Chapter Two: Got Ninety-Nine Problems
Akira swiped the alarm and fell back into bed with his arm draped over his face.
He was slightly hung over. Matt hadn't gotten on Live until almost eight and they ended up playing until well after midnight, and Akira had just been grabbing beer after beer until they were done. He wasn't even sure how many he'd downed, though it hadn't seemed like that many last night.
Second chirp, second swipe.
A sour burp escaped him and he grimaced, feeling bile move up his throat. He'd ordered a pizza for himself and knew it was a bad idea, but he was the kind of guy that did what felt right at the time and dealt with the consequences when they came.
Third chirp—get your butt out of bed.
He opened the door, let Steve in, and lit up a smoke. David had already texted him and Akira rolled his eyes at the message. He'd already forgotten about the gym thing and was regretting it this morning. Never a fan of meatheads, Akira was about to be mingling in their headquarters. He might even run into a few of the old football players from high school, and, well, wait. Would that be so bad? He was the skinny guy who'd grown up to be Fabio, after all. They'd probably be jealous. Nice. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad after all.
He walked into the bathroom.
The shower came on and started spurting in bursts. Great. The water pressure was going haywire again. Akira hated his landlords and was fully expecting to get kicked out at the end of his lease. He'd signed a clause when he moved in that said he wouldn't smoke in the apartment, knowing full well he'd be doing it nonstop, and they were not happy about it. They'd already told him he wouldn't be getting his thousand dollar security deposit back because of it, so he figured, why stop now? He'd basically already paid for it.
'My name is Lester Burnham. This is my neighborhood; this is my street; this is my life. I am 42 years old; in less than a year I will be dead. Of course I don't know that yet, and in a way, I am dead already.'
He tripped on his way back to the bedroom and almost burned himself in the face with his cigarette. "Dammit, Steve!"
Akira looked down at the cute black furball with shiny green eyes that was the closest thing to a kid he would ever have, and felt sorry for falling over him. He reached down and petted his friend. "I'm sorry, I love you, little dude."
He noticed the book underneath the cat, and realized he'd totally forgotten about it once he got home the night before. Guilt entered him for not even trying to read it. Oh well, at least I tried to try reading it. At least I could say I went to the library and am a cultured kind of guy. Shit, maybe I could even impress Taka and tell him I'm reading some fine Japanese literature. He'd probably get a kick out of that one.
He thought better of it, put the cigarette out in the ashtray, and went into the bathroom to achieve the highlight of his day.
Matt was helping him out with the final math on his order and Akira was singing along to his speakers. "I got ninety-nine problems, but a bitch ain't one!" Collision Course by Linkin Park and Jay-Z. It was his very favorite album.
Akira bounced up and down in his office chair to the music.
"Stop it, I'm trying to think," Matt muttered near Akira's shoulder, furiously erasing one line of numbers on the page with his pencil and starting to write in another.
"I hate that song," Jennifer added. "I wish you'd listen to music that doesn't suck."
"That's because you're a bitch and you ain't one of my problems," Akira replied while looking over at Matt's numbers and popping them into the computer in front of him.
"I think Taka screwed up the original numbers on this," Matt sighed while running his finger along the page. He frowned at Akira. "Why couldn't you just do this yourself?"
Akira closed his eyes and smiled at his friend, "If you're having girl problems, I feel bad for you, son…"
"…I got ninety-nine problems, but a bitch ain't one!" They sang in unison.
"Seriously, stop it," Jennifer yelled at them.
Akira flipped the bird and looked back over at the page in front of the screen. "Matt, I asked, because the margins are off and I am way too hung over to try to figure out where this whole thing went wrong. You owe me a flavor, boy, because I seriously saved your ass like a billion times last night."
"So what? I pull your ass out of the fryer all the time and that raid was a disaster anyways. That's what you get when they pair you up with ten-year -olds that don't know their own dick from a controller and then they go cry to their mommas and rage-quit on you."
