Party Time_Raving Arizona

by Shaun Attwood

  ‘Let’s have a round of applause for Chantelle!’ I say.

  Chantelle stands and bows. The room erupts with noise. She takes Wild Man aside. After they chat for a while, Chantelle approaches me. ‘I really like Wild Man. He said I can move in here with him. I’m going back to my boyfriend’s, so I can collect my clothes.’

  ‘Won’t your boyfriend freak out? Do you want Seth and Wild Man to go with you?’

  Before she can answer, the door opens. Todd enters, proudly bearing spaghetti Bolognese on a tray. ‘Eat this and we’ll go home.’

  Wild Man steps in front of Todd, one eyebrow half-cocked, the other horizontal, his eyes gleaming with mischief. ‘There’s been a change of plan. She’s staying here with me, and we’d appreciate spaghetti Bolognese every Wednesday.’ He snatches the tray and starts to eat, calmly, nodding his head, taking his time to chew, savouring the taste.

  All eyes turn to Todd. Stunned, his face tenses. He looks at Chantelle.

  She says, ‘That’s right. I’m moving in with him.’

  He glares at Wild Man. ‘Him?’

  ‘Yeah, me!’ Above eyes radiating a desire for things to escalate, Wild Man’s half-cocked eyebrow leaps to an extremity. His nostrils flare so wide the sides of his nose cave in. Veins pulse from his forehead like dangerous thoughts revealing themselves.

  Todd’s tough expression collapses.

  ‘This is really nice,’ Wild Man says, smiling. ‘I like the big meatballs. I can tell you put a lot of work into it. I could get used to this.’

  Todd turns and walks out. Leaving the apartment, he slams the door. The chatter resumes.

  ‘Shaun, I need you!’ Kimberly yells from the bathroom.

  ‘What is it?’ I rush in but stop, shocked and amused, when I see Kimberly on the toilet, naked, surrounded by three females.

  ‘I can’t pee. I feel like I want to pee, but nothing will come out.’

  ‘How many Mitsues have you munched?’

  ‘Three.’

  ‘How did you get two more?’

  ‘Acid Joey.’

  ‘I told you not to take any more! You’re so high, you’re in the no-pee zone. It’s perfectly normal. Let’s get you off the toilet. Try thinking about something else. I know, let’s go to 7-Eleven and buy ice creams and popsicles and drinks for everyone.’

  ‘Ice cream!’ Kimberly says.

  ‘That’s exactly what I need right now,’ Emily says.

  ‘Let’s go!’

  The women get dressed. Exiting the apartment is like entering another planet – with an atmosphere that feels like a cross between air and warm water; it caresses my skin, tickling every pore. Passers-by smile as if they want to join in with us.

  ‘My knees are going out,’ Kimberly says, stumbling.

  ‘Let’s all link arms so no one falls down,’ I say.

  ‘I feel so good,’ Emily says. ‘Everything … like … just breathing … feels great.’

  We enter 7-Eleven, falling over each other, all propped-open pupils and permanent smiles.

  ‘Where’s the party at?’ the clerk asks.

  I give him directions. We return, laden with refreshments, to Acid Joey trying to justify his dislike of frogs and birds in a range of bizarre voices mixed with animal sounds, the partiers laughing hard, most of them delighting in disagreeing with him. A few hours later, the clerk arrives in his 7-Eleven shirt and we steal his Ecstasy virginity.

  When everyone leaves, I count the cash. Hundreds of pills were sold at $25 and $20 depending on the quantity. I start to reconsider my job. I can make money as fast as in the stock market but without the grind, plus I get to have fun all night long with beautiful women.

  A month later, on a Sunday afternoon, too high to drive, I call Kelly for a ride. Increasingly neglecting her to party with Wild Man, I anticipate getting told off. She’s studying to be a realtor and no longer does drugs. Stewing in guilt, I await her arrival. When she parks, I rush outside and get in the car, embarrassed by my drooping eyelids and sore, bloodshot eyes – the results of two days with no sleep. ‘Er, thanks for coming to get me.’

  Kelly revs the Corvette and takes off. ‘Good to see you’re still alive. Don’t you think I worry about you?’

  ‘I know you do,’ I say, slumped in the seat. ‘I’m so sorry. You know how it is when you get high. Hours roll into hours, days into days. I know I’m fucking up, but at least I’m still going to work.’

