"Sorry. I'm a little out of it, I guess."
Michael looked up at the sky before closing the door, saw a plane and wished he were on it, going somewhere.
"I have no idea why you live like a tramp. This place is a disaster. I thought you were going to fix it up?" she said, her voice raising an octave.
Michael heard the sound of the faucet and followed her into the kitchen, where she had begun washing the dishes Michael had left stacked in the sink.
"Ma, don't, all right? It's fine. Would you like something to drink?"
"I think there's been plenty of drinking going on here for one day," she said tartly, continuing to wash the dishes and ignoring Michael's orders. "You really drink way too much, Michael—way too much for what you do." She continued to wash the dishes.
"Yeah, probably," he mumbled as he sat down at the kitchen table that was covered with mail, a paper towel roll, and various pieces of clothing. He caught her look of disgust and added, "Most definitely, too much for sure."
"Have you seen Angel lately? I bet he's not drunk on a Saturday afternoon."
"Yeah, I'm sure he's at the library right now reading to the kids," Michael said darkly.
"Don't be smart, Michael, I know what you're doing. Your father was the same way, God love him, but one drunk in the family is more than enough. You're a cop, for Christ's sake—a good cop at that. What a shame to ruin it all with drink," she said as she turned off the faucet and turned to look at Michael.
She glared at her son, then said, "Honestly, you and your sister, what am I going to do with either of you? Huh? She takes off and you stay here drinking your life away because of some accident that wasn't even your fault. That is what this is about, isn't it?"
Michael hung his head, feeling shame itching at the corners of his brain. The whiskey was no match for his mother; he needed something stronger for her.
"Did you come by just for this, Mom, or you got something more to lay into me about?"
"No, I came by for more than this," she said, pausing to look around. When she reached out and took Michael's hand, he managed to look up. "I came by to see that you were okay. Is that a crime?"
He shook his head. "You don't know what I deal with all week, all the time, and so what if I drink a little on my days off? I'm not a lush like Dad was and I ain't running away like Becca. I'm here, day in and day out."
"You're right," she said, squeezing his hand before letting go. "I worry about you. You can't carry this with you forever, baby. You just can't."
"I know, Ma. I know," Michael said, wishing she would leave. He could feel her eyes on him, searching, hoping, wanting him to show her some sign that he was going to be all right, so he did what he thought she wanted and looked up at her and smiled. "I'm all right. Really I am."
He could tell by the way she narrowed her eyes that she wasn't fooled. She was not a woman who was easily placated by words.
"Michael," she said, then paused.
She looked like she was thinking what best to say to him. He hated to see her struggling. He opened his mouth to interrupt but stopped when she looked away from him.
"Son, I washed the dishes. They just need to dry. Would you like for me to do a load of laundry before I go?"
"No, I got it."
"You sure?"
"Yes, Ma. I said I got it. Now get going. The grandparents will be waiting."
"How'd you know that was where I was going?"
"Because it's where you always go on Saturdays."
She smiled then went to him and hugged him tight. "You think you're so smart. You be careful out there this week. Why don't you come with me? I think your grandmother made sausage and peppers for dinner."
"No, Ma, I'm not up to it, really. Make me a plate and I'll stop by tomorrow night. How about I bring Angel?"
She pulled away and patted him on the chest. "That would be lovely. You two are living on beer and brats if I know anything. I'll make something nice. I'd never serve leftovers to a guest, even if it is Bertram. He deserves a home-cooked meal. So, dinner tomorrow at my house?"
"Yes, tomorrow."
With the promise of dinner set, she left Michael alone and smarting from her sharp words. The thought of having to endure dinner with Angel and her suddenly seemed like an emotional powder keg just begging to be set ablaze. He shook his head as he reached for the whiskey.
"Why did I invite Angel?" he asked the cat who was ignoring him, now curling up on the cushion where he had just been seated. He could tell by the heavy feeling in his head that he would be hungover tomorrow if he didn't stop drinking now.
