“Fuck you,” I growled and stood over him. The gun. It gave me a newfound sense of power. I spun around, and slipped into my Mercedes, cracked the window and looked at the white-trash glaring at me. “Fuck your stupid country and all you filthy pigs.”
Say what? That sand-nigger ran flat into me. Just when I turnt the corner in the alley behind Chumley’s. Knocked me flat off my feet. There I was all sprawled out across the concrete. He saw my walking stick laying there. He knew I was fucked up. Did he offer to help me up? Hell no. He said fuck my country you pig, or something in dumb-ass foreigner. Fuckin’ towel-head. They was everywhere now. I pushed my back against the brick wall, got a good purchase on my walkin’ stick and came to my feet. I then made my way to the small loading dock at the rear of Chumley’s. I didn’t know no code to get in the other way, but found a steel gray door with no outside handle. So I smacked it hard over and over ‘till the palm of my hand felt like it was ringin’. Some big, fat, black thug opened the door- so fat he had a fat roll on the back of his neck…like an extra ass on his head and such.
“Need to see Charles Greymore,” I announced loud, so as to be better understood. “Tell him Tadpole…I mean Billy Harmony, needs to see him right fuckin’ now.”
The man’s tiny flat ears perked up and his eyes shrank, like black BB’s, he leaned side-to-side, lookin’ to see nobody else around. When he came to open the door and revealed his full self, I swallowed. One big, son of a bitch, a black mountain with a fat-roll head on top. He reached a big, fat hand around my neck and yanked me inside, flingin’ me down on the floor, sprawled all over the concrete again just like before- screamin’ in pain, my leg twisted all crooked, blood leaking out the boot. He and that towel-head did not give a one shit each. The black goon just stared at me, like he was takin’ a measure of me. “Boss don’t like no surprise visitors.”
Then the big fuck dragged me across a polished concrete floor and tossed my ass into a produce freezer with broccoli and carrots and shit. Slam the door shut. I couldn’t see my damn hand in front of my face. It was so fuggin’ cold. I bet I coulda’ seen my breath inside, if there’d been light. I checked my cell phone. Dead battery. A long time later shiverin’ and rubbin’ my hands to stay warm, the freezer door popped open, a light clicked on and ol’ Charlie Greymore stood there alone. Then he knelt down all close, like I was so small he needed a microscope to see me. He din’t say nothin’ so I started talkin’ fast.
“I knowed you’d come.” I nodded my head, lookin’ down, givin’ respect, teeth chaterrin’. “That you was good for it, that like my daddy, we are men of business.”
Then the motherfucker grabbed me hard by the throat, crushin’ my Adam’s apple. I went to makin’ a funny noise, like gah, gah, gah. He screamed in my face. “What the fuck are you doing here Billy Harmony?”
I guess he saw my face goin’ purple and let off my throat, where I gagged and coughed, tryin’ to catch my breath. Then a pistol was stickin’ right in the middle of my forehead, pushin’ my head back on my neck so I had to stare right up at the old man. He was hoppin’ mad, and spit when he talked. “What the fuck are you thinking coming here? You know much, much better than coming here to see me, Billy.”
“Yesterday I did Ricky.” My voice was all hoarse and my head was all light and floaty. I’d wondered then how much blood I’d lost in the wreck. “But I can’t get Fast Eddie till I get my goddamned leg fixed up. Look ‘at it. All crooked. But I knowed I couldn’t risk no fuckin’ hospital.” The inside of my motorcycle boot was all greasy with blood and it made a suckin’ sound when I pulled it off to show him. I made sure he’d seen it, my ankle all crushed and turned sideways. We was business men and this here was business. So I was pretty sure he wouldn’t shoot me now. Not like this in the freezer no ways. But he kept the gun pressed in real hard. “All I’m askin’ is you got a doctorin’ friend that might-could patch me up?”
Greymore shook his head, and sneered. “Oh darling stupid, ignorant, white-trash boy. I read all about your fine work in the Gazette this morning. Why’d you leave a body behind?”
