Cold Plate Special

by Rob Widdicombe

  “You okay, man?” Shred asked.

  “Oh, yeah. Fine.” I got out my wallet.

  “Put that away. My treat.”

  “Sure?”

  He just smiled and paid a cashier with a bouffant hairdo. Shred seemed like a sophisticated gentleman in that moment, not an artsy whacko at all. It was strange. Everything was strange. The world was strange. And in spite of being surrounded by the biggest collection of oddballs I had ever met in my life, I felt like the oddest oddball to ever set foot on the face of the globe.

  13

  On the way back from the diner, Shred talked about his latest painting, a giant head being pulled by balloons across a landscape of rabid orange and green bobcats. He was psyched about finishing it today. I was glad he’d be occupied. All I wanted to do was get into the zone, think up a zinger and focus.

  Kenny worked his way down onto the couch and cracked a beer and started organizing his pharmaceuticals. Shred went into his studio to paint. I sat on the lounge chair and got out my Mapquest map. I took a deep breath. The room smelled like dust and mildew. Then Shred stormed back out, all hyper.

  “Paint’s set up,” he said, clapping his hands together once for effect. “Time for a bong-hit.” He shook his head like a dog with a wet coat. Very wound-up all of a sudden, as though a few too many volts were plugged into his breaker box. He took his bong-hit and disappeared. The room smelled better, but I didn’t want to get a residual high so I took my maps and my backpack and went down to Kenny’s room and shut the door.

  I sat on the edge of the bed and looked over the map and directions and it was all pretty straightforward. Finding Motorcar’s house was going to be the easy part, but what the fuck was I gonna say when I got there? Stupid pervert loser ass-neck! Oh lord—I was regressing!

  Shred called me from the hallway: “Hey Jarvis, you want a Bloody Mary?”

  I pictured him in his Cantaloupe Master robe, holding up his glass and swirling the ice cubes, lecturing on the many conspiratorial events surrounding the reign of Mary Queen of Scots. I wanted one. Bad. I knew it would help. A good strong drink would loosen me up and help my balls grow. The zingers would probably start flowing. I felt a lump crawling up my throat. But no, I couldn’t.

  “No, thanks. I don’t drink, remember?”

  “Oh, yeah. Sorry, man. I just didn’t want to be rude.”

  “No problem.”

  “Shit—what am I thinking? You can’t drink before your interview, anyway.” He opened the door and popped his head in. He had a goofy smile on his face. Like one of his cartoon paintings. “Don’t you have to take a shower and put on a suit and stuff? You kinda need a shave.”

  “That stuff’s out in the car. I was just getting ready to go out there and get it.”

  His smile dropped. He looked like he didn’t believe me.

  “Damn—I hope you brought your own towel. Let me know if you need anything. I mean, other than a clean towel. Sorry, I should’ve done laundry.” And he unpopped his head back out though the door and shut it.

  Yeesh, I thought. I considered just telling Shred about the whole deal and buying myself a few hours of peace before dark. Then I wouldn’t have to go through with this whole charade. But I didn’t want to tell anyone. At least not until afterwards when all was resolved and I got my self-esteem and mojo back in working order.

  I decided the best thing to do would be to just leave. I could go somewhere, find a diner or a café, load up on some coffee, devise a few perfect zingers and calm down these butterflies, swamp fish and sinking cinderblocks. I could always call Shred later and tell him the whole deal and apologize for not saying goodbye. He would understand such a spontaneous and rude action.

  My moves were quick and decisive: I went to the kitchen and got my jar of instant iced tea, stuffed that and my maps into my backpack, zipped up the pocket and headed out the front door.

  I was feeling good. I headed down the brick sidewalk thinking today was the day. Today was my day. The world better look the fuck out.

  That’s when I saw them.