  ‘Now!’ Kelly says. ‘But who’s to say how long that’s gonna last, you know? Getting fucked up like this every weekend is bullshit.’

  ‘You’re right,’ I say, hiding my eyes behind sunglasses. ‘I need to chill. But don’t you think if I’m holding a job down, I’ve not got a problem?’

  ‘Right! ’Cause you think you’re a functioning drug addict. Whatever! You’re greedy, too. With your addictive personality, I just don’t want to think how this might end.’

  Is she talking about our relationship, my job, my life? ‘What do you mean how this might end?’

  ‘Look at you, you go out all weekend and don’t even give me a call. Now I have to come and pick you up. I’m only here ’cause I don’t want you to wreck into anybody else on the road. You need to take a long look in the mirror to see what you’re doing to yourself, dude. I don’t know how much longer I can deal with this for.’

  Chapter 22

  In a smart dark-blue uniform, a young policeman marches into a party near Wild Man’s. ‘I could smell marijuana from outside. Nobody move! Nobody leave!’ He reaches for his radio.

  I freeze. We’re all fucked.

  We gaze in disbelief, except for G Dog, a tall Mexican American, more Italian-looking than Hispanic, with long black hair and prison tattoos on his arms. G Dog pulls out a gun and points it at the policeman. ‘Fuck that! You don’t fucking move! The only one who’s not leaving here is you, motherfucker! Everyone else get the fuck outta here!’

  The policeman throws his hands up. Colour drains from his face.

  I join the stampede for the door. The partiers scatter into the night. Seth and I sprint to an apartment he shares with one of my Ecstasy dealers, Fish. I follow him inside and pace in the living room, worried about losing my job. ‘There’s no way that cop will remember all of us. There were way too many people there.’

  ‘That G Dog’s got balls.’ Seth is wearing a ripped T-shirt. After weeks of getting high on meth with Wild Man, Seth was fired for throwing a computer at our boss.

  My breathing starts to slow – until sirens wail all over the complex. A figure scales the back wall, drops onto the porch and pounds on the French windows.

  ‘It’s G Dog!’ says Fish, a tall man with a goatee, long, scraggy hair, small hazel eyes, a hooked nose and a gap between his front teeth. Fish slides the window open.

  G Dog leaps inside. ‘Shut that quick and draw the blinds. If the cops knock, no one answer.’

  ‘What did you do to the cop?’ Seth asks.

  ‘Nothing. I just scared the shit outta him. I told him I’d shoot his ass if he comes after me. Fucking rookie.’

  ‘Holy shit!’ Fish says. ‘If the cops knock my door down, I’m fucked with all the drugs I’ve got in here.’

  ‘Chill,’ G Dog says. ‘They have no fucking clue where I am.’

  ‘Take no notice of Fish, G Dog,’ Seth says. ‘You can stay here as long as you want.’

  The sirens and my heartbeat grow louder.

  ‘They can’t bust in here without a warrant, and they can’t just break into every apartment in Tempe.’

  I find G Dog’s confident tone reassuring until a helicopter’s spotlight lashes the French window. We rush to the far side of the room. Fish turns the TV off. We listen in silence as radio noises envelop the building. Boots approach the door. Knock-knock-knock.

  Oh, Jesus! Seized by the urge to rush to the toilet and flush my drugs but too afraid to move in case the police hear me, I freeze. Radio code and barking surround us. Lights flash into our windows. I brac
e for the door to get smashed down. The police dogs sniff around for a few minutes and move on.

  For an hour, we debate safe places to hide G Dog. He ends up staying the night at my house. The next day, he thanks me and says that from now on not only does he have my back, so do his people.

  A few days later, Fish calls my office: ‘I’ve gotta situation. Can you and Seth and Wild Man come over right now?’

  The urgency in his voice alarms me. ‘I don’t know where Seth and Wild Man are. I thought they were with you.’

  ‘I can’t leave my apartment. Can you come over?’

  ‘I’ll come right over. Why can’t you leave?’

  ‘I don’t want to say on the phone. You’ll see when you get here. I need you to bring whoever you can to deal with the situation.’

  I make an excuse to leave work, and speed to Wild Man’s. His roommates say he’s with Luis the Colombian, collecting crack debts in Phoenix. I rush to Fish’s.

