Wtf

by Peter Lerangis

  “Right. Okay. See you!”

  She slipped inside and felt herself being sucked in by a swarm of dancing, laughing people. Usually this made her feel euphoric and free. Tonight, all she could feel was the weight of the bag.

  Her eyes darted left and right as she made her way across the dance floor. It wouldn’t be long before Waits got here. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Gino chatting up a dark-haired girl with cleavage and legs and not much in between. No getting his attention now.

  “Hey, babe, would you like to check that?” a grinning guy called out to her—Brad, Brandon, Brent, Ben—they all had names like that. He was gesturing to a coat room by the door.

  “Yes!” Reina said, quickly unhooking the bag.

  She handed it to him and then plunged into the crowd, not bothering to take her ticket.

  28

  BYRON

  October 18, 12:28 A.M.

  “Coooool!” MC squealed as the car approached Blowback.

  Byron’s fingers shook. He had been cut off, tailgated, honked at, cursed at, middle-fingered, and brights-flashed from the moment he hit the West Side Highway. The experience of driving in New York City was a thousand times more awful than he had ever imagined.

  Doing it in the company of MC Reemer was sheer insanity.

  Her CD mix, which she had played through twice, sounded like outtakes from Siberia’s Got Talent. She rode with her window open, randomly screaming ejaculations of inappropriate exuberance such as “I love yoooou, Big Apple!” She wore a short, flower-patterned dress that spoke Wal-Mart 2006 Yellow Tag Summer Clearance Sale rack. Her short hair was gelled to within an inch of its life, and when she wasn’t screaming, she was bouncing in her seat and applying makeup in the visor mirror.

  Byron could not believe this girl. Human beings of this age group did not behave in this way. He knew North Dakota was not New York, but it wasn’t the Oort cloud either.

  It didn’t help that she’d dressed him in her dad’s sturdy solid-color Aramark “dresswear” that made him look like an insurance salesman on Casual Friday.

  “Woooo-HOOOOOO!” MC shrieked as Byron steered carefully down West Street past the club, around a small throng of bridge-and-tunnel types waiting to get in.

  “You are embarrassing me,” Byron said through gritted teeth.

  She grinned. “Do you know what a big deal this is for someone like me?”

  “That’s right. I forgot. Being raised by wolves in the wilderness and all …” Making a left turn into a side street, he headed for a space being vacated by an SUV with Jersey plates.

  “I can’t believe this—Blowback, just like I pictured it!” MC said, face plastered to the window. “You actually know the person who owns this club?”

  “I know the cousin of someone who runs the club,” Byron said. “I think she said she put our names on a list. Now can you please shut up so I can concentrate on parking?”

  After six tries he gave up and double-parked next to a battered Corolla. The fact that MC was laughing at him the whole time did not help. “That was the worst parallel parking job I ever saw,” she said.

  “Thanks for the support,” Byron replied. “Why didn’t you drive?”

  “That wouldn’t be nearly as much fun.” She leaned over and planted a kiss on his cheek. “You are so adorable when you get frustrated. Especially when you’re wearing my dad’s clothes.”

  “Now that’s sick.” Byron felt a cough coming on. He went to turn off the heat but it wasn’t on. This entire night had been one long tumble down the rabbit hole, and he realized he’d not reached bottom.

  “How do I look?” She was smiling at him. She had that annoying, expectant gaze that said Anything you do will live up to the cuddlicious stereotype into which I have just placed you.

  The thing was, as much as he hated to admit it, as much as he would never dare to say it to her, as much as he suspected his creeping cold/flu/sniffle/whatever-it-was was affecting his brain and he never until this second would have entertained this thought, against all odds a new fact had leaped out of the primordial ooze of his misery:

  She did something for him.

  God damn it.

  “Well. Um,” he stammered. “Your makeup …?”

  Her smile vanished. “What?”

  “Well, it’s …” Byron pulled down her sun visor again, which had a convenient light of its own. “It’s great. I mean, the colors. But maybe you can, I don’t know, wipe off a little around the eyes?”

