by Tom Nelson
Larry watches Tom as he heads into the back entrance of an apartment building. He isn’t exactly sure which apartment Tom lives in, but he knows he has the right building. He checks his gun to ensure it’s loaded.
Larry gets out of his car, tucks the gun into the waistband of his pants, and walks around the apartment building to see the layout of the place. He wants to know the terrain in case he needs to make a getaway on foot. He isn’t as familiar with the West Hollywood area as he is with Venice Beach.
Tom walks into the back entrance of his apartment building. He understands that he’s not only being watched, he is being surveilled. It makes him uneasy. Something is about to jump off, Tom can feel it, but he has no idea what.
Tom makes his way to his apartment and goes directly to his safe. He opens it and removes the .22 caliber pistol he took from Larry the night he jacked him for 10,000 hits of X and $15,000. Tom checks the gun’s clip and loads a round into the chamber. He sets the safety and puts the small weapon in his back pocket. It’s heavy, but small enough to fit in his jeans pocket almost perfectly. He makes his way to the front of the apartment building and exits through the front door.
Tom sneaks around the front of the building, taking advantage of the darkness to hide himself from prying eyes. There are bushes that adorn the front of the building and Tom puts himself between them and the building as he peers around the corner. Nothing. He moves along the building front, still shielded by large shrubs, and peeks around the other side of the building. He sees movement.
Tom recognizes Larry right away by the dreadlocks and realizes that the other man is putting himself in ambush position. He intends to surprise Tom the next time he comes out to get into his car. “Stupid son of a bitch,” Tom says to himself. He watches as Larry gets settled into position and waits. He is sitting on a short cinder-block wall that separates one property from the next. There are a few bushes that hide Larry from plain view, but he is exposed from the rear. He’s the ambusher, so he isn’t thinking about defense.
Tom walks back to the front of the apartment building and heads out to the sidewalk. He casually walks past the building next door and heads around the far side of the complex. He is careful not to step on anything that might make a noise. Tom has the element of surprise and doesn’t want to give that away.
Larry sits on the cinder-block wall separating the two apartment buildings. He has taken the gun from his waistband and is now holding it in his hands, fiddling with it nervously. Larry is a small-time thug who doesn’t have quite enough balls to be badass, but who can do some damage if left unchecked. He intently watches Tom’s car and the back gate of the building where Tom lives. He doesn’t want to risk missing him.
A sound behind Larry draws his attention. He turns around just in time to see an empty thirty-two-ounce beer bottle crash into his head. POW! He is dazed. Suddenly, a fist catches him on the side of the face, then another to his right eye.
Tom has crept around the building and managed to sneak right up on Larry. He finds an empty beer bottle to use as a weapon as he is making his way toward Larry’s position. He manages to get all the way up on his would-be ambusher and cracks him on the skull with the bottle. It shatters in Tom’s hand. He follows the bottle blow with a couple of punches.
Larry is completely surprised. Blood begins running from a cut he suffers when the beer bottle shatters on his head. He feels dizzy and—POW!—a fist to the eye lays him out. Everything goes dark.
~~~
Larry wakes up after being knocked unconscious by the beer bottle and subsequent blows to the face. He is lying on his back in a dimly lit area. Tom has dragged him behind the dumpsters of the apartment building next to his, so he can have a little bit of privacy with Larry.
“Oh, shit, man!” Larry says.
“Shut up, motherfucker, or I’ll shoot you right now,” Tom says as he pulls what once was Larry’s .22 caliber from his back pocket. He shows Larry both of his guns and his eyes instantly go wide.
“Oh, shit.”
“I told you not to come after me, didn’t I?” Tom asks as he kneels down beside Larry. “But you didn’t listen.” Tom is holding the new gun in one hand and looking it over carefully as he says, “I told you I’d shoot you with your own gun if you came after me, didn’t I?” Of course, Tom now has two of Larry’s guns.
“Yes.” Larry’s voice trembles as he speaks.
“Then, what da fuck are we doin’ here, Larry?” Tom asks casually.
“I’m sorry, Tom, I mean it!”
“I’m sure you are sorry, now that you find yourself in this position,” Tom states.
