Ragged Company

by Richard Wagamese

  “Send me an invoice. Make it itemized. I’ll run it by my friends at the liquor board, make sure it checks out, and we’ll see what we can do,” James said.

  “Itemized? Fuck. Come on, man. Granite? Hey, man. How about a little for old Ray? Digger would.”

  I shook my head. “Sorry, Ray.”

  “I’ll throw in a peeler,” he said. “You ever had a peeler, Granite? Good friggin’ toss. Best rattle you’ll ever have, I guarantee it.”

  “I don’t think so, Ray. I’ll see you later.”

  We walked back toward the car. Ray stepped out onto the sidewalk and yelled after us.

  “You can’t change ’em, ya know. You can’t. Rounder’s a rounder. Always will be. That fucking money’ll be gone, Granite. Gone. You’ll see.”

  “Jesus,” James said when we got into the car. “With friends like that, who needs enemas?”

  I smirked. “Right. Now what?”

  “Back to the ladies, I suppose. You have any ideas?”

  “None. It’s a big town. That’s a lot of money. If they can do this, they’re starting to get an idea of what they have in their hands now. That scares me.”

  “Yes,” James said. “There’re an awful lot of Rays out there.”

  “And a hell of a lot of holes.”

  “What?”

  “Nothing,” I said, and drove hard across the city.

  One For The Dead

  MY LITTLE BROTHER Harley. While I sat there in that strange hotel room waiting to hear from Granite and James, it was my little brother Harley who came to me. Oh, I didn’t see him. At least, not really. He came as a shadow person, hovering behind me when I looked in the mirror. Just a wave, a motion, a wrinkle in the light, but I knew it was him. I felt him. And I knew where the boys were. Just like that.

  “They walked home,” I said to Margo.

  “Pardon me?” she replied.

  “The boys,” I said with a small smile. “They walked home. They walked back to what they knew.”

  “And that would be where, exactly?”

  “Dick’s digs,” I said. “They’ll be at the warehouse where Dick sleeps.”

  “Slept,” she said.

  “Yes. Slept. But they’re there.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Yes. They’ll want a fire. They’ll want that shelter.”

  When Granite and James returned, Margo told them what I knew. They actually didn’t seem surprised, and since I was so convinced they settled into chairs to rest and have a coffee before we went to pick the boys up.

  “So if Dick stayed in a deserted warehouse prior to this, where did you stay?” James asked.

  “Oh, never in one place. Not like the boys. They found one place where they felt comfortable at night and went there for years. I moved around a lot.”

  “Like where, Amelia?” Margo asked.

  “Well, you have to be safe and you have to be warm. Especially if you’re a woman. There’s air grates all over downtown behind office buildings and such and there’s back doorways in alleys away from the wind. But I always tried to stay near the people. One winter, a big bunch of us slept together under a bridge. Kept each other safe. Made runs for food for each other, runs for booze if someone was real sick. Another time we found a boarded-up house and stayed there for a year and a half until the city finally got around to tearing it down. There’s always places.”

  “Always holes,” Granite said.

  “Yes,” I said, and patted his arm.

  “You never wanted to come inside? Have a room somewhere? A place of your own?” James asked.

  He was a good man. Gentle but strong. My people would have called him a warrior. “No,” I said. “I tried that. But I never ever found a place that wasn’t filled with stories, with history, with voices from the past.”

  Granite stared at me intently as I spoke.

  “I could hear them. The stories of the people that used to live there. The stories of the lives that were created there, and they always kinda conjured up the voices from my own life and I couldn’t bear to hear them anymore. At least, then I couldn’t.”

  “Ghosts?” James asked.

  “Not really. Just shadowed voices, shadowed memory, shadowed people.”

  “Do you still hear them?” Granite asked.

  “Sometimes. When I’m someplace strong. Someplace where someone’s life changed too quickly, where something was lost. I can hear them then, but most times I just get a sense of them being around us.”

  “Psychic,” James said.

  “No. Just aware,” Margo said.

  “Yes,” I said. “Aware is a good word.”

