by TJ Vargo
“Curtis…I need your help,” said Julia.
She wore a long, bright orange tie-dye tee shirt. Her legs were bare. It was possible she was naked under the shirt. It was a sure thing she wasn’t wearing a bra. He looked at the smear of dried blood crusted under her left nostril and the pair of scissors in her hand. A bruise shadowed her left cheek. He stepped inside and reached for her. She stepped back.
“Don’t touch me,” she said.
“What happened?” he said, keeping his voice low, watching Julia tremble and wipe at tears.
Then he heard a soft grunting. He looked into the living room and saw the man on the floor. The guy’s pants were pulled down and his junk was out, but it was clear he wasn’t having any fun. His hands and feet were bound with a brown electrical cord. A strip of white bath towel gagged him. His eyes bugged out, switching focus from Julia to Curtis. He started writhing and grunting.
Curtis pointed at him.
“Shut up.”
The bound man stopped moving. Curtis took a step toward Julia. She backed into the wall and he raised his hands.
“Everything’s cool,” he said. “I won’t touch you.”
He eased away and leaned against the kitchen counter.
“Just start at the beginning and tell me what’s going on.”
She talked and he listened. It wasn’t long before he felt his blood boil and the pain in his sinus grow to a supernova. He looked at the man on the floor.
This guy was in for a long night.
Chapter Nine
Mona twisted her ankle. She dropped the trophy marlin on the black asphalt, cursed and kicked the stub that used to be its speared nose. Limping to the side of the trail that circled Fox Glenn Park, she leaned on a tree trunk, took her shoe off and rubbed her ankle. It would’ve been smart to change out of these high heels, but what could you do? When you got mad, you did things in the moment, like stomping down to the garage in high heels and a dress, grabbing this stupid fish and dragging it to the middle of Fox Glenn Park in the dark. She sighed and looked at the marlin. It looked like hell. The spear was worn to a frayed nub from being dragged down the street. There was a tear through the middle of the huge sailfin webbing. An empty eye socket and a broken tail completed the picture. This fish wasn’t going back on Curtis’s wall any time soon. In fact, he’d never see it again unless he quit the high and mighty act.
“That asshole,” she said. “Acting like he’s too good for me. Fuck him.”
She slipped her shoe on, grabbed the fish by its broken tail and started dragging it toward the barely audible sound of water gurgling over a rocky streambed. A trickle of sweat ran between her shoulders. The damn fish was getting heavier with every step. The last thirty feet were the worst. She gutted it out, yanking the fish over the threshold that marked the beginning of the bridge. Dropping the fish with a thud, she caught her breath, then picked up a broken piece of asphalt and stepped over to the handrail. She dropped the asphalt. It fell silently for a count of three, then crashed through vines and overgrowth before clattering on rocks and splashing into the stream at the bottom of the ravine. Her grip on the rail tightened.
“You want to be an asshole, Curtis? Well I can be an even bigger asshole,” she whispered.
Her dress rode up her thighs as bent down to pick up the marlin. It was heavy and she struggled to get a grip. The zipper seam in the back of her dress ripped. She hissed “Shit” through clenched teeth and dropped the head of the fish on the handrail. A breeze tickled her lower back through the torn seam.
“Goddammit,” she said, shoving the fish over the edge of the bridge. She watched it freefall, the white of its unpainted backside disappearing into the black. There were a few soft cracks of branches, an urgent rustle of leaves, and then a final rifleshot smack as the fish hit the rocky streambed. Then nothing. Silence held for a moment before the sounds of the park started again. Frogs croaked. The pulse of crickets chimed in. The continuous trickle of the stream filtered up from the ravine. Mona stepped away from the rail and poked her finger through the torn seam of her dress.
“Perfect,” she said, craning her head around to get a look. She hooked her finger in the open seam. It ripped all the way up her back. Defeated, she sat on the ground. The image of Curtis in the bathroom at Ricky’s Pub shimmered in her head. She covered her face with her hands. Her first inhale brought his scent. Clean, with a little bit of sweat thrown in to remind you he was a guy. She shook her head. They’d been so close to hooking up. His shirt was off. He had his hands on her. His mouth on her. And then he asked about that fucking fish. Got all bent out of shape about the stupid thing. Her eyes welled up.
