by S. W. Lauden
There was a light tapping on the door just as Marco pulled a T-shirt on. They both froze in place. Greg hoped it was Mrs. McMillan and not a bunch of guys that arrived in a green Impala. He could hear the sound of shuffling feet. Whoever was out there was walking along the edge of the garage trying to peek in the windows. Greg got up to answer when the tapping started again.
“Greg? It’s me, Quincy.”
He pulled the door open and tried to force a smile. Marco took one look at her and grabbed his shoes. He wound his way between them on the way out the door. Greg tried to stop him, but Marco slid from his grip.
“Where are you going?”
“Heading out for smokes. I won’t be back for a while. Have a good run.”
The gate slammed shut. Greg moved aside and motioned for her to come inside. She took a few tentative steps and he eased the door closed behind her.
“Were you going somewhere?”
“It’s an inside joke.”
“I didn’t mean to scare your friend away.”
“He’s actually my roommate at this point.”
“Really? Hm…that puts a serious cramp in my plans.”
Greg sprung into action to keep himself from overthinking the situation. If a run could help him clear the confusing thoughts that cluttered his mind, Quincy could obliterate them. He took a step forward and grabbed her by the hips. She pushed herself up on her tippy toes and met his mouth with hers. He managed to pull his T-shirt off between desperate, groping kisses. She led him backwards toward the bed, running her fingers across his chest. They fell together in a tangle as clothes flew into the air.
Chapter Twenty-one
It was still dark outside. Greg was drifting in out of sleep. His mind was in the midst of a running conversation that flickered like a weak radio signal. Little snippets of dialogue wormed their way into his thoughts just as he was dozing, manifesting themselves as monsters while he slept. A blurry carousel of death masks whispering inaudible secrets in his ear before taking a giant bite from his throat. He dove deep down into his own lungs to release the screams forgotten there. Again and again he jerked awake, gasping for air and desperate for sleep.
He tossed and turned, shifting his feet and twisting the pillow until it was just right. Precious calm moments before the thoughts started coming back together again, rising up to form a peak. Tim becomes Ricky becomes Junior becomes Eddie becomes Mikey becomes Chris becomes the kid with the blue hat. The kid with the bullet holes in his white T-shirt. “Where is the gun?” Still no sound, but he knew he had been heard. “Where is the gun?”
The kid in the blue hat pointed to a metal door that was flush with the wall of the alley. The hinges were covered in rust, and crude welding fused the edges of the door to the frame. It’s a forgotten door that nobody has entered or exited for many years. His eyes follow the kid’s arm to where his finger and thumb are outstretched. There is a gusher of blood coming from under the three remaining fingers that are folded back over his palm. Beyond the bloody hand is the rusted metal door that is the only thing between him and the gun. And then the door is turning to glass and he can make out the shape of Junior in the background cutting hair, her scissors moving fast. He starts to run at the door. The kid steps in front of him. His face is a mask that begins to morph again, faster and faster, until Ricky is leaning in to taste his flesh.
Greg screamed himself awake. Quincy pushed herself away in a sleepy panic. She scooted back to comfort him once her heart started beating again.
“Greg. Wake up!”
He brought his knees up and rested his elbows on them. He was folded up tight like a sea anemone that had been poked. She was gently rubbing his back and neck. His breathing was returning to normal when Marco came flying through the door wielding a gardening shovel.
“I’m fucking psycho!”
Greg jumped backwards and nearly knocked Quincy off the other side of the bed.
“Jesus Christ, Marco! You scared the shit out of us.”
Marco let the shovel drop to the floor and ran his fingers through his hair. His crazy eyes were almost glowing in the pre-dawn darkness.
“Dude, I thought somebody was murdering you in here. All I heard was screaming.”
“He was having a nightmare.” She pulled the sheet up to make sure she was covered up for their unexpected guest. “What time is it?”
“No idea. I couldn’t sleep so I’ve just been chilling in the back of the El Camino and smoking cigarettes all night. I must have gone through two packs already.”
Greg let his head fall back into the pillow.
“I can smell you all the way over here. Great line, by the way. Very threatening.”
“What did I say?”
Marco stumbled into the bathroom. Quincy rolled onto her side and rested her cheek on Greg’s arm.
“That must have been some terrifying nightmare.”
“It was weird more than anything else.”
“Well, whatever was going on it scared the crap out of you. And me too, for that matter.”
“Sorry I woke you up like that.”
“It’s okay, I just wish we had a little more privacy.”
She traced the shape of the tattoo on his arm with soft kisses. Greg gave a laugh before shutting his eyes to enjoy the attention.
“Why don’t you and I get away next weekend?”
“Sounds great. Maybe somewhere with a good surf break?”
“I was thinking about something with a big bed and great room service.”
“Sometimes I think our age difference is going to be the death of me.”
“Don’t worry, Greg. I’ll take care of you when you’re old. But until then…”
She slowly slid her hand under the covers.
“How old are you, anyway?”
