My occupation gets me on the street, usually late at night. I’ve seen some weird stuff the last few months and I’ve heard some crazy things. Some guys are getting scared enough to not go out at night. It’s affecting my business a little.
It’s always the same thing, too. This guy appears out of nowhere, does his dirty deed, and then disappears again. What’s he doing? He’s killing people, that’s what he’s doing. It’s crazy, couple times a week. I know what you’re thinking. You’re wondering why this ain’t a big story in the paper. Well first of all, newspapers don’t investigate the seedy side anymore, especially ones like the Plain Dealer. They got no reporters to cover something like this. And that’s too bad, this kind of thing could be big news.
I know what you’re thinking, if bodies were littering the alleys like I say, it would have to be making the newspapers. Well here’s the thing, nobody looks like they were murdered. That’s right, no marks, no blood, and no violence. It looks like natural causes. But see, there are witnesses. People tell me they see this stuff happening all of the time, badass stuff too, knives and hooks, lots of blood, medieval things. I know what you’re thinking, if one pothead tells you a story, its bull crap. When five or six of them tell you the same story, something’s happening.
When the police find the body, there’s not a mark, not a scar, not a dam thing. And get this, some person in a raincoat is bent over the victims and he’s putting something in a bottle. One guy said it looked green, a glowing green vapor, like a lightning bug. What the heck? That’s crazy ain’t it?
So all of these victims are just dopers and drunks, dropping dead from natural causes and all these witnesses are also dopes and drunks who are just seeing the boogieman. That’s what the cops would have you believe. Do you believe that? I sure don’t. You know something else? This sounds a little like that guy I saw at the train tracks.
Here’s a story for you. One night I was watching the Cavs. It was before LeBron went to Miami. The Cavs were playing the Wizards in the playoffs. If you know your basketball, this was when the Cavs and the Wizards didn’t like each other too much. The game was really good, lots of contact, hell even the rappers were getting involved with competing rhymes.
So it’s the third quarter of a close game and I get a beep on my cell. No way am I hauling out to make a deal with some toker looking to buy a dime on a Friday night. So I just ignore the call. Well this guy starts lighting me up like a Christmas tree. I pick up the phone and look at the screen and it says “XFACTR”. Well X is like my best customer so I have to call him back. He wants a little smoke for a date. He met some dollar piece and he wants to impress her.
I hated to leave my game in the third quarter but business is business. I wouldn’t want to lose X some halfbitch smoke runner from the streets, so I packed up and headed out the door. X told me to meet him at the Fantasy Man Club. The Fantasy use to be strictly queer but as the Cleveland economy went in to the tank they expanded their business circle.
Stuck in a crappy location with low rent they could sell their beer cheaper than anyone else. Pretty soon all the big drinkers with small pockets were hanging there. X was a straight guy with a taste for cheap beer and cheaper pot so he fit right in to the demographics.
The night was kind of cold so I put on my favorite raincoat. Dope dealers like the cooler weather. Like our comrades the shoplifters, we use our clothing to conceal our goods. When it’s hot, well that’s a challenge. So I start walking to the Fantasy. Just as I round the corner of the block that it’s on, I see a man in front of me.
Now that’s not odd in itself, but this is, his coat came open from the wind and before he could close it up, I saw a green glow. It looked like one of those sticks you break in half when you get a flat tire. I thought to myself, “What the hell is that?” But I had no answer and the man just disappeared in front of me, like a mist.
So no I’m in front of the Fantasy and pause for a moment. I check all the places were the things that have a place should be ten I walk through the door. Jay Z’s on the system singing some mellow stuff and all the love birds are paired up at the tables. The single guys are standing along the bar with their drinks.
Looking around I see a few familiars, business acquaintances of mine. I give ‘em a little nod, nothing more. You don’t know who they’re talking to and from their side they may not want to be seen talking to me. You just don’t know. Like a lot of these guys, my business is in the closet.
I see my friend, he’s sitting in the back corner with a couple ladies. As I walk to the back I try to avoid looking anybody in the face. The Fantasy has security cameras in the corners of the bar. I don’t know if they work or not but I try to keep my face off them too. X has parked his party right in a corner under one of the cameras. I don’t know if he did that on purpose but he’s in a blind spot. That’s good.
