Fiction by Robert Denby: "OK", Part Six
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"These apartments. That big sign out front."
"Here?"
"Yeah, that's the driveway. Pull in here."
I turn in to one of huge two-floor complexes with buildings A-F, according to the directory posted right out front. There's a parcade running alongside the fence on the left and a pine tree in front of the main office or whatever it is. I pull a u-turn back out and park at the curb right outside the main fence. Right underneath a street light. I turn off the car and grab my cigarettes out of my coat pocket. I've never been a huge smoker, not even when I started back in junior high. I seldom go through more than two packs a week. I pull one out, light it, and offer Bobby the pack.
"Want one?"
"Yeah."
He takes one out and I light it. I take a long drag off of mine.
"So, where do these guys live?"
"A-1. Right in front."
"Well, that's handy."
"Yeah." He starts rubbing his hands together. "I could see that their parking space is empty."
"So, no one's home?"
"No, someone's there. I could see the lights on. Derrick's car is out, so I'm guessing that Manny's out. He's usually out partying right about now."
"It's nine o'clock. He's already out partying?"
"Yeah, I think so. This is good for us, actually."
"How so?" I ask.
"Manny's the one you really have to worry about. He's the one who I heard busted that guy's throat. Derrick's the other guy who lives there. He talks all bad, but he's kind of a chickenshit."
"You sure he's in there?"
"Yeah, his car's in the space right next to where Manny parks his."
"And is anybody else in there?"
"I don't know. I don't think so. You can usually hear their stereo going when people are over. It looks quiet."
"OK, then." It's just now that I realize I'm gone this entire ride without biting Bobby's head off. I've had to for years to let him know that I won't give him money and that he can't get away with stealing stuff from my apartment. Maybe there's so much else that I'm trying to plan right now that it's too much effort to stay in character. Maybe the longer I'm with him, I start seeing more of the brother I knew underneath all of those scabs.
I reach over to the glove compartment and flip it open. My .38 revolver.
I really wish me and Bobby were back watching Thundercats right now.
"Woah," he says. "I didn't know you had that."
"Part of living in California. Licensed and everything."
He smiles. "This is awesome!"
"No, it's not, Bobby."
I grab the gun and close the glove compartment.
"OK, Bobby, this is what we're going to do. We're walking up to his door. You knock on the door and tell them you want to pay them back. I'll be standing off to the side. After that, just stay out my way."
He nods his head.
"You ready?"
"OK."
We get out of the car, close the doors, and walk up the driveway towards the apartment.
He's taking deep, methodical breaths all the way up.
"Just take it easy. All you have to do is get them to let you in."
We arrive at a white door with A-1 screwed to it. I pull my gun out of my pocket and stand over to the right.
I nod at him. He knocks.
After a moment, he knocks again.
A deadbolt turns and the door opens. I hear it pull tight against the chain.
"What the fuck are you doing here?!"
"Hey, Derrick, I, um, I got your money right here."
"You got my money, fuckhead?!"
"Yeah, it's right here."
I wonder what Veronica's doing right now.
"Well, finally, dumbshit. Give it."
"Let me in, man. I'm freezing."
The door closes. I hear the chain coming off its' latch.
I whip around and push Bobby behind me.
I kick at the door.
I hear the kid hitting the floor.
Up goes my gun.
"GET YOUR FUCKING HANDS UP! DON'T YOU FUCKING MOVE! SHOW ME YOUR HANDS!"
A kid on the floor in the fetal position.
Brown carpet.
A pizza box on top of the coffee table.
A glass pipe on top of the box.
I take a breath.
Things start coming into focus. The kid on the floor in hightops, basketball shorts, a grey t-shirt, and baseball cap turned upside down. I assume that's Derrick.
There's another guy on the couch. Looks a little older. Basketball shorts, hightops, shirtless. No chest hair. Black hair. Buzzcut. Scrawny little moustache. He sits there with his mouth open.
"DO IT!"
He jerks to attention. His forearms fly up against his chest. He's trembling. Gasping for air almost.
