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Monday, November 14, 2005

FOUR: FEAR AND ANGER





The fridge handle digs into my back as Halitosis gets in my face. The Gorilla stands behind him watching.

You learn in jail is when to fight and when to take the shit and stay cool. Right now I'm out numbered. Nobody is going to back me up on this play. I decide it's a good time to 'stay cool'.

I guess most people hate being scared unless it's one of those crazy sports like sky diving or shark baiting where getting the shit scared out of you is why people do it.

One thing I especially hate is a scary surprise-like this. I knew a guy one who had cancer and was going to die soon. He was like a saint with a big smile on his face all the time. He was nice and kind to everyone. He'd been scared so long he'd either gone nuts or found some way to let it go.

I try reasoning with Halitosis.

"I didn't find anything," I tell him. "Have a look around if you want."

Sweat runs down my forehead and into my eyes.

Halitosis turns to the Gorilla. "Hear that Joey, the Super says we can look around." He has a cold nasty laugh.

I'm getting tired of this shit. I feel myself starting to get angry. I'm not a big guy. Still in good shape for a guy who'll never see 40 again. Wiry is how I've heard myself described. I haven't got a lot of bulk but what's there is hard as rock.

Halitosis notices the jail house tattoo on my right fore arm. It seemed like a good idea at the time.

"You look like one of those little punks who gives good head in the can," playing with me now.

I feel the blood coming up into my face.

"He look like a cocksucker to you Joey?"

Joey nods. He seems a bit uncomfortable with the topic.

"Would you let lover boy here chew on your knob?"

"Probably not," Joey says, but he doesn't seem certain.

Halitosis whips around to look at his companion. "What do you mean probably not?"

"Not unless I was in jail!"

"You just got out of jail!"

"That's what I mean!"

Halitosis shakes his head in disgust. Then he turns back to me. He hands me a slip of paper.

"That's my cell number. Call me if our merchandise shows up."

My shoulders drop and I take a deep breath as they walk to the door. Halitosis stands there a second with his hand on the handle and turns to me.

"You better look around real hard super or maybe we'll come back and pay a visit to that little wife of yours with the cane and gimp leg."

The door closes and I exploded. I run to the toolbox and grab my hammer. I'm going to kill both of those fucking scumbags.

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Paul Corman

Tuesday, November 01, 2005

THREE: TROUBLE





The two cops do a quick look around apartment 602. They toss the closets and look under the stained mattress. They seem disappointed that I'm right. The smell is garbage and rotted food, not a dead body.

The place is a mess but fortunately the tenant wasn't here long enough to properly trash the place. There's a black hand print on a kitchenette cupboard. The two big cops stand with their heads together checking it out. Their bulk fills the little cooking area. They finally decide it's not blood.

As they leave, the cop with donut sugar on his tie gives me his card. Detective Sergeant Ian Small 52 Division. I spent a couple of nights in their fine establishment when I was younger. I don't mention that to him. They'll find out easy enough if they want to.

I call Property Management and explain the situation. They tell me to go ahead and clean the place up. I haul six bags of garbage to the Dumpster. The furniture and kitchen stuff goes in the storage area in the basement. I'll keep it another month in case 602 makes a reappearance. From past experience I figure that's not going to happen.

The carpet cleaner come early the next morning. I leave the windows and balcony door open drying the place out. The apartment has an excellent view to the east and I stand out on the balcony smoking a doobie to motivate my creative side. The Maples and Ailanthus trees are changing in Cabbage Town and down along the Don Valley. The dark golds and reds are saturated and brooding under an overcast sky.

I do some painting in the kitchen. Just before one o'clock Denise calls my cell and tells me she's made some lunch.

I sit beside her in the second bedroom, eating a sandwich while she works. She's had a busy morning, logging some hours. She's chatting to three different guys at the same time her fingers flying quickly across the keyboard.

Up in the corner of the screen are three little boxes showing the live cam girls she's using. Guy number one is asking Denise to take off her bra. Denise speaks to one of the live-cam girls, who's listening to her on a conference box. A second later she's thrusting her tastefully augmented tits at the screen. I look at my watch. It's 1:30 PM. I guess some guys have all day to jerk off.

Denise and I chat for a few minutes between customers. Planning the weekend. Maybe a drive out to Pickering to see her son. Spend some time with his family and get our fill of young kids.

I know there is something wrong as soon as I step back into 605. It isn't anything I can put my finger on until I notice that the ladder has been moved away from the cupboard I was painting. Someone has searched the place.

They've been waiting in the bedroom. The one in charge is short and has that little guy attitude. His big friend probably looked like he could kill without a thought even when he was a baby.

I'm about to say something when the little guy gets right in my face and backs me up against the fridge. "We're friends of Johnny Morgan, the guy who used to live here," he says. "You remember him?"

I nod my head yes trying not to let my fear show. He has bad teeth and his breath stinks. Probably a plus when you're in the intimidation business.

"We think our friend left something behind when he moved out. Maybe you came across it while you was cleaning, eh!"


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Paul Corman