by Skinzz
"Let's do this quick and get the fuck out of here. Grab his legs."
Jason jerked Billy out of the car by his legs then Mack grabbed him under the arms and tossed him onto the mound of debris. They piled the mattress and couch on top of him. Without digging through trash and lifting the furniture, no one would find him. At least not until he began to smell.
"Let's go."
Chapter 8
Jason's house, 2:16 pm
Architecturally, Jason's house was almost identical to the one Mack had grown up in, but it was about a hundred years newer. It had been painted within the last decade. The front door and the windows had likewise been replaced in the last ten years. The front steps were made of red brick rather than concrete and they weren't cracked and crumbling like those at Mack's house. Even the iron railing was ornate and freshly powder-coated. Inside, the differences were even greater.
The furniture was modern and matching. All the kitchen and dining room chairs matched. The tables didn't wobble and there were no matchbooks or popsicle sticks shoved under them to balance them. The sofa matched the loveseat which matched the lounge chairs which matched the coffee table which matched the end tables which matched the walls which matched the carpeting. Everything in the house was perfectly coordinated. It made Mack uncomfortable. He felt like the only thing in the entire house that didn't match. Even Jason fit in some odd way. Mack couldn't see how his presence could possibly help.
Jason's stepfather, Melvin Sadler, was a pathetic excuse for a man. He was soft around the middle. His arms and legs were thin and completely devoid of muscle tone. He looked almost womanly. His thinning hair was heavily moussed and looked like far too much time had been spent on the styling of it. His nails were manicured and his pajamas looked too expensive. Mack knew the man was not half as well-to-do as he pretended to be. It was no secret that he had put the family heavily in debt. He liked to act like he was a big shot real estate guy. But the reality was that his big sales were few and far between. In between sales, he lived off credit.
Beside Mister Sadler, Jason's mom fretted, wringing her hands and huffing her dissatisfaction. Her child, her creation, had rebelled. He had escaped her control. It was something she could not understand and was ill-equipped to cope with. Her chubby face was a maze of worry lines.
"I just want to spend the night in my own bed, Mom."
"Do you have a job yet?" his stepfather asked. "And weren't you supposed to be going to college, Mack? Don't tell me you gave up a real chance at a successful future to hang out with this clown."
Jason bristled, preparing to lash out and Mack put a hand on his shoulder, both to hold him back and to console him. He knew that Jason wanted to punch his father in his smug little mouth as badly as he did, but it only would have made things worse.
"No, sir. I'm still going to college. I just deferred my enrollment for a year. There's some things I need to take care of here first."
"What could be more important than college?"
"Mom! Would you do something? That's none of his business! Don't interrogate him."
Jason's stepfather held his hands up.
"I'm sorry if I overstepped my boundaries. I just hate to see promising young people throwing their lives away."
Mack smiled mirthlessly.
"I'm not, Melvin. Life is good."
Melvin Sadler wrinkled his eyebrows in an expression stuck somewhere between confusion, amusement, and anger, unsure whether or not Mack was being some kind of smartass and fucking with him. Mack continued to smile until Mr. Sadler looked away.
"So, can I stay?"
"Sure, baby," his mother finally spoke up. "But I can't give you any money. I don't want you getting drunk."
"I don't want any money. I'll be right back. I have to drop Mack off at the train station and return the car."
Mack reached out and shook Mr. and Mrs. Sadler's hands.
"Good to see you again, Mrs. Sadler. Thanks for the advice, Melvin."
They turned and walked out the door.
Jason started laughing as soon as the door closed.
"Oh my god, dude! I almost lost it when you called him Melvin. He hates when kids call him by his first name."
Mack sneered.
"I know. But I ain't no fuckin' kid no more. I just wanted him to remember that shit. You let his ass know that if he hits you or anything, I'm gonna kick his fuckin' ass. Let's take the girls their jeep back."
Jason shook his head, still chuckling.