Akira sighed and pulled the paper away from Matt and stared at the numbers in front of him. "I think the whole thing is wrong. I'm going to have to go back into the system and pull all the original costs and re-do the margins myself. This is a pile of heaping dog shit."
Matt pointed at the clock in the corner of the screen. "You've got about half an hour to figure out this pile of eighty-thousand-dollar-dog shit, and then dispatch is going to turn you down on getting this thing through in time to ship today."
"Pfft. I'll just send it to Keith and he'll make sure it gets on the truck. He owes me hardcore."
"Akira, you think everybody owes you hardcore," Jennifer whined.
"I said, I got ninety-nine problems but a bitch ain't one." He wagged his finger at her.
Matt shook his head and turned away. "You're on your own, man. I'm not going to be the one to tell Taka this thing didn't get on the truck and that you're saying he fucked it up in the first place."
"It's cool, it's cool," Akira replied. "Don't transfer me any calls for like, the next hour," he said loudly to everyone around him. "If anybody asks for me, just tell them I'm putting out someone else's flaming pile of dog shit." He leaned over and grinned at Jennifer while slipping on a pair of headphones. "Or, that I'm out banging Jennifer over by dispatch."
The last thing he heard before he put the headphones over his ears was Julie giving out a disgusted cry. Jennifer covered her face in her hands.
In all seriousness though, Akira was ready to strangle Taka right now. He had trusted Taka's math the day before and didn't even bother to imagine that his numbers could have been wrong. They never were with Taka. Management had approved Taka's discount after he'd already left for the day. Akira entered the order with the data Taka had provided and had figured it was a done deal. But when he got in this morning, he got a nastygram from accounting that the margins were way off what had been approved and that the order had to be redone before it could be sent to dispatch for shipping and invoicing. Akira had wanted to walk into Taka's office and confront him about it, but Taka wasn't in.
It was bullshit, and Akira was wondering if Taka hadn't jacked it up on purpose just to screw him over. He was so sure of Taka always being right that he had even called Matt over to double-check when he saw for himself just how off it was. Matt was a huge pain in his ass, but he was really quite the math whiz. Akira saw him as a close second in smarts as far as the office went, and certainly a distant second on overall good looks and witting charm. A good wingman for sure, but eventually Akira would have to pound him into the ground over the whole Fabio thing. Matt must have said it ten times last night on Live. It was pointless. The morons they were playing with didn't even know who Fabio was.
Akira went through every line and re-did the math, sure he was right this time. His numbers were worlds away from Taka's original numbers, and he wondered how the man could have been so far off. Where was he getting his information from, anyways?
Thanks, man. Thanks. You jack this up on purpose and ditch me with your mess so you can go screw your little Geisha girl. All the way into the morning, even. Over being fifteen minutes late from a fucking freight train.
Part of him was a little jealous, to be honest. But part of him was always a little jealous of Taka.
He'd missed the mark to send the order to dispatch by half an hour, so Akira figured it would probably be best to drive to the shipping area and ask Keith in-person to save his skin. It was an excuse to have a smoke on the way, plus he'd get a few minutes with Keith, plus Taka would owe him hardcore, plus he had a chance to get out of the office. Away from Julie.
It was always weird walking into dispatch from the office, because everyone there was in T-shirts and jeans, and in the office it was business-casual, though more business and less casual since Taka had been in charge. The guys in dispatch liked to harass Akira because of his long hair, and dispatch was the original source of his Fabio scourge to begin with. He'd pissed off the manager royally a few years back, the manager made "Fabio" his new word for "Akira", and that'd been his name on this side of the company ever since.
Not with Keith, though, so Akira wasn't worried as he pushed open the glass door to the concrete office.
"Yo, Keith, you get my email?"
Keith swung around in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. He stroked his bushy beard and glared at Akira.
"They're loading it now. We're probably going to get hit with extra charges from the shipping company because now they're going to have to stay and wait while we crate this whole thing up. Why the heck did you wait so long to send an order this big?"
