Pulp Ink
Page 21
7. California Stop
Funk said, “You think this woman’s with Tijuana, maybe?”
Mal said, “I doubt it. TJ’s got troubles enough of their own these days. ’Sides, she’s Middle Eastern or something, not Mexican.”
Funk said, “Mrs. Laliotitis said she was Egyptian.”
Bronson said, “I don’t think I’d be able to tell the difference.”
Funk said, “Yeah, I guess. I dunno.”
Bronson said, “Maybe we should go talk to Gamma Rey.”
Funk said, “Who’s that?”
Mal said, “Guy we know.”
Funk said, “Good enough for me.”
8. Free Samples of My Cock and Balls
Gamma Rey stood under an umbrella cart on the corner of 4th and Broadway, handed out little plastic tubs of hummus and baggies of pita chips. He said, “Hey, c’mon, get your free samples of... whatever the fuck this shit is. Hey, you’re white, sir, you must like this sorta shit. No? This guero does here, right – see? Hey! Speaking of gueros –”
Mal said, “Gamma Rey.” They shook hands.
Bronson said, “’Sup, Gamma Rey?” They shook hands. Gamma Rey pulled Bronson’s hand to his own crotch, laughed when Bronson yanked his hand back.
Bronson said, “Never get tired of that bit, do ya?”
Gamma Rey said, “And he loves it! Who’s your buddy?”
Bronson said, “This is Funk, man.”
Gamma Rey said, “Hey, how you doing, man. Reynaldo Gama. Here, you guys want some’a this... what is it, hummus?”
Funk said, “Oh, yeah, that does sound good.”
Mal said, “Nah.”
Bronson said, “Eh, yeah, what the fuck.”
Gamma Rey said, “So, what’re you faggots up to?”
Mal said, “Whaddaya hear from down south lately?”
Gamma Rey said, “That your mom is half-price all week.”
Mal said, “I can read the papers, man. What can you tell me?”
“I can tell you I wanna put my dick in that girl’s butt,” Gamma Rey said, “Yes, you, baby! Want some’a my hummus?”
Mal said, “Noted. What else can you tell me?”
Gamma Rey said, “Fuckin’... is this about hamburguesa con queso?”
Bronson did a spit-take of pita crumbs, said, “Fuck. I am impressed.”
Gamma Rey said, “Shit, man, ain’t nothing happens I don’t know. But ¿sabes que? You guys had better take care of that shit. Like, yesterday.”
Mal said, “Yeah? Why’s that.”
Gamma Rey said, “Hey, man, all due respect, but Romano is small-time, which is why TJ don’t give a fuck.”
Mal said, “All right.”
Gamma Rey said, “But they just fuckin’ extradited Benny over here, he’s locked up down the street. So with their names all over the fuckin’ news these days, El Ingenerio and his tia have gotta either fuckin’ scale shit way down or finally join up with Juarez.” He shook his head. “It’s a... whaddayacall...”
Funk said, “A transitional period.”
Gamma Rey said, “Yeah, a transitional whatever-the-fuck. So they want things nice and quiet. If you got Batwoman running around out there, you gotta take care of that shit quick, or TJ will have to. And I can fuckin’ guarantee you’re not gonna want that.”
They all stood there a minute. Then Bronson said, “All right, important safety tip, thanks, Egon.”
Gamma Rey laughed. “I dunno what the fuck you’re talking about, but yeah. That’ll work.”
9. Know Your Periphery
Bronson’s phone went, “All the old paintings on the tomb, they do the sand dance, don’cha know...”
Bronson answered it, said, “Yeah.”
Mal said, “All right, Gamma Rey.”
Bronson nodded at him.
Funk said, “Nice meeting you.”
“Yeah, you, too,” Gamma Rey said, “Now who wants some’a this fuckin’ white people food? Hey, man, know any white people? Here’s some food for ’em.”
Funk, Mal and Bronson stepped over into Horton Plaza Park so Bronson could hear over the traffic. He said, “Oh, all right, yeah.”
The park was empty except for three teenagers dealing drugs over by the old fountain. Funk pointed at the old fountain, now surrounded by chain link, said, “Oh, the oldest fountain.”
Mal said, “Huh?”
