Pariah (23 page)

The crowd was well illuminated, Mona having affixed a high intensity dual-beam LED flashlight to the front of her cart. In the shockingly bright, cool white light, the faces of the undead looked
especially ghastly. Every deformity, every laceration, every cluster of rot underscored by deep dramatic shadows, like the ultimate campfire ghost-story teller. During the day the zombies kind of blended into an undifferentiated mass, but now, lit up in the dark, deep black shadows separating them like bold outlines in a woodcut, each one boasted a uniquely disturbing visage.

Alan fought the urge to grab a pencil and begin sketching, but he studied these specimens, making mental notes. One in particular caught his eye, a female with its head dangling backwards from some hideous past injury. Its deadened eyes stared up at him—or at least in his general direction—and Alan found himself craning his head upside down to make out the face.

Gerri!

“Holy shit,” Alan gasped. He’d wondered where she’d gotten off to and here was his answer.
When did this happen?
Before he could get dizzy he righted the angle of his head and looked again at Mona. Finally she glanced up and saw him in the window and gave a minimal wave. Alan gestured for her to stay put, then scampered into the bedroom and roused Ellen with an urgent whisper-hissed, “Mona’s back!”

Ellen lay there for a second or two, then sprang up like a jack-in-the-box.

“What?”

“Mona. She’s downstairs. We gotta help her unload the cart and get her back inside.”

Ellen bolted off the bed, stark naked, and made to get down to 2B.

“Uh, Ellen, honey?” Alan said, gesturing at his own nude body. Ellen took in her nakedness, then nodded and bolted back into the bedroom. Within seconds both had thrown on shorts and shirts and made for Mona’s dwelling. When they reached the front windows, Mona had changed position from last Alan saw her. She
now sat Indian-style on the roof of Dabney’s van, another flashlight in her lap, the beam fanning across S
ERVING
A
LL
F
IVE
B
OROUGHS
S
INCE
1979. She also held a brand-new length of Day-Glo pink mountaineering rope, which she tossed up to Alan, who tied it securely to the nearby standpipe.

Later Mona, Ellen, and Alan shared a round of warm Pepsi around the dining table, Mona sitting on the edge of her chair, her Hello Kitty backpack mashed against the backrest.

“This used to be the super’s apartment,” Alan said as a conversational gambit.

Mona nodded.

“That’s how come there was a rope here in the first place. Although I’m not quite sure what Mr. Spiteri used rope for.”

Mona shrugged, indifferent.

“Shouldn’t we tell the others that Mona’s back, safe and sound?” Ellen asked.

“If no one came to help, clearly they’re all still asleep. Let ’em rest,” Alan said. “They can enjoy a nice start to the day tomorrow.” Alan surveyed the piles of stuff Mona had brought back. “You really did an amazing job out there, Mona. Just great. Thank you.”

“Uh-huh.”

“No, seriously. You shouldn’t be so modest.”

“I’m not.”

“We were getting pretty worried, I don’t mind telling you, since you were gone so long,” Ellen added, gently grasping Mona’s hand. “Not that I mean to imply that we thought you should have been quicker,” she added. “Far from. We just were concerned.”

“Uh-huh,” Mona said.

Uh-huh
.

Alan got up from the table to inspect the loot.

Is it just me?
Ellen wondered. She looked at Mona’s blank, pretty face and tried not to stare, not that Mona would notice anyway. Mona, as per, had the headphones blasting away. From the tiny speakers Mona’s music always sounded fast and metallic, like angry insects devouring her brains via the ear canals. Maybe that was it. Maybe all the conservative pundits had been right. Maybe heavy metal, or whatever Mona was listening to,
did
cause brain damage. Maybe Mona had numbed herself with aggressive music as a way to cope with the harsh reality of the world. Maybe, maybe, maybe. But she was among friends now. Needy friends, admittedly, but friends nonetheless. Maybe she could wean Mona off the tunes—not cold turkey, no need for anything that dramatic, but some nice music to set the tone.
Oh my God
, Ellen thought.
I’m turning into my mother. What, some nice Barry Manilow? Some Ray Conniff? Some Yanni? Get a grip
.