Akira pulled out the chair next to Keith and sat in it backwards, overlapping his arms over the back and resting his head over them. His bangs fell into his face.
"Wasn't my fault, I told you that. This was Taka's fuckup. But the bitch of it is that he put me in charge of the whole thing, so it'd be my ass on the line if it didn't get on the truck." He lowered his voice and did his best Taka imitation. "This needs to arrive in California by seven A M."
Keith waved Akira off. "If your ass is on the line, go out and help the guys load it on the truck."
"Naaaah," Akira waved back. "I'm dressed up way too nice for that."
"You dress like shit."
"You love me."
"I know. I have a gay thing for you, Fabio. So is that why you came all the way down here to see me?"
Akira wiggled back and forth in the chair, its wheels squeaking on the ground. "Not really. I seriously need to make sure this thing gets on the truck, so I figured I'd go see the man-with-the-plan in person to show just how much he really means to me."
"You're just here because Taka's not there to bitch you out for ditching the office."
"Well, that too."
"So you want to go out tonight for a beer? Blackhawks are playing."
"Nope. Going to the gym with my bestie tonight."
Keith raised a bushy eyebrow. "That sounds really gay."
Akira sighed. "And it totally is. But David's my boy and I promised him I'd go for the last two days, so I figure I'm just going to suck it up and go."
"I figured you were already a gym rat. A closet gym rat, since you never talk about it, which I dearly respect, being the general fat fuck that I am, but a gym rat just the same."
"Nope. Never been to one before in my life, except for back in school."
"Oh please, so you just naturally look like that?"
Akira winked back. "Saaaay, thanks! But seriously, no, I don't do that gym crap."
Keith groaned and turned back to his computer. "You are so full of shit. I don't see why you need to lie about everything all the time. Anyways, I'll make sure this thing gets loaded before the truck leaves. Go back to the office and I'll see you at Adams tomorrow with everybody else. You hardcore owe me at least one beer for this stunt."
"Cool. I definitely owe you a beer, for sure." Akira slapped Keith's shoulder and headed back out the way he came. "I'll take it off Taka's tab. I figure he owes me TEN beers for this."
Akira came back into the office with a spring in his step and snapping his fingers. He leaned down to Jennifer as he got back to his seat. "I am the shit, just so you know, madam."
"You actually got that thing loaded?"
"Dispatch hearts this sexy beast, just like you do," he replied as he sunk back into his chair.
"Did you hear what happened to Taka?"
Akira whirled around in his chair, looking intrigued. "Nothing! Do tell! He better have a good reason for blowing me off on this project, after all. He better be dead, or dying, in fact. Or fired."
Matt popped up over the wall. "No, seriously, man! His wife had some hardcore bad seizures or something last night and he's at the hospital with her now!"
Akira's face fell. "Seriously?"
"For real, man."
"Whoa, that's pretty bad. She's a nice gal."
Akira wasn't kidding when he said that, either. Taka's wife, Miaka, was one of the nicest people he could ever remember meeting. She was very cute, short, and well put together, with pretty auburn hair that was always tied back and gentle green eyes. She wasn't really very Asian looking, but had a very thick accent, though she did try very hard at speaking good English. It was clear that Taka was beyond in love with her, too. They were always holding on to one another, speaking quietly in Japanese to one another, and in general just being a little too cute for Akira's tastes. She came in every Tuesday to have lunch with her husband, like clockwork, and was even kind enough to usually bring something in for the rest of the team when she did. Everybody liked her. Akira disliked Taka all the more for having her—she was one of the few girls he'd met in his adult life that he could actually imagine having as a serious girlfriend. Every conversation he'd ever had with her had been pleasant and easy, like they'd been old friends. He even toned down his bad attitude for her, and definitely kept the jokes and sexual innuendo to a minimum as well. It wasn't just for Taka's sake or because Taka was his boss—it was just because Akira felt Miaka deserved better than for him to be a jackass. In fact, when he first introduced himself to her, he was just Akira Kawasaki—no Akira Kawasaki but Not Japanese. He kind of wanted her to think that he was, even though he was sure that within minutes she'd in no way believe him.
