by Mike Gomes
“Work. I was thinking you might be ready for another go around. Are you?”
“I could use some work,” replied Falau with a flat expression on his face. Picking up the pack of cigarettes from the table he tapped the side of the pack, dislodging one from the other side. As his fingers took hold of it he tried to read the expression on Tyler’s face. Was the mission easy or hard? What were they going to ask him to do?
“You know those things will kill you,” commented Tyler, looking down at his hands on the pack of cigarettes.
“You too? Seems like everyone is up my ass about smoking.”
“Maybe you should quit?”
“And give up all the stimulating conversation that comes out of it? Never!”
Tyler chuckled and leaned back in the booth. Falau could feel his eyes working their way over him, assessing if he was ready to take on a mission.
“I have a serious question for you Falau,” said Tyler, a hard edge to his voice. “I need to know how far you’re willing to go in your work. Do you just want to bring the goods back, or do you want to take care of everything? Each has its own advantages and disadvantages, but the money is significantly different.”
Falau stared hard at his old friend. The question was valid and worthy. The simple way to ask it was, “Will you kill for money?”
“That’s a big question for eleven in the morning.”
“We have some things that need taking care of and two came up that had your name on them. We just need to know where you stand at this time.”
Taking a deep breath, his eyes drifted out the window to a Lincoln town car that sat across the street in which sat two men in suits.
“Your friends are still in your hip pocket I see.”
“Don’t change the subject,” Tyler said in a firm but calm tone. “What do you want to do?’
Falau took the pack of cigarettes and tossed them to the side of the table next to the window and rubbed his face hard with his hand. “I can bring you what you need, but that’s all. I can’t go the full way for you. It’s just not in me. Is that going to be a problem? Should I be looking for a new line of work?”
“It’s no problem. We would rather know where you stand and what your position is than have you get out into the field and have to come back after an incomplete mission. Give me a week and I will make contact with you again. I need to go back to the bosses and iron out what your task will be.”
“What if I never want to go the full distance?” asked Falau, looking down at the table and not really wanting to know the answer to the question.
“If you’re good at what you do there is no problem being a specialist with us. We would rather have people that are exceptional at what they do than okay at doing numerous things. Don’t worry, we’re not going to dump you from the system. You have proven yourself to us.”
Falau’s head slowly rose and a smile crossed his face.
“You’re a good friend, Tyler. Thanks for all your help.”
Tyler slid to the edge of the seat and stood up. Reaching into his pocket he pulled out a ten-dollar bill and dropped it on the table, then placed his hand on Falau’s shoulder and looked down at him.
“No problem, man. Just be ready for something in the next week or so. Oh, and you can pick up the coffee next time.”
Falau smiled as his friend made his way out the door of the diner, causing the familiar ring of the bell positioned above it. Taking a sip from his coffee the big man again wondered what he was getting himself into. Not knowing what was coming was always the hardest part.
Chapter 3
The lights were dim even for the gritty standard of a dive bar. The whole room seemed to be a throwback to the 1970’s, trapped in a time warp where interior design had shuddered to a grinding halt. The bar was long and thin not much deeper than thirty-feet. The bar ran down one side of the room about halfway, and at the back of the room sat a few tables next to an old juke-box. All the seats were covered with imitation red leather that took on a burgundy color in the low light. The wood was all dark and as cheap as the linoleum that lay shriveled on top of the bar. A few patrons sat scattered at the bar drinking their daily fill.
“What the hell are we doing in here?” questioned the elderly black man, the years of hard living etched into his face. His eyes had lost their light and the creases in his face were long and deep. They had stories to tell, and he was normally all too willing to share them if the listener picked up the tab.
“What? How can you have a problem with this place?” Falau popped back, taking the glass of whiskey away from his lips.
“Five dollars for a whiskey and soda! You must be kidding me. We could get a whole bottle for the cost of just a few drinks here.”
Rolling his eyes Falau took a sip from his drink and placed it back on the bar. “Don’t worry about it. I’m covering the bill. Just drink up.”
“It ain’t about who’s paying. I just feel strange in a place like this. It’s all rich lookin’. What’s wrong with the stoop, anyway?”
“Grady, it’s cold out. I have the money. Let’s just live it up for a while.”
Grady gulped down the contents of his glass and banged it down on the bar, causing the few heads in the room to turn toward him. Falau lifted his hand to let the bartender know everything was fine and there would be no problem in his bar.
Grady lowered his voice and leaned into his friend, a strong smell of alcohol on his breath. “That’s another thing I don’t like. You were days away from getting kicked out of your apartment. Then you disappear for a few days. Now you have money. What the hell is that all about?”
“Well—”
Grady’s hand shot up, placing a stop sign in front of Falau. “Don’t tell me. I know it can’t be good and the last thing I need is to be an accessory after the fact.”
Letting out a soft chuckle Falau motioned to the bartender for two more glasses of whiskey.
“You think this is funny? Well I know you’re doing something that’s wrong and you mark my words you will get your ass burned by it eventually. Nobody comes up with a pocket full of cash like you did unless they’re doing something illegal!”
