Caught Stealing - Charlie Huston [16]
—Sure. Well, look, man, it’s so fucking great to see you, man. I can’t believe you’re here, you look so fucking great.
—Yeah, well, clean livin’, right?
—Right, man.
—Well, I better blow. But, man, it’s great to see you and, man, I’m just so blown away, so happy for you, the way things worked out.
—I can’t believe it. It’s my life, you know, but I can’t believe it.
—Right. Well, take care, man, and I’ll see you around.
—You too, man. Just come around, OK? I mean, I’m really happy to see you, so come by anytime, OK?
—Sure, I’ll see you soon.
And he hugs me and I watch him join the other folks leaving the room. And I think to myself, Fuck, Rich, I haven’t seen him in forever. When was the last time I saw fucking Rich? And it all starts to fall into place and I remember the last time I saw Rich and I remember his face as we flipped through the air and he looked into my eyes and I know this is all a dream and this is not my life and I gasp for air, trying to make a sound, any sound. And I wake up shouting.
It’s somewhere around 2:00 A.M., the nightmare has my heart pounding and my head disoriented and it takes me a few moments to sort out where I am and realize the implications of the sounds in the hallway: Someone is knocking on Russ’s door.
I have an aluminum baseball bat in the closet; I’ve had it for most of my life. I hear the knock again. I pull on a pair of jeans and go to my door with the bat in my hands. At the door I try not to breathe as I slip open the peephole and look out. Three feet away, two men are standing in front of Russ’s door. One is big in a hard-as-a-rock kind of way; the other is quite a bit smaller, but also in a hard-as-a-rock kind of way. They’re both black and appear to have shaved heads, although I’m not sure about that because of the matching black cowboy hats they wear. This seems to be a theme for them. In addition to the hats, they both sport black leather vests over black T-shirts and black jeans, which I’m willing to bet lead down to black cowboy boots, but I can’t tell from this angle. The smaller one nods and the larger one lifts a hand wrapped in silver rings shaped like skulls and knocks again on the door. They wait. I wait. Nothing happens. The cowboys look at each other, they both wear black wraparound sunglasses. The smaller one reaches into his vest and takes out a notepad and a pen. The big one turns and faces down the hall and the small one places the pad against the big one’s back and starts to write. His fingers are covered in silver rings shaped like naked women.
I’m sweating. It’s very cool in my apartment, but I’m sweating because these freaks three feet away from me are scarier than anything else that’s happened today. The little one finishes writing, tears the page out, tucks the pen and pad away and turns back to the door. He slips the note into the crack between the door and the jamb, but the gap is too big and the note drops to the floor. Both he and the big one bend to pick up the note at the same time. They don’t bump heads, but it’s close. They both straighten and look at each other, waiting; then they bend again at the same time. This time they bump. They straighten again and stare at each other. The big one finally picks up the paper. The little one grabs the paper from the big one, pulls up a corner of the police seal on Russ’s door and sticks the paper underneath. Then they leave.
I wait a half hour before I go out and read the note. It says, “Russ, just stopped by to say hello. Deeply concerned. Please call. Ed and Paris.”
And the number of a cell phone. I don’t touch the note, I read it as it hangs there on the door and as soon as I finish I dash back into my apartment. I have a feeling that these guys aren’t really deeply concerned about Russ at all.
I’m drunk. I’m at Paul’s and I’m drunk and I’m not sure how I got here. It had something to do with cowboys and being scared. I know I’ve done something stupid, several somethings stupid, but one big thing in particular. I’m just not sure what it is.
Edwin