"We should do something for her. Can we?" Akira scratched his head in dismay.
"Bad idea, buddy," Matt replied. "Taka does not dig you hanging around his lady, I can tell you that much. I think that's why he hates your ass, besides you being a dick that everyone hates in general. You make her giggle like a schoolgirl. One time I saw him watching you two talk and man was his face getting RED."
"It's true," Jennifer added. "She acts totally different with you than with everyone else, and there is no way in hell that Taka doesn't notice it."
"She does not," Akira replied. He really believed she was the same with everyone.
"Hey man, those Fabio abs and sexy hair can't always be a blessing in life. You gotta take some bad with the good. If I had a girlfriend, I wouldn't let you within a thousand feet of that shit," Matt said. "Hell, I wouldn't even let her on Live with you. You'd sex her up through the headset."
"No man should let his woman anywhere near someone like Akira," Julie chimed in from over the wall. "He's what you call a toxic person. He'll be a bachelor stealing other men's wives and daughters his whole life, and will end up old and alone, just you watch."
All three of them grimaced over in Julie's direction. They always forgot she was listening.
"Matt, the day you have a girlfriend is the day I quit smoking," Akira said after they were sure Julie was done pontificating.
"Actually, Akira, I've got a friend coming over from Wisconsin this weekend," Jennifer started to say.
"And I am booked, sweetcheeks," Akira cut her off. "Don't be trying to set this sexy hunk up with some friend of yours just so you and I can be buddies for life after we shove off this loveboat called Tiger Medical."
"Is she cute," Matt asked.
"She likes smart guys, not fucking morons, Matt. She's a writer, like Akira is. I'd never hook you up with someone like her. I said she's my friend, not someone I completely hate with a passion and I want to have a miserable and sad life with a little video-game-obsessed crack addict for eternity."
"In other words, Matt," Akira winked, "I got ninety-nine problems, but a bitch ain't one."
Everyone sighed and got back to work.
David looked like he was packing for a camp outing instead of heading to the gym, but Akira wasn't going to be the one to tell him that. To be honest, Akira wasn't really sure what to bring himself, never having been to a gym. He settled with dressing in a tank top and old pair of shorts and bringing just a bottle of water, his wallet, and his keys. He was driving.
In contrast, David had just walked out of his townhouse carrying a full duffel bag while wearing a hair band and fully clad in sweats. It was ridiculous, and as he plopped into the seat next to Akira, Akira hoped that it wasn't showing on his face just how silly and straight out of the eighties his friend looked.
"Yo, David, how's it going? You ready to get pumped?"
David glared back, heaved the heavy bag onto his lap, and slammed the door. "This is a terrible idea and I hate it. Let's just go to Starbucks or something and say we went."
Akira shook his head and laughed while looking over his shoulder and backing the car out of the driveway. "No can do, brother. I'm not letting you get all dolled up like that for nothing. Besides, I'm pretty sure Susie would blame me and not you if we ended up not doing this."
"She thinks I'm fat."
"Yeah, you're kinda chubby, but it's the cute kind of fat, not the fat kind of fat. And besides, I'm pretty sure she's just worried about your overall health instead of how big you are. You're not that big anyways. Just not like…me. You know? Just…average. Kinda." He was losing his battle with the right words.
"Yes, if I just aspired to be a little more like you, my life would be a dream."
Akira sighed and shut up. David always could put him in his place, and knew the right thing to say at the right time. It was actually a relief. Akira didn't have to put up any airs around this friend, and since they'd known each other so long, he didn't really have anything to hide or lie about for once.
David knew him since they grew up together in the same Catholic school and met in Kindergarten. He knew Akira hated tomatoes, grew up skinny and shy and awkward, and was absolutely obsessed with comic books and video games since the age of five. He knew Akira thought Captain Picard was the shit and that he was a secret Trekkie, but that he did not like Star Wars. He knew about Akira's first crush all the way to his latest disaster with the last girl he'd finally gotten the nerve to invite to his apartment. He knew about Akira's daring dream to become the world's best known author (besides Stephen King) to knowing just how much he truly hated where he ended up. He knew Akira was the world's best kept virgin secret, and even that his hair was really white and not brown.
