by Mike Gomes
As he slipped deeper into the dream he found himself in the car again. In the passenger seat was a beautiful woman with dark hair that fell down over her shoulders. She shifted in her seat so her back was against the door and she smiled at him intently with love deep in her eyes. She was everything he’d ever wanted... smart, funny, beautiful, and above all, intelligent. She was the classic girl next door. She would fall in love with him, and he had never felt so lucky.
He approached and stopped at the red light, looking over to her, she smiling at him. Feeling the loving closeness there filled him with undeniable joy.
Without warning he was suddenly in the intersection, looking over the beautiful woman’s shoulder through the window at the oncoming truck speeding hard toward them, the logo on the front of the grill getting closer and closer. Flecks of white paint all over the front bumper and dirt that had not been washed off in some time. The metallic green of the hood racing closer and closer. Opening his mouth, nothing but silence came out. He needed to warn her, he needed to let her know, but there was nothing but silence. The truck slammed into the passenger side door, crushing the side of the car and forcing the woman to catapult forward. The smile disappeared from the woman’s face as her body lurched and snapped with the powerful impact of the collision.
She flew through the air, crashing her face hard into the steering wheel, her hair wrapped around the wheel, the sudden impact causing her head to stop viciously.
His eyes and head snapped up to the ceiling of the car in an uncontrollable force of power from the crash. He was no longer able to control his head or which direction his body traveled. He lost sight of the beautiful woman for just a moment. Pulling his eyes back down and looking back to her, he could see she had started to recoil and she was falling back off the steering wheel into view. A deep rip cut down the center of her face. The cut ran from her forehead, through her eyebrows, over her nose and down her left cheek, and was filling with blood. Her crushed nose had moved out of position. Her eyes had lost all their sparkle. She stared blankly into the air. She was conscious and she was looking directly at him as if asking him for help. But there was nothing he could do for her. He wanted to reach out for her. He wanted to help her. He wanted to save her from what was about to happen next. But he couldn’t. It was beyond his control.
Falau felt his head snapped forward again, causing a great pain to shoot up from his neck and into his back. His hands bounced off the steering wheel, causing the airbag to deploy and force its way into his face. Just as this happened he reached out for the woman, who was incapable of reaching back. Now going hard backwards her head slammed through the broken glass. Her body bent and lifted out through the passenger window, hitting the pickup truck before recoiling again and being forced back into the car. As the airbag started to deflate, he opened his eyes to see her covered with glass. She had fallen into the well of the passenger seat. Her head tilted back as her body had crumbled. Her eyes were open but there was no life. Falau reached out to her, still fighting the airbag, trying to get closer. Shards of glass were embedded deep into her face, causing her to look as if she was wearing a mask. As the airbag deflated he grabbed her hand, shaking it and screaming to her, but there was no response. As he screamed for help he jolted himself out of the drug and alcohol fueled sleep, finally saving him from his nightmare from hell. Breathing hard, his chest sent strong pains shooting down his left arm. His eyes stared at the ceiling and his fists clenched hard as the man took several deep breaths, trying to control his emotions.
“No!” he shouted as his fist turned pounded the mattress. Reaching to the side he grabbed the bottle of whiskey and threw it at the wall, shattering it, and spilling the contents down the wall and him alone with his thoughts. Looking up to the ceiling, tears started to fill his eyes as the big man said, “I’m sorry.”
Chapter 5
THE SOUND OF THE SKILL saw filled the air and muted the sounds of the hammers crashing down on the nails they were driving home, and the occasional shouts of men moving around the worksite trying to get their jobs done before the end of the day.
“Fuck!” exclaimed Falau, hitting his thumb with a hammer as he started to frame a wall.
“You’d think by now you’d have that down,” joked a large man wearing a hard hat. “Who let you have a hammer anyways? I thought you were a laborer.”
“I am, but they were short of carpenters so they gave me something easy to do.”
“Their mistake. Next thing you know you’ll be in line for some injury pay.”
Falau laughed with the big man but kept about his work. He was more than happy to be building a wall rather than lugging bricks or shingles, like you would normally do as a laborer. As the day grew longer 3 o’clock hit and all the union members called it a day. There was no such luck for Falau and the other non-union men. They would work until dark and for less pay.
“Hey Falau, get over here,” called a short man wearing jeans and a t-shirt, also wearing a hard hat.
“Ya, boss. What’s up?”
“You’re fired, that’s what’s up,” said the little man without looking up from his clipboard.
“What?” questioned Falau.
“You heard me, you’re fired. Nothing can be done about it. We need to cut back,” insisted the boss. Dodging the issue with Falau he called to another worker, telling him to get back to work.
“It is something I did wrong? Did I not work hard enough?”
The little man raised his head from his clipboard. “Falau, it’s simple. You were the last hired and now you’re the first fired. That’s the way it goes with construction. It’s nothing personal. Just economics.”
Falau stood staring into space as his newly ex-boss walked away without so much as saying goodbye. Falau walked over and grabbed his toolbelt and left the final prospect of employment he had.
