A Good and Useful Hurt

by Aric Davis

  When he woke he felt better, a little better, but that voice still stirred in his head. He shut it out as he made them breakfast: eggs, toast, and hash browns.

  “What’s on your mind, sailor?”

  “How do you mean?”

  “I mean, you slept for shit last night, and right now you’re awake for shit. Eggs are perfect.”

  “Thank you. That crap with Doc’s niece getting killed really struck home. Nasty shit.”

  “Agreed, but you need to let it go. You can’t fix it. You’re not some crazy action hero who can go guns blazing on that scumbag, even if you could find him.”

  “That’s not it, though. I can accept that bad stuff happens to good people, and every variation on that imaginable. It’s that I didn’t tell Doc about the ink. About people getting the tattoos with ashes in the ink. I think he would have liked it. It might have helped him, and I just couldn’t say it.”

  “You know him better than I do—if it wasn’t right to say, then it wasn’t right to say. Do you think Doc would want a chunk of his niece, no matter how small, floating in him forever? I mean, and you know this as well as I do, that is some heavy shit. I think, internally, a part of you knew that might not be right for an uncle. It’s not like a father, or a mother, or a sister. As close as they were, it’s just a different bond.”

  “You close with your father?”

  “Cheap shot, below the belt, you lose a point. No, and you know that. Beside the point entirely.”

  “Bullshit. You were close to your aunt.”

  “My aunt, as saintly of a woman as any that has ever walked the earth, would not want my hide in her. Trust me on that. Some people are close, but not shoot-a-bit-of-dead-you-into-them close.”

  “You, my argumentative cohort, are not Doc. He’s my friend—a weird, perverse friend, but still a good friend. There are not many men I’d let tell me about the hows and the whys of fisting. Doc covered two memorable appointments on just that subject.”

  “Don’t get any ideas.”

  Mike rolled his eyes. “What I mean is, Doc is different, even more different than most of our customers. This is the kind of thing that could be right up his alley. I should have said something.”

  “You think that would be appropriate? You cannot just suggest to people that they should get bits of their dead relatives shoved into their arms. I see nothing wrong with it—point of fact, I think it’s cool as fuck—but you can’t say that first.”

  “She was a sweet girl.”

  “Tell him that, let him bare his soul as much as you can, but Mike, there are two things you cannot do for him. You absolutely cannot suggest this to him. If he comes up with it on his own, fine, but that can’t be on you. The other is that we can’t go to the funeral. You know it, I know it, Lamar and Becky know it.”

  “Lamar and I talked about it just yesterday, right after Doc left. We’d show up, stay in back—”

  “No.”

  “What?”

  “No. You can’t. ‘Doc,’ as we so affectionately and appropriately know him, is off-limits in public. He’s told you just as much in person, I guarantee it.”

  “He has, but this is different.”

  “I just cut a two-gauge hole in a magistrate’s outer labia two days ago. I know people, and I know they have secrets, secrets that might make them like us more than even their public friends, but those same secrets include us. It would be worse for Doc, personally and professionally, if we were to go. Had he been lucid, and he might have already done this, he’d have lied to you about where the funeral was. He wants us there, Mike, have no doubt about that, but we’re as good to that funeral as his dead niece is.”

  Mike dropped his fork so hard that it clattered off of his plate and onto the floor. “Are you fucking serious?”

  “Yes. We can’t go. We’ll use our initials and donate money to some charity and send him a letter; he’ll figure it out, he’s not a dumb guy. Soon enough, he’ll be back, and we can tell him again how sorry we are in person.”

  “I want you to know that you’re right, but also that I do hate you for it.”

  “I have to get ready fo’ work, boss, do excuse po’ Deb.”

  Deb left the table for the bathroom. She left the door open, and on the bathroom floor Mike could see Sid’s ruined corpse grinning at him through broken teeth and two eyes pushed almost out of their sockets. He could smell the gunpowder as Deb stepped into view, naked, turned on the shower, stepped inside, and rotated toward him on the other side of the glass door. On the floor, that body was shifting slightly as the relaxed muscles let the head and torso slide to the floor. The gun sat limp in Sid’s right hand.

  “Cheer up,” Deb called from under the spray. He could see her teeth flash. “Doc’ll be fine, I promise.”

  On the floor, the Sid thing lay flush to the tile, the blood pooling in the circle he’d found her in. Mike stared at Sid, the steam was pouring out of the bathroom, and a spike of pain ran through his head. When he opened his eyes a few seconds later, he began sketches for a painting of a backpiece.

  He only got to work for about fifteen minutes before Deb came out of the bathroom. She was wearing her robe, and Sid was gone from the floor behind her; Mike checked twice, blinking in between. It had been almost a year since he’d seen Sid. He’d been sure she wasn’t coming back, but he’d been wrong, because she’d been right where he’d found her that day, and where she’d made sporadic appearances ever since.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Jean didn’t go biking with her older sister Bruce, or climb rocks, or do any other of the incredibly dangerous things that her sister had loved so much. Instead, while Jean was sleeping, she and her sister had plans to go out for lunch.

