On the Edge of Wakefulness, Part 2
Chapter 17
The early morning fog limited Téa's view from the top floor of the Llanview Police Department, from the window of Bo Buchanan's cluttered office, the city shrouded in dense grey. The coffee mug in her hand shook a little, the warmth not going beyond the ceramic.
It seemed like years since she last saw Todd even though it had been less than a month. The entire battle at the China Moon was awful for the obvious reasons: the prostitute, the leaving, his fantasy of dying by the heroin needle. His giving into his madness. But what truly haunted her was the image of him in the motel room doorway. The way he stood there, an arm up… staring down at her with empty eyes. Mostly, it was his nakedness that haunted her. So long he had hid that part of himself from her. The ink spoke of an entire history about which she knew nothing. Who did them? Who designed them? Did it hurt? How long did each one take? What made him mark himself so permanently? Why those images? God, there he was again… in the doorway. So very exposed, so much that he seemed… skinless.
Téa had gotten brave and came to LPD this morning to ferret out information on Brandy, hoping to learn something about the woman who had wormed her way into Todd's life, maybe into his heart. But as she stood by the window awaiting Bo's return, she secretly hoped he wouldn't find anything. She didn't want that skinny alley cat to be real, to be a person, a woman like Téa. It was far preferable that Brandy remain a nightmarish shadow, one that would disintegrate with the light of day, with healthfulness.
One that would fade away in the glow of Téa's love for Todd.
She nearly spit her coffee out. Love? Staring across the undefined horizon, she wondered exactly what she now felt. He had gone underground to chase relief therefore he must not love her. So the definition of love had warped, morphed, into something heretofore not experienced, unrecognizable. And nearly a month of self-imposed hibernation hadn't brought her any closer to understanding herself or the strength of her devotion.
"Papi, where is Mami?"
"She's gone―go to bed. Get out of here ...your mother knows NOTHING of devotion to her family!"
"Ven, Tea ... come to bed..."
"But, Del...where is Mami?!"
Tim said we love unconditionally - a reflection of God. He was nuts. What Téa was doing was devotion to madness, to emptiness. That's not love.
Bo popped his head in, "Sorry for taking so long. We're working our way back through the archived files because she hasn't been picked up in the past year."
"Take your time," she said, giving Bo a sad smile. He ducked out again, leaving Tea to resume her study of fogged-in Llanview. She poured another cup of coffee. Both hands held the mug and she pressed it to her cheek. "We lived in a fun-house, amor." she sighed. "Only it's not fun anymore."
Since the beginning, the ground constantly moved beneath them, their balance always being tested, corrupted, obstacles repeatedly popping out in front of them. And like the teasing lover Todd was, he would sometimes disappear in that fun-house, leaving Tea alone in the dark for a moment or two; but he'd always reappear, wrapping his arms tightly around her, assuring her they'd make their way to the outside, to the light of day. Together. Their joined and un-joined walk was exhilarating and addicting. And because of that, despite the logic of running outside into the sun, onto steady ground, she never chose to leave through the "emergency exit" door. She couldn't, not with hope next to her, leading her. No, hope dictated that she remain in the noise, embroiled in the chaos, until she reached the official end of the ride.
But see, the chaos and thrill had become nightmarish. Todd turned into one of the popping figures there in the neon-tinged dark, jumping at her, directing his scariness towards her, against her, finally assaulting her, literally. She'd left him behind after he hit her, after she hit him, left him sitting silently at the defense table in the courtroom, head down, Sam at his side negotiating a way out of the lodge incident.
"You're delusional."
Tea cursed that word for something Todd had said, something she couldn't even remember anymore. Maybe he was saying he loved her. He never looked up.
She planned on staying in New York, planned on never returning, but it wasn't any good. So here she was again. Only this time, Todd was alone in the fun-house, its single terror-stricken patron, and Tea was outside trying to get in, her stomach jumpy at hearing cacophony pouring out of the windows, screams from inside, the rhythmic grinding of shifting floors. God, she wanted to be with him, wanted to assure him that he was going to get out safely.
Madness. Because he did not want to leave the goddamn fun-house.
Téa turned around to Bo entering the office again with the dreaded file in his hand, the door creaking behind him. Shutting it with a slight slam. The file was thin, she could see, not like Todd's tome of criminology.
"I'm not sure if this is the same girl who's with Todd, but here's the file of the only Brandy in our system, the only one we've picked up for prostitution," Bo said, laying the file onto his cluttered desk and motioning for Téa to have a seat.
She sat matter-of-factly as if this was just another file, and put down her mug. Raising her eyes to Bo, she asked, "Is prostitution a real problem in Llanview? As severe as the drug situation?"
"It is. We actually have an unofficial ... red-light district." Bo cleared his throat, standing in front of the desk with his arms across his chest, giving him an air of defensiveness.
