by D. B. James
“Will you break my left, not my right? I use my right for work. If I can’t work, I can’t take care of my kid.”
Receiving a head nod from Mikey indicating that the cash is the amount he said it’d be, I grab Frank’s left arm and proceed to break his bones.
The crunching sound is nearly as excruciating as his screams. I’ve learned to mostly block out the screams, but the brutal splitting sound of bones breaking is what keeps me up at night. It’s what gives me nightmares.
There’s no quick way to do this, at least not for me. The boss demands his payments be brutal. He doesn’t want the arm to be simply broken; he wants as many bones crushed as possible.
Frank’s scapula is the first to be destroyed. The snap of shattering bones meets my ears.
Snap. Snap. Crunch.
Followed immediately by his ulna.
Snap. Snap. Snapsnapsnap.
Swiftly I break his radius.
Snaaaaaaap.
The pain my hands inflict causes Frank to pass out. It’s for the best. When he wakes, he’ll wake to not only his arm broken, but a few fingers as well. He didn’t have ten large, was shy a bit, thus causing me to leave him with a few surprises.
Two phalanges should be enough to ease the boss’s thirst for blood.
Snap. Snap.
Leaving him lying on the floor, near the puddle of his own piss, I walk briskly out the broken front door. Mikey solemnly joins me once I’m outside.
“It never gets easier to see. In some ways, I think the poor saps would be better off if we shot ’em,” he mumbles quietly while getting in his SUV.
“Yeah,” I whisper in reply.
He’s unaware of what breaking a man does to me.
Unaware of the nightmares.
Unaware of how I’m slowly dying inside. Unaware of the pain I’m inflicting on myself. It’s not physical, never tangible. My pain is mental. If I learned one thing tonight, it’s how much I need out. It’s beyond a want. It’s now a necessity.
I need to get out before I hurt one more person.
I need out tonight.
Mikey starts to drive back toward my car, but I don’t want to go back yet. I need to see the boss.
“Hey, can you take me to Martinelli, instead?” I croak out.
Fuck, I’m nervous.
“He’s not in town. What d’ya need?”
“Nothing to do with you, it’s my business. It entered my mind while I was breaking Frank’s bones, something to discuss with him.” Shrugging, I glance out the window to see we’re nearly back to the old warehouse. “I’ll call, make an appointment.”
Silently he pulls up next to my car.
“What does it feel like to drive such a beauty?” he asks as I’m opening my door to get out.
“I don’t drive her. She drives me.”
As I’m opening my door to get inside, I gently, lovingly rub my hand over the top of the door, the royal blue paint shining brightly under the glow of a nearby streetlamp. She’s my pride and joy. Some of the best hours of my life were spent transforming her into the glorious creature now sitting before me.
“She was a gift to myself when I left the army. A buddy of mine’s dad was selling her and I snatched her up for pennies on the dollar. She’s been the best investment I’ve ever made. She’s taken hours of my life, in a good way. Mystique wasn’t in such good shape when she came into my possession, but my hard work made her shine.”
“I’ve always wanted a ’69 Chevelle, just never been able to find one worth my time. She’s a beaut.”
The rest of his reply is cut off by my shutting the door and starting the engine. I have better things to do than sit here bullshitting with Mikey.
Plans that include calling Averill before bed in a couple of hours. Yeah, it sounds like a wonderful plan to me. Her sweet voice should be the last thing I hear at night. Maybe then I’ll sleep peacefully.
I’m about an hour away from home when my phone rings. Glancing down, I see it’s Brant calling. Normally I wouldn’t answer, but we had plans to go out, he was still going to go out alone. Hitting the speaker button, I answer, hoping the call will be quick.
“Hey, prickhead, what’s up?”
“Um…I need a favor.”
Shit, he sounds plastered.
“I may be able to grant you one.”
“Grant m-me a what?”
“What do you need, assface?”
“Oh. A ride. Can you come pick me up? The bartender took my keys.” He continues to mumble out of earshot and I swear he says ‘that bitch’ at the end.