  Fish answers the door, eyes wild, face pinched. ‘Come in, quick.’

  Behind him, his girlfriend is sobbing. Has she been assaulted? A noise erupts from the living room – an electrical crackle that sends a shiver across my skin and raises the hairs on my arms. What am I getting into? The noise stops. Starts again.

  ‘Go through,’ Fish says, implying he wants me to see what’s going on rather than explain it.

  As I walk down the hallway, the sense of threat grows more palpable with each step, until it’s almost pushing me back. I enter the room and stop, shocked, unable to continue.

  On the carpet: a naked man, hog-tied, gagged, his hair in a stiff rockabilly quiff, his eyes streaming tears, a group of Mexicans standing over him, two wielding cattle prods. Giving orders is Carlos, the oldest, a friend of G Dog. He says something in Spanish. As the cattle prods descend, Carlos tilts his head to get a better look, smiles and runs long fingers through a majestic mass of swept-back silver hair. The man shrieks, his eyes jolt open as if witnessing his own execution, urine spurts onto the carpet. His body moves back and forth like a rocking horse, shaking his quiff. I’m used to taking drugs, partying, selling Ecstasy, but this terrifies me. I want to leave, but I’ve only just arrived. How can I go without upsetting Carlos and ending up like the man on the floor? Noticing me, Carlos smiles like an uncle acknowledging the arrival of a favourite nephew. Sensing he wants me to stay to enjoy the festivities, I nod back, too shaken up to smile. Got to get the hell out of here! I’m baffled by how calm they are, how casual, displaying no anger towards the man, not even raising their voices, going about the business of torture with an air of pride and professionalism.

  Fish answers the question on my mind: ‘I caught him in here. He came over earlier and bought some tweak. He must have watched my apartment and waited until I left, but I forgot my pager and came back and caught him in here trying to rob your drugs and theirs. I called you guys and these guys, and these guys got here first.’

  Relieved I wasn’t first, I ask, ‘Who is he?’

  ‘Some college kid. Carlos is gonna take him somewhere. Carlos already called his roommates and told them if they want him back alive they’d better come up with five grand. We’re gonna split the cash.’

  ‘What if the roommates don’t pay?’ I ask, not wanting to imagine what they might do.

  ‘They said they’re gonna pay. They’re getting it together right now.’

  ‘What if they call the police and send them over here?’

  ‘They won’t. They’re all on drugs, and they know he’s a burglar caught in the act. He’d be the one going to jail. They don’t want police trouble.’

  The more Fish talks, the more bad outcomes I foresee, the more I want to leave. Panic sets in. The man has done wrong, but I don’t have the stomach to watch him suffer. Overwhelmed, I muster a deep voice to disguise my fear: ‘Carlos, looks like you guys have got the situation under control. I’ve got to get back to work.’

  ‘Adios, señor.’ Carlos combines a salute with a welcome-to-the-family smile.

  Images of the naked man haunt me all the way back to the stockbrokerage.

  Chapter 23

  One Sunday evening, I leave Wild Man’s, my pockets stuffed with drugs and cash. Twelve hours later, Tempe police smash down the door. Inside, there isn’t much of anything left, as Wild Man has sold most of the appliances and furniture for drugs. The walls are coated in foam from a fire extinguisher he went berserk with. The holes in the walls are from head-butting contests between him and Seth. The air-conditioning system is leaking toxic sludge because Wild Man stuffed garbage up there, set fire to it and watched little blue flames of plastic drop, emitting a zzzzzz sound that soothed his red dots. Wild Man isn’t home, so Emily – who’s fallen out with Wild Man – directs the cops to Seth’s apartment.

  The police surround Seth’s. Through a megaphone, they threaten to raid unless Wild Man comes out. To avoid more people getting busted and the police finding Fish’s drug stash, Wild Man surrenders himself. He’s arrested for thousands of dollars of property damage. At the station, an officer introduces himself to Wild Man as Detective Reid and offers to set him free if he would be so kind as to provide the name of his Ecstasy supplier. In a boastful tone, Detective Reid says he knows the supplier is another Englishman and asks Wild Man if it’s his cousin. Wild Man tells Detective Reid to go fuck himself and refuses to answer any questions.

