Authors: William Vitka
The graphic next to the anchor’s head shows a gun. Sirens. A bank. Kieron’s not looking at the closed captioning—he’s trying to serve drinks and listen to the cops—till he realizes the cops have stopped talking.
The cops’ silence gets his attention.
Now he’s watching the TV. He shushes one of the regulars and turns up the volume.
The anchor says, “—If it wasn’t for the heroics of NYPD officers Saim Dajani and Joe Leonard, it’s almost certain we would have seen more innocent people harmed and possibly killed today. Patricia McNamara is at the scene with a live report. Patricia?”
The screen changes. The images of two smiling, freshly-uniformed officers fill the TV.
The Patricia woman starts to drone on about a bank robbery and...
Kieron thinks:
Oh no.
The left one is the Southern dude. Joe.
The right one is Saim.
Kieron thinks:
Fuck.
People in the bar realize that the two cops are sitting right there. Right next to em.
The news report TV goes on: Saim and Joe killed two goddamn bank robbers. And then pulled in the third for charges. And on top of that, they saved damn near twenty people.
Kieron thinks:
Cops are bad enough. These two assholes are
hero
cops. And they saved a bunch of people around the fuckin corner
.
Which means this area is part of their beat. Fuck shit ass piss.
He wants em out of the bar.
But soon the heroes are enveloped in a small crowd of people offering congratulations.
Kieron blinks and rubs his face. He puts his charm on. Slides two free shots over to Saim and Joe. Says, “On the house.”
Saim and Joe take the drinks.
Kieron still thinks:
Fuck
.
***
Hours later, Saim stumbles out. Drunk off free booze from barflies.
He wonders how he’s gonna keep tabs on the bartender.
He’s got time on suspension to figure it out.
16.
Kieron watches the clock. The cops are gone, but he’s feeling paranoid as hell. He wants the night to be over. Now. He considers tossing the regulars out early. Shutting the doors. Except Saim or Joe might be watching. Which’d just be another sign he’s guilty of something.
Christ.
Sarah’s upstairs with Aaron.
He should be there.
Playing with LEGOs. Building Aaron’s ship.
Lying next to the one woman he thinks might not destroy his soul.
He could bring up a bottle of Jameson. Sit with a glass and watch
Supernatural
with his boy. Aaron always did like that show and—
The two idiot Russian thugs walk in.
Kieron turns his face away. Grimaces. “When it rains it fuckin pours. Pinko commies.” He grabs two Baltikas from under the bar. Pops their tops and sets them up for the thugs. He smiles at em. Says, “You guys are late.”
Fearless Leader says, “We been busy.” Smiles. Takes a pull from the bottle.
Boris laughs. “Yeah. Busy.”
Kieron says, “Hey guys. I ain’t your keeper. I’m sure my regulars got plenty of shit they gotta do when they ain’t drinking in my place.”
Fearless Leader says, “We had a good day. Keep the beers coming.”
Boris says, “Definitely a good day.”
Kieron smiles. Shrugs.
Thinks:
Well, that’s good and creepy.
***
Before too long the thugs are going back and forth about chicks. Blondes they wanna bang. Brunettes they’d love to strip down and get fuckin. Mostly it’s boring. Cuz it’s the same kinda dumb shit that dumb men around the planet talk about when they’re drinking.
Takes three shots of vodka for anything interesting to fall outta their mouths.
Then, man, it’s a waterfall of info.
There’s another score. Grand and Clinton. Near Seward Park and those tenement buildings. Nothing crazy. How much? Like probably twenty grand. Jewels? Some. Electronics, too. Dope’s the main thing. Heroin. Some mid-level pusher’s getting too big. Boss wants to let him know who’s in charge. Like, hey, you don’t run that shit without our okay, okay? Yeah, but dope’s trickier for everyone involved, is the thing. So we just gotta be sneaky about it. Sneak our way into his room. 306.
Kieron hears all this.