I take in the room. There's a big brown couch in the living room with an X-Box lying underneath the table. Some street-fighter game on the plasma screen TV. A stereo system on a milk crate in the corner. Huge speakers.
The carpet's filthy. Dirty clothes, crumbs, and wrappers.
The kitchen's empty. Not even a table. Pizza boxes stacked up by the fridge. The sink's full of orange water. Something's rotting.
I look down at Derrick, still lying at my feet.
I think I can stop yelling now.
"Get onto the couch."
He gets up on his knees. I kick his ass. Literally.
"Move it!"
He lurches up and stumbles over to the couch.
"Hands up!"
He does it. I get a look at his face. Same pathetic moustache. Serious acne.
"Bobby, get in here. Close the door."
He does.
I look over at the guy next to Derrick.
"Who the fuck are you?"
He's still shaking. Sounds like he's going to start crying.
"I don't have to tell you nothin', I don't have to tell you nothin'. You can't do this, you can't just break in here without a warrant. This is police brutality, and my mom's going to sue the police department, man."
"Shut up. I'm not a cop. Just shut the FUCK UP!"
He looks like he's going to implode.
"I won't ask you again. Who. Are. You?"
"Jordan! My name's Jordan! You not a cop?
"No."
I turn the gun towards Jordan. Tears are running down his cheeks. Snot down his nose. I glance down; his crotch is wet. I've heard all about people pissing themselves, but I've never actually seen it.
"You Derrick?" I ask.
He stares down and mumbles something.
"SPEAK UP!"
"Yeah, YEAH! Did Rudy send you?"
"Who the fuck is Rudy?"
His voice is breaking; I think he might actually pass out. "Look, we've got money in the bedroom. Take our TV and stuff." He's sobbing now. "Don't kill me. Please."
I take a breath and sit down on the coffee table. I keep my gun on them. Bobby's still behind me, standing by the door.
Think of something that sounds tough...
"We'll see. I need you to do something for me."
"Anything you want, anything you want," Jordan says.
"You sell stuff, right?"
"Yeah," Derrick says, brightening up. "We got some bags in the back. You want 'em?"
"No, I don't want 'em. All I want is the place you get the stuff. How far away is it?"
"It's not too far. Just right down the hill." Jordan says. Derrick is wiping his nose on his shirt. UTAH JAZZ in big white letters on the front.
"OK, then, here's what we're going to do. You said you have money in the back?"
"Yeah, man," Derrick says.
"OK, you're going to go the bedroom and get enough to buy a bag. Bobby here is going to go with you. You try anything, Bobby calls out and I shoot Jordan here in the head."
Jordan flinches.
"And then I come after you. Got it?"
Derrick nods. "Yeah."
"Good. Now get back there."
Derrick gets up and hurries back. Bobby follows.
I turn back towards Jordan. I can't make it look like I'm relaxing, so I narrow my eyes into a glare.
Derrick and Bobby are back within seconds. Derrick has some bills folded into his hand.
"Very good," I say. "Now we're all going to get into my car and you're going to drive me to wherever this house is. I don't care who drives, but I'll have a gun at your head. We're going to the place you get your stuff. You take me anywhere else, you're dead. If I sense something wrong, you're dead. If you piss me off, you're dead. Do you understand me?"
They shake their heads. "Yeah."
"LOUDER!"
"YEAH!"
I've always wanted to do that.
"OK, we're going to walk out to my car. Bobby's in front. The two of you are behind him. I'll be in back."
There's a shirt lying next to my foot. I pick it up and toss it to Jordan.
"Put this on."
He pull it over his head and down.
Hooters'.
***
Within fifteen minutes, we're parked across the street from this old frame house. The paint's peeling and the lawn could use a mowing, but it doesn't look too bad. We certainly passed worse on the way here.
Jordan's in the driver's seat, Derrick's in the passenger seat, and me and Bobby are in the back.
"OK," I say. "Which one of you do they know best?"
"Um, me, I guess," Derrick says.
"OK, then, take the keys out of the ignition and hand them to me."
Jordan does it.
"Alright. Now Derrick and I are going to buy some stuff..."
