“You’re a hundred short,” he said.
“Yeah, I know,” I admitted. “I was hoping maybe you could give me a couple more days. I’ll get it. I just need a little—”
“No,” he said simply. “I don’t do extensions, and you’ve been here long enough to know that. Get it all on time or get out.”
“It’s just that I lost my job, and—”
“No!” he yelled as he focused on me. “Not another fucking word about it, or you can get out with or without the rent!”
I clenched my hands and had the feeling this motherfucker was going to get the brunt of the aggression I should have been using in the cage tonight.
“Fuck you!” I yelled as I pointed a finger at him. “I’ve lived here forever, always been a good tenant, and I’ve never so much as been a day late before. You can give me until Monday at least!”
“No, I can’t and I won’t.” He leaned forward over the desk with one hand flat on the surface. The other hand was underneath the desk, but I didn’t think anything of it. “I don’t like your tone of voice, and if you think you’re going to threaten me, you can get the fuck out. You can get out of here now, bring me the rest of the rent tomorrow, or get you and your shit the fuck out of my building.”
He brought his hand from underneath the desk, and I was suddenly looking down the barrel of a sawed-off shotgun. Part of me wondered how I had managed to walk into a hillbilly horror movie, but most of me just went very, very still.
“I don’t make exceptions,” he said. “I know you think you’re some big-shot whatever you are, but I don’t care. No rent, no apartment. You’ve got until tomorrow at noon to hand me the cash or get your shit out. I’ll toss it on the street and change the locks.”
I started to open my mouth again but thought better of it. I didn’t think he would hesitate to pull the trigger if he decided I might come at him, and chances are he’d get away with it, too. He probably had before.
Backing up slowly, I held my hands up where he could see them and kept heading toward the door.
“You know what?” he added. “Forget it. Just get your shit out now.”
“Come on,” I said. I was very, very careful about keeping my voice low. “I’ve lived here a long time—you gotta give me a little bit. I’ll see if I can come up with—”
“No!” he snapped. “I don’t like your attitude, and I don’t care if you pull the cash out of your ass right now. I’m through with you. Get out!”
“Give me my money back, at least.”
“Fuck you,” he said with a sneer. “You have an hour to get your shit out before a group of guys a lot bigger and nastier than you come in there and fuck you up the ass. We clear?”
A click from the shotgun ended the argument, and I hustled out of there as quickly as I could.
My heart was pounding though I didn’t think it had a whole lot to do with the gun pointed at my face. I felt like I was caught up in some ridiculous life-avalanche of crappy shit happening to me. I tried to figure out what I should do, but all my brain thought about was how much easier it would be to cope with all of it if I had a little smack in my system.
I walked into the apartment—not ours anymore, not mine anymore, just the apartment now—and leaned heavily against the door. I glanced around and wondered where I could store my stuff while I came up with the money to find another place to live.
“But I just cleaned the damn place!”
*****
The problem with being homeless after losing a job was that no one can get a legitimate job without an address. I couldn’t even properly fill out a fucking application without one. And there was no way for an employer to call me with an offer when I didn’t have a goddamned phone.
I made twelve bucks helping people carry groceries to their cars until the grocery store manager called the cops. It was enough to feed me for a few days, at least. It wasn’t even close to getting to where I needed to be.
When I went to the hospital to seek out Dr. Baynor, I found out there had been some sort of family emergency, and he had left town suddenly. They didn’t know when he would be returning. I still had the little card for the therapist, but I didn’t want to call her. She didn’t know me from Adam, and I wasn’t going to call some chick head shrinker I had never met before and ask her for a place to stay.
I’d been on the streets for nearly a week, and I was just about to lose my mind. It was still early enough in the spring to be damn cold at night, and though Krazy Katie didn’t seem to mind me leaving my stuff at her place, I couldn’t stay in the same building without the landlord seeing me. Frankly, I was fairly certain he’d shoot me on sight.
Under other circumstances, I might have just let him. I couldn’t do that now though. I had to find a job. I had to think about Tria and make sure she got whatever she needed to be healthy. It was the only thing that had kept me going, but even my determination was beginning to wane. Part of it was the insanity of the situation, but another big part of it was the familiarity of the scene. I was back in the really shitty area of town, primarily because it was one of the few areas where I could get away with sleeping on a bench or in an alley without a cop or someone kicking me out. In the past, when I wasn’t squatting, I had stayed at a homeless shelter in the area, but the shelter was in the process of being rebuilt, and the part that was open was totally overbooked.
I was only a couple blocks away from Max’s place at any given time, and I knew there were things I could do to get a bed for the night, some smack, and maybe even something to eat. I didn’t want to go that route though there were several different options. There was even a good chance he’d recruit me to go out and sell for him.
Yeah, Tria would love hearing that. Daddy’s a dealer.
Every day it was harder to stop myself from going there. I told myself that it was just to get a dry place to sleep for the night, but I knew what would happen if I went there. There was no way I could be that close to junk without finding a way to get it.
