Chapter 4: Escalation
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Raphael was not delusional enough to believe that because Leonardo had apologised for his behaviour, he was similarly apologising for his objections to Brent. He did hope that Leonardo would not seek further resolution to his objections though. It was not as if he had not questioned the validity of his 'friendship' with Brent and having another force such confrontations to his own emotions was certainly an unpleasant experience.
So for the next few days Raphael tried to get home earlier at night, partook diligently in training and acted as if the weeks of tension had been cleared up with a slight scuffle and a few harsh words. His brothers seemed to buy the act, or were similarly keen on avoiding the issue. Whether indifference or fear caused the stand-off, Raphael did not know or care. At any rate, while he did not show it outwardly, his inward world was still revolving around Brent.
He knew Brent's timetable pretty well. It seemed to alternate fortnightly. For a fortnight, he would get up in the morning, usually a few minutes after nine, realise he was late for whatever job he was not holding down for the week and start sifting through the mess in his apartment for his uniform. Whether he would choose a waterbottle or another sip of brandy for breakfast was always unpredictable though. If he made it through the day at work without getting fired he'd come home and sleep on the couch for several hours, before going next door to visit Miles. Where they went from there depended on how drunk they were and how horny they were.
But this week Brent had no job. He had quit his job at the local supermarket after overhearing that he was about to be fired. It had given him a strong sense of satisfaction to quit for once, rather than being fired. He wasn't sure if his caseworker would be pleased or not. Quitting may show lack of dedication, but it was better than being fired for being a drunkard. At any rate, it gave him time to fully concentrate on not working. For weeks like these, he'd sleep until at least midday. He could pick up what was going on in the soap operas pretty quickly. He had even considered putting it on his resume, which, while long, was not entirely impressive.
Today Brent was doing none of these things though. He and Miles had stayed up most of the night making plans to catch Gigantor Hunchback, until the drink finally got the better of them and they had slept in Miles room, should their prey return before they were ready. In their drunken state they had not seen it necessary to justify why they needed to sleep with a chair under the doorhandle.
When Miles was cooking some toast though, he was hit by a sudden realisation.
"BRENT!"
Brent emerged from the shower, a towel wrapped around his waist, his wet hair clinging to his forehead. "Yo, I'm not deaf, I'm not in China, but I am hungover."
Miles stared at him, incredulous that Brent could remain so calm in the wake of his realisation.
Mistaking his shock for confusion, Brent added, "Headache," he said, pointing to his temple, "Keep it quiet."
"I've got an idea!"
Brent squinted at Miles sceptically.
"Gigantor Hunchback - we can make a lot of money out of him."
"How exactly do you plan to make money out of a big homeless guy who has worse dress sense than you?"
"I don't."
Brent frowned and shook his head. "You're still drunk. Go back to bed, I'll make sure the toast doesn't burn."
"Listen man, I'm serious. People pay to see crazy whacked out shit like this."
"You forget, there are a lot of drunk homeless people on the street that people can look at for free."
"Yeah, but there's only one Gigantor Hunchback."
"Miles, it's a creepy guy who was looking for crack money."
"But they don't have to know that!"
"Bro, you're crazy. You cannot convince many people of that. Besides, he probably isn't coming back after last night."
"Yeah, after beat on him real good," Miles groaned sarcastically, wondering if Brent could see that massive lump forming on the side of his skull beneath his waves of curly hair.
"Go to bed, Miles. I'll finish breakfast."
"That I won't complain about, but I still think it's a good idea."
"Look, how about we wait to see if he even comes back first. Then we can think about selling our exciting story to every paper in the country."
"So we're gonna wait for him tonight."
"Well keep our eyes open."
"You're always such a downer," Miles grumbled, but the allure of a bed was greater than that of finishing the conversation and he trudged towards the bedroom.
He lay down for a few minutes before he heard a loud bang and an even louder expletive. "Brent, you OK, bro?"
"Ah, yeah, just…ahhh…fucked up my foot."
"You're still drunk aren't you?"
"Uh…no."
Miles got up and took the frying pan out of Brent's hand. "You got to bed, I'll cook the eggs."
Brent smiled, "You'd best be, bitch."
"Watch your mouth. Don't go forgetting who's got the frying pan."
Brent wisely retired.
---
Raphael looked around the room. He had to admit that as far as guilt free pleasures went this was pretty high up on the list. Donatello sat in the corner reading an academic journal, glancing up every now and then at the movie that Michaelangelo and Leonardo were watching. The same movie that he had been pretending to watch for the last twenty minutes. Despite the amicable environment, he had still been trying to figure out a way to excuse himself without another confrontation like last time.
Maybe he'd just have to wait until everyone went to bed again.