"You're kidding," Téa said.
"No, it's near the docks, the worst part of Llanview. There are lots of apartments there, old row buildings, very run-down. The place attracts the worst. If you go between the hours of 10:00 or so and 3:00 in the morning, you'll find people loitering, hanging out, and they're not doing that just because they like the night air."
"And you let this go on?"
"We ignore the prostitution there to a certain degree ... yes." Bo looked away, guiltily.
"Why would you do that? Allow crimes to occur?"
Bo took a breath, "It's not that we allow it, it's a matter of turning our ... bureaucratic cheek." He paused a second or two. "We permit the prostitutes to operate in the hopes they'll feed us information about bigger criminals in the area, but also in the hopes that they will … take ... the sexual frustrations and aggression of the Todd Mannings of Llanview."
"What?" A burst of anger flashed across Téa's face, not only at the insult to Todd, Bo obviously referring to his being an ex-rapist, but also at the slam against these women on the streets. The sickness of allowing them to be violated was beyond words. Not human, not people ... Brandy and Todd aren't the same. She tightened her jaw, touching the file, and said sharply, "You permit these women to remain vulnerable so they can be raped and abused, so the 'Todd Mannings' will leave the Marty's and the Carol Swifts alone? In other words… so they'll leave the privileged people alone?"
Bo didn't flinch. "Something like that," he said. "We always investigate ... violations ... but … by allowing the hookers to work, finding Brandy will be a lot easier. She doesn't have to hide."
"You think that makes me feel better? You think my concern for my husband outweighs the obvious damage you're doing to people on the streets?!"
"Doesn't it?"
She hesitated, eyeing Bo, but then picked a position. Righteousness always served her well. "I would much rather this woman be safe, damn it..." Not human ... not human. She's not a woman like me. Choosing not to dignify the LPD "code," Téa quickly opened the file and immediately found the alley cat herself in a classic police photo. The file indeed belonged to Todd's Brandy, his very broken Johnny-girl. Téa breathed out and shoved the file away, "God damnit…"
The file teetered on the edge of the desk, Bo adjusting it. "That her?"
"Yes," Téa said sharply.
Bo then read aloud as Téa watched outside the window. "Suspect indicates she's been on the streets since age ... eleven. Suspect is guessing her age as she is not aware of her true age. She is also not aware of the individual names of her parents and although suspect states she knows her last name, a given last name, she refuses to reveal it, giving only the alias of Parker. She states she is from Philadelphia. Examining officer suspects she might be mostly illiterate and that she is in general good health according to the staff medical reports, see attached ..."
Téa reluctantly looked at a medical report Bo handed her, where it indicated Brandy had some minor bruising, but was otherwise healthy.
Putting the report down, she snapped, "Eleven years old when she hit the streets. And this woman is supposed to ... take the aggression of the Todd Mannings of Llanview. My god, Bo." Her voice sounded more emotional than she felt. Unspoken thoughts lurking, percolated. Ugly low thoughts.
Do you think he abuses her?
Do you want him to?
Maybe. Maybe I'd like him to beat the hell out of her.
"She's not alone," Bo said. "It's not an unusual case."
"How do you wake up in the morning knowing there are young girls on the street being abused?" Téa looked aghast, shocked at this woman's history and how Llanview ignored her because judgment is easy. She turned to the file again, eyes on the plainness of the folder. Todd related to her. Identified with her. His devotion to her was more history than his tattoos. More history than she wanted to know.
"Jesus Christ," she hissed. "How can an eleven year old child survive the streets with your policeman IGNORING THEM?" she asked. Self-righteousness is easy.
"Téa…look—"
With unforeseen tears in her eyes, knowing she wasn't talking about Brandy but a Todd she was beginning to sense, she asked, "What's wrong with you?! How many children are out there like this one?! How many?!"
Bo kept his cool. "She's a throw-away child, Téa, one of thousands. Birthed in the projects, most likely without medical intervention. She's got no birth certificate and no legitimacy. Maybe she was raised by her birth parents, maybe not. She was quiet enough to never have been picked up by the state. She's garbage." He shook his head for emphasis, "Not that I think that, but it's a fact of our society. We don't purposefully ignore children on the streets. It just happens."
She stood up. "You make me sick."
"I didn't put her out there."
"No, you leave her out there."
Todd was garbage, too. A throw-away child that grew into a monster.
"Like I said, if you want to find her, go to Sixteenth Street and Llanview between the hours of ten and three in the morning. She works that area. But don't go out there alone, Téa. Take an officer with you."
"Screw you." With that, she marched out of his office, bitter, sickened tears stinging her eyes. Todd thought he was like Brandy. Abused, beaten, raped. Sold out.
My god.
What you want, baby?
Intertwining alley cats - intertwined madness.
