The Hard Bounce

Chapter Nine

“Where the fuck you been?” It was nice to know Junior cared.

“Sorry, Ma. Did I break curfew?” I had called the office to check for messages and was surprised when he answered the phone. I was at a pay phone in the little coffee shop where I’d stopped to get breakfast. Once again, it was way early for me and the three cups of weak coffee couldn’t cut through the wad of cotton where my brain used to be. My muscles were still stiff from the awkward position I’d slept in, my stomach full of greasy eggs.

“Nobody likes a smartass, Boo. That little prick Paul called the office six times before I checked the machine this morning. I tried you at home and couldn’t leave a message. Why didn’t you pick up?”

“I wasn’t at home.”

He paused, waiting for me to continue. I didn’t.

“You can tell me later. I came in here to catch the kid the next time he called, and get this… he only wants to talk to you.” Junior said the last line in a nasal singsong.

“I think you scare him, buddy.”

“Good. He’s gonna be more scared if I get my hands on him. Where are you?”

“Cosmo’s Diner on Mt. Vernon. Did he say when he’d be calling back?”

“He said he’d call back every hour.”

I checked my watch. It was a quarter to eleven. “Listen, when he calls back, tell him to meet me here. Have him take a cab and I’ll pay for it. Where will you be?”

“I’m going back home and sleeping. Way past my bedtime.”

Almost forty-five minutes later, Paul arrived, towing a squat Goth girl who was dressed in what looked like a black wedding dress. Their expressions gave me pause, the two of them wearing faces like a pair of slapped asses.

Black eyeliner had dried in streaks down the girl’s face, and I wondered if they were from her crying or had been drawn on intentionally. Enough goop was caked under her eyes to give her a vaguely raccoonish look.

They looked fucked up. “You two on anything?”

“What?” Paul asked.

“I’m not supplying you two with a munchie feast if you’re stoned, Paul.” Bad enough I was feeding Paul. I didn’t need to feed his chubby girlfriend, too.

“Yo, man. That’s messed up. Besides, Tammy’s straight edge.” Paul clucked his tongue. “I bring you news, and you act like my old man. That’s so messed up.”

“What have you got, Paul?” I sipped another mouthful of the dirty water in my cup.

The girl answered me with huge whooping sobs. “He hurt her so bad.”

I shook my head, her non sequitur throwing me for a loop. “What? Who? Who hurt who? Who’s he?”

The girl just wept harder. The waitress shot us a look, and I felt my face burn with embarrassment at the spectacle.

“Cassie,” Paul whispered.

My skin rose like an ice cube had been placed on the back of my neck. “Who did?”

The girl kept crying.

“Who hurt Cassie?” I said, a bit too sharply. I didn’t have the patience to play the crying game with an overwrought mascara case.

“I don’t know!” Her words were spaced by sobs. Fresh trails of makeup ran down her round cheeks. Black tears splashed on the table, pooling into an inky puddle.

“Where? Where is she?”

“Tammy saw her at a party last night,” Paul said.

“She saw Cassie at a party last night?”

“She saw a DVD. A movie at the party.”

Holy Shit at the Pearly Gates.

“What party?” My goosebumps decided to call some friends over.

Tammy couldn’t answer me. She was lost in her fear and pubescent anguish.

I jumped up from the table and ran back to the pay phone. With trembling fingers, I called the office again. The phone rang four times before the machine picked up. I hung up and called Junior’s apartment. His machine picked up immediately. “Junior! Pick up! Emergency! Yo, Junior!”

The phone beeped again. “What is wrong with you, man? Can’t a brother get some beauty sleep?”

“Is Miss Kitty back yet?” My foot was tapping impatiently. Screw the coffee, I was wide-awake now.

“Yeah. Just got her back yesterday. Why?” Junior yawned.

“I’m still at the diner on Mt. Vernon. Get here, ASAP.”

“What’s going on?”

“Now, Junior.”

“Don’t start barking at me, dickwad. I’m there.” Click.

You cost her, my mind kept repeating. You cost the kid while you were drinking like a fool and crashing on couches. I didn’t know what the price was, but I had the feeling the interest was going to be a bitch.

I forced some of the shitty coffee into both kids while we waited for Junior. Neither one of them seemed to enjoy it any more than I did, but they drank it. Tammy managed to calm herself down a bit, and the caffeine gave Paul some color back.

A screech of tires announced Junior’s arrival. I paid the tab, and the three of us hopped into the brown ’79 Buick that Junior called Miss Kitty.

