Romeo is Homeless (20 page)

The drugs didn’t last long with him using too. He was sick of the men, sick of Vincent. But he needed them. He needed what they brought. He was tired of sharing with his mother what he paid dearly for. It was just wasted on her.

He learned from the junkies on the street to cut the heroin with talcum powder. The high wasn’t as intense and it burned more going in – but she never noticed. The best part was each baggie lasted twice as long, and the dealers didn’t come around as often. 

In early May, three sharp raps a full second apart followed by two quick ones shook the apartment door. Vincent. Reese opened the door to this man that had become like a perverse father figure to him. A father in some twisted, parallel universe way, where it was acceptable for fathers to fuck their own kids.

“You bring my stuff?” his mother’s voice cracked from the living room.

“Yeah, of course I did. You’ll get it after, like always. Come on, boy.” Vincent grabbed Reese’s arm.

He yanked it away. “No fucking way, I’m done with that shit. Go fuck my mother. Better yet,” he growled, “go fuck yourself.” He’d grown so much he now looked Vincent in the eye. He glowered at the man he used to be so afraid of. Now he saw him for what he was. Just a pudgy, balding pusher. A bully – nothing more.

Vincent raised one eyebrow. “Your mother? She’s a disgusting, used up skank. Nobody wants that hag. But you? Well, you got lots of use left in you. Now, come on, pretty boy. Let’s go.”

Reese threw a wild punch. His fist caught nothing but air. The force of the follow through sent him off balance and he stumbled to one side. He regained his footing and spun around.

Vincent’s thick fist cracked against the side of his head. In an instant, everything went black.

Reese opened his eyes, blinking to focus in the faint light. Sharp flashes streaked across his vision, the room a distorted haze. When the blur cleared, he was laying on the couch in nothing but his t-shirt and boxers, his mother asleep in her chair, oblivious as usual.

Vincent sat at his feet and glanced up at him, then tossed two baggies onto his lap. “Didn’t think you were going to wake up. There’s extra there, a little bonus for making me knock you out. Next time, don’t fight it.” He reached across, patted and then squeezed Reese’s leg just above the knee. “I like it better when you’re awake.” He winked.

Reese didn’t move a muscle, just stared. “Next time?” His voice was ice cold. “I’ll fucking kill you.”

Vincent burst out laughing. “Sure you will, kid.” He walked out of the apartment without another word and slammed the door behind him.

Reese grabbed his jeans from the floor and yanked them on. He stood over his mother and stared at her as she snored. Deep crevasses lined her sallow skin, framed her mouth, and crisscrossed her forehead, her thirty-two year-old face looking every bit like a grandmother in her seventies. Her body was emaciated, cheeks hollow, dark circles ringing her puffy eyes. That’s what she got when the high mattered and nothing else did. That bastard was right, she was a used up skank. Her hooker clothes barely covered her body, let alone the bright purple bruises that never healed, track marks down her thighs and up her left arm. That arm was worthless, a couple of blown veins made it impossible to find a good place to inject. Her right arm still took a poke though – lucky for her he knew how to shoot her up. She was useless with her left hand. Useless all around.

He slapped her cheeks. “Mom, wake up.”

Nothing.

He hit her arm hard with an open palm. “Get up you fucking bitch! I earned your shit for you. Again.”

She stirred and opened her eyes, then patted his arm with a limp, clammy hand. “You gonna fix me, baby?”

He went to the cupboard over the fridge and pulled out the bag, grabbed a dirty glass from the counter then splashed water into it from the tap. He sat on the arm of the couch next to her chair and emptied the bag onto the table at her knees. He filled the spoon with heroin, then drizzled water over the top. The flame from her lighter easily penetrated the metal, and the mixture soon bubbled into liquid.

“What a good boy. Takin’ care of me. Vinnie’s good to us, hey?”

“Yeah, Mom. He’s a real prince.”

He’d grown to hate her these past few years, but today his loathing climaxed. He was exhausted by it all, fed up with her, with the dealers. With this life. He absolved himself of any responsibility for her. He didn’t change the needle, didn’t clean the spoon. She didn’t even notice.

He tied off her arm just above the elbow with the shoelace from his old runners that had long ago replaced the filthy and deteriorated rubber tube she used to use. He filled the syringe, making sure to leave enough room for draw back. He was skilled at this – a thirteen year-old expert at shooting up.

