Twisted Endings 2: 5 Acts of Vengeance (3 page)

Papa stands up. I’ve never seen his face so red. “Jeff is my best friend,” he says to Mama. “All these years! How could you do this to me?!”

Mama’s shaking. I don’t think Papa’s ever yelled at her.

“You’re a real piece of shit,” I say to Mama.

She’s silent again.

Papa is looking back and forth at the two of us. His chest is heaving up and down. I know his heart is broken. He seems torn.

“And Papa,” I say, “I’m sorry that you’re hurt. I love you to death. But I’m supposed to be your little darling.” I stare at him. “Why can’t you accept me the way I am?”

Papa’s mouth is open. I see tears in his eyes. He looks at Mama and nods. I know he has already forgiven her. Their eyes are communicating in a way I’ve never understood.

I can’t do this anymore. I have to stop lying to myself. They’ll always accept each other no matter what but they’ll never accept me. They don’t love me. They hate me. It has to end here. Now.

I reach into my purse for the Beretta.

“Bessie Mae,” Mama says, “thank you. You’ve opened our eyes.”

I leave the 9mm in the purse, and lean back in the chair. “What?”

“We were wrong,” Papa says. He’s motioning for me to come over.

Mama stands next to him. Her eyes are full of tears. “I’m sorry,” she says. “We should have done this, months ago.” She stretches her arms toward me. “Come here, baby.”

Is this really happening? Have Mama and Papa finally accepted my choices? Maybe they just needed me to stand up to them. I knew they would always love me. They really are the best parents in the world.

I’m standing in Mama’s arms. Her embrace is warm. Her tears are falling on my shoulders. “I love you, Mama.”

Papa is smiling again. I let go of Mama and reach for him. I love his hugs. His hold is strong.

Too strong.

“Hold her still, Jonathan,” I hear Mama say.

“Papa, you’re hurting me.”

I see a reflection of light in the corner of my eye. I know what it is.

The Nakiri knife.

I feel Mama snatch my right arm and pull it away from Papa. “We were wrong,” Papa says again. “We can’t change you. Only God can.”

“We should have done this, months ago,” Mama says again.

I see the blade raised in the air.

I feel it hack against my arm.

I scream in pain.

Mama hacks again. And again.

“Help me, Papa!”

“Shhhh,” he says. “Everything’s gonna be okay, little darling.”

I feel weak and dizzy. My arm doesn’t hurt anymore.

Papa releases his hold on me, and I slump to the floor.

The room is growing dark, but I see Mama and Papa standing over me.

Mama’s apron is covered in cherry juice and blood.

“It’s your turn,” Mama says. She hands Papa the knife.

He leans down and strokes my hair. “We failed you as parents, little darling. Now God will take care of you.”

Panhandled

JOE TENSED when he spotted the scrawny black man. The man was in his early forties. His hair jutted in every direction. His torn, faded tee-shirt hung from his body like a limp curtain.

“Have you heard a word I’ve said?” asked Tom, next to him in the passenger seat.

Joe shook his head and nodded toward the panhandler walking between the rows of cars, heading straight for them. The man was only one car away now.

“Give me a dollar,” Tom said.

“No way. I give you a dollar, you’ll give it to the bum.”

“Nah, it’s just I owe your wife for last night.”

Joe snorted and rolled his eyes. His wife hated his best friend. But they had grown up together and even spent two years fighting in Iraq side by side. He fished a Washington out of his pocket and handed it over. “Don’t spend it all in one place.”

“You know I’m just playing, right? Your wife is worth a lot more than that. I mean, wow! She’s smoking hot!” He whistled.

“Yeah, yeah. Give me my dollar back. Ass.”

“No can do, man.” Tom's eyes were focused on the car in front of them.

The scrawny black man was only steps away now. His eyes were wide, pleading. He held a large box top in front of him with the words ‘Homeless Veteran’ scrawled onto it in black marker.

“Joe…” Tom had a serious tone in his voice now. “He needs our help.” 

“You can’t possibly believe that! The money you give these people goes to drugs and alcohol. He’s probably not even a veteran!”

There was a tap on the passenger window.

Tom rolled the window down, and shoved the dollar out the window. 

“God bless you,” the bum said.

Tom turned to the man by the window. “I hope it helps.”

The man nodded and walked to the next car in line.

Tom rolled the window back up. “It’s just a dollar, man. I’ll get it back to you.”

