My nose again. Third time most definitely ain't the charm. Fucking hell, it never hurts any less. Even before the adrenaline from the rumble wears off, I know this is going to be painful.
Some people might consider a trip to the emergency room in order. I prefer the tried and tested method of a considerable quantity of Jack and just the right amount of naked female flesh.
I would generally sleep off the effects of both quite happily at Trish's, or even head down to the warehouse, see the boys, but my nose starts fizzing like all fuck sometime around dawn and I decide to go home and sleep there. I nearly change my mind when I see Trish roll over in her sleep, half out the sheets, but I figure she'll still be available when I don't gotta worry about her bumping my nose every time I kiss her. And I want my own bed.
It's quiet as I walk. Real quiet. I've been out at this hour of the morning plenty of times, although usually I've been up all night. Maybe it's those couple of hours of sleep that make this particular morning feel weird. Like I'm in some crappy science fiction movie, and I'm the only one left alive on the planet.
The street lights are winking out as I head up through the neighborhood. Also like some lousy movie. I feel like maybe I should be checking behind me, maybe the Martians are stalking me or something.
As I turn the corner of our street and cross to the house, the front door flies open. I don't stop walking, although it's completely freaky for Angel to be up this early. Then again, maybe she never went to sleep. It was kind of a big night.
She stops at the end of the path. She looks at me, her eyes huge and shining. Like she might have been bawling, which makes no sense, this is Angel after all.
"Where were you?" she asks, real quiet. "I was waiting. Where were you?"
I walk around her, sending my answer back over my shoulder. "At Trish's, what's it to ya? I woulda got a message to you, if I was hurt bad." That's how we play it, in this house. No news is good news.
Angel says my name and I turn around, two steps up the porch. The way she says it ain't good, her tone is off and I immediately think 'Curly'.
"What? Tell me." I ain't gonna let her hold onto bad news, if Curly got himself into some kind of shit, down at the reformatory. Christ, he's only been there a week, this time around, courtesy of the stupidest hold up in history. He ain't so little no more. He never had the same kind of trouble last time. He knows what to watch for now. But he might've done any number of stupid things inside...
Angel swallows. "Oh, Tim. It's Dallas."
"What's Dallas?" I'm tired and my nose is throbbing to Hell and back. I want to rub the fizzing away, but I know I can't touch it.
"Dallas is dead."
She's walking towards me, but for a second it looks like the whole path is shrinking away.
I went to see him in the hospital, to razz him. Succeeded too. Told him he looked like a real pansy in the paper, like he was posing for Miss Oklahoma. He flipped me off, as I lounged on the wall of his room, but he never got out of bed.
"Christ, I'm hanging out for a smoke, Shepard. Gimme a weed?"
"I heard it's bad for you," I said, lighting one for myself and taking a long, slow drag as he cussed me every which way he could. I gave him hell for missing the rumble. Really needled him. Told him he wasn't that hurt, he was just pussing out, far as I could see.
He showed, of course. I laughed about that with Trish. Told her he 'escaped' hospital custody. Told her he was certified mental. But he would never have missed a rumble. And it was a good one, we was on the same side. I never saw him after, never saw him leave.
Never said I was glad we was on the same side.
I turn around and walk into the house. Too early for Ma and Ron to be awake, the place is quiet. Angel follows me, up the stairs, into my bedroom. I know she's there but I don't look at her.
"Tim? Did you hear me?"
I heard her. And I know it's true. It ain't something she would joke about. I light up a weed and sit on the bed. Angel sits across from me, on Curly's bed.
How can Curly be so stupid? Again. Six months this time. Why won't he listen to me? That store was locked up tighter than fucking Fort Knox. What was he trying to prove? Alright, I gave him hell over lying about Winston and the tires, but what was he trying to prove?
He let me and Winston knock the shit out of each other – typical of Winston that he'd wait 'til after the fight, to tell me he never touched the fucking tires.
Why'd Curly do that? Why don't he get that if I treat him like one of the gang, it's because he is one of the gang? Ain't no different to Dom laying down the law to me. Christ, he broke my nose to do it, I only smacked Curly around a little. He won't fucking listen.
Why would he do that, set me up to fight Winston? Winston ain't even in the gang. Winston ain't even...
"He held up a store and the cops shot him." Angel sniffs a little. I didn't notice she was still talking.
If she sees the weed shake in my hand, she don't mention it. She just tells me that Frank came by and he got it from Mathews. It's all over the streets anyway.
Why wouldn't it be? Everyone knew Winston. So I knew him too. So what?
Angel takes the weed from my hand and stubs it out. I guess I'm so tired I was letting it burn the blanket. I guess I'm so tired I can't do nothing but lie down.