He smacked her arm a few times, then poked at it with his index finger. He inserted the needle, drawing back until blood agitated the drugs. He released the shoelace with one hand, his other thumb depressing the plunger. He slowly pushed her true love inside her, and then withdrew.

She never came down any more. Her consistent scheduled hits sustained a level high. She would just lay there snoring and slobbering in her sleep, or grinning like an idiot if she had her eyes open. She never found that euphoria he still felt. Never showed any change at all. Her body and brain had adapted so well, it just kept the pain away, didn’t bring new happiness, no real release.

She stared at her skin where the needle had stuck her. Then her head rolled back and an orgasmic moan escaped her lips. “Oh, baby. That’s good shit.” She lifted her head and looked at him, her eyes clearer than they’d been in weeks.

He glanced at her. That was new. He eyed the powder. He hadn’t cut it – it was straight shit. She could actually feel it. He wiped the spoon off on his jeans and filled it again.

“You gonna join me, baby?” She was always sickly sweet when he fed her heroin.

“Maybe later. This one’s for you too, a special treat.” He set the spoon aside to cool and tied her off again, watching her face.

“It’s not too much?”

“Nah. Vincent said he made a special blend just for you. He takes care of his favorite girl, doesn’t he? Besides, Mom – you deserve it.” He filled the syringe, smacked her arm, found the vein again and did her up a second time. He pushed the plunger and stared into her sunken eyes.

The corners of her mouth curled into a listless grin. “You’re so sweet, baby.”

The needle left her arm. Her eyes rolled back and her head flopped to one side, hanging limp near her shoulder. Her breath became shallow and raspy and then stopped altogether. Foamy saliva drooled from her mouth, pooled along her jutting collarbone and dripped into her meager cleavage.

He sat on the arm of the couch and stared at her. Her face and arm twitched and started, then she was motionless. He poked her shoulder. She didn’t move. He opened one of her eyelids with his thumb and looked into her dead eye.

He picked up her purse from the floor, dumped it and rifled through the contents. He pocketed what little money she had. He leaned forward, rested his forearms on his thighs and stared at the heroin and paraphernalia on the table. One knee bounced up and down with frenetic speed before he snatched what remained of the drugs and crammed them into his pocket. He put on his jacket, slipped on his runners and headed for the door.

He had never looked back, had never even glanced one last time at his mother’s body. Hadn’t thought much about her at all since that day. Until August came along.

He stroked August’s feet, the mud now dried and dusty. Looking up to the rock, he surveyed his friends. “I know I told you her overdose was an accident, but it wasn’t. I put the bitch down. I didn’t plan it, just decided to right then. I figured it was the only way out.”

Guy was lying back on the rock with one arm thrown over his face, his shoulders shook. Amber hadn’t moved or spoken, just stared at Reese, her face soaked by tears. August’s grip tightened around his waist, his shirt wet at the shoulder where she’d laid her head.

Amber wiped her nose on her bare arm, then picked up August’s hoodie from the rock and rubbed her whole face with it. “Man, we’ve been hanging for more than two years.”

“Four.” Guy spoke into his arm and held up four fingers of his other hand.

“Why didn’t you tell us before?”

He reached back with one arm and wrapped it around August’s shoulder, looking at her through his hair. He pulled up his shirt and wiped tears and snot from her cheeks and nose. “I guess I just needed to talk about it today. Get my feelings out.” He smiled at her.

He’d never told another soul those truths. Wasn’t sure it had done him any good to reveal them now, but he did feel a bit lighter, like he was sharing the weight of his crappy life with them. He kissed August on the forehead. “Thanks.”

He looked back to his friends. “Just thought it was time you knew the truth. I didn’t feel bad about killing her. Didn’t feel anything, you know?” He glanced at his other arm, at the bandages and scars that ran from wrist to bicep. “It’s history. Doesn’t matter anymore. Unless you want to turn me in or something.”

Amber snorted. “Yeah, that’s what we’ll do. Dork.”

Guy popped up, wet lashes the only proof he had cried, and tossed one arm over Amber’s shoulder. “Better her than you, I say. She got what was coming.”

He smiled at them. “Thanks, dudes.”

Guy stood and stretched. “Hey, isn’t your Wednesday date named Vincent?”

