Chapter Twelve
Toronto, Ontario
Mid April
Hard knocking at my front door awakened me from a dream about turtles eating me, a dream I often had. I sat up in a momentary terror episode, as usual, and saw that according to my alarm clock, it was 4:12 AM.
“What the fuck!” I said aloud.
Who the hell could this be at four o’ clock in the goddamn morning? I picked up my bamboo kendo stick that I kept beside my bed just it the case that it was some psychopath, and I had to whack him in the face.
I walked through my living room and stepped on a beer bottle cap with my bare feet.
“Shit!” I yelled, now angrier than ever at having someone banging on my door at such an uncivilized hour.
I looked through the peephole and discovered I was correct in my assumption. It was indeed a psychotic - It was Nigel.
“Okay, stop knocking asshole” I said, unlatching the chain lock.
Nigel was out of breath and disheveled looking. He ran inside, closing the door behind him, locking the dead bolt right away and re latching the chain lock in a panic. He looked through the peephole and turned around.
“Anything to drink Connolly?”
“Oh, you know. Can’t complain.” I said. “And you?”
“Huh?” he said, peering through the peephole again.
He didn’t pick up on my obvious attempt at sarcasm, which was strange for a man of his wit. He was totally out of it.
“Uh…sure” I said. “Scotch okay?”
“Perfect, perfect my lad.” He said turning around. “You are truly a gentleman and a…”
“Yeah, yeah, a scholar, I know” I said, cutting him off. “Sit down and shut the hell up for a minute.”
I went into the kitchen and got a bottle of Johnny Walker from the cupboard, pouring three fingers for each of us. This was going to be good I reckoned, I was sure of that much.
Nigel didn’t look well. He was unkempt, pale, and jumpy. He talked a mile a minute, spitting out complete and utter gibberish. He was obviously paranoid about something and most likely on the coke pretty heavy. I never liked hanging out with him when he got high on coke, as he was pretty much himself amplified by a hundred, which was too much for me to take. I could just barely take Nigel as he was normally. Plus, I had an addictive personality and didn’t want to get mixed up with something that I was sure I wouldn’t be able to control.
I went back into the living room and Nigel was staring at his cell phone. He eyes looked maniacal as his pupils darted back and forth from me to the front door, to his drink. I sensed no similarities between this fellow and my friend Nigel and had to admit, I was a little weary of him in this condition. I wasn’t sure what he’d do as I’d never seen him quite like this before.
“So mate.” I said. “What’s up wi' ya?”
“Nothing, nothing” he said, his voice cracking. “Why do you ask?”
“Are you making a joke…huh? Are you out of your sodding mind,” I yelled. “It’s almost 4:30 in the goddamn morning, you stupid bastard!”
I was getting upset and losing patience in the whole proceedings. Nigel looked at his cell phone.
“Is it?” he said, sounding genuinely surprised. “Holy shit, where does the time go, you know? So much to do and so little time, eh,eh, you know what I mean, eh, Connolly? Hey, its 4:20! Got any weed Connolly?”
“Okay! Stop talking” I said.
I was now convinced that he was coked out of his mind. A little weed would only help calm him down right now, so, figured it wasn’t such a bad idea.
“Yeah, fine.” I said. “Hold on, and be quiet until I get back.”
Nigel nodded and continued staring at his cell phone.
I went into my bedroom and got an already rolled joint from my sock drawer. It had been there for a while and was a little stale. It would do the trick though. I’d been trying to cut the herbage from my system for some time and I’m not even quite sure why I even held onto it? Though I’m glad I did.
I went back into the living room and turned on my stereo to create a wall of noise to coerce Nigel into keeping his mouth shut. I lit the joint, took one puff and handed it to Nigel. He inhaled greedily from the joint, smoking nearly half of it. He handed it to back to me and I took a few puffs.
“Okay. Now that we’ve got that out of the way,” I said. “Tell me what the fuck is going on?”
Nigel sat staring at the television that wasn’t on. I could tell that the weed was starting to even him out somewhat. His mind was trying to work, trying to spin some sort of explanation together when unexpectedly, his face disappeared into his hands and he began to cry.
Jesus tap-dancing Christ. What was going on? I’d never seen this hard man from Manchester is such an emotional state before. I was not an emotional guy either, especially with other men. What the hell was I supposed to do in this situation? Give him a hug…I don’t think so!
I warily outstretched my hand to place on his shoulder, in a futile attempt to console him. I couldn’t do it though and pulled my hand away at the last second, lifting my drink from the table instead and taking a long drink.
Nigel raised his head languidly, turning his red eyes and sullen and pale face towards me.
“Kevin, lad... I’ve got me self into a spot of bother” he said.
I nodded for him to go on.
“Man, the thing is…I need some cash. I need to pay back some guys. The kind of guys who if you don’t pay back…well…let’s just say that if I don’t get the money, I won’t be around to hang out with you anymore.”
I threw my glass at his head, missing by an inch. I’m not too sure if I intended to miss him, or if I actually wanted it to smash on his face, instead of all over my wall.
“You fucking limey!” I shouted. “What are they going to do? Fucking kill you, is that what you mean? Let me get this straight, all right? You get into it with the mob and now you come to have me bail your ass out, is that right?”
Nigel nodded. Beaten.