The white kid in a Milwaukee Bucks jersey said, “Well, then gimme my fuckin’ pot back!”
Bronson put a finger in his ear, said, “4th and Broadway. In front of, y’know, where the old Planet Hollywood used to be.”
Funk said, “Yeah, that’s one of the earliest electric fountains in the world. If not the earliest.”
The black girl in her gym clothes said, “Fuck you, pussy punk!”
Mal said, “Huh.”
Bucks Jersey took a swing at Gym Clothes. Gym Clothes backed up, holding the baggie out of his reach. The other guy, the black kid with corn rows, just watched.
Bronson said, “Yeah, all right.” He hung up. “Sarge has got something for us. He’s gonna meet us here in a few minutes.”
Funk said, “Y’know, I kinda wanna say that’s a shame, it just sitting there. But y’know.”
Mal said, “Yeah. It’s just some fountain.”
Bucks Jersey and Gym Clothes danced around each other some more. People walking past the park would look up at the noise and then keep moving.
Funk said, “Yeah. But I don’t know. I think it’s more of a shame that it’s not a shame. You know what I mean?”
Corn Rows picked up Bucks Jersey’s skateboard.
Mal said, “No.”
Bronson said, “No, not really.”
Funk shrugged, said, “Well, anyways. Oh, here we go.” Corn Rows swung the skateboard at Bucks Jersey’s face, the wheels crunching against his temple. Bucks Jersey dropped like a sack. Corn Rows grabbed Gym Clothes by the arm and dragged her away, Gym Clothes still bouncing on her toes.
Bronson said, “I think it was using too much water or something. Like, are we in a drought still?”
Mal shrugged.
Funk said, “Your ringtone is The Bangles?”
10. As You Were, Men
The cop said, “Hey! What’re you fucking scumbags doing in my park?”
Bronson said, “Ah, lick my balls, pig.”
The cop said, “Yeah, like I could find those. How’s it going, guys?”
Mal said, “Sarge.”
Funk said, “Hey, Sarge. Good to see you again.”
Sarge held up a video tape, said, “I dunno how much help this’ll be, but...” He shrugged.
Mal said, “You guys still use VHS?”
Sarge shrugged, said, “It’s what Cheeseburger used. Probably hadn’t updated his security since the first fuckin’ Clinton administration.”
Bronson said, “You couldn’t convert it over to DVD?”
Sarge said, “What am I, a fuckin’ Walgreens?”
Funk said, “No, of course not, Sarge. You are not a Walgreens.”
Sarge breathed through his nose. He said, “All right, we’ll go over to the security office here. They know me. Who’s this?”
They looked at Bucks Jersey, still on the ground, clutching his eye. Funk said, “A young man rethinking his career path.”
Sarge said, “Oh, good. Less paperwork for me later. Anyways.”
11. Yeah
Sarge lead them through the mall to the security office, said, “Hey, Kim. Do me a favor and go grab a smoke, okay, buddy?”
The big Asian guy said, “You got it, Sarge.”
Sarge popped the tape into the machine. They watched on the monitor as Cheeseburger fucked a young woman on his desk.
Bronson said, “Ugh.”
Funk, Mal and Sarge said, “Yeah.”
Bronson said, “She’s pretty hot, though.”
Sarge fast-forwarded through until Cheeseburger had his clothes back on. He sat behind his desk, smoking one of those st
inky European cigarettes. Then he caught a bullet in the face.
Funk said, “Can you rewind it back, zoom in on the girl?”
Sarge said, “Yeah. Yeah, I think so.” He fiddled with the controls until a grainy blow-up of the girl’s face was on-screen.
Mal said, “Ah, hell.”
Funk said, “What?”
Sarge nudged Mal in the ribs, said, “An old flame of yours?”
Mal looked at Bronson, said, “You know who this is, don’t you?”
Bronson squinted at the screen, leaned forward, then leaned back. Said, “Ah, hell.”
12. Who Is This Is
Funk said to the cute girl behind the counter, “Hi, could I get a venti iced coffee? Only five ice cubes in that, please.”
The girl looked up at him. “Five ice cubes?”
Funk said, “Right. Please.”
The girl rang him up, gave him his change. Mal and Bronson stared at him.