I was totally fucked and totally fucked up.
No job, no place to live, and no Tria.
Wandering in what appeared to be an aimless fashion, part of me knew I was spiraling toward Max’s abode. I didn’t want to go there, but my feet went in that direction anyway. I squeezed my eyes shut, stumbled a little, and reminded myself again that if I went that way, the slight glimmer of hope would be gone.
There was a little doorway just off the street. It might have been the entrance to a shop or something at one point, but it didn’t look like it had been used for some time. There was a padlock on the handle of the door. I veered right and shoved my shoulder up against the doorjamb. The door didn’t move or anything, but it kept me from going forward.
It also started to rain.
Fucking rain.
Was this shitstorm ever going to end?
Knocking the back of my head against the doorway actually helped me focus a bit. I considered just going and finding someone to annoy in the hopes of getting into a fight, but the people around here would never engage in a fair fight, and I didn’t need to be stabbed again.
What the fuck was I going to do? How was I going to make myself better for Tria if I had even less now than I did when she walked out? No job, no address. No address, no job. Outside of Yolanda, I didn’t really have any friends I could turn to. Even if Tria hadn’t been staying with her, I was pretty sure Yolanda meant what she said. Asking her for help was no longer an option.
Shivering in the doorway, I ducked my head between my knees and wrapped my arms around my shoulders. I tried to ignore the little voice in the back of my head that told me how to make it all go away—all the hurt, all the pain—just for a little while.
She said she wanted me to be clean.
She said for the sake of the baby. There isn’t a baby yet. Just one fix. You can get clean again.
“She said…she said…” My voice broke, and tears mingled with the flow of rain over my head.
I don’t want to be like this…I don’t…I don’t…
The light rain turned into a downpour, and heavy clouds blocked out the sun almost entirely. There was a bit of shelter where I was sitting next to the building, but I was going to be soaked before too long. Not that it mattered—nothing else mattered except getting Tria back.
I had to find a way.
I had to do something.
What? What could I do?
I glanced up the street where I knew I could score all the dope I wanted for a little indignity. My throat bobbed as I swallowed, and I ran the back of my hand over my face to wipe away the rain. I might not have any money, but there was always a way if I was willing.
Just one needle.
One time.
I’d only use it to get myself back together again, and then I could think straight and figure out what I should do next. A flash of a daydream became a potential future when I saw myself telling Tria about the one last time I used. What I would have to do to get the money for the drugs slammed into my head.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
What else could I do?
My choices were becoming fewer and fewer.
Could do it for the money instead of the smack…
No.
Fuck no.
Just one needle.
I pulled myself up using the door as leverage and then stumbled down the street. I told myself I wasn’t headed anywhere in particular, but looming ahead of me was a group of whores sharing needles and blowing guys as they pulled up in their cars.
Only a couple blocks away.
Gunfire startled me, and I looked to the opposite side of the street where two guys were running out of the alley. They jumped into the back of a rusted-out Monte Carlo, which then sped off down the middle of the road, nearly taking out one of the hookers in the process.
She flipped it off and screamed a few choice words at them as she stood in the middle of the street.
“Hey, man?” An elderly guy with tightly curled white hair on the top of his head stumbled from the edge of the building. “You got a light?”
“Uh…yeah…” I managed to mumble. I pulled my lighter out of my pocket and handed it to the guy.
“Got any cigarettes?”
Nice.
I handed him one, which he lit with a shaking hand before thanking me and dropping back to the ground near the edge of the building where the rain wasn’t quite as heavy. He crawled a few feet to a large cardboard box with a concave roof so he could smoke without the rain putting out the cigarette.
My attention went back to the junkies near the corner. They were all standing in the rain, shooting up and looking about as miserable as they could be. Except that I knew they didn’t feel miserable. They felt fucking fantastic.
She wants you clean.
“She doesn’t want anything from me,” I muttered. “I’ve got nothing to give her. Better off this way.”
My throat seized, and I had to stop for a moment and lean against the wall. I turned my head toward the sky, and rain poured over me, soaking me completely.
Doubling over, I wrapped my arms around my stomach and squeezed my eyes shut. After a minute or so, I managed to start breathing right again, but my head was still swimming from hyperventilating. Inside my head, small, insistent voices battled with each other.
I need Tria.
She doesn’t want you.
“I don’t deserve her,” I whispered. “Not like this. She shouldn’t have to be with someone like this, not when she’s…she’s…”
Heated wetness filled my eyes and streamed down my cheeks.
“She’s having my baby.”
Biting down on the insides of my cheeks was the only way I managed to keep from screaming out loud—not that anyone around here would have noticed or cared. I stumbled across the street and into the alley, nearly tripping over a man lying near the edge. Glancing down, I saw his eyes wide open and staring blankly at the sky. I shuddered a little and moved to the other side of the alley before going any farther.