"Dude. You're a trip. That's why I love you. You've always got my back."
"I love you too, man."
Chapter 9
Arch Street, in back of The Gallery Mall, 3:03 pm
The Jersey girls were a little upset when Mack and Jason showed up late with the Suzuki. They were even more angry because the vehicle stank and there were red, yellow, and brown stains on the back seat.
"Did somebody take a shit in my car?" Sharon, a redheaded girl in a pink skijacket, said. It was her vehicle and she did not look amused.
The body must have still been leaking fluids when they put him back there and some of Billy's putrescence had leaked out onto the upholstery.
"Were you wearing that pink coat when we met you?" Jason asked, laughing. "It makes you look preppy."
"Demon had a little bit of a hangover from last night. He threw up back there. We'll clean it up."
"No! Just stay the fuck away from my car. We've got to go. I'll clean it up when we get back across the bridge."
Great. We're leaving evidence everywhere.
Sharon was still scowling and wrinkling up her nose.
"I can't believe you threw up in my Samurai. It smells like shit back there!"
Jason smiled demurely and gave them his wounded puppy look.
"I'm really sorry. I wasn't feeling well. We'll clean it up for you."
"No. No. We've got to get home."
Mack tried his best not to look concerned. The Suzuki smelled like something died in it. To Mack, it smelled like a guilty verdict, like death row, like a lethal injection. He didn't know how he and Jason hadn't noticed it before.
The hippie-punk who'd flirted with Mack earlier, smiled at him as the three girls climbed into the Suzuki. Mack didn't return the smile. Pussy was the last thing on his mind. He felt bad that one of the girls had to sit in the back with the corpse feces smeared into the seat beside them. But he felt worse imagining one of them complaining about the smell then finding out that Billy disappeared the same day that they borrowed the vehicle and then finding out that he'd turned up dead and they'd brought the Suzuki back stained with brown and red smears that could have been blood or shit or some combination of the two and putting two and two together. If this had been a movie, Mack would have killed all three girls and burned the vehicle. Instead, he watched them drive away. His head hurt and his stomach felt like it had a pinwheel spinning inside it tipped with razorblades.
He turned around and staggered back into the mall toward the train station, feeling like he was taking that long walk toward the execution chamber. Jason was saying something to him, laughing and joking in a nervous way that let Mack know that he was scared too, but Mack couldn't hear exactly what the kid was saying over the deafening sound of a judge's gavel pounding the bench and a prison door slamming shut.
Mack hugged Jason goodbye then walked down to the train station below the Gallery Mall, alone.
"Be careful, Demon."
"You too, Big Mack. Don't worry about all this. Everything'll be fine. Nobody gives a damn about a dead skinhead."
"Yeah. I'll see you tomorrow night."
Chapter 10
Bo's apartment, 5:34 pm
"We're out of beer. Out of movies. There's nothing on TV. I can't stay here any more," Little Davey said.
"But you said we were going to stay here all night, until the heat goes down."
Little Davey shook his head.
"It's been almost six hours. They ain't lookin' for us no m
ore. Besides, Bo and his girl want some alone time. She's lookin' at me like she wants to kill me. If we break out now they might still be able to make it to that restaurant."
Gia smiled for the first time since she walked through the door. Gia Milano was a short, skinny, Italian from Atlantic City with a remarkably beautiful face but no tits or ass to speak of. She wore a tight white miniskirt and black fishnet stockings with high-heeled boots and a white ski-coat with fur around the collar. Her hair was permed and blowdried so that it had twice its normal volume. Her bangs were flipped up in front and hairsprayed in place. She wore bright blue eyeshadow, pink blush and candy apple red lipstick. Davey thought she looked like a fucking clown.
"Yeah, you guys will be fine. Davey's right."
"Like you fucking care," Skinner said. "You just want to get to your stupid anniversary dinner. You don't give a fuck if we both get arrested as long as you get to go to Red Lobster or wherever the fuck."