Funk said, “I used to say ‘light ice,’ but then they’d still put, like, seventeen ice cubes in there.”
Mal and Bronson stared at him.
Funk said, “Anyways, so okay, who is this woman?”
Mal shrugged. “Pretty sure that was Agatha.”
Funk said, “Uh-huh. And who’s that?”
Mal said, “Well, there used to be this guy we knew, Louis.”
Bronson said, “Buddy of ours.”
Mal said, “Got killed a while back.”
Funk said, “Uh-huh.” To the cute girl who handed him his coffee, “Thank you very much.” He put a five in the tip jar.
Mal said, “Supposedly, Louis was looking to deal himself in with the competition.”
Funk said, “Which competition?”
Mal and Bronson shrugged.
Funk said, “Uh-huh.” He held the door open for them to the street.
Mal said, “Anyways, he went and got himself killed, regardless. Romano lost no sleep over it.”
Funk said, “Did you?”
Mal looked at him.
Funk said, “I’m just trying to gauge how well liked the guy was, is all.”
Bronson said, “He was a buddy of ours. So, no, it wasn’t cool. But, yn’-know.” He shrugged. “Shit happens.”
Mal said, “Agatha was his girlfriend. She just kinda disappeared after that. No one’s seen her since.” He shrugged. “I hadn’t even thought of her since.”
Funk said, “Uh-huh. And when was this?”
Bronson said, “Hell, almost ten years ago. And that’s what’s really weird. Y’know, why now?”
Funk said, “Ours is not to reason why. You remember where this Agatha lives?”
Mal said, “Banker’s Hill someplace.”
Bronson said, “Yeah, if we drive around a while, I’ll bet we can find it.”
Funk said, “I thought Mrs. Laliotitis said Hillcrest.”
Mal said, “She said near Hillcrest. Banker’s Hill is near Hillcrest.”
Funk smiled. “Then, near Hillcrest it is.”
13. Midtown Positioning System
Funk drove up 5th out of Downtown, until Bronson told him to turn left at Upas. They cruised down the street, Mal and Bronson looking hard at all the apartment complexes. Bronson told him to turn left at 2nd.
Funk drove down 2nd until it dead-ended just past Quince. He turned the Taurus around, turned left on Quince, and then stopped at 1st.
Funk said, “Left or right?”
Mal shrugged.
Bronson said, “Ummm... left. No, right.”
Funk turned right, started back up towards Hillcrest. Bronson turned in his seat as they crossed Spruce, said, “Know what? I think that was it back there. You see it, Mal? That yellow building?”
Mal said, “I remember it being green before.”
Bronson said, “Yeah, I think they repainted it.”
Funk turned right on Spruce, made a quick three-point turn, went back down1st.
Bronson said, “Yeah, that’s it there, man. She lived in one of the basement studios.”
Funk turned left on Redwood and parked. He looked back over his shoulder at the building, said, “Nice place.”
14. Les Jeux Sont Faits
The building looked like it had been a big old house converted into apartments years back. Bronson pointed to their right as they approached. There was a wooden staircase at the side of the house that led down. In front of it was a heavy security gate, like a big thick screen door with a deadbolt on it. Mal tried the knob. Nothing.
Funk and Mal knotted their fingers and boosted Bronson over the gate. Mal glanced over his shoulder as Bronson opened the gate for them.
Funk pointed at Bronson, pointed at his eyes, pointed at the street. Bronson nodded. He closed the gate, holding the knob open until it was in the jamb.
Funk and Mal stepped down the stairs. The windows into the basement apartment at their left all had the blinds drawn. At the foot of the stairs were two doors.
Funk looked at Mal.
Mal nodded at the left-hand door.
Funk nodded, knocked on the right-hand one.
Mal frowned at him.
Funk winked. He knocked on the right-hand one again, louder.
The left-hand door opened a crack.
Funk drew his pistol from his jacket and fired.
15. Les Jeux Even More Sont Faits
The wood splintered off the door jamb. Funk pushed the door all the way open with his foot. Mal just stood there.
Funk stepped inside over the girl splayed out on the floor. She had her hand to her neck, and blood dribbled from between her fingers.
Funk said, “Hey. Hey!”
Mal looked at him.
Funk said, “That her?”