“Check this out!” Alan cried as he held up a cardboard box. In the murk Ellen couldn’t make it out, so he elaborated. “It’s a solar camping lantern. How cool is that? She brought back one, two, three, four, holy smokes,
five
of the suckers.”

Clutching the box, Alan hastened back to the table and planted a big kiss on top of Mona’s head. Mona sort of half smiled and Ellen felt a pang of jealousy.
What the fuck?
she admonished herself.
Just stow that stupid shit, Ellen
. Taking his seat, Alan fished the slim, silvery rectangular lamp out of the box and squinted as he read the instructions by candlelight. “ ‘Recharging the battery from a completely discharged state takes about sixteen to eighteen hours in full sun.’ This baby gives up to seven hours on high on a full charge. I can read at night. I can work at night! How awesome is that? Tomorrow this baby goes up on the roof.”

“What makes you think they’re for you?” Ellen asked.

“Wha’ . . . Well, I, uh . . .”

“I’m just teasing, Al. Relax.”

“Oh. Oh, okay then.”

Ellen threw Alan a smile that was supposed to be reassuring but came off kind of askew. She was suddenly feeling a little mean.
Please tell me this isn’t jealousy
, she thought.
Please. I can’t be
that
stupid. That insecure. That stereotypically weak and womany
.

Alan was about to lavish more thanks on Mona, but he could see her eyes were closed and she was nodding in time to the music. It sounded like tuneful nu metal, and either the singer was female or male with a helluva falsetto. Alan looked over at Ellen whose own expression was cryptic at best. Before he blurted something he’d end up regretting, he sized up the situation as best he could. Two females, one hale and hearty, the other weak and wan. Ellen’s eyes were adrift and she was fidgeting, picking at her cuticles.

“Ellen?” Alan whispered. She looked over at him, her head turning in slow mo. “Ellen, you okay? What’s up? Aren’t you happy Mona’s back? And the haul? She rocked out. I mean, solar-powered lanterns? We didn’t even
think
of that. And check this out: walkie-talkies.” Alan tapped his temple with an index finger. “Smart cookie,” he said, bulging his eyes Eddie Cantor-style for comic effect. Mona opened her eyes and looked at Alan as he was making the gesture. She eased out an earbud. He felt his cheeks flush as he stammered out, “I was just remarking how savvy you were to get those solar lamps. Very cool, indeed. And I saw some freeze-dried grub, too. Outstanding.”

“Had ’em at the sporting goods place I got the rope from.”

Eyes heavy lidded and glassy with disinterest, Mona popped the buds back in and turned up the volume.

“Wow,” Alan said with a smirk, “I thought she’d never shut up.”

Eddie liked what he saw as he stood before the full-length mirror on the bedroom closet door. He liked it a lot. Nude, he turned to his left and assumed a bodybuilder’s pose, flexing his muscles, which were oiled with sweat, then turned to the right and did likewise. He’d taken the liberty of shaving his chest and stomach and he’d tweezed any stray hairs on his shoulders. He’d even shaved his pits and pubes. The sad excuses for men in the building had shaved their faces and Alan had gone so far as to have Ellen give him a haircut, but none of them, with the exception of Princess Dave, had physiques worthy of a full-body depilatory. Eddie knew he wasn’t quite there yet, but soon. In the last few weeks the surfeit of food the spooky chick had furnished filled him in nicely. He’d resumed a workout regimen and Zotz had resumed a respectful distance, his smart remarks all but disappeared. Sweet.

“Oh yeah,” Eddie grinned, rippling his abs. “Look at those pecs. Look at those delts.” He did a half pirouette and clenched and unclenched his buttocks. “And for the chef d’oeuvre, look at those glutes.
Marone
, what a sight to behold.” He gave them an appreciative
slap and then, with great reluctance, closed the closet door and stepped away.

His hair, deep black and long enough to wear in a ponytail, he now wore loose about his shoulders, Tarzan-like. He slipped on a pair of tight black Calvin Klein boxer briefs and espadrilles, and then stepped into the common hall. Sunlight directly overhead poured down through the skylight in the stairwell housing and he gleamed. He liked the others to see his return as resident Adonis, even though he didn’t know who the fuck Adonis was—just that he was buff and handsome as shit. Well fed and in fine fettle, the only thing lacking was
una bella fica
. Ellen was beginning to look totally doable again, but she was glued to that douche, Zotz. It was real fuckin’ adorable the way she latched onto that pencil-pushin’ pencil neck. Made him wonder if maybe she and Zotz had been canoodling while she was still married to good ol’ what’s-hisname.

