by M. Lorrox
The officer hands Charlie his license and a ticket. “If I see Rusty without a collar again, I’ll have to call Animal Control, and then you’ll have to deal with them.”
“Understood.”
“I hope so. Good night, Mr. Costanza.”
“Night...sir.”
Charlie walks back toward the front doors of the hotel, then realizes that he’s probably being watched by the policeman. He slides his hand through his hair and jogs to the side of the building, then around the back of the hotel. He hears the officer start his truck and drive off. When Charlie is out of sight from the road, he stops and waits a moment for the policeman to be good and gone, then he turns to head back to the hotel’s entrance. “Seriously Rusty, wherever you are, you’re an asshole.”
When he’s back inside the hotel, Charlie stops at the front desk. “Do you have a gym?”
A young man with glasses nods and points toward the courtyard. “We do. It’s accessible through the courtyard or from the back hallway. It’s near the pool and hot tub.”
Charlie tilts his head and lifts his brow. “Hot tub?”
The attendant smiles. “Yup, they’re all open till eleven.”
“Thanks.”
Charlie walks through the courtyard and finds the gym. When he gets inside, he frowns. There are two treadmills, an elliptical machine, a stationary bike, some yoga mats in the corner, and a bench with a rack of dumbbells. He walks over and picks one up from the largest set. It weighs twenty pounds. He spins it between his fingers. This isn’t going to do.
On his way back through the courtyard, he sees Jules walking out from the restaurant, doing something on her phone. He jogs to catch her in the lobby. “Jules?”
She turns and puts her phone into her pocket. “Yes, Mr. Costanza?”
“I don’t think the hotel’s gym will cut it for me, do you know of a local one that I might be able to use?”
“Yes, there’s a gym a few blocks away, they’re open 24/7 and the branch is owned by friends.”
“Perfect.” Charlie smiles.
Jules doesn’t smile. “I will call the owners and get you set up to use their facilities. Will you be headed there tonight?”
“No, I’m beat. It’ll be in the morning before meetings.”
“Very well. I’ll leave a packet for you at the front desk with instructions.”
“Oh. Thank you very much, Jules.”
“Of course. Good night, Mr. Costanza.”
“Good night.” Charlie walks to the elevator, and before the doors close he hears her talking on the phone. Damn, that woman’s good.
Eddy sits alone at the back of the hotel restaurant. While he plays with his phone, he nurses a blood-tonic he ordered and munches on some veggies he snagged from a hors d’oeuvre tray. He has messages from people back home in Waynesville, but none from Jess, or Joe, or Tomo—three people that twenty-four hours ago were some of his closest friends.
No, wait. Joe’s dead. He can’t send messages.
Eddy takes a slow breath and tries not to think about Joe. Or Sophia. Or Bill. Or their families who will never hear them laugh again, who will weep for them at their funerals. Maybe they were held today. Or they could be tomorrow, but I can’t go. I might not see any of my friends ever again... Do they even know if I’m alive? If I wasn’t a vampire, I’d probably be dead. Should I message them?
No. Too soon.
He clears his throat then switches apps to check the day’s news. He reads the top headline. ZOMBIE DUCKS! He shakes his head. Well that’s slightly misleading, but definitely attention grabbing. He reads other headlines, and each is a shade of depressing darker than the last.
He crunches on a carrot while switching apps to look at pictures he’s taken. He swipes quickly past any pictures of Jess, Joe, and Tomo, but he stops at one of June.
Terry sits in his small office. His feet are up on his desk near a tiny, old, flat-screen television showing an 80’s B-movie. His phone rings. He glances at the clock, notes that it is just after midnight, and sighs as he picks up the phone. “Inspire Logistics and Shipping International.”
“This is not a sales call. You have been identified as a business owner with incomplete information online. You must speak to a customer service representative to update your search-engine-optimization settings. Press one to be connected now.”
Terry sits up and mutes the television. “Blackjack?”
“You can talk?”
“Yeah, go ahead.”
“Okay. Time to go green.”
Terry takes a shallow breath.
“Did you hear me?”
“Yes. When?”
“Soon. We need to meet.”
Terry glances at the clock. “Now?”
“Tomorrow.”
“You’re on graveyard?”
“Yes.”
Terry nods. “Alright. I’ll make a delivery.”
“Good... It’s better than we expected.”
-click-
Terry grabs a notepad and draws a large grumpy-face on it in thick black marker. He tears the sheet off and clips it beside the television. Then he un-mutes the movie just as a dinosaur roars and the band of time travelers throw a Molotov cocktail into its mouth.
Terry laughs. “That’ll teach ya!”
Skip wakes up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom. He gets out of bed as quietly as possible, trying not to wake June.
“Hey Dad.”
He turns and sees her in the arm chair by the window. “You’re awake? What time is it?”
“Probably three or so.”
“Have you slept at all?”
She shakes her head. “I don’t seem to be tired.”
He shrugs. “I guess you did sleep for about sixteen hours yesterday.”
“Yeah.”
