10:25AM, Friday, July 9, 2010
How was your convo with em?
10:25AM, Friday, July 9, 2010
Easy-peasy lemon squeezy.
10:26AM, Friday, July 9, 2010
U think we can relax?
10:26AM, Friday, July 9, 2010
Yes. This'll be the last of it.
10:27AM, Friday, July 9, 2010
Any further contact?
9:01PM, Tuesday, July 13, 2010
Not a peep
9:01PM, Tuesday, July 13, 2010
Great news.
9:01PM, Tuesday, July 13, 2010
You?
9:02PM, Tuesday, July 13, 2010
Radio silence.
9:03PM, Tuesday, July 13, 2010
Hell yeah. Think we're good?
9:03PM, Tuesday, July 13, 2010
I think we're aces.
9:05PM, Tuesday, July 13, 2010
GOLDEN, WHAT THE
FUCK!!!!!
4:42PM, Thursday, July 15, 2010
Chill. What's the matter?
4:42PM, Thursday, July 15, 2010
FUCKING COPS CAME
AROUND AGAIN!!!!
4:42PM, Thursday, July 15, 2010
Careful with those exclamation points. You'll put someone's eye out.
4:43PM, Thursday, July 15, 2010
WAS A DIFFERENT PAIR
OF DETECTIVES
A NEW PAIR.
CAME TO MY WORK.
4:43PM, Thursday, July 15, 2010
Calm your ass down, Teo. Pop a Xanax and count to ten.
4:45PM, Thursday, July 15, 2010
Now tell me what happened.
4:46PM, Thursday, July 15, 2010
They're asking about some
whole different thing
4:46PM, Thursday, July 15, 2010
What, exactly?
4:47PM, Thursday, July 15, 2010
They're wanting to know about
some guy who was shot in
K-Town a couple weeks back.
That Thursday the 2nd. They're
wanting to know about you and
this guy.
4:48PM, Thursday, July 15, 2010
Except you toed the line, am I right?
4:48PM, Thursday, July 15, 2010
Yeah but I had to give them
more details of our story.
4:49PM, Thursday, July 15, 2010
But you sold it?
4:50PM, Thursday, July 15, 2010
Pretty sure. But who's this
guy that was shot??
4:50PM, Thursday, July 15, 2010
Don't worry about him.
4:53PM, Thursday, July 15, 2010
DID YOU KILL SOME
DUDE?
4:53PM, Thursday, July 15, 2010
Don't ask for particulars. Ignorance is your friend.
4:56PM, Thursday, July 15, 2010
BUT THAT WAS THE
SAME NIGHT AS
QUANTANA!
4:56PM, Thursday, July 15, 2010
Sorry you had to learn like this.
4:58PM, Thursday, July 15, 2010
Sorry you had to learn at all, in fact.
4:59PM, Thursday, July 15, 2010
But thanks for sticking by our story. It's saving my ass too now.
5:01PM, Thursday, July 15, 2010
Have you been using me this
whole time?
5:05PM, Thursday, July 15, 2010
Actually, it was YOU that inspired me. Maybe I had been chewing on the intention for some time, but it was the clang of your big brass balls that got me jonesing for action.
5:08PM, Thursday, July 15, 2010
How could you not square up
with me?
5:09PM, Thursday, July 15, 2010
Because if you'd known how completely you were fibbing to the cops, you probably wouldn't have carried it off so well.
5:10PM, Thursday, July 15, 2010
YOU LIED TO MY FACE
5:10PM, Thursday, July 15, 2010
I've never seen your face. How could I lie to it?
5:11PM, Thursday, July 15, 2010
Look, we helped each other.
5:11PM, Thursday, July 15, 2010
YOU WERE USING ME
5:11PM, Thursday, July 15, 2010
Call it a scratching of backs. Two birds, one stone.
5:13PM, Thursday, July 15, 2010
Oh, and check your bank account. You'll find the payment returned.
5:13PM, Thursday, July 15, 2010
You made a deposit to my bank
account?
5:13PM, Thursday, July 15, 2010
A refund.
5:16PM, Thursday, July 15, 2010
How did you get my info?
5:16PM, Thursday, July 15, 2010
Toldja I do my research.
5:16PM, Thursday, July 15, 2010
Who is this guy that got shot?
At least tell me that
5:24PM, Thursday, July 15, 2010
As a wise six-packer once said, "Some wrongs need righting." And you know what? He was correct on that.
5:25PM, Thursday, July 15, 2010
Quit being cute
5:25PM, Thursday, July 15, 2010
I'm serious. We're bound to each other, Teo. From now on. We're bound to the alibi.
5:26PM, Thursday, July 15, 2010
I'm not bound to shit! I might
even go to the cops and tell
them everything!
5:26PM, Thursday, July 15, 2010
Problem is, you don't know all that much. Those photos you saw on Fleshr, they aren't even me. I pulled them off some dude's Instagram. Shoot, my name isn't even Golden.
5:27PM, Thursday, July 15, 2010
Plus, you can't give me up without giving up yourself. How would your mother bear it? Watching her son do hard time.
