by V. L. Holt
Yes, it was a twisted relationship that needed fixing, but I didn’t know where to start. Since Mama and Daddy were gone, I didn’t have anyone to call and get advice from except my brother. But knowing Curtis Lee, he’d come and try to boss me around. I didn’t want that. Ray didn’t have anybody, or I would have called them to come and get his sorry butt out of my place.
We were just a couple of loners in this big shadowy city, nobody to call on for help, nobody to talk to for perspective.
I considered my inability to kick him out to be my greatest handicap, and I daily felt the shame of it. That didn’t mean I was figuring out a way to make a change. That was the problem. I couldn’t envision what the change would look like. I couldn’t figure out how to fix it. Or maybe I was afraid of being alone. Ray and I hooked up right about the time I moved here. It had made sense at first, pool resources, play house…my thoughts trailed off.
Room straightened, I finally got cozy in my bed. Thoughts drifted to my handsome mugger. I sat straight up. Maybe I had a solution to my problem!
Except I didn’t really know where to find him now. He was a broken man, but if ever there was a stray that deserved to be taken in, it was this guy. By default, helping him out might help me out too. Or rather, help me help Ray out the door.
He’d done alright with rescuing me once, he could do it again.
Chapter Seven
Zack never went home at all. He rode the People Mover all night, taking the scenic tour of Detroit, hiding from himself, trying to outrun himself, but there he was…at every turn.
The coffee kept him up for a while, but he could sleep anywhere and he did. He didn’t get off the train until morning. He didn’t look fresh as a daisy, but he felt a little better.
Lauren had told him a few things; some he knew already, and some he didn’t. He didn’t realize he was having panic attacks, but that explained a lot. He didn’t want to go back to the brownstone and see the damage he’d inflicted on his buddy. Dave had been his roommate for over a year. They got along great, until recently. He couldn’t pinpoint the problem, but he was sure it was himself.
Last night was a disaster. Dave had been playing Xbox and Zack had picked a fight. It turned into a brawl and Zack probably broke Dave’s nose. He felt awful about it. He should know Dave well enough by now, but he didn’t trust his own judgment…was Dave going to press charges? He wouldn’t blame him if he did.
The army had knocked most of Zack’s ego back to manageable, but he was still a hothead at times. His size, ability and temper had landed him in County before. It was only a matter of time before he did something to really ruin his life.
Not that his life was anything to write home about.
He drifted from job to job, barely squeezed out his rent from his Army pension and spent a lot of time with his head in his hands from the headaches.
With the morning sun streaming through train windows, he decided a morning coffee was just what he needed.
He got off in search of a diner and found one not far from the station. It was more like a shack, just a white box squat to the ground with a tumbledown add-on jutting off the back like an afterthought. A tendril of smoke eked out the chimney, but the air was rich with the smell of fried potatoes. His stomach growled. He had a couple more bucks; he could spring for breakfast too.
When the waitress brought him coffee, he glanced at her name tag. Colleen asked him what he’d be having, and he rattled off his choice without looking at the laminated but yellowed menu.
He imagined Lauren waitressing. What was the name of that joint she worked at? Lazy Boys? Lazy something. He wanted to go track her down, bend her backward and kiss her into next week. But that was probably the headache talking.
He sipped his coffee and looked around. Red vinyl booths, speckled white laminate table tops, grime in every corner, but the floor smelled of ammonia and water. The fry cook was visible over the back of the kitchen, steam clouds and bacon grease billowed up and over his white angular hat. The place smelled of coffee and bacon, and it was all a man could ask for. That and a beautiful girl who smelled like apples.
He put his head in his hands. He had to stop thinking about her. What he needed to focus on was how to get to Bethesda.
He couldn’t believe he’d actually stuck up Lauren. He also couldn’t believe how lucky he was that she didn’t take him seriously, that he hadn’t had any other witnesses and that the Mickey Cobras had backed down. What had she told them right before he walked up?
He’d never met another woman like her.
