Rule of the Bone (5 page)

The females definitely weren't skags but they weren't anything special either.
Not
babes. They had their own car and were in their thirties, my mom's age practically and thick in the middle and big-assed like her but they thought I was real cute. The one who said she liked my mohawk was named Christie and had on a Fuck You I'm From Texas tee shirt and no bra so you could see her nipples which was cool and the other whose name was Clarissa had on this tee shirt that said My Next Husband Will Be Normal but she right away put on Bruce's leather jacket so I didn't have a chance to see if she had a bra on. Bruce's nipples you could see though since as usual he wasn't wearing any shirt and also his little gold nipple rings which always made me nervous but if you didn't look at them especially if you're short like me you had to look at his shaved stomach and chest and tattoos too so you tried not to look at him at all, which I didn't. But then he always goes, What's your fucking problem, Chappie, you got a problem? You oughta look at me when I'm fucking talking to you, Chappie.

So I go, Hey, no fucking problem, man, and stare into his eyes which are blue and cold like Joker's but handsome and then he smiles down like he's triumphed over a major adversary even though if he wanted he could squash me like a flea.

The music was really loud, Pearl Jam is grunge but they play loud even when the volume is turned down and the men of Adirondack Iron had it cranked and I was starting to worry that the floor would cave in from the slam-dancing when suddenly I turn around and Russ is coming through the door behind me looking seriously pissed.

Shut the fuck up! he yells. The Old Lady's downstairs and she's ripshit!

The Old Lady was Wanda LaGrande wife of Rudy who owned the building and the Video Den and rented out the rest although except for our squat the rest was permanently vacant because of the decrepit condition of the building and I suppose the presence of Adirondack Iron. Plus the neighborhood was not the best.

Bruce stops slamming and comes over and puts his huge sweaty arm around Russ's skinny shoulders and says, What's the matter, little man? It's a party, man. It's a fucking party. Just chill, okay?

Russ pulls away from the arm and goes, The Old Lady's downstairs hitting on me for the rent and she's talking eviction again unless I come up with some money and you guys are making up her mind for her. I'm serious, man, I need some money from you guys, he said.

Bruce smiles like he does and reaches down and picks up Russ like he's a stuffed animal he won at the fair and kisses him on the nose. Still smiling he says, Fuck you, little man, and then he leaps back into the pack of slam-dancers sending them flying off his meaty shoulders against the walls and furniture. Clarissa, the one wearing Bruce's jacket was sitting in a corner with a can of Genny in her hand and she waves at me and pats the floor next to her for me to come over. She was definitely starting to look less like my mom and more like a babe.

But then Russ says to me, C'mon downstairs, man. Wanda gets off on you, maybe she'll lighten up and think of something else if you're there.

I think yeah why not, it's my squat too and I need to take some of the responsibilities once in a while, so together we go down the rickety outside staircase to the Video Den. Wanda liked to pretend that she managed the Video Den for her husband but mainly she was this dotty old lady married to a drunk who sent her out sometimes to collect the day's cash from the till and whatever rent money she could scrounge out of Russ and buy booze with it. I think they'd both been married a couple of times before and were together now more or less out of convenience. Luckily she had a weakness for talking about colon cancer on account of her father and several brothers and ex-husbands had died from it and usually Russ could get her talking about colon cancer a mile a minute until she forgot about collecting the rent and sometimes she even forgot to empty the till, which made it easier for Russ to skim a few bucks before making the night deposit and afterwards he could say she had taken it herself when she came in earlier.

People like Wanda and Rudy LaGrande on account of being drunk for half a century have very short and unreliable memories you might say and if you don't piss them off too much you can easily victimize them. Russ was into that. Although I myself was not and in fact I kind of liked her cancer stories. She always started in the beginning when her father or brother or whoever was healthy and unsuspecting and ended with all the disgusting details of his painful long-drawn-out death which was cool. The idea was you were supposed to be glad you didn't have colon cancer yourself and for me it worked. Afterwards I was always real glad I didn't have it and that made her happy.

