GRIND (The Silver Nitrate Series Book 1) (13 page)

“Look how late it is and you’re calling me with this crap!”

“Something has happened and it’s serious. Get cha shit on and meet me over at my house in an hour.” He disconnected the call and stormed inside his grandfather’s small room, immediately flicking on the light. The old man lay down on his side, but his eyes were open, blinking frantically as if dust were falling all over his lashes.

“Paw, I’m here, okay? Wake up,” he said gently, pulling him out of whatever daydream he’d drifted into.

The old man turned in his direction, the movement causing his loose robe to slide a bit down his shoulder. His face cracked in a sullen smile.

“Get up. Let’s get you dressed.” He opened up his grandfather’s drawers, one by one, then snapped his fingers in the direction of the door. “I need a couple of trash bags so I can get his stuff outta here, please.”

The officer with the strawberry blond hair, his listening ear, turned towards the crowd in the hall.

“Get him a few trash bags, please,” she announced.

He stared at the woman for a second. He thanked her with all of his heart, and now wanted to say it with his mouth.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Officer Mackey.”

“Officer Mackey, thank you…” She nodded and offered a slight smile.

He returned to pulling things out of the drawers, tossing them onto the bed for bagging up and hauling off. In his haste, one of the shirts he tossed onto the bed hit the floor. He bent low to pick it up, then caught a glimpse of a broad shouldered woman standing a few feet away, her beefy arms crossed and her eyes narrowed as she stared him down, like she wanted a piece of him, wanted to go to war.

“She’s the one that attacked my grandfather!” He pointed into the crowd and people turned their gazes to her as she stood in the front and center, like some frontrunner leading a pack of wolves.

“I didn’t attack your grandfather. What are you talking about? Did he tell you that? He has dementia, ain’t in his right mind. You better watch it. That’s slander.”

“No, that’s your ass, you damn liar!”

“I ain’t do nothin’ to that man!” she hollered. “I work hard! That man is—”

“Shut the hell up! You’re a thief, and you’re sick, you know that? Beating up on an elder like that! This man worked for most of his life to try and help people, and this is the thanks he gets. I oughta beat tha fuck outta you, see how
you
like it!” Zen screamed out, directing an accusing finger at her. He was losing control as he inched towards her, unable to contain himself.

“Mr. Taylor, that’s enough. Please get your grandfather’s belongings, file whatever reports you wish, but please do not engage in conversation or confrontation with the staff. We will be speaking with them,” the other officer stated. Zenith prepared to say something else to drive his point home, but a trip in jail was not ideal at that moment, not for him and definitely not for Paw. He begrudgingly turned back around and resumed his task.

“Zen,” his grandfather called out to him, as if awaking from some dream. The old man was on his feet now, but holding onto the railing of the bed as if at any moment, he’d topple over.

“Yes, Paw?”

“Are you… takin’ me home with you?” The man sounded like a little child, an innocent, tiny child in need of love and care. His light hazel eyes glossed over and filled up like tiny goblets of white wine.

“Yeah, Paw, we’re leaving. You’re coming home with me, where you belong…”

…One week later

“W
here’s the hot
sauce?”

“It’s on the table,” Zenith responded around a mouthful of bread. He passed the old man the half-empty and dried bottle of Frank’s Red Hot sauce, crusty deep orange running along the length of it from previous sloppy pouring. Paw unscrewed the cap and dumped bright red dollops of sauce all over his white chicken chili. One…two…three, four… The ivory beans, thick gravy, and green onions were soon slathered in the crimson stuff.

“Paw, that’s too much.” Zenith grabbed another piece of cornbread and stuffed it into his mouth.

“Don’t tell me what’s too much.” Paw waved his spoon in his direction, like some weapon to scoop some sense into him. “I’m the adult here, remember? You just keep your nose in the books and stay in school!” the man scoffed, his brows furrowed as he continued to pour liquid fire all over the chicken and beans, then stir it around for good measure.

“Paw, I’m an adult, too… been grown for a while now…”

Dementia is a bitch, and I hate her bitter, nasty ass…

“No you aren’t, you’re only twelve. We just went to Canada for the weekend and you…” The man paused, suddenly coming back into the here and now. He lowered his head, causing thick strands of silver hair to fall forward and rain upon the table, covering the sides of his face. He slowly placed the bottle of hot sauce down with a slightly shaky hand, never looking up. Refusing to make eye contact.

“I remember that Canada trip, Paw.” Zenith grinned, prepared to travel down memory lane. “It was fun; we had a good time.”

The man nodded, but kept his gaze averted, as if ashamed that he’d caught himself in a web of confusion.

“Paw, look at me.” Zenith stared at the man across from him. They looked so much alike.

He slowly lifted his head and offered a sad smile.

“It’s okay, alright? It’s okay.”

The man smiled a bit brighter, then picked up his spoon once more. Stirring the red sauce better into the thick chili, he raised the utensil to his mouth and took a hard swallow.