He ain’t going near that much H. Temptation’s too serious. Twenty goddamn grand. He could drown in the shit for a month. Not like he hasn’t thought about just that. And where would he dump it? Can’t launder the crap like missing jewels. He wouldn’t know where to begin.
Kieron gets busy cleaning glasses.
Gotta push the idea of swimming in dope from his brain.
***
Kieron turns off the lights. Pulls the metal shutters down. Locks the bar up. Walks over to the apartment building door. Meanders up the steps with a bottle of Jameson. A cigarette behind his ear.
Everything feels wrong. There’s a pain in his chest and he starts to wonder if he’s gonna have a heart attack... The robbery. The cops are gonna be looking at him. The two in the goddamn bar tonight. Sarah. The shit with the ring. The bills he’s always under.
He’s gotta talk to Sarah. Gotta tell her she can’t be wearing that thing around.
He just... Holy shit, he needs to figure out how to phrase it.
She’s gonna ask questions.
***
He tells Sarah, “Cuz I robbed an old lady, is why.” Not even thinking or asking how much she got at the pawnshop for the stolen bauble. Cuz his brain’s not working right. Neither are his emotions.
Dawn creeps across the streets outside.
Half the bottle of whiskey’s gone. That spells trouble in any language.
Sarah says, “You’re
fuckin shitting—
” She looks toward Aaron’s closed door. The boy’s asleep. She whispers through her teeth: “You’re
fuckin shitting me
.”
“I ain’t. My grandma died, like, fifteen years ago. It ain’t her stuff. I’m sorry. I needed... This whole stack of letters on the table? It’s bills. It’s all Aaron’s bills. You know that. I was desperate. I couldn’t think of a way to get rid of this. I don’t have the money.”
“You couldn’t think of a way other than robbing some poor lady around the corner.”
“No I... It all just kinda fell together. And then I was doing it. Shit was just, like, man. Man, it was happening. I wasn’t thinking. I just did it.”
“Never considered a goddamn bank loan?”
“The fuck bank is gonna give a guy like
me
money?”
“You’re an asshole.”
“I
am
an asshole. I’m sorry.”
“
Sorry
doesn’t change the fact that I signed my identity to those stolen bits of pretty shit sitting in a pawnshop now. They have my
name
, Kieron. My picture. That old lady comes around with cops and I’m fucked.
I’m
fucked. Not you.”
“I’m sorry, I’ll—”
“And you
let me do it
. Jesus Christ. You
asked
me to do it. You
fucker
. You knew I was gonna be putting my ass out there. You didn’t
care
.”
Sarah wants to scream but can’t. She knows Aaron needs to get some sleep. In spite of the horrendous betrayal she feels from the boy’s father.
Kieron doesn’t have those concerns in his head.
He’s very drunk. Very scared. Very frustrated.
He wants to stop feeling like such a goddamn loser.
He snaps. His brain locks gears. He yells. “Watch your fuckin mouth, Rebecca.”
Sarah stops. A confused look takes over her face. Like she’s gonna sneeze but can’t commit. “Who—”
“Sarah, I mean.”
Shit
. “My whole life—
my whole life
—I’ve fucked up. Do you have any idea what I’ve seen? What I’ve done? The hoops I jumped through and the people I sent up to keep my kid and get his dumb cunt mother out of our life?
“Do you have
any fuckin idea?
”
Sarah backs away from him. From this nuclear explosion happening in front of her. She shakes her head.
He says, “Well I’ll
tell you
. I’ll tell you. From a guy who remembers watching his drug dealer fuck his passed-the-fuck-out junkie shitball ex. From a guy who was so desperate to shoot up he... He let
that
happen to someone he thought he loved. From a guy who was so desperate to shoot up, he was more than happy to mug people or rob people or beat the shit out of people. And then fought with the city to keep his goddamn kid... And then... And he’s fucked up anyway. He’s fucked up anyway. Cuz of the junk he kept putting in his veins. The junk
I
kept putting in my veins.”
Kieron wipes his face. Says, “I never stopped it. That’s
me
. That’s the guy I am. I just keep riding this goddamn spiral
down and down
.”