Mal looked down at the girl’s face. It was Agatha all right. Her eyes looked past him, just over his shoulder.
Mal looked at Funk, nodded.
Funk grabbed a big stuffed bear off her Murphy bed and placed it over her face. He held the gun to the bear’s stomach and fired twice more.
Funk said, “Let’s go.”
16. Asking Questions Later
Funk said, “You all right?” He lit a cigarette and cracked his window.
Mal shrugged.
Funk said, “You just look a little green, is all.” He smiled at his rearview. “Both of you.”
Mal said, “Just caught a little off-guard, I guess.”
Funk laughed, said, “You weren’t the only one. Right?”
Mal and Bronson said nothing.
Funk said, “Look, you guys, problem is solved. Am I right?”
Mal shrugged.
Bronson said, “Yeah, I guess. But shit, man. It was all... y’know, I guess I thought you were gonna, like... fuckin’ interrogate her or something.”
Funk laughed, said, “You guys watch too many cop shows.” He sipped on his iced coffee. “Look, you guys are all right, man. I couldn’t have done it without you. I mean that. And now the working day is done. Right?”
Mal shrugged. Bronson said nothing.
Funk pitched his cigarette out the window, said, “Hey, who’s hungry?”
-
Jimmy Callaway lives and works in San Diego, CA. For more, please visit attentionchildren.blogspot.com. Many thanks for notes and edits to Cameron Ashley, Josh Converse, Garnett Elliott and Matthew C. Funk.
The Only One Who Could Ever Reach Me
By Matt Lavin
You wish Freddy would shove his goddamned fist in his mouth and choke on it. Instead, he wipes his nose on the sleeve of his gray hoody and flashes you a nasty, tobacco-toothed grin.
“Glad you’re here, Greg,” he says. “I need some sleep.”
You nod. Freddy has been the night guy for years. He came in when Duane moved to swing shift to replace Hugo. That said, the long trail of snot on Freddy’s arm is probably the most personal detail you’ve ever gleaned from him, and it’s more than you ever wanted to know. Every aspect of his existence is disgusting to you. He is fat and ignobl
e and perpetually wiping bodily fluids on wrinkled, unwashed clothing. Once, you swore you saw a footprint on his jeans.
As the door shuts behind him, you let out a long sigh. Were you holding your breath in anticipation, or to avoid the stink? Try as you might, you can’t imagine a scenario to produce such an odor. A possum shit milkshake left out overnight wouldn’t come close. The industrial runoff from a Denny’s in Pakistan would pale in comparison to the scent that wafts off Freddy’s back fat.
Fuck this daydream. The point is that he’s gone and you’re glad. Well, glad is an overstatement. You work in a dark, cold room with a hallway that leads to an endless set of darker, colder rooms. A series of dull lights mark the hallway, but they only remind you how dark it is everywhere else. But you are less miserable with Freddy gone.
You stare at nothing and listen to the sound of water dripping from leaky pipes. Your only job is to remain vigilant. No TV, no music. Get caught breaking the rules and somebody breaks you.
For the most part, you sit at your desk and listen to the dripping. Six days a week, the sound is rhythmic and unrelenting. On Fridays, the screams drown out the dripping noise, but you try not to think about that. As if the Doctor would know you were thinking of him and come for you.
The torture and Freddy’s back fat aside, what it really comes down to is this: you do your fucking job. You sit. You ask no questions. You get paid. End of story. You do not worry about the men and women in the cages, who they are what they did. You do not bring home teeth to start a collection. You do not leer at the naked and crusty old woman in cell three and fling your spunk on her quivering, diseased backside like Freddy probably does. You sit. You ask no questions. You get paid. You do your fucking job.
A commotion rises outside. The scuffle of feet hitting pavement and shoulders bumping the hallway walls. Your heart races. Only one thing that happens unscheduled in a place like this, and it’s been weeks since the last one: a new arrival.
A long, flat buzz echoes through the hallway, signaling that the door is about to open. You hear the door unlocking. You catch a quick look at them as they hustle past your desk, down the hallway toward the cells. They wear black jumpsuits and masks. None of them address you, nor do they make eye contact. You count five team members, same as always. The new arrival has a hood over his head. His arms are bound behind his back.