by I N Foggarty
Once back within the crumbling walls of the Los sin techo headquarters Ramone headed straight for what passed as the shower room. What the original purpose of the building they inhabited had been, he did not know. Though it conveniently had shower facilities, even if they were in a rather poor state of disrepair. The water may not exactly have been hot yet it still felt better than the cold rain.
Obtaining dry clothes had been more challenging. In the end, he had lost his patience and broke into Paul’s locker. He didn’t exactly need them anymore. The only problem he had encountered had been with the shoes. It transpired that Paul had abnormally large feet and so his boots were two sizes too big for Ramone, so he had been forced to put his own back on. Everything else he shoved into the boiler room to dry out. He had been right about there being no money in the holdall.
Now dressed in a dead man’s apparel Ramone headed straight for the bar. An awkward silence filled the putrid air when he walked through the double doors. The place looked emptier than normal though that did not stop the few men that were present from staring at him. He ignored them as he made his way to the front. It didn’t surprise him that people had elected to go elsewhere tonight. By now virtually everyone within the organisation would have heard some version of last night’s events and few would have wanted to be within the vicinity of Sergio. Hence why none of the treacherous bastard’s were present. Probably for the best he thought. Given his current mood, he would most likely have shot them. How long would Ronaldo ban him for if he murdered someone? He sat down at the bar.
“It looks like you’ve ‘ad a rough day my friend.” Before Ramone could reply Ronaldo placed a dirty glass of his basic swill in front of him. “Two-fifty.” The barman gave him a toothy grin and Ramone begrudgingly put his hand inside Paul’s pockets and handed him the money; he couldn’t afford to be kicked out tonight. He hissed, the movement causing him discomfort. He had removed the wrappings Jasper had put on his ribs in the shower, soaking and with no way to dry it, he could have done little else.
In silence, Ramone consumed the beverage while busying himself with the task of making rollups. By the time he finished the drink, he had one firmly clamped between his teeth and several more in his pouch. Flicking his zippo into life he lit the end and signalled Ronaldo for another beer, jabbing his finger towards the second tap when the barman went to pour him another glass of chilled piss.
“You still serving that horse spit?”
Ramone almost fell off his stool on hearing the voice. The question may not have been aimed at him but the owner of the voice gave him cause for alarm; Sergio.
“If d’ere willing to pay for it I’ll sell ‘em it,” the barman replied without missing a beat.
“The fuck you doing down here,” Ramone spat without thinking.
Without even acknowledging him Sergio sat down. “I’m not here to fight, mi amigo.”
Ronaldo placed the pint glass in front of Ramone “Three-twenty.”
“Put it on my tab and get me some tequila.”
Ramone looked at the thick man beside him. “You blame me for last night, take a shot at me and now just waltz in here like nothing happened.”
Sergio snatched the bottle of spirits the barman offered him and tipped it over a shot glass. “I overreacted, mi amigo. That deal and those merchandise were worth a lot of money…and people need to be paid. Besides I didn’t expect to see you around here anytime soon, much less tonight. Maria kick you out again?”
“For good this time,” Ramone replied. He took a sip of his drink followed by a long draw from his smoke and started coughing when the breath caused his ribs to ache. Sergio sat quietly and waited for him to continue. “I missed her friend’s birthday this afternoon while at fucking Jasper’s. Guess that was the last straw for her.”
Sergio downed his shot. “Bitches. Good for one fuck then nothing but trouble afterwards. Not to mention expensive.”
“I’ll drink to that.” Both men raised their glasses and drank.
“Listen, mi amigo. You need to lay low for a while. Just in case that bitch who escaped makes her way to the cops.” Ramone looked at Sergio’s hard face and saw only a fraction of the rage that had twisted his features hours prior. It appeared he had returned to normal.
“That Vodka you were drinking earlier.” It wasn’t a question. Vodka had always been Sergio’s drink of choice when angry and it only served to fuel the fire.