Reese huffed air out of his nose. “One and the same.”

August pulled back and looked at him, her eyes red rimmed. “Why do you keep letting him do that to you?”

“At first it was because I knew the product. I knew the price. I was used to it. Used to him.” He paused and stared at her face. “It’s different now. He pays me cash, and I’m in charge. He needs me. Not the other way around.”

A couple of silent minutes passed. Then Reese grabbed August’s feet and tickled them.

She screeched and kicked, then fell backward on the blanket in fits of laughter.

He bent down and kissed her. He couldn’t find the right words to express his feelings, but he could show her how he felt.

Without warning, he was rolling away in the dirt. When he stopped, Guy sat on top of him making exaggerated kissing noises. Reese roared with laughter.

“Okay, children!” Amber clapped her hands, then stood and tossed the hoodie to August. “Time to figure out how we eat today.”

Reese looked at Guy. “Yes, Mother,” they said in deep-voiced harmony.

August reached around Reese’s back and hooked her thumb through his belt loop. They walked side by side through the park, his arm protective around her shoulder. She gripped his hand that hung down in front of her chest.

Reese’s story was fresh in her mind. Her heart ached for him. She had run away from a mother whose worst crime against her was being a strict, but loving, parent. His had sold his body and his innocence to feed an addiction, hooked him on drugs, and pushed him to the point of having to kill just to escape the hell she had put him through. It was unimaginable. How could any mother choose drugs over her own child? How could one single look at his beautiful face – at any child’s face – not exorcise her demons? His mother didn’t deserve him. His feelings were never validated, never respected. Never even known. No wonder he didn’t know how to express them. He was why she came here, she knew it. This was meant to be. They were meant to be. He was worth saving, and she would save him. Or die trying.

“Man, let’s just do the easy thing,” Amber whined. “All of us, one hour. Cash would last for three days now that I have this awesome new grocery shopping skill.” She hip-checked August and winked at her. “Who’s with me?”

“I can’t do it. Sorry, Amber.” August glanced up at Reese. “Not with anyone else,” she said under her breath.

Amber sighed. “Don’t be. I get it. What about you guys?”

Reese squeezed August against him. “Me neither.” He looked into her face. “No one else,” he said just to her. He stopped in the path and pulled her to him, then kissed her like no one was watching. Like her lips were an oasis in a desert of nothing and he was drinking life from them. Like a junkie getting his fix.

Amber groaned. “Get a room already.”

Reese smiled. “I’d rather just Dumpster dive the rest of my life, body parts and all,” he said over his shoulder.

“We could always do a little grab and run from the fruit dude, Reese-man.”

“Good plan, fresh fruit. The lunch rush has to be over by now. There should be some new stuff in the bins too. Let’s go.” He kissed August one more time. “Ladies, we shall return.”

The boys took off down the park path, their footfalls light on the pavement.

Amber sat on a nearby bench and looked at August. “You know, you’re pretty cool for a nerdy chick. If you went to my school, me and my girls would have made your life hell.”

“You mean like Ricki was?”

Amber huffed out a small laugh. “Yeah, Ricki. I know she’s a hard-ass bitch, but I miss that girl. Wherever the hell she is.” She pulled out a cigarette and held it between her fingers without lighting it. “I like you, August. You’re a good person.”

“Me?”

“Yeah, honey. You. You don’t ask for anything. You never take, just – give. And Reese? He isn’t the same. Except for when he got clean, I’ve only ever seen him take the quickest or easiest way out of anything. Now he wants to bust his ass to avoid it. He’s hardly been on any dates since you came along.”

Date. That word would never mean the same thing. What was once a romantic fantasy of what could be, the start of something new and exciting, now made her stomach churn. Why did they call it that anyway? Why not just call it what it was? Prostitution, hooking. Revolting, disgusting. Maybe that was it – calling it dating took the ugliness away. Even if they were just fooling themselves.

Amber smiled and got a wicked look in her eye, raising one mischievous brow. “Now he’d rather just fuck your brains out.”

August’s cheeks burned and she looked away, unable to hide her smile. She could never control the blushing, that embarrassed reaction her face always made without her permission, sometimes for no good reason. She wasn’t embarrassed. She was validated. Someone knew what she and Reese had done. It was proof that she wasn’t a baby anymore.