“I’ll never come after you again, Tom,” Larry begs, “I swear. Just, please, don’t shoot me!”
“Keep your fucking voice down, or I’ll shoot you just to shut you up,” Tom says. “If I let you go, Larry,” Tom is thinking this out as he goes along, “you have to leave LA County. You can’t be around here no more,” Tom reiterates. “You got it?”
“Yeah, Tom, I got it,” Larry says in a frantic whisper. “I promise I’ll leave LA.”
“The whole fucking county, Larry,” Tom says again. “Got it?”
“I got it, Tom,” Larry whispers again. “I got family up north, man, in Santa Cruz. I’ll go up there.”
“Because if people find out that I let your sorry ass go after trying to ambush me,” Tom shrugs his shoulders, “well, they might think I’m weak.”
“I won’t tell anybody, Tom,” Larry says nervously, “I swear!”
“You better not,” Tom says with a you’ve-been-fairly-warned look on his face. “Ya gotta leave LA County, Larry,” Tom repeats. “Got it?”
“Yeah, Tom,” Larry has good reason to be nervous. “I got it!”
“Perfect,” Tom replies, “because if I see you again, Larry,” Tom waves the two guns for emphasis, “I’m gonna shoot you.” With that, Tom lets Larry up. “Now, get the fuck outta here!”
Tom scares the shit out of Larry, and he runs as fast as he can back to his car, jumps in, and burns rubber out of there. A lot of good the guns did him, Tom thinks again, just as he had about the knives that he found hidden in Larry’s apartment a month or so earlier.
Tom tosses the two guns in the dumpster and goes back around the way he had come. He wants to avoid any prying eyes. The city of West Hollywood has a mind and will of its own. People are out and about 24/7/365 here.
~~~
Tom and Red are in bed. They’re relaxing after sex and just making small talk. Tom hasn’t figured out who, if anyone, let Larry know where he lives. The only person the two know in common is Red.
“I heard he went to Santa Cruz,” Red is saying, “to help his brothers with their grow house.” A grow house is a greenhouse designed specifically for growing marijuana. Rumor has it that Larry’s brothers have a good operation going on growing weed in the Santa Cruz area of California’s Central Coast. And here comes Larry.
“He’d better get the hell out of LA county is all I can say,” Tom says.
“I can hardly believe he had the balls to come after you, Tom,” Red shakes her head. “That was just stupid!”
“Yeah,” Tom agrees, “I was surprised to see it was Larry following me the other night. I didn’t think he had it in him.”
“Me neither.”
“Wonder how he knew where I live,” Tom mentions innocently.
“I don’t know,” Red replies. “Maybe he’s been following you for a while. He knows he would see you picking me up or dropping me off eventually. And he knows where I live.”
“You’re probably right.” Her answer actually makes sense, Tom has to admit. If she did set me up, Tom considers, she is an incredible actress. If Red had given Larry his address, Tom never finds out about it. It goes to the grave with her.
Tom fires up a joint and his cat, Cookie, hops onto the bed with the two lovers to get a few puffs of weed. She really likes getting high!
She earned the nickname Cookie when Tom c
ame home and heard noises coming from the kitchen one afternoon. He pulled his gun and entered the apartment cautiously, only to find this cute little kitty eating cookies from the jar. “How the hell did she get in here?” he asked himself.
She was half in and half out, with only her hind portion sticking out of the jar. She was kicking her hind legs, which caused her and the jar to scoot across the counter. Tom rescued his new crumb-covered friend from the jar and promptly named her Cookie Monster, Cookie for short. The two have been getting high and eating cookies together ever since.
~~~
Tom, Sophia, and Charles are sitting in the living room of the small condo. Charles obviously enjoys his time with Sophia because he keeps coming back for more. Tom has laid out some dope. A little bit of coke. A little bit of meth. Charles seems to be having the time of his life while Tom and Sophia are simply there for the money. He is so fucked-up that he either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. Charles is obviously a talker, Tom realizes very quickly.
