Dray (8 page)

The face peeking out from the dense background of graffiti had an eerie almost surreal quality, and the intensity of emotion Walter had conveyed in just a simple expression was nothing short of masterful. He might have been a homeless person, a being cast aside by conventional society, but he was an amazing artist. I saved the pictures to a file that I labeled street art. The images seemed like something Nix would appreciate. He had an eye for great art. Something told me there would be more stories out there on the sidewalks of New York, stories that were far more interesting and poignant than a group of rich art show patrons standing around sipping fancy cocktails and opining about obscure art.

Chapter 13

Dray

The smell of grilled onions drifted through the open window and footsteps followed. Barrett walked inside carrying two grease stained bags. I sat up from the lumpy couch cushions and pushed the pathetic looking bag of frozen peas off my hand. “I really need a new bag of peas.”

Barrett dropped the food onto the warped coffee table and sat down hard on the couch.

“Dude,” I reached for a bag, “you must have been reading my mind. I was hoping some thick double cheeseburgers would walk through that cabin door. Of course, I imagined a tall, hot blonde carrying them in to me, but can’t have everything.”

Barrett unwrapped his burger. “What do you mean? It seems like you got exactly what you were hoping for.”

“The blonde in my burger fantasy was a double D.” I took a bite and groaned with pleasure.

“Still fantasizing?” Barrett asked.

“No, I’m fucking starved. I was at the gym all morning and I worked my ass off.” I reached for an onion ring. Barrett lowered his burger to get a clear view of my hand.

“Holy shit, that thing looks twisted. Can’t hardly tell it’s a hand. You’ve got to get to a doctor.”

Barrett was rarely one to offer practical advice and hearing it from him now only solidified the conclusion that I’d come to on the way home from Tank’s.

“Yeah, I know. I’m waiting to talk to my mom about getting some cash. That stupid asshole, Josh, Tank’s stepson, basically blackmailed me into sparring today. Otherwise, I wasn’t going to be able to compete next week.” The shittiness of my situation felt like lead pellets in my stomach, and I put the burger down on the table. “Now my hand is so screwed up, I won’t be able to fight anyhow. Not to mention that I won’t get work either.” I leaned forward and rested my forearms on my thighs. The throbbing in my hand was as constant as my heartbeat and as relentless as the chain of bad luck. “Shit, Rett, I don’t know what I did to deserve this much crap in my life. What’s that stuff Scottie always talks about?”

“Karma?” he muttered around a mouthful of burger.

“Yeah, I must be wearing a black shroud of bad karma or something. I can’t seem to get out from under it. And the whole time shit rains down on me all I can think about is that Cassie is gone for good and everything seems blacker than ever.”

“I can sympathize, Bro. After I lost my job on the crab fishing boat, I fell into a downward spiral. It sucked me so low I didn’t think I’d ever come out of it. But I did, and you will too.” He got up and walked into the galley and pulled two beers out of the fridge. He returned to the couch. “Do you know what you need?”

“To get laid?”

“Well, yeah, that, of course, always that, but . . .” He popped open his beer and threw it back. He gulped it down and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “You need to go with me on that trip to Mexico I was telling you about.”

“Shit, Rett, that’s the last thing I need right now. Besides, I don’t have any money and then there’s this.” I lifted my hand to remind him of the deformed claw at the end of my arm.

He scrunched up his face. “Shit, put that away. I’m about to bring back up the burger. This trip won’t take much money except for the plane ticket. My buddies have a little hut down on the beach with what they promise me is some of the best surfing along the coast. And they said the native girls are very friendly and the beer is cheap. Seriously man, get that hand fixed, and we’ll make a plan to go. They’ll be down there for six weeks.”

My phone rang. “That’ll be my mom. Wish me luck. I’ve got to beg for money.” I got up and went to the bedroom. “Hey, Mom.”

“What’s the matter, Dray? You sounded funny in your message.”

“Oh yeah, sorry. I was in pain. That’s why I called you. I broke my hand, and I was hoping you could send me some money so I could get it looked at.”

Her tsk-tsk came through the phone like an annoying tapping sound. “I told you to get some insurance, Sweetheart.” I’d always found it strange that she called me sweetheart as if I’d been dear to her in some way.

“Yeah, Mom, you need a steady income for that, and I’m a little short on that. In fact, if I had a steady income I wouldn’t need to be calling you for this. Trust me, it was the last thing I wanted to do.” I’d actually contemplated smacking my hand against the wall strategically so that I could shift the knuckles back into place. It had seemed far less painful than calling my mom to ask for a handout. And now, just seconds into the conversation, I was convinced that I should have gone with my gut instinct and hit the wall.