“You want a fish more than me?” she said.
She wiped her nose.
"Well, you got nothing now. Hope you like it.”
She stood and started walking. Ten feet away from the bridge, she looked back at the railing where she’d dumped the fish into the ravine. A breeze whispered through the open seam of her dress. She held her torn dress closed and walked home.
Chapter Ten
“Give me the scissors,” Curtis said, reaching toward Julia.
She stared at James on the floor and clutched the scissors tight against her chest. Curtis lowered his voice.
“C’mon, Julia. He can’t do anything. I promise. I just don’t want you hurting yourself.”
A trickle of blood leaked from her left nostril. She sniffed, said, “No,” and smeared the blood with the back of her wrist.
Curtis squatted next to James and untied the white gag.
“Call the police,” said James. “That girl is insane. She almost killed—”
Curtis put his hand over James’s mouth.
“Where’s your wallet?” he said, then removed his hand.
James blinked.
“What? My wallet?”
Curtis rolled James on his stomach and pulled a wallet out of his back pocket.
“Untie me,” said James, rocking back and forth.
Curtis opened the wallet and pulled out the drivers license. Then he rolled James to his back and dropped the wallet on James’s chest. He held out the license.
“You’re James Stockton?” he asked.
“What are you doing?” sputtered James. “Untie—”
Curtis stomped on James’s shoulder. He watched James’s wince, waited a moment, then held the license in front of his face. “You’re James Stockton?”
James nodded.
“You live on Turner Avenue in Massey, Ohio?”
James nodded again.
Curtis slipped the license into his pocket. “What do you do in Massey?”
“I’m, uh, I’m a superintendent of a school district.”
“Which school district?”
“Massey.”
Curtis made a “tsk, tsk” sound and shook his head. He turned, noticing Julia was now behind him. Blank-faced, her eyes were trained on James. A trickle of fresh blood was on her lip and she gripped scissors in her right hand.
“Well, James Stockton, superintendent of Massey, you got a problem,” said Curtis. “Your punching bag here looks like she wants to cut your junk off. And me, I just want to beat your head in. Maybe with a hammer. How’s that sound?”
James squeaked and his bottom lip quivered. He had no problem slapping a girl around, but turned to jello when someone got in his face. It took all Curtis had to keep from beating him to death.
He grabbed James and listened to him make more sounds. People who thought they were on top of the food chain, people who had money, a golden retriever, a mansion in the suburbs and a job telling other people what to do—they spoke this language when faced with a beating. Some surprised you and showed backbone. But, seeing a stream of piss run out of James onto the carpet, Curtis knew backbone wasn’t showing tonight. James thought he could do what he wanted to Julia because she wasn’t at his level. She was a toy. And old James here was in charge. He was untouchable.
Until now.
> Curtis rolled James to his belly and untied his ankles and wrists. Wrapping the electrical cord around his fists, he kicked James in the side.
“Put your dick in your pants, zip up and get on your feet,” he said, stepping back.
James pulled up his pants, stuck his wallet in his back pocket and struggled to his feet. A piss stain darkened the front of his chinos. He wiped at the stain with a trembling hand and looked at Curtis.
“What are you going to do?”
Curtis swept his arm toward the front door.
“I’m not doing anything. Just get out.”
James looked at the door and then at Julia.
“Can you tell her to move?”
Curtis turned. Scissors in hand, Julia stood behind him, staring at James. Curtis looked at James.
“She’s not doing anything. Start walking.”
“But I can’t—”
Curtis lifted his fist.
“Yes, you can,” he said.
James walked toward the front door. If Julia stabbed James, Curtis wouldn’t stop her. She earned the right to do whatever she wanted to him. He watched her pivot, leveling the scissors at James as he passed. The hinges on the front door creaked as he pulled it open. Julia lowered the scissors. She was going to let this creep go. Curtis flexed his hand, feeling the electrical cord tighten around his knuckles.