*****
"Shit. Shit. Shit. Why do I do this to myself?" Michael groaned as he turned away from the morning sun and tried to hide from its bright rays. He moved his hand to his left temple to hold his aching head as if it would stop the pounding going on inside. "I fucking hate Sundays," he complained, throwing the covers off. He felt like he was still dreaming. It was the intense urge to piss that finally propelled him from his bed and into the bathroom, where he stood in front of the toilet with his dick dangling over the bowl. His mother had come over and said something about dinner and Angel. "Fuck." He let loose a steady stream. His bladder felt wounded when he was done but there was also relief. He was unsure how long he had been holding it. The shrink he had been forced to see after the incident had told him that his habit was caused by nerves, a way of controlling something. Michael wondered how much longer his body would manage to last. It was not uncommon for him to think that maybe this would be when his bladder would burst.
At least there had been no nightmares. He'd face the hangover if it meant no nightmares.
He flushed then stopped at the bathroom sink to throw some water on his face. The pounding in his head was easing and he decided to be kind to his liver and made himself a huge glass of ice water, which he downed mercilessly, spilling some on his chest. The cat was sitting on the kitchen windowsill, staring at him, eyes narrowed, tail twitching. "What are you looking at?" Michael grumbled as he reached for a paper towel, knocking the roll to the floor and startling the cat. He was just about to bend down to pick it up when he heard the squeal of tires followed by the pounding of trance music. "Fucking Angel."
Michael tried looking for his flip-flops but gave up, then padded downstairs barefoot and was rewarded with blaring music, blinding sunlight, and Angel, who was still sitting in his vintage metallic blue Mustang, honking loudly.
"You look tore up, bro," Angel called out to Michael over the roar of the music.
Michael didn't respond, but he did wave at his neighbor, who called out something that was drowned out by the beat coming from the car.
"Angel! The music, huh?" he finally yelled back as he came closer.
Angel turned the radio off, killed the engine, got out of his car, and slammed the door with what Michael thought was deliberate force.
"You've been drinking," Angel said as he pushed past Michael and headed up the stairs.
Michael could hear the stairs whining under Angel's heavy footsteps.
"Not yet," Michael said, as he followed Angel. "I actually had some water. Thought I'd turn over a new leaf."
"Dude, you'd need to turn over a forest to get right with yourself. You coming with me to Reggie's thing or what? You know he's gonna be looking for you." Angel asked over his shoulder as he entered Michael's apartment.
Reggie Nasem was a childhood friend who was getting hitched to Dawn Goyen. They've only been dating since high school, he thought sarcastically. Reggie was having his stag party at a local bar known as The Club—a notorious dive that hosted everything from golden anniversary celebrations to stag parties and was not unknown to the police for any number of illegal activities. The fact that you had to pay annual dues to be let in the place was a joke. Michael hated The Club. The place had been built a million years ago, and while back then it had been all alone at the end of the street, over the years houses had sprung up nearby and only added to the trouble
the place always seemed to attract.
"That fucking dump," Michael half mumbled as he closed the front door and watched Angel attempt to raid his fridge. He was bent down and Michael could see the waistband of Angel's briefs. His imagination took over, picturing those jeans low on Angel's hips, just barely hiding the crevice between those perfectly shaped cheeks. He had to stop thinking like that about Angel, for God's sake!
"Yeah well, it's cheap and they got some hottie bartenders to come in for the day." Angel pulled a container from the fridge, opened it, and made a strange face as he smelled it, "Shit, have you never cleaned this motherfucker out?" He tossed the container in the trash. "So, how about it? You coming?"
Michael didn't want to, but he forced a nod. Angel studied him for a moment before closing the refrigerator door. He closed the distance between them and laid one hand on Michael's shoulder. Michael smelled Angel's cologne, fresh and woodsy, masculine. It all went straight to his hardening dick.
