Blow Fly

48

THE DOOR ACROSS THE HALLWAY opens and an older man in an undershirt and sweatpants studies Marino suspiciously.

"What's all the racket about?" he inquires, his gray hair sticking up Jike the bristles of a hedgehog, his wrinkled face patchy with stubble, his eyes puffy and bJoodshot.

Marino knows the look all too well. The mans been drinking, probably since he got up and downed his first eye-opener.

"You seen Tom?" Marino asks, sweating and struggling for air.

"Can't say I really know him. Don't have a heart attack. I can't do CPR, although н am familiar with the Heimlich maneuver."

"He promised to meet me"-Marino catches a breath-"and I came all the friggin' way from California."

"You did?" The man is very curious now and steps out into the hallway. "What for?"

"What do you mean, what for?" Marino recovers enough to snap at him, as if it is any of the man's business. " 'Cause the friggin' gold rush's over. 'Cause I'm tired of sittin' on the friggin' dock of the bay. 'Cause I got bored being a friggin' movie star."

"If you were in the movies, I've never seen you, and I rent movies all the time. What else is there to do around here?"

"Have you seen Tom?" Marino persists, trying in vain to force the knob by turning it hard and shaking the door.

"I was asleep when you started all the racket," says the man, who looks at least sixty and a bit deranged. "I haven't seen Tom and don't care for the likes of him, if you get my drift."

He scrutinizes Marino.

"What do you mean, the likes of him?"

"Homo."

"That's news to me, not that I give a shit what people do, as long as I ain't around to see it. He bringing men to his apartment or something? 'Cause I'm not sure I want to get in if…"

"Oh, no. Never saw him bring anybody to his apartment. But another homo in the building who wears leather and earrings told me he's seen Tom in some of those bars where homos go and pick each other up for a quick visit to the bathroom."

"Listen, jerkface, I'm supposed to be subletting this dump from the son of a bitch," Marino heatedly informs the man. "Already paid him the first three months' rent, and drove from California to get the key and move in. All my stuff's down there in my damn truck."

"That would really piss me off "

"No joke, Sherlock."

"I mean, really piss me off Who's Sherlock? Oh, yes. That detective with the hat and pipe. I don't read violent books."

"So if you hear any noise coming from this apartment, ignore it. If I have to use dynamite, I'm getting in."

"You don't really mean that," the old man worries.

"Right," Marino says sarcastically. "I walk around with dynamite in my pockets. I'm a suicide bomber with a New Jersey accent. Know how to fly planes, just can't take off or land."

The old man disappears inside his apartment, and a burglar chain rattles.