Rough Trade

by Todd Robinson

  “Give me a minute!”

  “Fuck it. I’m getting the bouncer.” She stormed off to sic my coworker on me. “Hey,” I hear her call to the door.

  “Just talk to me. This is starting to get awkward.”

  “You’re making it awkward!”

  Mitch opened the door with a slam. “The hell you doing in the—Boo?”

  “I need a minute, Mitch.”

  Mitch frowned. “There’s not a better place you can do this?”

  “I’m trying to.”

  “I gotta piss,” yelled the goth broad.

  “Fine!” Ginny yelled, pushing me out of the way and bumping past Mitch. “Fucking hate you, Boo.”

  Gothie La Rue raised her eyebrows suspiciously at me.

  Mitch also had a face.

  “What?”

  Mitch twirled the toothpick between his teeth. “In my experience, when a woman says she hates you, the opposite is true.”

  “I dunno,” Gothie said. “That sounded like she meant it.”

  “On the other hand,” Mitch said, “I’ve been married three times.”

  “You guys suck,” Gothie said. “Now can you please fuck off and get out of the ladies’ room?”

  I walked into the office. Ginny sat in the chair, attempting to re-apply her makeup with a small pocket mirror, but I could see her hands shaking even at ten paces.

  On my slow walk up the stairs, I’d thought about all the possible responses I might have to whatever she was going to say. I wasn’t going to say I regretted having sex with her, but my heart wasn’t in a place she might want it to be. For reasons even beyond me, I was still carrying a torch for Anonymous Regan. It felt like I would continue down that pathetic walkway for a good long time. It wasn’t necessarily fair to Ginny, but it was the truth.

  “Talk to me,” I said

  Angrily, she threw down her mascara pen, where it bounced off the desk and rolled to the floor. “I can’t sleep. I can’t eat.”

  Jesus, it was worse than I thought.

  “And I can’t believe I had sex with you. Ugh.”

  And ego deflation in three…two…one…

  Gone.

  I reached for a bottle of Beam, cracked it open, and poured a thick dollop into the semi-dirty coffee cup. This was going to require more alcohol than I thought I’d be doing this evening. “Uh…sorry?”

  Ginny took the coffee cup from my hand and polished the remaining fingers, then held it out to me for more. “No. I don’t blame you. I mean, I do.”

  I poured her another two inches of bourbon. “Lost me there.”

  “We killed a man, Boo. A man lost his life in my apartment. Whether or not he meant to kill all of us, we killed him. And I don’t know if that was the end of it.”

  “I’m pretty sure it is.”

  “Pretty sure? Pretty sure?”

  “You don’t have to yell.”

  “Don’t I? I’ve been watching you sitting at the bar, Junior at the door. You guys act like nothing happened.”

  “Yeah. About that. Junior doesn’t know about what happened at your apartment.”

  “I thought you told your girlfriend everything.”

  “I think that the fewer people who know about what went down there, the better off we’re all going to be.”

  “That’s just it. I call my mom back in Nova Scotia, and she hears me breaking down. She wants me to come home, and I can’t even tell her why I’m crying so I make up some lie that she can hear in my voice seven hundred miles away. She doesn’t want me to stay in Boston anymore. I don’t want to stay here anymore.”

  “Then why don’t you leave?”

  “You think it’s easy to leave? I have an apartment that I have to go back to every night, alone. And I spend the whole time afraid that someone is going to break in, or that they’ll at least be polite enough to knock on the door and then stab me to death when I open it. I’m terrified here, but I can’t afford to leave. Dana is gone. He up and left me, moved back to Oregon, leaving me with a lease I can barely afford and a job with a dickhead that I fucked…” She waved an open hand in my direction.

  Ouch.

  She took another drink. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t fair.” She sniffed at the mug. “Ugh. Take this away from me. I drink enough of this and sleeping with you is going to seem like a good idea again.”

  Did I say “ouch” already? I did, didn’t I?

