TOXICITY
Max Booth III
Post Mortem Press
Cincinnati
Copyright © 2014 Max Booth III
All rights reserved.
Post Mortem Press - Cincinnati, OH
www.postmortem-press.com
All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.
SMASHWORDS Edition
For Lori
no keia la, no keia po, a mau loa
aloha au la ’oe
I heard a Fly buzz—when I died—
The Stillness in the Room
Was like the Stillness in the Air—
Between the Heaves of Storm—
The Eyes around—had wrung them dry—
And Breaths were gathering firm
For the last Onset—when the King
Be witnessed—in the Room—
I willed my Keepsakes—Signed away
What portion of me be
Assignable—and then it was
There interposed a Fly—
With Blue—uncertain stumbling Buzz—
Between the light—and me—
And then the Windows failed—and then
I could not see to see—
“I Heard a Fly Buzz—When I Died—,”
Emily Dickinson
Have you ever wished you were the fly on the wall?
BEFORE
Ten Years Before Now:
Wherein We Learn of Goat Curses
Maddox’s first day in prison was a memorable one, especially for the other inmates. Sure, random violence was essential in a house of sin, but no one had ever witnessed such anger and hostility over something so stupid.
Not until Maddox.
Everyone told him that seven to ten years was a pretty fair verdict for someone pulled over with a trunk full of cocaine and semi-automatics. He didn’t care if it was fair or not—if they had done the deal in his car, none of that shit would have ever happened. You could trust a Cadillac. What you couldn’t trust was a lousy Honda Civic without a goddamn floor on the passenger’s side. He was sure the broken taillights didn’t help matters, either.
It was his first day in the joint and, contrary to the theme of every prison musical he’d seen, things weren’t looking bright. There was a long road ahead of him. He would have to remain strong if he wanted to survive the years that waited. This task would be extremely difficult, considering his regular dosage of cocaine had been cut off entirely due to his unfortunate imprisonment.
He got a tray of food and headed for a random table in the cafeteria. His hands shook and he breathed in relief when he finally sat down without dropping anything. His eyes were twitching something awful. He couldn’t remember the last time he had slept. All he needed was one goddamn line of coke.
“What you think you doin’, ese?”
Maddox heard the voice, but ignored him and started eating his breakfast taco. He already figured the food would be horrible and he was not let down.
“Eh, pendejo, I’m talkin’ to you.”
Maddox slowly looked up, yolk dripping down his chin, and spotted a Mexican in a black bandana sitting across from him. The Mexican was staring at him with the intensity of pure lava.
“I’m eating breakfast,” he said.
“Yeah, at the wrong fuckin’ table, man.”
Maddox glanced around at the other tables in the large cafeteria. They all appeared the same. “Is there something wrong with this table?” he asked.
“Yeah, there is,” said the Mexican. “I’m sitting here.”
“Am I wrong in assuming these tables were designed for more than one person at a time?” As he said this he twitched a little, a tiny clicking escaping his tongue. His eyes felt like sandbags had replaced their lids. And the day had only just begun.
“You a new fish, I’m guessin’.”
“You’re guessing right.”
“’Cause otherwise you’d have to be one crazy white devil to be doin’ what you’re doin’.”
“Maybe I am.” Twitch, twitch. He slapped at a swarm of flies that weren’t really there. Twitch. Fuck.
The Mexican raised his eyebrow and studied Maddox closely. “Eh, man, you crashin’? You look like you crashin’.”
A trickle of sweat splashed on his food tray. He ran his shaking hands through his long hair. “I do, huh?”
“A bit,” the Mexican said. “I was the same when I first got locked up. That llelo will fuck your world up, holmes.”
“I want to kill someone.” Maddox grunted. “When does this stop?”
“It ain’t gonna be like no heroin, I tell you that right now,” the Mexican said. “Sugar, man, it’s gonna be in your system for the long haul. I’m talkin’ months here. You’re in for one helluva ride.”
He twitched.
“My best advice is, you train your mind to think about somethin’ and you keep thinking about it, you hear? Distract your mind, ese. It’s the only escape.”
“Distract my mind.”
“Yes.”
“How?” Everything was collapsing beneath him. He felt like he was slipping off the edge of chaos, seconds from splashing into its deceiving liquids.
“I don’t know.” the Mexican shrugged, taking a bite of his own breakfast taco. “What did you do before lockup?”
“I did drugs.”
“What else.”
“I sold them.”
The Mexican sighed. “Besides drugs, pendejo.”
Maddox paused, chewed, closed his eyes, took in a deep breath, thought for a second, and exhaled. “Baseball. I played baseball.”
“Yeah? Baseball’s good, man. I like me some baseball, too. Play nicey-nice to the guards and they’ll even let you have a couple mitts during yard time. You play in Little League, or somethin’?” The Mexican laughed. “Some softball tournaments?”
“Try the Majors.”
The Mexican held the breakfast taco a few inches from his mouth and looked at him. “I don’t think so.”
“Well, I was on the roster, at least.”
“What stopped you?”