Yeah, I don’t know why either.

“So, what’s the deal?” he asked, scratching at his morning stubble.

I turned to the back seat. “Where was the party last night, Tammy?”

She looked at Junior and me with the eyes of a caged animal. “I’m not going back there. That guy is a freak.” Her lower lip started to tremble. “He laughed. When he saw me watching, he laughed at how scared I was.”

I reached back and took her hand. “We need to go there, Tammy, and we need you to help us. Cassie might be in trouble, and the faster we get to her, the better her chances are. Please, sweetheart. Help us.” I squeezed her pudgy hand and tried to look concerned through the impatience I was feeling.

She didn’t say anything for a few seconds, just gazed into the air. “It was in Brookline. Just off of Boylston. I don’t know what street, but I’ll recognize it when we get there.”

Junior gunned the car, and the powerful engine shot us off like a cannon. I filled him in as delicately as I could without upsetting either of the kids again. The more I talked, the tighter he gripped the steering wheel. He clenched his jaw so tight his temples throbbed.

We drove down Huntington slowly, letting Tammy get her bearings. She jumped up in her seat when she spotted it. “That’s the street, right there. I remember the Kinko’s on the corner.” We’d already passed the street by the time she noticed it. Junior stopped at the light and U-turned back at the intersection. We pulled to a stop on the corner.

“Which one is it?” I asked.

“That one. Right there.” It was a large prewar building. No doorman. That made life easier. “Can I go home now?” She stared at the building, tears welling in her eyes again.

“Not yet. We need you to buzz the apartment and get us in,” I said as gently as I could. “Do you think he’ll remember you?”

“I’m so scared. Seven was laughing at the video. He was getting off on it.”

Seven.

I’d forgotten to ask who threw the party. Junior and I were both well acquainted with the victim-to-be.

Junior and I looked at each other. Seven was the lead singer of The Genitalonious Monks. Goth band. Or, as Junior liked to call that particular scene, “men with eyeliner.” The last time they played The Cellar, I had to put the kibosh on their show just as Seven was about to give a strangely willing audience member an enema right on stage. He called me a Philistine. I made sure Seven and his three-ring circus of a band never got booked at The Cellar again.

Junior bared his teeth in a wolf’s smile. “Honey, you scared of that guy? With me and Boo here?”

“I dunno. He’s weird. Like, crazy weird.” She chewed her lower lip.

“Would it make you feel better if we smacked the shit out of him if he gets out of line?”

She actually giggled into her hand. “Would you?”

“For you, sweetness? Anything.” Junior had turned on the charm, and by God, it seemed to work.

Tammy was blushing all the way down to her collar when we stepped out of the car. She led the way. I whispered in Junior’s ear. “Sweetness?”

He whispered back. “Death wish?”

The four of us stepped into the large tiled foyer. I knew which intercom buzzer was Seven’s without being told. Antichrist was written in fancy calligraphy next to the button for 3B.

I turned to Tammy. “Tell him you were at the party last night and left your purse.”

“I… I can’t,” she said. I could see tremors squirming through her body. “I can’t go up there again.”

Junior stepped in. “He’s not going to fuck with you, sweetie. I promise you.” His face was set hard as he lifted her chin and looked straight into her watery raccoon eyes.

“Me, too,” Paul said, protectively wrapping his arm around Tammy’s shoulder. Junior turned so Paul couldn’t see him smirk. I think he was actually starting to like the kid. Or maybe he was just smiling at the notion of smacking the shit out of Seven if necessary. I really hoped it would be necessary.

With a trembling hand, Tammy pressed the button for 3B. A shrill screech blared from the box, making me wince. A few seconds later, a tinny voice came back through.

“What do you want?” I’d forgotten about the horrible, fey English accent Seven affected.

“Um, hi. This is Tammy? I left my purse up there at the party last night.” She looked at Junior for approval. He nodded at her.

A pause. “I found no purse.” The guy was a real charmer.

“It’s really small, and I was sitting on the couch. It might have fallen between the cushions.” Nice touch. Junior gave her a thumb’s up.

Another pause. The door clicked and buzzed as Seven let us in. It was on.

I pushed the door and held it. “Tammy, we just need you at the door so he’ll open it.” I considered telling Paul to wait, but I didn’t want to emasculate the kid in front of the girl.