  “And I want to go home, but I’m a grown-ass woman, and I don’t want to ask my mother for money. I want to be able to handle what I saw. I want to be able to say ‘Fuck that guy’ for trying to kill us. But I can’t. I go home, where I’m supposed to feel the safest, and I don’t. I just want to go home, Boo. Oh, God…” The dam broke, and Ginny covered her face and began sobbing, her shoulders shaking.

  I kept my mouth shut and let her rip. There was nothing I could really say to her.

  But there was something I could do.

  I reached behind the Dry Sack bottles to the paper lunch bag I had tucked back there. I stuck my hand in and pulled out one of the thick stacks that I had been unable to fit along my sternum when I’d duct-taped the rest to me.

  Part of my contingency plan was to pay off Summerfield a little bit up front, and the rest later, if circumstances directed the day that way.

  Turned out different, though, didn’t it?

  I dropped the stack onto Ginny’s lap. “Go home,” I said.

  Ginny stared at the money on her lap, snuffled loudly once through her nose, and said, “What the fu—”

  “Shut up,” I said. “Don’t say another word. Don’t ask any questions. You just quit. Go back to your apartment, pack up and go home. You hear me?”

  Ginny stood and looked me in the eyes, more tears racing down her face.

  This time, though, they weren’t from misery.

  She leaned forward and closed her eyes.

  Why not?

  I gently placed my mouth on hers. I was already one for one on the day. Why the hell not?

  She pulled back.

  “Ugh. Dude, I was going for your cheek,” she said, wiping her mouth.

  Aaaaand fail. “Sorry. I wasn’t completely positive about what was happening there.”

  “It wasn’t that.”

  “My bad.”

  “Wow. You almost pulled off a real moment there where I wasn’t going to walk out of here thinking you were a dickhole.”

  “Ruined that, didn’t I?”

  “Only most of it. What the hell.” This time she grabbed me and pulled me into a kiss. Her hand squeezed the front of my jeans as she bit into my lower lip.

  Then just like that, she broke away and walked to the door. “Little something to remember me by,” she said with a sad…and evil smile. Then she was gone.

  And for the second time that day, I was left with and erection and solitude.

  I took a deep breath and tried to shake it off. Blue balls is a terrible parting gift, in case you were wondering.

  ***

  Audrey was frantic on the bar and on the floor by the time I limped my way back downstairs. “Where did Ginny go?”

  “She quit,” I said with a smile.

  “What? I can’t handle the floor and the bar, Boo.”

  “I got you, Audrey. I’ll clear the floor. You take care of the bar.”

  “Oh that’s just great. Ugliest Waitress In Boston can be our new slogan.” Audrey haw-hawed at her own joke. “This is your fault, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “It is.” Then I smiled. And I kept on smiling the rest of the night.

  Encore

  A couple more months passed.

  I healed up as well as I was going to.

  The city defrosted.

  Twitch decided to talk to me again.

  All was pretty much back to same shit, different day.

  We decided to have a boys’ night like we used to back in the day when we were all fresh out of The Home, none of us with much to speak of job-wise or money
-wise. Every Sunday, we’d get together, eat too much bad pizza, and watch kung fu movies. Back then, family was enough to get us through those worst days.

  It was one of the ways we made the time for each other as we grew up and away from The Home. It was the way that we made sure we never grew too far away from each other.

  We were all meeting up at Ollie’s place at seven. He had the best hook-up. Me and Junior were bringing the pizza and beer; Twitch would cull his immense Hong Kong movie collection.

  Junior picked me up in the Omni, which he had adopted into his lifestyle and, in his own inimitable fashion, named Charlie—after the Charlie in the Box from the animated Rudolph special. He said the car belonged on The Island of Misfit Toys. But like the few things in our lives that we could call our own, Junior had made it his.

  Hell, we all belonged on the Island of Misfit Toys.

  We walked into Ollie’s apartment, with all of the tech equipment lining every shelf on every wall. His place looked like a Radio Shack exploded, but damn if little brother couldn’t hook up one hell of a surround sound.

  Ollie re-arranged the clutter in a way that seemed orderly, but still looked like clutter to my eyes. In the newly formed space, I lay down the pizza while Junior walked off to put the beers in the fridge. Ollie’s cat lay itself on top on the pizza box and began purring as he soaked in the warmth.