The waitress brought his food.
“Here ya go, hon,” she said.
Zack remembered being called ‘Doll’ and ‘Sugar’. It made him smile before he thanked Colleen and tucked in to his meal.
He was going home after this. He’d bring Dave one of those donuts under the glass cake stand and a cup of coffee. It was a long way from healing a broken nose, but it was the best peace offering he could manage right now.
He mopped up the egg yolk with the last bite of toast when the door jingled. He glanced up to see three big guys enter the diner.
He cursed and brought a hand up to his forehead. Leaning in, he obscured his face the best he could. The next sixty seconds were crucial. If they’d seen him from the street, then they were in here specifically to beat the crap out of him and leave him for dead in the alley. If they merely came in for a cup of Joe and some eggs, then he might be able to get out of here in one piece.
50.
He cursed again and kept his head down. Yes, he was a former Army Ranger. That didn’t mean he wanted to get into it with these guys. He could take two of them, maybe. Three, no.
He continued counting while the headache mounted in intensity. He felt the cool metal of Dave’s pistol behind his back in his waistband. He was not going there. Not today. Not when he was thinking clearly and ready to make a change in his life. What possessed him to take Dave’s gun anyway?
40.
He peeked under his hand at the table. Yes! Yesterday’s paper. He could use it as camouflage. The waitress saw him looking up and thought he wanted her.
30.
He pulled the paper over and smoothed it out on the table, as if he was really interested in the latest bank foreclosure and jump in crime rate. Ha. Crime rate. The waitress came over again, and she stood in such a way that he was able to see the men’s faces. They weren’t looking around. Yet. The big one was trying to get the cook’s attention. The guy running the register was asking them if they wanted to sit down or not.
20.
“Freshen your coffee?” she asked him.
“Yes please,” he said as quietly as he could without causing her to have to bend over to hear him better. He held his cup up and she poured. The cook shouted something and startled her, and blistering coffee splashed out on his hand.
10.
He wanted to scream from the pain, but anything unusual from his corner would get their attention, and he did not want their attention. He grimaced and tears sprang up in his eyes.
“Oh my Lord, I am so sorry!” she said, grabbing her bar mop and dabbing at his hand. The pressure only made it worse.
The cook shouted again, and with Colleen fussing over his hand, he looked up at the gang bangers. Two of them were pointing at the cook, and the man at the register was trying to calm everybody down.
The third gang banger was looking straight at him, and he saw recognition flit across his eyes.
1.
Zack looked down and pretended that he didn’t see him. Colleen poured ice water on a clean cloth she had in her apron and dabbed again. The ice water felt some better.
He ignored the big black guy and thanked the waitress. He used his good hand to pull out a few dollars to leave on the table. If the cook could keep the Mickey Cobras occupied, he might be able to get out of here alive.
Colleen hadn’t left his table yet. He looked up at her. “Colleen is there a back door?” he asked her in
a soft voice. He smiled real big in case the gang member was still staring him down. He was trying to make like he’d never seen these three guys before and that he didn’t have a care in the world.
She raised an eyebrow. “Sure hon,” she said and pointed her thumb behind her.
There was a tiny wood paneled hallway with a restroom sign. And behind a big stack of boxes glowed an exit plaque from the sixties. It was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. He slid out the door and hit the asphalt running. He figured he had about three minutes before the MC gang banger convinced the other two that they needed to come after him. The U. S. Army hadn’t taught him to run from a fight. But it had taught him to fight smart, and he was in no frame of mind to get into an altercation with three members of Detroit’s infamous Mickey Cobras.
He looked back, and saw nothing. A good sign.
He could add Greektown station to his growing list of stops he’d better stay away from. At this rate he’d be forced to use the DDOT to get around. Or get the heck out of Detroit and never come back. That would have been a great plan two days ago.
But he had yet another problem. She was about 5’ 1” and weighed 120 pounds soaking wet. He had to see her one more time before he left. That might mean getting off at Grand Circus Park one last time. Maybe he should go right now, since the MCs were a known quantity in Greektown at the moment.