“I was goin’ to haul him down the ravine, into the woods, but-” I pointed at my leg all bent over and tore up. “Then I seen some woman drawin’ near, in a car. So I split, man. I mean…Mr. Greymore.” I decided then and there not to tell him I missed the first shot- which brung me too close for the second one. The one that wrapped me up in the wreck to begin with.
“Your fucking leg is your problem.” Greymore hissed. Then he jerked the gun off me, and tucked it in his pants. “You know I’m very unhappy with you. Make this right. Go erase Fast Eddie now. And pray mean he’s not out there giving away copies of that little sex video.” He grabbed my shirt collar and bring me close, his breath in the freezer clouding my eyes. “Because if so? You have an appointment with a bucket waiting for you in the woods.”
Pop always said a man born with nothin’ would die with nothin’
…unless he risked everything.
But right now I needed a fuckin’ hospital.
10
Pennies, Nickels and Dimes
Molten sun. Gasping sweat. Pine trees aching in the breezeless heat. The atmosphere crackled like fire all around Boone’s Basin Lake. A day better fit for the coming of the anti-Christ rather than a fishing trip. And so far, everything going from bad to worse. A real shit day unfolding. But me? I wasn’t about to let it go down that way. Time to have fun no matter what. Even if I had to choke the throat of the afternoon with my bare hands until it coughed up the joy. We were family. Today we would act like it. I groaned, clenching my teeth, arm fully extended and pointing toward the car. “Jesus Lilly. Go back and close your damned door. Right now. Don’t even consider back-talking me.”
“But I didn’t do it!” she spat, hair matted to the side of her head, dripping wet in the heat. “My side’s closed.”
I stared Brant, trying to keep my tone even. “Seriously buddy? You’ve been leaving stuff open and undone all day. I mean, can we say try a little harder please? Now look, please don’t mope. Hey, look at me. Please be a little more thoughtful, okay?”
They hooked thumbs in pockets and pouted. And the trip was meant to be for them. Frustration rising, I dropped some of the fishing gear against the pavement. A reel busted open, the fishing line unspooling into an impossible, tangled web. Shirt soaked with sweat, clothes clinging hotly, I bit my lip and stopped in my tracks. Then I just let it all go. Stole a deep breath. Went limp. And counted. Just like my counselor Kathleen Hodges taught me to do. Regathering myself, I tried again. “Guys, this is a group effort. I need your help to make this work, to catch some fish. This should be fun. Let’s just all have a good time.”
Brant strolled to the opposite side of the car, slammed his door shut and shuffled back, head down. Lilly looked away. My stomach dropped. When I felt like I was letting my kids down, I went into freefall. The ice-cold panic-fear always tasted metallic. Like chewing aluminum. My fear of being a failed single-parent father. It shook me. Could I actually do any of this without Emily? In moments like these, I felt on the verge of catastrophe, like something deep inside might suddenly rip open and I might literally disappear into thin air. Lost in my thoughts, I refocused after a minute or so. I heard their voices. The kids were already down below, chunking rocks into the lake.
The aluminum fishing boat sizzled like a frying pan, the edges hot to the touch. Blinding sunlight struck in from all angles. Dizzying. Overwhelming. By the time we took to the water, the kids were ruddy-red and cooked with sweat. Pushed by the noisy, little outboard engine, smoke burbling up from the water, our fishing skiff inched forward through the debris-filled lake. It felt heavy, like dragging a spoon through stew. This heat. My hair felt buoyant. Like it was floating off my scalp. I tried my best to force the role; the well-adjusted widower, the proud father with hope pinned to his chest, looking for better days ahead. Feeling whimsical. Just
taking the kids for a day of outdoor fun. And yet, I felt as if I’d swallowed a bomb.