"We said we'd give you ours," Jordan says.
I press the gun into his neck.
"Don't interrupt me. We're going to buy some stuff because I need to know this is really the place. Derrick's going to go up to the door and buy a bag."
"You want ice or something like that?" he asks.
"I don't care. Yeah, get some ice. Derrick, you're going to go up to the door. I'll be standing down by the front gate there. Get the stuff and go. Tell them you know someone who wants it right away. You go inside or try to warn him, I start shooting. I'm sure they don't want a bunch of squad cars here."
I turn my head over to Bobby.
"You're going to stay here and keep Jordan company. Jordan's going to keep his hands on the dashboard. He moves them, you call out and I'll take care of him. Got it?"
"Got it," Bobby says in a clear, strong voice.
"Alright, let's go."
Me and Derrick get out of the car and walk across the street to the chainlink fence. I stick the gun into my coat pocket.
"Go on up."
He opens the front gate and walks up the walkway, up the steps, and up to the screen door. He looks back at me.
I'm standing right outside the gate. I gesture him forward with my head.
He knocks on the screen door. After a couple of seconds, the door swings open and there's a scrawny guy with long brown hair. Looks kind of like a mullet from here. He's got this big redneck moustache. I can make out a string of tattoos down both of his arms, and all he has on are a pair of jeans.
What is it about meth that makes scrawny people want to walk around shirtless?
"Hey, brother," he says in a cheerful, phlegmy voice. "What are you doing back here so soon?'"
Derrick's voice sounds small.
"Hey, man, um, I need a bag of ice."
"You already go through what we gave ya'?"
"I heard about this party that wants something right away. There'll be this chick there who says she'll suck me off if I bring over somethin' good."
The kid's clever. I'll give him that much.
"Goddamn, man," the moustache guy says. "Let me get ya' somethin'. Come in."
The gun's still in my pocket. I tighten my grip on it.
"I can't. My ride's out there."
"Oh, yeah?" The guy opens the screen door, sticks his head out, and sees me.
"Hey, brother!" he hollers.
"Hey," I answer.
"You want a big bag?" he asks Derrick.
"Yeah, sure."
Moustache guy vanishes inside. Derrick keeps staring straight ahead.
After a minute, the guy carries one of those baggies you use to carry fruit at the supermarket.
"You got the money?"
Derrick opens the screen door and trades him the bills for the bag.
"Here ya' go, brother. Fuck her up the ass if she'll let ya." he says, with this really hacky-sounding laugh. "Nice to meet ya'!" he waves at me.
I nod, and the door swings shut. Derrick comes down the walk. I close the door behind him. We start walking back to the car.
"He seems nice," I say.
"Yeah, he's cool."
We go around the car and climb into our seats.
"How are we doing, Bobby?"
"We're cool," he answers. He sounds better than he has in ages.
***
"OK, here's how it's going to work."
We're back in the guys' apartment. They're sitting on the couch. Bobby is right next to
me.
"This is my brother," I say, "and I want you to forget about him. He doesn't owe you any money, he doesn't exist. Bobby's going to be calling me every two days, and if I hear he's having any trouble with you or Manny or anybody else, I got a friend in the police department right here."
I pull out the cop's card.
"I've also got your address and the address of where you get your stuff. Bobby tells me there's any problem, I make the call. He'll be calling me every two days. If he doesn't call, I'll know it was you, and I'll be coming. When Manny gets back, tell him Bobby paid you off. Got it?"
They both mutter a "Yeah." If they're pissed off at Bobby, they aren't showing it. I'm tempted to do something dramatic, like pistol-whipping them or some big gesture, but they still look scared. Not shaking or anything. Just sullen.
"One other thing. That ice you got there?"
The bag's sitting on the coffee table. It's tied off with a twist tie and filled with crystals as big as quarters.
"Put some of it into that pipe there."
Derrick unties the bag, pulls out a chunk of the ice, and drops in into the pipe.
I lean down, grab it, and place it in my pocket.
"OK, guys. Thanks. Come on, Bobby."
