Flood Abatement

by James Norton

  “Get up. Go to Mass,” Dominic said with a biblical intonation.

  “What?”

  “Get up, you lazy drunk. We go church. Now.”

  “Dominic, what time is it?”

  “Almost nine o’clock. You need to go to church.”

  “Let me alone.” I yanked on my shirt to free it from his hand. “Not today, Dom. I just got in bed two hours ago.”

  He kept the grip he’d developed from twenty-nine years of lifting garbage cans as if I wasn’t even there. “If you do not drink all night then you can get more sleep.”

  “I was working all night. You know that.”

  “It was wedding. They went back to room for fucking. You went out drinking.”

  “No, they wanted to see the sunrise.”

  He let go and I flopped back on my bunk.

  “Stupid, but get up. We go church, now.” He grabbed me by an arm and a leg and threw me on the floor of my partially renovated room. “Show respect. Wear suit.”

  Short and barrel chested, Dominic was still a physically powerful man for someone in his fifties. Since ’45 he’d worked as a garbage man in Chicago though he was now a union steward. So, I was living with him, allegedly assisting him in the renovation of an 1880’s house on the near north side of the city. What I did was live rent free in a front room on the third floor, do what Dominic asked me to do and drive limo.

  This morning I sat in his Oldsmobile ’88 as we drove north to Saint Acacius on Wilson Avenue for a Serbian Orthodox mass. The car was showroom clean. Driving this lead sled Dominic didn’t notice the gas lines around town or mention the increase in prices to over ninety cents a gallon. It didn’t affect him. He got all his gas at the city garage, making scrupulously sure to pay the twenty-five cents they charged him. During the trip and the service, I was either asleep or in pain from exhaustion. There was one sneezing fit from the incense.

  As we left, the bearded priest who had celebrated the Mass greeted me at the door. “Good morning, I’m Father Stephan. Are you with Dominic?”

  Blinking to try to rouse my thoughts I said, “Yes, he’s my great uncle on my mother’s side.”

  “Are you staying with him?”

  “Yes, for the summer.”

  The priest pulled me close to him. “I must talk with you. Come and see me tomorrow anytime. I’ll be here all day.” He squeezed my hand so hard the pain pulled me away from my lust for sleep.

  The incense on his gold brocaded vestments brought tears to my eyes. “Ah.”

  “It is important.”

  I extracted my hand from his. “Yeah, sure. What time?” I rubbed the fingers to relieve the pain.

  He gripped my shoulder. “I’ll be here all day, but come.”

  I shuffled up to the car where Dominic waited for me. “Have nice talk with Father Stephan?”

  I used my weight to swing the wide passenger door open. “Seems a little intense.”

  Dominic frowned at me. “The war. You be intense if you do what he did.”

  I took a beat to catch his meaning. The war to me was Vietnam, Can Tho and the Mekong River. Dominic meant World War II, the resistance, Yugoslavia. Either way, I was too tired to care just then. “Let’s get back. I need some sleep if I’m going to work tonight.”

  Chapter 5

  Tonight driving was supposed to be a cake walk. I picked up some young buck at a high-rise on the Gold Coast. We drove out to an art deco apartment building just north of Lincoln Park. Thirty minutes later he came out with a swanky young woman. It was a pleasure opening the rear door for her. He was having dinner with his fiancee and his family downtown. I waited then took the young couple around for some clubbing.

  Individually good looking in their own way, but a bit of a odd couple to look at. Bernardo Armeli was Mediterranean with olive skin and slicked back black hair. Mathilda Colessar was light complected with auburn hair cut severely at her jaw line. Both were dressed fashionably - he in dark bellbottom pants and a tight fitting orange shirt. She in a tan skirt that just covered her ass, a white blouse with a plunging neckline and ruffles down the front, several long necklaces and platform sandals.

  A bit before two in the morning the couple slid into the back of my car. He was well oiled. She was not. From the sour look on her face she did not like hanging around with drunks.

  “Take me home.” She gave me the address between Belden and Webster. As I pulled onto Fullerton to go south on Lincoln Park Bernardo decided he wanted a little something extra from Miss Colessar before closing out the evening.

  “Come on, Maddy,” he said.

  “Ben, no, you’re drunk,” she said.

  I glanced in the rearview mirror. He had her pinned in the passenger’s corner with one hand on her chest.

  “You know you want it.”

  Something ripped. Hitting the brakes, I looked in the rearview mirror. He had torn her blouse open exposing a bare breast. She put a hand on his shoulder and pushed him.

  “Mr. Armeli ...”

  “Shut the fuck up,” he said.

  “Look what you did. Get away from me, jerk,” she said.

  “Looks good to me.”

  She slapped him. He giggled, turned away then spun back with a a roundhouse open hand, smacking her hard across the face. She screamed.

  I slammed the car into park and jumped out. We were almost in front of Maddy’s building. She opened the limo door and tumbled out onto the sidewalk. I ran to her. He lunged at her grabbing an ankle. I kicked him in the face. He dropped, releasing his grip.

  “Let’s get you inside.” I held her up and navigated toward the building’s main entrance. A liveried doorman stepped out as we reached the canopy. Armeli’s roar came from behind us as I passed Maddy to the doorman and turned to engage my passenger.

  Drunks are easy and he had been way over served. My gag reflex kicked in as he breathed on me which allowed him to grab me from behind. Dropping down to break his grip, I pivoted, took hold of him by one arm and ran him head first into the pink granite trim on the buildings east entrance. There was the sound of a melon smacking the wall. He went slack in my hands and fell unconscious. Flecks of blood stained the shine on the toe of my left shoe or maybe they were on my glasses.

  I looked at Maddy and the doorman behind the glass in the vestibule of the apartment building. She stood wide-eyed with running mascara as she held her torn garment up to her throat. The doorman stared at me quizzically.

  “He slipped,” I said. “Take her up to her place. I’ll take him to a hospital.”

  Maddy nodded.

  I dragged Armeli to the car and tossed him in the back. “Cocksucking son of a bitch.” The Haitians were going to give me a double ration of shit for getting blood on the backseat of their limousine.

  My legs began to turn to rubber as I navigated my way back to the diver’s seat. I opened my door and fell inside. Feeling very warm, I stripped off my uniform coat and tossed it on the seat. My breath came in ragged gulps. I swung myself behind the wheel and managed to close the door. Now, my hands shook and my arms felt like lead. It was five minutes before I felt safe enough to pull the limo out from the curb. Man, I loved this job.