GRIND (The Silver Nitrate Series Book 1) (4 page)
He opened the bulky doors, exposing the crew of about twelve guys in various positions, their helmet-covered faces dipped in both shadow and light. Ocher flames burst in heated flares as sleek, shiny sheets of metal moved under thickly gloved fingers. He approached his gray locker, grabbed his Scott pack, and then made his way over to a rather desolate area covered in blueprints.
Damn, I didn’t get my coffee…
He took his seat anyhow, pulling up to a stack of sheet metal. Rummaging through a container of burning nozzles, he got what he needed then grabbed his flip lens helmet, Hitachi, and angle grinder, ripped and ready to go.
“Yo, Zenith!” his co-worker Andrew called from across the room over all the racket.
“Sup?”
“You got any vice grip clamps over there? I left mine in the truck.”
“Yeah, man. I don’t need ’em right now.”
“Cool, I’ll get ’em in a few minutes. Thanks.”
“No problem.” Zenith turned away and placed on his ear protectors. He glided his hand over the metal before donning his gloves, enjoying the coolness and sleekness of the material against his fingers. He couldn’t quite describe the sensation. Something about it reminded him of a lady… damn near erotic. Moments later, his eyes and face were shrouded, protected by his helmet as his body was subjected to tremendous heat. Sparky flames ignited, radiant in the semi-darkness, glowing and exploding like fireworks. It was hard work, brutal work… and he loved every heated, harsh, and punishing moment of it…
“O
h my God.
Really, Silver? Look at you. You’re filthy!” Clara screamed as she stretched her long, amber legs along the black couch and pressed her thumb indignantly on the remote control button. One of her shoes, the marigold and strawberry jam striped high heeled ones, pivoted on the edge of her bare foot, teetering just so.
“Relax. It won’t take me long to get ready. Just ten minutes, tops.” Silver made her way over to her small kitchen sink brimming with dishes caked in dried pasta sauce from her hastily made food earlier in the evening. The basin was predominantly filled with coffee mugs though, and she internally shook her head upon the realization that she’d been drinking far more than usual.
It had been a long ass day, filled with nothing but redundant and stale meetings at her job at Take-Two Interactive Technologies. She’d updated the bugs out of a software program that another bastard had created but then left her holding the bag once the complaints rolled in about glitches. Pushing work out of her mind once again, she attempted to concentrate on the task at hand but was soon distracted by hints of the city coming alive. The noises from the metropolis permeated her house, her small oasis away from it all.
“I don’t want to go to this shit in the first damn place,” she mumbled. Catching her reflection in the sink faucet, she paused. Her sable, woolly, hair was almost the exact same color as her skin… black and soft. She slid a dirty finger caked with motor oil along her chin, examining herself. With a shrug, she punched the soap dispenser hard, forcing white, frothy dollops of promised cleanliness to come her way…
She cast a brief glance over her shoulder at all the scattered bike parts chucked around her kitchen floor, some gleaming, showing off their luminous chrome finish, while others sat congealed in layers of grime. The motor to her Suzuki Marauder GZ125 was reduced to dirty bits and mangled pieces, but she refused to let the damn thing go without a fight.
Giving her hands a good shake, she snatched the bleach-stained pear-colored dishtowel from the handle and rubbed the material over her hands, the thin cotton forgiving against her calloused, hardened palm. For a split second, her unyielding thick skin reminded her of herself. She slowed as she glared at her image once more in the spout reflection, then back at her hand.
On a huff, she tossed the towel down and marched to the back of her house to grab the scraggly, threadbare fabric of her oversized Angie Stone concert t-shirt, circa 2014, and fling it to the ground. She sprang the shower spigot on and as it began to heat, she made haste to undress. Reaching for her low-rise jeans button that reached to just below her pierced navel, she undid it and tossed the dark denim garment to the alabaster tiled floor. As if the thing had called her name in a haunting game of ‘mirror mirror on the wall’, she turned towards the glass bath enclosure as it began to fog up with steam.
She imagined this must be what London looked like on cool mornings, then smirked at how her mind was wandering from place to place, bit by bit. The vapor filled the space, almost touching her body, tickling her bare flesh like a plumose kiss. Being enveloped in its embrace soothed her, enticed her with promises of momentary solitude. Now she stood face to face with herself, willingly drowning in a fog. Surrounding her was a cloud of light graphite smoke, travelling all around her like the exhale of an angel. In a matter of seconds, she could no longer see herself as the humid cloud consumed her, so she stepped back a few paces until her bare feet sank into the ruffled, jade green toilet rug.
With the heel of her foot, she skimmed the sad little hole the size of a quarter she’d had to cut through with a pair of sharp sheers after an unfortunate incident involving a wad of gum and a glass of wine one strange, not so distant evening. Grabbing her cream panties at the sides, she pulled downward so they slid like rain trailing her foot and pooled softly around her ankles. Lifting her feet, she stepped out of them, happy to be free from the damn things. Her bra was soon to follow.