Joe couldn’t respond. The dollar didn’t matter anymore. What he had just witnessed was unbelievable. He knew who the black man was.

The light turned green, and the cars started moving forward.

“Tom, you have to listen to me.”

“If this is about you being prejudiced, then we have a problem,” Tom said with a smirk. “You need to accept all of God’s children.”

Joe knew Tom was trying to be funny. “I know who that man is. I’ve seen him before.”

“Really?”

“Yeah…” Joe didn’t know if Tom would believe what he was about to say. “I saw him at your hotel last night. He was in the lobby, checking into a room with a hooker. And he was wearing a suit!”

“What are you talking about? I’m only off the base for a few weeks, and I can barely afford that hotel myself! You saw what he was wearing.”

“But, Tom…”

“Let it go, man. Stop by an ATM if you have to. I didn’t realize you were so stingy with a dollar. Geez!” Tom punched the glove compartment. The door popped open and spat a wad of papers at him.

Joe shook his head. “I’ll put that on your tab.”

“Shut up and drive.”

Joe knew Tom would never believe him unless he saw it with his own eyes. He zipped his lips and drove straight to his favorite bar.

“WHAT CAN I get you?!” the bartender shouted over the loud rock music.  The bass from Volbeat’s “A Warrior’s Call” rattled the glasses on the counter.

“Line me up with some Jager-Bombs!” Tom shouted. He motioned for the bartender to lean in close. “My lady friend here,” he said, pointing at Joe, “will have some water. She’s in her second trimester.” He leaned over and patted Joe on the stomach.

Joe shook his head at the bartender. At least the old Tom was back. “Give me the Four Horsemen!” He knew that would shut Tom up. The Four Horsemen at this bar was a mixture of Jagermeister, Jose Cuervo, Jim Beam, and Jack Daniels.

Tom laughed and slapped him on the back. “That’s how we do it!”

Joe snatched the shot glass full of the Four Horsemen when the bartender set it on the counter. He winked at Tom, threw his head back, and swallowed the poison in one swift move.

“That’s what I’m talking about!” Tom rotated his neck from side to side and reached for the first Jager-Bomb in front of him. He threw it back, shivered, slammed the glass back down, beat a fist on the counter, and shouted, “Yeah!” He snatched the next Jager-Bomb and completed the same sequence.

Joe’s throat was on fire. He knew he couldn’t take another shot.

Tom punched him in the arm, and shouted, “Another! Another!”

The bartender set out another shot of the Four Horsemen.

Joe grabbed it, thought about setting it back down, then shrugged and threw it back. His entire body was on fire now.

“Sure beats being in the desert! Can’t get any sand in your crotch here!”

“Thank God.” Joe put an arm around his friend. “I’d go back with you if I could. Stupid back injury. Look, I know you’re only here for a few weeks. With all the renovations they’re doing at the hotel, it’s got to be hell.”

“You mean the constant barrage of hammers, drills, and saws? Nah.” Tom made a sweeping motion with his right hand. “You could kill a man and no one would see or hear a thing. Makes me feel right at home. And, hey, it’s half price.”

“Yeah, whatever. I talked to Myra about it, and we agreed you should stay with us until you head back.”

“Ha! Myra hates me!”

“Don’t kid yourself. I hate you, too.”

Tom laughed and ordered another drink. “You son of a…”

“But seriously, think about it.” Joe took a long look at his friend and chose his next words carefully. He knew Tom wouldn’t want to talk about it, but this might be the only chance. Getting Tom loosened up was the whole reason he brought him here. “Remember Mahmoudiyah?”

“We’re not gonna talk about it.”

“I still have nightmares,” Joe said. “I can’t sleep.”

Tom threw back another Jager-Bomb. “So get a nightlight.”

“Those people didn’t deserve to die.”

Tom stood up and banged his fist on the counter. His face was blood red. “We’re not going to talk about this! Not here! Not now! Not ever!”

Joe sat back and turned his head away. Tom could pretend it never happened. But it did happen. And the nightmares would never stop.

“Look, man,” Tom said, sitting back down slowly, “forget about that.” He smiled. “You remember when we were kids? That one summer when we found that porn magazine in your neighbor’s yard, underneath the bushes?”

Joe couldn’t help but laugh. “Mr. and Mrs. Thompson. They were some mean neighbors. Yeah, I remember. Best day of our lives.”