  “Who’s that?” I asked.

  “That’s Gaucho,” Ollie said. “Got him from the shelter a couple months back.”

  Another orphan.

  Just like the rest of us.

  He nuzzled my fingers as I stroked him under the chin. “Where’s Twitch?”

  “He’s going to be late,” Ollie said. “Said the T is a mess.”

  I saw a pained expression on Ollie’s face, anxious. He looked toward the kitchen. “What’s up?” I asked.

  “You think you could step out for a few minutes?”

  “I could. Everything okay?”

  Ollie chewed his thumbnail. “I think…I think it’s time I talked to Junior.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Junior!” I yelled at the kitchen.

  I heard a clatter of bottles rolling out of a refrigerator. “Goddammit, Boo. The fuck you yelling for?”

  “I’m going to step to Dunkins. You want anything?”

  “Yeah. Gimme a regular-regular.”

  “Got it. You want anything, Ollie?”

  “More courage than I think I have?” he said, glancing at the kitchen again.

  “Milk and sugar in that?” I asked.

  Ollie didn’t laugh.

  I clapped a hand onto his shoulder and squeezed. “He’ll be fine.”

  “You sure about that?”

  I heard a bottle smash onto the kitchen tile and Ollie jumped a little. “Sorry!” Junior yelled.

  Ollie looked at me.

  “You sure?” I said.

  “I am,” he said, nodding and taking a steeling breath.

  “Ollie! Where are your paper towels?” Junior yelled.

  “Hold on,” Ollie said.

  I walked out the door and turned left toward the Dunkins. I tried not to think too hard about what might happen. I knew Junior loved Ollie like family, like we all did, but was family enough for him, for any of us, against a lifetime of fear and deep-seated prejudices?

  I hoped it was.

  I walked slowly, giving the boys time to hash out what needed hashing. I ordered myself a coffee and a glazed donut, munching on it slowly, taking my time. I was anxious to get back. I didn’t think Ollie needed me there, in fact, I felt the opposite. I just…I didn’t know how Junior would take it.

  It was him I was worried about.

  Strange that.

  As far as I knew, Ollie had come to a kind of terms with living two lives. I hoped so. Otherwise, it meant that it had been gradually eating away at him for a couple decades.

  I didn’t know.

  I was afraid to ask.

  But what I did know was that he’d broken the terms he’d chosen for himself to step in and save my ass at Blue Envy. He could have run for the hills, kept his lives separate, and hoped for the best.

  But that wasn’t what brothers did.

  And I also knew that whatever choices he’d made, for the best or worst of it, he was now making the decision to just live in one world.

  I was sure that decision was a scary fucking one to have to make.

  But I knew my brother was tough enough.

  Through the window, I saw Twitch walking briskly down the street, a half dozen DVDs clutched under his arm. I ran out the door. “Yo, Twitch!”

  Twitch stopped walking and looked up and down the street until he saw me. “What are you doing there?”

  “Come here!”

  “We’re already late,” he yelled. If there was one thing Twitch was obsessive about, it was punctuality. Okay, Twitch was obsessive about a lot of things, but the dude hated being late.

  “Will you please come over here so I can stop yelling at you across the freakin’ street?”

  Twitch shrugged. “Sure!” he yelled back. He crossed the street hurriedly. “Where’s Junior?”

  “He and Ollie are having a talk.”

  Twitch’s eye beat a quick samba routine. “Oh, snap. THE talk?”

  “The talk.”

  “Whoa.”

  “Yeah.”

  Twitch broke away, running for Ollie’s door in a dead sprint.

  I was not expecting that.

  I gave chase.

  “For fuck’s sake, Twitch. Give them a minute.”

  “No!” he yelled over his shoulder to me.

  Little fucker was faster than I thought he was, although being faster than me was a pretty low bar to set.

  I caught up to him a moment after he reached Ollie’s door.

  “You hear that?” he said.

  “What?” I couldn’t hear anything.

  “The silence. Don’t like it.”

  “We’re outside. They can’t hear us either.”

