by Jeff Vrolyks
* * *
Eddie stood inside the open garage at the trunk of the Camry, checked his watch: It was a few minutes past eight: Max was late. He stared off into the distance, past the gate to the farthest reaches of Road 171 that he could see in both directions, which were hazy from the rain and dark from the hour. When he spotted Max he grinned, waved overhead. Max walked briskly, clambered over the low wooden fence and headed toward the garage. He was wearing a Gortex military jacket, camouflaged, his head hooded.
“What’s up, dude?” Eddie said when he was near.
“Fuckin’ rain. It’s almost summer, what’s up with this shit?”
He entered the garage and out of the rain, unzipped his burly jacket and flung back his hood. Max must have had military in his immediate family, not just because of the jacket, but also because his doo was a crew cut, high and tight. Suddenly a large peal of thunder shook the ground. It might have been a mild earthquake.
“Christ,” Max said. “God’s pissed.”
Eddie opened the driver’s-side door of the Camry and got in, gestured his new acquaintance to get in. Max entered on the other side and closed the door.
“Thanks for coming,” Eddie said and produced a joint out of an Altoid tin.
“Sweet,” Max said, eying the hefty joint. “That’s a bomber, brutha.”
Eddie handed the joint to Max, lit it for him.
“Am I really going to beat Timothy’s ass?” Max said after the first pull, then coughed.
“I thought we had an understanding? He’s with two darkies as we speak, up in the barn loft. He’s probably having a threesome with them.”
“You’ve got to be shitting me. How’s a dude like that score a pair of bitches…” Max puffed the joint, held it in, puffed it again, held it some more. He exhaled a cloud of dense fragrant smoke, hot-boxing the cabin. “Maybe we should smoke this afterward instead. I’ve never gotten in a fight high before.”
“Want to change your dirty diaper first too? Don’t be a pussy. You’re easily thirty pounds heavier than Timothy, all muscle. And the chicks aren’t going to get involved. Yeah he scored a pair of bitches, better ones than you can ever get. Are you going to stand for that?”
“Fuck you, man. Don’t call me a pussy,” Max retorted, but in a half-kidding tone. He took another puff.
“I won’t call you one if you don’t act like one.”
Max laughed mid-puff, expelling choppy clouds of smoke. He passed the joint to Eddie, who feigned taking a hit before passing it back. “They’re up in the loft,” Eddie said. “Ain’t much room up there to fight, so you’ll draw him down to the barn. Dude, are you listening to me? Pay attention.”
“Why aren’t you coming with me?” Max said crossly. “You’re calling me a pussy but you won’t even fight. Who’s the pussy?”
“I work here, dumbass! I’d lose my job!”
“Dude,” Max said, “it’s cool. I forgot. I’ll handle it.”
Eddie nodded and settled his temper.