Gray's Ghosts

by Carey Lewis

  “Mask? What mask?”

  “They gave me a mask to wear. So the union wouldn’t know. I didn’t put it on.”

  Brooke was quiet.

  “If it was real they got me on camera doing it.”

  “Deacon, listen to me. It wasn’t real. They were making a movie, that’s all,” she said, but she had her doubts. Something wasn’t sounding right. They hid the cameras Deacon told her. Why do that? Why get Deacon messed up? Why leave a pitcher behind? Deacon used to drink a good amount, no way he’d be messed up from a pint and some weed. “Go home and this will just be a bad dream.”

  “Why didn’t I put on the mask?” he said, more to himself than her.

  Brooke didn’t say anything.

  “It just looked so goddamn real Brooke. You’d think those people were really dead.”

  “Deacon. Go home.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  CESAR WAS PROUD, STANDING IN front of the mirror, looking at himself. Present someone with a problem, it’s a man that solves it. One step at a time. That’s how people get overwhelmed. They don’t break down the big picture into manageable steps. That’s what all those books told him to do. Create a plan. One step at a time.

  He looked behind him to his unmade bed, the dogs laying there staring at him. They knew who the alpha was. Now Motley knew it too. Man didn’t have to go and be a problem. Man became a problem, that meant he became something in his way. Needed to adapt his plan for him. What the books say, have a plan but be willing to adapt.

  All steps to being something bigger.

  One last look at himself in the mirror. Looked good in his khaki pants, his shirt and tie. Looked like a real business man. He walked back to the bed, the dogs sitting up waiting for him to pet them. Instead he grabbed the yellow hard-hat and left the room.

  No time to celebrate yet. More steps had to get done.

  He came out to the living room, went over to the kitchen, the dogs at his heels. He poured the kibble into their bowls, watching the dumb motherfuckers not having patience, shaking off the pellets when they landed on their heads.

  You look at it right, new problems offered new solutions. Something he’d have to put thought to. Motley pulling that stupid shit, not realizing the sandbox was big enough for both of them. He needed the Cubans to protect him from Motley. With Motley gone, he didn’t see a need for the Cubans anymore. He’d still pay them, see what they could offer him now instead of what they offered Cesar. Hector was right about that. No Motley, no need for protection.

  But that was in the future. Right now he had weed and plants. He sent Huey down to Myrtle, get him to start making some money. Motley only had a couple grand on him, so Cesar needed more. Whatever he thought about the Cubans and the future, he needed to pay them or there’d be a war. Easier to pay them.

  He’d give the TV star the day to get his head together. Hit him up with the call tomorrow. Guess what Mr. Celebrity? What’s it worth to you to keep this shit on the down-low? I can think of forty-two thousand things can go wrong, you don’t play ball. Shit, why not make it an even five? Maybe go up higher, see how much luck was on his side.

  The door creaked open and Cesar turned to see Hector come in, wearing a pair of jeans with a shirt and tie, a white hard-hat in his hand. The dogs barely turned from their food when Cesar left.

  Going down the road now with Hector driving the Acura. One thing he had to do today - get a place to plant the shit he dug up out of the ground. The house wasn’t haunted, that was okay. Solutions always presented themselves.

  “Huey down in Myrtle?” Cesar asked.

  “Dropped him off this morning. He asks who he’s supposed to sell to that early. I tell him people like getting high non-dependent of the time.”

  “How’s he holding up?”

  “He tells me he don’t think non-dependent’s a word. I say he’s right, it’s a hyphenated word. Means nothing’s depending on it. He gets out his phone to check. I tell him he Googles ‘non-dependent’ I’m going to bust that phone over his head.”

  “He check anyway?”

  “Know he wanted to.”

  “Huey’s got that streak in him, has to finish something on his mind,” Cesar said, looking out the windshield, watching the blacktop move under the speeding car.

  “He says, Independent of me checking the phone, emphasizing the ‘in’ telling me that’s the word I was looking for. Independent of Google I know you’re wrong he says.”

