by T. C. Clover
after the genie popped out, it wasn’t ready to go home with you?” He quipped with a measure of sincerity. “Every man is just a little boy, and every little boy plays with things and forgets about them.”
“Yeah, but that man saved my life,” Litz retorted in a moment of romantic reflection.
“And that boy broke your heart,” Olso responded with a subtle warning in his voice. “Now you’re one and one, and no one can replace the other one. Do you know what you need?”
“What do I need, Oslo?” She prompted with a glow in her eyes, shedding the sadness from her face.
“You need to drink a gallon of wolf juice a day,” he joked with a throaty voice and turned over to stare at the overpass above his head. “Yep, I think a gallon of wolf juice a day would turn you into…wolf-rack.”
“Hell yes, I would lure them in with my fantastic breasts and then rip them apart like a ragdoll,” the plumber stated with an emphatic chuckle.
“Excuse me, young lady,” the man taunted in a snide fashion, “but we have manners in this household…overpass-hold. We don’t just rip our guests apart without first offering them a warm bottle of water.”
“So what is it that inspires you to rub your magic lamp, Mr. Norway?” Litz questioned in an unbridled display of audacity.
“Oh geez, well that might be embarrassing to answer,” he expressed in a sarcastic tone. “Let’s see…the sound of manufactured cheese being unwrapped…that gurgling noise a pipe makes before water comes out…and the back seat of a police car.”
“Holy romantic butt clippings, Oslo,” Litz agreed with a giggle. “Those are all things that do it for me too! Oh, my dear friend, how long has it been since we were at that boarding school? I still remember when you beat up that sixteen-year-old who tried doing naughty things to me. When all the other kids hated me, my sweet Oslo came to the rescue.”
“Well, only eighty percent of them hated you; that’s hardly a majority,” Oslo deadpanned in a dramatic tone. “Yes, my job as a school counselor was never complete until I hit one of those little sociopaths. By the way, you never paid me anything for those heroics; I’m still waiting on a check.”
“Oh, yeah, and what address should I mail that check to?” She teased with a transparent grin.
“Let’s see, you could send it to the Hudson River as the crow flies; turn left at the green dumpster – the one with the orange graffiti. Stop when you hear the ice cream truck that sells meth,” the homeless man uttered with his hands in the air as if they were gripping a steering wheel.
“Yep, and if you see a freeway sign with a pig eating a donut, then you’ve gone too far,” Litz added in a cocky tone. “You know, Oslo, I really don’t know where to go from here. I had another episode in Houston, but I was able to get some things done that were long overdue. They arrested a man with Sunset Syndrome at my hotel.”
“Just one?” He asked in a more serious manner. “Yeah, Sunset Syndrome sounds so much nicer than ‘crazy older person who can’t deal with fate and keep their mouth shut.’”
“You should’ve seen the Memorial Towers in Texas,” Litz conveyed with a somber voice. “There were more than ten black skyscrapers, each over 1,500 feet high. They cast long shadows over the city in the morning – the effect was creepy.”
“You’re creepy,” he said with a smile of deep affection. “You’re creepy, and you smell like barbecues and baby showers.”
“Yeah…baby showers – the theme for this century.” She emoted in a state of deep thought. “I love you, Mr. Norway,” the steadfast woman said as she made eye contact with her longtime friend.
“I love you too; my dear, as much as any homeless person ever loved a middle-class female plumber with a severe anxiety disorder,” he announced with a broad grin, laughing in silence at the speeding cars overhead.
Canarsie Park – Brooklyn, New York
The pale German sat with his arms folded taut against his chest on a bench in Canarsie Park. He wore black carpenter jeans and a soft white sweater with a Dallas Cowboys logo on the front. An opened bag of chocolate-covered raisins was between his legs, balanced on the faded green paint of the wooden bench. His demeanor was the epitome of exhaustion and contempt. He had never cared for American football teams, but the clothing seemed to make him more approachable.