Another one of my rules is I don’t talk business in a public place. You never know when there might be a stray mic hanging under the table. So I keep it zipped in a place like this, literally and figuratively. When I walk up to the table, I take one last look around to see if anybody is watching.
Smiling at me with his big gold tooth gleaming, X says, “My man! How’s it hanging, Henry?
“Pretty good X, looks like you’re doing ok!” I reply as I look at the ladies sitting beside him.
“Can I buy you a beer Henry?” X asks.
“No thanks, business call, you know what I mean.”
“Sure, I know,” X says as he laughs. Looking over at the blond on his left, X whispers to her, “I’m going to take a walk here with my friend.”
As we walk back to the front of the bar I notice that Fat Joey the bartender, is staring at me while he shines up a bourbon glass. I can tell where this going right away. Turning to X I say, “Hold on a sec while I say hi to my friend here.”
Reaching into my back pocket I grab a folded $20 bill that I keep there just for occasions like this. Cupping it in my hand I reach out and shake Joey’s hand. “How you doing Joey?”
Looking down into his hand, Joey says with a smile, “Things are looking better.”
Just as I start to pull my hand back Joey grabs my wrist and pulls me into the bar. Bending down to my face Joey says, “Listen pimp, I know you were trying to stiff me there. You come in here with your crap you pay the toll. Next time I won’t be so nice. I’ll kick your face in. While you’re digging teeth out of your tongue I’ll drop a dime on you too. Understand?”
“Yea, I understand.” I reply as I rub my wrist.
Walking out the front door X looks at me and asks, “What was that all about?”
“Ah nothing man, just business.” I reply
As we walk around the corner I say to X, “Let’s just go back here and get this over with. Maybe I can catch the end of the game.”
With X leading the way we walk towards the dark area by a dumpster. Stopping for a moment, I turn around and take one last look to make sure we weren’t being followed. Just then X starts yelling.
“What the hell is it?” I yell back at him.
“Look at this guy,” X replies.
Lying on the ground in front of us is a dead man. He’s leaning against the dumpster and his throat is ripped out. His eyes are open wide and his mouth is hanging open.
“Did you see that?” X asks. “That man in the raincoat?”
“I didn’t see squat man. What you talking about?” I reply.
“I can’t believe you didn’t see him. Tall guy in a raincoat, carrying a six-pack! He was just here.” X sighs.
“There’s a siren. Let’s get the hell outa here now!” I say to X.
We started running down the alley as quick as we could. We pulled the collars of our jackets up and ran towards the end of the alley. Just as we reach the end a bright light is turned on us. Over a speaker a cop says, “Hold it right there boys. You come back here now. Don’t make me shoot you in the ass.”
“Shit man, we gonna get hung on this?” I
ask X.
“I don’t know. No weapons, no blood. We ain’t done anything,” X replies.
“What color’s your ass, X?” I ask.
“Black,” X replies.
“Two black asses, one cut throat. You do the math dude,” I yell at X.
“Shit,” X replies.
“Come back here assholes”, the cop yells.
As we walked back to the dumpsters, I had a million things running through my mind. There’s about $200 worth of weed in my boot. I’ve got a knife in my pocket and a roll of $20’s. That’ll all look good when they frisk me.
“What you guys know about this?” the policeman asks us.
“Not a thing man. We just were walking by and saw him lying there.” I reply.
“You think he was sleeping?” the officer asks.
“Sleeping? I don’t know, I guess.” I reply. Thinking to myself, I wondered why the cop hadn’t said anything about the dead dude’s throat.”
“It’s probably natural causes, heart attack my guess.” The officer says aloud.
“Heart attack? What about his throat?” I ask the officer.
“What’s wrong with his throat?” the officer replies.
Looking down at the dead man I’m stunned when I see that there is nothing wrong with his throat. It’s like it had magically heeled itself. Looking over at X I see that he has a blank stare on his face.
“What is it? The officer asks.
