The Extinct (7 page)

Eric finished his drinks and stood up to leave. By now he was thoroughly drunk; right at the point between feeling outgoing and feeling sick. His face was hot and he was sweating as he stepped outside into the sunlight. There was something odd about being drunk during the day; like it just wasn’t meant to be. The body seemed to have a hard time adjusting.

He climbed into the car, fumbling a little with his keys, and drove away. He could tell he was swerving because the lines in the road kept going underneath the car, but other than that he felt like he was doing all right. Besides, the roads were nearly empty.

He got all the way to the Safeway by the dorms before he saw red and blue flashing lights in his mirrors.

CHAPTER

12

After being processed, Eric was taken to a large holding cell at the precinct the officers called the “Pit.” It was essentially a large concrete room with a toilet and sink used to pack in drunks until they sobered up. It stunk of vomit, feces, piss and sweat. The officer gave him a slight push as he walked in and the door slammed behind him. All manner of people were crammed in; Blacks, Puerto Ricans, Mexicans, Whites, Asians, Indians. Some sat on the concrete benches that circled the room, some sat on the floor and still others were lying on the ground, too drunk to sit up.

Eric walked across the room and noticed a familiar face. It was Charles. He was leaning against the wall, his head back and his eyes closed.

“Chuck,” Eric said as went over to him and sat down.

Charles opened his eyes. He didn’t recognize him at first but then his eyes grew wide and he smiled.

“Youngblood,” Charles said, “what in Christ you doin’ here?”

Eric shrugged. “DUI. It’s bullshit, I was barely over the limit.”

Charles shook his head. “This ain’t no place for you.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“No, I ain’t just talkin’. Young kid like you’s as good as a woman in here.”

Eric began looking around the room at the faces staring at him. They were hard, and scarred from the hardness and they were looking at him as if he wasn’t human. Charles erupted in laughter, exposing his yellowed teeth.

“Just fuckin’ with you youngblood. The guards come by every few minutes.” Charles looked through the bars to see if a guard was near and then pulled out two cigarettes from his jacket pocket. He gave one to Eric and took out some matches, lighting the cigarettes and looking through the bars again. “They let you smoke,” he said. “But you gotta pay the guards if they catch you.” He blew the gray smoke out in small rings. “So why you in here, boy? It ain’t like you to be such a fool.”

The concern in Charles’ voice disarmed Eric and he found he couldn’t put on a macho façade like he wanted to. He looked around at the dirty walls and the piss stained floors and the small dirty toilet and emotion began flowing out of him as tears started to seep from his eyes. “My dad was killed a couple weeks ago and I can’t get it out of my head. I see his face in my dreams; I see his dead body. It just won’t go away.”

Charles nodded as if he understood exactly what Eric was going through. “You said killed, not died.”

Eric didn’t respond and Charles kept talking.

“Well, you only got two choices youngblood; revenge or forgiveness. Forgiveness ain’t never worked for me. Sometimes, the pain runs so deep only revenge can reach it, you know what I’m talkin’ about?”

“Yeah.” Eric took a puff of the cigarette; it was wet and the smoke tasted like rusted metal. “How’d you get like this, Chuck?”

“Homeless?”

Eric nodded.

“Same choice as you got youngblood; revenge or forgiveness.”

“What happened?”

“I was married when I was in Nam. Beautiful girl I met at church up in Portland where my grandma was livin’. She used to make me think I could do anything. You’re too young for a woman like that, but if you’re lucky, you’ll find one in your lifetime.”

“So what happened?”

“I got leave to go home on account a my mama goin’ in for surgery. I thought I’d surprise my wife by showin’ up.” Charles began playing with his cigarette, absentmindedly twirling it in his fingers. “Came home and she was fuckin’ our neighbor.” Charles smirked. “I loaned that motherfucker my lawnmower once.” He flicked his ashes on the ground and leaned his head back against the wall. “I didn’t catch ‘em fuckin’ you know. But when she opened the door, I could tell. Somethin’ in her face. But it didn’t matter cause that cocksucker was sittin’ on the couch in my bathrobe smokin’ my cigars. You believe that?”

