Pacific Garden Mission (con’t)
May 22, 2007
Okay, so what’s this angle you have cooked up.
Remember Haltek?
The trucker, from on Allport.
That’s him.
He was a fucking product.
The way he walked. Crippled arm against his chest, the other swinging wildly in compensation. Rolling forward, flailing, clearing the path of unseen adversaries.
Still is kid. Still is. But we got something on him. Something good.
Pacific Garden Mission (con’t)
May 19, 2007
So Tony?
So what?
Let’s here it. I know you’re sitting on something.
Still sharp. Even hung on shit bourbon with a wrench to the head. You’re still sharp.
Go on cutie pie. We can talk here?
Sure sure. Just spics. Them that speak right could care less anyway.
Okay then, so let’s talk . . .
Drumroll
Pacific Garden Mission (con’t)
May 13, 2007
So here we are. Grig’s wiping donut grease through his hair, feeling it collect behind the creases of his nostrils. Savoring the rare oiliness of eating more than once within a day, the sheen on his skin, under his fingernails. His gut is tight against his belt for the first time in more than a month.
You want more donuts? Artemio lets me have as many as I want because I haven’t raised rent on his fat spic ass since his kids were at Clemente.
TonyO shouts that part, Artemio cocking one eyebrow up from his doze on the corner stool. Yeah amigo. Youse the best kind of friend.
No, no thanks. I’ve had plenty. They’re plenty good.
Cinnamon in everything. Dusted in the coffee. In the Mexican chocolate in the donuts. Spics love the cinnamon.
So Grig old boy. You got plenty of food in you.
First time in a while. Thanks.
Feeling alright? Head alright?
Everything’s still on a tilt.
He really stung you a good one. Old Grig, he would have ducked that and come up from the basement. Pow!
Old young Grig you mean. Now I’m just old old.
Yeah. Ain’t we all. Good one.
This is the way we build things. On notions. On myth. Our foundation is totally ephemeral. You know? We believe something is good. We want to believe. But it just takes a second of giving it a good look and you realize that life is really just an endless string of incidents that are pretty much frustrating, annoying or undesirable. Bills, getting sick, a pipe breaks under your kitchen sink and shitwater goes everywhere. I know, I know, sometimes we win a scratch off, or smell popcorn or I don’t know what the fuck. But that’s like a partly sunny day. A day that’s more cloudy, with a little sun coming through, right? That’s partly sunny. Because if it was partly cloudy, that would mean mostly sunny with a little cloud cover. So I think life is partly sunny, for the most part, and there’s times, like cancer or car accidents that it’s just a godforsaken joke. Who, here, anywhere, asked for one second of it?
I’m tired of people trying to fix me. All this advice about going with the flow, about being your own best friend. Maybe they never thought about the fact that I like being broke. Call it what you will, I just the see the world the way it is. It’s not all this mystical extraneous shit. That doesn’t work for me and I’m sorry if I don’t see it as one giant celebration. I mean I’m not a gloom and doom type, I can appreciate the happy times. I like milkshakes and cartoons and carnival rides, whatever. But I’m not going to fucking pretend that there’s some kind of justice around the corner, some kind of redemption. It’s all a ton of bullshit.
Cheap as Wisdom (PGM) con’t
May 2, 2007
Yella’s open coat fans over his body, blood from his shoulder and the wound in his abdomen pool around him. The rookie’s back from the car with the first-aid kit.
He’s lost a lot of blood already. Jesus, he’s punched out. Ambulance is on the way.
Shot in his hip isn’t even two hours old.
Who’s the Korean?
Guy who owns the shop?
I’ll like to hear what he has to say.
Cheap as Wisdom (PGM) con’t
April 27, 2007
Listen boy. You hold your hands out at your side. Keep em clear of your fucking pockets. Got me?
Yella’s hands drift out of the folds of his coat, ragged fingernails rimmed black.
Hold your palms up partner. Let’s take a look.
The hands roll over slowly, the palms slick with blood.
Christ.
Under the coat, now Haltek can see the clotted gauze, the tape.
You’re hurt buddy.
Fuck I know it.
We’ll make a call for you.
The Korean’s gonna fix me. The Korean.
Go call an ambulance junior.
I’m not leaving.
Do it.
Castellano takes a back step, his hands still at his holster. Yella drops to one knee, reaching into his front pocket.
Haltek barks, draws, but Castellano’s bullet has already hit. The left shoulder, spinning Yella flat, facedown on the sidewalk. His arm flies forward with the impact, flinging the small revolver into the street. Good shot.
Cheap as Wisdom (PGM) con’t
April 25, 2007
Yella takes a step. Castellano’s arm wheels under his coat, but he doesn’t draw. Haltek is unmoving.
Who are you waiting on friend?
Fuck you talkin about.
You’re waiting for someone. The guy who opens the store, or you got a friend work’s here?
Fuck you know about it? Fuck you know?
Another step. Menace. Haltek’s gut pinches, not just fear and not just thrill.
Let’s just you and me have a quick conversation friend. Just a few words.
His chest is heaving visibly under the cheap trenchcoat. Haltek notices that he’s shirtless underneath. The left front pocket bulging. Castellano’s hand is on his unsnapped holster.
Cheap as Wisdom (PGM) con’t
April 24, 2007
No answer.
Store’s due to open in ten minutes. Let’s us have a quick talk before you go in.
Walking closer, but the pace slows. Castellano is shooting quick glances at his partner, who keeps his hands held up chest level, his eyes straight on.
This guy looks pissed Sarge.
He’s worked up about something. Keep your cool. Partner, step over here and let’s talk a minute.
Fuck you want cop?
He speaks.
Eloquent bastard. You just seem a little agitated friend. Thought we could help you out.
The pair come to a stop, maybe ten steps between them and Yella, who stands tense, leaning forward, nostrils flared, showing teeth.
You can’t help shit.
You’re not the first person to tell me that.
Lemme knock this clown. Castellano, muttering through fixed lips.
Keep your dick in your pants junior. Tell you what friend. Step over this way, and we’ll see for sure who can help what. Just take a breath.
This boy looks dusted Sarge. Looks like a handful.
And some fresh prick, six months on the job with a shelf full of city league boxing trophies would love to earn his rep here and now.
Cheap as Wisdom (PGM) con’t
April 18, 2007
The plainclothes pair are out of the car, Haltek sliding from behind the steering wheel, his long coat trailing, Castellano gripping the doorframe and vaulting with a convert’s enthusiasm.
Easy junior, it ain’t the OK Corral.
I got a love for the occupation.
That’ll get the best of you, Haltek thinks, then he pats each hip, checking for pistol and ammunition.
The pair amble forward, the man shambling in front of the liquor store coming into definition. Not a bum, Haltek notes to himself, not torn up enough. About 40, clean head and cappuccino complexion. High yella Moses would call him. Closer now, he notices the pair moving toward him and goes stock still. Castellano pauses and slides a hand toward his own armpit.
Keep walking junior. Don’t get dramatic.
Yella is facing them now, arms out from his sides like he’s carrying a pair of suitcases. His chest is heaving. His eyes are wide. His jaw set.
Morning friend. Everything under control?
