Broken Sky

by Saurav Dutt

  “Where we going Pop?” Peter smiled as Sean opened the door ahead of him.

  “We need to talk son..it’s very important.” he sighed, immediately lighting up a cigarette as he motioned for Peter to follow him.

  The fuzzy neon sign of the ‘Jekyll’s’ bar blinked on and off atop its entranceway as Sean pushed the entrance door open. “Hey..” a voice barked “get the freakin’ kid out of here. Whaddaya think ya doing?”

  Sean paused for a moment, staring down at Peter’s blank expression and then up again at the man who had served him a half hour earlier. “Ah Sean ain’t it?” the bearded, potbellied bar steward grinned “sure come in, that your son?..”

  “Yeah, don’t worry he’s not drinking..” Sean winked as Peter gingerly followed behind him. With its low hanging lights, spare furnishings, broken chairs and beer stained tables; the place looked fit for foreclosure. The barman flashed a toothless grin at Peter as Sean propped him up on the bar stool next to his. “Jack and Coke again?” the barman grinned, knowing the answer. “Hey you got orange juice or something for my kid?” Sean asked, ruffling through his pockets to unwrap a fresh pack of cigarettes. “Yeah, ‘course” rasped the barman, disappearing behind the counter to shuffle up the drinks.

  Behind them stood a tall, skinny man who resembled a wizard with his long white beard. He was hunched across a grimy pool table, studying the corners for his next shot as he took aim, a fierce concentration across his wrinkle strewn face. His faded grey t-shirt was emblazoned with a Rolling Stones tongue motif and his torn, faded denims were coming away at the seams. He stared disdainfully at Peter, only for Sean to promptly flash a glare of disgust that made the man quickly return to his game.

  “I didn’t want to bring you here..” Sean sighed as he yanked an ashtray from the barman and positioned it in front of him “but this thing with your mother and me…it’s well, it’s got me stressed..it’s got me really stressed out.”

  Peter looked up at him then down towards the ashtray, watching the fragments of ash curling around its centre. He realised his father was quietly sobbing, unable to stop the solitary tear falling down his cheek and chin. “I’m sorry son..” Sean smiled, wiping the tear away with his thumb as the two glasses were laid out in front of them. His trembling hand fixed onto the tumbler, and rattled the ice cubes before taking a tentative sip.

  “Your mother..” Sean explained, his smile fading “…she….she doesn’t really know what’s best for this family..y’see, well, I mean you love me don’t you son?”

  “Yeah of course Pop..” Peter grumbled, his eyes disconsolate as he sipped reluctantly from the glass.

  “Of course…of course you do” Sean smiled, taking another sip “well I mean, look…do you even like this school? Wasn’t the one in Jersey better? The one in Long Island too, the one back home-that was better right?”

  “Yeah…” Peter replied, staring down into his glass.

  “I mean, I didn’t want to take you away from that..I don’t know why your Mom had to act so quickly, I mean wouldn’t it just be better if we were all together?” Sean nodded, kicking back another swig of the glass.

  “Mom says I will still be able to see you, to come back home with you” Peter sighed, taking a sip, copying his father.

  “That’s what she says now…” Sean fidgeted “she says that now…but then..but then later, I don’t know what’s gonna happen…I mean I can come here, but I’m worried, that she’ll…that she’ll just move again and then I won’t know where you’ll be, I mean can you imagine that?”

  “Pop, I wouldn’t…” Peter trailed off, feeling the words stuck in his throat as he tried to speak.

  “No I know you wouldn’t son” Sean smiled, stroking Peter’s head “I know you wouldn’t, but your Mom she’s not thinking straight just now…I mean..this Ben guy, you even like him?”

  “He buys me nice things…” Peter shrugged his shoulders.

  “But I mean, he’s not cool is he? He’s not as cool as me, right?” Sean laughed.

  “No..” Peter answered “…he’s a bit of a…well he’s kinda annoying dad”

  “Yeah…” Sean nodded “I mean can you imagine that guy replacing me? You’re my son, I love you, and I’m not letting that idiot be your father.”

