by Daniel Parme
“Looks like there was a fight in here,” he said. Then something caught his eye, and he bent over, slowly, to pick it up. “Looks like my kind of fight,” he said, holding up a condom wrapper and smiling.
He had to have been the coolest old guy ever.
I actually blushed. “Yeah. She did a number on me.”
He dropped the wrapper. “Well, try to keep it down next time, ok? I can’t keep walking up those steps just because Greenly hasn’t had sex in so long she’s forgotten what it sounds like.”
“Yeah, sure. Sorry, Mr. Hanlon.”
“And I’ll get that window fixed tomorrow.” He headed for the door. “I almost forgot. You had a visitor last evening, around seven-thirty. Strange fella. Talked kinda funny. Only had one arm.” He stopped like he wanted me to tell him who this strange fella was.
No way. “What did he say?”
Hanlon got the point. “He said today’s Thursday, and you know where to find him.”
Hmm. Thanks.
“You’re not doing anything stupid, are you? Or illegal? You’re not running drugs in my building, are you?”
If only it were that simple. “No, sir. No drugs.”
“If you say so. Get that table off the window tomorrow morning. I’ll have someone here in the afternoon.” And he left to do battle with the steps.
No, sir. No drugs. Just something incredibly illegal and monumentally stupid.
I was scheduled to work at noon. Angela didn’t answer her phone, and it was almost ten, so there was no time to go looking for her. No time to tell her that Walter had stopped by my apartment. No time to ask her what I should do.
So I cleaned my room instead. I re-hung the bookshelf and reorganized its tenants. I drilled the leg back onto the chair and folded my clothes. Made the bed.
I fixed up my room because something had to be fixed. Now. And if I couldn’t fix anything important, I’d just have to make due.
After the room was back in order, I took a shower and thought about how the bedroom had gotten to be such a mess in the first place. It was a good shower, a long, hot, dirty shower, and when I came out of the bathroom, Pearson was on my voicemail. “Don’t come to work today. Walter says you’re going to meet him this evening, so I got Eli to cover your shift. Remember what we talked about. See you tomorrow.”
It’s good to know there are people who can leave clear, concise messages. Too many people just ramble on and on, making no sense. Of course, his directness was the only good thing about that message. I was a little worried about the actual content. If he was giving me the day off, he must have known something was up. I was getting tired of being out of the loop.
On the plus side, now I had time to find Angela. Time is important when you have to find someone based solely on their place of employment. It doesn’t sound too difficult, but you have to take into consideration how many Barnes and Noble’s Booksellers are in the Greater Pittsburgh area. The phone book said six. I called a few of them, but couldn’t make any headway.
So I called Virginia and left a message begging her to be careful about who she talked to and not be alone at night, and I sounded like my mother. I left a nagging message for Virginia, and I began my search.
Three stores and five books later, I found Angela reorganizing picture books in the kids section. This was in the South Hills. This was close to neighborhoods with big houses and Lexus convertibles in the driveways.
She was leafing through Silverstein when I tapped her on the shoulder, picking The Giving Tree off the floor when she spoke. “What are you doing here?”
“I have to talk to you.”
“You could have just called and asked for me, you know.” She did not sound happy to see me.
“I tried. Is there some policy about not being helpful when someone calls this place?”
“There might as well be.” She pulled me behind a tall shelf stocked with kids’ science books full of experiments to Make Learning Fun!
People want to know.
And they want their kids to know, too.
“You shouldn’t have come here,” she whispered. “If anyone sees us together, it’ll be bad. Very, very bad.”
“It’s ok. I made sure nobody was following me. I’m not an idiot, you know.”
“Oh. Well I guess you’ve already thought about what would happen if someone was following me, then.”
Oops. “Is someone here?”
“I don’t know about right now, but those Italian guys, Conicella and Cansellini, they’ve both been in here today. And one of those rich-bitch wives, but I couldn’t tell you which one it was. They all look the same to me.”