WALKING UP THE STEPS to his apartment, Falau held a pint of whiskey in his right hand. The bottle was already open and half the contents were inside Falau.
I bet the rich people don’t have to climb stairs, he thought, urging his legs to climb one more step and then one more after that.
Turning down the hallway he could see an envelope taped to the door of his apartment. Falau sighed, knowing nobody ever left good news in an envelope taped to the door of your apartment. Snatching it hard from the door he dug his fingers into the seal and opened it. Swaying where he stood, he shook open the paper and started to read:
Dear Mr. Falau,
We’ve attempted to reach you no less than two dozen times over the last two months. Each time we have been unable to contact you. We have also been made aware that you have changed the locks on your apartment. This is in clear violation of your tenant agreement.
More alarming than this is the fact that you’ve not paid rent in over three months. By not returning our attempted contacts to you, and the lack of payment, you leave us no choice but to evict you from your apartment. You have one week in which to remove all your things and move out. If you do not comply, the local sheriff will be contacted to force your removal.
All the best,
Arthur Steinberg
Falau’s head shook as he finished the letter. Having no money and no job, he crumpled the letter in his hand and threw it on the ground. Taking another long sip from the bottle, he fished in his pocket for the keys to unlock the door. Unsteady on his feet he bumped into the door frame as his key slipped into the lock and he pushed the door open.
“Home sweet home,” he mumbled to himself, taking another sip from the bottle slamming the door closed with a kick.
Staggering across the room Falau dropped himself on the sofa, causing the covering sheet to fall off the back. Resting his head back on the sofa he felt the internal foam against his head. Reaching back, he could feel the exposed internal springs of the sofa pressing against his head.
“I can’t even afford a real sofa,” complained Falau to nobody but himself, his words slurred. Taking a handful of the
foam, he ripped it from the sofa and threw it down on the floor. “Not even a decent sofa. How can a man my age not have decent furniture? I’m such a loser, I can’t even afford to get a sofa that doesn’t have holes in it!”
Without warning a flash of the bloodied face of the woman he loved falling back across the car after the impact of the crash passed before his eyes, the sound of the voice calling out, “You did it... it’s your fault, echoing in his mind.
Shaking his head, he attempted to remove the horror from his mind but it would not let go. The image of the pickup crashing into the passenger side of the car replayed over and over again in his head. One impact after another. The metal and glass breaking. The look crossing the face of the woman as her body absorbed the impact of the crash.
Fighting the flashback Falau downed the rest of the whiskey. Drinking himself into unconsciousness was one of the only things he felt he could do in times like this. The bottle fell to the floor as the whiskey hit him hard. His head dropping back, he caught sight of the exposed pipes running across the ceiling in his apartment.
Slurring his words he mumbled, “...couldn’t even give me a decent ceiling. Exposed pipes. A slum...”
The big man’s eyes did not leave the pipes. Examining them, he felt they were strong and sturdy, a lot like the ones he helped install on a construction job downtown.
Falau pulled his drunk self-up and walked over to the table at the far end of the room and took the chair that sat behind it. Dragging the chair and shaking it as he went, he tested it for strength.
“Yeah, that’ll hold me.”
Drunk with a pint of whiskey inside him, he gingerly pulled himself onto the chair in the standing position. The chair quivered and he waited for it to shoot out from under him if he put too much weight to anyone side.
Placing his hands above his head the big man reached up and grabbed the pipe. Slowly placing his weight on it he felt the pipe move downward in the holes cut at either end of the room. Falau lifted his feet off the chair and started to swing. A smile crossed his face as he hung from the pipe. No sooner had the smile came than it disappeared, as he realized the pipe would hold his weight after all.
Dropping his feet back to the chair he regained his balance and looked again up at the pipe. His hands dropped and he unbuckled the belt from his pants. The belt was leather and strong, with slight wear marks. Falau had got it at the Salvation Army and he knew it was in better shape than anything he owned. He pulled the belt in his hands, feeling how strong it was before he reached up and fed it over the pipe. He took the leather, fed it through the buckle, and clasped it.
Grabbing the belt with two hands he pulled down hard on it. “If I jump hard that should do it,” he said, in a matter-of-fact tone.
Inching his way closer to the edge of the chair the big man pulled the belt tighter and toward him. Leaning forward he got his head close to the belt and attempted to slide his head through the loop.
“Lord forgive me,” he whispered.
Before he could get the belt around his neck his weight shifted the chair and it shot out from under him. Momentarily he felt he was hanging in the air and that the belt would snap his neck, causing all the pain to stop. But his body dropped, and he could see the belt hanging from the pipe as he fell to the ground, crashing off the coffee table and breaking it in half under the weight of his large and powerful body.
Falau felt pain shoot across his back from the impact on the table as he lay on the floor looking back up at the pipe. Raising one hand up into the air as if to grab the belt again, Falau moaned in pain, as much emotional as physical.
“Constant failure,” Falau said, reflecting on himself and all that he was not.
Rolling over he got to his hands and knees and started to stand up. Pushing the rubble of the broken coffee table aside he saw the business card Tyler had given him among the broken pieces of the table.