“Well, goddamn it, Zen! What did you put in this?!”

“What did
I
put in it? Are you serious? You’re playin’ me. I know you are.”

“This is not how I taught you to make chili! This shit’s too hot!” He grabbed his glass of cold cola, chock full of cubed ice, and gulped it down whole. The old man’s Adam’s apple was giving it ‘what for’ as the cool, carbonated brown liquid went to the hot land down under, hopefully extinguishing the flavorful flames. Zenith burst out laughing as he watched the antics play out. A second later, the guy vacated his seat, toppling his chair over in his haste to get to the restroom. He slammed the door behind him.

“Paw! I told you not to dump all that hot sauce on this chili! You knew what was best though, right?” Zenith teased, giving it to him. “’Boy! I’ve been eatin’ hot sauce since I was knee-high to a grasshopper!’ Remember that? ‘Stay outta your elders’ business!’” he goaded, imitating how his Paw would speak to him until his eyes welled with tears of mirth.

“It’s still burning! My throat feels like I drank a cup of gasoline!” the old man cried, causing Zenith to burst out laughing all over again.

He sat there for a moment or two, drifting away as he sipped his beverage and tapped his fingertips on the small dining room table covered in yellow linen. Zenith had taken two weeks off work to get his grandfather situated and look into elder assistance plans and homecare programs. He’d finally found a service within his price range, took Paw’s insurance, and was reputable. Despite being in a hurry, he feared jumping too soon, so he did his homework. He was prepared to do in-house nursing interviews that very day.

After the first day of his grandfather’s arrival, he took to making his home more accommodating and baby proofing it a bit, too. Paw had gotten clumsy in his old age, so he needed to take that into account. He’d gotten his guest room repainted, and his own, too. The third bedroom, a small one that could barely fit a bed, held his drum kit, the thing sitting untouched since the night he’d witnessed the incident. He was knee deep, entrenched in getting Paw’s life squared away and getting things in order.

He’d even purchased a hospital bed for the man, and that sure as hell cost a mint. Insurance only covered 20% of the price, but he managed. He was determined to do the place up just as he figured Paw would like it. The old man never said thank you, but he knew he enjoyed it; he’d caught him smiling a time or two while relishing his new rocking chair. Earlier in the week, he’d filled out his police report, contacted and hired an attorney the day after that, and submitted the video footage of the assault to the police and his new lawyer.

Now, he felt fatigued to the point he wasn’t certain if he could muster the strength to get through another day without some additional assistance—like coffee in an I.V., a super stimulant drink that would peel his eyes open non-stop for at least twelve hours, or something of the sort. He had none of those things, but he pushed forward. His mind was growing wings, threatening to fly away with the little resolve he had left and leave him in the lurches. Len didn’t show up the evening he was asked to do so; rather, he’d called and demanded details.

Zenith told him all right, and cursed him out, too… wasn’t any use in expecting a turd to be a diamond. What did the son of a bitch do? What he’d expected him to do—he purchased some hardbound books from a second hand store, a scant variety of vending machine snacks, and crossword puzzles for the man from his monthly disability check and walked into his home as if he were Santa Claus.

Zenith had asked his uncle to get Paw a new winter coat; the old one was far too large and missing buttons, but instead, the neglectful bastard ignored the request and showed up with whatever he wished. Zenith had duly marched him to the door where the ingrate had the boldness to ask for anything back that wasn’t consumed, torn up, or otherwise used. Pushing the fucker out, he slammed the thing in his face.

“You want some more to eat?” Zenith asked when Paw returned, his face clammy in appearance with a strange, reddish hue and wet from splashes of water. Taking his seat, the man ignoring him. “I can get you a new bowl, free of hot sauce.” Zenith got to his feet and scooped up his empty soda glass from the table, took a final swallow from the melted ice, and headed towards the sink.

“I haven’t finished this yet.”

“Oh, so you’re a daredevil tonight? You don’t care about your intestines at all, do you? Say goodbye to your colon then.”

“I’m not going to waste this food. It’s bad to waste food, you know? Just hand me some milk. That will take care of it.”

“Please don’t clog my toilet up again. It took me a while to get it straightened out this morning, and it was more of you than I ever wanted to see.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Paw said sheepishly, as he got back to swirling the fiery chili around with his spoon.

“You have to flush in between.” Zenith opened the refrigerator, retrieved the half-gallon container of two percent milk and poured the man an ice-cold glass of the stuff. He placed it on the table, and observed the guy take it to the head, followed by two spoonfuls of chili. Shaking his head in disbelief, he returned to the sink to wash the dishes. Just then, the doorbell rang.

“Okay, that must be the one o’clock interview. Be good, alright?” Zenith quickly dried his hands on a black and white checkered hand towel that hung in a crooked fashion from the lower sink cabinet.

“Be good? Don’t talk to me like that. I’m not some little boy!” The old man threw him a wild look, ready to give it to him once again.

“You can stop the drama and theatrics. You know exactly what I’m talking about.”