Neighbors bang on the walls.
Kieron pants. “I thought I could find a way out. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” He reaches for Sarah and she doesn’t really want him to touch her. But she lets him. He holds her. And he keeps saying, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’ll make it right. I swear. I’m sorry. I’ll make it right.”
Sarah says, “Okay.” Not as distraught. Not as drunk. Not as guilty as the bartender she thought she could find a life with. “You need to calm down, Kieron. You really need to just... Breathe. For Aaron, at least.”
Kieron’s broken. His brain is stuck. His heart thumps around in his chest—does a blast of rhythm beats from hell. He cries. Not heaving sobs, but close.
Aaron walks into the kitchen. Rubs sleep from his eyes. “You’re too loud.”
Sarah pulls away from Kieron. “Oh, kiddo. I’m sorry.” She sits next to Aaron on the floor.
Kieron says, “Hey, bud.” He sniffles. Pretends nothing’s wrong. His anger evaporates when he sees his son’s sleepy face. “It’s my fault.” He looks around. Gets on his knees in front of the boy. Thinks of a decent bullshit lie. “I was walking too fast. I stubbed my toe. Hurt really bad. Crazy bad. And you know how when you stub your toe really bad, and you just get angry and you don’t like anyone cuz it hurts so much?”
Aaron nods. His eyes shift from his father to Sarah.
Kieron says, “That’s what happened to me. I got hurt and it surprised me. And I just got angry at everyone. And I yelled at Sarah. Cuz I was acting like a big dumb monkey.”
Aaron says, “But monkeys are smart.”
“Well, I was acting like a big idiot.”
“Idiots are not smart.”
Sarah says, “No, they’re definitely not.”
Kieron says, “So it was my fault.” He looks to Sarah. “I’m an idiot.” Back to Aaron. “I got loud cuz I was... I was hurt. I’m sorry.”
Aaron shrugs. “It’s okay, Daddy. I have to work on my ship anyway.”
Kieron cocks an eyebrow.
Daddy.
That’s new.
***
Then it
is
like nothing’s wrong.
Kieron—done being drunk and moving on to just being exhausted by stress—sips from a small glass of whiskey. Calm. Patient. He chuckles at jokes from
Mystery Science Theater 3000
on the television with Sarah.
Aaron sits on the floor in front of em. He wants to work alone. The ship’s almost done. He just needs to attach the cockpit and the engines and the wings and the escape shuttle.
The hard stuff is over.
Aaron examines the fuselage with a keen eye.
Sarah says, “It’s looking good.”
Kieron nods. “You’re about ready to blast off.”
Aaron smiles. He gets to his feet and crawls onto the couch between Kieron and Sarah. Puts his head on Sarah’s lap. Rests his legs on his father’s.
Kieron rubs the boy’s feet.
Sarah runs her fingers through his hair.
They’re all very tired.
***
In bed, Kieron says to Sarah: “How much did you get for the old lady’s stuff?”
Sarah exhales once. Heavy. “Fourteen grand.”
Kieron’s heart stops. In his drunken state, he’d considered going to the pawnshop and buying it back, thinking it was just a couple grand. Buy it back and get it off the street. Maybe even break
back
into the bird’s place and put it back.
But fourteen grand...
Fourteen grand would pay off the bills. Pay off the shitbag shrink.
Sarah says, “It’s in my bag. But this conversation isn’t over.”
“I have tomorrow off, too. We can talk about it then. Promise.”
“All right.”
A minute later, she’s asleep. Bare breasts rising and falling.
Kieron kisses her on her forehead.
He lays back. Stares at the ceiling. So goddamn exhausted.
He thinks:
Maybe
... Maybe if he gets the dope score... Maybe he can use that money to get out of here. Get them
all
out of here. Pay off the bills with the fourteen. Turn the dope into more cash, find a place where Aaron can just build all day...
Some goddamn place with a real backyard.
Alcohol fever dreams.
But he’s thinking it.
He realizes in that moment he’s a sad, desperate bastard who needs a way out.
But he
is
sitting on fourteen grand.