  “It’s too much?” MC said, taking out a makeup sponge.

  “And maybe the rest of the face. You don’t really need it. I mean, you look pretty good without it.”

  “Seriously?”

  “I mean, the lipstick is nice.” Oh, dear God, I did not say that. Byron grabbed the door handle. “We really have to go.”

  “Just a sec.”

  He got out of the car and waited, tapping his roof with his fingers, tapping the cobblestoned road with his feet. A gang of kids was walking down the street, all paired off in gay and straight couples, laughing at some comment and looking like they’d known each other their whole lives. Across the street a guy and a girl were leaning against a brick wall, just stroking each other’s hair and saying nothing. Smiling.

  Then the sidewalk began to shake.

  He heard a car roaring around the corner, its woofers blasting a Frank Sinatra track.

  Byron turned to see a black Hummer speed up the street, just as MC pushed open the Town Car’s passenger door.

  “Be careful!” Byron shouted.

  EEEEEEEEEEE … The Hummer’s tires screeched against the cobblestones as it swerved. “Asshole!” yelled someone from inside.

  “Fucking maniac!” MC screamed, picking up a beer bottle from the street and tossing it at the car.

  With a loud thock, it made contact with the Hummer’s rear door. The car came to a sudden stop and began accelerating backward. The back window rolled down, revealing a stone-faced older guy with a killer tan, pockmarked cheeks, and mirror sunglasses.

  “Oh, Jesus …,” Byron said, grabbing MC’s arm. “Come on!”

  “Did you see what that guy did?” MC said, struggling to pull loose. “We can’t let him get away with that!”

  “Yes, we can,” Byron said, plunging into the crowd.

  “He called me an asshole!”

  “You are, by local standards. This is New York. Which wormhole did you say you were from?”

  MC stopped short, nearly making him fall to the ground. “That wasn’t a very nice thing to say.”

  “That was a stupid thing to do!”

  “You just haven’t been very nice to me all night.”

  “You haven’t exactly been easy to deal with!”

  “Oh?” Her eyes were huge, her fists firmly on hips. “Give me an example of how. How have I been anything but cheerful and fun and friendly?”

  Byron exhaled. “Dear God, give me a break….”

  “An example, Byron. Go ahead. Just one!”

  “Okay. Okay. You laugh at me. You treat me like I’m your chauffeur—”

  “That’s two. And for your information, I laugh with you. And I was giving you space, to help you learn to drive.”

  “Fine. You’re right. I suck. Are we done now?”

  MC cocked her head, looking at him as if he were a mildly lagged third grader who’d forgotten his homework. “Um, which one of us was raised in the wilderness? The next step, Byron, is usually an apology.”

  “Wait. Me apologize?”

  “Say you’re sorry, or I go home. With the you-know-what.”

  “But—you have this totally backward—” He took a deep breath and counted to ten. People were starting to stare, and she wasn’t budging. This was quickly turning lose-lose. “Okay, I’m sorry. I’m sorry! Okay?”

  MC gave him a dreamy smile. “Now kiss me.”

  “What?”

  “Come on,” she said teasingly. “Am I that disgusting to you? You told m
e you were straight! You liar!”

  A girl in line let out a sarcastic laugh. “I been there, honey.”

  “Sister!” MC slapped her five.

  “Just a minute! I am straight, and you are not disgusting, all right?” Byron said.

  “Is that the best you can do?” chimed the girl in line. “Tell her she’s hot, baby, ’cause she is.”

  Byron nodded. “Right. I mean, without all the makeup and all. Yeah. That’s right.”

  “Really?” MC said, brightening. “You think?”

  Byron nodded, feeling like his body thermostat had just activated the sprinkler system. “Yes. Sort of. I mean, yes. But—but—oh God, you are so not getting what’s happening here.”

  “Oh Byron, of course I get it!” MC pulled him away from the line. With her back to the crowd, she pulled the envelope from inside her bra and dangled it in front of him. “We have an adventure ahead of us. And all the little pillies are still here. Well, okay, most of them …”

  “Most of them?” Byron’s heart was sinking. “How many did you take?”