  Granite nodded solemnly. “I believe you,” he said. “I used to have the same sort of experience.”

  “Used to?” I asked.

  “Yes.” He looked at me with a weary, looking-back-too-long-and-too-far kind of look. “Used to.”

  “And this is how you know where the boys are?” James asked.

  “Yes.”

  “That’s good enough for me,” Margo said. “We should go, then.”

  Margo and I drove with Granite while James followed in his car. I watched as the city changed block by block. We moved from the neat, wide avenues, through the glass and gloss of the office district, and on into the darkness of the warehouse area. It took me a while to get my bearings because I’d only ever walked to Dick’s digs, but I sorted it out eventually. We turned the corner onto the road we were looking for and I immediately felt panic. It got even more severe when we pulled in behind the warehouse. There were three other cars parked back there. Three cars at a deserted building wasn’t a good sign, and as we walked toward the boarded-up door we could hear laughter and see the flicker of fire high against the roof.

  I pushed the door open and began to lead the others through the rabbit warren of things that Dick had piled up to make the place secure, to keep the light hidden. As we got closer to the centre where he had his fire, I could hear rowdy, drunken laughter, the clink of glass, and women’s voices.

  “Yeah, baby,” Digger was saying. “That’s right, that’s right.”

  When we stepped into the lighted area I couldn’t believe my eyes. Digger sat on a pile of pallets with a crock of whisky in one hand while three women danced and moved around him, reaching out to touch and grab and rub him. They were naked or close to it. He was flipping money in the air while they bumped and grinded around him. He wore headphones that were connected to some kind of music player that sat on the pallet beside him. The box it came in had been tossed on the ground at his feet.

  On the other side of the fire, Timber was laid out on another pile of pallets where another barely dressed young woman massaged his temples and rubbed his chest. An empty whisky bottle lolled on the ground beside him.

  Dick sat a few feet away with a stunned look on his face while two more women danced around him. He was on the ground and his head was rolling from side to side, spit showing at the corners of his mouth. As we watched, he leaned slowly to one side and passed out on the women’s feet. They just laughed, picked up a handful of money off the ground, and moved toward the fire.

  Three men sat there drinking and smoking cigars. There was a case of whisky and empty pizza boxes on the ground with loose bills everywhere.

  Digger leaned his head back to take a swallow from his bottle and saw us at the edge of the light. His eyes popped open in surprise and he tugged the headphones from his head and scrambled to stand up. But he lost his balance and sprawled in the dirt. The women laughed.

  “Shit,” he grumbled and stood up. The whisky had spilled and drenched his new pants and he stood there muddy and confused. “How’d joo know we’s here?” he asked, swaying.

  “Digger,” I said softly and moved toward him.

  Margo crossed over to where Dick lay and tucked his coat under his head.

  “Fuckin’ party’s goan good,” he said to me with a lopsided grin. “More the merrier, ya know?”

  Granite
had moved to Timber. “He’s out,” he said, looking over at the two of us.

  “Friggin’ wusses,” Digger said. “Fin’lly can party like we mean it and they pass the fuck out. Hey, Rock! Lookit all the tits!”

  The women had gathered around the men at the fire, who stood to face us. They were big and mean-looking.

  “Friends of yours, Digger?” one asked.

  “Huh?” Digger said and reeled around to look at him.

  “Thought we were partyin’ in private here? Reason we left the bar so we could come here and have our own gig. What’s this?”

  “Friends,” Digger said. “Friends. Little friggin’ straight, maybe, but they’re okay.”

  “We have to go, Digger,” I said.

  “Hey, hey, he’s not goin’ nowhere,” one of the other men said, and the three of them separated to stand a few feet apart facing us. “This is our party. We say what goes. We say who comes and we say who goes.”

  “And we’re sayin’ that you’re goin’,” the third man said, putting a hand inside his jacket as a warning.

  The women moved behind the men and stood there nervously, looking like they’d want to be anywhere in the world right now other than where they were. Dick groaned and Margo tucked the coat under his head a little snugger.

