“Something bad is going to happen,” Bobby informed Maria a millisecond before Roger’s door burst open amid a shower of splinters.
Roger reacted surprisingly fast. Tossing the controller, he retrieved his pistol and lurched from the couch like an acrobat well passed his prime. A big man stepped into the apartment, his deeply tanned face housed two of the coldest eyes Bobby had seen in the living world. Square jawed, thick-necked and sporting a body any pro power lifter would be proud of, he stepped aside. His accomplice stepped inside.
“Roger Fucking Crenshaw, how the hell are you fat boy?” the shorter, younger but no less muscled intruder asked.
“What the fuck Geno? What’s with the drama?” Roger snarled from behind his gun. “You could’ve just used the key or knocked like a normal fucking person. You’re paying for a new door bro and I don’t want no used, piece of shit either, you cheap fuck.”
Roger’s got balls. I hope he gets to keep them. These two look like they mean business.
“Watch your mouth,” the big guy warned.
Roger ignored him.
“Key? What key?” Geno feigned confusion.
“The key your little bitch Felix pinched when he was here.”
Geno smirked then tossed the rabbit footed key in question across the room and onto the coffee table. “So, drama you ask? You’re the drama Roger, you’re the fucking drama.”
“I told you it was a bad idea,” Roger growled. “I told you the storm was too crazy, that we should’ve waited.”
If he’s afraid he’s hiding it like a pro.
“You made it across though, Pete said you made it to New Roc, made the pickup and then poof, no more Roger for five days,” Geno walked around the couch as he spoke, all eyes, dead and alive, followed him. “You didn’t get popped. Nobody knows where you are or where you’ve been. Where you’ve been and where’s the shit bro?”
“Gone dude,” Roger was heating up. “Bottom of the Sound gone and so is my boat, my phone, the whole shit!”
“You’d better be messing with me Roger! Right Joe?” Geno turned to the big guy.
“Better be,” Joe agreed and stepped menacingly toward Roger.
“Fuck you Joe you tiny dicked, juice freak!” Roger spat and his round face lost all of its boyish innocence.
“What the fuck did you say to me?” Joe moved closer, fists clenching, arms bulging, readying to attack.
Roger raised Linus smoothly until it was level with Joe’s eyes. “Do yourself a favor and get the fuck out of my place before I blow that miniscule brain of yours out the back of your thick skull.”
Yeah Roger.
Joe stopped, dropped his hands, took two giant steps backward and looked at Geno with a mix of fear and shame.
“Go you useless fuck!” Geno snapped and settled onto the threadbare arm of the couch. “Got anything to drink?”
Roger followed Joe to the door and watched him until the downstairs door closed behind him with the click of the self-engaging lock. “You really needed to bring that asshole to my place? Really Geno?”
“Business,” Geno shrugged as if the one word was explanation enough.
“Business…fuck you G.” Roger tucked the Taurus into the waistband of someone else’s long lost sweats then fought the door into its splintered framed. “We’ve been friends for a long time bro and the first sign of trouble you get all wannabe gangster on me? What the hell’s wrong with you G?”
“Don’t get all righteous Rog, you dropped off the grid. People were talking. I didn’t know if you got busted and maybe decided to talk or something,” Geno explained, his bravado had given way to genuine concern peppered with guilt.
Well built, over tanned and over jeweled, Geno was a mafia stereotype right down to the narrow toed, highly polished dress shoes that clashed angrily with the faded jeans and the white tank top he wore. “Sorry…for Joey and for the door.”
“That’s some serious bullshit bro,” Roger growled and stormed into the kitchen where he grabbed the two remaining beers from the fridge.
He shook his head at Geno as a smile curled beneath his unkempt mustache. Geno shrugged. Roger handed him a beer, slumped into his rut, took a long swig of Anheuser Busch’s finest and smacked his lips in satisfaction.
“No Stella?” Geno asked eyeing the Bud as if it were contagious.
“Asshole.”
“Dick.”
“Bitch.”
“Fat prick.”
“Momma’s boy.”
“Hey!”