  Cesar chuckled. “Fucking Huey. Kid makes me laugh.”

  “It didn’t come from Huey I might a laughed too. What I did, I took the phone out of his hands and busted it over his head.”

  “What’d you do that for?” Cesar asked, looking to Hector.

  “You know how the kid gets on me. I don’t know why you keep making him tag along.”

  “Independent of that, you dumb fuck, you know how the kid’s on edge. We need Huey cool now.”

  “Now you’re making fun of me?”

  “I’m trying to get you to think. What happens Huey loses his shit?”

  “Huey shot one of them too, he ain’t going nowhere. Only one ain’t shoot nobody was you.”

  “You remind him of that?”

  “I did.”

  “Before or after you took the phone upside his head?”

  “After. I start thinking about the things you just said, Huey losing his shit.”

  “What’d he say?”

  Hector slowed the Acura down, coming to the dirt driveway between the white fence lining the farm. “He didn’t say much at that. But I crack him in the head, I said ‘Google this.’

  “That’s the best you could do?”

  “That’s what Huey said, asked me if that was the best line I had. I panicked.” Hector turned the car into the drive, slowly making his way down to the house.

  “Park there so they see the car when they answer the door,” Cesar said, pointing through the windshield.

  “I remind Huey what he’s in. He gets out of the car, tells me his phone is broken. I said that should be non-dependent of his ability to sell weed.” Hector brought the car to the house, pulled it over to the right where he made a wide turn on the grass, bringing the car to face down the drive to the street. He looked at the door up there on the porch, making sure the Acura would be in view.

  “He says with the phone broken, how’s he supposed to call to get picked up, dumb-fuck. Called me dumb-fuck, I still owe him for that.”

  Cesar looked away from the house to Hector. “You got the clipboard?”

  Hector reached behind him to the backseat. “Printed one of those construction order forms from the Internet. Think it’s called an Assessment.” Hector handed the clipboard with papers stuck to it to Cesar. “I don’t understand anything that’s on there.”

  “Long as it looks right, that’s what’s important,” Cesar said and got out of the car.

  He and Hector put their hard-hats on and walked up to the house. They knocked on the door and Mrs. Miller appeared in the hallway. She looked confused when she opened the screen door and looked at them.

  “Good afternoon Mrs. Miller.” Cesar took off the hard-hat and held it under his arm. He saw Hector do the same. “My name is Mr. Riso and this is Mr. Gonzalez. Maybe you saw me with the crew here yesterday?”

  Cesar watched her search her memory, trying to figure out what was going on. “Yes?”

  “We understand you have significant damage to your property, is that correct?”

  She looked back and forth between them. “Not much, no.”

  “We were told it’s quite significant Mrs. Miller. In fact it might even be dangerous.”

  “Dangerous?”

  “That’s what we were told Mrs. Miller. We work with the show all the time, go around with them. As you know, some of these older houses can be quite risky. That’s why you saw me a couple of those days.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Mrs. Miller you could lose your insurance. The show
asks us to come in, look at houses they think are in bad shape. We come by and see if we have to condemn the place or if repairs can get done. We don’t want you to lose the place either Mrs. Miller that’s why we’d like to come in and see what we’re looking at here, see how bad it is.”

  “You want to come in? To my house?”

  “Unless you want us to come back with the cops and a letter from the insurance company. Maybe someone from the bank. Got kids too I noticed. Someone from Family Services would have to come, make sure your kids are safe. We don’t want you losing the house because you wouldn’t let us in. We’re on your side Mrs. Miller.”

  “You want to come in to my house?”

  “Look at my car Mrs. Miller. I was here to rob you I wouldn’t be driving a Japanese car, now would I? This is a favor we’re doing for the show, trying to keep it friendly as possible. They tell us the place might not be hospitable, we have to come check it out. You mind we come in see if the place is fit for living?”

  HUEY WAS GOOD AT SELLING weed. He’d go up to these guys on the beach talking to the girls, ask them if they wanted to show the girls a good time. There was some macho bullshit when he said that, the guys thinking Huey was coming along to do some perverted thing. That’s when Huey would show them the weed. That’s when the guys would smile.

