by Mike Duke
Warm, Dark Places are Best
By
Mike Duke
Copyright ©2017 by Mike Duke
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Acknowledgements
I would like to thank everyone who has been of immense help to me in this process. My wife puts up with me sitting in front of a computer for long periods of time wearing headphones listening to music and not saying much of anything. (Hold on. Maybe I’m doing her a favor. Hmmmm.) Either way, I am grateful that she graciously supports all my writing efforts. Also, with this story, I had numerous friends who excitedly beta read this short novella and gave me their feedback – constructive criticism as well as praise. I can’t thank all of you enough.
I felt good about Warm, Dark Places are Best at first, but I was still unsure about what others would think. All of you provided me with day after day of joy and confidence with one incredible response after another. I truly felt such an incredible sense of accomplishment with each message I read from all my beta readers.
Lastly, a special thanks goes out to Brandy Yassa for editing this story for me and to Lisa Swearengin, Ta Bratcher and Jason Morton who are always Johnny on the spot ready to beta read my stories, answer numerous diagnostic questions that I usually have or look at ALL the various stages of the cover design as it evolved and give their feedback. Thank you, everyone, sincerely.
Carl and Jessica walked into their new apartment, boxes in hand, knowing exactly what they were getting into.
Hell.
It was an absolute shithole, and most of the people, who hung outside and in the hallways, looked nastier than the cockroaches crawling all over the place.
As they crested the stairs onto the second floor, a gaggle of young boys were squatted side by side, pinning a roach to the wall, before burning it to death with a lighter. Both Jessica and Carl stopped in their tracks, and looked at each other, with a “What the fuck???” look, on their faces.
Some old lady, with a walker, saw their concern, and spoke.
“Oh, it’s ok, y’all,” she said, looking them in the eye, then stopped and patted one of the boys on the head. “Keep it up, fellas. You know what I say. Another one dead is one less crawling in your bed.”
The lady cackled lightly, and started walking again. As she approached Carl and Jessica, she greeted them directly.
“Welcome to the jungle, newbies! You’ll get used to it, soon enough.” She extended her pale hand toward Jessica, first. It trembled and shook more violently the longer Jessica regarded it without taking it in her own hand. The lady’s fingers were folded in at the root knuckles, a clear indicator her joints had been ravaged by rheumatoid arthritis. Liver spots covered the skin, and the veins were substantially visible.
“I’m Janet,” she said, still waiting for Jessica to reciprocate her greeting. “Been here the last 15 years.”
Jessica finally snapped out of her haze, and shifted the boxes to free up her right hand.
“I’m sorry!” she exclaimed. “Thank you. I’m Jessica and this is my husband, Carl. We’re moving into 2C today.”
Carl nodded and extended his hand, after he sat down the stack of boxes he had been carrying.
“Pleased to meet you,” Janet said, and took Carl’s hand as best she could.
“Nice to meet you, too,” he responded, politely, but not really feeling it. He had dreaded this day for weeks now, and had made it explicitly known to Jessica just about every day, since it was finalized.
Carl looked at the boys. They had burned one roach, pinned another, and were fervently at work to set the other aflame. It seemed this was a favorite way for them to pass the time.
“Loads of fun and adult approved, as well!” the imaginary commercial for lighter and straight pin value packs targeting young boys flashed through Carl’s mind and he tried not to laugh.
Instead, he spoke to Janet. “Fifteen years, huh? Wow.” He looked around, momentarily counting roaches on the walls, till his eyes lifted, and took in the ceiling. Then he really wanted to get in his apartment or back outside; either one, as long as it was ASAP. Anywhere, but the hallway where those little radiation resistant germ mobiles could fall in one’s hair at any moment, he thought.
He released Janet’s hand, abruptly, and turned to pick up the boxes in a hurry.
“I’m going to get these in the apartment, Jess,” you two can keep talking.
He scurried away, with a quick glance over his shoulder, to see Jess launch a glaring look of ill intent in his direction. He noted it, and calculated the penalty later on, but his hate for all things bugs was worse than any chastisement Jess might come up with. Instincts. Fight or flight. Hell, just good sense in Carl’s book.
He pulled out the key, trying not to drop it as his adrenaline levels surged slightly and he fiddled with the lock like some teenage boy fumbling to get his rigid penis in his first lay. Finally, it slid home and clicked as he turned it to the left.
Carl was struck by a distinct moment of relief before he rushed inside, immediately looking at the ceilings. He expected more roaches that he would have to, immediately, take care of with the can of bug spray, in the box on top of his stack. To his surprise, there were no roaches, not anywhere. He walked through the entire apartment, scanning every location he thought he could spot one, or the evidence of them, but there was nothing. Absolutely not one single sign.
“Whaddaya know?” he said aloud, to himself. “Maybe management isn’t as bad as they appeared. Must have set off a bug bomb, and had the placed cleaned up, good.”
Carl smiled as he put the boxes in their appropriate rooms, and dug out a ball cap from one of them. Pulling it on firmly, he exited the apartment, practically sprinting by Jessica and Janet, who were still talking. He didn’t say a word to either woman, much less dare to look Jessica in the eye.