“It was a bottle…”
“It was the other bottle you swiped from me last week. I’d know the smell of that stuff anyw’ere.” Both men looked at the ageing bartender who remained completely unfazed by the harsh looks they gave him. “If d’e two of you d’ink you are scary you s’ould go visit my cousin in Panama. E’d make you wet yourselves wit’out raising an eyebrow. And if either of you d’inks about making that joke ‘bout de bartender and ‘is ass I’ll kick you out.” Ramone chose to ignore the man while Sergio did little more than send a grunt his way.
“I have a Job for you,” Sergio then said, refilling the shot glass. “It’s piss easy and more importantly will make you and me a lot of money while you lay low. Interested?” Ramone sighed. With everything else that had gone on he had completely forgotten that Sergio had actually offered him a job at the end of his rage-filled rant.
“Sure. What else do I have to lose?”
“You won’t regret this, mi amigo. I swear it.” Sergio paused and downed another shot. “All you need to do is pick up some kid and babysit for a while. I’ll have Tanya fill you in on the details in the morning.” Ramone had to suppress the urge to bad mouth the skank. He could have put money on her having something to do with this. “Tonight we drink and fuck some pretty ladies. You are back on the market are you not?”
Ramone finished his beer as beside him Sergio let out a roar of laughter and signalled Ronaldo to top him up. Apparently, the oft-heard saying about clouds applied even to tonight’s storm clouds. There was always some form of silver lining.
Best interests?
The sound of gunfire once again filled the large room that Dylan called home. This morning his ruthlessness had been to a point that a few of his friends had dropped out early. Whichever wise master had said that anger could not draw out a warrior's true potential had been talking bullshit he thought as his finger hammered down on the left mouse button; tuning another hapless victim into spare body parts.
Thursday had come and gone and although Matt had been unable to apologise to Anna, owing to her having missed school that day, he had made no progress towards breaking them up. Or how he would get Matt to Raymond’s party. Life sucked.
The only silver lining being that he had a strong suspicion Anna had missed school due to an exceptionally bad cold; at the very least. With any luck she would be absent again today, giving him more time to try and come up with a plan. Still, even if his luck held out, there were only about eight hours left in which to convince Matt, that the party was where he wanted to be that evening. His chances of free beer and babe were not looking good.
In annoyance, Dylan shut off the computer and made his way out of the bedroom and downstairs to the kitchen. Wrenching open the fridge, he removed a fresh bottle of coke and filled a glass. Taking a large gulp he turned to look at what Mrs Mardle had served up this morning; scrambled eggs and a rack of toast. The old witch must have been in a spectacularly good mood before she left that morning, to have made him something he would actually enjoy. Unless of course…“Yuck!” He spat the mouthful of egg back onto the plate. The eggs were off; normality had been restored.
Shoving the plate away in disgust he settled for the rack of toast on its own. Taking a cautious bite out of a triangular slice he was slightly surprised to find that the bread had not been stale. Satisfied that he could eat at least part of his breakfast, Dylan proceeded to decimate the entire rack. As he washed down the last of it with the remainder of his beverage the house phone rang. “Tabbie that’s the phone,” he shouted without thinking.
No reply. No shouting or cursing, no heavy footsteps and the phone still rang. “Fine, I’ll get it.”
Lazy old cow he thought as he slouched his way into the next room and picked up the handset. If she wouldn’t do her damn job then there was even less point in having her; he had forgotten she had already left. “Rodgers residence.”
“Good,” a man’s voice replied. “Although next time, do not answer in such a lazy tone.” Dylan almost dropped the handset when he heard his father’s voice reply. “You still have a lot of work to do but at least it is a start.”
“Good morning, Father,” Dylan eventually managed to say, unable to fully remove the shock from his voice.
“You can skip the pleasantries, Boy, I have no time for them.” When do you ever have any time for me, he thought bitterly. “Now, you may have been wondering why Harrison has not yet contacted you with the details of your journey this weekend.”