Reaching down to pick it up, he inspected the number. Nodding his head, he started to laugh.
“You got me, Ty.”
Chapter 6
THE BLACK FOUR-DOOR Mercedes pulled up, screeching to a halt in front of the building. Falau sat on the steps looking over as he saw the passenger window come down.
“Let’s go”, said Tyler, leaning across the passenger side seat and pushing open the door.
Falau made his way across the sidewalk and hopped into the waiting car. All eyes in the neighborhood were watching to see exactly what their neighbor was up to. Before fully swinging the door shut Tyler screeched away from the sidewalk and was on his way down Massachusetts Avenue. Shifting his eyes to the dash, Falau could see Tyler had the car going 60 miles an hour on a main road on the streets of Boston at 2 o’clock in the afternoon.
“Nice power. What’s the rush?” asked Falau.
“No rush at all. Don’t worry about it, I have it under control,” replied Tyler as he smiled over at his long-time friend.
Tyler proceeded to weave in and out of cars, pulling over at random spots and pulling in and out of parking lots as if it was all a normal thing to do. The constant screeching of tires and jamming of brakes made Falau feel nauseous.
“You caught on yet?” asked Tyler.
“Yeah, I think I’ve figured it out. You’re checking to see if anyone’s tailing us.”
“You learn fast. It’s good to have you on the team,” Tyler replied, gripping the wheel tight as the Mercedes dug into another sharp corner. “I love that you called. Does this mean you’re ready to join us on a mission?”
Falau fidgeted in his seat and leaned his head back slightly on the head rest. “Yeah, I’m ready,” said the big man.
“That’s good. I have one for you. It’s middle-of-the-road for the kind of work we do, but think it’s a good one to get your feet wet on,” said Tyler, shifting the car again abruptly to the side.
“Instead of driving like this wouldn’t it be easier just to try to blend in with everybody else?” asked Falau with a smirk as he grabbed the dashboard around a tight corner.
Reaching out Tyler shook Falau’s hand. “Welcome aboard.” Releasing his grip, he leaned forward and opened the glove compartment, pulling out a small envelope. Giving the envelope to Falau he continued to move in and out of the traffic.
“This is just some walking around money. You’ll need it for where you going to. It can get pretty expensive there.”
Opening the envelope exposed thousands of dollars in different currencies. He quickly slid it into his jacket and out of sight. “That will come in handy,” said Falau wondering if what he had said was true.
“Okay, let me make one thing clear to you right now. Nobody knows who we are. Nobody knows what we do. Because of that, everything is far more complicated. This means that you’re going to be watched by different people. Just like I am watched by people every single day. The inside word is that they think I’m part of an international drug running cartel, so they have me on constant surveillance, exactly what the judges want. Doesn’t matter what country I go to, their Secret Service is always right on me. I let them follow me and I let them see what I’m doing until I don’t want them to follow me and don’t want them to see what I’m doing. This keeps their eyes on me and not on the judges or the system that we’ve built. I’m the guy they focus on, the guy that they come after,” explained Tyler with all the seriousness he could muster.
“Seems like a lot to take on, more than any one guy should have to.”
“It’s really not that bad. I’m just giving these guys the slip sometimes and then helping them catch up at other times. They’re just doing their jobs, and they never can find anything because I never do anything that they’re looking for. They just keep trying to get close to me and figure out what I’m up to.”
Holding the wheel hard he ripped into a parking garage, not stopping for a ticket. He raced down to the end of the aisle, cutting hard to the right to go down another level. Reaching the bottom floor, screeches echoed off the wall as his tires dug
hard into each turn, the sound bouncing back off the walls like kids screaming into the Grand Canyon.
“All this just for me?” quipped Falau as they came to a stop in the parking spot with a large garage door in front of it.
Tyler jumped out of the car went over to an access panel and entered a code before waving his friend over. Falau got out of the car, careful not to move too close. He didn’t want to give Tyler any reason to think that he was looking at the code. Hearing a loud clicking noise, Tyler walked over, grabbed the bottom of the door, and pulled the garage door up to revealing a large area for his car.
Falau caught up to Tyler inside the garage. Turning around, Tyler pulled the garage door closed and jammed on the lock.
“You leave your car there?”
Tyler laughed turning to his old friend. “The door is not to keep my car in, it is to keep everybody else out. This is not your ordinary garage.”
Tyler pushed the tool rack aside to reveal the trapdoor in the floor. Popping the door up he flipped the switch to turn the lights on. Then he went down a ladder about 10-feet to a dirt floor that was small and cramped. Without hesitation Falau worked his way down the ladder. On the dirt floor, the two men had to crouch low to make their way into a tunnel that was no larger than 4-feet tall and 2-feet wide. The reason for the size of the tunnel was obvious to Falau: It would deter anyone who made their way into it. This was the kind of place that someone could easily get stuck, and it would cost them their life not being able to find their way out. As they moved along there were various turns and offshoots that would confuse anybody that had entered the system of catacombs. Tyler wove his way in and out to the amazement of Falau. He knew it all too well and made no hesitation taking turns or doubling back at any time. He had clearly ran this course hundreds of times before.
