Black (9 page)

Roger sings out hello from the front. Brett looks up, searching around for me. When he spots me, I point and mouth for Brett to serve him. He gives me an odd look, looks back to me then to the front again. I place my hands in a begging position and he finally stands and serves Roger. I stand there, listening to what he says, how sweetly he talks to his new girlfriend, and knowing it’s all lies.

I cringe when he calls her baby, and I tremor when I hear him tell her he loves her. I want to choke when he kisses her. It’s not from affection or jealousy—it’s pure hatred that I have for this man now, nothing but hate.

I sit there until they leave, I stay there even when Brett comes back, giving me a confused look. “You don’t want to serve Mr. Roger?” he asks, using his first name. This time it’s my turn to give him an odd look.

“You know Roger?” I ask, confused now.

“Yes, he’s a regular. Comes in nearly every weekend.” I groan as my hands fly to my face.
Just my luck.
“Look, your shift is almost over. Why don’t you just head off and I will close up?” I thank him and make my way out, noticing Casey waiting for me in her car out the front. She smiles and waves me over.

“Did he see you?” These are the first words that leave her mouth. Of course she saw him.

“No.” I shake my head back and forth.

“Well, I came to get you because we have a dinner guest,” she pipes up, starting the car and driving.

“Who?” I ask her.

“The man you said saved you… Black.”

She looked better, her color has come back to her. Her eyes aren’t as dull as they once were. She’s putting on weight, her tits are filling out, her hips gaining roundness. I watch as she walks away from me and out of my life again. It's starting to feel like a never ending cycle—in again, out again.

As I walk back to my truck I feel the stares of people looking at me. I’m used to it. I walk as though I don’t want company, which is true. I don’t. I turn, feeling eyes on me, and see someone I haven’t seen for a very long time. He looks exactly the same as he always does—bald, built, and intimidating. He walks directly to me, nods his head, and looks me up and down.

“You here to see her?” he asks, his head nodding over in Rose’s location.

That must be where she got my number, Sax has it for jobs he can’t complete due to his work.

“You gave it to her?” I question him, already knowing the answer. He nods. We stand there in an uncomfortable silence until he finally says something.

“Dinner at mine at six?” he asks. I give him a puzzled look. We don’t socialize, it’s not the way I roll with him. “Rose will be there,” he adds.

I think about it.

Do I want to see her again?
I know the answer to that straight away. Of course I do.

But should I?
That’s probably a no.

“Text me the info,” I say, walking past him. I didn’t just come into town just for this meet, I came to see my clean-up crew. The ones that clean up the dirty things after I’ve finished the worst of it.

“John,” I call out as I enter. His head pops out and he continues chewing on his sandwich. He waves me in and I follow. Dead bodies line the morgue and he’s eating? I may be able to kill, torture, or maim someone, but eating around dead bodies is not my thing.

“You got payment?” he asks, shoveling the last of the sandwich in his mouth and wiping his hands on his coat. I pull out a stack of cash, and he smiles with his mouth full as walks over to it.

“I just cremated the last one. How many more this week?” He counts the money while talking to me. I met John one night when I was younger and new to the game. He offered me his services when he heard what I did, though it comes with a hefty price tag. To have this advantage where no one actually finding remains anywhere is a bonus, and the authorities would not think to look in a morgue. So I owe him big, hence the reason I pay him big.

“None,” I tell him. He stops counting and looks up to me.

“You turning a new leaf?” he jokes, but he may be possibly right.

“Business is slow,” I say, not letting my thoughts show. He nods his head and points to a bag of ashes.

“You want them?” I look at the bag of ashes that used to contain a living, breathing person and shake my head.

By the time I’ve finished at the morgue, I drive to the address Sax sent me. I think about turning back several times. Not going, but a pull I do not understand draws me in that direction.

So when I pull up and Sax is waiting out the front for me with a beer in his hand and a smoke between his lips, I hope I’ve made the right decision.

He hands me one and I take a seat on the veranda across from him. He doesn’t say anything, just passes me a beer and looks out.

“I got engaged,” he states. I nod my head, having no idea what he expects me to say. “Don’t bring up what you do,” he warns me. He needn’t worry about that, I never do anyway. Sax works in the security business for rich businessmen clientele. I met him through a job. We didn’t talk much, just the basics. It was a job, no reason to become friends. He always seemed to have an edge, one where he could be one of your worst nightmares if he chose to be. I respected that, respected his work. It doesn’t come easy, the line of work he’s in. Mine, well, it does come easy, but not many people can do it for as long as I have and still maintain the professionalism and exceptionalism I possess.