  They were half a block down Shred’s street, a bunch of the hip-hop redneck Oregon Hill punks. Ten or twelve of them. They looked like a younger group than the ones I saw the day before hanging out around their cars a couple of blocks down. These dudes were on foot, wearing their white tee-shirts or wife-beaters or no shirt at all, their pants baggy and drooping. One of them yelled: “Look at the college pussy!” I heard shards of menacing laughter. A lump of clay formed in my throat. To walk to my car I had to walk toward them. So like an idiot I just stood there. Like a mark. Bad call. They started running toward me, yelling: “Woo-hoo!” and “Faggot-ass!” I turned to run for Shred’s when something hit me in the shoulder. I looked down and saw it was a half-piece of brick.

  “Got him! Fuckin pussy!” They cheered and laughed.

  It didn’t really hurt, but like an even bigger idiot I turned to look back at them to see how close they were. That’s when it hit me in the face. A rock or piece of brick. Right in the eye. I almost fell over, but I kept running for Shred’s. I couldn’t believe it.

  “Nice one!”

  “Sweet!”

  “Yo college bitch!”

  “Ha ha!”

  I kept my hand up on my eye and blasted through Shred’s front door. Slammed it and turned the dead bolt and dropped my backpack on the hallway floor. “Shit!” I was breathing so hard I thought my lungs were going to pop. My eye felt numb and wet. And then—BAM! A rock hit the house.

  “What the fuck is that!” Kenny yelled from down the long hallway. Then another rock hit the house, this time on the door.

  Shred came charging out into the hallway. “What is that? Holy shit, Jarvis—what happened?”

  Another rock hit. “They’re going to kill us all!” I yelled. I started heading down the hall toward the safe interior of the house. Shred got in my face and pulled my hand away from my eye.

  “Holy fuck,” he said. “This is bad.”

  “It feels bad.”

  “What happened?”

  “Your neighbors attacked me with rocks!”

  “No shit! I told you to watch out for them.”

  “You did?”

  “You’re gonna need stitches. Wow.”

  “Fuck!”

  “Don’t squint your eye shut so hard—you’re making it bleed more. Come on.” And he led me down the hall and into the living room. “I’ll be right back.”

  I tried not squinting, but my eye started to sting and then twitch. My brain was probably filling up with blood. I was going to catch a fatal brain infection and die right there in Shred’s crappy duplex. I heard him running some water in the kitchen.

  “What ever so happened to your face?” Kenny said sarcastically.

  I didn’t say anything. I should have said: “I dunno—what happened to your leg, Colonel Limpy?” But I was in the zinger desert as usual.

  Shred came out and led me into the kitchen. He put a wad of damp paper towel to my eye and applied pressure. I felt a dull ache but that was about it.

  “You’ve got a nasty cut,” he said. “I’m gonna run you down to MCV to get it sewn up.”

  “MC what?”

  “Emergency room.”

  “God this sucks!”

  I heard Kenny in the other room, laughing.

  Shred took the paper towel off to look. “They really hit the bull’s-eye here. Gory.”

  “Thanks,” I said. My whole face was starting to hurt.

  “What the fuck happened?” Kenny yelled from the couch.

  “The Hillites got Jarvis. With a rock.”

  “Oh,” he said, like it happened every day. “That’s what I thought.”

  “I’m gonna call the cops,” I said.

  “Don’t bother. They won’t do anything.” He went to the sink and started washing his hands.

  “Great.”

  I couldn’t fucking believe it. Instead of going to Motorcar’s to slam him with zinger
s, I was going to the hospital. But it was just a delay. I would resume the mission as soon as they sewed up my face. Shred gave me a fresh wad of paper towel for my eye. I took off the old wad and blinked. I could kind of see through the blood, so I figured I wouldn’t be blind at least. We went down the hall and out onto the front porch. No sign of the rock throwers. Shred picked up one of the brick pieces that had been thrown at the house and he studied it, as though it might yield some vital information. I wasn’t too psyched about going out there, but I guess I needed stitches. He led me across the street to his van. My head was on a swivel, looking all over, but I didn’t see any of them.

  Shred started the van up and hit the gas pedal hard. “Sorry about the asshole neighbor kids. Those dicks.”

  “Sorry you have to live in such a bad neighborhood.”