"My GOD," Téa said aloud, sniffling back the pain. As she stormed out of the police department, she remembered one of the times she saw Todd back at the hospital, remembered vividly his begging her for forgiveness and how she'd given it to him. How she handed it over without regret. Perhaps she might be capable of such infinite love then, but, really, what good was it if Todd wasn't capable of forgiving himself? What future was there with this ... godly love?
What you want, baby?
And at what point is boundless love for another human being a sin in and of itself? At what point is it soulful suicide? God loves us without end, but he punishes those who punish themselves, starve themselves, kill themselves. Ultimately, Todd was the one who had to do the forgiving. He was the one who had to learn to love himself boundlessly. Without it, she'd be locked out of the fun-house for all time, forever damned to hear his screaming on the inside. Forever tied to the fun-house, neither leaving nor entering.
Acceptance, forgiveness. Suicide? Madness.
What you want, baby?
With a pitiful sigh, Jedediah moved the unappetizing scrambled eggs around his plastic plate with his spoon, wishing he had a fork. There was something definitely humiliating in eating this way, it made a person feel ... infantile. Although he sat by himself at the end of a table in the dining area, he was surrounded by a room-full of chattering and watchful boys ranging in age from 14 to 18, younger boys being housed in another building. This room had large barred windows and was decorated with colorful artwork, bright murals and paintings and other creations, all done by residents of juvie hell and all futile attempts to bring a sense of joy to an otherwise joyless place. There were guards at the edges of the room, walking along, chitchatting with some of the boys.
The first days of his occupancy had been a flurry of educational and intelligence testing resulting in Mr. Eldridge's sarcastic snorts and Jedediah's being placed in college-preparatory classes. One good thing the work had given him was some much-needed respite from tormenting thoughts of his father. Lots of tests, lots of school work. In the time he'd been here, he managed not to make a single friend, or enemy, with anyone. Meaning, he was in a comfortable state of isolation and he hoped it would last a while.
Jed quickly spooned the rest of the egg concoction into his mouth and started to get up from the table, but was immediately restrained by two firm hands pressing on his shoulders, forcing him to sit down again.
"What the—"
Two young men of perhaps Latino background flanked him, one on each side.
"Before white boys can really swim here at juvie, they need to meet with me," the bigger kid snarled.
"Get the fuck outta here," Jedediah grumbled, trying to get up, the other boy forcing him down again and snickering.
"I don't think you heard me," the first one said. "My name's BB and I sort of run things around here and I been noticing that you sure got it easy – college classes, visits from family. You got it … too easy and I'm here to remind you of which way is UP."
Jedediah turned in his chair and looked at BB up and down, looked at the couple of tattoos on his arms and the scar in the form of a teardrop on his cheek. "Fuck you," Jed growled.
"No, man, fuck you," BB said, his face tight and his eyes not moving from Jed's. "I hear you in here for carrying shit, that true? You carry ... shit?"
Jed smiled, "Nah, I'm in for knockin' off a loser who looked just like you."
BB chuckled, "That right? How'd you do it? With your dick?"
"Yeah, you want me to show you? I'm happy to do replays."
BB shook his head and quickly punched Jed across the chin, the other boy holding Jed, the room quieting somewhat. "You talkin' back to me," BB said. "That's against the rules."
"I'm gonna do much more than talk back to you, bitch, if you don't back the fuck up," Jed panted, rubbing his chin. "That's a promise."
BB hit Jed again, shaking his head, Jedediah sitting back up with blood dripping off his chin. "I said," BB repeated, "no talking back to superiors. Got that?"
Jed bit down on teeth and growled, "I think ... they were talking about people ... bigger than you, less ... stupid."
As BB moved to hit Jedediah again, Jed grabbed BB's fist and punched BB hard in the head, the other boy jumping at Jed, knocking him off the chair, the three soon involved in a serious brawl. The place exploded with the yells of the other boys. Quickly, however, a buzzing sound ensued, along with the pounding footsteps of four guards pushing back the other boys, ordering them to their rooms. They let the three duke it out for another minute and then broke it up, painfully so, as they dragged each one to the side in a hold, not releasing them until they were calm, not releasing them until they were faced with the imposing being of Mr. Eldridge.
"What the HELL ... is goin' on?!" Eldridge demanded.
The boys all remained quiet, breathing heavy and looking furious.
"Since nobody wants to answer, then I guess I have to do the answerin' for ya'. Well Mr. Eldridge, sir ... bein' the fools we are ... we were bein' defiant to the rules and we were ... exercisin' our powerlessness in the form of physical aggression and intimidation and attempted exploitation of persons weaker than our pathetic selves. Yes, that's the answer that I was lookin' for."
The boys stayed quiet, eyeing each other more than they were eyeing Eldridge.
