Stumbling Through
Page 13
“Did you owe him?” I asked.
“Fuck, I don’t remember. Maybe, I guess so, I don’t know.”
I looked at Chula. “Were you here when this shit went down?”
“No man, I been going through these changes with the baby news. I didn’t even see the thing was gone.”
I reached over and grabbed JoJo. “Do those assholes still live in that shit hole off of Ridge?”
He nodded. “I’ll be back in awhile, you guys stay here and we can figure out what to do about Chula and the baby later.”
It was only a 4 block walk to Sparkie’s place. The streets were empty. The sun was just starting to show up and the air was heavy with humidity. I was clammy and felt like shit. I got to Sparkie’s building and climbed up to the second floor. I banged on the door. There were always a few junkies hanging around and, sure enough, Downer Debbie opened the door a crack and peeked out. She was a skinny, dope ravaged teen-ager and stunk worse than I did. She was pitiful but mean as a snake.
“Hey, Jackie.” she said through her pasty colored mess of a face. “You got any change, some dope? I’ll blow ya’ for a hit. Come on, do me some good.”
I pushed her away and stepped inside, closing the door behind me. “I wouldn’t let you blow my dog, bitch. Where the fuck is Sparkie?”
“Aw, man,” she moaned, slumping against the wall. “He’s in the back bedroom.”
I pushed by her and went to the back of the apartment. Sparkie, a skinny, ugly little piece of shit, was on the floor in his underwear watching my TV and picking at his feet.
He looked up but said nothing. “Hey, fuck face,” I said. “What’s the deal with copping my TV?”
He reached behind him and pulled out a huge Bowie knife. “Ask your partner, JoJo. He wants to play but he don’t want to pay.”
“Yeah, well, that ain’t my problem. But that is my TV and I’m taking it back”
I reached down to unplug the TV and he came off the floor holding the huge knife in front of him. “You leave that thing be or I’ll cut you, motherfucker.”
We were about 3 feet apart. His junkie hands were shaking. I reached behind me and pulled out my Colt. I cocked the hammer and aimed it at his forehead. “Be my guest, you cheap shit asshole. Now put that knife down and get back on the floor where you belong before I blow your fucking brains all over the wall.”
“Holy shit, Jackie,” he said as he lowered the knife and slid back to the floor. “Fuck, man, I was only screwin’ around. Just tell JoJo he owes me some cash.”
“Yeah, fuck you and your cash. I ever see you near my place or hear you been near there I will come back here and put a bullet in your head. Stay away from Jo-Jo. You hear me?” He nodded his head. I unplugged the TV, picked it up and left for home. I had to step over a passed out Debbie in the hallway.
It was an ugly end to an ugly 24 hours. I got home, got undressed and took a shower. I joined JoJo and Chula in bed. It would be the last time the three of us slept together.
I managed to get Chula the money for the abortion and she went home to her mothers on the west side. JoJo was in bad shape from the junk. I took him to his sisters place. She sent him back home to his folks in downstate Illinois to try and straighten out. After years of running together and living for the next kick I realized it was time for a change. I had a lot of friends in the movie business so I dumped everything and headed west.
I was in L.A. for awhile when I learned that JoJo decided to stay at home. I tried to call but his Mom said he would not talk to me. Chula had the abortion and went to Puerto Rico to stay with an aunt. In the end we never saw each other again. Strange how people can be so close for years and then suddenly it’s over.
That was then, this is now. I am left with nothing but a lot of powerful memories, memories so strong that sometimes they wake me in the middle of the night and I swear I can smell and feel my old friends. If I try hard enough I can still taste their lips and remember the sheer joy we had felt at being alive, a joy that propelled us at breakneck speed down those trash- filled Chicago streets.
The patch of sky I can see is now a rich multi-hued range of colors. The dry desert air fills my lungs. Full of nostalgia and sadness and yet still glad to be alive to witness, once again, nature’s glories. And yet, and yet….
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Steve Shadow is the pen name of Steven Schwartz. Hunkered down in the deep Southwest he is a poet, book reviewer and writer of 3 previous books. You can follow him at www.steveshadow.com