Maddox gestured listlessly at his food tray.
“That’s a bitch, ese,” the Mexican said. Maddox knew he didn’t believe him, and that was perfectly fine. “You play any minor ball?”
He nodded. “Down in Iowa, did some triple-A.”
The Mexican smiled. “You’re distracting yourself like I was telling you. That’s good, ese.”
“Well, I was until you reminded me.” Maddox kept his idle pupils fixated on the rest of his breakfast. He wondered why it couldn’t just transform into a giant mountain of cocaine.
The Mexican cracked a smile. “Guess I did, huh? My bad, holmes, my bad. Breakfast is almost over, anyways. You do know not to sit here after today, comprende?”
“What does it matter where I sit?”
“Don’t play stupid.” The Mexican gave him a hard stare. “Now go back to baseball. You’re starting to shake again. Those gnats aren’t really there, man.”
“They’re flies.”
“They’re nothing.”
Maddox breathed in, breathed out. He rubbed his eyes until they burned. “What do you know about goats?”
“I know they shouldn’t cross bridges.”
“I’m talking about the Billy Goat Curse. You know about that?”
“The what?”
Maddox sighed. He dropped his half-eaten taco on the tray. Hunger had fai
led him.
“Billy Sianis. You ever hear of him?”
“Nah. He play ball too or somethin’?”
“No, he didn’t play ball.” Maddox felt his patience dropping. “He was this Greek immigrant who ruined baseball forever.”
“Oh yeah?” The Mexican reached across the table and scooped up the rest of Maddox’s breakfast. “How so?”
Maddox cracked his neck. Tried to shake his mind off his skull. “He owned this pet goat. A pet goat that he’d bring to league games. Right there in the stadium. I don’t know why they allowed that for as long as they did but they did.”
“Did he need to buy a ticket for the goat too?”
“I would assume so,” Maddox said, although he wasn’t exactly sure what the MLB’s goat policy was back then. “Anyway, they even went to the 1945 World Series, which was when the shit really hit the fan.”
“Wait, man, that’s with the Cubs, right?” The Mexican’s face brightened. “This is starting to sound a little familiar.”
“Yeah, the Cubs.” Who else would he be talking about? “Them and Detroit were in that series. It was the sixth game. We had two wins and they had one ahead of us. Sianis and his goat, who he named Billy, they attended that game, the sixth one. They bought box seat tickets, but that wasn’t enough. They had to go down and join the crowd so he could brag about owning a goat. No one should ever brag about owning a goat. Never.”
“I agree.” The Mexican nodded. “In my country, goats are served at restaurants.”
“Well as I was saying…What?”
The Mexican gave a nervous little laugh. “Nothing. Go on.”
Maddox hesitated a moment before continuing. “Well, as I was saying, Sianis and the goat were down there jerking off or whatever they were doing, and then it started raining. Now, I don’t know if you’ve ever smelled wet goat before, but trust me when I say you definitely do not want to.”
“Goats do have a lot of hair, don’t they?”
“So you can imagine everyone’s discomfort, sitting next to such a foul beast. It was only natural Mr. Wrigley himself would kick the scum right out of the park and onto West Addison. But of course he wasn’t fast enough, because Sianis still had time to curse the entire team into never playing in a World Series ever again.”
The Mexican sat there for a long time. “You really believe in that?”
“How else can you explain a losing streak which started in 1908 and still hasn’t ended ‘til this day? I mean, it’s been over a century.”
The Mexican didn’t seem to have an answer for that. Instead, he said, “You know what my old man used to call asshole Greeks like the one you’re talking about?”
“No, what?”
“Fleases. You know why?”
“Why?” Maddox was always on the lookout for a new way to insult Greece.
“Short for flap grease. You know how these guys work in diners most of their lives, and how greasy their shit usually is? Well, I guess these guys refuse circumcision, so all that grease, it builds up underneath that extra flap. Get it? Flease.”
Maddox pondered the word, until ultimately approving. “That’s good.” He nodded. “I’ll have to use that.”
“Yeah, thought you’d like it.” The Mexican tossed a tortilla crumb into his mouth. “Don’t know why you’re sweating over stuff like that, anyway, holmes. It’s not like it’s the Sox or something. Now there’s a team.”
Maddox paused. His hands tightened into fists. “You’re a Sox fan.”
“Of course I am.” The Mexican smiled proudly.
“I didn’t know that.”
“Well now you do, eh?”
“Yeah. Now I do.”
“We’re like rivals, huh?” The Mexican laughed. “Guess we really shouldn’t sit at the same table, anymore. It’s against baseball protocol, ese.”
“Yes,” Maddox said through gritted teeth. He gripped his fingers around the plastic spoon given with his untouched bowl of cornflakes. “Yes, it is.”
A piercing horn filled the cafeteria. Breakfast was officially over.
The Mexican never had a chance to stand up. Maddox was on top of him in an instant. The end of the spoon popped his right eyeball like a large grape. An explosion of ocular fluid erupted down the Mexican’s face as he screamed for the guards.