"Susie says you should come around more often. She says you've become like a ghost."
Akira switched on the stereo, though he turned it down low. "Just been working a lot."
"Please. You're just playing X-Box and drinking beer. Don't give me that."
"You got me."
"Your mom called, too. She also says you haven't been coming around and that you promised her you were going to rake between the house and garage for them. I'm going to end up doing it if you don't suck it up like a good son and go over there. You know your dad has a bad back."
Akira sighed again. His mother had loved David since the day they'd met and often compared him to his friend. Why can't you just be nice like David? Why can't you find a nice girl like David? Why couldn't you be something practical, like a doctor, like David? If it wasn't Akira comparing himself to Taka and failing, it was his mother comparing him to David, and Akira equally falling flat.
"I'll go over there this weekend and take care of it. You don't have to do that. Besides, she should be calling me about that stuff and not you anyways."
"She said every time she calls you, you're drunk at home or out drinking with your friends."
"Please. Spare me the speech."
"Actually, that's part of the reason I asked you to come with me. Maybe you don't need to work out, though I think it'd be really good for you. You can't be in good health, no matter how you may look. You smoke too much, you drink too much, and you sit around too much. It's all bad."
"Hell, David, why would I need my mom to call me when I could hang out with a mother hen like you?"
"I'm just saying you need to get out more, that's all. Like, go to your mom's, come to my house, or even go to the arcade or something. Find some girl on a dating site and go to a café or a movie. You just work and then go home and sit around. It's not healthy."
"Not true. I'm a regular at Adams every Friday night."
"That's just a bar, Akira. And it's with your work friends. That doesn't really count. And like I said, bad for you. You're just sitting there drinking."
"And having a badass time while laughing and getting hit on by the young ladies of Lake County."
"Don't pull that crap with me. You know I hate it."
"Fine, just get off my case already. I told you I'd go to the gym with you and here I am."
David sat quiet for a few moments. "I think you're suffering from Depression."
Akira rolled his eyes and turned up the radio.
That didn't deter David. "No, I'm serious. This isn't a game or a movie, Akira, it's your life. You're not Lester Burnham. This isn't American Beauty."
"Just fuck off, David, seriously, and stop playing doctor on me, it's getting really old. Look, we're here." He switched the ignition off with a jerk and sat in the chair for a moment. He didn't want to go into LA Fitness, but he sure as hell didn't want to let this conversation continue, either. "Let's go."
It reminded him of the first day of school, and David looked almost as uncomfortable as he did. Akira followed his friend quietly as they checked in at the front desk, walked past the equipment, and shoved David's duffel bag into a locker. Akira avoided looking at the people huffing and running around them, acting as though he were the only person in the building.
"I didn't even think of bringing a lock and key," David muttered.
"I don't think anyone wants to steal your underwear."
They both stared at one another, neither one really wanting to step out there and admit they had no idea what they were doing, but silent and together they went.
They started off on the treadmills and decided that half an hour at a decent pace would be enough cardio for the night. David made small talk of the hospital he worked at while Akira mostly just listened, pretending to understand half of what David was saying. He had a slight understanding working in the medical field himself, though David's side had all the glory and Akira's side was just supplying the equipment with which to gain said glory.
David also talked about Susie, at which part Akira completely zoned out. He'd never liked the girl, but he did love David, and so he tolerated her by proxy. But he found the woman boring and fake as hell and didn't see what his friend saw in her in the least. It was a good part of the reason he didn't visit often.
While David was talking, Akira scanned the floor below them to look at the fancy equipment he dreaded trying to understand how to use. Just like he thought, there were a bunch of meatheads down there, grunting and checking themselves out in the wall-length mirrors. Akira totally understood the mirror obsession, but couldn't help but judge them all the same. After all, they'd actually put in the work to be proud of how they looked. Akira just grew into it and didn't even have the right.
