THUGLIT Issue Eight

by Patti Abbott

  "Welcome to the club."

  "Yeah, well—wife's supposed to bring my son over at night."

  "Sounds nice."

  "How 'bout you?"

  "Oh, I dunno. Haven't decided yet."

  "No wife an' kids—family plans?"

  "Pftt…no invites to nothin', just a couple greetin' cards—ones got their heartfelt wishes already etched in 'em. A brother and three sisters—he's down in Oceanside, the girls are up in Seattle. Usually head to my oldest sister's every year—brother's comin' up with his kids this time. Already got my plane ticket but everyone thinks it's best for me to stay away. I don't get it, man. I'm the asshole or somethin'."

  "You? Nah."

  Max smirked.

  Jello waited for flesh to stop jiggling, scratching his nose with the crook of a wrist.

  "So, what do a couple assholes do on Christmas then?"

  "Who said I was an asshole?"

  "Figured—with your Christmas day unwelcomin' an' all."

  "That's just 'cause I finally made a decision for myself. Quit working construction with her dad, pursued my dream."

  "This?"

  "Yeah. Always knew I'd survive on art, somehow. Want to be my own man."

  "Nothin' wrong with that."

  "Tired of fucking things up, you know?"

  "Askin' the wrong guy."

  "Just wanna make this happen—start over, support my family. They don't understand me's all. Takes a little time to get going in this field. Money for supplies, building clients—Sonny sees my talent. Owe a lot to that man."

  "Greenhorn, huh?"

  "Not exactly."

  "This ain't your first go at it?"

  "Uh, no."

  "Be honest, sport. Too late now."

  "I've done hundreds a pieces, all damn good too…just not on a human."

  "Ah, yes…that's comfortin'."

  "Didn't want to scare you."

  "Good thing. Only gonna have this forever."

  "Trust me, I got this."

  Max chuckled, sipping the dog. "Oh, sure. Complete trust, comin' your way."

  "Guess we're both poppin' our cherries tonight."

  "You, me—Virgin Mary makes three."

  They busted laughing.

  *****

  Max swayed in front of the mirror. "It's a beaut, I say—a goddam beaut!"

  Jello found Max's drunkard slang amusing. "You dig it, right?" Hoped he didn't notice the kinks.

  "A keeper, sir! Love what you did with the horns there—the hooves—impeccable."

  "Yeah, freehanded that."

  "My god, her tits are marvelous!"

  Jello cranked his spine. "Come back, lemme get a picture—then I'll wrap it. Be good to go."

  Max posed for a pic, face contorted, muscles flexed. He fell back on the chair. "What's the damage here?"

  "Say…three hundred?"

  "That a discounted rate or somethin'?"

  "Nope. Three hundo's fine—believe me."

  "What does the boss bill?"

  "Two-fifty an hour."

  Max bobbed, eyes closed. "Well shit, son—I been here the whole fuckin' night." He pointed a finger. "Dammit—the asshole of dawn is afoot! Name your price, kid!"

  Jello applied tape to the wrap on Max's neck; shaving an epileptic would've been easier. "How's five then?"

  Max rose, fanning out his roll. Bills rained to the floor.

  "I can't accept that. It's too much."

  "Nonesense, my boy! You're a family man. Treat your clan on this fine Christmas morn!" He reached for another dog, face frowning upon the dreaded realization. "Rats… I'm dry!"

  "Want me call a taxi?"

  "That'd be splendid. Come grab a drink!"

  "Can't. Not today."

  The jolly slang stopped. "What—gonna leave me all alone on Christmas? I got nobody, man. Just did you a huge solid."

  "Told you, I don't want all that."

  "I want you to have the money, man! Listen—I didn't fly the coop once you told me that you lied about bein' a…"

  "I didn't lie!"

  "Whatever—said you got no place to be till later, right? Let's go catch a flick or somethin'. You were stuck in that other movie till I showed up—ruined it for ya. Come on, it'll be fun. Gotta have somewhere to be on X-mas."

  "No theaters open today."

  "Nah, I know a place."

  "What movie?"

  "I dunno—a good one. Guy I know's a projector at this revival house—plays an all-nighter every year for the die-hards. It'll be on the arm."