“You started it.”
Geno cracked his beer, “So spill it.”
*
Roger spilled it.
“Getting out of Hempstead Harbor was a bitch and a half bro. The wind was blowing hard pushing three footers ahead of it one after the other and they were tight too. I should’ve turned back right there but I thought once I got outside it would calm down. It fucking didn’t. I got my ass kicked all the way across. It took forever because I couldn’t even get her up on a plain with the chop ya’know? New Roc was a little better, the wind wasn’t beating it up like on this side, ya’know. Pete wasn’t there, he thought it was all off because of the storm. I called him and he showed up like an hour later, fucking guy. We made the switch, I stowed the cooler, no biggie, same shit different day ya know.
“Halfway back the motor starts sounding weird, like it was churning butter, really gritty butter ya know. Ten minutes later it died. I was right there man, right in the mouth of the harbor. I could see the lights along Sea Cliff Beach but there was fuck all I could do to reach them. The tide was moving fast and the wind was blowing hard, all I could do was to get there. The T-top was like a fucking sail bro, the wind had me going faster than the motor ya’know. I tried to beach it near Prospect Point but got blown out towards Execution and then right across Manhasset Bay. The electric quit then too. No GPS, no lights, no bilge pumps! It was bad G.
“The waves started coming over the gunnels because I’m taking them broadside. The water was ankle-deep in like five minutes. I got pushed up against into the shallows around Steppingstone Lighthouse, it was nuts ya’know. The boat hung up for a minute and I thought about swimming for it but before I could make the move she let go and off we went. It was like an hour of that shit by then. I was so cold man, I never felt cold like that. It was like my bones were frozen dude. It was all I could think about ya’know?”
Geno nodded.
“A big freaking wave came over the port side. I grabbed the radio to call for help but another wave hit hard, a fucking big one, must have been seven or eight feet at least. The bow dipped under and never came back up. I was so scared G, I was sure I was done. It was so dark dude and…and the water was so fucking angry, it was like it hated me or something.
“Next thing I know I’m on that shit beach outside of Totten and some tall dude in a weird raincoat is telling me I’m dead. I was dead ya’know. Dead Geno. I was fucking dead.”
Geno shook his head, “Dude, I had no idea.”
“This paramedic’s pounding on my body but I wasn’t in it anymore, ya’know. The creepy dude said I had to go with him but then there was a flash, right, like lightning but it wasn’t scary or nothing like that. This chick just appeared out of nowhere. She was super-hot, definitely an Angel, all white and peaceful looking and shit. I ran to her, I figure maybe she was there to save me but then poof! I’m gone or I’m back or whatever, ya’know. This little EMT dude brought me back to life with those paddle things G! The dude saved me bro!”
Geno studied Roger’s face then for a minute then burst into a violent spell of laughter. “You gotta lay off the weed bro!” he managed to blurt out while howling like a rabid wolf at a blood moon.
*
“Are they friends,” Maria whispered unnecessarily.
“Yep, these boys are tight,” Bobby replied as he studied them. “Our boy’s got a dark side, right?”
“He’s bad,” Maria said solemnly. “He’s a bad person.”
Bobby knew what she meant but he didn’t agree, not completely, not yet. “Wait on that, don’t get all wrapped up in all this, it’s an act.”
*
“You’re a lucky boy Rog. Who would have thought you’d ever be glad to see a coasty?”
“Lucky they found me and lucky they didn’t find the cooler.”
“Shit yeah,” Geno agreed with an exaggerated nod.
“So now what?” Roger asked after another pull on his beer.
“Mr. Fetti is pissed dude,” Geno said and scooted toward the edge of his seat. “He ain’t going to give a rat’s ass about the weather or whatever. You know it’s all about the money dude, we gotta get him his money.”
“How much?”
“There was probably like four keys in the cooler so figure…” Geno paused while working out the math in his head.
Roger wasn’t buying it, “Cut the crap G, you know the number already bro.”
“Eighty grand,” Geno replied. “Eighty large and this all goes away. No harm, no foul and we’re back in business.”