“I’m an hour outside of town yet. If you’re okay with waiting, I’ll be there then. Where are you?”
“Shorty’s on Hanover.” The retching coming from the other end is enough to make me sick. He must’ve drunk his weight in tequila.
In silence, I wait for him to come back on the line. “I’ll be there in an hour, tops. No more to drink, Brant.”
He huffs in response.
Great. This isn’t how I pictured my night ending.
Hell, this isn’t how I pictured my life.
Fifty minutes later, I’m pulling up to Shorty’s, and Brant is nowhere to be seen. Parking the car, I get out and try to find him. As I open the door, I see his back facing me and his head slumped down on the bar.
Nodding to the barkeep, I lift Brant’s head a bit, forcing him to open his eyes. “Go away, Rhys. I’m sleepin’.” His speech is slurred and his eyes are slits, barely open.
“If you don’t mind having a horrible pain in your neck, I can leave you here for the night. I doubt they’d let you stay though.”
“Pffft, they’d love for me to stay. Where am I?” He shoves his right hand toward me, trying to force me away, but he only manages to push the air.
“The bar, jackass.”
“Oh.”
He attempts to lift his head up, swaying back and forth on his stool. It’s a good thing I’m not parked far away, because I doubt I can get him to walk much.
He better not blow chunks in Mystique.
Tossing a few dollars on the bar, I assist Brant off of his stool.
“Come on. We’re getting you home. It seems you’ve done enough partying for three people. You’ll regret it come sunrise.”
“Nope, not me—I have no regrets.” Looking around, he sees we’re now outside. “Huh, could’ve sworn I was inside. What the hell, man? Where am I again?”
Christ on a cracker. How much did he have to drink?
Gritting my teeth, I bark out an order. “Never mind. All you need to worry about is not barfing in my car.”
Drunk people are not my thing. Hell, I can’t bear myself when I’m drunk. He owes me one. Opening the passenger side door while trying to support the bulk of his weight, I push him gently, trying to assist him in.
“Rhys?”
“Yeah, assmunch?”
“Thank you. For everything,” he mumbles as he lifts his head a bit, twisting to turn back to look at me.
“No problem.”
Hopefully I can get him up to his condo; if not, he’ll have to crash on my couch. Dragging a grown man up his twelve front stairs isn’t on my list of favorite past times.
Sighing, I start the ten-minute drive to his place. After a couple of blocks, he retches with all his might, putting all his force into it and making me fear for my carpet. Better turn around and head to my place, which is much closer.
There’s no way he’s sleeping in his own bed tonight. I’d feel horrible leaving him alone in the state he’s in. What if something happened to him in his sleep? If he’s this drunk, he could end up dead before daylight, and there’s no way in hell I could manage losing my best friend. We may bicker like two grumpy old men, but he’s the only brother I have.
The next morning, I wake after Brant has left for work. Spying a note near my broken Keurig, I see he’s thanked me for the use of my couch. He better be thankful. He’s lucky I didn’t leave him on the steps of his condo. The
jackass did it to me once, back in college. It was a prank, but still—payback and all.
Grimacing at my stupid coffee machine, I go back into my bedroom to pull on some pants and grab a shirt. Starbucks to the rescue again.
What I should do is go to the nearest store and buy a new coffee maker, at least a cheap one to get me through until I can give my machine the attention it needs.
Face it, Rhys, it’s broken. Buy a new one.
I’ll run to Starbucks and the store. Maybe the clerk can help me find a different brand that’ll be an improvement.
Surprisingly, the drive-thru isn’t busy and I’m inhaling the intoxicating aroma of coffee in minutes. The first sip is out of this world. It feels like forever since I’ve had a cup of coffee.
Not caring about store rules, I bring my caffeinated bliss into the department store with me. Hopefully the clerk will take pity on me and my coffee-less situation at home. It’s a valid reason for me to bring it inside. Besides, I’m caffeine deprived. My brain isn’t functioning at full capacity.