Tammy knocked on the door. There was a peephole, so Junior and I flanked opposite sides before she knocked. Seven undid what sounded like two dozen locks before he opened the door. He stood in the doorway in a long red silk robe that slung low around his waist, barely held together with a sash.

“Come in,” said the spider to the fly.

Then the pit bulls charged the web.

Junior firmly pushed Seven back into the apartment. The walls were painted blood red, and Nag Champa incense clouded the space so thickly my nose hairs gagged.

“Wait,” Seven said in an offended tone. “Who are you two?” I noticed his fake accent seemed to be tinged with German right then. His body was completely hairless, which made him tough to read. If he was surprised, he didn’t have the eyebrows to show it. If anything, he almost seemed pleased to see us. He pointed a long finger at Tammy. “I remember you. You cry.”

I grabbed him by the silk lapels and flung him into the wall. His head bounced off it with a pleasant whack.

“Hey! Hey!” he protested. I let him go. “I remember you, too.” Then he looked at me with calm appraisal. “Philistine.” He said it like a nickname for an old friend.

“I’m real flattered you remember me, dickhead.”

“You stopped my art. You have no vision.”

Junior stuck a thick finger into his face. “And you’re gonna have no teeth unless you give us what we want.”

“What do you want?” he asked, sounding bored. I had to admit, the guy was cucumber cool.

“The DVD,” I said.

“I don’t have DVDs. Or CDs or tapes for that matter. I am a performance artist.” He trailed his fingers slowly down his body. His long, manicured fingernails made a soft zipping sound on the silk. “All of my shows are individual works.”

“We don’t give a good shit about your whiny, pansy-ass music or ‘performances,’” Junior said. “We want to see the video you played last night.”

I gnawed my lower lip, itching to pound the pose right off him.

His smile was lascivious. “Ah, yes. The red-haired girl. Her fear was delicious.” The room started to tinge redder than the walls, redder than his robe.

“So was yours,” he said to Tammy. He stared at her, unblinking. I followed his gaze to her. She was frozen, terrified. He held her eyes like a snake paralyzing a mouse. The poor kid was so scared, she couldn’t even cry anymore. She just took short, sharp breaths while fresh black tears rolled down her cheeks.

Junior broke the spell with a clean right hook to the mouth. Hard. Seven’s head snapped back with what sounded like a whip crack. He dropped to his knees and grabbed his mouth.

“Ahh! You fuck!” Seven yelped. It sounded like “fuh-muck” through his mashed lips.

“Yo, Seven,” Junior said, leaning down, his face right in Seven’s. “You really should have been paying attention to us, not the kid. You might have been able to dodge that if you were.”

“Take her down to the car,” I said to Paul. Paul nodded and took Tammy out the door by her upper arm. In her state of shock, she was easily led.

“I’m gonna sue your asses off!” Seven cried, stumbling back up to his feet. “I have a performance tonight!” Blood poured from his ruined mouth. Remarkably, Junior’s punch had only unleashed more attitude.

I grabbed his left ear and twisted it like a piece of taffy. He screamed, and I socked him in the gut with my other hand to shut him up. Worked like a charm. Felt real good, too.

He dropped back to the floor, gasping. He didn’t try to stand again.

“This is the last time I ask. Where’s the DVD?”

“Do you have any idea how much that cost me?” His voice was a wheeze. I noticed he forgot the accent entirely. A natural Quincy twang replaced it.

“You need to listen when I say I’m not asking again,” I said, drawing back my hand. “Now you get the pimp hand.”

He squealed. “No! It’s in the coffee table!”

I let the pimp hand go just for the pleasure of it. I cupped my hand and caught him right on the ear I’d just squeezed. He howled and covered up the side of his head. Must have hurt like hell. I walked over to the coffee table. It was a glass-topped box shaped like a coffin, complete with plastic skeleton inside. Under the bones of the left arm sat a short stack of unmarked black DVD cases.

“Which one is it?” I asked.

“It’s one with the red sticker on top,” he said as he pointed at the table. The long finger wasn’t so steady anymore.

I flipped through the DVDs. There were five of them. Three with red stickers. I dropped each case without a sticker to the floor and crushed it with the heel of my boot. “Which one?” I asked.

“I don’t know. It’s one of those.” He put a finger in his mouth, probing his teeth.

“Where did you get these?” I asked.

He shook his head. “I can’t tell you.”

“Junior, go to the car and grab my needle-nose pliers. I’m gonna pull those pretty fingernails off backward. Then we’ll see what he can and can’t tell us.” It was only a half-threat. I wouldn’t have pulled them off backward. That would have been mean.