He noticed one guy pumping weights with crazy fire-engine red hair and wondered why someone would ever actually want to have hair that would stand out in the crowd—he'd spent a lifetime hiding his own.
His thoughts were brought back to Earth with the chime going off on his machine. They stopped and hopped off together. Akira's legs were wobbly and his throat burned. He chugged a sip of his water but realized water wasn't going to do much—his lungs were fried from all the smoking. A short walk on a glorified piece of plastic wasn't going to change that. He had the sinking feeling this whole gym stint would be very short-lived.
"Alright, let's go downstairs and get our strength training in."
"Sure thing, captain."
Akira followed David downstairs and stood next to him as his friend got into a machine that looked like a vice and David wrapped his arms around the white bars. David was already red-faced and puffing, and he hadn't even started really using the machine yet.
That's when Akira locked eyes with the red-haired guy who was pumping iron over his shoulders behind them.
The guy stopped what he was doing and stared right back, halfway through his squat.
Time froze and Akira heard nothing. Those eyes were just as red as the hair. Evil, almost, and horribly familiar. I know this guy. And I know he's bad news.
But there was no way he could have known him, no way he wouldn't have remembered someone that looked as bizarre as this. He'd seen some pretty weird looking folk back from when he went to raves with his friends in high school and early college, but nothing like this guy.
His bright red hair was short but styled, and his eyes were the same primary color. His skin was tan, like he spent a good amount of time in the sun, or maybe had a little bit of Hispanic in him. Just like Akira, a tattoo covered half his body too, but it wrapped around his right arm and up his back and part of his torso. It was red just like the rest of him, but Akira wasn't sure what exactly the tattoo was supposed to be. His left arm was also covered in a tribal design—red ink, of course.
And red dude was glaring right back at him.
Akira broke the gaze when he heard David start to yell under him. "Akira! Lift this thing up! I'm stuck."
"Shit, sure, hold on."
He grabbed the bars and David sat up, panting. "Hold on, I need to get some water out of my bag. I did not think I was in such bad shape. This is embarrassing. I don't feel good at all."
"Sure."
Akira watched David go towards the locker room, and then quickly turned back to the wall to see if red dude was still giving him the staredown. But he was gone.
"I haven't seen you here before, bro."
Akira wheeled around at the voice right behind his ear and froze. It was the red dude.
"What?!"
Red dude laughed under his breath and repeated, "I haven't seen you around before, pretty boy. But I feel like I've seen you somewhere before and I don't forget a face."
Akira was ready to shove this guy into the machine behind him. "Who the hell you think you're calling pretty boy?! What kind of an asshole are you supposed to be?!"
Christ in heaven. He had figured that there were guys at the gym with an over-inflated sense of self-importance, but this red guy was over the top. He deserved a good ass-kicking, if only Akira knew how to dish it. He'd do his best to pretend in the meantime. Already he decided right then and there it was his last time coming to this place, and he and David were leaving ASAP.
"Jesus, chill out, bro, I seriously thought I knew you from somewhere, that's all."
"Fuck off."
They stood there for a moment, Akira glaring with mad hate, and red dude looking very surprised.
Surprised, but unfazed. "So where'd you get that tatt?" He motioned to Akira's torso. "It's cool."
"I said, fuck off, bro." Akira felt his blood pressure rising, because he could feel his throat tighten up and start to pulse underneath it. For the first time he was glad he was built like a brick shithouse for reasons other than the fact that he just happened to look like a brick shithouse for the jealousy and admiration of others.
He was maybe getting into more than he could handle, and he knew it. This guy was clearly beyond just a gym rat—he was maybe a trainer, an athlete, or even a marine, though that was doubtful since hair and eyes like that would never be accepted in any official kind of job. But in short, this guy too, was another brick shithouse, and likely knew a hell a lot more about throwing a punch or kicking ass than Akira did. Where was David, anyways? Akira looked back towards the locker room.