  “He’s not…” Peter protested, holding the glass between his palms as he shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

  “Exactly” Sean replied, clicking his fingers to request for a top up to his drink “and he won’t ever be…but I tell you, that’s your mother’s plan, she’ll do that if she can, she’ll try anything to turn you against me…”

  “Pop” Peter mumbled “please, let me go back to school.”

  “Not until you hear this from me” Sean shot back “I love you more than anything in the world, I don’t want this to all be coming down on you the way it is..but it’s your Mom’s choice okay? I want you to know that whatever she says about me, whatever mean things she makes up…it’s all crap okay? I came here to mend what got broke..I came here to see you and to see your Mom and to fix stuff..but she’s not having it Petey…she’s not gonna play ball..so I don’ t know when I’ll see you again…”

  Peter felt his bottom lip quiver, the sight of seeing his father break down and quietly weep unnerved him. He placed his hand within Sean’s and tried to not make eye contact. “Please Pop” he gasped, trying to fight back the tears “don’t drink anymore..”

  “Listen…” Sean waved his hand as he took a drawn out sip from his glass “it’s important for you to not believe…any crap your mother says about me…it’s all exaggerated, it’s all crap..I think..I think your Mom is just going through a rough patch at the moment, and it’s just affecting us all.”

  “Pop..” Peter sighed, stretching to place the glass of orange juice down on the bar counter “is it true what Mom says… that I have to stay at this school? What does that mean? Do I get to go back to Jersey? Do I have to move again?”

  “Your Mom won’t tell you what’s gonna happen son” Sean shook his head “she says I’ll be able to see you whenever I want and we can arrange stuff…but I know it won’t happen..she’ll be too busy or say you’re too busy..I mean can you imagine us not being able to see the Yankees whenever we want? I might want to go with you every weekend but she won’t allow it, she’ll get the lawyers involved and make it so we can’t be together..I don’t want that.”

  “I don’t want that either…” Petey sighed, staring down at his shoes.

  Sean cursed under his breath, clicking his fingers again as he realised the barman was ignoring him. “Hey” Sean barked, bringing his fist down to the counter “Hey, I’m talking to you, get me another.”

  The barman turned around slowly, stroking his handle bar moustache as he swaggered forward. His beady eyes locked onto Sean and the empty glass and then at Peter’s bewildered face. “Dude” he rasped “before you came here, you downed three in an hour…and we only opened an hour and a half ago..and what the hell is with this boy? How old is he?”

  “So the hell what?” Sean slurred “I’m a paying customer, get me another Jack and Coke.”

  “I think you’ve had enough, you’re on your fifth dude” came the reply as the barman turned his back on him.

  “I’m not wasted you little prick” Sean replied, rapping the bottom of the glass against the wooden counter. As the rapping continued, the bearded pool player abruptly dropped the cue on the table and sauntered over to the jukebox. He tinkered with the buttons and dropped in a clutch of quarters, waiting patiently for the music to begin.

  “Listen man, don’t make any trouble” the bar man sighed, noting Peter’s glum expression “it’s too early for this shit.”

  “What kind of bar is this?” Sean hissed “I asked for a drink.”

  “And now I’m asking you to leave, you’re lucky I let your ass in here with a goddamn minor.” the barman shot back, striding over to Sean and staring at him right in the face.

  “Then I refuse t
o pay” Sean smiled “until I get the drink I requested.”

  “Pop please…please” Peter stuttered, hopping off the stool and tugging at his father’s shirt cuff. Sean snatched his hand away and leant forward, clutching the glass as he rapped it loudly against the counter.

  “If you break that you’re paying for it” the barman grunted “and if you don’t pay your bill and leave the premises, I’m calling the cops.”

  “You’re not ..doing… shit” Sean smirked, a Cheshire cat grin spreading over his face. He turned to look at Peter only to notice he was now standing at the doorway in tears. “What are you doing?” Sean snapped, rising to his feet as he kicked the stool away, letting the glass shatter as it fell to the ground.

  “You owe me for the drinks and that glass.” the barman shook his head, reaching for his cell phone.