“Well, at least no one’s in here now.”
She shook her head. “Yeah. At least, not inside the store.”
If you’ve ever realized you’re a total idiot, you’ll know about how I felt at that moment. “Oh. Right. Sorry.”
She rolled her eyes. “Well, there’s nothing we can do about it now. What did you need to talk to me about?”
“Your uncle stopped by my apartment and talked to my landlord. He wants me to meet him at James Street tonight.” I did a horrible job of hiding my concern.
I could see the wheels turning in that pretty head. “He wanted to take me there for dinner. This can’t be good.”
“Yeah. That’s what I was thinking. What should we do?”
“I don’t know.”
How could she not know? I needed her to know. I needed it. I’d somehow landed myself smack in the middle of the lions’ den, and I needed some divine intervention, here. She was my only shot.
“Look,” she said. “I said I don’t know. This is a new experience for me too, you know.” She moved some books around on the shelf next to my head. “Well, the tavern is a public place, so he can’t do anything to us there. I guess we just go and see what he has up his sleeve.”
“We just go?”
“You have a better idea?”
“No,” I said, defeated. “Shit. No, I don’t.”
“Ok then. I’m thinking he’s just, I don’t know, feeling us out. Trying to get a sense of whether we know each other. We’ll just have to do a good job of acting like we don’t.” She was calm. I don’t know how, but she was.
I, well, let’s just say that transcendental meditation has never been my thing. “What if he already knows we do?”
“He doesn’t. If he did, he’d have dealt with it by now. I’m sure he’s suspicious, though.”
“At least the man’s consistent.”
“Right. Now, you have to go. They’ve been coming in all day, and if they see you, we’re dead. So please, please be careful.”
“I will. And just so you know, I got a complaint from the lady who lives beneath me about the other night. Seems we kept her awake.” I couldn’t resist.
She smiled. She couldn’t resist, either. “I should hope so.”
Chapter 33
Uncle Psycho had his martini, his blue suit, his tie, his toe tapping on the floor. He also had his niece, who had a beer.
“Mr. Eliot, so good to see you.”
“Walter. How’s it going?” I sat across from him, caddy-corner to Angela, and I tried to figure out how I should behave. I mean, how do you speak to a man who just maybe wants you dead? What happens if he knows you know he wants you dead, and he catches you acting like you don’t? What happens if he doesn’t know you know he wants you dead, and you say something that tips him off?
See how difficult it is to wrap your head around a situation like this?
I ordered a shot and a beer.
“I want you to meet my niece. This is Angela.” He put his arm around her, and somehow she didn’t shudder. Maybe she was used to being afraid of him. Maybe she just had balls of solid rock.
I smiled. “Hi, Angela. I’m Travis.”
She straightened up. “Oh. We’ve met once before, sort of, when you spoke at PEP.”
So, I guessed we’d me
t once, sort of. News to me. I’d been told we’d never met, didn’t know each other. Now that her story had changed, as they all do, I had to completely shift gears. All the stuff I’d gone over in the car, all that crap I’d practiced saying out loud just to hear myself say it calmly, just to hear myself do it, might as well have been sucked out the window with the smoke from my cigarette.
“Oh. Right,” I said. “I don’t think we really got to talk though, right? There were so many people.”
She nodded. “Yeah.”
“Well, nice to actually meet you, then.” The small talk would only take us so far. This was almost like a really bad blind date, only not as blind.
The waitress came back with my booze, and the shot glass never touched the table before it found its way back to her cocktail tray.
“Something on your mind, Travis?” Synchek had a talent for sounding sincere and without agenda. I was glad I knew better.
“Not really. I just had sort of a rough day. Need to loosen up a little.”
The fucker smiled at me. “I can certainly understand that.”
Five Guys went into Brubeck. Take Five. It’s a great song, even if it is a bit overplayed, even on the Weather Channel. Synchek closed his eyes and nodded in approval of the selection, but he didn’t say anything. We just sat there and listened to the music. God, it was painful.