He hadn’t. In fact, with everything that had happened at school over the past two days he had completely forgotten about his forced trip to hell that weekend. If he’d wanted to endure a fiery oblivion he’d have walked up to Anna and slapped her in the face. At least that way he’d be sent express delivery straight to the devil himself. “I had wondered.”
“Yes well, whatever plans Harrison made have been scrapped.” For half a heartbeat Dylan thought he was about to get off scot-free. Then he remembered to whom he spoke. “I’m going for a round of golf with a potential client of great importance and their son.” On listening to his father's words alarm bells began to ring inside his head. Even the most boring sport in the world involved copious amounts of walking. “Anyway after much deliberation, I have decided that, since you are of an age with the client’s son, it would be beneficial for you to play as our fourth. Provided you are on your best behaviour. I trust you have been keeping up with your golfing lessons?”
Great. Just great Dylan cursed internally. Now his father expected him to perform like a seal on command. He hated the stupid game. And really, come to think of it, when was the last time he had actually gone to one of the stupid weekly golfing lessons his father paid for? Four months or more at least. Apparently, they were still billing him despite his son’s nonattendance.
“Now, I am sending Harrison over to collect you. He’ll be there at about 10 o’clock tonight, probably with half his underlings and one of those damn Hummers in toe. You know how he always goes overboard with these sort of things.”
“Wait. This evening?” Dylan blurted out without thinking.
“That is what I just said.” He almost dropped the handset again. He had plans this evening, big plans. Not only was he going to get drunk and do some slutty blonde but by 10 o’clock tonight he would hopefully be rid of Anna for good and have Matt with the girl he belonged.
“No,” he said defiantly. This time his father had gone too far.
“What do you mean no.” His father’s tone had stiffened and sounded if he too did not quite comprehend what Dylan had just said.
“I said no. I have plans with friends tonight.”
“Your plans have been cancelled.” Dylan could picture the puce colour of his father’s face as he barked at him. “This whole thing may have been your mother’s idea but credit where credit is due. Now, you will be present at brunch tomorrow, suitably dressed. You will play tennis in the morning with my client’s son to break the ice and then you will have lunch with us followed by a round of golf and dinner tomorrow evening and that is final. You WILL be at home when Harrison arrives and you will do exactly what he tells you, follow the itinerary I have drawn up for you and wear the clothes your mother has picked out for you. Is that understood?”
Well, there was a surprise he thought dryly. He should have known the idea had come from the vipers head. If she had cooked this up then he would have no part in it. He would not allow that snake to have her way. At the very least she had ensured Dylan would spend an entire weekend being tortured. However, if things went the way she undoubtedly hoped he would probably end up embarrassing his father to the point that it drove an even larger wedge between them. His relationship with the man may already have been a lost cause, but he would not allow her to manipulate the pair of them into blowing it up even further. He could do that perfectly well by himself.
“No.” This time his tone was firm and openly defiant. “I’m not going to cancel my evening just because your wife decides to use me to embarrass you and you’re too blind to see it! I can’t play tennis, I hate golf and I am not wearing anything she picked out for me. Ever.”
“ENOUGH!” his father roared. “I have had it with you and your disobedience. You are my son and you will do as I command. You will be on a plane with Harrison and Co by the end of the day and that is the end of the matter.” Before Dylan could fire back another rebellious response the line went dead.
“FUCK YOU!” he screamed, throwing the handset across the room.
Absolutely seething Dylan flung the door to the room open and ran upstairs to get his school things. A few minutes later he arrived in the garage and almost pulled his car door off its hinges. He hated his life sometimes he raged, slamming the car into drive. Speeding out of the garage he almost hit the bottom of the door. By the time he reached the gate his phone had also encountered his wrath as he jammed it roughly into its dock. This had been a long time coming he reflected, the traffic lights at the end of his street bringing about a sharp blast from his horn. Almost every time he had spoken to his father over the past year it had ended in some sort of argument; usually over the viper. He hated being manipulated by people, especially her. And if his father could not see it then he had no one to blame but himself. He could, however, you couldn’t out-manipulate a manipulator.