Roger didn’t even flinch, “We’re splitting it fifty-fifty.”
“Fuck that bro! You’re the delivery guy, you cover the delivery.”
“That ain’t the way it goes and you know it,” Roger scolded Geno as if he were his son. “We split the loss like we split the profit.”
“I don’t have that kind of cash lying around,” Geno cried dramatically.
Roger wasn’t buying any of that either, “Bullshit. You got it, we both know you sleep on that shit. I’ll get you my half, you go see Fetti, pay him and let’s get passed this shit.”
“You got forty grand? Here?” Geno looked pleasantly surprised and oddly proud.
“What do I look like, a fucking moron?” Roger wasn’t stupid enough to reveal his cliché hiding spot even if Geno was his best friend.
“You look like a homeless guy who moved all his crap into a shitty one bedroom in brown town!” Geno cried and burst into laughter again.
“How’s your mom G?” Roger shot back.
“Fuck you bro!” Geno cried and sprung from the couch. “It’s my house. She lives with me.”
“Keep telling yourself that from the basement while you sleep alone on that 70s reject waterbed,” Roger could barely get the words out around his smile.
“You’re a dick Rog,” Geno growled and stormed toward the door.
“Call Fetti,” Roger commanded.
“I will.”
“Pick up my half in the morning.”
“Ok.” Geno stopped at the skewed door and turned back to face Roger, all the anger was gone. “I’m glad you’re alright Rog.”
“Thanks G,” Roger’s voice cracked.
Geno noticed. “Bitch!” he roared as he slipped out into the stairway.
“Too much sauce on the pie G, always too much sauce!” Roger yelled after him, his eyes glowed with happiness.
“So go on a diet you fat fuck!” Geno shouted and slammed the entry door to punctuate the insult.
Roger smiled wide then finished his beer with one long pull.
*
“Friends, are you sure?” Maria couldn’t make sense of the insults, the threats or the seemingly genuine bond the two men shared.
“Best friends,” Bobby clarified. “Only best friends bust balls like that.”
“Men are weird,” Maria stated with conviction.
Bobby laughed as Maria watched him with a mix of confusion and concern. “All of them,” she bolstered her theory with an accusation.
Bobby laughed even harder.
7.
Not sleeping sucked. After Roger crashed, Bobby and Maria sat in the living room, staring at the television. Roger left it on, considering the neighborhood, it was a good choice.
Infomercials, the crack of home shoppers, peddled their wares shamelessly. Vacuum cleaners, juicers, exercise machines of every shape and size, the bullshit was endless. Maria was mesmerized. Bobby was too but not by the entertainment.
It’s like watching Picasso paint.
“The remotes right there.” Bobby eyed the big universal remote. “I can put something else on, a movie or something.”
“What?”
“I can change the channels. Maybe he has Netflix?”
“We can’t. It’s against….”
“Against the Laws, yours not mine.” Bobby cut her off.
Maria stared at him, hard. “What if he hears us?”
“Five beers and at least three bowls of weed, he wouldn’t wake up if the FDNY bagpipe brigade rolled through this dump.”
“It’s too risky.”
Her protest was spineless, Bobby heard it. “You go check on our boy and make sure he’s out.”
Maria hesitated but not for long, slid gracefully down the hall and into the back bedroom while Bobby waited anxiously.
“He’s snoring very loudly, I mean like scary loud,” she informed Bobby after settling onto Roger’s end of the couch.
“So it’s cool?” He wanted her to say it.
“It’s cool,” her eyes glimmered with mischief when she said it. “How?”
“Easy squeezy. I pull off this ridiculous hood, do a little channel surfing and we’re in business.”
“So when you take it off you’re alive?”
“No, I wish,” Bobby chuckled. “I think I’m just more real, if that makes sense. I’m still trying to figure this shit…stuff out myself.”
Maria nodded, but Bobby could see she was nervous.
Breaking rules isn’t her thing.
“So I just do this.”
He pushed his hood off his head and sighed involuntarily as air caressed his cheeks and neck like the tender touch of a generous lover.