  The plans were already set in place by the time the dream started. That part was the same every time, but everything else was different. Sometimes Jean was back from college, sometimes it was Bruce returning from some expedition. On occasion, it would be Bruce who had gotten a short new haircut, and after their embrace Jean would ask her what was going on with the hair. Sometimes, Jean was the one with the drastic new change in appearance or style.

  It wasn’t just fashion or the reason for the get-together that changed. So too did the restaurant. Sometimes it was French, with perfect plates of steak frites and duck confit, other times Chinese, with massive piles of dim sum and fried tofu with broccoli. Drinks too, Jean and Bruce always grew thirsty during lunch, and bottles of French wine, German beer, and Kentucky bourbon would flow. Sure, it was lunch, but when was the next time they’d be together again?

  Every time it was different, and there was never any planning involved. The dream would start, and Jean would be walking, knowing exactly where to be and at what time. If anything, the only odd bit was the way her hip would hum where the bicycle wheel had been etched into it. Not an audible hum, but something Jean could feel in her skin. It didn’t bother her—it was part of the experience, nothing more and nothing less. Besides, there was no reason to get upset over such a minor detail. The sun was shining, she was wearing an adorable new sundress from Anthropologie, and her big sister was back from Colorado, which was perfect timing, because that new sushi place had just opened up on Fulton.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Deb kicked the door to the office open, popping Mike and Lamar out of their seats.

  “What the hell is going on?” Mike demanded.

  She sat heavily in an unoccupied chair and sighed. “Don’t you just hate them sometimes?”

  “Who?” said Mike. “Customers?”

  “Who else?”

  “I can think of some people,” said Mike.

  “I’m sure we all can,” offered Lamar.

  “They’re just…uhhhhh. I hate this job sometimes.”

  Becky walked into the room. “What was up with those two?”

  Deb shook her head and laughed.

  Lamar said, “Alright, now I really want to know. Spill it.”

  “Simple work.
Couple makes an appointment to get her nipples and hood pierced. Older guy on the phone who made the appointment, he seemed really cool. When they show up, Becky gets her some paperwork and—”

  “She was really nervous. Like so nervous.”

  “Yes, she was nervy. No big deal. He’s standing there with this shit-eating grin on his face like the cat that got the cream, and right away I’m just put off. I can just tell something’s not right. So they come back to the booth, and he’s telling her how to disrobe and telling me which one she wants to do first.”

  “Why didn’t you just tell them to leave?”

  “Because they weren’t doing anything wrong. You can’t just tell somebody to leave because you’re vibing off of them weird. For all I know she’s just scared out of her gourd. So she strips down and lies on the bed. I clean her up for the piercing and mark it. He checks where it’s going; she doesn’t. So I pierced her, and she screamed a little bit. Again, not a big deal, or weird for that particular piece of anatomy. I told her when I’d fastened the bar that we could be done right then if she wanted. She doesn’t say shit, just looks at him with this wounded animal look, and he says, ‘She’ll be fine.’

  “We just barely got through the nipple piercings. I could tell she was really done after the first, but she soldiered through it.”

  Mike interjected: “I guess I still don’t understand why you kept working on her if it was really that bad.”

  “You weren’t there. A lot of different people come in for work like that from me, and some of them are just immediately put off by everything that’s happening. Some of them love it. It brings a lot of energies to the forefront, and they’re not all good ones. For all I know, she’s been talking to him about this for years and told him not to let her back out no matter what. They could’ve been heavy into bondage and it was part of her duties as a slave, a voluntary slave, to get pierced. It could be he was a creep who made his wife get pierced. There’s just no way for me to know. I hate it sometimes.”

  Mike said, “I have a question about slaves and slave duties.”

  Deb grinned a shark’s smile. “If there were to be a slave in our particular household, it would probably be a certain very naughty boy. Lots of high heels and scrotum kicking. Nasty stuff.”

  Mike held up his hands as if warding her off. “Hey, forget I asked. Just a question.”

  “Fair enough. What do I have next, Becky?”

  “Nothing until four, and then you’re doing a cutting on Kip’s back. Nautical stars.”

  “Alright. Cool, first that girl who sat like crap for her nose, and then the creepies. Losing control on a jewelry insertion should have been enough of a bad day; I don’t need to feel like I’m torturing someone to finish it out. I’m going to get a coffee. You guys need anything from the deli?”

  Mike and Lamar shook their heads. Deb followed Becky from the room, and then they were alone to draw. They stayed mum for about five minutes, and then Lamar said, “You know, I thought she was crazy at first, but she’s pretty cool.”

  “Yeah.”

  “How’s it going outside of here?”

  “Good, we’re getting along really well.”

  “That’s good, man, real good. When you gonna let her cut up your dick?”

  “We haven’t set a date yet.”

  “Alright, man, let me know.”

  “I’ll be sure to show you. Want to see it pre-op?”

  “Mike, if you take that thing out, I’ma shove this pencil through it.”

  “Y’know, that reminds me, Lamar, you still haven’t told us about your new lady.”

  “I’m just taking it slow.”

  “She’s dropped you off at work every day for a week. You can’t be taking it all that slow.”