“Yeah, man,” Charles is saying, “I’ve been wanting a new tattoo.” He starts taking off his shirt, exposing several haphazard tattoos scattered around his not-so-developed torso. “Sophia tells me you’re an artist.” Tom gives Sophia a quick, stern look.
“Yeah, well, I’ve done some work through the years,” Tom replies.
“I’ve got a great idea,” Charles says, “but I need someone who can draw it.” He seems to think for a minute and continues, “and tattoo it.” He finishes the statement as though it required a lot of thought. Yeah, he is super fucked-up!
“Okay,” Tom says, “let me hear what ya got,” and leans forward as though giving the other man more attention. “Get me a pen and paper, Sophia,” Tom says, “please.”
He gives her a quick smile. She gets up and grabs a notepad and ballpoint pen that is on her kitchen counter. Tom flips a couple of pages, so he doesn’t scribble all over Sophia’s grocery list, and exposes a fresh sheet of paper for him to translate Charles’s idea.
“Okay,” Charles says with a grin, as though he has come up with the greatest idea ever, “what I want is the prefix ‘mis’ underneath the word ‘stood.’” He relays the idea. “Get it?” His grin is even bigger now, almost frightening. He is looking at Tom with the wide eyes of someone who has had more cocaine and meth than anyone should ever do in one night.
Tom laughs at that thought, misunderstood. “I get it,” Tom replies. “Any idea what type of lettering you want?”
“Uhh, no,” Charles admits. Apparently, he hasn’t thought that far ahead.
“Okay,” Tom says and starts doodling on the paper with the pen. He sketches out the prefix beneath the word in two different styles of writing. It’s such a rough, first sketch of a half-ass idea provided by a cracked out—“Here ya go.” He turns the pad of paper around for Charles to get a better look at his interpretation. He waits for a second.
“That’s it!” Charles exclaims. “That’s exactly it!” He is acting like a kid on Christmas morning who has just gotten everything he asked Santa for. Wow, Tom thinks, he certainly is easy to please.
“Let me see,” Sophia says, trying not to be left out of the action. She sidles up next to Charles who is admiring Tom’s extremely rough sketch as though it’s a masterpiece. “Yes,” she says, “dat looks wonderful.” She rolls her eyes.
“Yeah,” Charles raves again. “It’s exactly what I was picturing.” He is only making partial sense now. He appears to be getting higher and higher as the conversation goes along.
“Great,” Tom says, “just let me know when you wanna have it done.” Tom gives Sophia a quick wink. He figures the conversation and sketch are as far as this is going to go. “I’m around.”
“I will,” Charles says, “I will. But I want to give you a deposit. I want you to know I’m serious.”
“Uh, okay, man,” Tom says. He isn’t about to say no to money. “That’s cool.” He watches as Charles pulls out a checkbook and starts writing a check. He leaves the “Pay to the Order of” line empty so Tom can fill in his own name, then fills out the rest of the check. Tom watches as the other man writes.
“Here ya go, man,” Charles says as he rips the check from the book and hands it over to Tom. “Sophia’s got your number, so I’ll just get it from her, if that’s cool.”
Tom accepts the check from Charles and looks at it. He tries not to show any sign of surprise, but he is definitely surprised. He is expecting Charles to write a check for a couple of hundred bucks, at the most, but Charles just handed him a check for $5,000.
“You sure, Charles?” Tom asks.
“Yeah, I’m sure, man.” Charles is adamant. “I’ll get your number from Sophia and call you this week.”
Tom never hears from Charles about the tattoo. He meets Charles at Sophia’s condo on several other occasions, but the tattoo is never mentioned again. Charles had been so fucked-up that he had written a check for $5,000 for a deposit on a tattoo that he would never have started. He paid Tom ten times what the entire tattoo would have cost for nothing! Some people obviously make way too much money, Tom considers, way too much money. He breaks Sophia off a grand for the score he makes from Charles that night. The little queen had been right: it was certainly worth it!
~~~
Six days after handing Brian a pound of meth to fly to New York with, Tom still hasn’t heard from him. Brian should have contacted Tom by Thursday noon, at the latest, and it is noon Saturday now. Tom isn’t happy with Brian because Brian knows the types of things he has done to people who haven’t paid him on time. Swann, for example.