  Jello gazed trance-like at all those crisp hundreds, knocking Mindy's foul remarks to the back of the brain. List? Fuck her. She'd let him too, after seeing all that cash. Had a few hours to burn. Knew sleep wouldn't come either. He snapped off the gloves and headed to dial a cab.

  *****

  In a damp alley, they traded puffs on a one-hitter. Jello ganked nuggs from Sonny's station; shit was cool like that. Might as well make this excursion interesting. Indulgence was King on Christmas, right?

  Max craved more dogs but settled for the exotic twist on his bender. Felt like a tree fucker—hadn't smoked since high school. He pounded on the brick building's metal door. "He's here, man—spoke to him the other day."

  Jello spouted dragon smoke from his nostrils, wondering what the hell Max was up to; the busted marquee was clearly 'round the corner.

  The door opened, revealing a wiry white kid, hair crazed over specs the size of hockey pucks. He shielded his eyes against newborn sunrays and deflated upon seeing Max. Jello figured this must be how everyone greeted the guy.

  The film was already rolling. Max belittled the geek in whispers before showing off his neck. Jello overheard the guy say, "Amazing Christmas film," as he walked up a far aisle with caution, eyes adjusting to darkness.

  A white ball bounced in the middle of the screen, getting larger as a narrator barked in a smoker's tone. Jello leaned against a wall, taking in the oddity as the herb hit hard. His heart felt like a giant moth. Max rushed up the aisle, pointing out the best seats.

  This bouncing ball was actually bright light at the end of a subway tunnel. Soon as the camera smacked it, the room burst white. Jello could see four shadowed skulls in attendance. Each was seated strategically apart, maintaining separate worlds as the narrator hypnotically intoned…

  You're alone but you don't mind that. You're alone—that's the way it should be.

  Max began to comment on the room of "losers"; Jello shushed him.

  You've always been alone. By now, it's your trademark. You like it that way.

  Max leaned over again. "Want anythin' from the snack bar?"

  Jello shook his head and Max vanished. One of the viewers turned with a look of disgust. Jello thought, What a way for someone to spend today of all days, then realized he too was now alone, the film his only refuge.

  Time flew. Celluloid trapped their souls, burning the eyes, erasing all hurt. Afterward, they burst from the theater, clamoring under its marquee like boys marveling their first X-Men fix.

  "Fuckin' fantastic!"

  "I know, right? Aren't you glad you came now?"

  "That gun dealer with the pet sewer rats!"

  "Yeah, he was in Shock Corridor, I think? Dug the ending too."

  "Thanks a lot, Max. Really needed this today—just didn't know it, I guess."

  Max smiled. "My pleasure." See Bill—ain't no Kiss-a-Death. He fingered the plane ticket in his pocket, deciding on dark Seattle sunsets. Flight wasn't till later. "Let's call a cab—grab that drink."

  "Dunno 'bout a drink. Should get home and catch some Z's before the kid comes over."

  "That ain't till tonight, man!"

  "Still."

  "Come on! Least you could do is share one lousy beer with me."

  "There's no place open this early."

  "Oh, I got a place."

  "You and your places."

  "That's right."

  Jello stewed. Thoughts of Mindy and
Buddy in their Christmas morning grandeur poked the heart. "One beer?"

  "That's it—on me. Then I'm out your life for good—promise."

  *****

  Mindy blew on a steaming mug of cocoa, grinning as young Buddy frolicked amongst a sea of toys beside the tree. Mother heated up tamales and fried eggs while father labored over instructions on how to build Buddy's new Big Wheel. She panned a few more times, grin falling; the scene began to ache her heart.

  She missed him.

  Last year was perfect. He surprised them with all those gifts—that wonderful dinner. For weeks, he'd belted that they were broke. Sure, she'd asked father to give him the bonus, but look how he used it: every cent on his family.

  Her thoughts trailed off into a future fantasy where all of their problems seeped through the walls. Inside her imaginings, this was their home now, they had become her parents, Buddy was now their grandchild. Wasn't that the dream? Why had she put in it peril?

  With every curse from dad's lips, her gut twisted. He should be the one fretting over the magnificent task. She blew once more on the cocoa, drifting, longing. Her head began to tilt.

  Mother's voice beckoned assistance, shattering the reverie for now.