“Welcome to Kelmen’s,” a worker calls out upon me entering the store. Instead of ignoring them like I normally would, I walk over to the counter to ask her for some assistance. I know what I came in for, nothing else.
“Good morning. I’m here looking to buy a new coffee maker. Can you help me with that or find someone who can, please?”
“Oh sure, I’d be happy to help. My name is Jennifer. If you’ll come with me, I can help you find what you’re looking for.”
“Great, thanks.”
She’s looking at me like I’ve suddenly grown another head. As far as I know, I didn’t say anything weird, and I’m fully dressed—two things working in my favor, I’d say.
“You, um…have a pair of underwear sticking to your jeans.”
Well that explains the weird look.
“Do you have a bag I can put them in?” Instead of being embarrassed, I shrug it off. I’m sure they’re clean…mostly sure. I’d say I’m 87 percent sure.
“Yes!” she exclaims like she’s embarrassed for me. Uh, whatever. It is what it is.
Taking the bag from her, I bend down to grab my boxer briefs and shove them inside.
“All right then. Coffee makers?”
“Oh yeah, please follow me.”
Twenty minutes later, after gaining a bruised ego and relinquishing four hundred dollars, my new coffee maker and I are pulling up to my place.
It’s barely ten in the morning and I want to crawl back into my bed for the day. Too bad my appointments were rescheduled for today and not tomorrow.
As I’m getting ready, I remember I never did call Averill last night like I had planned. I should amend that by calling her now.
“Siri, call Tiger Lily.”
“Dialing Tiger Lily,” comes Siri’s robotic voice, and then comes the sound of Averill’s phone ringing.
After a few rings, I’ve all but given up on her answering, but then I’m greeted with a rushed, “Hello.”
“Good morning, beautiful. How did you sleep?”
“Rhys?”
“Yeah?”
“Oh nothing, I was verifying it was you calling. I didn’t look at my screen before answering. I’m unpacking a few boxes of new stock in the store room and heard the ringing from my office.” She pauses; for what reason, I have no clue. “What’s up?”
“I was calling to tell you that Brant scored us—us being him and me—some tickets for the concert this weekend. Would you ladies like to join us, or meet us there? Unless you have a strict girls only vow for the night. If that’s the case, we’ll be there and you can say hi if you want.”
Why am I rambling?
“Um…okay, we can all go together. It makes sense anyway. I have to warn you in advance about Tessa: she’s wild—like, annoyingly wild. I guess what I’m trying to say is, she likes to party, and I’m apologizing for her in advance.”
Wild, I can deal with. Drunk, not so much.
“If she’s anything like Brant, we’re both in for a treat. Remind me to tell you about my night last night. Let’s just say this: Brant should not be allowed to drink tequila.”
Shuddering at the thought, I make a mental note to tell him he’s not drinking this weekend. He owes me one for last night and he can be our designated driver.
“Let’s make a pact to not let them get drunk together. If Brant is anything like I remember, the two of them will be nothing but trouble with a capital T. She used to be married, and then once her divorce was final, she finally grew her wings. As soon as the ink was dry on the papers, it was like an invisible string broke. She’s been a wild one ever since.”
“How’d you meet her?” My real questions are; are you divorced? and Where are your wings? but I refrain from asking. She’ll tell me her secrets someday.
“She owns a Threads & Trends in the San Diego area. We met when I briefly trained under her. We connected instantly and have been friends for a while now. She may be wild, but she’s good people.”
Does she have any friends outside of work? I was wrongly assuming Tessa was a friend from school, one she made when she moved away. I’m not sure why I assumed anything about their friendship; she hasn’t told me anything about her friend until today. This is the first time we’ve really had to talk about her. One day I will know all of these answers.
“Well I was just calling to hear your sweet voice for a minute before I head into work. I meant to call you last night but was tangled up with a drunken Brant. I’ll call you later to set up a time to pick you ladies up. Have a good day.”
“You make my head spin, Rhys. I’m not entirely sure it’s a good thing.”