“Nothing,” I reply.
“Well you guys can go on, nothing out of the ordinary here.” The officer says to us.
So what the hell happened there that I don’t know. One minute some guy’s tongue is half out of his throat, the next he looks like he’s sleeping like a baby. The only thing strange is the man in the raincoat. He shows then goes and nobody knows.
But that was that. X and me completed our business on the next block and parted ways. I never saw X again. I always wondered if he ever figured out who the man in the raincoat was. I guess I’ll never know now. I liked X. I hope he didn’t find the man in the raincoat.
As I’m walking away I pull out my cell. Looks like quite a few people wanting to party tonight. I had three missed calls, all business related. I needed to head to my stash for a reload. Pulling my wallet out of my pocket, I look for a business card. It says “Fairmont Toyota”. Turning the card over, I read the writing on the back. Camry, $6989, underlined.
$6989 isn’t a price, it’s a phone number, the number for my dealer. See I’m smalltime. I just buy weed, cut it up into smaller quantities, and make a little bread. My guy’s name is Glenn. I know his name’s not really Glenn but that’s what he says to call him. I haven’t even seen Glenn face to face. He’s real secretive and careful. Tell you the truth, he’s kind of weird. He buries his stuff in the cemetery like some kind of crypt keeper .
When I call him he sends me to a grave, a fresh one. I dig 2-feet from the end right in the center. When I get down about 6” there’s a Tupperware container with the weed in it. I put my cash in and cover it back up. I know what you’re thinking, why not just take the shit? Well I’ll tell you why. Glen said if I ever screwed him over he’d give me a Columbian necktie and hang me in my mother’s garage. Well I don’t have an interest in finding out if Glenn’s a liar or not.
Tonight Glenn is sending me to the Holy Lady Cemetery over by the causeway. That’s an old church cemetery that was closed up when they started closing churches around town. They must still plant stiffs over there. When I pulled into the parking lot of the church the wind started to blow harder. Getting out of my car I feel the rain on my face. Just as I open the trunk a gust of wind grabs the lid and almost snaps it out of my hand.
Glen told me to go to the mausoleum at the back, turn right, walk down 15 graves. When I get to the Buchholz marker stop, go to the next grave and start digging. It sounds simple enough. Carrying my little shovel I look like a Boy Scout. With the wind picking up the trees start to squeak. I even hear one of the old limbs crack. Suddenly I hear a noise that sounds like a growl. “Hello!” I say out loud. Suddenly from my right a flower arrangement tumbles across the grass scaring the crap out of me. This is getting a little creepy. I look behind me but I don’t see anything.
Pulling a flashlight out of my pocket, I shine the light in front of me. Shining it back and forth I finally find the building. That must be it. As I get closer a limb breaks off a tree behind me. The loud noise makes me jump about out of my skin. “God damn!” I yell. Just then lighting cracks across the sky in front of me. “Sorry,” I mumble to myself as I look up at the sky.
“This has to be it,” I say to myself. Looking around I can see the lights go out on the street across from the cemetery. That last bolt of lightning must have knocked out a transformer. That’s just great, now it’s even darker.
I start counting graves until I get to Buchholz. Francis Buchholz, Daughter, Wife and Mother, 1946. “Hello Francis, funny seeing you here,” I say while laughing. Look around, I notice that it’s pitch black everywhere. The power is still be out.
Bending down by the grave next to Francis I feel fresh dirt. No head stone, no flowers, nothing, just dirt. Pulling out an old Craftsman screwdriver from my pocket I start poking it into the ground. As the wind blows around me I continue to stab the ground. Finally I hit something. Grabbing my shovel I dig down. It only takes a couple of shovelfuls of dirt to get to the box. As I pull it out of the ground I wipe off the dirt. Looking inside I find the neatly wrapped brick of weed. Sticking my money in the box I quickly cover it up.
Suddenly someone places a hand on my shoulder. I jump and roll over while clinging to my shovel. I look around but I can’t see anyone. “Who’s there?” I yell, but no one answers. Reaching into my pocket I pull out my knife and open it. Looking again, I still don’t see anyone. Slowly I catch my breath then I finish burying the cash.