  His eyelid fluttered. “Junior’s going to flip.”

  “We don’t know that.”

  Then, clear as a bell, we heard Junior say, “No. No fucking way.”

  Dammit.

  Then more silence.

  “I want to go in there,” Twitch said, his eye switching from spasm all the way up to vibrate.

  “No. We have to let Ollie handle this on his own. He’s a big boy.”

  “Junior is bigger.”

  I glared at him.

  “Wow. That was a really shitty thing I just said.”

  It was, but I’d have been lying if the thought hadn’t crossed my mind. These were deep, deep fears and scars that were going to be tested. Nobody ever knew what a reaction was going to be when pieces got pulled out in psychological Jenga.

  “I’m gonna go back to Dunkins. I told Junior I’d get him a coffee. When we get back here, we’ll see what’s happening.” It felt like we were killing time. Because we were. The two of us were on pins and goddamn needles.

  “Fine,” Twitch said. “But when we get back, we go in.”

  “I’m with you.”

  Twitch walked with me to get the coffee, but he kept looking back over his shoulder at Ollie’s door.

  We got the coffee and a couple extra donuts for good measure. A few yards from Ollie’s, the door opened. Out walked Junior, shaking his head.

  Was he leaving?

  No, he pulled out a cigarette and lit it with a match.

  Ollie and I stopped.

  Junior’s face was a hard, unreadable mask.

  I handed him his coffee. “Thanks,” he mumbled, breathing out a cloud of menthol smoke.

  “You all right?” I asked.

  “You two knew?”

  I nodded.

  Twitch’s eye somersaulted.

  “You guys think I’m a fucking idiot?”

  I pulled out a cigarette of my own and flared my Zip
po. “Honestly? I only found out recently, and it was by accident. I’d have never figured it out otherwise.”

  Twitch shrugged. “I’ve known just about forever. I assumed you two boneheads did too. So I guess my answer to that would be yes? I do think you both are fucking idiots.”

  Then the door opened up and Ollie came out into the cold. “Oh, you guys are back. I was going to see if you were still at Dunks. Why the hell are we all standing here freezing our asses off?”

  Junior looked at Ollie, at his little brother, and I saw the shame carved into every crease of Junior’s plug-ugly bulldog face. In each line, I saw the realization of every casual remark, every loose word of thrown-off hate that had worked its way over Ollie’s spirit like paper cuts.

  I’d never seen Junior sadder than in that moment.

  I also saw the love he had. That we all had for each other.

  We walked back inside. Ollie was business as usual, like it wasn’t no big thang. “Whaddaya got, Twitch?”

  “Oh!” Twitch said. “I got Kung-Fu Hustle, Eastern Heroes—”

  “Nice,” said Ollie.

  “Hey,” Junior said to Ollie.

  “Yeah?”

  “I’m sorry, brother.”

  “It’s okay,” Ollie said

  Junior shook his head. “No. I want these chuckleheads to hear me say it. I’m sorry.”

  “I heard you,” Ollie said, but despite his casual tone, I saw him swallow a lump.

  Then Junior grabbed Ollie in a bear hug and planted a huge sloppy wet kiss on his cheek. “MmmmmmWAH!”

  Ollie screamed, and extracted himself from Junior’s affection. “Aw, gross,” Ollie said. He wiped the slobber off his cheek and shook his head. “Faggot…” he added.

  With a smile a mile wide.

  About the Author

  Todd Robinson is the creator and chief editor of the multi-award-winning crime fiction magazine Thuglit. His short fiction has appeared in Blood and Tacos, Plots With Guns, Needle Magazine, Shotgun Honey, Strange, Weird, and Wonderful, Out of the Gutter, Pulp Pusher, Grift, Demolition Magazine, and CrimeFactory. His writing has been nominated for a Derringer Award, short-listed for Best American Mystery Stories, and selected for Writers Digest’s Year’s Best Writing 2003, and it won the inaugural Bullet Award in June 2011. His first novel featuring Boo and Junior, The Hard Bounce, was nominated for the Anthony Award. He lives in Queens, NY.