Charles stopped talking and stared off into space. “So,” Eric said, “what’d you do?”

Charles looked him in the eyes and blew a waft of smoke out of his nose. “What you think I did?”

Eric turned away, staring at the cold ground and the little cracks that were starting to appear in the cement. “Both?”

“Both.”

“Then you ran?”

“Then I ran,” Charles said, putting the cigarette out on the floor and stuffing the butt into his pocket. “That’s the choice you got; revenge or forgiveness. I regret my choice; but that was just who I was then. You just gotta make sure you don’t regret yours.”

Eric spent the night at the jail and was given a breakfast of cold ham and stale toast in the morning. The other inmates inhaled the food without much reservation; most of them didn’t look at what they were eating. Charles was pickier; he scraped off a layer of the ham with his fork before putting it on the toast and eating.

“You’ll be outta here today,” Charles said.

“How long do you have to be here?”

“Not much longer. Caught me sleepin’ in the Grocery Mart downtown. They’ll give me a ticket and maybe keep me here a little longer.” He finished off his toast and had a sip of some cold coffee that had been brought in. “Thinkin’ bout leavin’ the East Coast though. Winters are rough.”

“Where you gonna go?”

“California. Maybe Hawaii if I can find a ride.”

The locations seemed exciting to Eric at first, until he realized Charles would be doing the exact same thing there, probably ending up in jails just like this one. He thought it incredibly sad that no matter where he went it didn’t make a difference.

Eric was released before noon and said good bye to Charles, promising to stop and say hello if he sees him again. Eric’s mother was waiting outside in her Sedan to drive him home and she didn’t say anything as he climbed in.

They drove in silence before Eric looked over to her; she was wearing a scarf and dark sunglasses. The sun was out but it wasn’t that bright yet and it certainly wasn’t cold.

“Why’re you wearing a scarf?”

“Thought it might be cold,” she said softly.

Eric looked closely and could see the red marks and dark purple bruises poking out from underneath the scarf. He reached over and pulled it off her. She said “No” but didn’t make any movements to stop him.

There were finger marks embedded on her neck, a rainbow of colors going across her throat and just under her jaw line. Eric took off her sunglasses, revealing an eye that was swollen shut, pus glistening around it.

Eric punched at the dashboard and his mother jumped.

“I’ll fucking kill him!”

“No, Eric don’t do anything,” his mother said pleadingly. “It was my fault. I deserved it.”

“Mom—”

“No please Eric, he’ll kill us both. Please, you don’t know him like I do; he’ll kill us both,” she said as she started to sob. She pulled the car over and began to cry into her hands. “He’ll kill us both.”

Eric was filled with pity and rage, the contrasting emotions making his head pound. He wrapped his arm around his mother as she cried and brought her head to his chest, the warm tears soaking through his shirt.

“He’ll kill us both,” she cried.

“I know, Mom. I won’t do anything.” He pulled her head away and looked into her eyes. “I won’t do anything, okay? Now come on, I gotta get back to the dorms, I got a big mid-term tomorrow.”

His mother wiped the tears on her sleeve and pulled her bangs behind her ears. She took a deep breath to calm herself and sat still, watching the cars pass. She put her sunglasses back on and started driving. “It was my fault,” she said. “I told him to leave after he hit you. I said I didn’t want to be with him anymore.”

“It’s all right. I can’t worry about this now so you’ll have to tell me about it later, okay?”

“Okay. It’s just when he drinks . . .”

“I know, we’ll talk about it later.”

“I’ll be at St. Anthony’s hospital.”

“Why?”

“I wasn’t supposed to leave but there was no one else to come get you. I just had some bleeding and they wanted to keep me under observation.”

“Oh.”

They rode the rest of the way in silence, Eric saying good bye as he was dropped off and promising to call her tonight. He watched her drive away and felt sorry for her. For a life that fell apart after his father left. But he had only one thought on his mind and it dominated everything else: where could he buy a gun that couldn’t be traced back to him?