Her irritating
dear me, dear me
sigh came next. “I warned you that the longshoremen positions were few and far between. And if you keep playing in these silly fights then you’ll always have injuries to deal with.”

“Playing in silly fights?” I laughed angrily. “Never mind, Mom. I just thought that maybe you’d like to make up for the fact that you and Dad were shitty ass parents by helping me out this one time. But I don’t know why I thought that Dad’s death would have changed you. You’re still the same, just without the awful sonavabitch following you around with a clenched fist.”

“Dray,” her voice broke, “what a horrible thing to say to me.”

“Never mind. Forget I even called.” I hung up.

Barrett looked at me over the back of the couch. “Sorry about that. Couldn’t help but overhear. Shit, and I thought my parents were lame.”

“No, I definitely win the trophy for having the worst.”

“You can still head down to the emergency room and get it looked at. Just put it on a credit card for now.”

I stared down at my completely tweaked hand. It would never heal normally now. “I think it’s going to need a metal plate.” I ate a cold onion ring. “Fuck, I wish I hadn’t sparred with that idiot, Woolf. I’d been doing great at keeping my hand out of the fray but then he was lying there on the mat looking up at me with that stupid, ugly face, and I forgot about the broken hand.”

“At least you fucked it up for a good cause.”

I laughed. “Good point.”

“Hey, let’s go out. We could pick up a couple of cuties and bring them back here for a little impromptu and completely private party.”

“Nah, not tonight, Rett. I’ve got to get my bones and my life back into alignment.”

“Yeah, I guess.” He stood and collected up the trash. “But get them into alignment soon. I’m bored. And think about that surfing trip.”

“Hey, thanks for the grub.”

***

Three more beers and two aspirin had produced the semi-conscious state I’d strived for. The couch had held me prisoner all night. The morning sun lit up the cabin. I lifted my head as the room tilted and a giant shadow hovered outside.

“I’m in here,” a hoarse yell came from my throat. I rubbed my face with my good hand, but it did little to relieve the grogginess in my head.

Clutch stepped inside and the cabin shrank instantly. He pushed his sunglasses up on his head and stared down at my hand. “Get dressed.”

“I thought you liked me shirtless.” I stood and it took me a second to catch the rhythm of the boat.

“Yeah, well, you thought wrong.”

“Seriously, Clutch, what are you doing here?”

“I’m taking you to the hospital to get that hand checked out.”

“Rett has a big mouth. That’s cool of you, but I’ll be fine.”

There were few men who could make me shrink back, but Clutch was definitely one of them, especially when he crossed his arms and put on what Nix and I had laughingly referred to as his Viking warrior expression. “You’re not fine. That hand is starting to look like a fucking claw. So, let’s go.”

“I’m not going to let you pay for—”

“Put on your shirt and shoes and get in the fucking car . . . now.”

I stomped to the bedroom and struggled into my shirt and shoes with one hand. “You know, you’re pretty fucking mean when you’re pissed off,” I called to him.

“You sound just like Rett.”

I came out of the room. “I’ll pay you back. I promise.”

He smiled. “Now you really sound like him.”

The emergency room was the usual clusterfuck of sick people who coughed and sneezed all over the chairs and the typical rush of bruises and sprains that came with a warm California weekend. Clutch and I settled in for what promised to be a long, irritating wait.

I looked up at the small sign that showed a cartoon face in various stages of pain. “I think my poor hand has experienced every one of those stages in the past two weeks. I wasn’t around a mirror but I’m pretty sure that scrunched up distorted face on ten was the one I was sporting when I yanked the training glove off my hand. Came damn close to puking.”

“The last time I saw that face was when Rett collapsed down on the ground after saving my neighbor from her burning house. His back was blistered badly.”

“Now I feel like a fucking heel. My injuries came from something far less heroic. No wonder everyone loves that guy so much. He just dives into a burning house as if it’s something anyone would have done.”

Clutch turned to me. “Don’t always say shit like that. . . a heel, right. You would have gone through that window just as fast as Rett. Remember when that douchebag Scottie was living with sent those thugs to Freefall. Those assholes are probably still having nightmares about their encounter with you.”

“Not the same thing.”

He shook his head. “Fuck, Dray, just stop. You know what? Things aren’t going to get better until you let them.”

“Boy, your brother was really running off at the mouth.” I slumped down, stretched my legs out and tried to find a comfortable position for my hand. There didn’t seem to be one. “Can’t figure out how to let that happen . . . especially now that Cassie is gone.”

“You’ll figure it out. In the meantime, you’ve got to stop throwing your fist into solid things.”