"Your buddy looked ready to puke, by the way," the red dude mentioned to him.
Akira had no idea what to say to that, because he had been thinking the same thing himself. Like everything else he did, David had pushed himself too far right off the bat, and wearing such heavy sweats hadn't been a good idea in the sweltering gym.
Red dude offered him a big, tan hand wrapped in some kind of white tape. "Name's Reed."
Akira didn't know what else to do other that take the hand and shake it back. He was still glaring at Reed; he couldn't help himself. This guy was clearly trouble. "Akira."
Then came the look he always got when the name came rolling out. "You don't look Asian at all."
"I'm not."
They were still shaking hands. Akira felt like this asshole was going to crush his fingers.
"That's cool. Just sayin."
Still they shook hands. Akira was pretty sure this guy's grip was tightening, and couldn't help but feel just a little bit afraid. Maybe that was a gang tattoo, or something. Maybe Reed was a hitman.
"So, what are you supposed to be, a vampire or something," Akira asked.
The handshake stopped. "What?"
"I mean, the hair, the contacts…don't you think it's a bit much, bro? Red your favorite color, just maybe?"
Reed dropped his hand and glared back. "Wow, you're kind of a jerk. But yeah, sure, I like red fine, would be pretty hard not to. The ladies dig it, so I'm all good. And I think your yellow contacts are cool too."
Akira closed his eyes and sighed. This guy was a total fruitcake, and was probably hitting on him from the sound of it. It happened sometimes. But the 'yellow contacts' thing had struck him. Most people had enough tact to mention what 'pretty hazel eyes' Akira had. Only David had ever dared call them 'yellow', and that was back in grade school when they were just learning colors.
"That's great for you. I'm going to go check on my friend."
Akira started to leave, but the guy gripped his wrist and held him back. "Hey, you got a smoke on you?"
"What?!"
"You smell like smoke, and I just ran out. So I thought I'd ask. Seeing as I thought I knew you, and all."
Akira threw his Reed's wrist off his arm. "Are you high, man? What's your deal? Are you hitting on me or some shit? Is that what this is?"
Reed laughed and put his hands up in the air. "Wow, bro, you are seriously uptight. And I am hardcore NOT hitting on you. I just wondered if you had a smoke on you or not."
"Why the fuck would you ask someone that at a gym? I thought the whole point was 'healthy living'."
"Shit, man, I don't care about health or even pumping iron. I just come here to pick up tail." Reed shrugged.
Akira stared back at him and wondered. Well, if nothing, this guy was probably being honest. He looked back towards the locker room.
"If you don't have one, that's cool, just say so," Reed added. "I was just asking. Didn't expect you to flip out on me."
Akira answered against his better judgment and reason, "Come on, I've got some in my car."
Akira questioned his sanity as he marched out of the building and into the brisk autumn night. After being in such a sweltering area, the cold was quick, and he ended up with goosebumps and a little bit of a shiver. But his blood was pumping just as well as if he were prey being stalked. With every step farther he got the sinking feeling he was making a serious error in judgment.
He stopped at his blue sedan and clicked the doors to unlock, reached in, grabbed his pack, pulled out a cigarette, and shoved it at Reed.
Reed, on the other hand, didn't seem phased at all, and Akira started to wonder if this guy pan-handled getting smokes at the gym as a regular thing.
"Smoke's no good without a light," Reed motioned, putting the stick between his lips. "I need a light."
"You're going to smoke it right now?"
"Um…yeah. Why?"
Pissed, Akira grabbed his own cigarette out of the pack, lit up, and then offered the lighter to Reed. He angrily blew out a wisp of smoke that wafted into the moonlit air.
Reed lit up and handed the lighter back.
"Thanks. So…you say you don't know me, but I kind of think that's bullshit."
"Man, I think I'd remember seeing somebody like you. You stand out just a tiny bit."
Reed shrugged again. "That's how I roll."