“Hey, James,” he said, pulling the drivers license from his pocket. “Now that I know where you live, count on me stopping by for a visit.” He stepped across the room, tapping a finger on the license. “We can hang out. Use your Jacuzzi and watch a game on your flat-screen. You know, pal around. You want to pal around, right?”
“I don’t underst—”
Curtis dropped the license and punched James in the throat. Not hard. He even pulled back, making sure he didn’t crack his windpipe. James dropped and crawled out the door, gasping and holding his throat. Curtis shouldered the door open, waited for James to look up and kicked him in the stomach. Air whooshed out of James’s lungs as he bowled into the hallway. Curtis stood over him and stomped his crotch. James mouthed a silent scream, grabbed his junk and rolled to his side in the fetal position. Julia walked over to watch.
“If you want, I’ll keep it up,” said Curtis. “It’s your call. But you should know, this guy ain’t touching you again.” He kneeled and grabbed James’s ear. “Ain’t that right, shithead? You’re gonna be too busy waiting for my next punch in your fat face. And, just so you know, I’m calling some buddies of mine in Massey—Ronnie and Pedro. Maybe you know them. They ride with Los Dos. I fixed their rides and they owe me, so they’ll be checking on you.”
He twisted James’s ear. James wailed.
“But watch out for Pedro,” Curtis whispered. “He’s just out of the joint and, from what I hear, he really, really likes guys—not that there’s anything wrong with that.”
Letting go of James’s ear, Curtis unwrapped the electrical cord from his hands and dropped it on James. He looked at Julia and spread his arms.
“I got all night. You want me to cut him loose, or drag him back in and go to work?”
Julia wiped her bloody nose, dropped the scissors next to James and walked into her apartment.
“Guess we’re calling it a night, James,” said Curtis. “But I’ll see you soon.”
He picked up the scissors and James’s license, then stepped into Julia’s apartment, hearing James begin to sob as he pulled the door shut. Slipping the license into his pocket, he walked into the kitchen, put the scissors on the counter and grabbed a bucket and some rags from under the sink.
A good hard scrubbing cleaned most of the piss and blood stains off the carpet.
As he gathered the cleaning supplies, he looked at Julia’s beach painting above the couch. She was a good artist. He touched the girl in the painting, imagining the smell of the ocean, the sun on his face and the hush of those waves. Maybe someday he wouldn’t have to imagine it.
He dumped the dirty water, put the bucket and rags away, and then walked to Julia’s bedroom. The door was closed. He knocked lightly.
“Julia?”
Silence.
He opened the door. Julia lay on the bed with her back to him, outlined in a touch of light leaking through the window across the room. He shut the door and eased onto the bed behind her. She didn’t move. Her tee shirt was bunched at her waist, baring her hips. He laid a hand on her thigh, sliding his hand to the hard edge of her hip. She didn’t move. He could feel the rise and fall of her chest.
“Hey,” he said, pulling tight against her back. “It’s gonna be okay. He’s gone and won’t be coming back.”
She turned to face him. He ran his fingers through her hair. He slid a finger down her forehead. Down her nose. Touched her lips. Moved to kiss her. She pulled back.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
She pushed him. Just enough to open space between them.
“I don’t want to be touched,” she said.
“That’s okay,” he said. “I’ll leave if you want.”
“Stay,” she whispered. Her eyes closed. Her breathing slowed. Then she was out.
He started to whisper her name, then stopped. He watched her soft inhales and exhales, air slipping over her barely parted lips. How her eyes moved behind closed lids, following a dream. Her brow pinched and her neck muscles tightened. He touched her cheek, lightly brushing her scar. She exhaled. Her neck muscles relaxed.
He was almost asleep when his cell buzzed. The mattress creaked as he got to his feet. He stepped into the hall, closing the door behind him. His cell vibrated again. He saw the caller’s name and answered it.
“What do you want Sonny?”
“Good to hear your voice, buddy.”