17.
Saim Dajani wakes up and wishes he was dead five minutes later.
How many goddamn drinks did those barflies buy him and Joe?
Enough to make even a HERO COP’s brain melt.
He stumbles into his living room. The crotch of his boxers threatens to release his dick into the air. He readjusts and sees the couch’s empty. He wonders if Joe managed to get up early and bail. Then remembers he and his partner parted ways after Joe found an inviting blonde bimbo.
He stands in front of the bathroom mirror. Splashes cold water against his face. Follows that with two big pills of extra strength Advil. Cuz holy shit does it feel like the world is wiping its ass with his brain.
He sits on the couch. Lights a cigarette. Turns on the TV.
A day later and his face is still floating across the local news channels.
He chuckles. Then grimaces as the hangover throttles his skull.
There was something... Something from last night...
He holds his head in his hands. “That fuckin bartender.” He stares at the floor. “That guy who set off all the alarms in my head.”
Shit. Where the hell was that?
“THE THING. That bar. God, I hate that bar.”
But he’s into something.
“I just don’t know what yet.”
He grabs his phone and calls Joe. Hopes it doesn’t go to voicemail.
Joe picks up. “Hrrnyurgh.” Then there’s coughing.
“Joe, it’s Saim.”
“I’m not alive yet, Saim. Gimme, uhh—”
“Yeah, I’ll call back.”
***
Saim says, “Look, I’m telling you that guy is into something.”
Joe says, “Okay, but we’re on suspension. Two weeks’ vacation for shooting bad guys. Paid.” The Kentuckian says this while he’s on the toilet and the sound of flushing roars in the background.
Saim just got through a few minutes of Joe talking about the roiling beer shit he was taking.
Partners share maybe too much.
Joe says, “And what makes you so sure the guy isn’t just like every other weasel? Or just twitchy. Some dudes’re kinda shady and that’s all there is to it. But they ain’t done nothin. You already said he’s not in the sheets. What’re we gonna go after him for?”
“Trust me. It’s a gut thing. An instinct thing.” Saim stabs out a cigarette. “Wipe your filthy ass and meet me downtown.”
“Dude, this chick’s still here.”
“Then you better wipe real good.”
***
They both feel naked in a particular way. A peculiar way.
They ain’t cops right now. No police powers, on account of they got suspended for more than a couple days.
Badge had to get turned in. NYPD ID card had to get turned in. Ditto the Glocks.
Now they’re just private citizens.
But at least they have their own permits to carry weapons.
Joe a Beretta 9mm sub-compact.
Saim a hulking Colt M1911 .45—he likes the idea of hauling the same machinery guys in World War II did.
Doesn’t change the mental funk they both find themselves in.
Joe says, “Can we even do this, is the thing.”
Saim shrugs. “We ain’t trying to arrest someone. Just find out some shit. That’s all.”
“Cuz you’re sure the guy’s dirty.”
“I’m sure.”
***
They go back to THE THING first. Talk to the tattooed blonde who tends the bar during the day. The one whose hips shake like battleships when a good tune comes on over the speakers. She doesn’t give anything up.
She says instead: “You look like cops even when you’re not lookin like cops. I know your faces from the papers. You think I’m gonna give you some shit on Kieron? You’re wrong. That man hasn’t done anything except take care of his son.”
Saim says, “Well, has he got any reason to avoid cops?”
“He was the one serving you drinks all damn night, wasn’t he? For free? Tell me how that’s
avoiding
cops.”
***
Joe says, “You’re a charmer, you know that?”
Saim says, “Eat a hot bowl of dicks.”
***
Saim thinks,
Man, that was a dumb way to start things
.
Got too excited, wanting to go into the bar and ask questions. Stupid.
So they case the place instead.
Watch what sorry losers drag themselves in and out.
Plenty of sad bastards.
But Saim’s not looking for that. None of the regulars. He’s looking for someone a little concerned, but happy, and doesn’t fit with that bar crowd. Someone cautious and not really sure what to do with whatever not-exactly legal thing they just been a part of.
