Flutter (6 page)

A few members of the police force were regular pub patrons. They would come in and shoot the shit with Larry or Frankie. The police and detectives that came in tried to keep a close relationship with Frankie. Frankie was well respected. He had changed a lot in the past few years. Frankie used to be a hired hand for the Bulger crime family. He had broken a few faces for a nominal fee. Frankie was always loyal and when he was done, he quit. No one threatened him or asked questions, but there was a rumor that he had quit when he fell in love with a woman in the South End. She was a short, very thin Asian woman who worked in a launderette owned by her parents. Loving her was the only thing that scared him. He felt helpless around her. 

After visiting the launderette once a week for a month, Frankie mustered up the strength to speak to her. She was very shy but liked Frankie too. Her parents were very strict, but allowed her to meet with Frankie only at a café they could see from the living room window. This went on for five months before the parents stopped watching from the window. Finally he stole a kiss and fell in love. Frankie wanted to marry her, so he bought a ring, but he never got a chance to give it to her. The woman died from what the police determined to be a mugging. Frankie was distraught and kept to himself for a year. 

If there was anyone in the know, it was Frankie. He knew just about everything that was happening on the streets. He wasn’t much of a snitch, but if it benefited him in anyway, he would point the police in the right direction if they asked the right questions.
Never volunteer information.
He felt anything good for the business didn’t count as snitching. When two officers came in today, Frankie wasn’t very friendly. He hoped there wasn’t an investigation into a missing young girl who was shot and spotted in the area. Frankie was eager to close. He and Roger periodically checked on her. She slept like a baby.

The evening arrived and Abigail woke to a faint base line ringing in her head. It wasn’t from the pub, but a car that drove by. She had a headache and the noise made her bite down on her teeth. She was in serious pain. She saw a small table with food and water next to her bed. She was fully rested but weak and the pain in her thigh was worsening. She saw her underwear on the bed rail. She quickly put on her underwear and fought against the sore muscles in her body. She sat on the edge of the bed looking around and examined her wounds. The door opened. She was frightened and quickly recovered her body with the comforter. Frankie walked in. She looked around as if she would like to escape but could not.

“Hey, girly. Relax. I didn’t mean to barge in; I thought you were still asleep. You had two bullet wounds. The one here in your shoulder went straight in and out. This one on your thigh, I removed it for you. I’m no doctor, but I’ve been shot a few times my damn self.” He pointed to a few scars on his stomach. “Do you remember what happened? Are you from Boston?”

Abigail shook her head.

“Where are you from kid? What’s your name?”

Abigail seemed lost; she was torn.
Who is this man? Can I trust him?
Her instinct told her to trust no one, but her body reminded her she was too weak to have any options. She had no choice but to let Frankie take her away and have his way with her.

“When you’re ready to talk, let me know. Against my better judgment… you can stay here until you figure things out. I need an extra hand around anyway. I’ll pay you. It’s up to you. Do what you want; just don’t bring trouble over here. You look like you’re gonna be a handful.” Frank turned his back to leave the room. “When you get the strength, wash up and come down for dinner. That food over there is stale.” Frankie picked up the stale sandwich and left the room. Immediately after Frankie stepped out, Larry peered into the room and stared Abigail up and down before he turned away and closed the door. Abigail met his eyes confidently.

Larry was obviously uncomfortable with the idea of Abigail staying at the pub. Larry asked Frankie, “What the hell are you thinking?”

Frankie answered, “I don’t know. I felt it was the right thing to do.”

“You can’t just bring wounded runaways around here. You know we have enough heat already. You know nothing about her!”

“Well she’s here now! What do you want me to do? You want me to toss her out back out on the streets?” Frankie was upset. 

“Yes! Give her a sandwich or something if it makes you feel better and send her ass out the back door. Figure it out, but she needs to go. I’m not trying to be mean. Maybe if someone wasn’t trying to kill her, I wouldn’t care so much. You have to think about what you’re doing.”

“I know. I have. She stays.” Frankie walked away.

