Feast of Shadows, #1

by Rick Wayne

  Three more homeless men approached, normal-looking if disheveled and lean, and the odd fellows dispersed without a sound, save one. The dark-skinned fellow was flipping through his magazine, grinning widely and burping between laughs, as if he’d gotten drunk off popcorn. He had his back to the interlopers, who approached from the far side of the trellis, and didn’t see or hear them coming until they were on him. The lead man wore an army jacket and had a great bushy beard. He immediately began beating on the little guy, who shrieked and curled into a ball, like a pill bug.

  “Hey!” I called.

  The men saw me walking toward them, all five feet of me, and went back to molesting their victim. They took turns, and whoever wasn’t throwing an awkward punch or kick was stuffing rolled porn mags into his pockets.

  “Hey!” I yelled again. “Leave him alone!”

  “Mind your own business,” the bushy man yelled. He was wrinkled and missing a number of teeth.

  “Cerise . . .” Kell lagged behind, urging me to leave.

  I picked up a broken chair leg and held it like a bat. “I said, leave him alone. He didn’t do anything to you!”

  “They steal our shoes!” the toothless man said.

  “They come in the night,” added another, “and take our food. Our blankets. They’re vermin!”

  With the men distracted, the little guy bolted. He was fast. He got up and away before anyone could react. All we could do was watch him go. The three men turned to me. They were not happy.

  “You don’t belong here, Chun-King.” Bushy man licked his lips. “You should go home.”

  “What did you call me?”

  “You heard me, slant-eye.”

  I whacked him in the groin and he went down hard, his mouth like a blow hole. The others stepped back and looked at each other in surprise. The guy in the camo jacket struggled to his feet, his face red with fury. Bits of spittle flew from his lips, and I could tell he was not of sound mind. He looked like he legit wanted to tear me apart.

  “Shit.” I braced myself.

  A mist flew over my head. Bits of white foam gathered about the first guy’s eyes. He squinted and screamed and fell to the pavement. I turned. Kell had sprayed him with mace from her purse. The others held up their hands and backed away. Kell grabbed me and pulled me up. We were out of there in no time. When we rounded the corner, she hit me in the arm three times.

  We headed to Coney and got a room at a cheap motor inn near the boardwalk. It had a single queen bed and brown curtains and we showered and relaxed and tried to forget that we had just maced a homeless man after assaulting his balls. We hit the boardwalk just as it was getting dark. I tried to win this giant blue bunny but failed miserably. I ate my first funnel cake ever while Kell flirted with the carny and got it for me anyway. We called it Mr. Fluffers and decided he was a former cartoon star who now worked off-camera in the adult film industry getting the male performers ready for action.

  On the one hand, it was all so totally like her. All of it. Showing up out of nowhere. The mysterious wad of cash. Her trademark random acts of chaos. On the other, there was a strange air of finality to it, as if this was going to be her last party, so she was going to make the most of it. It wouldn’t be the biggest. It wouldn’t be the craziest. But it was the last, so it had to mean something.

  We stayed up almost till dawn. She honored her promise not to drink or smoke, although I could tell she was struggling with it. We sucked the cherries and syrup from the centers of five boxes of cordials and got a sugar high and jumped on the bed and I laughed more than I had in a long time and I remembered why everyone always wanted to hang out with her and why I was always so proud that, of all the people she knew, I was her best friend.