He’s looking for a friend of the bartender.
They got a look. All of em do.
Saim sees her come outta the apartment building right next to the bar. Pretty girl. Nice figure. Young. Late twenties or early thirties. Dark hair, pulled back. Might be Hispanic.
She walks by the bar window. Taps on the glass. Waves in to blonde broad. Like they know each other.
Saim points. “I wanna talk to her.”
***
Sarah figures:
Fuck it
.
Figures she’ll take a long walk. Get away from Kieron and Aaron and the apartment. Give the bartender some time to cool off. Just let the man sleep off whatever stupid got ahold of him last night.
He’s a good man.
He is.
Her brain says:
Is he? This guy you’ve known a bit over a year and been fuckin for six months. You heard him last night. What world of shit have you walked into?
Stealing. Mugging. Robbery.
Junkie ex-con sonuvabitch.
And they got your name down at the pawnshop, sweetheart.
She shakes her head at the thought.
She mumbles to herself. “Kieron says he’s gonna take care of it. He says he’s gonna do something, he does it.”
She walks over to 1st Ave, then north till she hits St. Mark’s. She wants falafel. She wants Mamoun’s falafel. Best in the city.
She passes by a bookstore. Pierce’s Paper. Neat joint tucked away between the dipshit college kids and the porn and the coffee and the tattoo shops. Tucked between these fuckers pretending they’re “living the life” dirty and grimy cuz they live in a certain part of America.
She gets in line at Mamoun’s and thinks maybe she should leave the city.
Then she wonders where she’d get food like this and nixes moving.
She feels a tap on her shoulder.
Turns.
***
Saim locks eyes with the girl.
She says, “Can I help you?”
He sees the ring she’s got on. “I couldn’t help myself. That ring, it’s gorgeous. Where did you get it?”
***
Sarah forgot she had it on.
After the fight with Kieron, she’d left the bauble on her finger as a kind of silent protest. Drunk, stupid protest—but protest nonetheless.
After everything, she still has it on.
Shit
.
***
Saim wraps his arm around Joe.
Joe eyes him but Saim ignores his partner’s look.
Joe knows.
Just go with it
.
Saim throws on a little bit of a lisp. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you. But that ring, oh my, it’s stunning. I sure do wish my
big spoon
here would get me one like it.”
Joe rolls his eyes. “Well if you didn’t leave your stinky dirty underwear all over the—”
“If he wants to
keep me around
he’ll get me one anyway. And I do all the dishes—” Saim pats Joe’s chest “—so eat pretty little shits, dear.”
“You do crap chocolate, love.”
The girl watches this sitcom. Smirks. Shakes her head and stares at her feet for a second. A weak “Uhhh” escapes her lips.
Saim can’t tell if she’s kinda embarrassed or just trying to think of some good bull.
Probably bull.
Saim says, “Well, this is rude. What’s your name? I’m Bill.” He extends his hand.
And a last name. What last name? Something generic and Arab
. “Bill Hussein.”
Oh, you idiot.
The girl says, “I’m Sarah Perez. My boyfriend got me the ring.”
“Woo,” Saim says. He fans his face. “Your man must be crazy about you to drop that kind of money on a prize like that. He one of those banker types? Hedge fund managers? Not like Jewbacca here.”
He elbows Joe, who just stares.
Joe digs his fingers into Saim’s ribs to get the guy to shut up and reel it in.
Sarah laughs. “That’s absolutely awful. Anyway, no. My man’s not a rich guy. He’s a good man, though. A good man. I’m sure he... I’m sure he worked very hard to save the money for this.”
“You gonna marry him?”
Sarah shrugs. But smirks.
Saim says, “You tell your man that we’d love to talk to him.”
No way can a bartender afford a ring like that.
No way.
***
They walk five blocks.
Joe says, “Let’s grab some food before we go back to the bar. Take an hour. Maybe less.”
Saim says, “Yeah. I can do that.”
“Also... Jewbacca?”
Saim arches his eyebrows. “Sounded funny in my head.”