Smoke and Mirrors

by Lillian T. MacGowan

  “Did your hair burn off, Doc? It was longer.”

  “Does your cousin like men? ’Cause imma be fourteen next month.”

  “Yo, she go with Spellacy, tard.”

  “How do you guys do stuff?”

  “Imma be a uncle again.”

  Deck collapsed on a bench, Naim beside him. Their minds spun. Ignoring the kids for a minute, Naim turned to Deck. “I don’t remember being this popular with them at the clinic.”

  Deck grinned. “I always was. They fucking love me.”

  The kids started yammering again.

  “Yo, Deck, you hear Play-Doh got locked up again?” Quadir asked him.

  Naim turned from Naikyra, who was showing him her new braces, Play-Doh’s latest incarceration grabbing his attention.

  “Again? He was already on bail.”

  Deck made a wry face. “Fucking good. How long’s he gone?” he asked, laying his arm on the back of the bench, across Naim’s shoulders, and squeezing gently.

  “Dunno. Got took bustin’ into some office. B’n’E plus he had a piece so is prolly gonna be a minute,” Quadir replied.

  “Good,” Deck repeated. “Kid’s a fucking menace. He’s the one who—”

  Naim gave him a kick, and Deck glared at him but shut up. Naim was grateful, hoping that Deck understood what they’d not talked about—how close to Play-Doh’s life is own in Marsielle had been. Judging from the look on Deck’s face, that understanding was starting to take shape.

  “I hope he don’t get out.” Mia sneered. “Hate that bitch.”

  Naim leaned past Deck to look at her. “Mia, can you think of a better word?” he reprimanded gently. He continued as she began to say something rude to him, “And he won’t be getting out. This is a violation of his bond. They won’t set bail for him again.”

  “Good.”

  Most of the kids were in agreement to some degree or another, all of them too close to becoming Play-Doh themselves and knowing it was an uphill battle to avoid that very thing.

  They weren’t average adolescents, and Naim sighed. He knew more than half of them were growing up in a world similar to the one he had, even if they didn’t have to do the things he’d done. Without thinking about it, he took Deck’s hand, suddenly needing warmth and comfort. Deck squeezed and tried not to smile.

  “Yo, Doc, my granny need to see you soon. When you gonna open shop back up?” Melvin bounced a basketball in front of him while Isaiah tried to knock it from him, and Naim was glad for the change of subject.

  “I don’t know, Melvin. It could be a while. I wish I knew more. What’s going on with Gran?” Naim was concerned about the woman’s blood pressure, diabetes, chronic gastritis, and a whole host of other issues; she was forty-five and raising Melvin on her own. Deck knew Melvin and squeezed Naim’s hand again.

  “Dunno. She just say she need a doctor and moan a lot.”

  Naim thought for a minute. “Mel, do you have a cell phone?”

  “Naw, Doc. Got turnt off.”

  “I got one.” Makaila shoved her phone in Naim’s face, grinning and giggling. Deck barely contained a cackle; so he wasn’t the only victim of the adolescent girl crush.

  “Th…thank you, Makaila.” Naim blinked, pulling back so he could see. Then he had a better idea. “Does anyone have a pen and paper?” Makaila looked devastated and turned to see who would dare respond in the affirmative. She was a burly girl with a tremendous under bite, deep voice, and a too-short skirt.

  “Here, Dr. Naim. I do.” Shira waved a piece of sketch paper and a pen in the air.

  “Thank you, Shira.” Naim took them and wrote down his cell number for Melvin. “Tell Gran to call me tonight when she gets home from work. We’ll figure something out for her. Okay?”

  “’Kay, Doc. You say so.” Melvin shrugged and stuffed the paper into his pocket.

  Deck looked at Naim, his eyes glimmering.

  He was jolted from his thoughts by a wild cry of battle and a snowball to the side of his head. Naim looked surprised, then howled as Deck sputtered in shock, cold, and insult. Everyone ran screaming for cover, Deck cursed a blue streak, and Naim began to gather snow as he threw himself off the bench for his own cover.

  It was on.

  On New Year’s Eve Peyton hosted a New Year’s/We’re Glad Neither Of You Died party, sort of in honor of Deck and Naim. Naim looked forward to it. He hadn’t seen any of the lads since before Deck left the hospital, and he found that he’d been missing their company.