"I'm going. I've got to see my kid," Davey said, turning to leave.
"You've got a kid?" Gia asked.
"You didn't know that? He's got a son," Bo answered, speaking up for the first time as he crushed a beer can, the last Budweiser in the house.
"Who's the mother?" Gia asked, looking both curious and disgusted at the thought of the psycho little skinhead playing daddy to an impressionable little kid.
"You remember Cindy Singer? That girl he used to be all in love with? She had a kid last year. She found out she was pregnant right after they broke up. Ain't that fucked up?"
"Damn. How old was she? Wasn't she like seventeen or something? She was still in high school."
"I'm outta here," Little Davey said. He didn't like the tone of the conversation. No one had said anything negative yet but there was a tone in Gia's voice that was pissing him off. Any minute she was going to let her tongue slip and say something bad about him being a father. He didn't know if he'd be able to control himself if that happened. He'd hate to lose Bo as a friend because he had to gut the man's girlfriend.
"I'm stayin' right here," Skinner said, crossing his arms and leaning back on the tattered couch.
"Fuck if you are, dude! If Davey can leave then so can you!" Bo stood up and grabbed Skinner's jacket. He handed it to him then walked over to the front door and opened it.
Skinner looked like he was about to cry.
"Dude, you're sending me right into the arms of the police. They're going to put me on death row!"
Bo rolled his eyes and raised his arms in a gesture of surrender.
"Fuckin' A, dude! Get off the cross. You'll be fine. Just take side streets and alleys if you're scared."
Skinner's bottom lip trembled and his eyes watered as he took his jacket from Bo and shuffled out the door after Little Davey.
"Have fun, guys," Davey said, heading for the stairwell.
"Thanks, man. Call me if anything happens. Okay?"
"We'll be fine," Davey replied.
"First degree murder if we get caught. That's the death penalty, dude. For all of us."
Little Davey stopped in his tracks and turned to face Skinner. His face had turned red and that vein was pulsating in his forehead the way it did when he was really mad.
"What the fuck does that mean, Skinner?"
Skinner looked down at his oxblood combat boots, shuffling from one foot to the other.
"I'm just sayin' that we're all in this together."
"Really? Is that what you're saying? 'Cause it sounds like you're threatening to rat us out if you get caught. Is that what you mean by us being in this together, Skinner?"
Bo was still standing in the doorway watching. Skinner turned his head to look up the hallway at Bo and took a few involuntary steps backwards. When he turned back to Little Davey, he already looked like he was preparing to run. Davey slid his hand in his jacket where he kept his knife. Skinner swallowed hard and his eyes watered.
"Uh...n-no, man. You know I wouldn't drop the dime on you guys."
Little Davey stared at Skinner for a long tense moment, his hand still in his jacket on the hilt of his knife. He was thinking that if he killed the guy right here it would put Bo in a bad spot. He didn't think Bo would squeal, but that dago bitch of his certainly would. Killing someone you knew was never smart. You always got caught for shit like that. If you wanted to get away with murder, it had to be random. He'd learned that reading all those Ann Rule crime books. He pulled his hand out of his pocket and shook his head.
"Fuckin' drop the dime? Why are you always talking like that? Drop the dime. White guys don't talk like that. If you want to be black so bad then go ahead and move to the fuckin' ghetto with the rest of the jiggaboos. See how long your white ass would last."
Behind him, Bo laughed. "Yeah, you thought high school was bad."
"I-I don't talk like a black dude."
Little Davey smiled malevolently and pointed his finger at Skinner like it was a gun.
"I'll see you later, Skinner. You stay out of trouble."
Davey turned his back and walked down the hall. He had a bad feeling about the next few days and he wanted to see his kid before anything bad happened to any of them. He had a suspicion that this might be his last opportunity.