He grabbed three more boxes, and began the trek back to the apartment. At the top of the stairs, he felt his chest tighten slightly, his breathing becoming a little more labored, even as he noted the young boys were the only ones present. The tension wasn’t full on, but his lungs were starting to complain.
“I don’t have time for this bullshit today!” he silently yelled at his body. Once inside the apartment, he reached in his pocket, retrieved the inhaler, and took a hit off of it.
“Is your asthma, already, acting up?” Jessica asked, with true concern. She decided to shelve her developing plans of torture. She’d pay Carl back later for leaving her there alone with Janet.
“Yeah, a little, but I’ll be alright. I’m not waiting for it to get worse.” He pocketed the inhaler, smiled and turned around to head back downstairs. In the hallway, a light bulb came on in his brain, and he stopped immediately.
“Hey, fellas.” He addressed the four boys.
They all turned around and looked at him, a bit of disdain in their faces for distracting them from the scheduled executions.
“Would you guys mind helping me out for a few minutes?”
They looked at each other and back at him, a confused, blank stare on their faces that seemed to say, ‘why would we?’
Carl wasn’t the sharpest knife in the drawer, but he wasn’t as dumb as he looked sometimes, either. He immediately discerned the answer he needed to gi
ve to their unspoken question.
“I’ll give each of you a lighter…”
He paused to see if they would bite without offering anything else, but they knew one of the most crucial techniques in the art of haggling too well. Silence.
“And I’ll show all of you how to make a little flamethrower for killing those roaches, but you’ll have to catch them and take them outside to do it.”
All eight eyes opened wide in unison and the leader of their little pack spoke up for them.
“You need help bringing boxes up, dontcha?”
Carl smiled big. “You’re a bright boy….?”
“Derek,” the lad said and stuck out his hand.
Carl took his hand and they shook.
“I’m Carl,” he said.
“Well, Carl,” Derek informed him, “You got a deal.”
They gave a final pump, to the deal-sealing handshake, and Derek led the boys down the stairs ahead of Carl. They made short work of the contents of the truck - including bed, couch and recliner with a little help from a man on the first floor that Carl promised to buy a beer for as payment. Jessica never had to carry another item in, which pleased her greatly, since she was always antsy to start putting things away in their proper place right away whenever they moved.
When they were done, Carl walked across the street, to the gas station and picked up a 5 pack of lighters and three beers, then returned. Derek and the boys were standing outside, patiently waiting for him to return.
“One of y’all go grab a thing of hairspray from your mom’s bathroom,” he said, walking up to them. “Make sure it’s a metal can, aerosol, not the plastic pump hairspray containers.”
Derek nodded and tapped one of the boys on the arm, who quickly bolted. In no time he was back, panting a bit, but can in hand.
“Alright…” Carl scanned the area and found a little nook where the walls dipped in a bit between buildings and had paved concrete instead of grass.
“Come with me over here, out of sight,” he motioned to Derek.
Carl squatted down, and the boys formed up in a semi-circle, intentionally blocking common view of their activities, with their bodies.
“OK. We did this all the time when I was a kid, screwing around. But you could definitely dispatch cockroaches like this.” He smiled at them, but Derek was all business.
“So,” Carl continued, “take your lighter and light it, and then get the hairspray ready.” He turned off to the side, and aimed it down at the concrete, before depressing the button, and releasing the compressed contents, igniting a spout of flame two feet long or more and scorching the concrete.
The boys all exclaimed their surprise and excitement.
“Holy fuck,” Derek said, with a wicked gleam in his eyes. “That is awesome! Let me try.”
Derek held out his hands, desperate to give it a shot. Carl handed the lighter and hairspray to him. He followed Carl’s example, and successfully made his own little flamethrower, then giggled with a glee that, it seemed to Carl, was not a typical experience for Derek.
“Here’s something else cool you can do.”
Carl held out his hand, took the items back, and proceeded to hose his left hand down with the hairspray, front and back, then set it down. He picked up the lighter, flicked it then lit his hand on fire, holding it up for all the boys to see. Their eyes got big, and Carl gave the old prom queen wave, twisting his hand slightly, back in forth with just a small amount of movement, on the opposite plane, to create that gentle wobble they all aimed for, while riding by in homecoming parades. When it got hot, a few seconds later, he shook his hand rapidly, and the fire went out.
“That was soooo frackin’ cool!” one of the boys shouted. He grabbed Carl’s hand in his own and turned it back and forth, inspecting it closely for any burns.
“How did it not hurt you?” he implored, dying to know the answer.
“It’s actually pretty simple. It burns the hairspray. When it’s done with that, it will burn you, too, if you don’t put it out.
“Cool,” the boy responded.
“Alright, that’s an extra. Y’all will owe me for that one, at some point.”
Carl gave a wry smile. “Now, don’t burn yourselves, or do anything stupid, like putting it in your hair or on your clothes. You can’t put the fire out, on flammable things, easily. Remember that.”