  “Man, it’s not even like that. We’re just taking it slow.”

  “I’d like to meet her. I’m sure Deb and Becky would too.”

  “You will, it’s just going to be a little while. She isn’t like all them other girls.”

  “Where’d you meet her?”

  “Mike. Seriously, dude. I’m happy—that’s all you worried about, right?”

  “Mostly, the girls have been pressing me to grill you.”

  “Just tell them I’m happy and that they’ll get to meet her soon enough.”

  “Alright. Lamar?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Is it a dude? You can tell me if it is.” Mike pantomimed zipping his lips, locking them, and tossing aside an invisible key.

  “You need to shut the fuck up.”

  “Done. I’m done.”

  “Seriously, that girl has got your sense of humor all out of whack.”

  Mike laughed and started drawing again. “You might be onto something.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Deb’s twenty-eighth birthday came early enough in her relationship with Mike that, though he felt obligated to buy her gifts, he did not feel compelled to spend extravagantly. They went out to eat, and she was kind enough to go for sushi again, a food that was becoming a passion for him. When they’d finished eating, they went to Founders, the brewery that had hosted their first date. There they were met by Lamar and Becky. Mike had argued internally over whether to invite any customers, but he’d opted not to. Becky, for her part, had brought along an enormous weightlifter named Corey. Of Lamar’s sweetheart there was no sign. Greetings were exchanged quickly, and soon enough, a long-bearded waiter came to take their order.

  Corey spoke from the far end of the long wooden table. “I’ll take two Bud Lights.”

  The waiter smiled, as did Mike and Lamar. Deb watched quizzically.

  “Sir, we serve only beer that we brew. As much as we agree that the big three do turn out consistent if not palatable product, our beers are wonderful in their own way. If you enjoy American pilsners like Bud Light, I suggest you try our—”

  “I don’t think you heard me. This is a bar; I’d like two Bud Lights.”

  “Dude, we sell the beers we make. That’s it. I will happily bring you tasting glasses of our Pale Ale and pilsner, if you want to stick around.” He turned to Deb, the nearest woman to him. “And what will you be having?”

  Mike interrupted. “It’s her birthday, and I’m not sure what she wants, but whatever it is it ought to be from mug 1138. I’m 225, and I’ll take an Oatmeal Stout.”

  Deb turned to Mike, and her cheeks were flushed. She was grinning. “You bought me a cup!”

  “A mug, but yes, I did. What shall this young man fill it with?”

  “I liked the stout too, the king one!”

  “Imperial Stout?”

  “Yeah, that one, but make me get something else after I’ve had two.”

  “Excellent.” The waiter turned to Lamar. “What would you like to have?”

  “You still got Backwoods Bastard on draft?”

  “Yup.”

  “Awesome, mug 526.”

  “And for the other young lady?”

  “I’ll take a Pale Ale, mug 941.”

  “Great, I’ll be back in just a few minutes.”

  The waiter left, and Corey turned to Becky. They talked in heated whispers. Everyone else pretended to ignore them until Mike cleared his throat and made to speak, and then Becky shot out to Corey in a unsuccessfully muffled voice, “You said you’d been here before or I would have told you. Knock it off.”

  Corey looked about for help. When there was none to be found, the big man lowered his eyes and waited for his drinks. He didn’t wait long. When the waiter had finished distributing the beers, Corey looked at the two small glasses in confusion, and he finally took a drink from the lighter-colored of the two.

  Becky said, “Happy B-day, Deb!”

  After the sentiment was echoed by the rest of the table, Deb said, “Thanks, you guys. And thanks for the mug, Mike. It’s awesome.”

  “No problem.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Mike and Deb finally escaped the bar three hours later. The night a
ir was brisk as they walked, but there was no snow, wind, or rain, so it was tolerable.

  Deb said, “More places should do that.”

  “Do what?”

  “Let you buy something to be used by just you. Like if I could buy a plate to use at all of my favorite restaurants, or custom chopsticks for sushi.”

  “Couldn’t you just buy a nice set of chopsticks and bring them with you?”

  “You are completely missing the point.”

  Mike frowned. Women had always told him he was missing the point.

  “Don’t get all frowny about it. It’s not the same if I have to bring them home and wash them. I want to walk into a restaurant, say ‘plate 25,’ and have someone bring my food on it.”

  “Would you have your own silverware and appetizer plates too?”

  “That’d be too much stuff to store, don’t you think?”

  “I guess so. I don’t think it would be that much worse than storing just one plate for every customer, though. I can’t believe I’m arguing with you about this.”

  “I can. You live for irrelevant arguments.”

  “No, that’s you.”

  “Well, either way.”

  “Right.”

  “Do you think we’ll get more snow? It’s so nice right now.”

  “I hope not. I’ve had my fill for the year.”

  “There’s your museum.”

  “I wouldn’t necessarily say it’s mine.”

  “Do you think there are any other people pining away for it under the age of seventy?”

  “It never occurred to me to wonder.”

  “You’ll have to trust me then—there’s you and nobody else. Let’s go check if we can see in the windows.”