Before I can reply, I’m met with silence—she hung up on me, but it’s for the best. It’s a conversation better finished face to face. I want to see the look in her eyes when she tells me why I make her head spin, why she’s fighting this feeling I know we’re both feeling. It’s been there since we were kids.
Walking out the door, I make a silent vow to Averill.
I will succeed in these meetings today. I will get out of this life.
The first meeting with a potential business partner was a complete flop. The guy was a mess, a complete asshole, and a druggie to boot—not the kind of person you want to go into business with. He should consider himself lucky I’m not reporting him to the state board. He needs to lose his fucking license to practice law.
I’m debating canceling the next guy when there’s a knock on the door. It could only be one of two people; either the guy is extremely early for our meeting, or Brant is here. He’s the only soul who knows I bought this place. Since odds are it’s Brant, I take my time getting to the front door.
“Open up, douchebag, I know you’re in there,” he yells from outside. Shaking my head, I open the door.
“What do you want, rimjob?”
“Your mom called me. Your dad had a heart attack early this morning and he’s in intensive care. She’d like for you to come home.”
Without saying a word, I walk back into my makeshift office, Brant following silently behind. He knows what those words have done to me. It’s the first time in years I’ve heard any news from my either of my parents and she couldn’t have bothered to call me. She called my best friend instead. What-the-ever-loving-fuck? How am I supposed to feel about that?
“Did she say anything else?”
“No, man, all she said is what I’ve told you. She called my office. I came here as soon as I hung up. I knew you’d be here. Are you going?”
Am I?
“Probably not. They’ve managed to forget about me until now, so what difference does it make if I go back? He won’t want me there. Fuck, she couldn’t even bother to call me, her own son. She called you when we both know for damn sure she has my number. Unless they’ve completely removed me from their existence, she has my number.”
I decided not to go as soon as Brant asked if I was. Why? Because I’m hurt she called him over me. She had
a chance to bridge the gap between us and she chose wrong. It’s truly that simple.
“Don’t look at me like I just killed a puppy. You know I probably couldn’t get the time away from work in the first place.” Throwing my legal pad across the room, it slams and hits the wall with a dull thud. “I don’t know what the right answer is here, Brant. I don’t know if I should go see him or if I should act like the child I feel like being and stay right the fuck here. Right now, neither answer makes sense to me. My father could be dying and I don’t give a shit. He’s not the same man I grew up knowing. He’s changed.”
Sighing, I slump down farther in my chair. The last words are the hardest to say. “He’s changed me. He forever changed who I was supposed to become and I’m not sure I’ll ever forgive him.”
The alarm on my phone pings, alerting me of the time; my next appointment will be here in less than ten minutes.
“Hey, man, you know I’ll support you no matter what. If you decide to go and want someone to tag along, I’m there, no questions asked. If you want me to stay for this next meeting, I’ll stay. Shit, I’ll run it for you. If you need to leave to clear your head, go. I have this covered.”
As much as I feel like retreating into myself, I know I can’t do it. What I need to do is focus on moving forward with my life, moving toward making it my own. No more answering to my father, the army, or Martinelli—only myself, my own rules.
I’m opening my own legal practice and bringing in two attorneys to practice with me. I’ve managed to save more than half of my earnings from Martinelli, enough for most people to live off of for a lifetime. I’m choosing to use it for good, to use it for the people who need it more than I do. My practice is going to focus on victims.
We’re going to help the people who need it the most, the people who have been forgotten and cast aside by society. We’ll help abuse victims by providing them with good free legal consultation against the monsters who’ve tried to destroy them. Together we’ll work on helping tomorrow’s youth find a better future. We’re also going to help the homeless who need legal assistance. On the side, we’re going to take on some paying cases to help pay the bills, but my main goal is to help people who need it. Right now, there isn’t much legal help out there for people with little to no income. There’s legal aid, but we all know most cases are just a case number to them, not a person, not a mother, a father, a daughter, or a son.