  *****

  The cruise rocked Jello to sleep. His mind reeled the final scene of that film, only this time he was the lonesome hitman, slaughtered off a dock into frigid waters. His teeth began to chatter.

  Max paused from caroling and shook him back to life. "Get a load a that, man."

  Jello peered at a Christmas tree lot, its Fire Retarding sign vandalized into hilarity. He sneered. Strange scenery flew through the windows. "The fuck are we, Max?"

  "Redondo."

  "Redondo!"

  "Relax—you got enough scratch to get back to Venice." He fingered his temples. "An Oprah sized hangover's seepin' in. Gotta keep the party goin'. Look—we're here."

  The taxi parked as Jello scanned the building; smooth art deco accents had it looking like a marshmallow. Sign above the entrance read Eagles. Max tipped the cabby big so he'd wait. Jello wondered how high up Max was at this printing company. A total mess of success?

  They headed 'round back, entering a room filled with pool tables and shuffle boards. Flags draped down walls: Old Glory, POW MIA, Don't Tread On Me.

  Jello turned to Max. "Thought you had to be a member to hang at a place like this."

  "Used to. 'Bout to shut it down though—recession. Pops used to bring me an' my brother here when we were young. Always open on Christmas."

  They walked through another doorway, revealing a modest-sized bar: wood fixtures, spider-webbed trophies. A real blast from the past. Three seniors were huddled near a fuzzy Yule log, recounting tales on foreign soils. Jello's appearance brought the room to a halt. They slid onto stools. A bald barkeep slunk over: huge, maybe six-six. Fat fingers slapped the counter.

  Max grinned. "Couple shots a Beam—Buds back."

  Barkeep retrieved the order. Max turned to the older gentlemen, now staring full bore; their gold print hats featured carriers or planes. "Merry Christmas, fellas," was met by throaty grumbles.

  Barkeep slid the hooch. "Start a tab? Cash only."

  "Sounds good."

  "The hell's on yer neck?"

  "Like it?"

  "Nice jugs."

  Max turned to Jello. "Got another fan."

  They clanked glasses and slurped.

  *****

  One shot turned into six. Beer bottles cluttered. Jello saw another bourbon placed before him. Last one. He slammed the glass onto the counter and rose, legs a bit suspect. "Thanks for everything, Max—really appreeshate it. Gotta go."

  Max's tented eyes nodded for the rest of his head. He slid a hundred onto the counter and gave Jello a monster hug. "One more…for da road?"

  "Nope."

  Barkeep swiped the cash and approached an antique register. He held the bill up to the light, squinting. Began to snap and smell it. His brow scrunched, grabbing a marker from the pen jar.

  Max took notice. Shit. He patted Jello on the back. "Be right back—gotta piss."

  Jello sat, head resting in both hands.

  Barkeep scribbled on the bill and flashed it to the seniors.

  Outside, tires kicked gravel.

  A slap woke Jello from slumber; a bat thumping his chest urged undivided attention.

  "Where's your butt-boy, dickhead?"

  "What's up?"

  The discolored bill dropped before him.

  "Think I wouldn't notice, huh?"

  One of the seniors shouted, "Ain't in the bathroom."

  Jello shot up, eyes bulging. Before he could take a step, the men had his arms cranked. Barkeep came 'round and turned out his pockets. Max's hefty payment splashed the floor.

  "Mother fucker."

  "Wait—it's not what you think!"

  "Fuck're you, a mind reader? Mort—get the door."

  "Max! Maaaax!"

  His screams were snuffed by five hairy digits. They tossed him on the floor. Max, you filthy bastard! He flailed at first, ultimately cowering as kicks and blows delivered Christmas cheer. Between belts, Mindy's harsh words sang the soundtrack, a bloody festive jingle, roaring his pickled brain to mush. Fa-la-la-la-la, la-la-la-la!

  *****

  Through the rear window, the marshmallow shrunk with every block. Max stared intently, waiting for a sign, hoping Jello didn't take too many lumps. Why did shit have to always be like this? From top of the world to the depths of hell. Just a few hours ago, Jello was praising him—that movie. He took responsibility for that experience. Now this… Should just bail, forget the whole shebang. What would a decent person do? The answer brought a sour face. Poor Jello. Never meant any harm—just wanted some kicks. Kiss-a-Death! Kiss-a-Death! Couldn't face the kid, but had to make things right. At least try.