“That’s right! We named every one of the women in that magazine. I was in love with Miss Big Boobs!”

“Ha! I loved them all! I wish we still had that magazine.”

Tom smirked. “I do.”

“What? No you don’t.”

“Mr. Jones didn’t need it. I probably saved his marriage.”

Joe shook his head. “You seriously still have it?”

“I make love to Miss Big Boobs every night!”

Joe choked. “Thank you, Tom. You’re crazy but you’ve always stood by my side.” He put a hand on Tom’s shoulder. “You saved my life that day in the desert. I can never repay you.”

Tom looked Joe square in the eyes. “I’m no hero.  You’re the one with the Purple Heart.”

Joe got that Purple Heart when he took a bullet in the back. No one could ever take it away from him. He belonged in a special club of men and women who fought their damnedest and could prove it. He nodded at Tom.

Tom slapped him on the face, and shouted to the bartender, “Another drink for my brother!”

The bartender shook his head.

“Bartender!” Tom shouted. “Fill me up!”

The bartender leaned over the counter. “Sorry, guys. I think you’ve had enough tonight. Let me call you a cab.”

Tom grabbed the bartender’s shirt collar with his right hand and yanked the man across the counter. “Look, pal,” he said, his face less than an inch from the bartender’s, “I want another drink and you’re gonna get it. Understand?” He reached behind his back, pulled out a butterfly knife, fanned it, then drove its blade into the counter next to the bartender’s face.

“You’re a maniac!” The bartender tried to swing his arms.

To Joe, the event played out in slow motion. There was no doubt now that Tom hadn’t forgotten Mahmoudiyah. They had to get out of here before Tom exploded. He strained to read his watch. Two hours had passed since they got here. “Tom, forget it.”

Tom gave him a sideways glance then smiled. “Yes Sir.” He shoved the bartender back behind the counter and yanked his knife out of it. “This place is crap.”

Joe let Tom lean on his shoulder as they walked out the bar. Tom was smashed. No balance. His words were slurred. And he wasn’t funny anymore.

Joe felt queasy. The world was blurry. But he was fine. He could still think straight. A little alcohol never hurt anybody. Everything would be fine.
JOE PULLED into the Burtson Hotel half an hour later. It was a lavish place, meant for the upper class and people with money to blow. Myra would love to stay at a place like this, with fancy artwork and fountains in the lounge.

Tom’s eyes were half open and a crazy smile was plastered to his face.

“Let me help you to your room,” Joe said.

“You’re such a good friend. Always there when I need you.”

Joe scooped his friend out of the car, and half carried him into the hotel. The noise was ear-splitting.
 

rat-a-tat-tat!

boom!boom!boom!

whirrr.....
 

“My god! It’s after 7 PM. Are they serious?” It sounded like a war zone. 

“We’re sorry, Mr. Penn,” a voice cried out. Joe looked ahead to see the front desk clerk staring at Tom like a piece of candy. “They expect to be done in about 30 minutes.”

Joe felt a screaming headache. He hated to leave Tom here tonight, but Myra would never let him stay at their place in his current condition. “What room are you in again?” he asked Tom.

“Um, 21. Or 12. Wait, wait. Maybe it’s 13. 13 is a lucky number.”

“Give me your key, Tom.”

Tom fished in his right jeans pocket for more than 30 seconds before pulling out a keycard in a paper sleeve. The number 26 was printed on the sleeve.

“Come on, buddy.” He led Tom to the elevator then straight to his room. The hall was lined with tools and ladders. A security camera dangled from the wall. “Call me if you need anything. I’ll catch up with you in the afternoon.”

“Okay. You’re the best friend in the whole wide world.”

Joe turned when two figures exited the elevator down the hall and walked in their direction. A black man and woman were all over each other. The woman was beautiful, scantily clad in a red dress with her double D chest heaving out. She was definitely a hooker.

He laughed and slid Tom’s keycard into the hole. The man and woman stopped at the room across from them. The man slammed her body against the wall and ran his mouth over her neck.

Tom stared at them and shouted, “Yeah!”

The man turned and snickered at them.

The room spun.

Joe felt the need to vomit. It wasn’t his imagination. This was the man. The panhandler he had seen at the intersection. And the woman was the same hooker he had seen last night. He knew it!

The man and the hooker disappeared into the room, slobbering all over each other.