Not caring about their meager attempts at self-autonomy, Eldridge glared at all three boys then settled on BB, saying, "Benito Balmaceda, we're very tired of your antics. You already are pushin' your luck at bein' in the Center at all ... you should be at Statesville … but in the interest of your delicate ... age ... the courts seem to think you need our protection. Today I'm goin' to see what I can do about declinin' this protection." Eldridge looked at the other boy equally as severely. "Francisco Meta, same for you." He looked at Jedediah. "Since this is your first incident with other residents, you get to go back to isolation. And to think, you had already come so far." Eldridge then looked at the guards and commanded, "Strip 'em and send 'em all to the tank to talk out their problems."
Eldridge turned on his heels and the three boys were led away, the guards pushing them along to the observation ward. All the while, Jedediah kept wishing for that fork, for something a bit more dangerous. He had some real trouble on his hands with these two. They'd picked him out and he was going to have to continue to prove that he couldn't be overpowered.
A short time later, Jedediah found himself in his shorts sitting on a cold mat, staring BB and 'Cisco down, all of them in a special cool-down room being watched by two guards. None of them had said anything to each other so far until BB smirked, "You got to know, chump, that 'Cisco and I – we ain't goin' nowhere. This is our home, this is our ... place. We at the top here and we ain't gonna let up on you."
"Screw you," Jedediah hissed, looking up at the guard briefly. "You think I'm scared?"
BB smiled, "Yeah, you scared. I see it ... en tus ojos." BB made a "V" sign with his fingers, pointing to his own eyes. He chuckled, "You scared shitless."
"Nah…you are," Jedediah said, grinning. "And with good reason – you better be watching your back from now on."
BB knew he was in no place to do anything so he simply grinned back and made a clicking sound with his teeth and tongue. "Yeah," he then said, "You so tough – you think I got to be in control of this place by ... intimidation? By ... exploitation?"
Cisco sniffled and snickered, "Yeah..."
"Think again, Chant, think again."
Jedediah flipped off BB and turned away, watched the clock's second hand skip around the numbers, wondering how long he was going to be trapped with these losers. BB's irritating voice interrupted Jed's thoughts, however.
"I heard something about you."
Jed looked over at BB, flashing a questioning expression.
"I heard your daddy was a rapist, did time for it. That true?"
Jed shrugged.
"You a rapist, Chant? You take down women like that? Our mothers ... our sisters?"
"Nope."
"Nope?" BB said mockingly.
"I just don't know… tell me, you suck dick like your mama?"
Cisco laughed hard and then quickly stopped. BB did nothing but smile back, coldly, and so did Jed, smiling even bigger because he knew he'd really pissed BB off. But by this point, he didn't care. He was in big trouble as it was, so why bother with diplomacy?
"You're so easy ... Benito," Jed chuckled.
"Yeah – easy."
The door opened and Eldridge ordered the other two boys out, BB nodding threateningly at Jed before leaving with the guards. Eldridge stood over Jed, shaking his head. "I had hopes for you, Chant, thought you'd do better than kickin' ass for breakfast. What's that about?"
"Why do you care?"
Eldridge sighed and squatted down, quite a feat for someone as big as him. He looked Jed in the eyes, "Because you're too smart to hassle with punks like Benito."
"Yeah, well, he started it," Jed said, picking at the mat, studying his infinitesimal destruction.
"When they approach you, you nod your head, you say, yes, sir, and let those criminals think they in charge. What's so hard about that, Chant?"
"What's so hard about letting some asshole think he's gotten something over on me? You gotta be kidding."
"See this here is your problem: you always gotta be the one with the last word, the one with the ace in his pocket. It's gonna get you killed and if not killed, you gonna end up in Statesville for killin' Benito or one of his punks. I will hate to see that go down. You have a chance out there. Benito doesn't. He's in for the long haul. When he turns 18, he's out of the center and it isn't to freedom. But you only in here for a couple of months at most. You ... have freedom waiting. Don't piss it away."
Jedediah looked away at hearing the word, "months." That was for-fucking-ever. Freedom had never seemed so sweet to him, so unreachable. Besides, what was even awaiting him when he did get out? He pushed thoughts of Todd away; couldn't go there. It hurt too damn much.
"I'm gonna give you another chance," Eldridge said gently in that heavy drawl. "You go to class. Have lunch in the main room, enjoy your free time. We'll talk again. Say, yes, sir, to them. Yes, sir." Eldridge got back up, leaving Jed to get dressed and hit the classroom. Leaving Jedediah to his thoughts. Say, yes, sir. What a joke. No way on God's green earth would he ever say, sir, to shits like BB. Hell to the fucking no.
Tomorrow was visitors day but he hadn't been told who was going to see him. Usually it was Viki or Kevin. Téa had stopped in, too. He also hoped it was Summer, funny enough. That pretty friend of Jessica's, that ... bad girl. Sure it was humiliating to be here, but it was also sort of romantic in a sort of cinematic way. You know, talking on the phone to your long-lost love from behind the glass, "Wait for me, baby! I'll be out in ... oh ... just forty more years. I love you!" Jed laughed to himself and then his smile faded as he pulled on his clothes. Life was so damn hard.