“Really? Right now?”
“Had to ask sometime.”
“Twenty-eight. Okay? Now stop wasting time. Your friend will be getting out of the shower soon.”
“I don’t actually hear the water running.”
Marco opened the bathroom door and stumbled back into the room. Greg pulled away from Quincy and pushed himself up. Marco turned the tap on in the sink to fill the coffee pot.
“You mind if I make some coffee?”
“Might as well. I doubt anybody’s getting back to sleep.”
Greg reached out from under the covers and grabbed his boxer shorts off the floor. He slid them on, making sure not to expose Quincy in the process. He would have to get Marco outside for a few minutes so that she could get dressed, but coffee first. He caught a glimpse of the alarm clock through the aquarium as he stood up. It was 5:45 a.m.
The coffee finished brewing and Greg poured two mugs to the top. He told Marco to grab the stack of folders they had gotten from Ricky’s apartment and head out to the garden table. He pushed Marco ahead of him and gave Quincy a glance as he was closing the door. She pulled the covers back and raised her eyebrows playfully. Maybe Marco needs more cigarettes crossed his mind as he stepped into the brisk morning air.
They both started whispering once they were seated. Greg could see that Marco’s mind was whirring from the lack of sleep and booze. He also knew that the nicotine gave his detoxing friend just enough of a buzz to take the edge off. The coffee helped, too.
Greg pulled a sheet of paper from the top folder and spun it around for Marco to read.
“You worked with Ricky for a while. Do you recognize any of these addresses?”
The handwriting was small and scratchy. Each line had a street name and number along with a date range. A few had check marks next to them. It seemed like Ricky had been trying to figure something out.
“All of these addresses are in South Bay. We didn’t do much work over there.”
“Could they have been jobs that you didn’t work on?”
“Maybe. I was definitely working with him a lot during that time. I would have at least been on a few of the jobs if they were his. Like I said, we mostly did smaller jobs in North Bay.”
“So what are these addresses?”
“Maybe those are Barrett’s job sites.”
“How can we figure that out? I mean, without asking Barrett.”
“We could go check them out one by one.”
Quincy came outside wearing one of Greg’s hoodie sweatshirts. It fit loosely, but covered her up to the middle of her thighs. Greg tried to not think about whether or not she was wearing anything underneath. She was sipping carefully on a mug of coffee as she shuffled over to where they were sitting, teasing him over the rim.
“What are you guys talking about?”
“Nothing much. Trying to figure out what this list of addresses means.”
“Can I see?”
There was no connection between Quincy and Ricky so he didn’t see any harm in sharing. He pushed the paper across the table to her. She considered the info on the page and puckered her lips to take sips of her coffee while she read.
“I know most of these addresses. They’re in South Bay.”
“How do you know that?”
“I work in parking enforcement.” They both looked at her with blank stares. “It’s part of my job to post those ‘Temporary No Parking’ signs whenever there is a street fair or 10k, or whatever.”
“Or a construction site?”
“Yep. The big ones, at least. That’s how I met Barrett. Outside of one of his jobs.”
Greg felt a strange combination of feelings rise up inside of him. On the one hand he was almost certain that Ricky had been stealing from Barrett, and that it might have gotten him killed. On the other hand, he felt an unexpected pang of jealousy at hearing Quincy mention Barrett’s name. He drained his cup and went back inside to make another pot of coffee.
His phone was buzzing when he got inside. He picked it up without looking at the screen.
“Good morning. What time are you picking Chris up?”
“Oh, hey. Right. ‘Dawn patrol.’”
“He’s sitting out front with his board. Please tell me you didn’t forget.”
“I’ll be there in like twenty minutes. Got a late start.”
“I could drive him over.”
“Nope. On my way. Make it fifteen minutes.”
He put the phone down and started moving quickly to collect his gear. He didn’t know exactly what he would say to Quincy about leaving without any warning, but he didn’t have much choice. She was on her way back in when he went to open the door.
“Are you going surfing right now?”
“Yeah. I promised a friend I would take their kid out for some lessons. I totally spaced on it until a minute ago.”
“Uncle Greg? How cute.”
“You can hang out here with Marco until I get back, if you want to.”
“We’ll see...”
She shut the door and unzipped the hoodie. It fell to the ground as she stepped out of it and strutted into the bathroom naked, a confident smile spreading across her face. Greg enjoyed the view for a moment before stepping out into the morning light. Marco noticed the smile on his face and asked him what was up.
“Nothing, bro. Just stoked to go surfing.”
“Yeah, right.”
›
There weren’t many people in the water with Greg and Chris. It was like they had the whole ocean to themselves. Consistent sets were rolling in. Greg had never officially given lessons before, but he managed to provide Chris with a few helpful pointers on paddling to catch waves, and how to center his weight when she stood up. The boy already had a firm grasp of the basic techniques and, more importantly, enough enthusiasm to put in the necessary hours of practice. In other words, he was still young. Greg was feeling pretty young at that moment, too.