Brian is two days late.
Tom picks up the phone and dials Brian’s number. It’s answered by someone other than Brian.
“Hello?” the voice asks Tom.
“I’d like to speak with Brian,” Tom says calmly.
“Brian’s busy,” comes the response, and the phone line is disconnected.
Hmmm. Tom waits about a minute, taking a few deep breaths to calm his nerves. He dials Brian’s number again.
“Hello?” the voice asks again.
“I need to speak with Brian,” Tom says.
“Brian’s busy.”
“Tell him it’s Tom.”
“I said Brian’s busy.”
“Well, tell him it’s Tom.”
“I don’t know who the fuck you think you are, but I told you Brian’s busy,” comes the irritated response from whoever answered Brian’s phone.
“You’re about to find out who the fuck I am,” comes Tom’s angered reply. Who the fuck does the little punk on the other end of the line think he is?
“Fuck off!” The line goes dead as the person on the other end of the phone slams it down. Looks like it’s time for a trip over to Brian’s house.
Tom puts out a joint that he had been sharing with his cat and looks around for the pesky critter. She wandered off during his phone conversation. Tom loves Cookie and takes very good care of her. He can’t help it if his cat likes to get stoned. Tom heads toward the kitchen and can hear the familiar meow of his kitty. And, of course, there she is, in her usual spot.
Meow.
“What you want, you little stoner?” Tom asks Cookie as he walks into the kitchen. Cookie, who has obviously developed a case of the munchies, is sitting in front of the refrigerator meowing her hunger to anyone who will listen, namely Tom. “You always get the munchies!” he says as he bends down to pet her. He heads to the refrigerator and opens the door. “Ya gotta watch that girlish figure, ya know,” Tom teases. “You want kitty food or people food tonight?” Tom has a habit of talking to Cookie as though she can actually understand him. Who knows, perhaps she can.
Meow is her only response. If only life were as simple as that of a spoiled kitty, Tom is thinking. The cute little Cookie gets a bit of leftover tuna. Tom heads into his room to get dressed for his ride over to Brian’s condo. Why do people have to make things so difficult, he wonders.
~~~
&nb
sp; Tom knocks on the door of Brian’s condo. The door is answered a few seconds later by a man with a beautiful body wearing a tight shirt and jeans. Tom’s first impression is that the guy is too well groomed. He reminds Tom of a mannequin.
“Yes?” he asks Tom as he opens the door.
“Are you the person who’s been answering Brian’s phone?”
“Yes,” the guy repeats, trying to sound menacing. Tom immediately punches him in the nose. The guy steps back and bends over as blood comes gushing from his broken nose. Tom steps into the small entryway of the condo, slams the door behind him, and kicks the bent-over doorman into the den of the apartment. The guy holding his nose falls to the floor and is screaming about his nose when Tom steps forward and kicks him right in the balls.
“Shut the fuck up!” Tom yells at him. “You’re not so fucking tough in person, are you?”
Brian comes running out of his bedroom wearing only a robe. A second later, another young man wearing nothing but a jockstrap runs from the bedroom into the bathroom across the hall. Brian almost shits his pants when he sees Tom standing there with the “security guard” lying at his feet, one hand holding his bloody face and the other on his crotch.
“What the fu—?” Brian’s words trail off as he sees Tom. “Oh, shit! Hi, Tom.”
“Hi, Brian,” Tom says calmly. “Go get my money, with interest, and fill this up.” Tom hands Brian a gallon Ziploc bag. Brian is to fill it up with any meth he has.
Tom is sitting very casually on the arm of a sofa when Brian returns with a stack of cash and the Ziploc of meth. Tom has his 9mm in his hand, just in case the stupid little queen tries something. But Brian doesn’t try anything and simply hands Tom the drugs and the money.
“All you had to do, Brian, was call me when you got back from New York and pay me what you owe me,” Tom starts, “and all of this could have been avoided.” Tom motions with his gun toward the person on the floor. The security person who had been a smartass on the phone is still lying in a fetal position holding on to his injured parts.
“I know, Tom, I’m sorry,” Brian stammers. “I just got sidetracked.”