  “No,” Granite said, stepping away from Timber and closer to the men by the fire. “I think we’ll be leaving. All of us.”

  “I think not, pal,” the first man said. “We’re owed a little scratch here and I don’t figure anyone’s making a move until we get it.”

  “How much are you owed?” James asked, taking a step closer too. “Margo, Dick’s fine for now. Come over here behind me.”

  Margo moved to stand with me behind James.

  “My name’s James Merton. I’m a lawyer. These people you’re partying with are my clients and I think it’s time we left.”

  “I don’t give a flying fuck who you are, pal,” number two said. “There’s a bill here needs payin’. You make one move at takin’ these guys out of here, well, it ain’t gonna be the prettiest sight those ladies have seen.”

  Digger shook his head to clear it and moved to stand beside James.

  “Fuck you sayin’?” he asked the men.

  “We’re sayin’ you owe us for the girls, for the dancing. You owe us for our time too,” the first man said.

  “Owe?” Digger asked. “Owe? Who friggin’ owes? We’re partyin’ here.” He shook his head again and cricked his neck a few times.

  “You’re the one doin’ all the fucking partyin’,” number three said. “We’re sitting around waiting for you to get your stones off so we can get the fuck out. Party? With you? Here? You’re just a buncha fucking stumblebums who got a lucky break. Sure, you’re dressed up and cleaned up but you’re still a buncha fucking losers. Losers who owe us. Owe us big.”

  “We get what we’re owed or we bust heads,” number one said.

  “Stumblebums?” Digger asked. “Stumblebums?”

  “How much are we talking about here?” James asked.

  “Well, two hours of the girls’ time, times six, two hours of our time, times three. Let’s call it even at five,” number two said.

  “Five hunnerd? What about all this?” Digger asked, pointing at the money on the ground.

  “That’s tips. And it ain’t five hundred, stumblebum. It’s five thousand,” number three said.

  “There’s that fuckin’ word again,” Digger said. “I didn’t much like it the first time, pal. Jimbo, we gotta pay these fuckin’ guys?”

  “No,” James said flatly. “No, we don’t.”

  “You better,” number one said.

  “Or?” Digger asked.

  “Or you’ll be in a shitstorm like you never seen.”

  Digger looked at me and grinned. I could see the rounder in him then, see it through the booze, and I knew he’d stepped beyond the drunkenness. “Gee,” he said playfully. “I’m not sure I like your tone, pal.”

  “What?” the third man said.

  “You heard me. You want five grand from me, you gotta ask nice.”

  “Fuck you.”

  “That’s not asking nice.” Digger stepped toward him. James and Granite moved with him, keeping their eyes on the other two men. “Come here, man. I got it in my pocket.”

  The man stepped over to Digger, who reached into the pocket of his wet pants. He was taller than Digger by three or four inches and a lot heavier, and he sneered at him. He crossed his arms and rocked a little on the balls of his feet, which he spread while he waited. I knew what was coming. Digger rummaged around in his pocket, stepping closer to the big man while he did so. Then, when he’d gotten close enough, he dropped quickly to one knee and drove a fist straight into the man’s crotch. Hard. Hard enough to lift him an inch or so off his feet. It was called the Mashed Potato on the street. The man screamed and dropped to his knees in front of Digger, who slapped his hands over the man’s ears and then pulled the man’s head hard into his bent knee. After that, the man lay on the ground unmoving.

  “Next?” Digger said.

  The other two men suddenly realized they were outnumbered. “Hey, hey, Digger. No need to get nasty. We were just joking around. It’s a party, right?” number one said.

  Digger shook his head slowly. Then, as he moved closer to them, he tilted his head back and sniffed the air. “Smell that?” he asked.

  “Smell what?” the second man replied.

  “Smells kinda like a shitstorm to me. Or maybe that’s just you.”

  “Digger, that’s enough,” James said. “Now I think you guys should take your women friends, drag your buddy out of here, and get lost. Or my associate Ms. Keane will call 911 on her cellular phone and you can maybe explain the pimping, the assault, and the threats to the police.”

