The Quadrophenia album was about to end. I got sick of seeing Irish's busted eye so I told him to pull his shades back on. It was mean of me, but the sight was very displeasing for me to endure. Though he was cool with it, he understood how his eye could really irritate people. It's amazing how he was able to keep it from everyone else for all this time. And he's not quiet about anything. I'd rather he kept that bulged eye of his hidden from me. But somehow, something up there knew I asked for something like that.
Anyway, we had about eight customers that day. That's considered a lot for a dirty alley record store. There were never a lot of customers so Irish and I did nothing but chat. And we were in the middle of discussing the Swick suicide.
"I don't know, this guy's maybe just crazy," Irish said, "I don't think the Deville girl had anything to do with it, except for maybe breaking his heart or any of that bull."
"Yeah, I know," I answered, "but Viv did say that it was Swick's parents' idea to suspect the Devilles."
Irish rolled his eyes as he was putting on The Who's debut album, "The Who Sings My Generation". The song, "Substitute" began to play. "Yuh-yup. Do parents these days are really that clueless? God, they hardly get to know any of their children anymore. Sure, the girlfriend's always first to blame when it comes to the 'rents."
I leaned back in my dusty chair and put both my feet up the counter. I looked at it, examining the thick layer of hair on my legs. I looked at my sandals and cringed at how long my toenails were growing. I noticed one toe of mine had a gray shredded nail. Wow, and I thought Irish's eye was bad. Irish came over and lifted my legs back to the ground. "C'mon, funk. No one wants to see that."
"God, I'm turning into a damn ape."
"Yup, you sure are a fucking Tarzan."
I smiled at him. It felt real awkward having your feet lifted like that.
Irish sighed, "Well, how about ya? Do you know anything specifically about this Swick guy?"
"Nothing too much. But we sometimes get paired up during projects and stuff. I remember getting A class scores. Smart guy."
"That's it. No, as in something about him or something that happened that you know of him well of."
"I told you, nothing that'll help. Well, he hit on me a couple of times when we were working on a history project, that's it. He was just playing along. He knows I'm not gay."
"What do you know of him?"
"Um, he's quite inquisitive. Always asking a lot of questions about you and your opinion on everything."
"What kind of questions?"
"You know, basic stuff. What's your mom's name, do you have a girlfriend, are you a red state or blue state, what does your dad do, do you even have friends, eh, a lot more. He's pretty interested in other people's social lives."
Irish shrugged. "Did you ask him any questions yourself?"
"You could say that. I just answered with a few 'how-about-you's' and all. I knew him pretty well, but not well enough. I know that his mom's name is Aurora. He said he never had a girlfriend--- except for Lillian, but I didn't find that out from him. He's a liberal. His dad's a dentist. Books are his only friends," I licked my top lip, "speaking of his love for books-- we also talked a lot about 'The Catcher in the Rye'. It was the first book he ever read."
Irish smirked. "Sounds like your type," he said jokingly.
I was a tad bit annoyed. "Shut up. I'm not like that, you know that, man."
---
A few moments later, some skinny dirtbag in a slimy trench coat came storming through the store. Phil looked around the place and headed towards me as soon as he spotted me. Irish had to take care of the dumpsters out behind the store so he didn't here him coming. His loose-laced, oversized sneakers were all wet and muddy, splashing a lot of mudstains on the freshly-mopped wooden floor as he stomped his way across the place. I had to fingerpick the irremovable stains off the sticky floor after he left. Damn Prick.
"Spill it, Pickles," he attempted to threaten me, grabbing the collar of my shirt and pulling it over to himself, "What did Viv tell ya?"
He pulled me on the counter with my bare knees bumping the edges, causing it to bleed a little bit. Just when he was about to jump at the counter with me, I kicked his rib to let go of his hold. He dropped on his ass at the floor with his legs all sprawled out. It's a good thing no one's in the store.
Pitying him, I went grabbed a little ice from the back room and went over to him and aided his rib.
"I was gonna tell on ya, but you're lucky I didn't," Phil blurted.
"What's it to you, cunt?" I said.
"C'mon, Tolden. You're seriously not buying into Viv's shit." he said.
"Who says I'm buying into anything?" I asked him.
"Don't think I haven't overheard," he looked at me with the most unusual stare you have ever seen, a look I have never seen him look like, "let me just tell you this: what's my business, is my business alone. What's done is done and no one needs to know. You can tell Viv that, too."
"What does no one need to know?" I asked, a little bit curious.
He once again shot me that stare with his red-blotched eyes glistening at me. I couldn't help but notice the brown spikes of facial hair all over his face. This guy hasn't shaved in ages, he was a bigger ape than me!
So he leaped over the counter and sat in my dusty chair, spinning around. He grabbed the Quadrophenia record case and read the credits at the back. "The Who, eh?" he said, "use to be a cool band. Up until that fucking movie, and this shit album."
"Shut the hell up," I commanded him, "Look, man. I'm only doing this to save my ass, or my mom will find out that I was getting drunk at school. Please, I have better plans. I got places to go."
"I don't give a damn!" Phil shouted, "Viv is putting my sister at stake, here. I really don't want her to get hurt anymore than she is. I'm telling you she had none to do with it."
"Sure, I believe that. I don't give a fuck, either. I'm only doing this to save my ass."
"You can fuck off, too."
I was really feeling irritated by him. He reminded me a lot of Robert Ackley from 'The Catcher in the Rye'. Annoying as hell. I was going to take care of this the day after. I just wanted to have a relaxing, shitless Monday afternoon. "I don't have time for this. Obviously, you have something to confirm. Just tell me what's on your mind. Why'd you come here?"
"What's a guy to do to be given a chance to redeem an old, damaged friendship?" he said sarcastically.
"Goddamnit. You speak up or I'll send your ass out the damn door." I said.
He stopped spinning the dusty chair and shot me that dreaded stare of his again.
"Okay," he sighed, "I had a lot to do with it."
I nodded. "Speak."
