My Best Friend's Bucket List: Volume One (13 page)

“
I wouldn't hurt you.” I said.

“
I know it. Look, this here story happens to pertain to the
current situation. It's about a cat I knew named Savy. Savy
Clarkson. He was a big man. One of the best blues musicians, hands
down.”

“
Let me take a crack at what happened to him. Drove his car
off the Santa Monica pier?” I said, sourly. Big Gary laughed hard.
Dick joined in.

“
No, no, Tucker. Savy was the best and then one day he
wasn't.”

“
That's all?”

“
Just keep your mouth shut and hear me...”

Big Gary Tells Me About
Savy Clarkson

Savy Clarkson was number one in the
underground blues scene. He was hot. His sound was like the finest
razor sliding across every wrist in the room. When Savy played, you
didn't hear the guitar, you felt it. The slides, the harmonics,
palm muting, the pick plucking away at each string. The music
intertwined with your soul.

The feeling was like being drunk on your
porch when you should be at work or school. It was rebellious
relaxation at its finest. No one could ever mimic the sound because
it wasn't what he was playing, it was the way he played that
couldn't be copied. Many have tried, even nowadays in the
underground scene you can always find a Savy Clarkson copier.

All the ladies would be in tears, the men
would have their faces in the sleeves of their jackets and shirts.
Once Savy started up, you never wanted him to stop, and neither did
he. You could always tell. The crowd and him became one in the warm
Summer nights or the coldest Winters.

The thing was that no one
knew where he came from. His background, what cities he had seen.
It was rumored that he was a runaway:
Ran
away from home with his first pair of shoes, picked up the guitar
when he first felt the blues.
They used to
say.

See in those days all the blues men sang
about where they'd been, where they were headed, what they wanted
to do. Not Savy. In fact Savy barely sang ever. But when he did, he
always sang of a lady named Laurie. Like some mythical siren. A
sort of a one-that-got-away tune, which most blues tunes are, but
when he sang about that Laurie, you could hear the guitar
suffering. He made the instrument suffer through his soul.

“
So what happened?” I interrupted. Me and Dick were on the
edge of our seats. “You said he was the best, then one day he
couldn't play?”

So, story goes, the songs about Laurie were
true. Laurie was the one that got away from Savy. She died giving
birth to a child she had become pregnant with. Not with Savy, but
with a rich white man, Duncan Chesterfield. Duncan and Laurie were
having relations behind the back of Savy and Mrs. Chesterfield.

So, story has it, Savy just left. Took his
guitar and never looked back. He didn't wait for a burial or a
funereal. But he never spited her. Never spoke a bad word of her.
Word on the beak is that Savy still holds a torch for Laurie. A
blue flamed torch that burns in his heart.

“
When did he stop playing?” I asked.

Well, it is said, four years after Laurie's
death, Savy was playing a bar in Memphis. After his set he received
a phone call that would change his life.

“
Was it from a ghost? A dead Laurie?” I looked at Dick. He
winked.

The call was from Laurie. But she was no
ghost. She had been trying to hunt down Savy. You see, her death
was forged to protect the Chesterfield Family, the child she gave
birth to died during the birthing process. The whole thing was a
cover up. That way there was no baby, or no woman to be linked back
to Duncan Chesterfield.

After that, Savy and Laurie were reunited,
he never did pick up his guitar again. That is not until Laurie
committed suicide some years later. Story goes, she could never get
over the guilt of having that Chesterfield miscarriage.

Big Gary's Story Is
Over

I was confused now. The story of Savy
Clarkson did touch me and it made me think a lot about Lorrie
Lovitt. But a part of me still wanted to kill Milton. Especially if
he so much as put his arm around her.

“
Hey, man. What are you thinking?” Big Gary asked.

“
Nothing. I guess about Savy Clarkson.” I lied.

“
You still wanna kill that man, huh?”

“
Yeah.” I said. I heard footsteps approaching the
cell.

“
Let me tell you a secret,” Big Gary leaned into my ear,
“Killing a man don't fix nothing.”

“
How would know?”

“
Let's just say, story goes, Savy looked up old Duncan
Chesterfield shortly after Laurie's suicide. He used a guitar
string to end the mans life, strangled Duncan assassination style.
Nearly took off poor Duncan's head in the process.”

Something behind Big Gary's eyes stirred, I
saw him different suddenly, my skin grew cold. “You're Savy
Clarkson,” I said in an icy whisper.

“
No,” He whispered back, “I'm just a copier of him. No one
will ever be as good as he once was.” Someone cleared their throat
outside of the cell. It was the arresting officer of me.

“
Hey!” The officer shouted.

“
Yeah.” I said, happy about finally leaving.

“
Not you, show tune boy.” He looked at Big Gary, “Salvatore
Clarkson. You're out.” The officer unlocked the cell and Big
Gary/Savy Clarkson stood up and put on his hat. He turned to me and
tipped his hat.

Then I was alone with Dick. Waiting for it
to be my turn.

As I stood at the bus stop in front of the
police station two things were in my head. One, Savy Clarkson and
his epic tale. Two, I was hungry, I missed Lorrie, I wanted to kill
Milton. Okay, maybe four things. Dick stood beside me. The blood
from his wounds dripped on the sidewalk.

I had my wallet. Blackberry. Keys. Cash. It
was almost noon. I couldn't believe I had spent that much time in
the slammer. The big house. But something was different inside me.
I would usually be in tears or having severe anxiety. None that was
happening.

I wanted to give the credit to Savy Clarkson
and his story, but truth was, the moment I decided I wanted to kill
Milton was when something inside me snapped. Nothing mattered
accept ending his superficial life and taking him away from Lorrie
Lovitt.