Marginally making it through the offending light an 8-bit jingle rang from his phone. For a split second, he thought it might be his father. However, on glancing at the name on the screen he relaxed ever so slightly; Raymond. Sod that he thought, jabbing the decline button. He was in no mood to talk with Ray…
Dylan almost slammed on the brakes, a thought hitting him like one of Wednesday night’s lightning bolts. Excitedly he began flicking through his recent text messages a wide grin forming on his face. Now to test the theory he thought with glee, scrolling over to his contacts and hit the one that said, ‘Nat’. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, answer your phone, will you.
“What the hell is it, Dylan,” Natalie sounded quite irate this morning.
“And a good morning to you too, Nat. How did you know it was me calling?”
“What...Ouch…Dammit, Dylan!” Though an interesting response, with the ‘ouch’ part sounding particularly painful, he needed a straight answer from her.
“Just answer the question, Nat.”
“For god’s sake, Dylan, you just made me burn my finger on my straighteners.” So the rumours were true; Natalie didn’t have naturally straight hair. Again interesting, however, he had to get an answer out of her.
“Come on, Nat, don’t hold out on me. How did you know I was calling before you heard my charming voice?”
“Cos I saw your name on my phone obviously... Urgh…. and I wouldn’t… Urgh… consider you… charming… argh… If you were the last… person… son of a… on earth.”
“So you’d sleep with all the girls first?” he asked, the image in his head of her struggling with her hair quickly being replaced by something far saucier. “I bet the internet would pay a fortune to see you and Anna mud wrestle in bikinis.”
“When I get hold of you, Dylan, you’re going to wish I were Anna!” A bold but empty threat. Not even Nat could measure up to that bitch when it came to scariness. Those green eyes that could go from lukewarm to below absolute zero in a heartbeat could not be matched.
“If you’re done with your ‘I’m the queen of mean’ routine I have a job for you.”
“What!” Now she really sounded pissed but he chose to ignore it.
“I need you to go out and buy a new sim for your phone before school today.” He turned another corner and joined the end of a queue of traffic. When she failed to reply he took the opportunity to continue. “Get some airtime and activate it as soon as you get the chance. Then send me the number.”
“What the hell are you on about, Dylan?”
“Just do what I said. Buy a sim card and some airtime, activate it and then send me the number.” He hammered his fist down on the horn as the car at the front of the queue remained blissfully unaware that the lights had changed.
“What’s your game, Dylan?”
He swallowed the urge to name his favourite video game. “Put simply you get to be Anna tonight.”
“I don’t want to be Anna, ever.” He rolled his eyes and hit the gas pedal in an attempt to make the lights. However, the car in front chose to defy him and slowed to a halt. Must be an old grandma driving he thought bitterly. His horn joined the collective din of those behind him in protest.
“You will tonight,” he said in an abrasive manner born of his frustrations with today’s incompetent road users. “Aside from the fact that if you play your cards right you’ll be sitting at Raymond’s party snogging Matt’s face off as Natalie, you also get to dump him, as Anna of course.”
“Dylan, if you don’t start making some sense, I’m going to hang up. My hair’s in enough of a mess as it is.” Did he actually have to have to spell this out to her?
He groaned, though this time made the lights. “Look all you have to do is get the sim card and send me the number. Then when I text you this evening you send Matt a text, pretending to be Anna and break up with him. If he tries to call you don’t answer, just keep sending text messages. Remember he said she told him to fuck off on Wednesday. You could even argue that she broke up with him then. Just do what it takes to get it into his head that it’s over.”
“How on earth is that going to work? He’s not going to believe that I’m Anna, even via text.”