Wouldn’t that be fuckin’ perfect?

Oh, it
totally
made sense, too. Artsy-fartsy Alan worked at home, made his own hours. Who better to have a fling with? She was on maternity leave—what a con. Have a baby, get paid to stay home and watch soaps. What a racket. Then, when it gets boring, snag a nanny and back to the grind. You get to be a professional woman and an amateur mom. Having the cake and eating it, too. Fuckin’ women. Eddie’s mom, whore though she was, knew her place was in the home. Maybe she took some extra deliveries of protein paste from the odd mailman or milkman, but she was a housewife. That’s what a woman should do once she decides to drop a litter. Tell that to these Upper East Side broads.
Well, now they’re all fuckin’ dead, so fuck ’em
.

Oh, how Eddie wished he could.

The spooky little chick made him uncomfortable, though. He’d tried to engage her in some friendly chitchat, but she seemed
bored. How rude was that? With those earbuds stuck in her jug ears. And yeah, her ears
were
fuckin’ big, too.

Eddie was beyond frustrated. That spooky little chick was always either nodding her head in tune with godawful noise—maybe he’d slip her a little Gino Vannelli—or out on errands. She was accommodating, he had to give her that. Any request and
voom
, off she went in search of. Yesterday Eddie had asked for one of those little travel DVD players and she’d brought back enough for everyone, which maybe made it seem a little less special to him, but so be it.
How fuckin’ fun must that be?
he wondered.
Going into any store and boosting any shit you want? Shoplifting heaven!
With the DVD player he now had a reason to return to his old digs to retrieve his impressive porno stash. If he couldn’t have the real thing he’d make do with some hot viddies.

He wanted to tap that ass, but you don’t shit where you eat.

Or fuck where you eat.

Something like that. The time would come. She was a weirdo but she wasn’t blind. Eddie remembered a TV special about this special kind of chimps called bonobos and how they had a pecking order. The top males had priority mating rights. The bonobos preferred fucking to fighting, but the males spent a lot of time intimidating their rivals for female affection. Eddie was an alpha all the way. She’d see that. Females always came around to the alpha. Soon enough he’d have the spooky chick and Ellen Swenson. He just had to play it smart.

As he mounted the steps, the old bitch in 5A stepped into the hall and let out a grizzled gasp as she took in his buffness. Though it creeped him out a little, he liked the thought that she’d have his physique scorched into her psyche. Imagine the horror she’d feel looking at herself by comparison. Or her shriveled, impotent husband. Hilarious.

“Can’t you have the decency to put on some clothes?” she scolded.

As he passed by he stooped over, jutting his noggin like he was going to give the old bag a head butt. She flinched in terror and he sniggered. “Just messin’ with ya,
ma’am
,” he said. “Chill. Why do I gotta put clothes on, anyway? It’s hot as hell and so am I.”

She clucked and retreated into her dwelling, locking the door behind her. It was so unfair that the females in this building were all so lame. Old and wrinkled. Brain-dead and spooky. Kinda hot but taken.
Taken
. Now that Ellen was looking kind of nice again it just ate away at Eddie that a little weasel like Zotz was keeping all that lovin’ to himself. Wasn’t it just like a Jew to hoard the precious? Zotz. That was Jewish, right? Of course it was. And in the meantime, here was Eddie, fitter than them all, plodding upstairs to cut across the roofs to get his porn. No justice.

Eddie pounded open the door to the roof with the flats of his palms, earning a startled yelp from Dabney. Good. Eddie liked spooking the spook. Reminded him of past glories. Eddie remembered one night in particular that gave him pleasure but also chafed his balls. Pleasure was the fact that he and some buddies had beaten the holy hell out of a couple of wayward niggers who’d strayed into Bensonhurst and were trying to make time with a couple of the local girls—nice
Italian
girls. Well, not
nice,
exactly, but Italian. Annoyance was because it never made the news. No use crying over spilled blood, especially when there wasn’t enough of it. At least he’d gotten away clean. Going to jail would have sucked, big time.