They kept at it for the better part of an hour before Greg finally pushed himself into a sitting position. His legs were dangling in the water on either side of his board and Chris soon followed suit. Greg had been surfing for most of his life but he still found himself a little worried about sharks when he was bobbing in the ocean on quiet mornings. The thought of it made him recall his nightmares and he was gripped by a wave of sickening panic.
He looked at the shore to get his bearings. The sun was up above the cityscape now, the million dollar homes crowding the hill that sloped gently to the sand. It was like a tidal wave of money pushing back against the vast expanse of the ocean.
“You ready to catch some more waves?”
Greg saw the smile on Chris’s face and really noticed the pronounced gaps between his teeth. He wondered if Junior was putting money aside for braces. It probably wouldn’t matter once Eddie sold out to Mikey, since they would all be set for life. Only a matter of time.
“Give me a second to catch my breath. How’s your mom holding up, you know with the funeral and everything?”
“I don’t know.” The boy seemed to swallow his words. “Okay, I guess. She doesn’t talk about it much. I hear her crying sometimes, when she’s in her bedroom.”
“How about you? You said he was giving you lessons, right?”
“He was giving me guitar lessons at first. Then he started taking me surfing, too. Before he, you know, died. Or whatever.”
“I was wondering about that guitar. Did Ricky give that to you?”
“Yeah. I’m not very good at it. Mom said I need to practice more.”
“I think it’s really great you got a chance to know him so well.”
“He was actually around all the time for the last couple of months.”
Twelve years old. Greg was trying to remember how much he knew about sex when he was ten. Probably a lot less than he thought he did. Greg got the feeling that it was okay to press for more details without doing any serious emotional damage.
“Sounds fun. Was he staying late? Like after you went to bed at night?”
“I don’t know. A couple of times a week.”
A chill ran under Greg’s wetsuit. He thought his teeth might shatter from the way they ground together. It looked like Chris wasn’t the only one spending quality time with Ricky.
“Usually on the weekends when Mom would have her shows at Grandpa’s bar.”
“We should probably catch a few more waves before I have to take you home.”
Greg dropped down onto his board and started paddling hard. He didn’t have to look back to know that Chris was right behind him. They managed to make the most of a few more sets and each rode a last wave all the way to shore. They were at the El Camino fifteen minutes later with Chris’s surfboard loaded safely into the back.
Greg took the boy inside his apartment for a bathroom break before the drive home. Marco was out like a light on the bed when they walked in, the iguana stiff as a statue on the pillow next to his head. Greg saw his hoodie folded neatly on the chair with a piece of paper perched on top. He didn’t dare read it before heading over to Junior’s house.
The final notes of Agent Orange’s “Everything Turns Grey” were decaying from the speakers as they pulled up. Junior was out front sitting on a patio chair when Greg parked in the driveway. He could see her flipping through a magazine and drinking a cup of coffee. He grabbed her son’s surfboard from the back and told him to take it inside. A shower and video games would give the adults time to chat.
Greg took a deep breath and strolled toward Junior.
“How’d he do?”
“He’s getting pretty good. Probably because of all those lessons Ricky was giving him.”
She closed the magazine and tossed it onto the lawn at his feet. Her eyes were searching his over the top of her coffee mug. He could see she was weighing her options, but he made it clear that she had non
e left.
“You should probably sit down.”
She motioned to the chair next to hers. Greg chose one a few feet away.
“How long were you sleeping with him?”
“What do you want me to say? We just were, okay?”
She rolled her eyes to stop the tears that were forming. It didn’t have much of an effect. He could feel the anger welling up, like muck in a clogged sink, full of the little bits of everything he had been trying to shove deep down inside all week.
“Not okay. Definitely not okay. Why did it have to be my best friend?”
“What does that have to do with it? It was just casual. Just like you and the meter maid.”
That stopped him in his tracks. He shifted to defense for a moment.
“How do you even know about that?”
“Jesus, Greg. I work at a salon. Nothing happens around here that I don’t hear about.”
“What’s going on between me and her is different than you and Ricky.”
“Why? Because she didn’t go to our high school? The only reason it’s different is because I’m not asking you to explain yourself.”
He could hear the rage building inside of her. They both knew it was no match for his.
“Why Ricky?”
“We’ve known each other forever. It was easy.”
Greg watched the tears rolling down her face and it made him feel good. Strong. Like she was getting what she deserved.
“I just don’t understand how you could do it. You’re fucking my best friend behind my back and then you hop in bed with me right after he—”
He couldn’t even bring himself to say the word.
“Nothing happened behind your back. It happened—we happened—after Ricky died. There, I said it. He died. But none of this is about him, Greg. It’s about us.”
Any victory he’d felt got sucked right out of him. Like he had been on a perfect wave that crashed and now the white wash was holding him down. And then there was his anger, lifting him back up towards the surface so he could get right back on his board.
“Well, there isn’t going to be any ‘us’ ever again.”
“That’s just perfect.”