almost okay

SEVERAL DEATHS IN
THE FAMILY
Chapter Thirteen: Deep In The Heart Of 'Fucked'

When I was able to force my eyes open again, finally see something besides the bottomless black hole of Hell, nothing looked familiar. It was as though I had simply jumped from place to place with no recollection of how I got there or how much time had passed.

The room was small and the only window in it was covered with thick burgundy drapes, the kind you buy when you have to work nights and sleep all day. Beige shag carpet covered the floor, a dirty path worn from the door to the window. Brick-red stains clotted the nap in various places, some the size of a softball and bigger. I guessed they were probably spilled blood, some of it might even be mine. A tiny brass lamp sat on an old, worn chest of drawers in one corner, its naked thirty-watt bulb glowing faintly, no shade. The only furniture in the room besides the chest of drawers were a handful of mismatched dining room chairs, one of which I was tied to with several lengths of clothesline. I was alone. And I didn't have a stitch of clothing on.

I could feel pain in my right cheek and could see swelling there, along with some blood running down from a split on the bridge of my nose. My head was throbbing, pounding a dull ache in time with my beating heart. I clenched my fists, tightened all my muscles against the restraints of the rope to test the job they'd done in tying me, rocked the chair around in circular motions to see if there was any play in the legs. Whoever had bound me to the chair had done a fairly sloppy job and, given some time, I was pretty sure I could wriggle loose. My wrists were tied together in front of me, the rope then looped around one chair leg to hold them tight to the seat between my knees. Each of my ankles was tied to a front leg of the chair and clothesline wrapped around me at the elbows, completely encircling the chair's back as well. Another rope secured me just below my shoulders.

After rocking around a bit, I discovered that the chair was loose at the joints where the legs met the seat and I suspected that it if I could get myself to a half-standing position, it wouldn't take much to break the legs off. I might even be able to snap the back away from the seat if I could land it just right.

Suddenly I heard voices from outside the door, speaking a mix of Spanish and English. When the door swung open I was surprised to see a face that I recognized from somewhere. A face that didn't belong to a Mexican for a change.

“Remember me, pard?” the face said. “From Cincinnati?” He was black, tall and thin, shaved head. His eyes were pale brown in color, the white parts slick and filmy like slightly-yellowed hard-boiled eggs. He was carrying a sawed-off shotgun when he came in, leaned it carefully against the chest of drawers before spinning around one of the chairs and sitting facing me, his arms draped over the back.

“Oh, sure,” I said. “Now I remember. You're the guy I gave the toe to.” When I felt the words come out I realized that several of my teeth were loose and my jaw ached. The coppery taste of blood played across my tongue. “I'm just relieved that you're not Mexican. If I see another Mexican I think I'll scream.”

“Ha ha. You think you pretty bad, don't you, slick?”

“You mean 'bad' like Michael Jackson or 'super bad' like James Brown?”

“I still got that toe,” he said with a grim look on his face. “Lil Papi didn't want it, didn't even want to look at it.” He patted his chest. “I had it dipped in liquid plastic and it's on a chain right here. Right next to my heart.”

I could hear rustling just outside the door, a pair of voices, one of them female. It sounded like Felina. The black guy yelled “Bring her in!” In one motion the door flew open and Felina fell to the floor, pushed down by a tall Mexican with pigtail braids. It was Hector. He grabbed her by one wrist, lifted her up and threw her into a chair, which toppled and fell backwards to the floor. Hector reached down with both hands and roughly put both her and the chair upright, then gave her a vicious backhand to the face.

“Whoa, man,” said the black guy. “Ease up, baby.”

“Why are you fucking with us?” I asked him. “How come we're still alive?”

“Well, if it was up to old Hector here, you wouldn't be. He couldn't stand the idea of his bitch cheatin' on him and would have gladly put a bullet in both of you. Lucky for you, I was there when it all went down and realized what we fell into.” He waited a minute, looked me over, turned slowly around and looked at Hector and Felina, before turning his head back towards me. “Believe it or not, slick. Lil Papi thinks you have potential.”

“As what? Dog food?”

“Ha ha. No, as an employee.” He drew the last word out with space in between the syllables, extra emphasis on the final one.

“You gotta be shittin' me.”

“No, sir. I'm not,” he said. “I can barely believe it myself. But you see, Papi ain't quite right in the head anymore.” He tapped his forehead with his left index finger, the nail shiny and buffed. “He's still the boss, though, and I do as I'm told.”

“So this is your interview process?”

“Sort of,” he said. I could see that Felina was looking at Hector with a combination of fear and contempt. She seemed to be hurt, but not seriously.

“What about the girl?” I asked.

“If you say yes, she lives. If not, I'm afraid both of you have to go.”

As we were talking I had been alternately relaxing and tensing all my muscles, breathing deeply then completely emptying my lungs. I'd managed to force some slack into the clothesline. I hoped it was enough because I wasn't going to get more than one chance.

“Well, what if...” I hesitated, looked around him at Felina. She looked me in the eye. She looked scared. “What if... Listen, can you move in a little? I don't want the girl to hear this.”

He eyed me warily, looked at Felina, then leaned in and put his head next to mine. He was so close I could smell onion on his breath. “What if I told you...” A pause as I looked over his shoulder again, then: “What if I told you that I was bad like Rambo?” I whispered.

He turned a puzzled face to me and I lunged, my teeth fastened tight on the rubbery bridge of his nose, the taste of blood on my tongue again.

Only this time the blood wasn't mine.