“That should be easy to remember.” We watched as they raced a gurney in through the emergency room doors. It was an older man who looked as if he might have had a heart attack. His wife and daughter followed, holding each other for support. I looked over at Clutch who had crossed his massive arms across his chest and closed his eyes to sleep. “Hey, Bro?”

“Huh?” he muttered without opening his eyes.”

“Thanks.”

“Yep.”

Chapter 14

Dray

I’d needed a small titanium bar to pull the bones back into place. The doctor’s diagnosis was exactly as I’d predicted, which meant that either I should have gone to medical school or I should stop getting hurt so much. The latter seemed more within reason. The metal plate would speed the healing process, but I would miss the fights and I’d be off work for two weeks growing even more broke. Clutch had waved off my promise to pay him back, but there was no way I was going to let him foot the bill for my surgery.

The pain pills had, as usual, been the one bonus of getting cut by a surgeon, and after three days in a cast, my hand felt a lot better. But I figured it wouldn’t hurt to finish off the bottle of pills.

At the moment, the drug high was the highlight of my day. I sat alone in the cramped, damp quarters of the Zany Lucy and wondered what Cassie was up to. And, suddenly, I needed more than anything to hear her voice.

If it hadn’t been for the medication I would never have found the courage to pull my phone out and dial her number. It was seven o’clock in California so it would be ten in New York, but Cassie liked to stay up late reading her romance novels. She would put on her socks and her blue pajamas with the pink rabbits and prop up her pillows to get lost in one of her stories, and I would watch her get absorbed in the pages and tell myself that luck had finally found its way into my life.

Loud music thrummed through the phone and I heard a faint hello.

“Cassie?”

“Dray?” Loud laughter and glasses clinking nearly drowned out her voice. “Is everything all right?”

“Yeah, I’m good.” I fell silent for a second thrown off by the idea that she was out having a good time, maybe even on a date. I nearly hung up and then her sweet voice came through clearer as if she’d stepped into a hallway or bathroom.

“How are you?” she asked.

I took a deep breath and tried futilely to clear my head. The last thing I wanted was to sound like a pathetic, heartbroken sap. “I’m good, Cass. I guess I called you at a bad time.”

“Yeah, I mean, no. It’s just that I’m at a club with some friends and it’s really noisy.”

“So, I guess you’re making a lot of new friends,” I said lamely.

She paused. “Sure, sort of. It’s some people I work with. What have you been up to? Getting lots of work, I hope.”

I stared down at the blue fiberglass cast covering my hand. My thumb was still fat and swollen from the surgery. “Yeah,” I lied. “I’ll let you get back to your friends.” A silence fell between us, and the noise of the night club pounded through the phone. “I just wanted to hear your voice, Cass.”

“Dray, is everything all right?”

“Yeah, Cass, couldn’t be better.” I hung up before I said anything else. In the morning I would blame my drug addled head for collapsing into complete mush at the sound of her voice, but deep down I would know that it was bullshit. I missed her. I missed her so much there weren’t enough pain killers in the world to stop the hurt.

Chapter 15

Cassie

I stared at my phone wondering if I’d imagined the short, weird conversation or if it had actually happened. The walls of the narrow hallway vibrated with the sound of the band. The noise in the nightclub was deafening, but, even so, I was certain I hadn’t misheard Dray’s strange tone. It was a lost, dark sound that I’d never heard before. I contemplated calling him back but instead I scrolled to Nix’s number. Dray had the annoying habit of constructing a steel barrier around himself whenever he felt susceptible or defenseless.

Jolene’s long fingers tapped my shoulder. “There you are, Cassie. Who you talking to? The quiet, artsy hunk you left back in California?” Her drink was dangerously tilted to the side and bits of the liquid splashed out as she spoke. Her words were beginning to blur into one long sentence. Dash had melted into a drunken puddle just an hour after our arrival, and I had quickly deduced that I was probably along not so much as a rollicking third branch to their trio but as assurance that they made it home safely. Something that was difficult in this wild city.

“Yeah, I’ll be right there, Jo. I just need to make a quick call.”

She hugged me. “Hurry back. That cute guy with the black sweater was back at the table asking about you.”

“I told you he wasn’t my type. I’ll be there in a second, Jo. I promise.”

Jolene sashayed away spilling drops of her drink with each swing of her narrow hips.

I dialed Nix.

“Hey, Cass. Whoa, you’re out at a club, aren’t you? Look at you, you urban hipster.”

“Yeah, that’s me all right. I feel so out of place, it’s as if I landed here from another planet. Hey Nix, Dray called me, and he didn’t sound great.”