After running for about three blocks between buildings and alleys, through dumpsters and around cars, he made it to the station. There was no sign of him being followed. Excellent. He had another day to live.
He got on the train and rode it to Grand Circus Park. He got off with the intention of finding a restaurant called Lazy something-or-other. At the bottom of the steps he looked both ways. He could go left or right. He recalled her shoes. Perfect for being on your feet all day, or for walking a long distance. He thought about the People Mover. At some point beyond the station and her place of employment, it would make sense for her to have used a different stop. He mentally figured the distance between Grand Circus and Michigan Avenue and made his decision.
He walked a couple blocks before he was rewarded with the sight of a rundown greasy spoon called Lazy Eye’s. A wry smile crossed his face. He would never have remembered that on his own.
He felt his steps lighten, and the headache abate, just at the thought of seeing her again.
He pushed open the door to the jingling bell and looked around inside. It could have been the ugly stepchild of the place he ate breakfast at. A bank of windows lined the front, tables flanked along that wall with black vinyl booths. Each table had a chrome napkin dispenser but no menus. The single menu to be used by every customer was also black, with tiny white letters pushed into place by the manager’s arthritic fingers. “Today’s Specail” was pot roast starting at 2pm. He assumed the manager didn’t bother much with spelling. That was fine, as long as he bothered with cleanliness and a healthy portion of shortening in the biscuits. Not that Zack was about to eat anything yet. It was still breakfast time and he’d polished off his bacon, eggs, and toast with relish. He saw a waitress at the end of the joint, but she was much too tall and quite a bit wider than Lauren as well.
Dang.
The bell had brought the manager around.
“Seat yourself, Marjory will be with you in a minute,” he said without smiling.
The manager’s jowls brushed against his broad shoulders and bushy gray brows danced above his hard eyes as he looked Zack over.
“Uh, actually, I’m looking for Lauren,” he said.
The manager turned his back on him.
“She ain’t comin’ in today,” was all he said, and swiped a cloth across a counter with little enthusiasm.
“Ah, okay then. Thanks,” Zack said and helped himself out. He couldn’t imagine spending any amount of time in that joint and remaining as joyful and spirited as Lauren was. And to think she’d come off work there, and then got mugged at the People Mover station. Wonderful.
He was all kinds of stupid. He walked away, shoulders hunched in the September chill. He guessed he’d put it off long enough. Time to face the music. He was mere blocks from Dave’s apartment. How was it he’d managed to never see her coming or going from work? Although he’d never eaten at Lazy Eye’s, so he didn’t come down this direction much.
He walked home, dreading Dave’s reaction. He’d already had a terrible night of sleeping on the train, followed by his jog through Greektown. If nothing else, maybe he could get a shower before Dave kicked him out of his place.
He used his key to get in, and took a deep breath. He was prepared to face the worst.
Chapter Eight
My day off was shaping up to be crappier than a redneck’s step mama’s pickup truck. I knelt on my bathroom floor, scrubbing the nasties out of corners and wishing I was in Tahiti sunbathing topless. Ray never cleaned up after himself, no surprise there, and I was thinking today was the day that I kicked his butt out on the street. He was a big boy. He could take care of himself. Well, that was debatable, seeing as how he couldn’t seem to hit what he was aiming at.
Once my bathroom was clean, I would have to make a grocery run. My forty three bucks in bills and coins could actually stretch pretty far if I went to the Shop and Save over on Chestnut.
I finished up and stretched, getting that kink out of my back from being on my hands and knees. Then I scoured the kitchen cupboards and the fridge in my galley kitchen. I’d learned that if I made up a menu using things I already had in the cupboards; it would save on my grocery bill. And I was all about saving money. I could squeeze my dollars so tight the eagle grinned. I made note of the bit of cornmeal left in the bag, and the lonely stalk of celery in the fridge. I could have sworn I had more food than this.
Ray.