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” Larry said as he followed Frankie back to the bar.

Abigail’s ears were tight on that conversation. She heard the whole thing and figured she would have to keep her eyes on Larry. However, she knew he had a point. They didn’t know her or anything about her. She hoped to leave before she overstayed her welcome. She also didn’t remember much about how she arrived in the alley and didn’t want to bring this man or his place additional trouble. It seemed they were having problems of their own.

Abby had a small bag strapped over her shoulder when Frankie picked her up. Neither he nor Roger had gone through her stuff. He hung the bag from the edge of the bed. The bag was black leather with a shoulder strap and a flap that covered the opening. She grabbed it and quickly ruffled through it. Her things were intact. She knew there wasn’t a need to do a full investigation of the contents of her purse. There was nothing in there that would spark her memory of what happened. She knew who she was but the events of the past few days eluded her. Actually, the more she thought about her past, the less she recalled. Abigail saw her clothes hanging in the corner on what seemed to be a towel rack. She made an attempt to stand up. Her weak leg gave in. She almost fell but managed to stay on her feet by shifting her body weight to the other leg. Her feet were cold.
Where are my shoes?

Abigail put on some sweat pants, socks and a Red Sox t shirt left at the foot of the bed. Her clothes from the other night were still wet. She felt warm but the pain continued to distract her desire to run. She saw water on the table. She was starving. Her belly ached and growled from the natural need for food. She grabbed the glass of water and downed it. Some of the water missed her mouth and ran down the sides of her face. It was warm but it was refreshing. She didn’t remember water tasting this good. She hobbled over to the window and looked out. She didn’t see anything suspicious, but she didn’t know what she was looking for.
I give up.
On the sill, she saw a rubber band and used it to tie her hair back.

Abigail opened the door to her room. She saw an open area that looked like it used to hold dance classes. There were a few punching bags and weights. The hard wood floor was a bright shiny maple. She investigated the bathroom before she realized she had to pee badly. The toilet was relatively clean for a man’s house. She used the toilet and washed her hands. The small mirror above the sink had small splatters of tooth paste and soap on it. She splashed her face with water.
I need to bathe.
She smelled a faint aroma of cooked food. She couldn’t resist the desire to eat and followed the smell to the ground floor of the bar. Walking down the stairs was torture. Abigail limped her way down, step by step. She held on to a rail. When she reached the main floor, she looked around the corner and saw Frankie and Roger sitting at the table having a dinner consisting of meatloaf, mashed potatoes and corn. She stood still.

Roger smirked when he saw her glance at the food. “Good morning, Elvis. Come get some chow.”

“Yeah you haven’t eaten in a day. Don’t be shy, take a seat and eat.”

Frankie stood up as Abigail approached the table. He pulled out a chair for her. He went into the kitchen and made her a plate. Abigail didn’t speak. She inspected the pub from corner to corner.

“Where are you from, Elvis?” Roger tried to be friendly. “Can you speak? Do you have a family?”

Frankie came out of the kitchen and slapped down a plate and a glass of water in front of Abby. Her eyes widened like a child. She was starving. There was a big heap of meatloaf with gravy spilling over the top of a hump of mashed potatoes. “Roger, get out her face! Eat up, you need it. And take one of these.” He pushed a bottle of Motrin across the table. She immediately took the medicine and ate the food. She stuffed her face as if she hadn’t eaten in weeks. The meatloaf was juicy and flavorful. The corn was sweet and buttery. Her mouth watered as she devoured every morsel on her plate. Frankie looked at Roger. Roger shook his head and continued eating his food.

As time went on, Abigail made a decision to stay for a while. Frankie showed her around the kitchen and paid her for working the bar. He taught her how to mix drinks, showed her how to change and connect the beer tap, and showed her the register. She was a quick learner. During all this time they spent together training, she still didn’t speak for a week. She nodded and absorbed everything Frankie told her, especially his warnings about the male patrons. Her first word was “Fuck” when she burned herself in the kitchen with hot grease. It was an exciting moment for the guys since they were only used to hearing moans and groans from the pain she felt in her leg and shoulder from the bullet wound. They clapped and whistled.