“I guess he didn’t tell you that he had to have surgery on his hand. He sparred with some guy down at the gym and then his hand hit the point of no return. He’s been on some pretty strong painkillers.”

“Why the hell didn’t he just tell me? I asked him if everything was all right. He said he was fine, but he sounded far from it.” For a brief moment I’d let myself imagine that his tone had been a result of him actually missing me. I was still a complete fool when it came to Dray. “That must be why he sounded so off then. How’s everyone else? I really miss all of you.” My throat tightened as another wave of homesickness grabbed me.

“We’re good, Cassie, but we all miss you. How’s the new job? Lots of cool pictures?”

“I don’t know if I’d call them cool. The job is all right. Not as great as working at Freefall though,” I said it lightly, but I truly meant it.

He laughed. “Right.” The music grew louder, and I pressed a finger against my free ear. It did little to drown out the sound. “Hey, Cassie, don’t worry about Dray. We’re all keeping an eye on him. Things have kind of spiraled out of control for the guy, but we’ll make sure he’s all right.”

I shut my eyes to stop the tears. “I know you will. Take care, Nix, and say hi to everyone.”

***

My neighbor’s incessant television set buzzed through the wall of my room, and I tried to block out the noise with my pillow. It really was a city that never slept. It was well past midnight, yet the apartment building pulsed with life and the traffic outside had only died down to a dull roar.

My mood was as dark as my room. Not that I’d been having anything close to a rousing time at the club, but Dray’s call had left me feeling desolate and gloomy. I’d had to hold Jolene’s hair while she puked into the gutter, something I hadn’t done for a friend since high school and a particular favor that I hoped I would never have to do again. Drinking had made Dash a bit irritating and unlikeable, and I was happy to see him stumble out of the cab at his apartment. My own place was a dingy one room apartment that was just one step up from a bench in Central Park. It was a month to month sublet from some woman who was traveling the world. It was draining me financially, but I’d been told over and over again by my workmates that I’d been lucky to get it.

Jolene and Dash had been very cool about taking me into their friendship circle, but it seemed that when they were with me they always acted shallow and disaffected as if they were trying a bit too hard to fit into their urban professional personas. Occasionally, I caught them saying something cryptic, something that meant little to me but that was obviously a source of importance to them. They’d been friends a long time, and it was clear from those brief exchanges that they knew each other’s deepest secrets. The careless, whatever attitude seemed to only be a self-defense mechanism for both of them. I would always be their semi-casual work friend, and I was fine with that. I’d left my deep connections, my secret exchanges and emotional ties back home in California.

The noise and my thoughts were not going to let me sleep. I sat up and propped a pillow behind me. I opened up my laptop to go through some of the clandestine photos I’d been taking while out on shoots for the magazine. It seemed all the while that we focused our lenses on dull, predictable city events, an entire underworld ripe with gritty, unwholesome and intriguing subjects swirled around us. But after several days on the streets, I came to realize that the bizarre stuff was only interesting to me because I’d never seen anything like it before.

The first file was of a woman sitting on a park bench with pigeons sitting on her legs and shoulders, eating bread crumbs directly off her coat, a coat that was layered with bird crap. It was as if she’d sat there for the last five years without moving. She seemed to be having full on conversations with the birds and with a little imagination one could hear the birds talking back to her in their own pigeon code.

I’d found her fascinating, but Jolene and Dash had barely given her a second glance. They’d taken more than a cursory look at a man standing on six-foot stilts painting wings on an intricately painted alligator adorning the second story wall of a building. But their only interest there had been the tartan scarf the man wore wrapped around his neck. Dash had a thing for scarves.

I clicked to the next folder. The first picture was of a homeless man who was leaning against the side of a trash bin with his pet chicken sitting next to him. His expression was not one of anguish or torment but more of humor. He and his chicken were having a good day out on the streets, and he seemed genuinely content with his plight. I’d asked him if I could take a picture of him, and he’d immediately straightened and turned his pet hen so I could capture her ‘best side’. It was the last photo I’d snapped, and it was the one that had made me realize that the human interest stories were fun but not particularly memorable. I could just as easily have found as many odd and unique subjects in the streets of Los Angeles, and none of them would make a lasting impression.

I wanted to take pictures that stood the test of time. I’d left behind everything and everyone I knew for my dream job. And, while working at the magazine would give me experience with things like collaboration and deadlines, it wouldn’t do anything to help me find what I was really looking for. I’d left one bustling, slightly crazy city for another, only now I was alone. And I was thousands of miles away from the completely non-artsy, utterly not-quiet man I loved.