I turn around, open the door, let Bobby walk out, and close the door behind us.
"Hey..." he starts to say.
I press my finger to my lips. We walk out to the parking lot and across to the car in silence. I unlock it and we both get in.
The first thing I do is put the gun back into the glove compartment. Then I pull out the pipe and hold it out to Bobby.
"Here."
He rubs his eyes. "What's goin' on, JD?"
"Take it. It's been a few days. You must be dying."
His breathing starts to turn deeper. "What are you doing?"
"You've been a trouper, and you did a good job in there. I couldn't have done it without you."
I offer the pipe to him again.
"One more isn't going to matter."
He blinks, takes a deep breath, and takes the pipe from my hand. He starts trembling as he places it to lips.
"Here."
I pull out my lighter and light the pipe. Thick white smoke billows out as he inhales. He lets out a "Woah" and then sinks back totally limp into his seat. He starts to grin.
"Yeahhhh."
It's a good thing I can't see his mouth.
I take back the pipe. I open the door, drop it on the street, and smash it with my foot.
He barely moves all the way back to the motel. Just lies there with that big smile on his face. Kind of like how he used to smile when we'd wrestle and I'd let him pin me. I'm afraid I'll have to carry him up to the room, but I'm able to rouse him and hold him by the arm as he stumbles up into the room and onto the bed.
I sit down by the phone and pull out the card. I could probably wait until morning, but I'm tired. I just want this thing to be over.
I dial the cell phone number.
It picks up after two rings. "Hello?"
"Officer Mortensen?"
"Yeah."
"This is John Hannigan. We spoke today."
"Yes." His voice snaps to attention.
"Did I wake you?"
"No, no. I just climbed into bed. Today's my day off."
"I don't want to disturb you then."
"Don't worry about it. It's fine."
"Good, because what we were talking about? I think he's ready to check in."
"I see. Where are you?"
I give him our address.
"He's there with you, I assume?"
"Yeah. He's all ready."
"Hang on. I'll be there in twenty minutes."
***
Me and Officer Mortensen are standing out by the stairs. Bobby is sitting in the passenger seat of his car, this forest-green Ford sedan.
"So, yeah," I'm saying, "we talked all afternoon and I got him to agree to turn himself him. He seemed OK, so I walked over to the McDonald's there to get something to eat, and when I came back, he was gone. I was just about to call you when he showed up all tweaked there. He kept saying something about, "one more time" and "it's all cool", so I figured I'd better call you before he came to. I think he was being sincere, though."
"I see," he replies. He's wearing a faded BYU t-shirt and sweatpants, but he still stands as stiff as he did in his uniform. "I've called the center and they're waiting for us to come in."
I hand him a folded piece of paper.
"Here's my contact information. There's my address, phone number, and e-mail on it. If you need to contact me about payment or anything, I'll try to do something..."
He shakes his head. "Well, Mr. Hannigan, since I'm the one that'll be turning him in, you shouldn't be liable for that. I'll drive him down myself just to be safe, and I'll say that I got the contact information here from you later."
Who is this guy?
"Wow, thank you."
He smiles. "Thank you. This is cool. I don't get to do this as often as I'd like. I'll call you in a few days when everything gets settled. Maybe he can call you soon."
"Yeah, please."
We shake hands.
"Take care of yourself, Mr. Hannigan."
"Yeah, you too."
He walks around and get in his car. Bobby looks up; he seems to be coming out of it. Part of me was afraid he'd freak when he saw Officer Mortensen, but when we explained where he was going, he just shugged and said "OK."
He yawns, then gives me a little wave with his fingers and a smile.
He keeps his mouth closed this time.
I wave back, and the car pulls out. I watch it as it goes across the parking lot, takes a turn, and disappears.
I walk back up the stairs and into the room. I pull off my coat and sprawl out across the bed. The clock on the nightstand says 11:53. I take a deep breath and the first thing I think about isn't Bobby or how he'll be doing. It isn't about kicking down the door and screaming at those kids. It isn't about anything that happened tonight.
Oh, my God, I'm thinking.
Veronica.