10TH NaNoWriMo Novel In A Month episode for 11/10/12

The little, narrow rowhouse was quiet. All them traffic noises and sirens stayed put on the big streets. This one was off to the side and tucked in by itself. Ain't got no lawn, jus' a bitty place for like a bush and maybe somethin' else. Little Chrissie and her grandma did like to keep things in order. Floor was old. Guess it's some kind a vinyl. 'Sposed a look like off white stones. I don't know...maybe. Ain't no big space. Must be rough cookin' a turkey in that little oven. But it clean. Look like a Leave It To Beaver kitchen, if Leave It To Beaver was poor. 

Ricky watch her make them hotdogs. Bell go off. She take 'em out. Get the rolls. Not rolls, really, these more like plain, white bread shaped like rolls. She say - What you want on yours?..... He say - I  don't care. Whatever you got is all right...... So she give him mustard, the real yellow kind and some sweet pickle relish. Cooked three hotdogs, actually. Cut third in half and fixed it up so they could split it. Table got two chairs. He take one. She take the other.  Them little spaces is OK, 'cause cozy feels good too. 

First they take a bite, chew it up and look at each other.  Little Chrissie say - Is it all right? I ain't much of a cook. Hotdogs, oatmeal and Auntie Anne's bake-at-home soft pretzels........ Ricky say - What else do you need? .... Then she grin. Then he grin. If you listen real hard TV noise from upstairs drifts down a little bit. Sound like Jay Leno. Mister Never-You-Mind do like television, even though it come long after I dead. Dead eye see too, you know. Ain't no back-a-the-head for dead eyes. Less them what got the dead eyes wants there to be. Baby sleepin' too. I know 'cause I jus' seen him. He all right now. Breathin' good an' everything. If y'all got real little ones and they say they had 'company' some night, believe 'em. Everybody likes babies, 'specially dead folks.

Little Chrissie say - So, you ready be a killer?... Then she laugh a little and shake her head..... Ricky swallows piece a hotdog and says - That depends...... Depends on what? - she say...... He go - On how much it cost a fix my roof...... She give him half a bag a barbecue potato chips. But it not the big bag. This one got like three and a half ounces. Cans a cold soda is for in the living room, after. They watch kid what come on after Jay. His name 'Jimmy' too, 'cept he ain't the one they thinkin' 'bout killin'. Kiss a little bit on the couch, but not too much. Pictures of her dead folks make it not such a good smooch an' tickle place. Gandma fix up little room in the back. It tiny, maybe seven by ten. I seed hard shell-eatin'-crab tables almost as big. Got a bed. Got a chest. No little lamp, jus' a florescent circle on the ceiling. Floor wood. No rug. When they go up he say - This for me?....... She tug him back a little and whisper - No, this is....... So he climb in wit' her. Front room big, but that been split up. Half for grandma and half for baby. Sheets is cold. All he got on is them bitty, cotton man-panties what folks wears now. She got a soft, little tan brassiere an' tiny lady-panties what look like jock-strap for a eunuch. First they lay quiet. He don't know what he 'sposed a do wit' a baby and a grandma so close by. But she do. Little Chrissy start rubbin' his stomach. He got nice little stomach. Does 'crunches' on a floor, front a television at home. He do push-ups too. That just how he is. She likewise got a real interestin' body. Little waist. Round bootie. Chestesses very interestin' too. 'Bout two minute later they all of a sudden get tired a them outfits and pull 'em off. Guess that big, ole puffy quilt thing warmer than it look. Grandma snore a little bit. But they doan care. They doin' other things...

Next day at work, Marty lay it all out. This what he tell 'em. He go - Fifty thousand dollars now, plus half what I give Jimmy every year...... Ricky say - How much you give him?..... Marty go - 'bout two hundred thousand dollar and that fifty more than I keep for myself..... How you figure it all out? - say Little Chrissie.... It come to me in a dream. - he say. My father walk out a 'frigerator and go ' fifty thousand dollar and hundred thousand dollar a year three times.' Then he grab a piece a pumpernickel bread and go back inside. Guess he want the butter..... Ricky say - And that's it?..... Marty slowly nods. He look like he ready a cry. Place all quiet. He close it down a hour from four to five, when shift change. Give 'em time to clean up the lunch mess. Drink somethin' cold. Evacuate they bowels. Big Chrissie not in yet. John out front baggin' trash. Other kids playin' 'round. Marty go - Well? It be happenin' to somebody what already a ghost. Not like nobody gone come lookin'..... Then he gets even quieter and adds - An' he do deserve it. He a hater. You know that. Nazis... Auschwitz... babies. An' Chrissie, he think you jus' a cheap, little tramp......... Nobody talks. They just sit. Look like they mesmerized by the sound of a vacuum cleaner from out in the 'hall.'

But when Jimmy shows up a little later, he got two guys wit' him. Greasy, black, leather jackets... Black pants... Soft, leather. slip-on shoes. They his 'crew.' Straight off the plane from Odessa. And them what knows 'mafias' know how they do in 'Odess''....

Even 'Muscles' looks....