  Deck was less enthusiastic. He’d been hoping for another night alone with Naim. The night shifts that he’d been on for the past week made for lovely days spent together, but even without sex he missed falling asleep with Naim sprawled over him like a solid human duvet. He was also apprehensive about the guys saying something stupid. Everyone naturally assumed they knew exactly what went on as soon as Deck left the hospital, and he was sick over the possibility that someone would make a comment that would send Naim running for the door.

  When they arrived at “half past gay,” according to Freya (so they were a little late), the party was well on its way. Everyone greeted Naim warmly, and while Deck got them drinks, he spotted Freya and Laura giggling together, empty glasses in hand. He headed over to the girls, smiling.

  “Naim,” Laura said, just a bit too loud, and embraced him in an enthusiastic hug. He oomphed and Freya chortled.

  “Hey, it’s great to see you.” He kissed her cheek, smiling, then awkwardly patted Freya on the shoulder.

  “How the hell are you, Naim? I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever.” Laura squeezed him around the middle.

  “I’m great. I was just thinking we should have coffee or something soon—should have sooner in fact.” He blushed, a little shy and insecure about his relationships with Deck’s friends.

  Laura misinterpreted his shyness for coyness and giggled. “I was gonna text you for coffee or dinner but I figured you’ve been, ya know”—she gave him a leer—”busy.”

  “You trying to be subtle, Lor?” Freya laughed, and Naim turned as red as his dark skin would possibly allow, barely successful in hiding his discomfort.

  “Oh come on, you know you want to hear all the dirty little details too.” Laura laid her head on Naim’s shoulder and batted her eyelashes up at him.

  Naim looked at his shoes. Laura wasn’t drunk, but she was silly enough to be just this side of the line.

  “Okay, fucking fine.” Freya turned to him. “We need details, man. Details! My fucking idiot cousin won’t share his toys.”

  Laura batted her eyelashes more.

  Naim shifted, his discomfort almost painful. It would be awkward enough for him if there were something to tell, but he knew they had no interest in conversations about breakfast and snowball fights. What could he say? Sorry, ladies, but while he looks at me like he’s starving and I’m steak, he touches me and feels my skin covered in the jizz of a thousand before, and it’s repellent.

  He sighed and tried to deflect. “Ladies, please. A little decorum if you don’t mind.”

  Laura lifted her head. “Maybe you just need a drink.” She grinned, looking behind him.

  Deck slipped a hand with a beer over Naim’s shoulder and kissed his head, his other hand coming up to rest on Naim’s other shoulder. Naim took the beer and looked up. They smiled at each other, but Naim’s smile faltered.

  “Well, you’re looking hale and hearty,” Laura greeted Deck, and they clinked bottle to glass as he and Freya socked each other on the arm.

  “Thanks, Lor. Feeling good.” He smiled and rolled his shoulder, squeezing Naim’s. Naim tried not to look distressed, but his mind wandered.

  “So, you two have been spending some time together? Hmm?”

  “Duh,” Freya said, looking at Naim with a peculiar intensity. “But we should have fucking known better than to ask.” She turned to Laura. “Deck is fucking Deck. But Naim is a gentleman, so we’re fucked. And not in the fun way.” There was something
odd about the way she said it that made Naim grateful. He was also grateful for the distraction. He didn’t think he’d ever heard Freya say much more than, “Shit, fire, fuck.”

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Deck complained. “‘Deck is fucking Deck,’” he mimicked.

  “Are you serious?” Laura laughed. “You are the high priest of all things inappropriate.”

  Freya almost giggled. “I fucking love the Dilaudid story. That’s one of my all-time fucking favorites.” Naim smiled, still trying to relax. Looking back now, it was pretty amusing.

  “Oh my God, you should have been there.” Laura covered her mouth and giggled back. “It was epic.”

  “He fucking drugged me,” Deck shouted at them. From the other side of the room they heard no fewer than four people snort. “I so fucking hate you guys.”

  “Deck, you were a fucking mess before he drugged you.” Freya laughed, the story memorized. “You fucking know you already knew his name. You just couldn’t wait to use that stupid Frankenstein line, because you’re a total fucking moron.”

  Naim tried not to look at his feet, but he could feel himself start to go dark as he recalled the tragic sexual innuendo Deck had unleashed that morning. Things Naim had started wanting too soon after the incident and felt like Deck could no longer fulfill. He grew even more miserable with Deck’s hand on his shoulder and the closeness at his back.