“I like her, I see why you do,” he says after a moment of silence.

A car pulls up. Sax stands and walks down to a short brunette who slides out from the driver’s seat. She looks up at me and smiles and waves. I don’t return the action and watch the passenger who hasn’t moved. Her eyes are glued on me though.

The brunette urges Rose out of the car. Eventually she climbs out and stands, slowly walking toward me. She looks unsure now, weaker than she was when I saw her last.

“What’s wrong?” I immediately ask, thinking the worst. Her eyes look up at me, then back to the ground.

“I need…” she starts to say and swings her head back to where her friend stands with Sax.

“Come,” I say, reaching for her hand and holding it tight. I practically drag her to my car, opening the door and letting her in. When I shut the door, I turn to see Sax and her friend staring at us wide eyed. I don’t acknowledge them, and walk around to the driver’s side and drive away.

“You need a hit?” I ask her, and she starts twitching with her hands, playing with them.

She looks up at me and nods her head. “I didn’t… didn’t until he came in.” Her head starts to shake. “How will I ever get better if just seeing him makes me want to go to that dark place again?” I can hear the pain in her voice, the internal struggle she’s currently fighting within herself. I don’t know who exactly she’s talking about, though I guess it’s the man she once loved.

“You told me,” I say, trying to think of somewhere to drive us so I can distract her from the want. I would like to fuck her, fuck her so hard that all she will crave will be me, but I won’t.

“I trust you,” she whispers. It’s weird for someone to say those words to me. They have never been said. For me it’s usually fear, terror, anger. Never trust.

“You shouldn’t,” I say, pulling off to the side of the road and stopping at a train station. It’s familiar. I climb out grabbing spray cans of paint. She sits in the truck, thinking on my words while I swing her door open, telling her to climb out. She does and stops, staring at me.

“You don’t scare me, and don’t tell me not to trust you.” She has a determination in her voice. “You’re the only person… the only person that has helped me without expecting anything in return. Do you know that? Do you?” Anger—I feel it radiating from her. I like it. “Every man has wanted something for something, whether it be drugs for sex, sex for money. I haven’t had one single person care for me, or even my whereabouts for two damn years, Black!” she screams the last part, and a tear slides down her cheek. She’s trying to be strong, trying to mask the fact that she can be weak. “Two years,” she whispers. I pick her chin up with my fingers, her eyes shine brightly with wetness as she looks at me. The pain of not having anyone love her, or care about her, evident in her eyes. I got used to that a long time ago and it was hard. But she shouldn’t have to, there’s nothing wrong with her, nothing at all.

“Distraction time,” I say, passing her a can of spray paint. She looks at it and actually smiles. I gaze around to make sure no one is here before I drag her to the empty train on the tracks. She laughs when I stumble over a rock, not being able to see clearly in the dark.

“You’re quite cute when you’re mad.” She giggles like a girl.

“I am not cute, Rose.”

“You so are, Black,” she says, a smile evident on her face. I shake my head and chuck the lid from the paint can down to the ground. I start tagging her name—red for a red rose when I hear her gasp.

I turn to look at her and watch as she drops the can, taking a step backward, away from me. Evidence of who I am is written all over her now stricken face.

“You…” she says accusingly.

“Me…” I smile at her, finally being able to tell her the truth of who I am.

It’s exactly the same, exactly the same writing and color from when I was sixteen. The same boy who drew it last time is standing as a man in front of me, and I didn’t even know. I’ve thought about him for years, the one that always sticks with you. You know how you meet someone and there’s an instant attraction at the first sight? He was attractive, the best-looking guy in school, but the one no one wanted to be around. He had a bad name, a dangerous name. He hung with the bad crowds, and kids were warned not to go near him. So they didn’t. He was always by himself, never talking or mingling with anyone.

Then one night, I lost my grandmother. My heart broke—shattered to a million pieces—and I ran into the night, stopping at the park. That’s when I met him, beautiful and broken, just as I was that night. So beautiful, but yet so completely destroyed.

He’s now a man, an exquisitely handsome man. One that chose not to tell me who he was. One that looks at me for the very first time with a smile. A smirk if you will. Like he can’t believe I’ve just put it all together.

“You look so different,” I say, my hand lifting of its own accord, wanting to touch his face. My palm softens under his cheek, his breath comes in heavy bursts. I watch his eyes squeeze closed like my hand is burning him and it’s painful to have my touch. I quickly remove it. His eyes open, and his hand touches where my hand just was.