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9TH NaNoWriMo Novel In A Month episode for 11/9/12

Bingo Boy - 9TH post

Ricky was trapped in the toilet when it happened. He couldn't see, but he heard it all. Most times he used the toilet out front. They had two. No problem. But they made penni pasta in a blush vodka sauce for dinner tonight. Too much cream. Too much dairy. So now they had a regular poop and toot parade. Flabby assed old wimmen in loose, worn stretch pant squeezing their cheeks together as they fast walk to the toidy. Think it's on You Tube. But I don't know too much about all that electrical stuff. You don't know me. I'm a different ghost. But don't worry about it. I'll introduce myself later. 

Jimmy came. He came running in. You know, just shy of breaking into a trot, right down the aisle toward the podium. Shoots a look up at Uncle Patsy, the number caller. Patsy motions with his head back toward the room behind the mirror.  He don't miss a beat. Lemme tell you that. B, eleven! B, eleven! Regulars yell out 'chicken legs!' They got knick names for everything. 

Jimmy trots up the steps, opens the door and enters. He really wanted to smash it against the paneling. That's his favorite trick. Used to make a torn up hole right where the doorknob meets the wall. Since John's been working here (he's handy) you don't notice. He's got these little pre-cut squares of plywood  and he krazy-glues them in place. You know, gotta prepare for eventualities in a place like this. 

Ricky wanted to come out of the toilet, but he couldn't. So he sits down on the lid with his hands pressed over his ears. You see things like this on TV or in the movies, but not in real life. Not unless you like around here. Marty was eating his platter. He actually likes that penni pasta, sauce thing. Jimmy goes over and swats the plate off the desk, right onto the floor. You know, he's a tough guy for seventy one. Like Burt Reynolds. Like Burt Reynolds from how he was in BOOGIE NIGHTS. That's how he is. Members Only jackets. Sleeves pushed up. Same hair, only his ain't no toupee. OK, so he wears one a those thin, little 'absorbent pads' stuffed down his tightie-whities. Not like he pees himself. But sometimes a few drops get loose on  him. And he wears these gabardine pants, you know. Don't need no bull's eye. Don't need no 'X' marks the spot. 

Marty goes to say something. He goes to wipe his face. But Jimmy does it for him. Smacks him clear off the almost broken, high-backed, 'executive' desk chair. Lands right on his tailbone. And he got a bad tailbone to begin with, from like a skiing accident at The Concord years ago. Tries to crawl away. But Jimmy starts kicking him and kicking him. Grabs his collar. Pounds him right in the face. Nose is broken. You know that. Sure some of the noise leaks out onto the 'floor'. But Patsy knows what to do. Turns up the volume and announces a cover-all game. Them bingo wimmen quiet as hell for a cover-all game. Turns up the volume on the machine that blows the little balls around and what do you know...noise all gone. 

Marty's heaving. He's gasping and wet fartin' all over the place. Yells 'no, no' no.' Jimmy starts muttering something in his Rooskie-Ruskie talk. I don't understand that shit. Grabs Marty's wrist pulls off his watch. Not the good one. Not the Rolex. But still worth like eighteen hundred dollars. Kicks him once more, right in the liver, or the spleen, or the guts, or whatever the hell that is and runs out. This time he does smash the door against the wall, only it don't break through that piece of plywood. A few players look up. But soon as Patsy calls the next number they're re-mesmerized, pickled in smoke  and dazed like old lady junkies. 

Ricky opens the door. He looks. He sees Marty struggling to get up. Goes over and helps him settle back down in the chair. He's sobbing. He's crying. Tries to push Ricky away. Mumbles - 'lemme alone..lemme alone..lemme alone.... Ricky gets him a can of coke from the kitchen, pops it and pours some in a styrafoam cup. Marty's wrist bleeds from where Jimmy yanked off the heavy, gold, snap-shut bracelet clasp. More like a scrape than a cut. Marty gulp the soda and sits there in silence. Then he looks at Ricky.... And his eyes say it all... Them steakhouse dinners make sense now. Ricky understands.

He remembers something Marty said back over the hearts of lettuce salad and blue cheese dressing..... 'You know the bastid's in the country without any papers. They'd never let him in the regular way. He got a record. Got a record from over in Kiev. And you know what kind a prisons they got over there. No papers. No nothin'. No taxes. No license. All the money he gets comes through me. And if he disappeared, who'd even look for him? Nobody. Like a ghost he is. Just like a ghost. They wouldn't even know he was gone.'.........And then Ricky remembers all the bills he's gotta pay. And he remembers the leaky roof and how bad he wants out. Three heartbeats later, for the first time in his life, he starts to get the feeling he could kill somebody. 

Later, after they close up, he can't drive home, 'cause Jimmy slashed all the tires. Not just his tires, everybody's tires.  So he has to walk, eight blocks through what the cops call 'vampire wonderland.' Thank God for the cold. Thugs don't like no cold. Not this early in the year. A month or two from now they'll be used to it, but not now. So he and Little Chrissie keep to the shadows. You know, you can tread real quiet with sneakers on. Ten minutes later they come to her place. He's gonna sleep there. They made it all up. Too dangerous ridin' the bus back to his place. Not this late. Not from here. So they go inside and lock the door, both dead bolts and an old chain latch too. Grandma's upstairs watchin' TMZ or something. She knows there's a guy downstairs. She knows that. So she don't come down. Baby's sleeping too. Little Chrissie takes him in the kitchen. She microwave's a couple hotdogs. Ricky likes all-beef. She ain't got that, but it's all right. It's more than all right.  And they kiss to the hum of the little, microwave fan. She look cute doin' 'wifey' stuff. That sort a turns him on...

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