  “What about pills? You got any pills?” they’d ask him.

  “Pills don’t give you a good time. Make you retarded, end up drooling on a couch,” Huey would tell them. “This shit makes you fly but you’re still functioning. You’re loosened up.”

  “I’ve done pills before. They don’t make me like that,” would come the answer.

  “What about the girls? You want them into it don’t you? You smoke the girls this, they’re going to be into you not just laying there starfish.”

  That would get him the sale.

  Not that Huey knew if what he was saying was true or not. He had only been with three girls all his life and one of them had to pay back her dealer. She took those pills Huey was talking about, laid there like a starfish. The dealer thought it would be funny to have dirty Huey slamming her as punishment. He never told anyone this, but after it was over, he went home and cried. Broke his mom’s heart, having her knocking on his bedroom door seeing if he was okay.

  He walked along the boardwalk, over to Cell World where he dropped off his phone earlier. Walked through the people in their bikinis, the roller-bladers, the people walking dogs, walking toward the SkyWheel. Seeing all these people enjoying life and their money. Huey felt them staring at him, judging him. This dirty looking fella with his blue beach bag. He felt them judging how skinny he was, his bad haircut, another yokel trying to be cool.

  There was Giuseppe, the fat Italian with the mustache, leaning out the window of Cell World onto the boardwalk, trying to sell a girl a phone. Now trying to sell her a case for the phone so she could take it underwater, get pictures of her good parts.

  Huey went into the store, some fake wood on the walls made to look like it was a hut. Cheap cells on the walls, cases, waterproof containers. Those selfie-sticks you put your phone on so you can take a picture of yourself being an asshole from further away. Posters of girls in bikinis using phones, smiling, having a great time.

  He went to the back of the store where the glass display was. Had the good phones in there along with rebuilt ones. Some pre-paid plans, all phones promised to be unlocked.

  Giuseppe came from the window, tucked his shirt down over his belly, having ridden up while he was leaning out the window. Told Huey the problem with his phone was a cracked screen and bent docking port.

  “What’s a docking port?” Huey asked.

  “The hole you stick the charger in on the bottom.”

  “How much?”

  “There’s another kind of docking, eh?” Huey watched his eyebrow raise as he leaned an elbow on the counter. The dirty old man thinking he was still young, trying to be cool.

  “How much?” Huey asked again.

  Giuseppe went through the swinging doors behind him, into the storeroom, came out with Huey’s phone that had a yellow tag on it. “Fixed the screen and fixed your hole so you can dock. One-fifty,” he said.

  It made Huey pause. He didn’t have any of his own money. Only sold twenty bags so far, ten bucks a pop. All he had was Cesar’s two hundred dollars. Huey took the money out of his pocket, started peeling bills off the roll.

  “My mistake. One-eighty,” Giuseppe said.

  Huey stopped and looked at him, saw the smile like a snake on his lips. He decided it was fine, he’d tell Cesar it was his fault making him go with that animal. He had a problem with it, take it up with Hector, he’s the one broke the phone. He paid the fat Italian and made his way out of the store and was back on the boardwalk.

  The sun was starting to go down now, the people going to change and get ready for the night time festivities. Huey would go to the clubs, walk up and down the line of people waiting to get in, look at the girls while he sold weed to the guys.

  That was his plan until he saw Brooke staring at him, her mouth somewhat open. Standing beside the short girl that acted like the boss. Both were looking good, their little dresses on, tight around the hips. Brooke had that neckline went down to show a bit of cleavage. It made Huey stop in his tracks.

  “Huey?” Brooke said, sounding like she didn’t believe it herself.

  Huey turned around, started walking the other way. He looked over his shoulder to see if they were following, then turned off the boardwalk. Maybe he’d come back tomorrow. Tonight, the boardwalk was dead to him.

  He got in a cab as quick as he could, told the driver to take him to Stone Gate Retirement Village. Old people love weed.