“Are you fucked in the head?” I yelled. “I tell you what, you English faggot. I hope they crush your big pretentious head like a watermelon, all over the goddamn sidewalk, you dumb motherfucker!”
“Kev…pal, don’t say that. We’re best mates, aren’t we? How can you want me dead, man? You’re the only person I can turn to! I need your help brother!”
“Don’t fucking brother me crack head!”
I wanted to punch the dirty bastard in the mouth, and grind his chicken shit eyes into the Scotch coated glass on the floor.
Where was this sonofabitch when I was down huh? Where was he when I was broken and defeated? On then the edge of the abyss. Where was he when I was trying to drink myself to death? Didn’t he think to call me up to see how I was doing? The answer is no. He was too busy doing drug deals and sucking the profits up his own bulbous nose. I didn’t owe this bastard a thing, and right now, all I wanted was to see the back of him as he walked out my apartment door for good. Goddamnittohell and fuck!
I sat there, saying nothing, for what seemed like an hour. Unfortunately, after I’d calmed down a bit, and the weed got into my system, I realized that this asshole was my friend and friends are supposed to take care of each other when the shit goes down. So, he wasn’t there for me when I needed him, maybe he didn’t know how I’d felt, or that’s what I told myself. Like it or not, this character was my pal and I had to do what I could for him, whether he was a drug addict or not.
Nigel was on his feet now and starting to put his jacket on. For a second I thought about not saying another word and just letting him walk out and deal with his problem on his own. I really didn’t want to get involved in any kind of drug deals or organized crime shit. He would probably get the money somehow and he’d be able to deal with it, he had a talent for getting out of sticky situations, just as I did. He was not in his right mind thought and I worried he might hurt somebody, or himself if I didn’t intervene.
He opened the front door and began to walk out.
“Wait…” I said. “Come and sit down, asshole.”
Nigel smiled a pathetic smile, still looking as pale as when he walked in.
“Finish your drink at least,” I said. “Before you go.”
Nigel sat down and nodded his head smiling. He knew that I was going to help him. Maybe he’d been conning me since the moment he’d arrived at the apartment and had planned the whole production. He was certainly capable of that. But I’d never seen tears before. I wasn’t sure he was that good an actor.
“Okay, what kind of money are we talking about here?” I asked.
“Eight thousand…” he said, struggling to speak through emotion, fake or real, I wasn’t sure.
“Eight fucking grand, Nigel?”
“Yeah mate, I know. I fucked up. I’m a fuck up!” he said.
He started to cry again.
“You gotta be shitting me?” I said. “And stop that crying shit you pussy! It ain't helping us, all right?”
He nodded. Wiping the tears from his eyes
“Listen dude, I don’t have that kind of cash. I haven’t worked in over a month!”
“What?” he said, genuinely surprised.
“That’s right, I quit.”
“Why’d you go and do that for?” he said.
“Because it was driving me mental is why. That and… I was too upset about Elsa going that I think, aw shit man. I think I had a nervous breakdown or something.”
“Oh shit mate. I’d no idea. I’m so sorry man…”
“Fuck it” I said. “I’m fine now. Let’s continue with the matter at hand here. I don’t have eight grand Nigel. I can maybe get my hands on four.”
“Oh mate, that’s fantastic. I’m sure I can get the rest from my sister in London. Her old man is rich as the sodding Queen.”
“Well. I guess that’s your problem solved,” I said.
“Oh mate, you’re a bloody saint you are,” he said trying to hug me.
“Get off!” I said.
“There’s no way I can ever re-pay you for this!”
“I hope that doesn’t mean that you’re not actually planning to re-pay me?”
“Oh shit mate. That’s not what I mean at all. I’ll pay you the money back, every fucking cent man, god as my witness son…”
“All right, enough” I said. “You know, that doesn’t mean too much coming from the likes of you.”
“You know what I mean mate. The money will be paid, that’s my word. I swear on the cross and the holy ghost, eight? It’s the gesture I’m talking about Connolly. You’re a good mate. I knew I could count on you, when the shit really hits the fan.”
“Listen here Caruthers. I’m doing this so you don’t get killed or whacked, or whacked off, or whatever the fuck it is. That’s all. If you ever show up at my house all strung out on coke again I’ll kick your ass on site, got it?”
“Yeah mate.” He said. “It’s a fucking deal. I’m staying away from this shit from now on anyhow. It’s what got me in this mess in the first place.”
“I’ll believe it when I see it limey. Now, you can crash on the couch if you want to, but I’m going back to bed.”
“Right mate. That’s mighty white a’ ya. I could use a good nights sleep, if the fucking coke will let me.”
“Cut the shit,” I said. “I’m for bed.”
Nigel laughed and lay down on the couch letting out a great sigh, of what I’m sure was relief. He was sleeping in seconds. Which is strange what with the coke. I’m sure he felt a great weight lifted from his shoulders and I was quite sure that this was probably the first time he’d slept in days, from the look of him. He was my friend and, like it or not, I had to help him. He’d been a good friend most of the time that I knew him and I could trust him to watch my back during times of conflict. But as far as the drugs go, I wouldn’t trust him as far as I could throw the bastard and I didn’t believe him for a second about getting off the coke. I could only wait and see.
No comments:
Post a Comment