5:28PM, Thursday, July 15, 2010
But who knows? Maybe you're ACTUALLY that stupid, which is why I'll be hanging onto this phone, these messages. Like I told you, they're my insurance policy.
5:30PM, Thursday, July 15, 2010
Again, I apologize for the surprise. But it's all done now. For both of us. Just as long as we stick to the story.
5:32PM, Thursday, July 15, 2010
I want a meet up
5:36PM, Thursday, July 15, 2010
That's a no. Didn't I say so from the start?
5:36PM, Thursday, July 15, 2010
I'm not fooling man I wanna
talk face-to-face
5:42PM, Thursday, July 15, 2010
So long, Teo.
5:45PM, Thursday, July 15, 2010
warning you bro
don't try and cut me off.
5:45PM, Thursday, July 15, 2010
Golden I'm serious. We need
to chat
5:49PM, Thursday, July 15, 2010
Golden
5:52PM, Thursday, July 15, 2010
Golden!
Delivery failed
GOLDEN!!!
Delivery failed
[YOUR MESSAGES CANNOT BE
DELIVERED. THE WIRELESS NUMBER
YOU ARE TRYING TO REACH IS NO
LONGER IN SERVICE. PLEASE
CONTACT YOUR PROVIDER FOR
FURTHER ASSISTANCE.]
Assisted Living
by CT McNeely
I don't really know how he went, but I know it must have been bad because the casket is closed. They say suicide. Fucking suicide! Didn't make sense. Not what I knew of him. He was my brother after all.
Another brother of mine was born crippled. Something to do with the spine. I never really understood it but it also didn't really matter to me, not like it mattered to the rest of the family. He's my brother and that's that. I don't give a fuck how he gets around. People should learn to deal with their own problems before they start worrying about what some other guy is dealing with. Odds are he's dealing just fine.
Also, odds are, w
hile you weren't looking, you got knee-deep in shit yourself. That's just what happened to the family. Chuck was born and then everybody just stopped dealing with their shit so they could deal with his without thinking about whether he could do it himself. My brother Johnny, the one with the closed casket, got the responsibility to make Chuck's shit his shit whether he liked it or not. Johnny never cared though. They got along. At least, 'til Johnny bit the bullet. I guess Chuck's on his own now.
I stood by myself at the funeral. I was only back in town for that and then I'd be gone again. Didn't care to think about old times. Didn't figure they'd want to share a beer and reminisce anyway. Still, Chuck walked over. His crutches were silent on the grass, which was weird because you could normally always hear him coming.
"You back now, huh?" he said.
I looked at him. Chuck had broad shoulders and his arms had always been massive. Part of it was that Chuckie had to use his arms to get around—either with crutches or a wheelchair—his whole life. The rest of it was that my brother could be scary when he had to be. Where we grew up, you learned how to stop people from beating on you if you didn't want them to do it.
"Nobody said shit about being back. Just here for Johnny."
"You weren't here for him two days ago."
"Neither were you by the looks of that damn casket."
He didn't say anything but I could hear him trying. I started to walk away.
"You really think he did it?" Chuck said.
I sighed. "You really want to talk about this now?"
"I'm saying things have changed since you left."
"Things is always changing. You make it sound like I wanted to leave."
"It don't matter if you did or not."
"No. I guess it don't."
It's fucking hard when you're trying to make a living with four kids and a wife to feed. I get that. It's even harder when one of those kids was born different and the doctors gotta keep cutting on him and patching him up so he won't die. I can't even imagine. There's no telling what kind of shit Pops had to do to keep everyone afloat. God knows I've seen him do some shit when I was young. To hear Chuck tell it, though, I didn't know the half of it.
Some years ago Chuck got real sick. Doctor said he would need major surgery or he wouldn't make it. Had to drive out of state for it. Pops couldn't swing that kind of cash, but Chuck said he found a way to get it. He said he didn't have to tell me what desperate people did at desperate times. He was right.
"So what's this got to do with me?" I said.
There were a few bad things I did in this town the last time I was here and just about everybody knew about it. They weren't the kind of people to forget either. They were the type to just show up one day and leave your body in the lake. They wouldn't even frown while doing it. Be perfectly polite, even apologize. Point is, I had to get the fuck out of town and bad.
"Johnny and I had plans just before he died. It was going to be big," Chuck said.
"You two finally getting married?" I said without a smile.
"Very funny, asshole. I'm saying there's a vacancy."
I leaned forward.
"What kind of plans, Chuckie?"
Turns out my brothers knew the guys that Pops got caught up with—thugs involved in selling drugs and other things. Nobody knew exactly what, just that they weren't people you wanted to know. Unless you were desperate or, like my brothers, stupid.
Thing is, Chuck could charm the pants off of anybody. It was the disability. People flocked to him. It was the same with these guys. Normally they'd tell you to stop nosing around if you didn't want to get hurt, but with Chuck they let him in. Maybe they thought he was too stupid or helpless to do any harm, or maybe they thought they could get their hooks in him and drain him for whatever he had. Maybe they just wanted to fuck with him because they thought it sounded fun.