I couldn’t take it. “So Angela, what do you do?”
“I’m sorry. ‘What do I do’?”
“Yeah, you know, for fun? How do you spend your time?” My intention was to make this seem like any other get-to-know-you conversation. I figured we should have been talking. It’s what boys do when they meet a cute girl. Either that, or they trip all over themselves and sweat a lot, eventually leaving the room a pathetic, embarrassed shell of a man. Thank God I’ve gotten over that shit.
“I like to read,” she said. I think she realized, just like I did, that we hadn’t really had a normal conversation since we met. She sounded excited about it. “Easy stuff. Mindless stuff. Like mysteries.”
“Oh? Who do you like?” I asked as if I’d ever read a mystery paperback in my life. I mean, I knew some names, but come on, I had a degree in Creative Writing. I’d never lower myself to that crap. I’d been trained to be an arrogant asshole about books.
She blushed a little. “I really like Patterson. And Sue Grafton.”
“I’ve never read either of them. I’ve seen a few movies that were Patterson novels, though. They were good.”
She sipped her beer. “What do you read, then?”
“Literary fiction, poetry, and every now and again I’ll get into some sort of religious history.”
“Come on. Who do you like?”
I didn’t even have to think about it. I was trained. It was all just a reflex. “I like Hemingway, but not his novels. Just his short stories. Dante I like. Ray Carver’s a god, as far as I’m concerned.”
“So, you’re a snob, then?” She was flirting. Right there in front of Walter, she was flirting.
“I’m not a snob. I’m just not stimulated by mysteries, that’s all.”
“No, you’re a snob.”
I couldn’t argue. At least not convincingly. “Yeah. Fine. I guess I’m a snob. But, just so you know, I’m not claiming to understand all the stuff I read.”
She laughed. “Yeah. Whatever, snob.”
Walter chimed in, without opening his eyes. “Nice to see you two are getting along. I was hoping you would.” He sat up straight and looked at me. “Angela doesn’t really get the chance to meet too many gentlemen her own age.”
“Shut up, Uncle Walt.”
“Travis understands. Don’t you, Travis? I’m sure he can see how it would be difficult for you.” He took a sinister sip from his martini glass. Martini glasses are good for that. A rocks glass would have had nowhere near the nastiness.
“Um, sure. I guess I can see that.” I hated agreeing with him.
“That’s why I wanted you to meet him, Angel. I want you to get to know Travis, here. He’s such a fine young man. And honest. And I’m certain he’s loyal. Just look at him. You can tell he’s the kind of guy who would do anything to make sure you didn’t get hurt. Isn’t that right, Travis?”
This moment convinced me that this man spoke only in death threats. Anything he said – anything – could have been translated into “I’ll kill you”, or some variation of that tiny little sentence. Maybe it would be “I’ll kill her” or “Any of you fucking pigs move, and I’ll execute every motherfucking one of you”.
I tried not to get rattled, to act like I didn’t get the hint. “You’re gonna make me blush, Walter. You’re making me sound like Christ, over here.”
“Well, you’re certainly not Christ. You certainly cannot raise the dead, can you?” He made sure he got his point across with that one. He was good.
“No. No I can’t.”
“But you are the kind of man who’d risk his own life to save another’s, aren’t you?” Dictating conversation is easier than it should be.
“Um. I guess so.” I lit a smoke. My head is not meant to handle things like this.
“Good.” He stood up and set a Benjamin on the table. “You two stay and get to know each other. Travis, would you be kind enough to bring Angela home tonight?”
I didn’t say anything. I just looked at him.
“Thank you,” he said, and he kissed Angela on the forehead. “I’ll see you in the morning, Angel.”
He left, and we watched him all the way to the door. Angela stole my cigarette and hit it deep.
I lit another. “That went well, don’t you think?”She shook her head and flagged the waitress. “You want another drink?”