The bartender placed the drinks in front of the two men with a smile. “You guys okay? I don’t need any problems in my bar.”
“No problems,” interjected Grady before Falau could speak. “Just trying to talk some sense into this guy, but it won’t get out of hand.”
“That’s all I needed to hear,” said the bartender before he turned away, lifting the back of his shirt to expose a handgun Falau had already picked up on.
“Grady, I appreciate you looking out for me but trust me when I say I am not doing anything that will land me up in jail. I have things under control.”
Turning to Falau and casting a hard stare that seemed to look more through him than at him, Grady nodded his head up and down slowly. “I’ve heard a lot of guys around the hood talk like that all my life. You know what happens to all of them?”
Falau shook his head indicating no.
“They end up in the joint. I know you’re a tough guy Falau, but you’re way too good looking to do time. Don’t be stupid. Poor is much better than in jail.”
“I understand.”
“You better understand.”
Chapter 4
The door of the apartment opened with a clunk as it slapped against the wall behind it. Falau staggered through the door doing the walk of the drunken man, just as he had so many times before. His eyes scanned over the apartment with disgust. He preferred to drink his money rather than spend it on furniture or a better place to live.
The apartment was one of many in the brownstone buildings that sat on Massachusetts Avenue in Boston, Massachusetts. The apartment consisted of one room with a bathroom attached. A small kitchen sat at one side of the room, and at the other end was a mattress on the floor, a lamp without a shade next to it, and a tattered sofa covered by a sheet. The carpet was worn down. The old TV sat o
n an egg crate. A mismatched coffee table held a few old magazines, an overflowing ashtray, and a box of 9mm bullets.
Stumbling across the room his coat dropped from his shoulders to the floor. Reaching the far side of the room, standing on his mattress he pulled the window open to let in some fresh air. Wiggling himself onto the windowsill he felt safe from falling due to the fire escape that protected him.
Looking down at the street through half-closed eyes the big man fought the desire to let his mind wander. Nothing good could come from that, only a whole lot of bad.
Taking a cigarette from the pack in his pocket he cupped his hands and lit the tip, taking a long slow drag. A few gang members ran up the street as the sounds of police sirens echoed off far away buildings. Falau knew there was no way the cops would ever catch the kids with that much of a lead and a far more intimate knowledge of the back allies and buildings than the police would ever have.
Taking the cigarette from his mouth he held it in front of him. “Weakness,” he whispered to himself. “If I can’t stop doing this, how can I do anything?”
The familiar flow of depression and emotional self-abuse started again. Sweat began to bead on his neck. The pattern was all too clear and the big man braced himself for what was about to come.
His head started to throb and flashing images started to reverberate in his mind. The flashbacks had haunted him for years and tonight was another night he would have to grit his teeth and bear the torture of his past.
Shaking his head rapidly he banged it back hard against the window frame in an effort to stop the images and sounds from infiltrating his mind. Flicking the cigarette out the window to the ground below Falau fell back into the room onto his bed.
A sharp flash raced across his mind of a woman’s face. Her eyes were soft and her hair was long. She smiled gently at him, causing him to feel warm and content. Without warning blood started to drip down from her hairline, causing long red streaks over her face. Her eyes went blank and lifeless.
Falau’s body jerked hard in his bed knocking over the lamp. As the flashbacks escalated they always got longer and more intense. Despite having no control of the images and sounds in his head, Falau was aware of what was happening to him but he was helpless to stop it.
A woman leaned against the passenger side door inside a car, smiling across to him. The radio was distant and soft. Leaning forward she hugged him and whispered in his ear. It was all perfect as she leaned back into her spot against the door. The light turned green and they pulled into the intersection. Turning to look at the young beauty he knew was far above his station, he caught a glimpse of the pickup truck out the passenger side window over her shoulder. No time to yell. No time to warn her. No time to brace himself. The grill of the pickup truck impacted the car where the front and back doors met on the passenger side, causing the woman to lurch across the car, her head colliding with a crunch against the steering wheel, her hair wrapping around it before she recoiled backward.
Falau gasped for air as he thrashed in his bed. Another image flashed in front of his eyes of the bloody lifeless face saying, “You killed me. It’s your fault.” Her face started to melt with the rush of blood that flowed from her wounds all over her body and her eyes turned a cold hard gray. “Why? Why did you do this to me?” she whispered without any movement of her mouth.
Falau’s eyes burst open as he tried to control his breathing through the tears and fear that were overcoming him. Reaching out to find the woman, all his hands found was emptiness.
“No. Come back,” he spat out through his labored breathing, his heart rate not slowing and his body feeling like it had just been in the accident that surged through his mind. “I need you.”
Rolling to the side the big man punched hard down on his pillow, pounding it several times to let out at least some of his frustration.
“You killed me,” whispered a voice in the back of his head, letting him know that the flashbacks could come back at any time.