That's my line. Akira smoked in silence, leaning back against the car. He figured David was going to freak out when he came out of the locker room, and then when David found him out here, he was going to get a good lecture about the dangers of smoking after a workout on TOP of hanging out with bizarre-looking strangers.
"So what are you so pissed about," Reed asked, eying him.
"What makes you say I'm pissed?"
"Because you're pissed."
"Listen, bro, how would you feel if some fruitcake started getting up in your face and called you a pretty boy?"
Reed laughed. "So that's it? That's what pissed you off? Man, I was just tossing you a compliment. Not many guys out there as fuckin' hot as myself, if I do say so, and you walk around like you know you're hot shit, so I just figured you'd think it was funny. Like I said, I thought I knew you, so I was just joking around. Just trying to knock you down a peg. You look like you kinda need it, and besides, this is my tail-grabbing place, and I figured you were stepping in on my territory. I mean, hell, we've even got matching tattoos. You're clearly ruining my game."
"You can have your tail-grabbing place back, and I told you already, I don't know you, bro. As soon as my buddy comes back, I'm getting the fuck out of here and you'll never see me again."
"Hey, like I said, it's cool. I mean, really, stop flipping out on me. I was just going to offer you a beer."
"A beer at the gym, huh? Sounds like a real cool way to grab some tail."
Reed shook his head and exhaled. "Not now, man. This weekend. Come over to my place."
"You are hitting on me."
"I'm not. Seriously. I just can't get over this feeling that I know you from somewhere, and it's driving me batshit. Here." Reed reached into his sweatpants pocket and fished out a small wad of paper. He tossed the finished cigarette to the ground with his other hand. "This is my number. Give me a call. I'll pick up."
"I'm not gay. Sorry. Not going to call you."
Reed shoved it at him again. "Alright, I get it. And you're probably thinking it's weird I just happen to have my number on me, but like I said, this is where I pick up chicks." He offered it again. "Seriously. Just take it. Doesn't mean you have to call me, doesn't mean you're gay. It just means thanks for the smoke, I owe you a beer, and you can give me a call and we can figure out where we know each other from."
Akira snatched it from him and tossed his own cigarette on the ground. "You're fucking weird."
Reed laughed and started to walk off towards what Akira assumed was his own car. "Sure as shit! But not gay!" Akira could still hear him laughing as he walked off into the distance of the parking lot.
David soon came huffing out of the gym, crouching a bit under the weight of all the things he didn't need in that bag. "Akira! What the heck are you doing out here! I was looking all over for you! I had to ask the front desk where the hell you went!"
Akira, meanwhile, was staring at the piece of paper in his hand and was wondering what the hell just happened and what the hell he was going to do about it.
"Seriously! What the heck are you doing?!" David puffed up and stood right in front of him, red in the face and definitely furious. But not scary. Akira could never find him scary. David was short and nearly a foot smaller than he was. Akira's nickname for his friend was 'Shortcake'. Right now, David was a very mad kind of Shortcake. Shortcake at his most frightening couldn't hold a candle to the primal fear that red dude had just struck in Akira. Not by a longshot.
"I went out for a smoke. You were in there a while."
"Because I had to fucking puke! And then my locker got stuck! And then I was looking all over for you!" David pushed him in the stomach.
"Sorry. For real. I didn't know you were getting sick. I had no idea what you were doing."
"So you went out for a cigarette and just left me in there?! What the heck is wrong with you? Don't you know that smoking after cardio is seriously, seriously, bad for your lungs? Just how hell-bent are you on dying before you hit thirty?"
'In less than a year I will be dead. Of course I don't know that yet, and in a way, I am dead already.'
"Like I said, sorry. Let's go home. I'll even come in and say hi to Susie and tell her what a great job we did."
David shoved past him and opened the car door. "She knows you just lie all the time. You're just a fucking liar. All the time." He slammed it shut behind him.
It was going to be a really long ride home. Akira sighed up at the moon, shoved the wad of paper into his pocket, and got into the car to drive David back.