“Guys,” I said leaning forward to the bench before me, tussling his hair, then hers. “I’m sorry kiddos. I haven’t been myself lately. Just a little off.” I paused. “That’s not true. I’ve been way off. And I’ll do better. I slung an arrow at you back there. And that’s not right to do. It’s just, with your mom gone, I can’t do this all by myself. I need you all to…grow up a little. You know. Like, to fill in the empty space she left behind.”
The kids stared at me, a pair of blank eyes. I reached down into the soil of my soul, digging for a scrap of joy, for anything good, not wanting to come up with a handful of ashes. And I gave them what I imagined to be a broad smile. The kids frowned.
“Dad?” Lilly said.
“Yeah?”
“You look crazy.”
What in the hell had I been thinking, dragging the kids out here today? My jaw stiffened. I steered the boat without any inkling where we were actually going. I had no sense of place. Where had I gone? I grabbed for my own arm, pinching myself hard, to keep from dissolving into thin air. This stranger in the boat, his feet in my shoes, his hand on the throttle, but the me-part that once occupied the body had veered off into space. Anxiety made my heart raced. I needed to focus. So I sharpened my attention on the moment, being present, trying to swallow, hanging on to the dialogue, word for word, so I wouldn’t slip away.
“Brant did you grab the sandwiches?” He was digging around the tackle box, fiddling with a collection of brightly colored lures.
“Yeah dad,” he said without looking up. “They’re in the cooler beside you.”
“Lilly, you grabbed the drinks?” She turned to me, eyes wide.
“Oh no,” I rasped. “Tell me you didn’t,” I said. She began to speak. “Nope. Forget it. Fuck it. Just don’t say anything. Not a damn word. The hottest day of the goddamn year. I asked you at least three times.”
Lilly went to the front of the boat, facing outwards with her heaving, hiding the tears. I slammed my fist down and smashed the Styrofoam cooler. I tried to arrange the caved-in lid back into place and flung the fragments into the lake. Red with shame, I crawled into a dark corner somewhere inside myself. Lately, smashing shit had become my new coping mechanism. For the last few days, every object I bumped into, I crushed. Yesterday the latch on the bathroom door caught my belt-loop, hanging me up by my side and by pure reflexive rage, I drove my knee into it, the explosive force split the door jamb open lengthwise, the wood splintered along an elongated crack down the side. I fastened it back together carefully with counter-sunk screws and wood filler and even stained it after it dried. I shuddered to think what Vanessa would say if she found out.
“Daddy, why did you do that?” Brant asked. Lilly still faced the other way, chest convulsing. I chose not to answer because I couldn’t. I didn’t understand it myself.
“We are going to fish and have a good time today.” I was shaking inside, forcing myself to disregard how long we might last out here without anything to drink. I said it again as if repetition would make it come true. “We are going to fish and have a good time today.”
As we neared the dam in the distance, I marveled at the stained rust streaks, the crumbling concrete and exposed rebar coming into view. From our position, the lake stretched out like a corpse of unbroken algae. I cut the motor and we glided to a stop. Before we cast out the lines, the kids watched me pinch an earthworm between my fingers and winced as I drove the hook in, piercing the skin with a pop, the bait bursting into the frenzied animation of pain, writhing and coiling up into itself. It was fascinating to me. The agony. The visceral pain. Because I was there too. Impaled. Twisting. Covered in my own blood. Fucked. The kids wrinkled their noses in revulsion, but were equally entranced with the procedure.
“That’s how you put them on hooks?” Lilly asked. “In the cartoons, they just hang on.”
“This is real life Lilly.” I said not looking at her.
“Is he in pain?”
“A little,” I said. I am in oceans of pain.
“Do worms have any feelings?”
“No.” Everything living suffers.
“When he gets eaten up, will he know he’s dead?”
I shrugged. Am I already dead?
“Does mommy know she’s dead?”
