GRIND (The Silver Nitrate Series Book 1) (8 page)

Soon, they were in front of her apartment building. Clara opened the passenger side door and placed one barely stable foot out and then the other. She’d definitely drunk too much, but Silver expected nothing less. She was the designated driver after all, vowing to let the woman ‘get her life’ while she chilled in the background of insouciance. Clara looked back in her direction, her purse swinging to and fro as she brandished a silly grin.

“Call me when you get home, okay?” She paused, her knocked knees turned inward making her look as if she were trying to walk a tightrope and failing.

“Yeah, I’ll call you. You fix yourself some coffee, okay?” Silver smirked as she leaned over the passenger seat, waiting to roll the window back up.

“I don’t need no coffee! I’m fine!” The woman giggled nonsensically as she made it up the few concrete stairs into the apartment building.

Silver sat there for a moment or two, brought the passenger’s side window up, then leaned back in her seat. She closed her eyes when an uncomfortable coolness took hold of her flesh, down to the damn bones. She’d tried to have a good evening, move on, grip the new day—but things had gone awry. As she reflected over the evening, she recalled falling into a strange mesmerizing spell as some Native Indian man, with long, dark hair beat the living life out of some drums. His muscular, tattooed arms moved in blurred motion and that damn hair danced about like waves of ebony silk, stirred by the breeze from an overhead fan. He could play his ass off… and she’d fallen down and prayed to each pummel and beating he administered. And then… she saw him staring at her. At first, she liked it, but feelings of guilt sprinkled lightly with flashes of anger crept within her.

A bit later when she saw him approaching her, she grew a bit excited, and hated that feeling, too. For she knew, no matter what his motives, his slick words, sarcasm, or if he’d come to her as the son of God himself, she would have shot him down like enemy number one. She didn’t know why she felt compelled to be so cold… and why she relished the way Clara tried to light into him. She’d remained silent while the two quarreled, hoping the lady would put him in his place, but he ended up being just as snarky and vicious; in fact, worse…
much
worse.

Maybe it was wishful thinking, but she could see a bit of hurt in his eyes, almost as if they’d connected on some unseen level; and she wanted the association broken and destroyed before the circuits had a chance to completely fuse and boot up. There was such intensity in his black, almond-shaped eyes… a poignant depth, a been here and been there sort of feel. She saw something in him in that split second, and it was so hard to explain, so damn unnerving; so much so, she was ecstatic when he finally gave up, turned and walked away.

Yet, disappointment had set in at that moment, too…

I can’t have it both ways. I don’t know him, and I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I want to get over the past, move forward, and yet, I keep one foot in the present day and one foot on ancient news. I can’t seem to break free…

She sat up and started the car. Pulling away from the curb, she made her way down the semi-desolate street. Raindrops began to fall against her car, harder and harder. Silver turned on the windshield wipers and cracked the window so she could smell the air. She loved the smell of rain; it did something to her spirit…calmed her. Feeling the night air grab her, creating an unnerving chill against her skin, she fought feelings of relaxation and anxiety, all at once. She didn’t dare turn on the heat; she wanted to feel the coolness, the kiss of death, the hug of the non-living.

He’s gone. He’s dead. And I could have prevented it… so I deserve to be cold, too…

“I
don’t believe
this shit.” Zenith gritted his teeth as he grabbed his car keys from his locker and slid on his black bomber jacket, the damn lining covered in ratty lint balls. Eager to leave, he hightailed it out of the sweatshop an hour early.

The overtime had gotten good to him, so much so, he was saving up for a trip to go somewhere exotic and interesting, preferably warm with scantily clad women. He wasn’t certain where yet; perhaps Rio de Janeiro or Barbados… Japan wasn’t quite warm enough however. He drifted off into island and sand daydreams, anything to keep him distracted.

His emerald green Chevrolet Silverado was parked in such a fashion, it took up two parking spaces and flirted dangerously with a third. He was called an asshole and prick on a weekly basis for doing such a thing, but if anyone scratched his precious truck, they’d find out that his asshole powers weren’t a myth, but a true blue reality.

“Damn it!” he muttered to himself as he slid onto the driver’s seat and kicked on the heat. He’d made several calls to his Uncle Len, trying to figure out what the hell was going on to no avail. He tried one more time for good measure…

“Yo, Lenny, it’s Zenith, man.” Putting the cell phone on speaker, he maneuvered out of the parking lot, making his way to Interstate-81. “I’m leavin’ like my third voicemail now. Where the hell are you? Anyway, Grandpa called me again, talkin’ crazy. Why don’t you ever answer his calls? I can’t keep leaving work early like this to keep up with his crazy ass. Call me back, man. I need you to pull your weight!” He ended the call and continued along his way until he was front and center at Loretto Community Residences.

He exited the car, his sturdy black work boots hitting the uneven pavement. His nose wrinkled as he inhaled the strong odor of cat piss. The damn things hoarded around the place like zombies at some brain factory. The old people kept feeding the funky strays against administrative orders and pleas. They’d sneak out with their walkers, lean out windowsills, and move about clutching canes, throwing tidbits of stale bread, remnants of uneaten tuna salad, and hard candies that were sure to turn feline intestines into a science experiment gone wrong.