  At a red, the cabbie craned for instruction.

  "One more time."

  They re-circled the block.

  Still nothing.

  "Park across the way—down a bit."

  Tires nicked a curb, engine idling under shadowy spiked palms. The only sounds came from seagulls thrashing a trash bin. Max whispered, "Come on ya sonofabitch."

  The Eagles' front doors flew open. Max's stomach dropped as Jello fumbled down steps, grasping his torso, lurching up the avenue with a hamburger face.

  "There a cab stand close by?"

  "Down at the pier, block an' a half. Dunno if any'll be there today though."

  Max fanned bills through the bulletproof partition. "Swoop that kid over there—take him wherever he says. If he gives you lip, tell em Max says, 'Sorry'."

  "You got it."

  He opened the door and shot behind a palm.

  The cab sidled next to Jello. Max watched him spin 'round, looking for answers. Once the taxi launched, he punched air and headed towards the pier.

  A cotton marine layer hovered the bay, reflecting soft notes of blue. Max sat on a bench, admiring glass waves, flawless till they crashed into shards. He pulled out the plane ticket and eyed the taxi stand in the distance before tearing it in two. Could get one thing right in this life.

  On the sand, fathers and sons zipped wetsuits, waxing boards for a Christmas session. The day was so young, so peaceful, so perfect; a fresh canvas for the rest of the world. Maybe it'd let him partake in the beauty? His limbs remained still, lips shut: a statue till the gods took notice. A delayed bourbon jolt washed a smile. Couldn't help it. His hand rose and caressed the smoky sea, careful not to corrupt even a derelict sailboat: the only present beneath his crooked little tree.

  *****

  Rage simmered as Jello dabbed wounds with the hack's handkerchief. Penniless, his mind raced, dodging Mindy's scornful digs, forming a plan. Sleep weighed, woozy. He was shaken from a nod, cab driver snapping fingers.

  "Don't fall asleep, guy. Got a concussion—might not wake up."

  Jello grunted.

  "Take you to the hospital?"

 
"Nah." Only one place to pull himself together. "Keep up Lincoln, turn left on Washington. Tell you where to go from there. "

  He fumbled the shop keys, bloody fingers turning each into wet goldfish. Rubbing alcohol seared every leak as he forged bandages with gauze and medical tape. Few more tokes on the one-hitter killed pain. Driblets out the ear caused minor alarm. Foster care had bludgeoned him worse.

  He rummaged station cabinets and drawers for child-friendly toys. A spectrum of fluorescent markers slid into a pocket. What about Mindy? The subconscious droned, What about her? He caught a glimpse in a mirror. Needed a fresh shirt. The merch counter only had pink girlie tees. He scanned the store, thinking. That evil Santa suit burned red hot.

  *****

  Mindy's beach cruiser skidded to a halt out in front of the apartments. The night air was crisp and mesquite. Windows down the block featured family snippets, warm and, for the most part, happy. She unfastened little Buddy from his bicycle seat and removed the giant helmet before locking their ride to a light pole. Her fingers wiped drool from Buddy's chin and adjusted his clothes. The resemblance to his father was remarkable; every glimpse, like the first time they'd met. He giggled as she lifted him toward the stars.

  The complex hadn't changed one bit: trash lined the balcony, same unit blasted Coltrane, pool still milky. Sure, mom's refrigerator was stacked and there was always a babysitter. But…she could have all this. A far door opened near the stairs. An older woman approached in a garish sweater-vest.

  "Hello, Mrs. Topalian."

  "Merry Christmas, dear." She bent down. "And how are you tonight, my cute little man?"

  Peach nails clawed Buddy's cheek. His eyebrows gave alarm.

  "On our way to visit Daddy."

  The woman huffed. "He's not been well without you, dear. Just this afternoon he came stumbling in, causing such a ruckus with all of this—well, you'll see."

  Mindy bobbed Buddy on her hip, imagining the episode. "Yes, well—I apologize. It's been hard the past few weeks."

  "Marriage isn't easy, my dear. Remember, love is always better than war."

  "Of course."