This one night though Wanda happened to be unusually irritated with the world and was not distractable by anyone's apparent interest in colon cancer, even mine. It was cold out, close to zero and her husband Rudy's driving her into the night for money and more booze before the liquor stores closed had given her a crossed hair so to get even she'd been making all kinds of upper-level Video Den management moves and giving Russ a general hard time. Also the noise from upstairs must've reminded her that the rent was two whole months late. Which was why Russ'd come up to try and get the guys to chill.

But when we come through the door Wanda's standing behind the counter with the empty register drawer open in front of her and the first thing she does when she sees us is throw Russ's shearling jacket at him. It was mine actually, from my mom but I had sold it to Russ for twenty-five bucks to invest in half a bag of skunk on condition I could buy it back when I dealt the weed which I hadn't yet. Russ meanwhile'd been loaning me his old jean jacket.

She goes, Russell, you're a thief! Look here! Look! There is not a single cent in here! Not one penny!

Wanda's a small woman, round and energetic like a chickadee with frizzled black-dyed hair and heavy makeup that she puts on crooked and she always dresses like she's got a date with a traveling salesman, which is a sign I guess that she once had a good social life. She says to Russ, I happen to know for a fact that
Pretty Woman
was returned today and should have been paid for and also several more that were out when I went looking for them yesterday and the day before. Give me your key to the store, Russell, just turn it over now. As of this moment you're fired.

She was right, he had been stealing. Plus I knew Russ hadn't legally rented any videos that day or collected for any that were returned although he had loaned quite a few to his friends as he often did in exchange for a tray or even a roach sometimes or to impress girls. And
Pretty Woman
was one of those sensitive true-love movies that make girls hot so he'd kept it freely circulating among them ever since it first came out.

He says in his smoothest voice, Hey, hey, c'mon, Wanda, chill, it was ol' Rudy himself who checked out
Pretty Woman.
He does it all the time, you know that, and never even signs for them or pays either. He took it out probably for you. He himself returned it this morning, I think. He probably brought it home for you himself and forgot to tell you or left it in his car or else you guys got too busy or something. . .

Don't give me that fast talk! she yells. You're only trying to change the subject. Just get out of here, Russell, she says, calmer now. Go. And all your friends upstairs, the motorcycle gang. Get them out too. Chappie, I'm sorry, you too. Out.

Yeah, well, that's easier said than done, Russ says looking up at the ceiling which is rumbling and starting to shake off bits of paint and plaster. You could hear Pearl Jam pretty good and could almost make out the words even.

Don't you threaten me. I could always call the police, she says. They'll get you out.

You could. Yes, you could. You certainly could call the police, Wanda. But the place is a firetrap, he pointed out. Then he told her if the cops came they'd probably condemn the building and she'd have to close down the whole operation. No more Video Den, Wanda. Nada.

This made her nervous. Just get out of there by the weekend, she said. All of you.

Russ was silent and downcast for a while. I doubt you could find anybody to replace us up there, he says. Who else would rent it?

She purses her orange lips. She's thinking. She says, Two months plus this month, two hundred and forty dollars you owe me.

Right, and he could pay it off a whole lot easier, he said, if she didn't fire him because then she could take part of the rent out of his pay, like thirty bucks a week and in a single four-week month she'd have half of what was owed her and he would definitely collect the rest from Bruce and the other guys. Definitely.

No, she says, very firm. You're still fired. You've been stealing from us, Russell. From now on she would run the store herself, she told him and he would just have to come up with the rent some other way.

He argued with her for a while longer but it didn't do any good, her mind was made up, we weren't quite evicted yet but Russ was definitely fired.

Finally me and Russ left the Video Den and sat out on the back steps in silence. I knew Russ was thinking hard which he's very good at. His chin was in his hands and there was like smoke coming from his ears.

