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| chapter one of the book by junior allen 06/05/2003, 12:19pm PDT | ||||
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| It's supposed to be a fast read. I don't have time to format the text, my apologies in advance.
junior allen Cold Comfort “There is no trap so deadly as the trap you set for yourself.” -- Raymond Chandler, The Long Goodbye 1 I’m not sure what woke me up. For a couple of moments I wasn’t sure of anything, really, except the pounding in my head. Then, slowly, I registered sand, then wind. Outside. I was on the beach somewhere. I sat up fast and the world swam in front of me. I swallowed and grabbed two handfuls of sand and forced my stomach back down. Something smelled bad. After a second I let go of the sand and looked around. It was night now, but the moon was full and I was close enough to the street for the streetlights to make a difference. I was on the beach, near one of the food stand -- the one on 39th Street, the one which never puts enough chili on their chili dogs. That put me about twelve blocks away from where I needed to be. Two empty pint bottles of Dewars and six empty cans of Pabst, complete with the six pack ring, lay out on the sand in front of me. At least I passed out far enough away from the tide. I crawled to where the light was better. Sometime during the festivities I’d managed to get sick all over myself. The wind spun around and kicked the smell back into my face and I closed my eyes for a second and swallowed thickly, willing myself not to puke again. After a moment I felt a little better. I sat there for awhile, breathing deeply and trying to think of nothing at all. The air felt good in my lungs. Then I stood up carefully. A cold wind was blowing down the beach and I shivered a little, but it felt good, too. I watched a crowd of seagulls loudly debate the ownership of a piece of fish. You fucked up, didn’t you? That’s why you don’t want to know what time it is. Finally I checked my watch. 2:30 am. I knew she would never forgive this. I closed my eyes and pictured her in Dewey Myles’s meaty little arms, the smug look of satisfaction on his face when he realized that, just as he’d predicted, I had let her down again. I imagined how the evening had probably played out and I could feel the stab deep in my heart. I played the scene over again, just to twist the blade a bit. I shook my head. I could walk back home covered in vomit or I could clean myself up in one of the houses. I looked around and thought about my options and finally decided on the Hutchinson house three blocks away. I could just see their patio from where I was standing. I started down the beach. In the off season I pieced together a living caretaking the houses of the Rich and Somewhat Prominent. It’s not an easy thing to spend day after day in houses you would never be allowed in otherwise. It’s not easy to listen to stereos you could never afford, or watch movies on entertainment systems that cost more than anything you have in the bank. Easy or not, though, I took full advantage when I could. I considered it a perk of the job. IN a way it felt great to use their showers, their toilets. Revenge without the risks. About ten minutes later I was on the Hutchinson’s patio. I still had my key ring, thank Christ, and after a couple of tries I unlocked the sliding glass doors in back. I had keys for the front door, too, but these were pegged to an alarm and I didn’t have the codes. Inside it was cold. I flipped the light switch without thinking -- of course there was no power. The streetlamps and starlight cast a faint glow inside, but mostly what I saw were shadows overlapped darker shadows. The Hutchinsons had no less than three bathrooms -- I know, I saw them all once a month. A gigantic one on the second floor (complete with a sunken tub), a more modest one on the ground floor, and a tiny one -- really just a closet with a toilet, a sink, and a shower stall jammed inside -- in the basement. For some reason that one still had running water. In the darkness it took me maybe ten minutes to get down there and find it. I stepped inside, barked my shins against the toilet, cracked my left elbow against the sink, and finally managed to turn on the water. I was busy trying to figure out if the dried crust above my left eyebrow was blood or vomit or something else when all of a sudden BANG! the door flew open. A light shone in my eyes and I froze. It’s odd, you know. When you sneak into someone’s house, about the last think you expect is that somebody else will be doing the same thing. I guess they had the same feeling, for we stood there just like that for a few seconds. Then one of them grabbed me by the shirt and pulled me out of there. |
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chapter one of the book by 06/05/2003, 12:19pm PDT  Re: chapter one of the book by 06/05/2003, 6:28pm PDT Re: chapter one of the book by 06/06/2003, 9:06am PDT |