  Bonding Wild Man out of jail for $2,000 barely affects my cash flow from drug sales. He moves to Chantelle’s father’s unit in the projects – a neighbourhood rife with crackheads, pimps and prostitutes. I dread his return to crack.

  Visiting Wild Man with drugs in my car, I enter the projects. Fishtailing out of nowhere, a police car turns its light bar on and swoops behind me. I pull over and wait, bracing to get arrested.

  A beefy cop approaches with a flashlight. ‘Did you see that STOP sign, sir?’

  ‘What STOP sign?’ Gazing at him, I expect him to notice my pupil dilation.

  ‘May I see your licence and registration?’

  ‘Certainly.’ I pass them to him.

  Studying the documents, he says, ‘What exactly are you doing in the projects, Mr Attwood?’

  ‘Picking my friend up from his girlfriend’s.’

  ‘In the projects?’

  ‘Yes. It’s Mr Johnson’s place. My friend’s dating Mr Johnson’s daughter, Chantelle.’

  ‘In what project number?’

  ‘D-9, right up there.’

  He goes to his car. Figuring he’ll come back and demand to search me and my vehicle, I stash my drugs in a little hiding spot behind the gears.

  He returns. ‘Sorry to bother you, Mr Attwood. You’re free to go. Watch out for the STOP sign next time.’

  ‘Thank you, officer.’ My body starts to unstiffen.

  In D-9, Wild Man introduces Mr Johnson, whose tiny flat is overcrowded with squatters, all lean and long-limbed black men.

  One springs out of the closet. ‘I’m Cornbread.’

  ‘What were you doing in the closet?’ I ask.

  ‘Sleeping.’

  ‘Oh, I see.’

  ‘Him and his cousin live in the closet,’ Wild Man adds.

  Days later, the receptionist at work buzzes my phone. ‘Can you come here, Shaun? You’ve got visitors up front. We’ve never had visitors quite like these before.’

  I hasten to the reception. Shocked, I find Wild Man on the couch next to a pimp in a purple suit, a matching top hat with a big feather, a shiny black shirt, black-and-white golf shoes, a cane and countless gold rings and chains. Thank God no clients are here! I glance at my boss’s office. He’s on the phone with his back turned. Phew!

  ‘Let’s go downstairs,’ I say, ushering them out.

  In the elevator, Wild Man says, ‘I need $100 to get a gun.’

  ‘For what?’ I ask, reluctant to reward him for bringing a pimp to the stockbrokerage.

  ‘Protection. I’m the only white bloke walking around the projects with a
black girl and it’s making all the black guys jealous. They keep yelling I’ve got jungle fever. I’m telling them to fuck off and leave us alone, but they’re saying they’re gonna kill me.’

  Here we go again. Another story to get money for crack, probably from this guy. ‘A hundred dollars!’

  ‘Tell him,’ Wild Man says. ‘Shaun, this is Raymond.’

  ‘Hello, Raymond.’ We shake hands.

  ‘Wassup, Shaun? Look, I can pick him up a Saturday-night special for a C-note – know what I’m saying? – a throwaway,’ Raymond says, offering to get a hot gun for $100.

  ‘I already got a gun off G Dog,’ Wild Man says. ‘A .22, but I ended up selling it to the blacks for crack and now they’re trying to kill me with it.’

  ‘Let me get this straight: you got a gun and sold it for crack to the guys you think are out to kill you? Every time you do crack, things get totally out of control, Peter. Here’s $20. You can’t just be showing up at the office like this. You’ll get me in trouble.’ I send them packing.

  Back at work, the receptionist asks, ‘Is Peter smoking crack, Shaun?’

  ‘How can you tell?’

  ‘Just the pimp and the huge bags under his eyes.’

  A few hours later, Wild Man calls: ‘They shot at me. I told you this would happen. They tried to kill me. G Dog knows I’m in danger. He’s bringing one of those guns with holes in the barrel. A MAC-11, I think.’

  ‘How do you get into such drama?’ I ask.

  ‘They kept on saying I’ve got jungle fever, so I went and fought the biggest one. I knocked his arse out outside a garage. Then one of them, basically, he started yelling at me, telling me I wasn’t, er, treating Chantelle right. I told him to go fuck himself and he shot at me but missed. The daft bastard.’

  ‘You need to stay away from crack and guns!’