He walks into the bathroom, and June looks back out the window. The light pollution in the area allows her a view of the Potomac—the river that divides Virginia from Washington DC—and light poles illuminate highways that curve with the river and that cross it. Even in the middle of the night, there’s still traffic flowing on them. A trickling stream of tail lights add a red glow to half the highways, while white headlights shine into the night from the other half. Planes take off and land at the nearby airport, adding a rumble to the night sky.
When Skip is done in the bathroom, he joins her by the window. He looks across the river, toward Washington DC. “It’s sort of pretty—seeing the capital at night—isn’t it?”
She nods and points at the Washington Monument, a tall obelisk that stretches above the tops of the other buildings. “Don’t those two lights on top look like eyes?”
“The flashing ones on top of the monument?”
“Uh-huh.”
“I guess so.”
“It’s like they’re blinking.”
Skip watches the red lights slowly flash on, then off. “I think they’re there to warn airplanes.”
June looks at her lap, then to her ankle with the bite-mark scar. “Dad, I feel really different.”
He runs his hand along the side of her head, petting her hair. “You’re still my June.”
Rusty looks at the same, red flashing lights, but from the grasses of the National Mall, directly below the monument. There are a few people out tonight, and while Rusty explores a nearby area with a pond, he stays mostly in the shadows of the cherry and magnolia trees that line the park.
A man approaches the trees near him and sees him. “Oh. Hey little guy, are you lost?”
Rusty wags his tail.
The man walks over. He is skinny, smoking a cigarette and playing with his phone. When he gets to Rusty, he crushes the butt against the bottom of his shoe and then flicks it away, into the pond. He bends down and extends his hand for Rusty to smell it
.
Rusty investigates the hand that smells like smoke and beer.
The man pets him. “No collar? Who do you belong to little buddy?”
Rusty shifts to get some pets along his shoulders.
The man looks around but doesn’t see anyone else. “I guess I should bring you to a shelter in the morning.”
Rusty steps away from the man, out of his reach, and sits down.
The man slides his phone into his back pocket and waddles over to Rusty without standing up. He pets him again, then grabs him.
Rusty growls.
“Easy little guy, I’m not going to hurt you.”
Rusty growls louder.
The man stands up with Rusty in his arms. “It’s okay, bud, I gotcha.”
-BARK!-
Whoa! I hope your bite’s not that big. He starts walking with Rusty. “When we get home, I’ll give you some food. I’ve got some leftover burger from lunch.”
Rusty growls again and squirms against the man’s arms.
The man squeezes him more tightly. “Listen, you’re going to have to chill.”
Rusty stops squirming, and the man’s grip loosens. Then Rusty twists and chomps down on the man’s forearm. He sinks his teeth deep into the muscle.
“Hey!” He lets go of Rusty, but the dog doesn’t let go of him.
Rusty’s weight is supported only by his sharp teeth embedded in man’s arm, and when the man feels the teeth tear against his skin, he drops his arm and torso toward the ground. “Let go!”
Once on the ground, Rusty releases him and scampers away.
The man kneels on the ground and looks at his arm. It has four deep holes in it from the canine teeth, and some other tears from the dog’s front teeth as well. Blood starts to seep out. He looks off to the direction Rusty went, but he doesn’t see him. He looks back at his arm. Streams of blood flow from the deep wounds. “Fucking bullshit.”
Rusty trots away, hidden by the low branches of a row of Japanese Cherry trees. He licks at his snout, enjoying the blood.
Early in the morning, Charlie steps out of the elevator into the lobby wearing sweats and carrying a drink bottle. He walks up to the front desk. “Do you have an envelope for me? Jules said she’d leave me a package.”
A young woman looks up from behind a binder. “Name?”
“Charlie Costanza.”
She closes the binder and shuffles through a stack of envelopes. “Costanza.” She pulls one out and smirks. “Any relation to George?” She lets her smirk turn to a smile.
He groans. “Umm, no.”
She chuckles. “That’s too bad, everybody knows him.”
“Mmm-hmm.” Charlie waits. This is the thanks I get for saving a funny-man’s life—
“Sorry, I bet you get that a lot, huh?”
“Only from people that watch TV.” He stares blankly into her eyes. And now my name gets to be a joke for a couple decades.
She blinks and looks away. “Well, here’s your envelope, Mr. Costanza, have a great day.”
“I’ll try.” Poor girl probably thinks I hate her now. Charlie succeeds in holding back a grin as he snatches the envelope and walks away.
The girl flashes her eyes wide. Jeez. Note to self: don’t make fun of anybody named Costanza.
Charlie opens the envelope. Inside is a printout of a map with a highlighted route up the street. On the corner is a sticky note:
Straightforward enough.
As he walks out of the hotel with the envelope in his hand, he hears Rusty from the bushes.
-Bark!-
“Hey buddy, how’re you doing?”
He wags his tail and bounces his front paws against Charlie’s leg.
“That’s a cute dog.” Rod, the bellman, walks up to Charlie’s side. “Rusty, eh?”
Charlie glances over. “Yeah. Listen Rod, do you work every morning?
“Eight in the morning till six at night.”
“That’s a long day.”
“It pays well.”
“It’s funny you put it that way.” Charlie scratches his arm. “I wonder if you’d be interested in making some extra money in the mornings.”