  He looked pissed. “It’s really not that bad. You just have to know how to handle those punks. The rent around here is super cheap.”

  “I can see why.”

  “I’m sorry, Jar. And you’re like the first family member to ever come visit me here and look what happens. This really fucking disrupts my personal electricity.”

  “Your what?”

  “My personal electricity. Y’know, my vibe. My flow.”

  “Cosmic,” I said. “Is that what you shred?”

  “Huh?”

  “Personal electricity? Is that what you shred up?”

  “Farns gave me that nickname. First is was ‘The Shredder’ and now it’s just ‘Shred’ for short.”

  “Killer, dude.”

  “How’s your eye?”

  “It’s been better.”

  “Oh, man—your job interview!”

  “Yeah. So much for that.”

  “That sucks.”

  Maybe it was the adrenalin rushing through my body, working like some kind of truth serum in me. Or the sheer animal experience of getting pelted by rocks and bricks. Whatever it was, something compelled me to clear away the bullshit and administer a cold splash of truth.

  Shred stopped at a stoplight.

  “There is no job interview, actually. I made that up.”

  “I knew it!” His eyes were bugging out. “So why are you here? I know it ain’t just to visit my ass. Is it a girl?”

  “Well…I’m on a mission. Kind of.”

  “What mission?”

  “I came here to…basically to have a confrontation with someone. From the past.”

  “Ex-girlfriend?”

  “I’ll tell you about it later.”

  “Come on. Just gimme the basics. Real quick.”

  “My brains are leaking out over here. Can it wait a while?”

  “No, they’re not. You have a cut above your eye. A bad cut, but you’re gonna be fine.”

  “We’ll see.”

  “So tell me—why are you here, Jarvis?”

  “I’m here to see someone.” I looked out the window with my one eye.

  “All right, Lieutenant Mystery.”

  “Are we gonna be to the emergency room soon?”

  “We’re not going til you tell me. Just kidding!”

  “I’m going to have a confrontation with someone who did something fucked up to me when I was little, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  We didn’t speak for a couple of minutes and I thought I was off the hook. I hoped there wouldn’t be a long wait at the emergency room. Shred wasn’t done yet, though.

  “A child molester?” he said.

  “Yes, actually. How did you know?”

  “Man, I am hitting ’em out of the park! And you came here to fuck him up? That is awesome.”

  “Not to fuck him up. I plan on having a healthy, verbal confro—”

  “What did he do exactly?”

  We stopped at a red light and The Shredder looked at me with the whacko eyes of a psycho murderer. He was way more worked up than I was, and I just had a rock thrown into my face.

  “I really don’t like talking about it,” I said. “He fondled my package, okay? A camp counselor. You happy now?”

  “That twisted fucking pervert bitch! He is not getting away with this!”

  I did not want to accept the fact that Shred had just spontaneously produced a world class zinger. I had been trying to think of one for weeks and I had nothing.

  “You gonna kill him?” he said. “Gonna fuck him up good, right?” He looked like an animal who could smell meat.

  “No, of course not. I’m just going to express my, verbally express my anger and…it’s going to be, like, really healthy.” I pushed the bloody wad of paper towel tighter to my eye.

  “Jesus—he deserves to have his fucking face blown off! Did you bring a piece?”

  “A piece? Are you kidding?”

  “How’re you gonna do it?”

  “I’m not gonna do anything. I just want to talk to him.”

  “Talk to him? If I were you I’d blow his ass into about a gazillion pieces, y’know? That low-life shit-neck.”

  My head was starting to feel like a watermelon that had been dropped down a flight of concrete steps. The pain was dull and sharp at the same time.

  “As shitty as this world is, it’s way too good of a place for that motherfucker. You should shank him. In the face. Hell, I’ll help you. I’ll pitchfork his ass about a thousand times.”

  “Okay, okay. I’ll nuke him for you.”

  “Now you’re talking.”

  We turned into the hospital complex. I never thought I’d be so glad to go to a hospital. Getting my eyebrow sewn back together was gonna be way more comfortable than this conversation.