A mother was talking on her phone with her back turned to three children that were playing in the sandbox. The German predator watched as the mother walked away from them one step at a time, opening up an opportunity. One of the children had already asked him for some chocolate, but he wasn’t able to give her any thanks to the black man.
The enraged German put his head down and placed his left palm against his forehead. He had been excited when the black man stopped coming to the park and watching him while he observed the children. But the police showed up to patrol the park every day after that, and they paid close attention to what was happening in the play areas. After over a week of watching and waiting, he was still no closer to getting his prize.
CKB glared at the German from across the play area with unflinching eyes. Stoney had asked the local police precinct to check his background, but the man’s criminal history was clean, and there were no outstanding warrants. Although the career criminal had other things to do and deadlines to meet, nothing was more important than the safety of the local children.
He had considered threatening the child predator or giving him a severe beating, but that type of punishment was often taken out on the next child. CKB knew that there were some areas where the legal system had failed, but they excelled in protecting minors from terrible people.
In his boredom, the television star tried to enjoy the small dramas that were played out in the sandbox and other areas of the park. A feisty little blonde girl had an older brother who wanted to take away her red plastic shovel, but she gave him a beat down every time he tried. Another small, rebellious Hispanic boy kept trying to get on the merry-go-round with the older kids, and his mother had to tow him away to safety.
The muscular man leaned forward over the wrought iron railing and clasped his hands together in a contrived state of amusement. As a boy growing up in poverty, Cody never got the chance to play with toys until he was twelve years old. CKB wondered how these parents would react if he told them that owning toys wasn’t possible for him until he sold enough drugs to buy them. It was a curiosity to him that clean-cut Wall Street traders were welcomed into every home, even if they were high on cocaine. However, the man who sold that trader the cocaine could not be trusted to walk past a minivan without the locks being engaged.
CKB smiled at himself and realized that he was being cynical. Those people were smart to lock their doors because he had an automatic weapon under the folds of his jacket for protection. And if his competitors decided to stage an ambush in a clean suburban neighborhood, the bullets would be indiscriminate in their lethality.
The stoic man gripped the cool iron railing in a moment of holistic reflection. He thought about the bullet wounds in his right leg and shoulder. During the party back in Houston, Stoney had told him about a few bullet wounds from action that he had seen. But most of the police officer’s ‘scar trophies’ had come from people with Sunset Syndrome, or while he was trying to prevent a suicide attempt.
CKB glanced at the toys with which the children were playing. He took in a deep breath of the warm spring air and pondered his chances of opening a custom toy store. It had been a while since he revised his business plan, but the man knew that he was close to earning the investment capital needed for a decent operation. During his downtime on various jobs, he had sketched out concept artwork for new toy designs. CKB chuckled when he thought about getting arrested with drawings of toys in his pockets. He thought it would be hilarious if the police sat him down for hours of questioning about a trampoline half-pipe.
The career cr
iminal stood up tall when he noticed that the German was giving up for the day. Cody watched the man cast a bag of chocolate-covered raisins into the grass, and he seemed to be mumbling something on his way out of the park.
“I’ll get you, dude,” CKB said to the open air of the play area while watching the stranger depart.
When the German had disappeared from the grounds, the mother put away her satellite phone and turned to check on her three children. She then displayed a devilish smile and walked toward CKB with a dutiful stare.
“Thank you for what you’re doing to help our kids,” the young blonde conveyed to CKB as she brushed back her hair in a flirtatious gesture. “Are you sure this is the best way to get him?”
“Yeah, the cops can’t do anything until he makes a move,” CKB replied with a yawn of exhaustion. “We need to catch him in the act and let the system do their thing. After he has something on his record, it will be easy to keep him away from your littles.”
“Do you want to get some coffee today?” She asked with a conspicuous wink from her gleaming blue eyes.
“That would be amazing!” He answered with a charming smile as his hands dropped off of the railing, and he started walking backward. “But I want to get this done first. Let’s keep a clear head and see if we’re a good team.” The muscular