All in all, Maddox Kane’s first day in the joint went pretty well.
A Few Months Before Now:
In Which the Unlikely Occurs
The titanium merry-go-round spun ‘round and ‘round. Invaded by rust over many years of neglect, it creaked with every little movement, echoing a grungy symphony throughout the park.
Four stoned teens sprawled on it, hands behind their heads as their eyes became lost in the drifting clouds from above. Their feet dragged in the grass.
They all felt completely relaxed and content with the world, which was a rarity for them. Of course, a large part of this had to do with the joint held loosely in Addison Kane’s fingers as she passed it to the left. Her boyfriend, Connor Murphy, took it eagerly. And when he finished with his drag, it was then handed over to Candy Blossom—who, in return, gave it to her own boyfriend, Johnny Desperation.
Because of a recent injury inflicted upon his tongue, Johnny was careful to keep the joint clenched in his teeth, rather than touch the sore muscle dwelling within his mouth.
Connor, noticing his friend’s struggle, said, “So, how’s that tongue treatin’ ya?”
“Thut up,” Johnny answered, and everyone laughed. Even Johnny. He had to admit, if it had happened to someone else, he would be making fun of them every chance he got, too.
“Man, my mother always told me my body was a weapon,” Candy said, “but I didn’t know she meant it like that.”
Johnny sighed, trying to suppress a grin. It was his own damn fault for talking Candy into getting the piercing in the first place. She had been reluctant at first, which was quite contrary to her character. If there was a place on your body you were able to stick a hoop or a ball of metal in, you best believe it was already inserted in Miss Candy Blossom. Except for that one spot. The ultimate taboo spot. But now that position was filled as well. And Johnny had paid the price.
“This is some good shit,” Connor said.
“Yeah,” Johnny agreed.
“Trust Dave to supply the absolute best.”
“Didn’t you hear?” Candy asked. “He isn’t just ‘Dave’ anymore. People, they call him ‘One-Arm Dave’ now.”
“What?” Addison said. “Why?”
“Because he only has one arm.”
“Oh,” she mumbled, feeling a little stupid. “Well, how the hell did that happen? I just bought from him like not even a month ago, and I’m pretty sure he had two arms then.”
When it came to scoring dope, Addison was the one in charge. She once had a brief fling with the local drug dealer at their school, so he gave her outrageous discounts in hopes of getting back together. This made Connor extremely jealous, of course, but he wasn’t going to say anything as long as she kept getting weed this good.
“Yeah, it wasn’t too long ago,” Candy said, clearing her throat for the inevitable lengthy speech. “The way I heard it, anyway, was like this: Dave and that punk dude he hangs out with, Milo or whatever, were out drinking, like, at two in the morning or something, totally skunked Absolut, driftin’ and swervin’. Well, Milo was driving and Dave sat shotgun, laughing and trying to scare other drivers. I guess Dave has his one arm resting out of the window, holding the vodka, right? So, once it’s empty he just drops it out the side of the car, but he doesn’t bring his arm back inside, just lets it hang there all limp and shit. No, what I heard was, Dave passed out. And Milo? Well he was just too drunk to notice. Kept on pretending he was gonna run into a car, try to freak ‘em out and stuff, ya know, laughin’ and havin’ just a good ol’ time, never realizing Dave was out cold with his arm sticking out the window. When I asked Milo about it later, he told me he had no memory whatsoever
about bashing the side of the car into that streetlamp. And people wonder why he’s never had his license, huh? Anyway, later on, like a lot later on, Dave wakes up in a hospital gurney as a certified stumpy. He says he wants to attach a machine gun or something to it. That’d be cool, huh?”
“Jethuth Chrith.” Johnny rolled his eyes. “You’re like an Energizer Bunny.”
They were all used to Candy’s extensive tangents. Once she had gone on for two hours about how much she preferred peanut butter and jelly on her waffles to the usual boring maple syrup all those stupid conformists were using nowadays.
Addison sat up. “You’re pulling my leg, right?”
“No,” Candy said, “but something did pull Dave’s arm, though.”
“I can’t believe that.”
“Pretty trippy, huh?”
Connor scratched his chin. “What happened to the arm?”
“Dunno,” Candy said. “I don’t think they ever found it.”
“Whoa, man, we need to go try and find that shit.”
Addison glared at her boyfriend. “What on Earth would you do with a severed arm?”
“Lots of things,” Connor replied casually. “Lots.”
Johnny sat up, excited. “Maybe there’th a reward!”
“You know, that isn’t a bad idea,” Candy said. “I know if I lost my arm, I would totally want it back to hang on my wall, or something, like how people nail those giant swordfishes and stuff. It could be like a trophy.” She turned to Addison. “Watcha think, Adds? You think your lover boy would pay us if we found his precious jerk-off instrument?”
“I’m pretty sure Dave’s a lefty,” Addison said. She immediately regretted the words as soon as they left her mouth.
Connor hung his head down and dug his nails into his palm. “Let’s just forget it. I gotta jet, anyway. Band practice.”
Toxicity Page 1