CHAPTER

13

The night seemed to wrap around Eric, swallow him. He was crouched down in the bushes behind his mother’s house looking up into the kitchen window and listening to Jeff talk on the phone. A .40 caliber handgun was tucked against the small of his back. It was the first gun he’d ever bought and it’d surprised him how easy it was. He just walked the streets of downtown at night and was offered drugs but asked for a gun. A young kid, no more than fifteen or sixteen, said he’d get one for him. An hour later Eric had a stolen gun that couldn’t be traced for less than two hundred bucks. The guns were purchased with fake ID’s from gun stores and were sold on the streets to people who couldn’t purchase them legally.

It was cold out, or at least he thought so. There were gray clouds blocking the moonlight and it made the city appear darker than normal. Eric was thoroughly drunk but not to the point of staggering. He stood up and peaked inside. Jeff was shirtless, a large skull tattoo with flames around it on his shoulder, a gold crucifix around his neck dangling with his chest hair.

Eric snuck around the back porch and slowly twisted the knob to the back door, stopping with each squeak to see if Jeff was coming. He opened the door only far enough for himself to fit through and shut it behind him. All he could hear was his heart thumping in his ears and he was short of breath, butterflies twisting his stomach in knots. The TV was on and he tip-toed over and turned it up.

Jeff was still on the phone; Eric could hear him from the hallway. With each step forward, Eric felt he was losing something. Some grip he had on his life that was quickly spiraling out of control. But something was pushing him to go into the kitchen. Eric stopped by the entrance of the kitchen and leaned against the wall. He reached behind him and came out with the gun. The trigger felt smooth and the weight of it in his hand gave him confidence, moved him forward. What other choice did he have? It was only a matter of time before Jeff would kill his mother. There was no way around it. His mother would be too frightened to testify against him and the police wouldn’t do anything. There was no one else.

He turned the corner and pointed the gun.

Jeff was sitting at the dining table with his back toward him. Eric took a couple steps and could see the sheen of sweat on Jeff’s neck. He pointed the barrel at his head, his finger feeling the trigger.

Jeff stopped talking. He put the phone down and stood up. Eric realized he could see his reflection in the glass of the kitchen window. Jeff turned and looked straight at him, fear flashing across his face before disappearing. He glanced down at the gun and then back up at Eric.

Eric could feel the anger in him, the hatred. It flowed from his gut, through his arm, and into the finger pressed against the trigger. Hatred had a taste; it came up like bile and clouded his eyesight, made him deaf. It consumed him and in the end, there was only the hatred.

Eric squeezed the trigger.

The click of the empty gun echoed in the room. Eric tucked the gun away, never taking his eyes off Jeff.

“Touch my mom again, and it’ll be loaded next time.”

He turned to leave the kitchen. Feet running on the linoleum behind him. Eric reached into his pocket.

Brass knuckles bashed into Jeff’s mouth as he tried to tackle Eric from behind, cracking his front teeth. He fell back, blood pouring down his chin and onto his chest.

“Motherfucker!”

He charged at Eric again, connecting with a jab to his face before receiving a powerful right to the jaw. Jeff’s eyes glazed over and he shook his head to rid himself of the blurry vision. Eric pummeled his face and Jeff threw his hands up in a guard. His hands and forearms turned bright red from the blows. He fell back against the sink and reached for a knife behind him.

Eric smashed the brass knuckles into his face with a straight right and that sent him to the floor. He stood over him, panting, and said, “Touch her again cocksucker, and I’ll kill you.”

Eric was near the front door when the sound of a cartridge hitting the floor registered in his mind. The round had nicked his ear and been embedded into the heavy wood of the front door. His ears began to ring and it felt as if time slowed.

Jeff held a revolver with a loose grip, his other hand stopping the blood that spilled from his mouth. Eric felt the pull of fear. He dashed behind the couch as a round missed his face by inches. Another round went through the couch and embedded into the coffee table. Jeff stepped closer and fired another round into the couch, grazing his leg. Eric knew if he stayed where he was he would die. He stood and rushed at him.