“What’s he up to?”
“I’m not sure. I really wasn’t expecting him to leave like that.” She drummed her fingernails on the side of her glass and chewed her lower lip. “I can’t – I don’t know.”
Why not? “Well, as long as I have Uncle Walter’s blessing, you want to go back to my place?”
She looked tempted at first, but then seemed to consider it. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea. I’m afraid he might have someone follow us.”
“So what? They’re following us already. I mean, we can always just say I was showing you something. My books or a movie or something. Besides, we can actually talk there. You never know, someone in here might be keeping an eye on us right now.”
And yes, I was trying to get her to come back with me so I could do it to her. I’d been eating my spinach, remember? And LT knows no fear. He’ll risk it all for a little fun.
But let me be clear about something. The sex was only half of my motive. The other half was pure. We needed someplace we could be alone to talk, to figure out what was going on, and I knew my place was safe. I even had a new window.
“Listen,” she said.
The way she said it, I knew what was coming. I was a heterosexual male with plenty of relationship experience. I’d had enough conversations with women to know exactly what ‘Listen’ means. There’s only one place to go, and I really hoped she wasn’t going to go there.
“Listen. The other night, that was fun. But I have to tell you… I like you. I do. But my uncle’s right. I don’t get to meet many guys my own age. And you’re a good guy, and I like you, but the other night… there was a lot going on, and I kind of just needed the distraction. And so did you, I think. I don’t want you to get the wrong idea. I don’t know what I’m saying, exactly. I just don’t think we should do that again.”
Yep. That was what I thought was going to happen.
“Why shouldn’t we? We could both still use the distraction, don’t you think?”
“Don’t you think we have enough to deal with? And I doubt my uncle would appreciate you sleeping with me. I am his little girl, kind of.”
This was totally unacceptable. And totally fucked up. Unfortunately, she had a good point. The on
ly thing worse than a father figure who wants to kill you for sleeping with his little girl is a father figure who wants to kill you even before he knows you’re sleeping with his little girl. Sex is good, but not worth dying for. Even if it would be super-mega-knock-down-drag-out sex.
“That’s a shame,” I said. “The other night was incredible.” This was my subtle last-ditch effort.
“It is a shame. Maybe someday when this is all over. If we’re still alive, I mean.”
“Of course.” Dammit. I wanted to get laid. I was actually sort of expecting it. These things happen, I suppose, and at least it left us with time to talk. “So, what’s your plan?”
She looked around the room – just a bunch of people, eating, drinking, listening, but not to us. She moved her drink off to one side, and then mine. She rested her elbows on the table, propped herself up on them, and leaned over the table, her face next to mine, her breath in my ear.
“I think,” she whispered, “we have to kill them.”
Chapter 34
There’s a mantle above what used to be a fireplace that is now bricked-over and hidden by a not-quite-clean fish tank. These people that live here, they’re religious. At least the wife. The husband is this Harley Davidson meets ZZ Top drunk. So this mantle is decorated accordingly. A cross, and that fucking ‘Footprints’ poem. A four inch tall Harley with a digital clock on its body. A snow globe, a big crystal ball type snow globe, with some big church inside. Wedding picture in the gold frame. A picture of their daughter, Erica.
This is a few years before I ate her.
This is about a year after I dumped her the week of her prom, and her father swore he would shoot me with the very same shotgun he showed me the first time she brought me home.
This is so you understand why, also on the mantle, in front of Erica’s senior picture, is a shell with T-R-A-V-I-S etched up its casing.
“Don’t worry,” she says, “he doesn’t want to shoot you anymore. He just keeps it there to scare any other boys I bring home.”
She was my first girlfriend, Erica. It was great. Fucking porn star sex all the time. And the rest of it, all the actual relationship stuff, that was all pretty good, too. And when I was finished with it, well, let’s just say my first attempt to end a relationship didn’t go well. It was effective, but clearly something I’d have to work on.