“No!” Seven screamed when Junior walked toward the door. “I can’t tell you! Please! These people, they’re crazy. They’ll kill me!” Flecks of bloody foam formed at the corner of his mouth. For what it was worth, the guy was scared off his cracker.

“Blah, blah, blah. Stop being such a cliché,” Junior said, whapping the top of Seven’s bald head like Benny Hill.

“And what a loss you would be, but that’s not our problem,” I said. “First of all, they never have to know it came from you.”

Junior said, “Second, what do you think we’ll do to you if you don’t tell us? We’re gonna fuck ya, then kill ya. We’re not gay.”

Seven looked at us both, confused.

I glared at Junior. “Point is, we’re going to hurt you. A lot.”

Junior closed his eyes and shuddered violently in his imaginings. “Grande mucho.”

Seven’s eyes bulged white as he looked back and forth at the two of us. His head dropped. “Sid’s Vids on Comm Ave. By BU,” he said in a whisper.

“Who do we talk to?” I asked.

“Sid,” he said snidely. He felt around the inside his mouth again. “I think you cracked my tooth, asshole.”

Junior kicked him right in the face with a size-twelve Doc Marten. Seven’s head bounced off the wall like a tennis ball. “There. Now you can be sure.”

With great effort, Seven simultaneously tried to crawl into a corner and stay conscious. I stalked him slowly across the floor. “Those kids out there? You ever-and I mean ever-come across them again?” I booted him a shot to the ribs. Seven wheezed and flopped over. “You say one fucking word to either one of them…” I kicked him again.

“Or look at them…” Junior punched him solidly on the thigh, sending a vicious charleyhorse through the muscle. Seven looked like he wanted to scream, but there was no air left in his lungs from my kick.

“Or breathe on them…” I kicked him again, and he went fetal.

“Don’t even think too hard about them,” Junior said, adding the heel of his boot to the fray. “That would also be bad for you.”

“Have we made ourselves clear here?” I asked. Kick.

Seven wheezed dryly before he managed to mouth a “yes.”

“Got that, you G.G. Allin wannabe motherfucker?” Kick.

Kick.

Kick.

Kick.

Kick.

Kick.

He was still wailing hoarse yesses at us as we walked out the door. Probably be a while before he’d be singing again.

I’d be a liar if I said it didn’t feel good.

Real fucking good.

Paul sat on the wide hood of the Buick, hugging himself. His skin tone still wasn’t a color I would consider healthy. He looked like he could puke at any second. Credit to the kid, though, he was hanging in like a trooper.

“Tammy took off,” he said. I felt bad about how we had put her in that situation. I consoled myself with the thought that she’d be fine after she listened to a few Dead Can Dance albums. Maybe sacrificed a goat. Who knows what cheers up a Goth kid, anyway?

“Now what?” Junior asked.

“Yeah. What are we going to do now?” Paul rubbed his hands together, the excitement perking him back up. This was all one big adventure for him.

The gig was shaping up to be a long evening of indiscriminate violence. “First, we drive you home,” I said to Paul.

“Aw, man! C’mon,” he whined. “I hook you guys up with Baldy and the videos and you’re gonna do me like that?”

I handed him another hundred. He shut up. “We appreciate your help, Paul, but we need to take it solo from here.”

His eyes were full of Benjamin Franklin, but there was disappointment in his voice. “No, no. That’s cool, I guess.”

“Where can we drop you off?” Junior asked.

“Forget it. I’m gonna go to the Square,” he said. “Besides, the mom’s boyfriend has been drinking his unemployment check away all week. Best to stay mobile, you know? Later.” He flashed us a peace sign and was off.

Junior and I silently watched him off for a moment. Junior said, “Boo?”

“What’s up?”

“Every goddamn time I hear something like that…” Junior shook his head.

“Yeah.” I felt for Paul, though he seemed pretty well adjusted to his situation. The two of us knew all too well the art of adaptation. Either you made your way within your shitty life or they found you dangling from an extension cord in the janitor’s closet.

As I went to light a smoke, I noticed a tiny smear of Seven’s blood on my finger. I wiped it off on my pants leg.

Junior started Miss Kitty’s engine and gunned it, making her roar. “Now what?”

“Let’s go rent some movies.”

“Ugh. That was terrible, Boo. That was like, Steven Segal script terrible.”

“Just drive.”