“Just teasing you, honey. I gotta say, I’m jealous. Not that I want him, he’s like my brother or something. But shit, I’m eighteen and I’ve never even been in love.”

“What about Guy? You two look like a couple.”

Amber stared at her, a crooked smirk on her face. “Honey, Guy’s gay.”

“Oh. I didn’t know. He doesn’t look – ”

“They don’t wear signs you know.”

“Yeah, I know. Sorry. I’ve just never met anyone who’s gay before.”

“I bet you have and don’t even know it.”

August shifted her feet and stuck her hands in her front pockets. “Why did Reese stop doing drugs?” She wasn’t sure how to ask him the hard questions she really needed answers to. When he volunteered information it was often with casual disregard for how horrific his reality was. Except that morning – that was new. Like some kind of breakthrough. Even if he barely touched on how he felt about his awful life, it was a start. But Amber was different – she would talk about anything, if only she was asked. Like she was dying to share with someone – anyone – who cared enough to listen.

“He nearly died a couple of times. Accidentally dying, not the on-purpose stuff he keeps pulling. Weird. He seems to want to die, but when he gets close, he can’t carry through.” Amber lit her cigarette and blew the smoke out of the side of her mouth. “He’s been dope free for a few months. Took him over a year, methadone clinic, relapses. Ricki didn’t help at all, kept bringing him crank. I think she figured if he was hooked, he was hers, you know? But that was never true. She’s been jonesing for him since the first time she saw those eyes.”

“Jonesing?”

“Oh, honey. We’ve got to teach you our language.” Amber laughed. “She’s been after him. You know, hot for his scrawny bod.”

“She blames me. That he doesn’t want to be with her.”

“She’s crazy. He never wanted to be with her. But I knew when I met you, who he did want to be with. You came out of nowhere and hit him like a train.”

August laughed. “That’s one of my mom’s favorite songs.” She fought back tears. “When your love came down on me,” she sang the familiar tune, a wistful twinge squeezing her heart. “It hit me like a long, slow train.” She never did like that song.

The loud rumble of a motor in need of a tune-up caught August’s attention and she turned. An old boat of a car pulled up to the curb, its silver body rusted around the wheel wells, the backseat window just plastic held in place with duct tape. The engine cut with a rattle and a hiss, and the entire car lurched when it came to a stop. A man got out and walked toward them, his sandals thupping against his sockless heels with each step, a long gray braid pulled forward, hanging down the front of a rumpled beige shirt.

August watched his approach in stunned silence.

“Good day, girls.” He eyed them both in turn, then studied August, his gaze focused below her neck. “I’m in need of some companionship this afternoon.” He reached out toward her arm with one hand.

August recoiled. The stink of his breath even from arm’s length assaulted her senses. His scrutinizing leer made her yearn for a hot shower. “Father Patrick?”

Amber was by her side, one hand on the small of her back like she was filling in for Reese in the protection department.

The man gave her a befuddled look, recognition not coming fast. Then a light seemed to go on. “Well, hello again!” He squinted and snapped his fingers a couple of times. “Don’t tell me, don’t tell me. Well, it seems I’ve forgotten your name.”

“I never told you my name.”

“Well, that explains it! How are you?” He looked from August to Amber and then back. “Is this your ‘friend’ you told me about?” He made air-quotes at the word.

“Yeah,” Amber said. “I’m her friend, what of it?”

“No, no, nothing of it. Sorry if I upset you.” He ogled Amber, then returned his attention to August, extending a hand to her. “Why don’t you come along with me then? I believe I offered to show you some of the sights, right?”

Amber stepped between them. “Look, mister, she’s straight up.” She fingered his shirt collar, her voice taking on a tone August hadn’t heard before. “But I can take you anywhere you wanna go.”

He shifted his gaze to Amber, taking a moment to refocus. “All right then.” He headed back toward his car, opened the passenger door and turned back to her.

August grabbed Amber’s arm. “What are you doing? I thought we weren’t going to do that!”

“Look, I get that you don’t want to. But it won’t take more than an hour, then we’ll have some cash. My turn to treat you, okay? How do you know him, anyway?”

“He was on the bus I took when I left home. He said he was a priest or a minister or something.”