  “Okay, okay, we’re out of here. But he still owes us,” number one said.

  “Pick it up,” Digger said.

  “What?” the man asked.

  “Pick it up. The loot. On the ground. All of you. Get down on your fucking knees and pick it up. Take it with you. It’s yours, but you gotta pick it up.”

  They scrambled about for a minute or two grabbing handfuls of bills off the ground. When they’d gotten all of it they picked up the third man, who was conscious but groaning, and headed out of the warehouse. Digger collapsed onto the pile of pallets.

  “Fuck me,” was all he said before passing out.

  Digger

  DICK WOULDN’T WAKE UP. He just wouldn’t fucking come out of it. The four of them that wasn’t into the party thing that night got us back to the hotel. Me, I got it together after a few minutes. Drunker’n a bastard, but I walked out. Timber came to enough to make it to the car if he leaned on Granite. But they had to carry Dick out. Toted him out and propped him in the back of Granite’s car between Margo and the old lady. He never friggin’ moved all the way back. When we got to the hotel the guys at the door helped get Dick to his room, and even when Margo wiped his face with a cold cloth he never friggin’ moved. It was like he was dead. Dead. That sobered me up fast.

  He never came out of it that night. We took him to the hospital in the morning and he never came out of it most of the next day. The doctor told us he was in some kind of coma from drinking too much too fast. We belted ’em back pretty good at the Palace. All the music and the excitement, the girls, made it easy to just roar into partying, and I never seen how much anyone was drinking. Never watched before. Never mattered. Then when we got to the warehouse with those three goons who offered us the girls and the private party, I knew we was drinking it up real good but it never mattered to me then. Fuck. The three of us have been on some wild friggin’ binges in our time and Dick could always keep it up for a good while just like us. He was a rounder, for Christ’s sake. He wasn’t no stumblebum drunk like the fucking goon called us. We drank, sure, but we knew when was enough, we knew when we needed to lay out, get off the street, sleep it off, just like we knew that
we was gonna need a slurp or two when we woke up to take the shakes and the sick away. We knew all that and we took care of it. We took care of each other. When one of us didn’t have it in the morning and we was sick, the other’d give us what we needed to keep on going. But this? This was something fucking weird. Far as I could see we didn’t have more’n we had other times when we was partying with Fill ’er Up Phil.

  Dick poisoned himself. He wasn’t used to drinking so much anymore, and when we partied like we used to he drank too much too fast and his brain and his body couldn’t hold up. I did that to him. Me. If I hadn’t gone all fucking crazy and got the party going at the Palace he wouldn’t have been laid up in that hospital bed with tubes in his mouth and some fucking machine beep-beeping away with green lights showing his fucking heartbeats. If I had just walked out and away like they wanted me to when they showed up at the Palace, we’da been okay. But no. Me, I hadta make them stay. Me, I hadta challenge ’em. Call ’em pussies, Square Johns in training, loogans. Me. Fuck.

  All that night he was out. No one could tell us when he’d wake up, if ever. Alcoholic coma, they said. No way to tell. If ever. Fuck me. If ever. Two little words but they were huge motherfuckers. Huge. I stood around his bed with the rest of them, looking at him and feeling helpless. Helpless and guilty. I felt like they could see it on my face. Like they could feel it coming off my friggin’ body and I hadta get out of there. Couldn’t stand looking at the people I called my friends. Couldn’t stand looking at Dick. My winger. My backup. My pal.

  I wound up sitting in the chapel all alone. Well, except for the bottle in my pocket. I sat there drinking, looking up at the little cross on the front wall, wondering how the fuck any kind of God could let this happen to a guy like Dick. He was slow, and that bugged me at times, but he never had a hard word for anyone. Never did nothing to me but be there. Always. Tall, skinny fucker with the biggest friggin’ feet I ever seen. Fuck. I sat there a long time, thinking about all the days and nights we prowled the street together. There was some hard times. Tough times. Times that no one but a rounder coulda seen his way through, and Dick seen ’em through. Seen ’em through and never once whined or snivelled like a lot of them do. He was a rounder. A good rounder.