“SHE SPEAKS!” Roger shouted.

Frankie followed with, “Break out the champagne.” For now, Frankie and Roger were her only refuge from whatever she was running from. She decided this was a great place to lay low so she could sort things out. She was doing fine, but the only thing she could not escape from were her recurring vivid and violent nightmares.

The night was moist and calm. The rain left a humid mist upon the street, just light of being classified as fog. Abigail and Roger cleaned up the bar from top to bottom. At the end of the night, Abby put up the last chair, hit the lights and headed to her room. Roger headed to the back door to leave.

“I can tuck you in if you like,” Roger said just before she turned up the stairs. He winked. Abigail stuck up her middle finger and slipped away.

Roger Atkins spent most of his late nights working on engineering projects in his garage. He spent most of his spare change shopping on Amazon buying DC motors, cables, gears and various parts he would need to see his vision come alive. He liked to be alone most of the time and always had some sort of project that required private focus time. He was very secretive about his designs; he wouldn’t share them with anyone at all. Most of his projects consisted of robotic vehicles, other motorized gadgets and protective gear for law enforcement. Many of his experiments were defective and many sat incomplete because there never was enough time to finish before the next bright idea came streaming into his mind. Roger’s engineering career had been over before it started. 

At MIT he was at the top of his class. He was envied by many of the students and was extremely popular among the students and faculty at the school. By Roger’s sophomore year, he had won various awards, including the most prestigious MIT Student Engineer of the Year Award, which landed him an internship at Deere’s engine manufacturing facility. This was the first time the award had been given to a sophomore. It was rare that the award didn’t go to a senior student.

One day, Roger called the dean of students and had a long talk about his mother’s health and how he needed to leave for a year and return the next fall. He convinced the dean to allow him to retain his scholarship for when he returned a year later. The dean agreed in writing to hold Roger’s scholarship until he returned. Roger never returned. Truth is, Roger felt like MIT was not the place for him. Many students felt threatened by his abilities and refused to befriend him. It was true that his mother’s health was not the best, but it hadn’t been good for many years now; this was just his excuse. Roger had received a few threats from students and unknown sources for his unmatched success. Some students, faculty and parents felt that he deprived other students of a chance at recognition. After all of this, Roger took a hiatus from engineering projects for a few years. Since he had left MIT, Roger lost his engineering mojo. He just couldn’t build anything that worked.

Roger lived at home with his mother, Terry Atkins, in a three bedroom, two–floor Cape Cod home built in 1964. Roger’s mother had renovated the house when they moved in, but the house was overdue for a serious update as witnessed by the ‘80s Italian lacquer furniture and wooden beads hanging in the entry ways.

Roger’s room was on the ground level. He had posters on the walls of Halle Berry and Melissa Ford. One wall was practically covered by a shelf full of ‘80s action figures. He had three
For Her Pleasure
Trojan condoms between Heman and Chitara of the ThunderCats. For many months, he considered asking Frankie about renting the room above the bar where Abigail was now staying, but he didn’t think Frankie wanted company. Although he enjoyed living with his mother, he thought he needed some private space once in a while. Roger also liked having the space to work on his designs where no one would snoop or be annoyed with the noise. He also needed a significant amount of space and storage to be able to create and invent.
Maybe when Frankie closes the fight club he’ll let me stay in the basement.

Roger and Abigail became good friends as the months passed. He had never been very open about his past or let her know too much about his personal life. He was slightly embarrassed that he didn’t have much of a life outside of Frankie’s pub. Roger and Abigail didn’t initially like one another. It probably started when he first called her Elvis. He knew she didn’t like it, but she would never give him the satisfaction of letting him know that it irked her nerves. Abigail barely made eye contact with Roger for the first two weeks she was there. She didn’t crack a smile until the day he tripped over the mop and cracked his chin on the counter. That was the first time she spoke to him.