Amber glanced back at him. “Yeah, I’m thinking not a real one. Then again, wouldn’t be the first. Besides, I’d rather fuck him for cash than listen to him preach his ‘Jesus saves’ bullshit. Wait here. With any luck I’ll be back before the boys.”

August stood by the bench while Amber climbed into the car. Father Patrick slammed the door before sliding into the driver’s seat. The engine turned over with a squeal and the car accelerated into traffic. August’s stomach flipped as the memory of meeting him on the bus hit her – sitting too close, his foul breath, touching her arm, offering to show her the sights. She’d had no idea what he was after, just figured he was an odd man with a good heart and no boundaries. A vision of Reverend Jones, the elderly pastor at the Holy Trinity Church in town flashed through her mind, his kind eyes and gentle smile. The only time he had ever touched her was to shake her hand after Sunday service while she stood beside her parents – and he’d never looked anywhere but her eyes. How could this “Father” Patrick claim to be a man of God, but pay girls for sex? Maybe not just girls. Her skin crawled and a chill rippled down her spine.

At the sound of slapping footsteps she turned. Reese and Guy were coming toward her at a full run.

Reese came to an abrupt stopped beside her, his face red and sweaty.

Guy kept right on running at an astonishing speed. When the silver car turned left, he ran into traffic. Horns blared and a taxi almost hit him, screeching to a stop and cutting him off. He slapped the hood of the cab with both hands.

“Fucking idiot,” he yelled to the cabbie behind the windshield. He ran back toward them. “That’s the guy, that’s him!” He stopped at the bench and bent over. His hands on his knees, he gasped for breath.

“Who?” Reese put one hand on Guy’s back. “Dude, who is he?” He turned to August. “Why did she go with him?”

“So he’d leave me alone. She just wants to get us all some money.”

Guy stood up and grabbed Reese’s shoulder. “That’s the guy that raped Tanya and beat the shit out her last month. That’s the car, and that lame-ass old-man rat tail.”

August’s world buckled under her feet. She hadn’t processed the fact that this man hired prostitutes and now this? None of it made sense – she didn’t want any of it to be true. She held Reese’s hand to steady herself. “That’s Father Patrick. Why would he do that?”

Guy seized her arm and spun her toward him. “You know him?”

“I met him once. On the bus.” Her head cleared. She reached into her back pocket and pulled out a tattered piece of notebook paper. “I know where his ministry is.”

*****

It took more than an hour to find the ministry. Lost in a rundown neighborhood Guy and Reese were unfamiliar with, they found a gas station and resorted to theft. Guy lifted a street map while August kept the teenage attendant busy, batting her eyes and running one finger along his arm. When Reese gave her the all-clear signal she left the smitten clerk mid-sentence, turning off the flowing charm like cutting off irrigation water at the spigot.

The ministry was a decrepit, two-story townhouse in the middle of a block of decrepit, two-story townhouses. There was no name to identify it, just a crude hand-hewn wooden crucifix nailed to the dilapidated door and a sign that looked like a child had made it demanding, ‘No demons enter here.’ Too late for that.

At the threshold, Guy turned the knob and the door squeaked open.

August followed the boys into a dim foyer then crossed through a second entry into a windowless room that reeked of candle wax and body odor. Folding chairs were scattered about, all facing a makeshift plywood pulpit. Beyond that, a larger wooden cross was nailed to the wall, like religion itself was being crucified within the confines of the small space.

So many things August had taken for granted were turned upside down. This so-called ministry headed by a lecherous creep – this false church – was just another slap upside the reality-bites head.

A young girl no older than August sat in one corner studying a bible by candlelight. She looked up when they came in, set down the book and shuffled over. She welcomed them to enter and take a load off their feet and spirits.

August stepped toward her. “We’re looking for Father Patrick. Is he here?”

“Yes. Father is casting out demons from a lost soul.”

Guy grabbed the girl’s arm. “Tell me where the hell he is.” He spoke in a deep but quiet tone. The threatening undercurrent sent a chill through August.

The girl winced and tried to pull free from his grasp but he held tight. “Father came to set us free from our sins,” she squealed. “He must be allowed to finish or the demons will become stronger. They will continue to trespass. He must be allowed to finish!” Her eyes pleaded with Guy, then softened. She smiled, appearing serene despite his grip. “It works. I know. He delivered me.” She turned to August. “Perhaps you would like him to cast out yours?”