  “WHEN YOU WANT TO GO tell them?” Hector asked.

  They were standing in one of the bigger rooms in the bunker, the one made to be a living room. Hector was eating a can of baked beans he got from the supply room.

  “How long’s it take,” Cesar said, “to make an assessment of a bad house?” He was looking at the living room, trying to picture it in his head. The rows of plants he was going to put in here, what he was going to do with the furniture. “You know anything about electricity?”

  “Other than hitting the switch? You’re thinking how we’re going to run the wires for the heat lamps.”

  “Wondering if we can just tap into these lines from the overheads. Run them there.”

  “Getting into wattage and amps and shit like that. Take a look at the generators again, but they look like old man Dwight was serious. I’m surprised they still work old as they are.”

  “Why you think I bought the Acura? Japanese make shit that lasts.”

  They were silent again, looking at the room. Cesar thought of the three bedrooms down here, the living area, a library too. Old man Dwight went all out. This would work nicely, better than he thought, make each room a different strain. “You know we get up and humming, to capacity? We can take some of these walls down, start expanding out. Under everyone’s feet, no one knows.”

  “You think at all how you going to pay to get this shit all set up to start with? You going to rob a McDonald’s, get their heat lamps?” Hector asked. “You got to wire the place, get those lamps in. Then you got the dirt and pots you got to get and move down here. Can’t just go digging in the yard taking the dirt.”

  Cesar turned to Hector. “They got a tractor up there. Lots of land, dig it out near the back. No one walks around back there.”

  Hector was nodding. “Got the cows too making some good soil with their shit.”

  Cesar smiled. Hector always presented problems to him. Made him feel good watching Hector come around.

  “Still got the lamps and wiring, all that other sparky shit we got to figure out.”

  “That’s why we got Huey.”

  Hector turned, the look on his face telling Cesar he was out of his mind. Cesar said, “He went to school for it.”

  “Huey?”


  “Got electrocuted one day, why he don’t do it no more.”

  “That’s the man you want wiring this place up?”

  “Price is right.”

  “Goes a stretch explaining the boy,” Hector said, back to his beans, digging the last one out with the plastic spoon. “You tell these folk you taking the house, still don’t get you money for all the shit we’re going to need.”

  “Who said I was taking the house?”

  “YOU’RE GOING TO DO WHAT to our house?” Ben asked.

  “Like I said Mr. Miller, there’s two options. We can tell the bank and the insurance company what we found. Mr. Miller, you got mold growing down there in the basement. We’re surprised you not gone through the floor yet, the beams so rotten.”

  “Or what? You want to fix the house. That’s what you’re saying?”

  “You don’t and we have to go through proper channels? You’re going to lose it.”

  The Millers looked at each other, sitting there on their old sofa in the living room. The youngest blond kid bopping on the mom’s lap, sucking on a piece of plastic. Cesar and Hector were sitting across the coffee table from them on another sofa that didn’t match.

  Mr. Miller, Ben, turned back to them. “So we pay you to fix the house or you tell on us. That it?”

  “Mr. Miller, we’re doing you a favor here,” Hector said, playing along now, getting the scene Cesar was running. “We’re only doing this as a favor to the show.”

  “But you’re getting paid.”

  “Of course. But we don’t really give a shit what happens to you or the house.”

  Cesar gave him a look, hoped Hector knew what he was doing. He looked back to Ben, saw him lean back into the couch, like something escaped him. His hope.

  “We’re only going to bring the place up to code. You like what we do, a few years from now you call us back, fix the place up again.”

  “Mr. Miller,” Cesar said, “the basement’s got to get pumped from the leaky pipes. Then we see how much mold is down there. You hear this?” Cesar stood up, pushing down with his leg on the floor making it creak under him. “That’s from rotten wood. Those beams going to have to be replaced. Those pipes I’m talking about? We come back tomorrow, run a test, but you’re drinking in lead from them pipes. Maybe you get away with cleaning them, but you can’t have your family drinking that, washing their bodies in it.”