"I think you're off the sauce for today, though," Angel said as he dumped a near-empty whiskey bottle into the sink. "You can be designated driver."
"Whoa there, partner. If I go to this shindig, I'm having a couple." Then he thought of his mother and moaned. "Shit, Angel, you gotta come with me over to my mother's tonight. She invited us for dinner."
"You are kidding, right?" Angel said, just barely avoiding stepping on the cat.
"No, man, we gotta go. I mean, she'd really like it. I've been a little off lately, and she's worrying." His voice dropped off. Had he really been that vacant? He hadn't even realized what he had said.
"Admitting you got a problem… Ain't that half the battle?"
"Eat shit," Michael retorted, looking anywhere but at Angel.
"Hop in the shower, you smelly bastard, and let's hit it. Guess it's gonna be a long-ass day, and I'm hungry as hell."
*****
They took Angel's car to The Club. Angel graciously refrained from pumping the music and they arrived only about an hour late. When they entered, they were greeted with a roar of drunken shouts as they were ushered over to Reggie, who was already pretty hammered.
The place was done up as much as it could be. Streamers and balloons had been haphazardly tossed here and there. The game was playing on all three ancient televisions that hung precariously from various corners. Music about fifteen years old blared from speakers that should have been replaced years ago. That in itself almost sent Michael right back out the way he'd come. He glanced around. He focused in on the wet bar and his mouth watered.
"Not bad, eh?"
Michael turned to find a local man he knew but couldn't remember his name. "What's not bad?"
"The girls tending bar, not bad, Reg always gets the hot ones." The man's eyes were wide, glazed. He was possibly high, definitely drunk.
Michael recognized one of the bartenders the local was leering at as a woman he had rescued from a domestic a while back.
"Can you boys believe this shit or what?" Reggie yelled across the bar.
Angel had just bought a round and Michael licked his lips but refrained from indulging. He sipped a Coke instead.
"No, man. Getting hitched after a hundred years? I'm having a hell of a time processing that," Angel snipped as he took a long drink.
Michael caught Angel staring at him and felt heat rise in his cheeks. He turned and faced the young woman behind the bar
"You're Michael Carmac," the bartender said. She was indeed pretty.
"Yeah, guess I am," Michael answered shyly. He looked down at his glass. "You're from the domestic a while back." He looked up when he heard her laugh.
"You boys are always on the clock. Those brains of yours ever think about anything else?" She winked at him then was called away before he could reply.
"You sure you don't wanna drink?" Reggie had come stumbling over to him. Michael could smell booze on his breath and the sharp spice of his cologne. He slapped a hand on Michael's shoulder.
"She's a hot piece of ass. I'd love to fuck her just once before I get that ring put on my finger." He slurred the last couple of words.
"Hey, Reggie!" Someone thankfully called him and Reggie pulled away from Michael, who hadn't realized he'd been holding his breath until he let out a long sigh.
"Fuck," he muttered and reached a hand down to adjust his cock, which was pressing painfully against his zipper. He wanted a drink—more than one, enough to drown out his need and his reeling thoughts that struggled somewhere between the bartender and Angel. He stood up and managed to get to the other side of the bar where Angel was surrounded by other cops and some locals. Angel was telling some story, loud and boisterous, and the people around him laughed and looked at him with awe and maybe a little fear. He was like a lion, proud and strong, and people fell in line around him, especially other men.
"Hey, Mikey," Angel called.
Angel must have caught Michael's angry look at the use of Mikey because he immediately added, "I mean Michael. Come tell about that time we—"
Michael held his hand up. He needed some air, and although he wasn't used to being rebuffed, Angel didn't say anything as Michael walked out of the bar. Michael hated when Angel called him Mikey in public. It somehow made him feel childish, but when they were alone and Angel called him that, Michael was aroused by the endearment. It was the one intimacy he really had with Angel that he felt was theirs alone.