“Oh,” Maria chirped in surprise.
Bobby turned to face her. They stared at each other for what felt like an eternity before Maria broke the silence, “You…you’re young…younger than I thought I mean.”
“You look so…you look different too,” Bobby whispered back.
She sounded the same, she wore the same clothes and she was still beautiful but now she was glowing. Her skin shined as if lit from inside by a million golden candles. Her eyes sparkled like diamonds caught in the light of a thousand suns. Her smile radiated compassion and warmth. Her presence filled the room with such peace and love that Bobby could actually feel it on his skin. He felt safer than he ever had before. He felt happier than he ever thought possible.
Wow! I could stay like this forever.
Maria studied the Reaper carefully. She expected a monster with fangs or a crazy-eyed psycho or a creepy salesman with a slick smile. What she definitely had not expected was a handsome young man with dimples and an easy, charming smile.
“I thought, well…they told us Reapers were all wicked, gruesome creatures. That your deeds in life warped your features and sculpted your appearance to match your sins,” Maria was still whispering.
She digs me.
“So you think I’m good looking?”
“No,” Maria snapped, dropping her eyes.
Liar liar pants on fire.
“Angels can’t lie.” He wagged a taunting finger.
“I don’t lie,” she snapped angrily.
Not even little ones?
“So you think I’m ugly?” Bobby pouted his bottom lip, icing on the self-pity cake.
“No,” Maria cried, unused to being teased and not liking it. “Just different, I guess. Younger than I thought, not… just not scary, okay?”
“Well, you’re not scary either,” Bobby relented. “Definitely more like the Hollywood version this way though, all sparkling and shiny and stuff. When the living see you, they know you’re an Angel, that’s for sure.”
“What do you mean?”
Bobby thought for a long moment how best to explain it without showing his cards, a full house of hearts. “So you’re pretty right, you gotta know that. When my hood is up it’s kinda muted, everything
is I guess. But now you’re like…glowing. Your skin is shiny, your eyes are brighter and your smile is so beauti…brighter…a lot brighter…also.”
Smooth as sandpaper.
Maria considered the candid description and smiled. “So you think I’m pretty?”
It was Bobby’s turn to feel flustered, but inside a heavier, warmer feeling filled him. “Girl, you’re smoking!” he shouted.
“I do not. I never!”
Bobby folded over in laughter, pounding the arms of the chair as he reveled in her innocence.
“Who’s there? Geno?” Roger called from the bedroom.
“Oh shit!” Bobby forgot again, to be seen was to be heard, and quickly pulled his hood into place a moment before Roger appeared.
Roger tip-toed into the living room, the butt of a Mossberg 590 tactical shotgun nestled in one shoulder, sweeping the room with the red laser emanating from the business end.
“This guy likes his heavy artillery,” Bobby whispered.
“We shouldn’t have done that,” Maria groaned.
“It was a mistake. I couldn’t help it. You just looked so…”
She cut him off. “We shouldn’t have done it.”
“It’s no biggie, rookie mistake. Roger will chalk it up to his nerves being shot from the last few days.”
Shit, I almost had her. A few more minutes and the stick would have been out of her ass.
“This is not good,” she pouted and folded her arms to wait out Roger’s siege in silence.
Bobby followed suit, without the pouting.
Satisfied the door he’d carelessly fixed was still secure and he was alone, Roger went back to bed. The dead waited until they heard him snoring before Bobby went to make sure the big man was back in dreamland. Once back in his chair he immediately dropped his hood again. It was a high he could easily get addicted to.
“You’re careless,” Maria accused.
Bobby knew she was right. He also knew she could never understand what it was like to wear the robe.
“This thing, this fucking thing…”
Easy Bobby. Not her fault. Chill out.
“This robe is part of my Hell. It’s heavy, it itches, it pokes, it burns every inch of my skin every second of every minute. Jones said they made it from hanging ropes, he was probably fucking with us but it sure feels like it could be. It’s like evil or something, like it’s trying to hurt me, like it enjoys it or something. It really sucks.”
Death Sucks Page 22