  “They should take people like that and cut off their hands and shove them down their throat,” he said, pulling up to the ER entrance. He was more pissed off about it than I ever was. It did feel kind of good to hear someone taking my side. He let me out and said he’d be right in after he parked the van. Right before I shut the van door, he leaned over and said: “I’ll totally help you kill him.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “I’ll take care of it.”

  “I’m there for you, man. I gotchyer back.”

  I shut the door and he and zoomed off.

  14

  The paper towel wasn’t paper towel anymore, it was more like a mass of bloody pulp. The bleeding seemed to have slowed down, but I kept it up there. My eye was stinging like a mofo. A sign above the sliding glass doors to the emergency room said: Medical College of Virginia. I pictured teams of wacky, incompetent young medical students running around and botching everything they touched. Why couldn’t Shred have taken me to a real hospital? Was this place even accredited?

  The giant waiting room was slam full of people, none of whom appeared to be bleeding from the head, so I hoped I would get fast service. I registered with a lady at a little open cubicle. She took my name and asked if it was my eye.

  “It’s like, right above my eye.”

  She smirked and wrote something down.

  I realized I should have said it was my eye to speed up the process. She wasn’t in any hurry at all. Then she told me to go wait in the waiting area and they would call my name. Before I got a chance to ask her how long the wait would be, she took her clipboard and left.

  There weren’t any seats available, so I stood against the wall. My brain was swirling. After a while, Shred showed up. He was all sweaty and jittery, like he was allergic to hospitals or something.

  “Man, parking was a bitch,” he said. “How is it? Has it stopped bleeding yet?”

  “Pretty much, I guess.”

  “I just can’t believe this shit. I mean, I do believe it, but it’s still so fucked up.”

  “I think your neighbors need a rec center or something.”

  “No, man, I mean the sicko guy. Your pervert.”

  “Let’s not talk about that in here, okay?”

  “Why? You know any of these people?”

  “I’d appreciate it if you’d just stop talking about the whole thing. It’s kinda, you kn
ow…personal?”

  “Don’t worry, chief,” Shred said, wiping the sweat off his forehead with his tee-shirt. “I’m in this with you a thousand percent.”

  “But there’s nothing to be ‘in’ with me with! Just drop it, okay? Please? It’s my…”

  “Your what?”

  “Never mind.”

  “I gotta hit the john.”

  Shred disappeared through some swinging doors. I sat there for about twenty minutes. Not only was my name not called, but nobody’s name was being called. Shred reappeared looking like he’d been trapped in some wild animal’s cave.

  “Did you find the can?”

  “Yeah, but I got lost. Place is a maze.”

  We stood there for another ten minutes, not talking. I was grateful. Shred looked deep in thought, which had me worried. Finally, the check-in lady with the clipboard was back.

  “Mister Henderson? They’re ready to see you.”

  “It’s Henders,” Shred corrected her, annoyed. “There’s no ‘son’ at the end.”

  “Oh, I am so sorry, sir,” the lady snipped. “You want to come with me Mr. Hender?” I think she left the “s” off on purpose.

  “I’ll be right here, cuz.”

  The doctor was about my age. His youth reminded me that I should have been a lawyer by now. Nine stitches. Doc Junior had to shave off half my eyebrow. The bandage was big and it pushed down on my eyelid, so my eye was half shut. How was I gonna see Motorcar now? Find his house? Stare him down with my death glare when I had only one eye available? I felt raw panic pulling the sides of my chest open like meat hooks. Something was punching me in the stomach, but from the inside.

  I had developed a screaming headache and my whole face hurt, but Doogie Howser refused to prescribe me anything.

  “Just get some Extra Strength Tylenol.”

  “I’m not sure that’ll do it.”

  “That ought to do it.”

  I should have said: You ever get hit in the face with a rock, pal? But I didn’t think of it in time. At least they gave me some free bandages and anti-biotic ointment. Then the lady at the pay window took my insurance card from the law firm. Old Reinhaus-and-crew must have forgotten to cancel it. That gave me a warm feeling inside.