Rod smiles and bends down to pet Rusty. “I’m listening.”
“Sometimes in the morning, this little guy might be out here. If you could bring him up to the room, I could give you, say, fifty dollars for the week.”
Rod stands back up. “That’s easy enough, but why is he out here in the morning?”
Charlie stretches and glances at the other bellman, who is talking on his phone. “The dog is sneaky.”
“I’m not sure it’s a great idea.” Rod points to the busy street running in front of the hotel. “He could get hit.”
Charlie clears his throat. “I forgot, and I could give you another fifty to keep this on the down-low.”
“Would you like me to bring him up to the room right now, sir?”
Charlie smiles. “That’d be great. Room 1015. I’ll come down to see you when I’m back from the gym.”
Rod picks up Rusty. “C’mon buddy, let’s get you upstairs.”
Rusty pants over Rod’s shoulder as the two of them enter the hotel.
When Charlie arrives at the gym, at first, he wasn’t sure what he was looking at. Are all city gyms so damn fancy? Past the tanning booths and automatic massage chairs, he crosses through racks of workout clothes for sale, then he reaches the desk. A trim guy with blue eyes, blond hair, and a hickey on his neck greets him.
“Name’s Costanza. I guess I’m new.”
“I was told to expect you early, welcome.” He gives Charlie a quick tour of the facilities, then asks if Charlie has any questions.
“Just one, I heard the windows had film on them? Do you know what kind?”
“The right kind. Just try not to raise too many eyebrows with the free-weights, ’kay?”
Charlie chuckles. “No promises.” He walks over to the barbells. There’s a beefy guy doing weighted squats in the rack, but otherwise the area is empty. He steps up to a bench and sets his drink bottle down. He puts two forty-five pound plates on each side of an Olympic bar and stands alongside the bar and the bench. Let’s see, four times forty-five is a little under two hundred, and the bar weighs what, fifty pounds?
“Bro, need a spot?” The guy from the rack walks over.
Charlie sizes him up. He’s big and veiny—definitely a regular at the gym. His dark hair is buzzed short, and his eyes are a warm brown. “Uh, sure, thanks. How much do the bars weigh?”
The guy sets down a gallon jug of water. “Twenty kilos.”
Charlie nods. “Most people insist on using the imperial measurements, I’ll admit it took me a little while to get used to it.”
“You from Europe?”
“Initially, yeah. Thanks for the spot. Let’s go.”
“Sure thing bro, name’s JD, but people call me Dishwasher.”
Charlie lies down on the bench. “Charlie. Why do they call you that?” He sets his grip on the bar and breathes out.
JD lifts the bar off the rack for him. “’Cause I throw plates around all day!”
Charlie does a rep, feigning difficulty. “I don’t get it.”
JD laughs. “Shut up.”
Charlie smiles and does another rep. Sure thing, bro.
After a half hour of chatting and alternating through a circuit, Charlie points to the clock. “I gotta get outta here in a minute.”
“No way Broseph; you haven’t done squats.”
Charlie shrugs.
“Man, you can’t quit without squatting.”
Charlie nods. “Believe me, I can.”
JD slaps him on the shoulder as he turns toward the squat rack. “C’mon, Chuck.”
Charlie clears his throat as he follows JD to
the rack. “Put on another set of plates, Dishwasher-man.”
He snorts a laugh. “No offense, but that’ll be too much for ya.”
“Do it.”
He slides on another set of forty-five pound plates as Charlie gets inside the rack and positions the bar across his shoulders.
Charlie licks his lips. “You’re going to want to watch this.”
JD steps back. “I’m afraid to. I’ve never seen a tiny man snapped in half.”
Charlie grips the bar and stands. “This is heavy?”
JD smiles. “Let’s see some squats there, Chuckles.”
Charlie grits his teeth and bends low to the ground, the weight of the bar sinking into his shoulders. “The name—” He stands up in a flash, the bar catches a split second of air before it squashes back into his shoulder muscles. “—is Charlie.”
JD watches in amazement as Charlie pounds out fifteen reps in a span of twenty seconds. When Charlie finally sets the bar back into the rack, JD just shakes his head. “Wow. You do this pro, don’t cha?”
Charlie slaps him on the shoulder. “Used to, yeah. You here every morning?”
JD motions around to the weights and benches. “Somebody’s got to keep the dust off this stuff.”
Charlie laughs. “Then I’ll see you tomorrow, buddy.”
JD smiles. “Later, Charlie.”
When Skip wakes up, he’s surprised to see he slept in so late. He gets dressed and walks out to the living room. June is again looking out the window while Eddy sits and reads a book to Minnie on the couch.
Minnie looks up. “Good morning, Mr. Tubman.”
He waves. “Good morning, Minnie.” He looks at Eddy. “Is your mom or dad around?”
Eddy lowers the book. “Dad’ll be back in a bit, but Mom will be in meetings all day.”
Skip spies coffee in the machine. Yes.
June leaves the window and follows him toward the kitchen.
“Good morning, June. How long have you been up?”
“I haven’t slept.”
“At all?” Skip looks at her pale and tired face. Her lips are a little chapped, and her shoulders slump.