How the hell did he end up here? Destiny, he thought. He was his father's son.
Kevin and Cassie sat across the desk from Jack Neederman, the FBI agent who was assisting in the investigation of Phillip Manning and who was now dejectedly shaking his head at the computer screen. "I have nothing for the alias, Paulie Smith," Jack said. "It's possible this guy doesn't have a criminal record. I doubt it, but it does happen."
Cassie sighed and sat back, "Well, he's definitely the one supplying drugs to Todd. That's him in the picture from the hospital tapes, I just know it. I'd recognize that huskiness, that dingy coat anywhere. His selling drugs would definitely be something we could use against him to get him in here."
"Would love to catch him in the act, catch him with the loot. Slam-dunk for possession with intent to sell. It'd get him in here, yeah." Jack continued to scroll through the database. "Have you had any contact with him?"
"No," Cassie said. "Not since Jed ran away. I actually tried to contact him earlier in the week with no luck. I really hope we haven't lost him – as an informant."
"Hmm."
Kevin sat up, "You see something?"
"Yeah, here's a guy with two unpaid parking tickets for a car that fits your description. A 1974 black BMW ... what's caught my attention is the fact that it was parked in that raunchy part of Llanview. The car's registered to a Risley Moran. Let's put his name into the database..."
Kevin and Cassie glanced quickly at each other, listening to the tapping sound of the computer keys. Jack sipped from his coffee cup, muttering, "Cold," as he sat the cup back down. "Low profile dude... looks like he has an expunged juvenile record."
"What does that mean?" Kevin asked.
"Expunged – his record has been cleaned up, so to speak. He's not obligated to reveal it nor can any public agency obtain the records ... any ... public agency who doesn't have inside contacts that is." Jack grinned. "We can do some bluffing with him – let's get the local PD to pick up that car."
The halls of Hell are navigated via tactile feel because blindness and deafness are imposed upon its sorrowful occupants by Satan for his sadistic amusement. To Satan's unending delight, the residents fumble along the corridors in a desperate effort to make their way to some unknown destination. Some search for salvation, others search for their own lost soul, still others search because they've nothing else to do. No matter what their delusion, however, the stumbling in the dark binds the occupants together in a way that will never be, can never be, erased. What Satan doesn't know is that eventually, the solidarity of a few connected beings will lead to their grace.
It's only a matter of time.
"Hell," Todd said to himself as he brushed hair out of his face with one hand, the other hand glancing along the plate glass of a storefront while he walked towards Llanview Bank. Despite his determination, normality was hard to maintain. All he wanted was to stretch out on a park bench to enjoy his peacefulness. He stuck both hands into the pockets of his not-warm-enough military jacket, his face wrinkling in momentary confusion. He couldn't remember where he got the coat from. He shrugged. Oh yeah…Brandy…
He kept walking.
Todd had been binging on heroin for so many days he lost count and in the extreme throes of his last dose, decided it was time to leave Brandy's place, time to get money for more "h" because he'd managed to work his way through the junk he had wrested away from Paulie. See, on the day of Paulie's return, once Todd had come around from his heavy first dose, he had convinced Paulie to hand over more dope, at least enough for a couple of days.
He needed it.
"I'll get you the money," he had promised. Please please please please ... and the truth was, Paulie finally broke down because he wanted to get laid by Brandy and because he got tired of fighting with Todd. So he dug into his stuff and threw those precious packages at Todd, making him swear he'd not overdo it anymore. Yeah, right. Not overdo sending himself into Heaven repeatedly. Not overdo basking in the rapture of pure love, of perfect, non-judgmental, non-failing love. Not overdo ... not breathing anymore. Yeah, so he got the Princess and spent days on the couch glimpsing the sometime image of Brandy and Paulie fucking in the background. He closed his eyes to it. Closed his entire being to everything other than the heroin.
So to the bank he decided to go for cash because they'd run out, except he had no identification, no recall of his fucking PIN number nor of his bank account number, nor did he have any desire to come out of hiding. He was at a severe disadvantage.
"Baby, you can't go nowhere looking like this!" Brandy had insisted. "Ain't nobody going to give you the time of day in that bank of yours! The cops are gonna pick you up so fast ... please..." He smiled at the memory of her near-tearful supplications, her ... needy pleas. Poor little whore, he thought, poor little empty, trashy whore.
Just like me ... my sweet pea ... my pretty pebble of girl tossed into a sea of black, rocky waves, of endless icy pain. Let's drown together, baby. Let's slip beneath the filmy, foamy cover. It's easy. So easy.