It had been years since I had been around this part of town, but I mostly remembered where things were. There wasn’t much, honestly—a liquor store, which was really a front for an illegal gambling joint, and a cheap tobacco place with at least one busted out window. There was one other relic near the edge of the street, and as I moved closer to it, I hoped and prayed it was still functional. Surprisingly enough, when I pushed back the folding doorway of the phone booth, there was still a working telephone inside of it.
Shuffling around in my pockets, I managed to come up with enough change for a local call. I could barely hold the coins steady enough to drop them down the slot, but I managed to jam all the familiar numbers in sequence. I took a long, deep breath, and then put the handset to my ear.
“Hello?” a familiar voice spoke easily into the phone. There was some noise in the background, and I figured he was in the car.
“Um…hey, Michael,” I said.
“Liam?” He was definitely surprised.
“Yeah, it’s me.”
“It’s a pleasure to hear from you,” he said. “I can’t say it was expected, though. The last I saw you, I thought you were going to deck my brother during my stepson’s reception.”
“Yeah…heh…” I had no idea if I should laugh it off, apologize, or remind him it was Ryan’s manipulative little spouse that dragged me there in the first place. I might have tried to go the latter route, but I just didn’t have the mental energy, so I went with the fastest option. “Sorry about that.”
“Are you?” he said quietly.
“Not really,” I admitted.
A quick breath into the phone was followed by Damon’s voice in the background, but I couldn’t hear what he said.
“I’m already late,” Michael said to him. “Just take the freeway.”
There was some more mumbling in the background before he came back to me.
“So to what do I owe the pleasure of your contact?” Michael asked. “I’ve got to go speak at one of those jewelers’ shows over at the convention center. Your father is stuck in Lima, working out the purchase of a new mine, so everything else has been left to me at the moment.”
“Oh, uh…” I still had no idea what to say. I coughed a little and reached into my pocket to fish out a cigarette.
“Liam?” Michael asked. “Are you all right?”
“Um…I guess…no?” I didn’t mean it to sound like a question, but the weight of everything came crashing back down on my shoulders, and I lowered myself to the floor of the phone booth to keep from falling over. Without warning, I started crying audibly.
“What’s wrong?” Michael asked, his tone definitely alarmed now. “Liam? What is it?”
“Tria…she…she left,” I told him.
“Oh, Liam.” Michael hummed sympathetically into the phone. “I’m sorry. The two of you seemed to get on so well.”
“I fucked it up,” I whispered into the phone. “It wasn’t her at all. I just fucked it all up.”
I took a deep drag on the cigarette, and then started coughing again as the rain increased around the little glass booth. Thunder boomed across the sky overhead, and a couple drunks stumbled out of the package liquor store and meandered down the sidewalk.
“If I had the money, I’d find me a bitch to fuck!” one of them announced to the other as they walked by.
His companion smacked him on the back—which almost made him fall over—and they continued along.
Tossing the cigarette to the wet ground, I took a deep breath and blew it out slowly.
“I really fucked up.”
“You know I’m always here for you,” Michael told me. “Despite all the shit in the past. Even if you had hit Douglass and set fire to the wedding cake, I’d still be here for you. That’s what family is about, Liam. Have you forgotten that completely?”
My throat tightened, and my eyes burned again. I ran my hand under my nose and sniffed.
“Yes,”
I whispered.
There was a long pause on the other end of the phone.
“Want me to pick you up and go find a place for coffee?” Michael asked. “That little mom and pop place you always liked as a kid is still open despite the major chain moving in just down the street.”
“You said you had to speak,” I reminded him.
“I could use an excuse to get out of it,” he informed me. “I hate those things.”
“Uh…yeah,” I said. “Okay.”
“Are you at your apartment?”
“Uh…no.” I ran my hand over my head and down my face. “I’m, um…I’ve…shit.”
“What is it?” Michael asked. He sounded even more alarmed now. “Do I need to bring bail money?”
“No…I just…well, I don’t have the apartment anymore.”
“I see,” Michael said with a bit of a sigh. “Where are you now?”
“A phone booth,” I said. “Um…near Central and Ninth.”
“Did I hear that right?”
“Yeah, probably.” When it came to the bad sections of town, this area pretty much took the prize.
“Shit,” Michael muttered. “Liam, are you…are you using again?”
“Trying not to,” I answered, and my voice broke. “I was for a while.”
“Damon—exit here, head south,” Michael’s muted voice called out. “Liam, head to…”
He paused for a moment, and he must have had his hand over the receiver, because I could hear his voice but not make out the words. He quickly came back.
“There’s a shoe repair shop about two blocks down,” he told me. “They should still be open. Go there. I’ll be there in…twenty-two minutes, if this GPS is to be believed.”
“Okay.” I glanced down at the last four dollars I had in my wallet. “Um…Michael?”
“Yes, Liam?”
“You said…um…you always said if I needed something…” I let my voice trail off, hoping he’d just remember and I wouldn’t have to say it. When the pause got to be too long, I spit it out. “You always said if I needed something, I could come to you.”