Once outside, Michael felt his tensions ease. It was a perfect summer day—late afternoon, fragrant and somehow sad. Michael smelled the lilac that grew wild all around the bar. He also smelled grass and someone barbequing in a nearby yard. He heard kids, a dog, a plane high above, and a dull thumping of the music from inside the building. Then he wondered who was committing crimes, and what he wasn't seeing.
As a cop, his senses had become sharpened; his sense of smell and hearing were almost supernatural. Angel would always joke that the drug dogs had nothing on Michael. His senses however, had failed the day he'd shot and accidentally killed that kid. It had been an accident. He hadn't anticipated the perp grabbing a kid and using him as a human shield. He just hadn't expected it, and it was that lack of knowing "cop" instinct that had hurtled Michael into the darkness. He should have known. How could he not have foreseen what was going to happen? He could see the body, the spray of crimson, and hear the screams, followed by the sirens and the questions and accusations. He'd never completely come down from that experience, nor had he ever come down from high alert. His hackles were raised and his senses tingled like electricity across a live wire.
"Hey, you all right?"
Michael jumped and his hand reached instinctively to his waist for his piece, then he saw Angel and practically punched him in relief. "Son of a bitch, Angel. What the fuck?"
"Sorry, man. Didn't know you were meditating outside the fucking bar." Angel came up beside him and began undoing his belt.
"What are you doing?" Michael half shouted as he tried not to stare.
"Gotta piss. There's a fucking line at the bathroom. You know this dump only has one stall." Angel had his cock out and let loose a stream of piss against the side of the building. Michael caught a glimpse of Angel's cock with his fist wrapped around it.
"Man, you are a fucking slob." Michael grunted. He looked away. Luckily, there were only a couple of people milling around, and even if anyone saw, no one would dare say anything. The building had just about every type of bodily excrement splattered against it at one time or another. There were even bloodstains from several drunken brawls that had broken out there.
"And you're an uptight douche bag, but hey, we can't all be perfect." Angel tucked his meat back into his pants then let out a belch. From inside there was hooting, then a loud cheer went up. "Shit, the stripper… Come on, man. Let's go see some titty!"
What little control there had been before the stripper arrived soon dissolved into complete debauchery. By the time Reggie and some other partygoer came to blows, Angel and Michael had already broke
n up several fights—one that even included the bartender and her ex, who had shown up already blitzed.
"Reggie, shit!" Angel leaped across a table, knocking it over in the process.
Michael was at his side in an instant, grabbing the other guy and pulling him, kicking and swinging, away from Reggie. "That's enough," Michael snapped, tightening his grip on the man, who upon closer inspection saw it was Reggie's fiancée's younger brother. "Are you even legal?" Michael asked the furious youth.
"Fuck you, Carmac," the younger man spat, then squirmed and pulled against Michael's powerful hold.
"What'd you call me?" He practically hissed through gritted teeth. Michael hated when people called cops by their last names.
"Fucking pig Carmac… That better?" The kid bucked against Michael's vise-like grip.
Michael shook his head. "Not even close, asshole." He tightened his grip and twisted until the younger man fell to the ground.
Out of the corner of his eye, Michael saw that Angel had cornered Reggie, who was still shouting out profanity and trying desperately to get around Angel's bull-size to get back to business. "Hey, Reg," Angel yelled, "you fucking spit on me, man! You better settle the fuck down."
Michael could still hear the jocular tone in his partner's voice but also the beginning of Angel's anger.
"You pigs always stick together."
"What?" Michael asked, stunned by the hatred in the kid's voice.
"Always fucking backing each other up. What happens when you assholes break the law, huh?" the kid shouted angrily from the ground.
"I'll fucking kick your ass right here, you piece of dog shit," Michael growled, lifting the kid back to an upright position, "and you'll see just how close us pigs can get." He must have slammed the kid hard against the wall then because he heard shattering glass and seconds later felt hands grabbing him and pulling him away from the stunned kid.
The Incident Page 3