  “That’s how I flirt.” Deck glared as the girls laughed, and Naim tried to look okay. “How the hell was I supposed to know I was teasing the actual love of my life.” He scowled at them and kissed Naim’s head again as Naim wrapped his mind around the idea that while he meant the words and could manage this level of physicality, Deck no longer thought of him in a sexual manner. He also realized that he wasn’t surprised.

  Meanwhile Laura stared at Deck, wide-eyed. “Oh my God, are you—are you guys there?” She waved a hand in front of her face, looking like she was watching a kitten lick-wash a puppy.

  Freya smiled, but she watched Naim.

  “Shut up! Yeah. So. Shut up.” Deck couldn’t help smiling at Laura, who beamed at them both.

  “I…oh my God, you guys.” She hugged them both, squishing them together with her, and announced that everyone needed more drinks. She headed to the kitchen as Freya eyed Naim suspiciously. Deck couldn’t see him from behind.

  Naim took a long drink and tried to pay attention while Freya and Deck chatted about his PT and said some variant of fuck a lot, but he couldn’t stay focused. This had been on his mind for more than a week, and he felt that even though they were taking a less sinister form, his fears were being confirmed. Deck’s aversion to what and where he’d been overcame his feelings. The loss he felt caused the air around him to slump.

  “Oh hey, there’s Dixon, bro.” Freya interrupted Deck’s complaining about how his therapy massage was not what he’d ever envisioned a massage being. Deck turned and scanned the large room. “Go see if he knows anything new about Doc’s fire, and introduce him to the hot kid with the pierced tit.”

  “Wha? Who? What?” Deck made a face; he’d been talking.

  “The nurse, asshole.” She looked at Naim for confirmation. “The hell is his name?” Naim hadn’t really been listening, and he looked at her without looking at her. Freya sighed. “The fruity nurse, bro. What’s his fucking name?”

  “Eli?”

  “Yeah. Him. Fuck. Go talk shop with Dix, then hook them up.” She grabbed Deck by the weak arm, deliberately smacking the still tender wound on his back, and shoved him in Dixon’s general direction.

  “Ow! Fucking Jesus, you psycho twat,” Deck griped, heading for Dixon.

  Naim turned as well, thinking it wise to introduce himself to the arson investigator, a handsome Hispanic man, just a shade lighter than Naim and wearing two silver hoop earrings that reminded Naim of a pirate. He also wanted the distraction from his own sinking thoughts.

  He hadn’t taken a step when a yank on his arm stopped him, and he stumbled backward, Freya proving herself to be alarmingly adept at manhandling someone while negotiating four-inch heels.

  She pulled Naim up three steps to a platform in the living room that opened onto a wraparound balcony, and shoved him outside into the cold night. Naim clutched his beer, startled and a little frightened.

  Well, at least he was distracted.

  She turned to him, grabbing a pack of cigarettes from behind a barbeque grill and pulling a Zippo etched with the fire department logo from her cleavage, deeply exposed by her low-cut dress. She lit two, took a drag, then handed one to Naim, placing the Zippo on the edge of the grill. He blinked at her for a solid count of five, then reached out and took the cigarette from her.

  “I keep them here if you want more,” she said, exhaling more smoke. “I don’t know if anyone knows they’re there, but no one else will take them.” She raised an eyebrow and grinned. Naim didn’t know a single addict—from nicotine to heroin—who would dare touch Freya’s stash. He looked at her, still a little afraid, but took a calming drag from his cigarette.

  “So my idiot fucking cousin is a fucking idiot,” Freya stated, seemingly without purpose.

  “I um—” Naim wasn’t sure if she expected him to respond. He returned to his cigarette and beer.

  “Yeah, you like him. I know.” Freya turned back toward the door and banged on it until Spellacy looked up and she made a two with her fingers. He vanished into the kitchen. “But he’s still a fucking idiot.” She turned back to Naim.

  “He…isn’t so bad.” Naim had no idea what to say to Freya or how.

  “Nah, he’s not bad at all.” She breathed out smoke. “But he’s a fucking idiot. Makes things harder than they gotta be sometimes, ya know?”

  Naim thought he could safely work with that. “Well, having been his doctor, I can see that.” He watched her, more grateful for the cigarette than he wanted to admit.