His ex-girlfriend lived in the neighborhood. Davey walked three blocks down to the WAWA food market on the corner. He stopped at a pay phone in the parking lot of the WAWA to call Cindy, just to make sure she was home and that she didn't have a guy in there with her. If that bitch had some dude in there with his kid he didn't know what he'd do. He fished around his pockets and found a quarter, thinking again how stupid that saying "drop the dime was". When was the last time a damn phone call was only a dime? It should be drop the damn quarter. Cindy answered on the fourth ring.
"Hello?"
"Cindy? It's Davey. Look, I want to come see Mickey."
There was a long pause and a sigh.
"Did you hear me? I said I want to see my son!"
"Why do you want to see him?"
"He's my son."
Another long pause.
"He needs diapers."
"I just gave you money for diapers and baby food." "That was a week ago. Babies use a lot of diapers." Davey pulled out his wallet. It was empty. He punched the side of the phone booth.
"Yeah, okay. I'll get 'im some more diapers."
"I need money to buy him some more clothes too. He's almost outgrown everything he's got."
"Yeah, yeah. I said I'd get you some more money. Now, can I see my kid?"
She sighed again. The sound made Davey want to smash the phone in her face. He gritted his teeth and struggled to keep his anger in check. If he flipped out on her, she'd never let him see his kid and, despite his flaws, Little Davey loved his son.
From the moment Mickey was born Little Davey was surprised by the depth and immediacy of his love for his boy. He'd been born via caesarean. Davey held Cindy's hand as the doctors cut her open then stuck their hands inside her, up to the elbows, fishing for Mickey who kept squirming away from them. By the time they grabbed his legs and dragged him out, Cindy had lost a massive amount of blood. They were still stitching her up and talking about the possibility of giving her a few units of blood when the nurses finished suctioning the blood and amniotic fluid from the baby's ears, nose, and mouth and had begun washing him down. Davey watched, speechless.
Once the baby was scrubbed and swaddled in blankets, they brought him over to Davey. He was wearing a hospital issued gown and a little blue knit cap that was also standard hospital issued. Davey held him, staring at his own features reflected in the face of his son, and felt the deepest connection he'd ever felt to anyone. He wanted to hold the boy forever and never let him go, to be the type of loving father he'd always wanted but never had. He knew that he had failed miserably so far. He'd been fired from his construction job in April, a week after Geraldo Rivera got his nose broken on TV by a group of skinheads. His boss insisted that it was just a lay-off, not a termination, and tha
t there was no connection between the two events but the man's disgust had been obvious and unabashed. His name had been Theodore Neiderman. Davey was fairly certain that was a Jewish name. After he lost his job, things between he and Cindy had worsened. She'd been nice to him as long as he'd been bringing in money regularly, once the child support payments became erratic, her moods had done likewise.
"Don't start anything with me when you come, okay?" Cindy asked.
"Why would I start anything?"
"I mean, don't start all the interrogation shit and trying to get me to come back. I don't want to get another restraining order. We're through."
"We should have gotten married."
She sighed, even louder this time and Davey punched the phone booth again.
"Davey, you're a racist. I don't want Mickey being raised that way. I'm going to college. I'm going to make sure he has a good life. What can you do for him?"
Davey closed his eyes and bit his lip, trying hard not to think about what she was saying, not to let it affect him, but her words hurt and worse, they made him want to hurt her back.
"I'm his father, Cindy. I can give him that. I'll see you in an hour."
He hung up the phone and punched the metal booth until his knuckles bled. He was breathing hard and tears streamed down his face.
Why doesn't anyone understand me? Why are they all so fucking blind?
Little Davey left the WAWA food market, keeping an eye out for the cops. He needed to get some money now and mugging somebody was out of the question. If he got arrested, the cops would find the knife and pin that stabbing on him. Even if that faggot survived he'd get fifteen years minimum for attempted murder and assault with a deadly weapon. Besides, he wasn't some common criminal. Mugging people was for niggers, spics, and low-lifes. That left one alternative, borrowing the money from his dad.