Grabbing the half-drunk bottle of whiskey from the floor next to his bed he downed four big mouthfuls without removing his lips from the bottle. If drinking himself unconscious would keep the demons away he was willing to try it. Again, he brought the bottle up to his mouth but this time the tears fell harder and with more emotion of sadness than fear. He sipped the whiskey in a long-fought battle over his emotions and the flashbacks. He was not willing to go back to that hell again tonight.
Finishing the remainder of the bottle in one long gulp, he fell onto his face on the bed and wept uncontrollably, whispering, “Please stop. I’m sorry. Please. Please stop. I’m so sorry.”
Chapter 5
The morning sun broke through the window and shone onto Falau’s eyelids, causing him to roll over and bury his head in the pillow. The spent whiskey bottle fell to the floor with a clanking sound and rolled a few feet away.
A long, steady groan came from the man who dreaded to open his eyes. The pounding in his head was a direct result of the amount of whiskey he’d drunk. His body ached and reminded him of his limitations with alcohol. Even for a seasoned drinker he pushed the bounds of consumption in a furious attempt to control his mind. Now his body was paying him back for what he had put it through.
Knock Knock Knock!
The infernal sound split through his head. Who could be so careless to pound on my door at this time of the morning, thought the big man. Cracking his eyes to see his alarm clock he saw the time was 11:22 am. Purging air between his lips they flapped, and he grunted as he pulled himself into a sitting position in no rush to find out who was at the door.
Knock. Knock Knock.
“I know you’re in there,” chimed the familiar teasing voice of Tyler.
“Hold on!” Falau called back, feeling every word cut through his head like a knife. Of all the people he knew, Tyler was the last one he wanted to see while in this condition. Shuffling to the door he grabbed a bottle of water off the coffee table and took a sip, hoping to calm the nauseous feeling that had overcome him since the time he’d stood up.
“I can smell the booze on you from out here,” snapped Tyler with little sympathy in his voice.
Falau undid the lock and opened the door to a well put together Tyler standing on the threshold. “Well you have an extraordinary nose, because I haven’t had a drink since last night.”
“Still drinking? Don’t you think it’s time to get your shit together with that?”
Placing a cigarette in his mouth Falau sat down on the sofa and pulled the sheet off the back. “First cigarettes, now booze? What are you, the fun police?”
“How fun can it be if it’s killing you?”
“A lot of fun. Next thing you know you’re going to be telling me what to eat. You did your friend thing so you can just back off and not feel guilty when I go down the hole.”
“Sorry friend, but you’re not going down in the hole for another sixty years, and if I have to be on your ass for all sixty years I will be. Consider me not just a friend, but a mother!”
Choking on the cigarette due to laughing from Tyler’s joke, Falau nodded his head up and down in agreement. “I know I have to knock some of this stuff off, but there’s a lot going on that makes it hard.”
“Jennifer?”
Instantly Falau’s jaw tightened and his lips curled hard. Forcing the cigarette into his mouth he took a long draw and looked at the floor before exhaling. Anger filled his body and mind.
“How do you know about Jennifer?”
“We know everything. You know that.”
“You have no right to know about her.”
“We were not looking for her. She came up during the normal research when they were seeing if you would be good to work with. I can assure you that you have all of our sympathies.”
Leaning back against the sofa and letting the ash drop from his cigarette without regard for where it landed, he shot Tyler a stern and hard look. But it seemed to have no effect on the calm and cool professional.
“I don’t want to talk about that.”
“Understood. I’m here on business anyway. I have a job for you.”
The anger drifted away and a smile replaced the hardness on Falau’s face. A job meant money, and also meant Tyler still believed in him despite what he looked like this morning.
“Good. Sit down and tell me about it.”
“No thanks... I don’t want to stick to anything,” Tyler said sarcastically.
Letting out a loud laugh that echoed through his head, the hung-over Falau enjoyed the sharp teasing from his friend. He watched as Tyler’s eyes ran over the apartment like it had done in the past. The look on his face was not one of amusement; it was more like frustration. Tyler had his life together and Falau did not. Falau was living like he had nothing to live for, and Tyler was living the life of a man who had everything for which to live. Yet, when they were younger it was Falau who lead the way and Tyler followed. How could two men who started in the same place end up in such different places? thought Falau.
“You sure you want me for the job?” Falau asked with total seriousness in his voice. “I know I’m not the guy you hoped I would be. I’m not sure why you even put up with me. You’re risking a lot to give me any kind of job. Why?”
“I believe in you. I know what you’re capable of. I know when the chips are down that you will do everything in your power to get a job done right. I know the last thing you want is to let me down. Basically, you’re a good guy with an amazing skill set.”
Tyler turned and walked across the room and looked out the window at the people below and shook his head. “You’re not like them. It’s Tuesday morning at 11:00am and nobody is at work. Yet I saw five places on Massachusetts Ave looking for help.” Pointing out the window Tyler raised his voice. “They have been beaten down. They have given up, thinking they don’t have a chance to get out. But that’s not you. You’re just stuck in the past.”