"We don't have shit, man! We haven't ripped anyone off!" Mike protested. "Just this little dab of coke is all and this quarter ounce of weed is all we have! You can take it if you want it!" "You lying prick! Where the fuck is that little asshole friend of yours that's always hanging out here? He's the one I really need to talk to." There was a pause. "Hey! Get your hands off her tits and check this dump out!" he barked to someone. Panicking, I realized that I was the "asshole" in questions and that I was trapped as the proverbial shithouse rat. Quickly thinking (for once), I closed the toilet lid and stood up on the stool.
There was a panel in the ceiling in the bathroom leading to a
ventilation shaft and I shoved the panel aside and
slithered like a snake up into the overhead and
pushed the tile back into place. It was pitch black
inside and smelled heavily of mouse piss. I could
feel their little shit pellets crunch under my hands.
Someone was in the bathroom below me looking
around. Jesus Christ! What's going to happen if they
lift the lid and see a fresh shit in there? They'll link
me to the turd and start searching for me. Probably
shoot me right through the ceiling. I stifled a
whimper.
"There ain't anyone in the crapper. But holy
shit! You should see these dyke bitches in this
magazine, boss!"
"Put the fuck book down and take the slut
out to the car, tie her up and throw her ass in the
trunk you goddamn moron. We'll take care of her
later. I'll handle this little son of a bitch."
I could hear Angel screaming out a blue
streak as she was taken down the stairs. The word
"motherfuckers" was mentioned predominately. We
were a mile out of town in an apartment over a
waterbed warehouse. There wasn't a soul around to
hear her. "What? What do you want? I'll do anything!
I'll give you anything! Just bring Angel back up
here and I'll..." Mike's voice was suddenly cut off
like someone had him around the throat.
"Too late, asshole. You had your chance."
All I heard after that was this weird, wet
sound like someone hitting a ripe pumpkin or melon
with a stick. Then the racket of la Favor, all three
hundred pounds of him lumber down the stairs. I
could hear him bitching at his flunky through the
attic vent.
"Hey dipshit! Quit feeling up the fucking
bimbo, we got work to do. Dump her off at the farm
and get back here with a can of gas. We're gonna
torch this fucking place. And leave the fucking
beer." A high horsepower engine revved up and
gravel sprayed the side of the warehouse as a car
raced out of the parking lot. Then total silence. But I
knew la Favor was still out there. I could hear him
belching and farting. I laid up there in the dark with
the mice and their shit for what seemed like hours but was
probably just a couple of minutes before I could
muster up the courage and make myself crawl back
down in the bathroom.
I had to do something or I
was going to get roasted like a hot dog along with
Mike and his apartment. I walked gingerly around
the corner into the living room. Mike was sitting
straight up in his easy chair with his back to me.
"Mike! Mike!" I stage whispered. "We gotta
get the hell out of here! They're going to burn the
fucking place down!
He didn't answer so I slowly walked around
the chair. His eyes were open but he was obviously
dead. He was the only person I had seen dead
except for my grandmother and that had been at her
funeral. I remembered that she had looked like she
had been cast in wax, like a candle minus the wick
in her head, and real peaceful. But Mike didn't look
like that at all. Punched into the middle of his
forehead, like his skull had been made out of the
cheap sheet metal we used to use for projects in
high school shop class, were the initials "ClF."
"Brass knuckles," I mouthed to myself.
The legend was true! Suddenly the stairs started creaking as la
Favor began to make his ascent up the stairs. Mike
had a Louisville Slugger that he had gotten a bunch
of the Minnesota Twins to sign years ago at a father
and son banquet with his local Cub Scout troop. It
was sitting in a place of honor on a shelf above the
stereo. I grabbed it and flattened myself against the
wall next to the open stairwell door. When la Favor
stepped into the apartment, I stepped into my swing
like Tony Olivia going for the fence.
"What in the fu.." The bat caught la Favor
right on the forehead. Dead center.