---
On the other side of town, Brent and Miles sat watching the same movie. Nearing the end of the movie, Miles was beginning to get frustrated with the lack of excitement. Putting his drink down on the table at his side he went over and looked out Brent's small window. "You reckon you saw this guy down there?" he asked, waving a hand vaguely downwards.
Brent turned his head over his shoulder, "Uh, yeah."
Miles peered out of the window, but could barely see past his own reflection. He held his hands up blocking the light out and brought his head closer. Dissatisfied with the results he wandered over to the door and flicked off the lights before heading back to the window.
Brent sat watching the movie unaffected by Miles' restlessness.
The screech of tires and gunfire could be heard. Miles turned towards the television to confirm the source of the noise. His interest piqued by the action, he dropped down on the couch next to Brent again. "Whaddya reckon, eight and a half?"
"No way, definitely a nine."
Miles shrugged in a non-committal fashion and re-immersed himself in the movie.
When the credits started to roll Miles got restless again. He paced between the door and the window, peaking out each in turn. Brent sat flicking through the channels, ignoring his friend until the pacing got to be too much for him to bear. "Miles, sit down man, he's not coming back."
"Easy enough for you to say, man, but I got a score to settle with this guy."
"Is that what this is about? You just don't want to admit that you got floored by an old homeless drunk?"
"Shut up!"
"Why should I? You're wearing a hole in my floor."
"How long ago did you see him?"
"A while back, Miles, jeez, will you sit down!"
Miles sat on the couch looking like a nine had just stood him up. Then the knock came. He looked excitedly at Brent, who told him to settle down and reminded him that burglars did not knock.
Brent jumped over the back of the couch and opened the door.
A girl only a few years older than Brent was standing there, with thick eyeliner and tight jeans flaring out from under her long coat.
Miles noticed her and jumped up. "Hey Janelle, hows it?"
"Oh great thanks, just got off work. You know how much I love old drunk guys grabbing at my ass."
Miles wisely changed the subject. "Did you manage to find one?"
"Yeah," I want it back though. "By the way, this place is not on my way. You at least owe me a cigarette, I'm out."
Miles patted himself down, but found none. Brent scanned his cluttered kitchen counter before finally finding a pack. He handed it to her and sat back down on the couch, flicking through channels again while Miles and Janelle mumbled in the corridor for a few more minutes.
"What was that about?" Brent asked, when Miles returned alone.
"Well, I sorta rung this tabloid today, after you went to bed. The lady didn't believe me, but said that if I could get some pictures, she'd meet me. Jan used to do photography, so she loaned me a camera."
"Miles, you're a retard."
"What? Why?"
"Give it up already, this is going to be the hardest quick buck you ever make."
"That depends."
"On what?"
"How good you are at looking like Gigantor Hunchback."
"No way, I want nothing to do with this."
"Well then I guess we just have to wait for the real thing to turn up."
Brent nodded towards Miles' drink. "Chop that, might speed up the process."
Miles scowled lightly.
---
A few hours later Miles had long since forgotten the camera sitting on the table behind them. But during one of his periodic checks out the window he quickly beckoned Brent over. "Brent, yo, what do you think that is?"
Brent peeked out the window, suddenly glad that Miles had turned the light off, yet scolding himself simultaneously for allowing himself to be swept up in Miles' delusions. "What am I supposed to be looking at?"
"Quick, grab the torch and the camera." Miles quickly obeyed his own instructions, throwing Brent the torch, who fumbled then caught it.
When they threw the window open they heard a start of movement in the alleyway. Intoxicated by the excitement, Brent shone the torch down, catching a large green figure. Miles shakily fiddled with the focus before Brent hissed at him to just take a picture. By the time he heard the shutter go off, he could not catch anything of interest with the torch.
The two fell back into the apartment, exhausted by the sudden burst of energy. Leaning up against the wall, Brent shined the torch into Miles' eyes before shutting it off. Miles stared dumbly at the camera.
"Did you get a picture?" Brent asked.
"I…I don't know, don't think so," Miles replied.
"It was just a homeless guy, right?" Brent asked.
"I think so," Miles replied.
"It did look sorta…green…though, right?" Brent asked.
"Yeah, I think so," Miles replied.
The two returned their gaze to the implements in their hands. Each wondering, perhaps hoping, that this would seem a little more ludicrous in the morning.
---
Raphael slammed his fist into the brick wall of the sewer. One second - that second of indecision. All his insecurities and desires had flashed past him and it had taken one second too long. He should have run as soon as he heard the commotion. There was that second though, where he had considered that maybe this was how he and Brent would finally meet.
He had heard a camera. He could only hope that he had fled in time.
The speed at which it had happened had left him a victim to his own reactive instincts and he had ended up here. Only now could he question his idiocy. Only now did he begin to realise the full implications of what he was doing and what he was risking. The wave of realisation was sickening and tonight, even the sewer air smelled just a little more caustic.