I frowned. I knew I had six eggs when I left for work yesterday morning. They were gone, along with the rest of my milk, the American cheese slices, and the unopened package of bacon I’d been planning on using today for BLTs. I checked the crisper. The lettuce was still there, but the tomatoes were gone.
I closed the fridge and leaned against the cupboard with a loud sigh.
“Ray?” I called. I heard movement on the couch. Shuffling. Scratching. Yawning. He walked in to see me.
“Hey baby!” He said.
I hadn’t used his name in a while. He probably thought I was coming around.
“Don’t baby me, Ray. You told me yesterday you were moving out. Instead, you ate the rest of my eggs and bacon. You have until 5pm to be out of my apartment, or I will be forced to use harsher measures,” I said. If my voice shook a little, I hoped he didn’t notice. I needed to be firm on this. He could sense any softness in me and exploit it like a professional.
“Lauren honey, you don’t mean that,” he said. He’d softened his voice and stepped closer to me. I used to think his brown eyes and cropped hair made him look like Peter Stoychev, but over time I’d come to notice the imperfections that infatuation obscured before. He had lazy posture, and his left eye had the tendency to twitch when he got agitated. When he was drunk, he shouted and threw things, but his aim was terrible, thank goodness. Now that he’d stopped drinking here, he’d been trying to rekindle those old feelings we’d had for each other in the beginning.
I ducked away from his hand reaching out to touch my hair.
“I do mean it. Don’t touch me. I appreciate that you’ve stopped drinking and all, but it’s over. You don’t pay rent; you don’t help with the groceries or keeping house. You need to pack your things and leave,” I said as firmly as I could.
He had the nerve to click his tongue at me.
“Lauren baby, I’m sorry about your breakfast. Let me take you out to eat. I’ve got some leads on a job. I can help with the rent in a couple weeks,” he murmured while he walked closer and touched my cheek.
“Come on, we had it so good before. What changed?” he asked.
I couldn’t believe I used to think I loved this guy. Hi
s touch was making my skin crawl.
“Stop touching me,” I said. “Five p.m. It’s final,” I said, and walked around him. I fetched my purse from the chair and walked out, slamming the door behind me.
Ray was making me so mad. I didn’t want to admit to myself that he was also making me uncomfortable.
I plunked down the steps with my bag banging each post in the stair rail. My phone was still charging on my nightstand and I was still wearing my ‘clean the house’ flip flops. I’d left without thinking, and now I was stuck in my ‘clean the house’ clothes too. I had on skinny jeans with holes in the knee, a T-shirt tied off at my waist, and my hair was up in a ponytail, or at least, the part of it that wasn’t curling wildly out of control around the rest of my face. Speaking of my face, I knew it had to be kind of pale since I hadn’t put my makeup on after I’d had my morning rinse.
Thank goodness I had my spare face in my purse, just one of the reasons my bag was so heavy.
I made up my mind to take the People Mover. I would do my makeup on the ride, so at least my head would be presentable to the public.
Seated in the gently rocking passenger car, I juggled my compact in one hand and my lip liner in the other. There were a couple other passengers, but they ignored me as effectively as I ignored them. Lip liner over a foundation base, followed by Fire Engine red. I used a bit of blusher just to highlight my fine cheekbones and to obscure a freckle or two. I put a finishing powder on everything before I applied my eye liner and mascara. The eye liner was tricky, because every so often the train bumped. I would have to use my spit to clean up any stray marks, so I was extra careful. Finally I trained my compact mirror all over, piecing together my overall look. It would do.
I put everything away and looked at the other passengers.
Everyone had a story. Sometimes I liked to make them up as I watched them. The black man hunched over a laptop was a writer. I smirked slyly. He wrote BDSM under the pen name “Ambrosia Gates”. The old woman with the grocery cart was on her way to get cat food for her cat “Cuddleupagus” and she was the former CEO of a rubber phalange company. The homeless looking guy…actually a model trying to tour the city incognito.