  “You want my money?” Sean barked “here, have it, have it all-you, my wife, my lawyer, the whole fucking world wants my money, here take it..” he yelled as he ripped open his wallet and threw a handful of dollar bills into the air.

  At that moment he felt a strong draught of wind sail through his hair and turned around, realising Peter had left.

  As he pushed the door open he saw Peter running off in the direction of his school. “Hey” Sean yelled “where you going? I need to talk to ya..” Before he could give chase, he felt a tap on his shoulder. As he whipped his head around he staggered back as a fist smashed into his abdomen. The barman stood in front of him and yanked at Sean’s collar, pinning an arm behind his back as he dragged him back into the bar.

  Peter stopped in his tracks and slowly turned around. He could see Sean kicking, his legs flailing out as he was dragged back into the bar. Peter lurched forward, stopping himself before running back towards his school. Running, sobbing and fleeing as fast as his legs would take him.

  * * *

  She moved slowly through the corridor, the hot fizz of overhead light bulbs guiding her way as she brushed against the damp walls. The dripping of water from the condensation licked ceiling pattered down on her head, falling across her tattered shoes. Graffiti was liberally strewn across the walls, and every door she passed barely clung onto their hinges. It had been too long since her last visit, yet as she meandered through the corridors she recognised the toothless, pale and drug fused faces that passed her. Some would smile, some would salivate as their zonked out pupils stared at her up and down, targeting on her breasts and butt. Others lowered their faces as they passed, desperate to avoid eye contact. And then there was the man urging her to follow him.

  “I seen you here before..” he sneered, the high cheekbones of his face coiling up into a sinister smile as he stroked her face. His hair was slicked back, a gold earring dangling from his right ear lobe and a deep scar running from the bottom of his right eye right down to the top corner of his lips. He dressed younger than he looked, with cut off faded denims and a buttoned up striped white shirt. As he spoke, dribble oozed down from his bottom lip onto his chin as he sauntered through the corridor, occasionally barking out incomprehensible statements at the winos and druggies that staggered by him in the flop house.

  “A long time ago..” she sighed as she followed him, the fingers of her left hand buttressed against the gun she had snagged inside the waist of her dirty jeans. Madsen’s blood was still smeared against her chin, and crimson droplets were splattered across the shirt she was wearing. She passed a door on her right and heard the squeaking of a bed within as well as the incessant moans of a man getting his way as a muffled female voice croaked out from underneath, the pain and discomfort all too obvious in her stifled whimpers.

  “Never mind that” the man croaked as he motioned towards the door “people pay for what they pay, the bitch wouldn’t be here if she didn’t need to be….and you wouldn’t be either..but please I wouldn’t call you a bitch, in fact you’re a very beautiful woman-I always thought you were.” he smiled, a gold cap twinkling amidst the shadows.

  “Uh huh” she frowned, her eyes locking onto a woman huddled in the corner, an arm lying lifelessly against her side, the needle holes decorated across the skin visible even in the darkness. “Ignore her” the man said extending his hand as he turned to face her “by the way, my name is Drago in case you don’t remember.” His wrinkly hand was rough to the touch, the nails long, the faded tattoos wrapped around the skin. A solitary gold ring was curled tightly around the middle finger of both of his hands and his grip was wet and soggy.

  “So where can I get some shit..” she ignored him, her lips dry as she stifled a yawn.

  “Patience” Drago replied “we just have to go up one floor.”

  “I’ve been up two floors already, how hard is it to get some shit in this place?” she bit back, silencing him momentarily.

  “Well we’ve had a lot of heat around here the last few weeks” Drago explained “and anyway I’m trying to keep my business as discreet as possible..you sure I haven’t seen you around lately?”

  “No” she answered “it’s been a long time.”

  “No wait just a minute” Drago smiled, as he studied her face carefully “yeah, yeah now it’s coming back to me…you had this hat, this bowler hat…and you had those fucking suitcases..and that little midget guy with you..yeah what was his name again? Something beginning with…with…P…Prr..Pell..”

  “Pollard” she sighed.

  “Yeah, yeah” Drago nodded his head “little guy with the glasses and that nasally voice, what happened to him?”