Derek nodded, and said “You got it,” then, slapped another of the boys on the chest, and issued a command.
“Ricky, go catch a few roaches in a jar, and bring ‘em down here, so we can all have a go!”
Ricky nodded his head, and took off.
“Alright, Derek. If anyone asks, I didn’t show y’all how to do this. Comprende?” Carl looked them each in the eye.
“You bet. I’ll tell ‘em we learned it on YouTube. I’m sure it’s on there, somewhere.” Derek smiled big. “Thanks, Carl. You’re cool in my book. If you need anything, let me know. K?”
Carl nodded his head, and smiled, automatically saying “you bet” before standing to walk away. He waved ‘bye’, and headed for the apartment, feeling more like the kid in that exchange, than the adult, for some reason.
*****
At the top of the stairs, Carl ran into Janet again, and almost let out an audible sigh, but caught himself, though, he couldn’t hide the labored breathing.
“What’s a young man, like you, breathing hard for, after just one flight of stairs? Something wrong with you?”
Old ladies, Carl thought, no sort of personal information is ever off limits. He decided to just let her have it, and not try and shuck and jive, in an effort to avoid telling the truth. She would certainly notice, soon enough, that he didn’t work anywhere.
“Well, Janet, as a matter of fact, something is wrong with me. Has been for the last 12 years. Workplace accident. A somewhat caustic chemical gas got released, and I breathed it in. I’ve had very aggressive asthma ever since. I’m on disability.”
“Well, at least you still look fit,” she spit out, without any sense of propriety. “And you have a looker for a lady, you do. Sweet girl, that one. Count yourself lucky. We all, eventually, go through some sort of bodily hell, if we live long enough. It’s who’s with you that makes the difference.”
Carl smiled at the little pearl of wisdom offered in Janet’s, apparently, typical candid fashion, it would seem.
“Me, at my age, with hands like this,” and Janet lifted both her deformed hands, “kind of hard to wipe me arse sometimes, but Bob’s a loyal champ. In sickness and in health, and all that jazz. He’s a keeper.”
Carl’s faced blanched white, and he coughed reflexively, like something had flown right in his lungs that he didn’t want one bit of. Perhaps it was called TMI. Either way, Janet just waved bye and started walking.
“See ya around, Carl,” she said, a mischievous grin spreading across her face.
Carl coughed again, and thought to himself, that he truly believed, some old people just did that kind of shit because either, they had nothing better to do, and it was entertainment, or it was their little way of treading on the flowers of youth, blossoming as they themselves slowly withered to death.
*****
Jessica was hard at work, unpacking and organizing things, when Carl walked back in. His breathing a bit heavy.
“You OK, baby?”
Carl plopped down in the recliner, shaking his head still, from Janet’s personal revelation in the hallway.
“I’m fine, honey. Just give me a few minutes to sit, and catch my breath, and I’ll help you with putting stuff away.”
“So what did you give those boys, for helping out?” Jessica called, from the kitchen.
“A five pack of lighters.”
Jessica stepped out, in view of him, and gave him the stare that said stop being a smartass.
“You lie,” she said, bluntly.
Carl raised his right hand, and placed the left, over his heart.
“I swear to thee, dea
r lady, I do not.”
“You’re horrible,” she said, and ducked back into the kitchen.
“What do you mean!” he protested. “Janet wants them to burn the roaches. And, besides, it was the predetermined agreement…along with me teaching them something.”
Carl trailed off in volume, with his last few words.
Jessica reappeared.
“What did you teach them, Carl?” Her posture and tone said this was Detective Jess he was now speaking to, but the look on her face said she was already prepared to be utterly appalled.
“Nothing major.” Carl waved his hand like ‘pish, nothing of note, here, lady, just move along’.
“What?” she repeated, her teeth gritted together.
Carl exhaled, and spit it out.
“I taught them how to burn the roaches with a lighter and can of hairspray.”
Jessica’s mouth flew wide, and he could tell she had just been uncorked, but Carl quickly cut her off, and stuck a cork back in her. He held up his finger and stood up.
“But, I told them they could only do it outside, on the concrete. And that I never showed them. Now don’t worry, that one kid, Derek, has got his act together. It’ll be fine. Hell, I did it with my friends as a kid all the time. Now, leave me be on this one. You didn’t have to carry a bunch of stuff. Be happy, and congratulate my social engineering skills.”
Carl smiled big, a smile of proportions which hadn’t been seen on his face in some time, now. She sighed.
“Don’t sweat the small stuff, right?” she inquired, in a rhetorical fashion, knowing it was one of his favorite things to remind her of.
“Now you’re running on all cylinders, hon.”
Carl cracked a beer, pulled from the plastic bag he had carried in, and smiled like a cat who had swallowed one canary, and had another waiting in its back pocket. He tipped the beer in Jessica’s direction, as if inviting her to acknowledge his win in this particular conversation, then pulled the other out and extended it towards her, like some Indian peace pipe, a questioning look perched upon his face.