“Get tha fuck outta here!” He shooed one away that approached him in a hip hop manner, its matted, shit brown fur bristled up as it sidestepped in its predatory swag. It looked at him out of its one good eye, the other coated in light green glop. “I can hiss, too!” He kicked at the thing, forcing it to finally retreat. With both hands, he pushed the glass front doors open and stepped inside, immediately accosted with the scent of lemon pledge, the stench of vomit and the sounds of some cheesy electronic music reminiscent of the Carpenters song, ‘Close To You’.

He rounded a corner and made his way to his grandfather’s room. His annoyance grew limbs and got ready to reach out and touch someone. When he walked inside the space, the man’s bed was empty.

“Paw!” he called out.

The parchment colored sheets were disheveled, and a magazine lay sprawled face down amid them. Zenith cast his attention to the television that played low in the background.

“Lifetime? Why in the hell is Lifetime on? Paw!” Zenith called out again as he looked about the room. “Paw, where are you?!” He called out once again, stepping into the hallway. On a huff, he made his way up to the front desk. “Yeah, I’m lookin’ for Hiawatha Taylor.”

The slender blond nurse behind the counter, clad in black and white skull and bones scrubs, began to type into the computer as she widened her mouth in a yawn. “He’s in room—”

“No.” Zenith waved his hand at her in frustration. “I know what room he’s in. I come to visit him here at least three times a week. I’ve seen you many, many times…” He looked down at her, certain his disappointment in her inattentiveness was etched along his face. All he got in response was a vacant blue stare. “He’s not in his room. I need to know where he is right now.”

She looked down at her computer once again, as if on the verge of falling asleep. “Well… I’m not sure. He doesn’t have dance class or anything right now.”

“Thanks, you’ve been real helpful.” He stormed off, making plans to go into the cafeteria and catch the man in there but, as he passed the room again, he heard a grunting noise… and then another. He cautiously re-entered, and immediately placed his hand over his nose.

“Damn! Paw, are you in there?” He pointed at the closed bathroom door as if it were the entrance to Hell… it sure smelled like it.

“Zen, is that you?” the old man called out before flushing the john.

“Yes! Are you alright?”

“They’re tryna poison me, Zen!” the man said before a series of shuffling noises ensued. “Gave me some beans… gave me the shits!”

Zenith sat on the edge of the bed and glanced listlessly at the television now featuring a car commercial.

“I should have known something was wrong! They smelled like Lysol! They sprayed Lysol on my beans, Zen!”

“Paw, nobody sprayed Lysol on your beans,” Zenith muttered, crossing his arms. “Why are you makin’ trouble? You know I had to leave work to come over here, right?”

Suddenly he heard another toilet flush, the bathroom door flung open, and the 5′10 elder emerged. He held his shaky chin high, not a care in the world that a fog of funk now surrounded him like they were one and the same. His thick, silver hair was pulled back in a taut ponytail. Strands of black sprinkled throughout the mane. He dragged his weathered hand, covered in age spots, across his face as if he’d just awakened.

“I’m not makin’ trouble.
They
’re makin’ trouble.”

“Why didn’t you call Len?”

His grandfather paused, grimacing. Flipping the sheets back, he settled between the linens on an exhausted sigh.

“Len got his own thing goin’ on.”

“And I don’t? Len is your son, Paw. He isn’t even workin’ right now. He has nothing but time on his hands. And didn’t you buy him a car a couple years ago?”

“Yes…”

“You done blew up my cell phone with all your hysterical calls and then I get over here, and all that’s goin’ on is you in the bathroom takin’ a dump!” Zenith pointed to the ajar door through which the stench kept drifting, refusing to go away anytime soon.

“Blew up your phone? I didn’t blow up your phone, or nothing else for that matter! Someone bombed your phone?” The man looked genuinely concerned. Zenith lowered his head and shook it. “I was trying to tell you I’ve been poisoned!” the old man blurted as if now Zenith would finally understand his pain, his anguish, his point of no return. He then tossed his robe open.

“Awwww, Paw!” Zenith grimaced at sight of him naked. “Put it back on!”

“No! I need to show you somethin’. Come on over here.”

“I don’t want to see whatever it is you want me to see. Let me just take your word for it.” Saggy skin hung from the old man’s limbs; his complexion had an ashen cast.

“I used to be a nice looking stud, but I got old, and one day you will, too!”

“No Paw, I’m going to stay this good lookin’ forever,” Zenith teased.

The old man rolled his light brown, heavily hooded eyes and pointed to a deep purplish bruise along his inner thigh. Zenith tried to not catch a glimpse of the long, wrinkled scrotum that was in full view, a few wiry white hairs sticking out like rabbit whiskers along the thing…

“Look!”

“What happened, Paw?”

“That nurse roughed me up. She manhandles me, tosses me around.”