  “Enough to feel fabulous!” She spun around, holding the envelope high and releasing it into the air.

  Byron dived after it, snatching it just before it landed in a potted plant.

  “Oops,” MC said with a giggle.

  Byron peered inside the envelope, trying to judge how many pills were missing. “Are you okay? I mean, you didn’t do anything dumb, right?”

  “See, you do care….” MC smiled. “Just one. Or maybe two. I’m really vibing, Byron.”

  “I have an idea,” Byron said, heading for the door. “You stay here and continue to vibe. I’ll see you in a hour.”

  “There you go again!” MC ran around in front of him. “You are so inconsistent! I cannot understand you.”

  “This is not about you, MC!”

  “You’re right, it’s about both of us.” With a sudden lunge, MC took the envelope from his hand. “Fifty-fifty. I am not leaving your side.”

  “Fine.” Byron plowed forward. He could not wait for this night to be over.

  29

  JIMMY

  October 18, 12:29 A.M.

  “I’m good,” Cam insisted to the nurse who was trying to keep him on his bed.

  “I know, dear,” the nurse insisted, “but you can’t just up and leave without filling out the paperwork.”

  “So give it to me!” Cam said.

  “It’s being prepared right now.”

  Beep.

  Beep.

  Beep.

  Jimmy didn’t know which was more obnoxious, the argument or the constant chirping of Cam’s cell phone. Fishing it out of the hospital duffel, he expected to see a message from Cam’s mom. She had been calling the hospital every five minutes.

  This definitely wasn’t Mrs. Hong.

  im screwed—w

  “Uh, Cam…?” Jimmy said as the nurse stormed off. “Who’s ‘w’?”

  “An ex-President of the United States,” Cam mumbled.

  At that moment another nurse came into the room with an empty wheelchair and a stack of papers. “Voilà!” she said. “Fill these out, then you can get dressed and you’re free to go home to your mom and dad.”

  Cam was staring at the wheelchair. “I don’t need that.”

  “You do, sweetheart, if you want to be discharged,” the nurse replied. “Hospital rules.”

  BEEP.

  Jimmy glanced at the cell screen while Cam swung his legs around the bed. It was another message:

  in traffic. heading to blowback. need the $ NOW or ur fucked—w

  “Um, Cam…?”

  Cam was arguing with the nurse, insisting he could walk on his own, limping around the bed like an old man.

  Jimmy raised his voice. “Cam, you have two text messages. They look important.”

  “If it’s the Olympic Committee, tell them I’ll be at training tonight,” Cam shot back.

  The nurse smiled. “A spirited young fellow, isn’t he?”

  As she left, Jimmy pulled Cam closer. “Will you please read this?”

  Cam glanced impatiently at the screen and suddenly went still. “Shit.”

  “Who is it?” Jimmy asked.

  “Jimmy, do you have access to a cash machine?”

  “Well, yeah. I have high-school checking…”

  “I need some cash.”

  “Now?” Jimmy couldn’t believe this. “What is this all about?”

  “Just a few hundred, Jimmy. Can I trust you? Can I count on you? Are you my friend?”

  “Well, yeah, but—”

  “Thanks, dude!” Cam barged out of the room and into the hallway in his hospital gown, calling over his shoulder, “We’re not going to that party after all. You and I are heading into the city—to Blowback!”

  “Mr. Hong?” the nurse called out. “Mr. Hong, you need to change into your clothes first!”

  30

  WAITS

  October 18, 12:48 A.M.

  Where was she?

  Where the fuck was she?

  Waits charged through the club. The cab had hit bad traffic near Battery Park City. A fender bender. Bumper-to-bumper for ten fucking minutes.

  His heart’s pounding created a cross beat with the music. It dislocated him, making him aggravated and light-headed at the same time. He didn’t care who he was pushing around. No one seemed to notice anyway.

  He hated the fact that he had to be here.

  He had been so close. So close.