The boat, the lake, the pines all around fell silent. I saw Brant shaking his head ‘no’ at Lilly. I cast out the lines and jammed the poles into their arms. The bobbers sat still on the surface untouched. We might’ve as well tossed them into the middle of a parking lot. Nerves raw, I sat with my knees bouncing. We all sweated, the slow ache of dehydration setting in. Lilly and Brant stared at the floor of the boat, each completely disconnected. Be a good father. Today is about them. Chill out, Shade. Take it easy. My mind drifted. Story Mount had been evolving in my mind but not as I originally planned. Who shot that boy in the back of the head? So close. So personal. Had to be somebody he knew. Someone he knew well. My thoughts were smashed with sudden interruption.
“Daddy, it’s hot,” Brant whined. I raised my index finger at him. His shoulders slumped.
To our face, Vanessa had been all hugs and kisses, eyes loving, her gaze holding us. She gushed how their home was our home. Whatever they had in the cabinets belonged to us. She cornered me one night. Said Emily’s death, that this would all take time. That months and years might pass before I got back on my feet. It’d only been a week or so since our arrival. To be patient and gentle with myself. And that’s exactly when her handwritten notes began to appear. They first surfaced on food items in the fridge and the hygiene products in the bathroom drawers. Soon they migrated all over the house. “Please don’t eat- Luke’s lunch only.” “Do not touch- Rachel’s Girl Scout meeting.” “For Chase, do not play with.” “Don’t remove- this is Luke’s favorite.” “This drawer is not to be used.” “Leave this window shut.” “Don’t use this door.” “Do not enter.” Thinking about it made a wire tighten up somewhere inside me. The thing inside me that might rip open raised its head. I began to shake again.
“Daddy, there are no fish here.” Lilly said. She was taking on a steady sunburn. The boat motionless. Cooking in the doldrums. A faint breeze teased us, hesitated and then stalled. The burgeoning heat compressed inwardly like the jaws of a vice clamp, squeezing sweat out from our backs.
“Not yet honey, not yet,” my voice cracked. “Give it time. Daddy’s trying to think. Okay? I’m just trying to think.” I tried to catch my breath, like I couldn’t breathe deep enough. I contemplated if an emotional collapse combined with soaring temperatures ever killed a man my age. Whether the kids were safe with me out here on this boat never crossed my mind.
“Just a few more minutes,” I strained through my teeth.
Vanessa gave good talk, but those fucking handwritten notes everywhere? If Emily were alive, she would’ve bitch slapped Vanessa. Invited. But not really. Heavy boundary lines were being drawn by Vanessa, borders that were painting me and my kids out of the house. It’d only been like ten days. This morning Luke tried to give me cash “to help out with gas money”. I’d jumped for the twenty-dollar bill in Luke’s hand but stopped in my tracks because of the shadow in the doorway. Vanessa stood arms crossed and scowling. She dragged him into another room. Her voice going off in hot whispers and accusation. Shortly after, I’d called the realtor in Chicago, and just like these fishing lines, nothing. Our cash flow was sealed off water tight. Payments to creditors mounted. Monthly mortgage bills were accumulating back home. We were nearing the vicinity somewhere between stupid poor and stone cold broke.
“Don’t mind her man, just take it,” Luke had said, shooting me the flushed-face, orange-eyebrows of embarrassment. Guarding what little pride that remained, I’d waved him and the money off. I thought I might scream.
“Daddy please,” Brant whin
ed. Lilly wiped sweat from her face and just stared. I think she sensed something was wrong with me. I wanted to ask her what it was. Brant came at me again.
“Brant, once you hook one and feel it pulling and fighting against the rod, you’ll get it.” We’re going to have a joyful, relaxing day if it’s the last fucking thing we do.
Over the next hour, like a time-elapsed exposure, I watched the kid’s skin turn from hot pink, to crab red. The inside of my mouth had gone dry like felt. I cursed myself for not grabbing the tube of sunscreen from the kitchen counter at Vanessa’s but it probably had a note taped to it. In anticipation of reeling the fish in, I’d spent the last of our real cash on cocktail sauce, barbeque flavored potato chips, and a two-liter of soda, all stashed under my bed. I had enough on my credit card to survive maybe another week or so. “Daddy, can we please go, I feel sick,” Lilly protested.
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