family.”

  I nodded. “Yeah, family’s got a way of surprising you worse than anyone else, brother. You should know that as well as I do.”

  He didn’t give an answer, but I know he agreed with me. Got all morose there. A poet’s soul—even had the glower. In another life, he would have sung for The Smiths.

  “Hey.” Poked his shoulder with my dirty fork. “I got it.”

  Liam gave me a weak smile. “Nervous is all.”

  “I get it.” Shoved another mouthful of fries into my mouth. “When do you leave again?”

  “Three weeks. Then it’s sand as far as the eye can see and all the MREs I can choke down.”

  I chuckled. “Bet they’re better than they were back when I was out there. Shit, you try keeping down most of what I had to eat back in Ireland some nights.” Played around with my fork before looking back into his eyes. “Think we can try to do this more than once, at least, before you’re off?”

  Liam bit his lip. Tried to hide a smile. “Only if you pay.”

  I pointed the business end of my fork at him. “Only if you share a beer with me before you leave.”

  He nodded and chewed on a mouthful of fries. Swallowed and smiled “Hey,” he said waving his fork at me, “remember the time Grandpa had to kill that pig?”

  Boys from the County Hell—Now

  13

  I fight the urge to drive my forehead into the top of the steering wheel. I’m an idiot. Who the hell speeds after a hit? What kind of rookie crap did I just pull? Not much I can do about my gun. Any movements and I give myself away, so I treat this like the only law I broke was the speed limit. I roll down my driver’s side window and watch the officer exit his squad car and make his way over with an easy gait. Good sign—urgency and a hand on his holster means something came up on my plates. I thank as many old men in the sky I can think of I switched them first thing this morning.

  His crotch meets my eye level and he stoops down, right hand on the roof of my car. “License and registration, please.” Doesn’t look me in the eye—intimidation tactic. I may be in the clear, but he still wants me to know who is in charge of the situation. Typical cop bullshit. It’s the same worldwide.

  This is the first traffic stop I’ve had since coming back to the States—nearly a clean decade—so I try not to test my luck. “Sure thing, Officer.” My license and registration are out and offered. Says it all there. Terry Shea, car recently had its registration renewed. “How’s your night going?” Here’s hoping the shady sons of bitches I’ve been using for papers are as good as they have the nerve to charge.

  He reads the info. Licks his lips and shifts his weight to his left foot. “Mr. Shea, do you know why I stopped you?”

  I shake my head. “No, Officer.” Never admit guilt—never. Known that since I was getting tossed into drunk tanks at fifteen. Less a man says, the less they can accuse him of.

  “Well, you were in a hurry. Had to be going over sixty-five.” His eyes scan back and forth. Takes the interior of the car and drinks it all in.

  Of course, Cherry takes this moment to lean over and try to break my concentration. A phantom hand passes right through my crotch and I get chills all over. She gives me a wide, crooked smile.

  I ignore her as best as I can. “I can’t say I noticed, Officer. Just trying to get home and catch an hour or two of sleep. Long night.”

  “Have you been drinking?”

  “No, Officer.” My voice doesn’t waver. I can play sober all day long and didn’t have nearly the weight of whiskey it takes to make me stupid.

  He looks into my eyes. Snaps a flashlight off his belt and inspects the passenger seat. The light goes through Cherry, makes me think of an eraser as it wipes out portions of her. I frown as it all fades back into view. She watches herself appear again and giggles like a toddler. The light’s aimed behind me. Stranger’s still. Has the same thing happen to him as Cherry, but he’s a statue—unblinking and cold. There’s a humming in the car. I feel it inside of me.

  “So, you headed home?” The officer looks ahead of my car.

  “Yes, sir.”

  He goes to speak again. Interrupted by the chirp of the radio on his left shoulder. I can barely make out what the dispatcher says. “Repeat,” the officer responds. Probably couldn’t make it all out either. He nods to nobody and answers back. “I’m six blocks east. Have another squad car come out and I’ll meet up with them.” He hands back my license and registration. “You get a warning tonight. Drive safe.”

  I watch him walk back to his squad car through the side mirror. I wait until he pulls off and pops a U-ey. The cruiser speeds off at near the same clip I was making. I breathe in deep and exhale slow. Crack my knuckles. Put my registration back in the glove box and my license back in my wallet.

  “What’s wrong?” Cherry’s still got a song in her voice.

  “Shut up.” I tell her.

  The car goes silent again. I put on the radio. Jam my finger on the seek button until I find the classic rock station. Unsettled that Nirvana is playing.

  Cherry’s off center again. Her flesh crawls from the inside—like there’s an ocean of bugs underneath. My eyes slide to the rearview. Stranger’s doing his thing. Decide he’s best ignored. I imagine the officer that pulled me over is meeting them in the flesh right about now.

  I get the car back on the road and go to rub my eyes. Fingers feel wet and I realize I’ve been crying. “Fuck.” That’s new.

  Cherry leans over and smiles. “What’s wrong?”

  I wonder if I should start having longer conversations with these people before I finish the job. At least they’ll be a little more interesting before they disappear on me. Can’t wait until Stranger starts yelling out whatever the hell he said before I shot him in two-minute intervals. Should make for a sleepless night or two.

  I laugh—like, really la
ugh. “Ah, fuck’s sake. I’m crazy, ain’t I?”

  Cherry gives me the side eye. I can read her mind. Of course, I’ve never been normal. None of this is new to me. I’ve been seeing this kind of crap since I was a kid. Since the first time I saw something die.

  No time for reminiscing on my damage. I slap my left blinker to life. Playing it super safe—need to be Mr. Conscientious Driver here.

  Cherry twirls her hair between two fingers. “What’s wrong?” Her hand drifts to her wounds and she picks at them. Flicks an errant bit of loose flesh away from her, but it disappears and reappears where she found it.

  “I feel like we’ve established I ain’t got an answer for that.” I light a cigarette. Roll down my window. “You know what? The two of you were far from innocent. You wiggled for dollars and homeboy back there was definitely reaching for heat.” My heart skips a beat when a cab appears behind me. The equipment on its roof made me think it was another squad car here to scoop my murdering ass up. By this time, I’m pretty sure the officer that pulled me over—now at the scene of my mess—put two and two together. If I’m lucky, that pang of “what the hell was I thinking” strikes him in a way that shames him enough to ignore his civic duty.

  Cherry’s staring out at the Bronx from the window. We’re headed uptown, so the buildings get progressively nicer. There’s a part of me wishes she’d answer me or yell at me. Take me to task for what I’ve done instead of letting me yell into an echo chamber while I try to rationalize all these incredibly dumb choices I keep making.

  Cherry leans her chin on the edge of the passenger side door. Half her head’s through the closed window. The streetlights warp her features. Make the bullet holes in her cheeks seem to stretch open to twice their real size.

  My cross street’s coming up. Take care to signal before switching lanes. I don’t need to attract any new attention. Even if the officer that stopped me before hasn’t put two and two together, he’ll have logged the stop. A second cop shows up, I’m screwed. No way will they let me drive off again.

  Cherry leans into my view. She stares into me—her eyes go black as pitch. That movement under her skin gets wilder, as if whatever’s inside may burst at any moment. I see a hint of something in the wound on her face. Thin wire legs and meaty, pale pink flesh—undulating and flowing in time with her breath. The edges of her wounds swell and split. The very shadows live in there—restless.