"Hey watch yourself!" some guy exclaimed who Todd had bumped into.
"Fuck off," he groaned, continuing his walk. He'd gotten cleaned up a little, just enough to look normal. At least, he thought he did. Threw on some clean clothes, put a brush through his hair. Kind of. He patted down this one section the brush wouldn't go through. He didn't shave though. That was something he didn't do much of – Brandy did it for him sometimes. He also didn't wait to come off his last shot. That was one thing he wasn't going to do – he needed to be high to face the world. Brandy kept saying he looked fucked up. Whatever that means. Fuck her. He was fine.
Whatever. Whatever.
Were all stoned, Johnny-Girl! Denial is an amazing thing ... look at their faces, look into their eyes. Denial has fucked them all up. I at least tell the truth about my being rotten all the way through.
"All of us residents of Hell are fucked up, Brandy-girl," he said aloud, ignoring the stares of a couple of people along the sidewalk. Looking upwards, he murmured, "Ain't that right ... Peter?"
At last he found himself at the doors of the bank. "A necessary evil to peace," he mumbled before chuckling to himself, not noticing the guard through the glass staring at him. He pushed open the door and looked around, several people glancing at him. He half-way smiled at them. Easy ... easy... as pie. He saw one teller at the counter that appeared free. Happy he'd only be cutting off a few people in line, he started to make his way toward her.
But he felt a hand on his shoulder, a firm, unmoving hand. "Can I help you?" A deep voice asked.
Todd turned around and grinned, "I have to make a ... withdrawal."
"Really." It was a guard, an older guy in his fifties. He had a gun which Todd stared at, a badge. A uniform. Easy.
"Yeah, I have an account ... a big one. And I want my money."
"You got some identification on you, sir?" The man stared hard at Todd who kept looking away, who kept scratching at a spot on his arm through the thickness of his jacket, getting impatient with the delay at his getting to his account.
"No, I don't have any fucking identification ... I don't need any. I'm Todd Manning and I have a whole hell of a lot of money here so get me a fuckin' teller and get me to my fuckin' money."
The guard just stood there, however, finally saying, "Why don't you come with me."
"I'm not going with you anywhere ... let me sign something, anything. I have a banker that I deal with – he'll know me."
The guard chuckled, "Oh ... that's right, you're…who?"
"Todd Manning, that's me."
"And you have a banker ... well ... that's a whole different thing then! What's his name?"
Todd looked around, chewed on the nail of his middle finger, "Umm... fuck ..."
"Yeah, okay, Mr. Manning. That's a good one though …Todd Manning …ha! I'll give you credit for that ...problem is you forgot to bring your Armani suit, the 911 Porsche, and the fact that he always, ALWAYS, comes in through private entrance with his accountant … which is once in a blue moon." The guard laughed again, taking Todd by the elbow and growling, "Get the hell outta here before I have you thrown in jail."
"HEY! I have a fuckin' account here! Let me the fuck go!" Several people looked up and another guard began to march towards the commotion, the first guard not letting go of Todd's arm as they headed toward the back exit. Just at that moment, Todd spotted Dorian Lord Hayes smiling at him from a few feet away, smiling at him like a cat who swallowed a particularly large rat. In his chemical haze, he did what he thought was reasonable.
"Dorian!" he called out.
The guards looked toward her and she gave them a surprised expression. The new guard, a younger man, said, "Mrs. Hayes, you know this man?"
"Of course she does! Dorian, will you fucking tell these goons who I am?!"
Dorian sighed heavily. Shook her head. "Oh that poor man," she said, smiling sadly. "No, I'm sorry. I have no idea who he is. He looks like he belongs at the shelter. Such a pity what happens to the impoverished."
She turned around, folding some papers in her hand and began sauntering to the offices of the bank, giving Todd one last, sorrowful smile. "Good luck to you," she said in her most compassionate voice.
In a state of absolute shock, Todd then screamed out (later he'd recall the reaction as one of his prouder heroin-addict moments) as she walked away, "YOU BITCH! YOU FUCKIN' HOSEBAG CUNT OF A BITCH!"
The guards then grabbed him tightly by the arms, dragging him to a back exit. "Oh that was good, nice, nice work … let's go," one of them said.
"Go sleep it off. We see you again, we call the cops."
"NO!" he yelled one last time, fighting the hold of the two guards. The bank's activities resumed again as he was dragged away, some uncomfortable laughs and coughs from the customers in line for the bank tellers. The back door was noisily pushed open and before he could take another breath, Todd found himself with dirty snow in his mouth as his body landed on the hard, cold ground. Spitting out the icy stuff, he turned his head in time to see the heavy door slam shut. They'd thrown him onto the sidewalk behind the bank. Like some ... unknown ... nothing. Like garbage.
He shakily got to his feet, but then plopped down again. He'd smashed his lip against the concrete when he'd hit the ground and was holding his hand to the cut. He then stared at the blood on his hand.