  All he’d needed to do was make the drop. He’d handled the two chumps perfectly at Smitty’s—not that it took a Ph.D. to recognize they were cops. He’d called their game, psyched them out. All he’d had to do was walk around the block slowly, return, and get the bag. If the real drop showed, great. If not, he could work out another drop with Ianuzzi over the phone. No big deal.

  He’d be done by now. On his way out of the racket. Requesting college admissions packets from Middlebury and Kenyon on his new Mac.

  So fucking close.

  There.

  He stopped short, nearly knocking over a willowy, half-lidded blonde whose lips tried desperately to form words as she fell into the arms of three friends.

  Reina was at the bar, downing a drink and looking around nervously. As he made his way over, she looked his way and winced.

  “Hey,” he said.

  Her features tightened and she said nothing.

  “Look, I’m sorry,” he continued. “I know I probably sounded like an asshole over the phone. It’s just… somebody’s after me.”

  Reina nodded. “I can see why.”

  “This is the last time, you know.”

  “That’s nice.”

  “For… this business.” He took a deep breath. She wasn’t going to give an inch. “So. Where is it?”

  “I don’t know, exactly.”

  “What do you mean, you don’t know exactly?” Waits suddenly felt swelteringly hot. “You told me you would bring it here.”

  “I did.” Reina shrugged.

  Keep a lid on, he told himself. “Look, Reina, I know you’re angry at me for leaving you with… you know. But we can’t keep playing Twenty Questions here—”

  Reina spun on him. The fury in her eyes was almost a solid, palpable thing. “I said I brought it. I brought a coat too. But when you want to dance and relax and have a good time—when you want to be in a club like a normal person—you don’t keep all your stuff with you.”

  Waits began backing away. “Okay. Thanks. I owe you, Reina.”

  “Keep the change.”

  He spun around and began heading for the coat room. But wending its way slowly across the dance floor, like an old barge, was a shock of salt-and-pepper hair among an undulating sea of colors.

  Feets.

  Waits ducked. Keeping his head low, he took a longer route to the coatroom and barged into an employee entrance door. “Can I help you?” a bored but incredibly hot Latino chick asked.

  “I
’ll get it myself,” Waits said.

  The room was cavernous, racks and racks of coats, with shoulder bags piled everywhere he looked.

  Fucking Reina.

  This was going to take a long, long time.

  31

  BYRON

  October 18, 12:48 A.M.

  Elbowing his way back through the crowd toward the front door of Blowback, Byron thought he saw Cam at least four times.

  Each sighting was like a punch to the gut. He hadn’t realized how many people looked like Cam. Maybe it was psychological. Cam used to come here. He’d bragged about it.

  If Cam were really a regular, Byron realized, then maybe some of these people were Cam’s friends. Maybe they were hoping to see him.

  He felt shrouded in guilt, like he should be wearing a sandwich board with the message HERE WALKS THE SHIT-HEAD RESPONSIBLE FOR THE DEATH OF CAM HONG. HE ARRANGED THE TRANSPORTATION, HE GOT AN INCOMPETENT TO DRIVE, AND AFTER THE ACCIDENT HE LEFT THE SCENE!

  But instead he just grunted, “Excuse me,” as he barged forward. He only stopped when he’d reached a knot of people just before the door, arguing with the bouncer.

  MC squeezed up next to him. “That was fun.”

  “Your bar is set too low,” Byron replied. “Who are these people?”

  MC gave him a bemused look. “Byron? Are you always like this?”

  “Like what?”

  “Agitated. Nervous. Is it me? Am I doing this to you?”

  “No!”

  “Then is it the… you-know-whats? ’Cause we don’t have to do what we came here to do, it if you really don’t want to. I mean, I just thought this would be an adventure.”

  “You drive a hard bargain for an adventurer.”

  MC shrugged. “The fifty-fifty? I was just trying to be fair. I’m not into people taking advantage of me. But I don’t mean to railroad. We could renegotiate if you want.”

  “No, no, it’s all right.” The argument with the bouncer was turning ugly, and Byron rubbed his forehead.

  He felt MC’s hand closing over his. He started to pull away, but for some the reason the effort just petered out. “We could also go somewhere else and forget the whole thing,” she said.