“Hey, this bum still breathin’?”
“Uhn… yeah.”
“Fucker’s tougher than he looks. Heavier too.”
“You doin’ anythin’ tonight?”
“Nah. Once this is over, I’m goin’ home’n knock over a few brews.”
“The old lady’s makin’ a roast. Usually enough for a week. Come over.”
“Sure?”
“Shit yeah! With you there, there won’t be so many leftovers. I love my wife’s cookin’, but a week of that roast’s a bit much. Who is this guy anyway?”
“I don’t know. Shows up every once in a while. Boss has a love/hate relationship wit’ him. Loves him when he pays, hates him when he owes money.”
“Ha! See you around eight?”
“Yeah.”
****
I listened to their dinner plans as I enjoyed the soothing comfort of a face half buried in mud. The goop tasted the way it always did - like 5 day-old shit - so I knew I was resting quietly in the woodsy side of the municipal dump. I just hoped the rats weren’t going to nibble at my balls the way they did last time I was dumped here. Oh… there goes my consciousness again.
****
I finally got my act together a while later. Something was licking my face, and the tongue was way to smooth to be Jeannie's. So when I opened my eye, surprise: Rusty the raccoon was slobbering all over me. I reacted instantly by jumping to my feet and letting out a whoop that effectively scared the critter off.
But right after that, my body remembered being smacked senseless a few hours ago. Taking the direct route back to the ground, I ended up staring breathlessly at a star filled sky. Brain and body were out of service again. But this time, it took only a few minutes for me to gather the strength to get back to my feet. Counting the number of creaks and rattles I made as I stood up, I felt around my chest while taking a deep breath to locate any broken ribs. The inhalation was rough, with some tenderness and pain in my left side: probably a couple of internal bruises. I began to march slowly back to the road, contemplating the thought of hitchhiking back to the city while I softly touched my face. The jaw still worked; the eyes were okay; cheeks were sensitive; all my teeth were there; no cut lips; breathing was still a bit hard. Looked like the boys mostly worked my upper body. They took it easy on me. But I wonder why they spared my face? Oh, well – thugs have their reasons.
I ended up walking back to town; the way my face was caked in dried mud curtailed any chances I might have had of getting picked up. The walk would also help clear my head of the mixed haze of body shots and shots to the body. Stopping for a moment to take another deep breath, wincing as my chest expanded, I padded down my pockets to make sure my wallet was there. It was... as well as a ring topped by a beautiful, and fake, diamond.
Walking more quickly now, I remembered a bit more about the preceding night: a stripper named Candy; a 60 ounce bottle of tequila; borrowing 500 dollars to buy an engagement ring at a pawn shop; Candy laughing in my face when I asked her to marry me; explaining to Franky Molloy that the cash he lent me helped buy a cheap knock-off of a diamond ring; Franky collecting his cash out of my hide. But I also told him where I got the ring, too. Some poor fence was going to get a visit ... poor bastard.
When I got to within 2 miles of the city, I tossed the ring over my shoulder and remembered what I missed the most about last night: tequila, my old friend and nemesis.
****
I looked up at the moon and the 3 story building that housed my office and my apartment; I actually owned the place. The top story was mine: a loft where I had all my stuff. To get in, I had to use a service elevator behind the building. The second story had a few renters; they didn’t always pay on time, but they always paid. They came with the place when I bought it. The street level housed my office and Madame Malena’s school of dance and transcendental art, whatever the hell that means.
My office door said “Sam Archer Investigations Inc.”
There was a bowl of fruit in front of my office door. I picked it up and went around back to the service elevator. Apparently, an old kind of temple was located where my office is now; some of the faithful still brought offerings. I was happy to see someone was looking out for their god’s need in vitamins and minerals.
When I finally got the old elevator working and shuddering, I pulled up the mesh gate that opened onto my apartment – I’ve got the get an inner staircase connecting my loft to the rest of the building.
“Honey,” I shouted. “I’m home.”
“Meow,” Jeannie responded. She walked up to me and then plopped down on her hind legs and curled her front paws beneath her. She looked up at me disapprovingly and twitched her whiskers. She yawned.
“Yeah, I know I look like something you dragged in,” I muttered while I walked over her and went to the bathroom. An I-don’t-know-how old Siamese cat, Jeannie had the run of the loft when I bought the building. I tried to scoot her away for the first few weeks, but in the end, I let her stay. She had this habit of always coming back anyway, so I just gave up.
I undressed on the way to the bathroom, letting my clothing fall wherever it may, determined to let my body shrivel under a boiling stream of water. Jeannie was by my side, sometimes sliding between my legs. Each time I almost fell, she purred. Punishment for having come in late, I guessed.
When I finally got the water to a near scolding temperature, I hoisted myself into the lion-pawed tub and let my head fall forward as the water struck and soothed the aching muscles of my neck. All the aches in my body became apparent as the water relaxed me and drained any adrenaline that may have lingered in my limbs. When I caught a flicker of a silhouette, adrenaline kicked in again; the shadow was to large to be the cat’s.
“Malena!” I hollered after I pulled the shower curtain aside and her figure emerged through the steam.