"What the hell," he muttered.
"Tsk, tsk."
Todd looked up to see Paulie's disapproving face. Todd shrugged, his face masking the humiliation, the surreal quality of his bank visit lingering. "I guess ... I couldn't get to my money."
"No shit." Paulie pulled him to his feet. "What did you expect, Manning? If you're going to do business, you have to look the part. Jesus."
"I look the part!" Todd rubbed his mouth with tissue he found in his pocket.
"Oh yeah ... Christ. You're so pinned, it ain't even funny."
"What?"
"Pinned. Your pupils, they're the size of pins. You look stoned. You're wearing thrift shop duds, and you haven't shaved in a month. You're a fuckin' mess, man."
Todd looked down, rubbing the back of his head, feeling a knot of hair. Rubbed his face, feeling his beard.
"Jesus," Paulie sighed, sitting on the curb next to Todd. "You can't be doing this. Know what I suggest?"
Todd shook his head, keeping his head down, tears threatening to come out in spite of his comfortable high. Trash, he thought.
"Go back to the hospital, do some time there. Get de-toxed. When you get out, get on a maintenance program."
"A what?"
"Maintenance. No more binging. Learn to use enough to feel good, to feel normal. None of this ... nodding shit. Learn to use the dope like meds. Small dose in the morning, one at night or afternoon and that's it. Enough to be normal." Paulie noticed a guard at the door and got to his feet, pulling Todd with him, getting him to walk.
"I don't want to be normal," Todd said.
"Then you're gonna end up dead."
"So what?"
"So what?!"
Todd shuffled along the snow, his mind drifting, an image of Starr coming to him, of Jedediah. "You don't know anything about me," he said softly.
Paulie shook his head. "Fine, you want a ride back to Brandy's or you wanna stay out here and risk getting picked up by the cops?"
"Leave me the fuck alone."
"Real good. See you around, Manning. Avoid the cops. And no more shit until you pay me."
Paulie then left, grumbling as he crossed the street, and Todd kept walking. Didn't know where he was going, didn't care. He saw people look at him funny and he dug his hands into his pockets, not looking back at them. He knew what they saw. They saw garbage. The same way the guards at the bank saw him. The same way the people at the bank saw him. He heard it in their laughter, in their coughs. He remembered those looks from strangers once before. That was how they looked at him when he worked as a janitor at the hospital so long ago after getting out of jail. That was how Peter looked at him every day of his life. Todd was garbage then, he was garbage now. Always. Money hadn't changed anything. When it came down to it, the world had judged him and finally saw past the money, saw through the nice clothes and the Penthouse and pretty wives and fancy cars and the newspaper mogul status. His true self was walking around town now and everyone had forgotten the cover. They all forgot the nice portrait of "redemption."
The big, fucking lie.
He was a whore, a rapist, a nothing. He was a drugged-up trashy nothing with no money, no decency, and no family.
He watched the ground as it rolled past him, beneath his feet. Felt his high fade, felt the inching forward of his pain. People soon disappeared, commercial dirtiness disappeared, and before long there was only the cool clean emptiness of residential solitude, wintered gardens, and snowed lawns. After a while, he found himself in front of Dorian's house. Bitch. He stood at the front gate and stared at the front door. It was tranquil, silent. There weren't any cars, no sign of his baby girl. No sign of life at all. The late afternoon threatened to cloak the neighborhood in darkness. He sniffled and told himself that he only needed to recapture Paulie's pouch that Blair had snaked away that oh-so-long-ago night he'd been here.
That was all he planned. All he intended to do. He sure as hell wasn't going to steal from his own daughter's house. He was garbage, sure ... but not that much garbage.
Todd walked around to the back of the house and climbed over the fence dropping down onto his feet. He looked past the swing set, the slide. The playhouse. He wasn't going to steal from her. If he ran out of money, well, that would be it. No more heroin. So what? He'd find another way.
Maybe he could talk his accountant into pulling some cash for him. Right. Miss Toe-the-line. His accountant was so clean it was scary. She'd never do it. He sniffed as he balled his fist and punched through the glass of one of the back French doors. Dorian never used the burglar alarm – hated the hassle. The only time she did was when Starr was around. She must be spending the night someplace. Thank God for small favors.
He twisted the doorknob from inside and opened the door. Looked around, he tried to decide where Blair would have hidden the pouch. No way would she throw it away and risk getting caught with it. This was truly the best place to hide drugs, right under Dorian's nose. He knew it wouldn't be in the living room because this was where Starr played and stuff – he swallowed a bolt of guilt at the thought of Starr. Moved on. Wouldn't be in the bedrooms either. Nor the kitchen. There was only one place he knew was off limits for his girl.
Yeah, Blair probably hid the pouch somewhere in the library.