She stepped into the shower and placed both hands on the wall up ahead, her palms rested against the slick aquamarine green tiles. The almost scorching water comforted and pacified her, mercifully baptizing her flesh. Slowly closing her eyes, she fell into a soft peace, unwinding in the quiet of the room, ignoring the slight tremble of her body as it worked against her. Her bones howled and moaned, dared to tell the truth, while her mouth remained pursed and on mute. Her hair became heavier and heavier against her back, the curl pattern relaxing ever so slightly from the heavy saturation.
But then, she was reminded she’d not escaped. A shiver wracked her. No use in denying it any longer. The world was so much different than she’d known it not so long ago. She’d been betrayed, and the truth burst out. The truth… Does the truth simply have to be known or spoken? Either way, she hadn’t told a soul how her life was falling apart…
Not her best friend Clara, not her mama, not her brothers or sisters or anyone she gave a damn about. Matter of fact, she’d pushed the mess away since the moment she’d found out, and weeks had turned into months while she carted her pain around in secret, in denial, scoffing at the question asked time and time again, ‘Are you okay?’
But the soul wants what the soul wants, and it demanded a moment of her time now that it had her all alone, here, washing her dirty little sins away…
A tear streaked her face, soon lost in a torrential stream of anguish. Another, and another, and another fell down, but she kept quiet, kept her peace as flashes of her past broke into her serenity. David, her first love, was dead…
Sure, she’d attended his funeral, stood stone-faced and placed flowers upon his grave as they lowered his body, clad in an elegant slate suit, down into the cold, dark ground. She’d even attended the church dinner and smiled and gave hugs, refusing to be called a damn widow, for their marriage had been over eons ago. They’d simply remained friends, remained cordial… remained connected in every sense of the word. Another memory flash grabbed her while the hot water continued to make a fool of her; the tears were gaining ground, dodging the raining bullets…
It seems like Fran just called me yesterday… like it just happened… It’s… fresh…
Her mother-in-law had called her, let her know her only son had been shot, riddled with bullets, and no one knew who the hell had done it. They’d left her ex-husband rotting in his damn Honda civic for days, parked on the side of the road like abandoned trash. Only when a parking meter officer stopped by, prepared to write a ticket, was the grisly scene discovered—after two days of searching and calls to police from a frantic, over-protective mother who’d been blown off by the authorities. No one cared about David, right? He was no good… a user… a loser… an ex-drug dealer down on his luck… A fatherless soul, just another black man caught up in the system. No one saw the God in him, but they sure as hell saw the Devil…
Her stomach knotted with urgency and queasiness all at once, turning her chopped and screwed world upside down on its wobbly, worm-eaten axis. The emotions broke free as she rested her forehead against the wall, mouth open and sobbing the hurt away. Her body writhed with the pain of tears spent in his honor. What brought this on? What made her buckle? Perhaps it was the motorcycle… Yes, that made sense. He’d purchased it for her so long ago and now it was broken down, gasping for breath… not living… dying… dying… dying…
I have to keep it alive…
No, David had not been perfect; more times than not he was a son of a bitch, but he was
her
son of a bitch. He was the
first
man she’d trusted, the first man to understand her and accept her for who she was with no questions asked. He loved that she was clever, and respected her right to love rock music, black girl status and all. She fit into no boxes and played by few rules, and that was okay in his book.
And he’d delighted in her flesh, overdosed on her beauty and called her his personal ‘Sunrise’. Then, one day, he’d turned and ruined their love affair… and the sun had to set…
He crushed her heart with the heavy weight of bad choices rolled tight in the folds of actions and consequence. The man had gotten into things she couldn’t co-sign on, so she left him where he stood after one too many warnings he refused to heed. They’d been young and in love, but she grew up and became wiser, while David digressed and fell prey to a mentality that sucked his soul, leaving a corpse in its wake. She never regretted walking away, despite how she loved him to heaven and back. She knew he loved her, too; but, he had some hunger she couldn’t feed, some thirst she couldn’t quench, and some desires that weren’t on her damn radar…
“Damn you!” She pounded the tiled wall, and her hand stung from the force.
Now, she could never tell him ever again how she loved him in spite of himself… that though they’d been divorced for two years, he was
still
her best friend. He gave the greatest advice, but couldn’t and wouldn’t save his own damn self if his life depended upon it.
No one could replace him. Nobody could come close to David. He was just that special, important, and worthy, but she’d been hurt… oh, so hurt. Her heart had hardened over time. She’d refused to take his calls a few days prior to his murder and the one she did accept, would haunt her for the rest of her days. Because of this, guilt came stomping her way and snatched her ass up in it’s tight grip the night she got the awful news several months ago. He’d called her, begging to come over, slurring his words, screaming and carrying on.
“David! I’m sick and tired of this shit! No! You can’t come over. You’re drunk again. You need help, you know that?!”