The bus arrived and I almost paid for two
tickets, forgetting momentarily that not everyone can't see Dick. I
checked my phone and I had a text message from Nico Saucony. It was
directions to his Uncle's White Castle franchise in the San Gabriel
Valley.

I got off the bus and phoned a cab. Me and
Dick waited at a corner liquor store. All the booze hounds and bums
were there. I slipped inside to grab a small bottle of Jack Daniels
for the road. Dick scowled at me.

“
I'm not driving.” Was all I said.

The cab showed up fifteen minutes later and
it was clean and driven by a cute white girl. She probably had a
gun. Otherwise the rape would never stop. Even though we were in
California, some jobs never stop being dangerous.

“
Where to?” She asked.

“
Azusa Boulevard.”

“
Huh? In the SGV?”

“
Yeah, you got a problem?” I asked.

“
No, it's just far.”

“
Well, stick with me, I'll buy you some sliders. You ever eat
White Castle?” I said.

“
No, sir.” She put the cab in gear and we were off.

“
I know a secret location, we can grab lunch.” I said
politely.

“
I'm not sucking your dick.” The cabbie said.

“
Okay, I'm not sucking yours either.” I said.

“
Just saying, a lot of guys try to buy me things in exchange
for sexual favors.” She said.

“
I don't mean to be an asshole, but just focus on the road,
you're not my type and if you don't want to eat I won't buy you
food.” After that she shut her mouth. Dick rolled his eyes and was
making faces at the back of her head.

The inside of White Castle smelled like
cooking hamburgers and the sweet onion smell of tiny chopped
onions. There was a clear glass barrier between those preparing the
food and those preparing to eat it. I was drooling over the smell
and decided from the poster that I was going to order cheesy
fries.

The cabbie stood behind me, looking around
rather paranoid, but I smiled at her anyway.

“
No one here expects you to suck them off, don't worry.” I
said. The cabbie rolled her eyes. I laughed and Dick was the
happiest I had seen him since he was killed.

We ate sliders(mini burgers)and fries. The
cabbie told me stories of working certain routes and fares. I
didn't listen, I had heard a great story from Savy already. The
whole time I imagined me slitting Milton's throat, it somehow made
the food taste better.

Dick ate too. A lot for a dead ghost.

Before I knew it number 21 on Dick's bucket
list had been fulfilled. It was time to catch the cab home and
handle Milton.

I opened the door to the apartment. Lorrie
must be helping her mother run the corner store she owned. No one
was the there. The place smelled of bile, vomit, lilacs and peach.
Lorrie must have spent last night there and showered in the
morning.

Milton would be downstairs asleep. He worked
graveyard shift as a EMT, he got to wear a uniform and drive around
in an ambulance. He couldn't make it tonight though. He was done
and over forever.

I took the largest butcher knife we owned.
Put on some sterile rubber gloves. Snuck down to the managers
place, she never locked the door. I took the spare key to Milton's
apartment.

Inside Milton's place. I looked over the
various knick knacks and pictures in frames. No one will miss him,
I thought. I crept into the bedroom. Milton slept on his back,
facing the ceiling, shirtless and about to get his neck sliced
open.

The knife shined in Sunlight coming from
outside. I slowly put the blade to his throat. Then something
happened I did not expect. His eyes shot open, he saw me and the
knife, and he screamed like a girl.

My only thought was to push the knife into
his throat to quiet him.

CHAPTER 10

Easy As Pie

(number 9 on the bucket
list)

(loose lips sink
ships)

You know those situations where someone does
something? Too vague? I mean, say some guy tries to stop a robbery
but gets killed in the process? Or someone doubles down on an
unsafe bet and loses it all?

When you watch on you would say, “If that
were me I would've done this different.” Or “That would not have
happened to me.” Or even “I would know exactly what to do in that
situation.”

Well, submitted for your approval:

I was on top of a shirtless guy named
Milton. Milton was very, very scared. His fear was natural because
I had a large, very sharp, kitchen knife to his throat. I saw his
life flashing in the reflection of his eyes. I smiled and pressed
the knife harder against his carotid artery.

“
Milton. You called the cops on me. You thought I was abusing
Lorrie. You put your nose where it didn't belong.” I said, then
paused. His stomach made a tight whimpering sound. “You are an
Emergency Technician? Do you know how long you have to live when
your carotid artery is severed?”

“
Don't do this.” Was all Milton said.

“
Just like in the movies. That's exactly what you would say if
this were a movie.” I said. Milton looked bad. “Smile, Milton.
Please. Let me see a Jack 'O Lantern grin and I won't have to carve
one from your face.” Something inside me had snapped and caused me
to come down to his apartment with a large butcher knife and
sterile gloved hands. But being there, with the knife and the
power, it was intoxicating.

Milton attempted a smile. It was pathetic
and I felt lightheaded. This was amazing. Total control.

“
Dude, take a deep breathe. Think it through. Don't do this.”
Dick said. The ghost of my dead best friend sat at the foot of the
bed. A part of him was right, but all the bad felt good. It would
be so easy to push the knife into his throat.

“
I want you to close your eyes, Milton. I want to you to
imagine a time when you were the most happy you had ever been in
your life,” I said, Milton had began crying like a terrified five
year old. “What is the memory?”

“
NO. PLEASE. I DON'T WANNA DIE.”

“
Tell me the memory.”

“
The...the...first time-” He gagged and cried harder. “My
mommy...she took...took...us to Disneyland.”

“
Who's us?” I said. I couldn't believe he'd actually said,
Mommy.

“
Sisters...my sisters.” Milton said. Shaking like a dog
shitting razors. I pushed the knife a little deeper, it broke the
skin, he froze and his face went pale. Blood trickled down his
neck.