  Freya pounded on the balcony door again and flipped off Mac and Peyton, who were making blowfish faces on the glass. They trotted off, giggling, and tried to run past Spellacy, who tripped them both, sending them crashing into Keller. Mayhem ensued, and Spellacy minced off to the balcony with three beers in hand.

  Naim blinked and wondered how any of them got through Deck’s stint in the hospital alive and not imprisoned.

  Spellacy opened the door, nodded at Naim, handed each of them a beer, and set the third on a table near the grill. Wrapping an arm around Freya’s waist, he whispered something to her, and Naim had the uncomfortable feeling that it was utterly filthy given the look on both of their faces. He had to force himself not to start bouncing his leg or clench his teeth. He also had to force himself not to be envious. He marveled at the fact that the day had come when he longed for Deck’s ridiculous, inappropriate raunch. He looked down at the dying cigarette in his hand, took a drag, and flicked it over the balcony.

  “Get out. Later,” Freya said to Spellacy, pushing him to the door and grabbing another smoke from the pack, then tossing it to Naim. Spellacy grinned and helped himself to a handful of Freya’s ass before going back inside.

  Naim lit the cigarette.

  “Yeah, he’s gotta make everything a drama or some shit.” Freya spoke as though she’d never paused. “He doesn’t wanna fuck up, ya know? But then he doesn’t fucking stop and think about shit, so he ends up fucking up.” She eyed Naim. “Know what I mean?”

  Naim thought for a second as he started on the second beer. “Not really,” he finally said. Wasn’t she cold? She was a tall, beautiful woman, in a small, beautiful dress that looked like it was made of a roll of royal blue surgical gauze. Her red hair glowed like a flame in the moonlight, and her dark brown eyes were old and knowing.

  Freya sighed. “Tell him what’s bugging you. He’s too stupid to figure it out on his own. He’s a dumb fuck, remember.”

  Naim started. Where had that come from? “I—Thank you but, I don’t—Nothing is…bugging me.”

  “Sure it is.�
� She lit another cigarette and downed half a beer in one gulp. “Look at you. You got all tense and weird and shit in there. You still are. And it isn’t just ’cause you’re scared of me.”

  Naim looked at her, surprised and awkward.

  “Ah, don’t worry about that. I fucking scare everyone. Well, almost everyone.” She grinned and winked, and Naim thought of Spellacy, whom he’d secretly decided was an insubstantial, silent wraith who half lived in his imagination.

  “I—” Naim stopped. He still didn’t know what to say.

  “Doc, lookit. I know my cousin. He may as well be my brother. He’s off his head for you, and if he knew you were all fucked up about something, he’d be out here right now, tearing his face off trying to make it better. But he’s a fucking idiot, so whatever he fucked up, he doesn’t know. You gotta tell him.” Freya moved closer to him. “You can’t scare him, ya know. Deck’s not really afraid of anything. He’s related to fucking me, right. He’s only scared of losing more people he fucking loves.” She leaned on the balcony next to him, blew smoke out of her nose, and killed the last of her beer.

  Naim stood there, astonished that Freya was talking to him like a person. It also astonished him how incredibly bright and shrewd she was. It was the simplest thing in the world, but maybe he could tell Deck what was bothering him. But Naim wasn’t like Deck. He was afraid of a lot of things.

  “And rats.” Freya broke into his thoughts. “He’s scared as shit of rats.” She nodded. “Not like fucking-cunt-those-things-are-fugly-as-shit-and-gross, but like scream-like-a-little-girl-climb-on-top-of-fucking-furniture-someone-come-rescue-my-ass fucking scared. It’s awesome.” She laughed.

  Naim chuckled at the image. Somehow it didn’t surprise him.

  “I like you, Doc,” she proclaimed. “You’re scared of me, but you don’t run away. Most guys who aren’t in the firehouse run the fuck away from me inside of five minutes.”

  “Um. Thank you…?” Naim wondered what Adam had been like.

  “Yeah, no really. Those fuckers burned your shit down, and you stayed behind to get everyone out. Then you went after that shithead who did it, and you don’t give a fuck who he is or who he knows. Then you didn’t run from my idiot fucking cousin who’s scary as fuck ’cause he’s crazy as fuck—especially with you ’cause he’s stupid as fuck—none of us have ever seen him this bad. And you’re out here with me. I’m scary as fuck too, but here you are. You don’t run, Doc. That’s cool.” Freya took a final contemplative drag on her cigarette, dropped it on the ground, and put it out with her heel.