  “He’s dead” she replied, turning the corner as Drago began to ascend a staircase, even gloomier than the one before it.

  “What?” Drago scoffed as he lit a cigarette, the burning tip of it lighting their way.

  “My friend Pollard…he’s dead.” she replied, feeling the crunch of what felt like disused needles underfoot.

  “Uh huh…” Drago yawned as he unlocked a door, ushering her into a corridor. She noticed the walls were blank, grey and shorn of the usual graffiti. The place was somehow habitable. Dirty, cobweb laden doors stood opposite one another and the distant cacophony of muttering voices could be heard from within. She stared down the hallway at a brown oak door bolted from the outside, and knew that was where they were heading.

  “Well what happened to him?” Drago asked as he plunged his free hand into his pockets and yanked out a set of keys.

  “A cop shot him” she replied, picking up a trace of Madsen’s powerful aftershave on her shirt as a cold draught brushed past her, carrying the smell to her nostrils.

  “Ah the fuckin’ pigs” Drago spat “I hope you put a bullet in their fuckin’ face.”

  “No” she replied as she watched him turn the key in the lock several times to open the dead bolt on the door “I didn’t get the chance.”

  “That’s a shame” Drago smiled as he opened it “the only good cop is a dead one…either that or one with her legs wrapped around my neck.” he added with a cackle.

  The door creaked open, the stale and damp smell from within wafting up to her nostrils. Her head ached more than it ever had; her right hand throbbed in pain. She was sure she had injured it fending off Madsen and as Drago leant into the room, jerking his head around the corner to see if anybody was inside, it was then that she noticed the chrome silver gun in his back pocket. “It’s all good” Drago smiled as he nodded for her to enter.

  The room was blacked out with black plastic carrier bags taped against the windows. The couches were torn, dishevelled with cigarette burns littered across them. She noticed a table, barely balancing on its rickety legs, and a weighing machine sitting atop it with clear packets of pills cupped within its scales. Her eyes turned towards the walls where she saw bookshelves stacked with dusty, disused magazines and books and spotted a roach dart across an empty picture frame.

  A solitary bulb hung high above them, the filament crackling as electricity burned through it. Something that smelt like rotten meat permeated the air and once the door was closed, she
couldn’t hear a thing. “Soundproof baby..” Drago rubbed his hands in glee as he marched towards the table “..so what you want? Meth? Amphetamines?” he asked as he sat down and began counting the pills in the packets.

  “Yeah” she sighed, finding herself collapsing on the nearest sofa, engulfed by spits of rising dust. She leant forward, feeling a sudden pain soar across her left side and which seemed to scurry across her chest. Drago glared at her up and down. “What ya been up to these days anyway baby …” he grinned as he dropped a packet on the other scale “what you been up to since the last time I saw ya, eh?”

  “What?” she sighed, her hand rising to clutch the ribs on her left hand side as she struggled to inhale “Just give me the shit and shut the hell up…”

  “Not up for conversation today, huh?” Drago smirked as he thumbed through the contents of the packets, clasping one within his palm as he motioned for her to come closer with his finger “How much for how much?” he mumbled as she slinked over towards him.

  “Uh..” she paused “..I’m sorta having a problem with the cash, my partner y’see..he was the one who handled that stuff, and I…well he’s not here anymore, so..well I ain’t got the suitcases that have my money.”

  “So you want my drugs on credit?” Drago interrupted, letting a packet fall from his hand to the floor. He shot up from his seat, pushing the chair away in frustration as he placed his hands on his hips and waited for her to answer. “In my suitcases ya see..” she stammered “..well..well the cops they took ‘em.”

  “Listen bitch, I’m not running a goddamn bank here” he growled, striding over to one of the sofa chairs in the far right corner of the squalid room and yanked open the fake leather to reveal a stash of packets and folded envelopes. He clutched a light green packet which contained an assortment of multi coloured pills, he shook them teasingly as he leered at her “well I could be persuaded to let you sample some of my best shit, since you’re such a good customer and I haven’t seen you in such a long time…”