“Hold on, gimme a second,” said Curtis, searching his pockets for a pack of smokes. There were none. He walked down the hall and leaned on the kitchen counter. “Look, I’m kinda busy,” he said. “What’s up?”
Sonny cleared his throat. “I’m in the bathroom at the Fox,” he said. “Fitz is waiting on me. He don’t even know I’m calling. We’re going to Barry’s house.”
Curtis waited in silence. After a long pause, he sighed. “You calling to fill me in on your itinerary?”
“Don’t know what that is. I just wanted to see if you wanted to, you know, get in on this. Do a little something for Barry and then go back to doing our thing.”
“You gonna give me my fish back?” said Curtis.
“Yeah. I don’t need it,” said Sonny.
“Is it in one piece?” said Curtis, tensing as he waited for Sonny to say something about the money. How they used it to pay Fitz’s debt to Barry or lost it gambling. Or how they drank and whored the thirty grand down to nothing in the past two weeks. He held his breath.
“Why wouldn’t it be?” said Sonny. “We can get it after we’re done at Barry’s. Whatta you say? We good?”
Curtis exhaled. Unbelievable. They didn’t know about the money. Curtis lowered his voice, pacing back and forth.
“You and Fitz beat the crap out of me. You can’t call me up two weeks later and act like it didn’t happen. It don’t work like that.” He closed his eyes and touched the bridge of his nose. “My head hasn’t been the same since. I oughta bust your head next time I see you.”
“But you were gonna stick us with that screwdriver. What was I supposed to do? C’mon, man.”
“I wasn’t gonna stick anybody,” said Curtis. The pain behind his eye started pounding as he thought about his money, still safe inside Big Blue. He pulled out his prescription of Percocet, then shoved it back his pocket. Overdosing wasn’t gonna help anything. “I was just trying to get Fitz off me. Screw you and Fitz. Hope you guys have fun when Barry bends you over. I gotta go.”
“C’mon Curtis,” shouted Sonny.
Curtis raised his voice.
“Are you outta your mind? Listen, don’t call me and run the same old bullshit. I already told you and Fitz I’m not wor
king for Barry, so give it up already.”
“But we’re friends, man.”
“Yeah, we’re great friends,” said Curtis. He walked into the living room and sat on the couch. There was a dark spot on the cushion. He picked at it as he talked. “You held me while Fitz beat the crap outta me.”
“I didn’t know he was gonna do that. I tried to stop him.”
Curtis looked at the dark specks he’d scraped off the couch. The image of Julia when he’d first entered the room cropped up. How her nose was bloodied. He blew her dried blood off his fingers. “Look,” he said. “You want me to show up at Barry’s, you gotta do two things. Give me my fish back.”
“No problem. Got it covered.”
“And tell Barry we ain’t doing shit with him.” Curtis stood, waiting for Sonny to respond. He walked over to the sliding glass door and pulled the curtain back. A cat was on the seat of his motorcycle. It licked its front paws, then stared up at him as if it was daring him to say something. He closed the curtain. “I don’t hear nothing so I guess it’s no deal,” he said.
“Fitz won’t do it,” said Sonny. “He’s all jacked up about this job.”
“You don’t have to do what Fitz does. Do what you want, Sonny,” said Curtis. “Don’t call me again until you grow a set and tell Barry you’re out.”
Curtis closed his cell, sat on the couch and looked at the numbers glowing on a clock radio in the kitchen. It was a couple of minutes after eleven. He rubbed his face. His cell vibrated. It was Sonny.
“Sorry,” Curtis whispered, putting his cell in his pocket. “Leave a message and get your ass over to Barry’s while I go to your place and find Big Blue.”
He stood and walked out the front door, closing it quietly behind him.
* * * *
A stop at the Moto Mart for a pack of smokes slowed him down, but not much. He parked his bike a block away from Sonny’s. Smoking in the shadows of Fox Glenn Park, he peered up at the Sonny’s kitchen window. He cupped his cigarette, hiding the glow from the woman moving in and out of the kitchen. It was tough to see a face, but it wasn’t Mrs. Bomba. She had short hair. This woman had long hair. It had to be Mona.