Whatever it was, it didn't matter. Chuckie was in and so was whoever was with him. That could be me. Anyway, it didn't take Chuck long to figure out that these guys were selling guns to local bad-ass wannabes. They had connections up north and could get expensive pieces. Chuck got them to trust him enough to let him and Johnny take the pieces to the buyers and retrieve the money. He wouldn't get stopped by the cops. He wouldn't even be suspected. Nobody would look at him twice—and if they did it would just be out of a feeling of how inspirational his story his. Look at him, the little cripple that could, all walking around and shit in spite of the troubles he faces every day. The buyers would like him too. They might even give him a little extra for himself.
Chuck made sure the sellers didn't know about his 'little extra.' It wasn't much each time, but eventually he managed to store away some serious cash. The kind of money that opened doors. The kind of money that made people look at you even when they didn't want to. Thing is, these gun runners—they had even more money. Chuck liked that. So did I.
Also, it turned out that Chuck had learned a thing or two about guns and what they're worth. So with all this stored money, he got some guns of his own. Plan was to take our firepower down there and strongly suggest that their business was now Chuck's business. The bullets would be our argument.
Chuck explained that the job would go down in Mandy Mae's. To be safe, however, Chuck had me call ahead and reserve the whole damn place after closing time. They did this occasionally for special events, get some extra cash since business was no longer booming.
They gave Chuck a discount, of course. They still charged a lot, but made it very clear that Chuckie got a special deal. He had already been through so much. Told them it was his birthday. Chuck did this from time to time, more than once a year, but they just thought it was cute and he didn't know any better. The person I spoke to on the phone added that generous tips would be greatly appreciated.
I bet they would, lady.
Of course, Chuckie knew about the shit I'd done in my day and could handle myself if I needed to. I told him I'd help him out and that I had his back. I lied.
Mandy Mae's was a little diner on the north side of town. The kind of place that was good back when your grandparents were young, but the original owners died and their stupid-ass kids took over and let it go.
Still, people kept going because that's what you did in town. Place was usually filled with mostly old people drinking coffee and talking about who died and who was gonna die and what they might do before they die. It smelled like old people. Old people and old milk. Occasionally you could catch someone muttering about how it wasn't like it was back in the day. Of course, these old folks felt that way about everything, so the diner just kind of confirmed their belief. It seemed weird to have it to ourselves. Made the place feel even older.
Darrell, the fry-cook, was a real shady fucker with a real bad case of meth mouth. He liked working in kitchens because it allowed him to be a druggy piece of shit in relative privacy. Darrell and Chuck became buds in high school when Chuck used to distract the teachers after class while Darrell went through their wallets for cash.
The only person who Chuckie told exactly what was going down at Mandy Mae's was Dumbass Darrell. Can you believe that? Not his brother, but some fucking tweaker piece of shit! He would make sure that the place stayed empty while we needed it. I hoped he wouldn't fuck it up.
Darrell had sent the last remaining waitress home, said he could cover the party, split the tip with her.
We arrived early and found the guys we were looking for eating some godawful looking food and drinking wine. There was one other elderly couple still finishing up their meal even though the place was supposed to have closed twenty-five minutes ago. The thug who spoke had a vaguely Eastern European accent and a creepy smile. I'll call him Smirnoff.
"Chuckie, my boy! How are you today?"
The guy stood up and clasped Chuck's shoulder. He was very old and looked like he was on his fourth or fifth face—lots of plastic surgery. I couldn't tell if it was because he'd been in so many fights or because he was just really into himself. Maybe bo
th. One of the others saw me and looked uneasy.
"Who's he?"
Smirnoff looked at him sharply and then back at Chuck.
"Is this your friend?" Smirnoff said.
"Brother. A different one. Name's Jack." Chuck lied. Jack's not my name.
"Chuckie, I was so sorry to hear about Johnny. Your other brother—Jack, is it?—he okay?"
Chuck nodded.
Smirnoff looked at me with apprehension this time and said something to the others in Russian and then smiled at Chuckie again.
"Please, let us eat," he said, and with that we all found a big table in the corner.
It's funny how naive people are about Chuck. For example: when you go to an airport these days, they practically rape you before you get on the plane to make sure that you're not planning on blowing shit up or whatever. Not Chuck though. Chuck takes his wheelchair to the airport, tells them about a surgery he had once which allows him to skip the metal detector, and then he just goes on through. Always some poor bastard in security is supposed to rub him down—but how you gonna rub down a crippled dude? They can do all that shit with scanners because it lets them be creeps from behind a machine. But when you've got a guy in a wheelchair right in front of you and you're supposed to feel him up? People start talking about how it's okay to let this one go pretty quick.
It was that way with the Russians or whatever the hell they were. Chuckie sat there packing more heat than a fucking volcano and nobody even looked.
They didn't look because it would be rude.
Fucking Russian gangsters making a living on ruining lives, and they can't even touch one dude in a wheelchair with delusions of grandeur because it would be mean to do so. I fucking love my brother.
THUGLIT Issue Fourteen Page 9