The library was a large room with beautiful mahogany shelving, bronze busts of famous authors, oil paintings adorning empty spaces. Leather couches surrounded heavy coffee tables. Todd flipped on some lights and started knocking books off the shelves, looking behind them, his peripheral vision however catching glints of light off the crowning piece of furniture in the room. A massive, etched, wooden desk. He kept knocking the books over, opening some wooden decorative boxes that were empty.
Finally he stepped over to the desk. Opened all the drawers, finding only papers and whatnot. He reached under the desk and felt along the underside. Smiling to himself, he felt the edge of a hidden back shelf. He then got completely beneath the desk, lying on his back, and felt along the shelf with his hands. Bingo. The pouch touched his fingertips.
The pouch sat next to something else.
He pulled the leather case down and opened it. A syringe, cotton filters, alcohol swabs and ... oh ... some bags of heroin. His mouth watered. He nearly cried with relief. Stuffing the pouch into his jacket he then reached back along the shelf for that other thing. Papery. Wadded paper. He pulled it out.
Money. A bunch of cold, hard cash.
Todd popped up too fast and hit his head, yelling out a loud "Ow!" He rubbing his head. He then got out from underneath the desk and sat on the chair to look at the wad of money. "Shit," he said softly. There had to be at least three thousand bucks. Maybe as much as four. Except it was wrapped up by a rubber band with a note attached, in Blair's writing, "Deposit for Starr."
"Shit…" he cursed.
He leaned back on the chair, the wad of money hanging loosely from his hand, realizing that although he said the words, he didn't mean them. He wanted to take it. It was a matter of ... breaking this down. Starr obviously doesn't know about the cash. Blair was hiding it. Why would she do that? It this illegal money? Why would she keep some kind of stash and then write that it's for Starr?
It's not Starr's, that's why.
It's a cover. She's hiding cash and then in the event Dorian found it, she'd say it was for Starr. Who would deny Starr that? Todd looked at the cash in his hand. Stealing from his own daughter? It's not. It's a lie. It's not Starr's. It's Blair's money and Blair, well, this would be a loan. Yeah. She could get money from him, easily. He sniffed. It had been hours since his last hit. His nose was runny and his stomach was cramping. Now that he was thinking about it, his legs hurt too, mild aches all through his muscles. Maybe he was just tired and hungry. He was sweating a little. A wave of nausea rolled through him and he leaned forward… vomiting would feel so good right now. He eyed the trash can. Eyes on the bottom.
He was gonna puke. And with that, a thought hit him like a goddamn baseball bat. Oh fuckin' hell.
He was developing a habit, a physical addiction to heroin. The aches and pains were fucking withdrawal symptoms. No, no, no, no, not possible. It takes years to develop an addiction. He stuffed the cash in his pocket and got the hell out of there.
Fuck it. It was a goddamned loan. A loan of Blair's money. Money she probably stole from him anyway.
Withdrawal symptoms. Impossible. He made his way down the hall, his hand running along the wall. He felt sick and scared. And the want for another hit of dope was screaming in his head, like a fucking ice-pick. Another wave hit him. He hunched over, breathing hard, feeling the money in his pocket with his other hand. He held onto the wall… he was gonna puke. He was gonna fucking puke. He breathed. And then… he puked in the hallway. Stood there, bent over the pool of sick, spitting saliva and tears and snot. Sniffling, he stood shakily and walked the rest of the way, through the glass at the back door, out the door, leaving it open. Climbed over the fence.
And ran like hell.
Garbage. There's the bottom of the heap and there's the top. At the top is the most recently dumped stuff. There, you can find the salvageable. The recognizable. The re-sellable. Useable. At the center ... is where you find the maggots. The worms. The changed and deteriorated stuff is at the bottom. The unrecognizable. Yeah. That's the unusable stuff beyond repair. Being eaten and digested and swallowed...and ... and ...
The feel of the heroin made him forget where he was shooting up. He didn't care about the smell of urine in the park bathroom, didn't care about the filth in the toilet nor the writing on the walls. Graffiti didn't have to tell him twice he was at the bottom of the garbage heap. Leaning against the metal barrier of the stall, he moaned softly as the rush hit him. The dim light of the room softened the horror of his surroundings and the drug closed it off completely. He vomited into the bowl.
"Come to me, my sweet pea."
"Mama, remember when we used to come to a park like this?"
"Yes."
"You used to chase me and we'd laugh and you'd tickle me. You used to say I was your baby and that you loved me."
"Yes, my angel."
"Why'd you leave me then?"
"Shhhhh. Just let me love you now. Let me love you in the way only I can."
Sitting on the dirty floor of that dirty bathroom, sitting there fully engulfed in a heroin nod, for the first time since he started using, Todd wasn't so sure it was his mother's voice he was hearing.
"Shhhhh..."
To be continued….