Again, a hand is on my back. I jump up as quickly as I can and turn around with the knife in my hand. “Who’s there?” I yell. Looking to the left and then to the right I still see nothing. The wind is blowing hard around me now. I’m getting the hell out of here. Just as I start to leave I’m pushed to the ground. “Shit! Who are you!” I yell again.
I roll over and standing in front of me is a man in a raincoat. I try to yell at him but nothing comes out of my mouth. I can’t stand up. It’s as if I’m paralyzed. The man bends down on one knee and sits his bottles on the ground beside me. Opening one of the containers, he holds it in front of his face. As he slowly turns the lid on the bottle a green glow starts to swirl inside.
Frozen in place I just stare at his face through the bottle. He never looks back at me. His attention is all on the bottle. With his long, wrinkly fingers he continues to remove the lid. The green light starts to float out of the bottle. Slowly it finds its way to the end of my nose where it starts to drift in. I start getting dizzy as everything blurs in front of me.
Fighting the urge to go to sleep, I watch as the green mist comes back out of my nose and returns to the bottle. Sitting the glowing container down, the man lifts his arm in the air. The last thing I remember is this shiny hook being held above my head.
I know what you’re thinking. If I had my throat filleted, how could I be telling this story? That would be a fair question to ask. Well I don’t know what happened. When I woke up I was in this glass room. At first nothing made sense. So I walk over to the edge and put my hands on the glass. Look at this these walls are curved. Then I look down at my feet, there was some writing down there on the floor. So I get down on my hands and knees and start looking around but the writing’s backwards. I don’t know what it says at first. Then I find a word in capitals so I start reading aloud to myself. “M…A…S…O…N, mason?” Quickly I look up at the ceiling; it’s white with a red circle around the outside. “Damn…” I say aloud.
Jumping to my feet I press myself against the glass. I can see something in the glass room next to me. It’s a blurry face looking back at me. The
face looks like one of those reflections you would see in a carny mirror. The more I stare at the face the clearer it gets. “X? Is that you X?” I mumble. Slowly a word appears on the side of X’s bottle. “H…E…L…P… Help? Oh my god...”
I run to the other side of my bottle, same thing. Looking out the back is another row of bottles. I’m surrounded by bottles all with floating faces inside. “I’ve been collected…” I whisper to myself. That’s how I found out. How long have I been in here? I don’t know, a day, a year, eternity, who knows. I sure don’t know. I’m just floating in time. The only thing that ever changes is the trains. Always the trains, they come by quite regularly now.
Hear that? Hear that train coming? In a couple seconds this place will be shaking like crazy. After the shaking stops an old man will come in here carrying a six pack of bottles. I’ll start yelling at him but he’ll ignore me, he always does. See all these other bottles on the wall? They’ll all perk up, too. Everyone will be glowing green. It’ll look like a field of fireflies
An old man in a raincoat holding six jars will come home from a night of work. Slowly removing his jacket he will hang it on a hook by the door. Picking up his glowing bottles he will walk over to a shelf. Carefully lifting one bottle at a time, he will neatly sit each one of them on a shelf. Arranging the bottles perfectly in their new home he will take a few steps back, cross his arms, and admire his collection. Looking to his left and then the right, as far as he can see, rows of glowing bottles.
небесный свод
(Canopy of Heaven)
A lake, large enough that you couldn’t see the other side marked the north side. To the south was a forest. From east to west ran four railroad tracks. Two for east bound traffic, two for west. The inside tracks were for the lumber trains that worked the camp. The outside tracks were reserved for the trains that crossed the countryside.
The trees to the south provided the perfect barrier between camp and civilization. Escape through this side of the camp was thought to be impossible. If one did not freeze to death or starve, he would most likely be eaten by animals. This area was called the canopy. It was home to wolves, bears, tigers and lynx that could jump from the trees. The canopy also was home to 400 pound boars. The occasional viper, spider, tick or wolverine could also offer an unexpected death.
Lonesome Town - 3 Short Stories Page 2