I said, What're you gonna do, man? Get a job up at the mall?

Yeah, right, Chappie. The mall. The line forms at the end, man. They got fucking college graduates up there flipping Big Macs and carrying out the garbage. Forget it, man.

Well maybe you could sell your Camaro. You could get eight, nine hundred bucks easy for it. More maybe.

You bet your ass more. A grand and a half easy. But no fucking way, man. That car's all I got between me and total nothingness.

What, then? I was more than idly curious because in a way I was dependent on Russ, him being two years older than me and all. Russ was the same for me as his Camaro was for him, the only thing this side of total nothingness.

Well, he says nodding in the direction of the bikers upstairs, there's a lotta empty bongs up there. Maybe I'll start keeping 'em filled. Plus Hector told me anytime I wanted crank to deal he had it available. Those guys may not have any money for rent but they always have it for booze and drugs.

Crank. Jeez, I don't know, I said. That's some heavy shit, man. I was thinking if Russ starts dealing drugs of any kind to the bikers he's going to put me out of business but also selling speed was different from the occasional bag of weed. I was just a kid then and not too good at telling right from wrong but Russ was smart and I trusted him so I said, Whyn't you deal just the meth, okay? You do the crank and leave the skunk to me, man. It's sort of my specialty, you know?

Yeah, sure. Sure, man. That's cool, he said but he was thinking hard, he was already making deep plans that probably did not include me. Except as his unwilling accomplice.

It was around this time that I started missing my mom again. Not really missing her because I knew she didn't want me back, more like wondering what she was doing at certain times of the day or night while I was doing strange stuff that would have made her think I'd died and gone to hell if she'd known about it. I wasn't
doing
strange stuff so much as witnessing it, but my mom would've tried to keep me from seeing it if she could. Anyone would've.

Like, I'd wake up in the morning on my sofa in the livingroom and one of the bikers, Joker or Raoul or Packer would be over in the corner on his hands and knees with his pants around his ankles humping some female from behind I'd never seen before while Roundhouse sprawled on a chair next to them jerking off and slugging back a quart of Genny. It was pretty gross.

I'd pull my blanket over my head and think of my mom just getting up and coming out to the kitchen in her old flannel robe and fuzzy pink slippers to make coffee and feed Willie the cat. My stepdad would still be snoring in the back bedroom and my mom with these few minutes to herself would flick on the kitchen TV and watch the
Today
show and let Willie sit on her lap while she sat at the table and drank her coffee and smoked her first cigarette.

Willie I truly did miss and sometimes I thought about bringing a kitten back to the squat. They were all over town that time of year and people would give you a whole litter if you wanted. But I didn't trust the bikers not to kill it. So I'd just lie there on the couch all morning and let myself miss ol' Willie instead.

Meanwhile out in our kitchen Bruce would be standing in his jockstrap at the sink full of old caked dishes and pans shaving the stubble off his huge chest and washboard belly preparing for his daily pump at Murphy's Gym, and in the bathroom some weird thin gray-skinned pimply guy with a motormouth Bruce'd dragged back to the squat from Plattsburgh the night before was shooting up without the decency to close the bathroom door while he did it. Russ was in his crib with the door locked on the inside where he slept until late afternoon which he said he did because daytime was the only time the squat was quiet enough to sleep but I think he was starting to dip into the crank he was selling and liked to stay up all night yackety-yakking with his customers.

Russ was into the big subjects anyhow, God and the Universe and so on even when he wasn't high but the meth made it seem like all those things were linked together in this gigantic cosmic conspiracy, like algebra only real and since I wasn't very interested in math or any of the big subjects in the first place and it was all way over my head anyhow due to my youth Russ liked talking to the other guys instead especially when they were wired on crank. To me it was just talk but to them it was reality.

Most days I hitched up to the mall and hung there with some kids I knew until it closed and Black Bart the security cop or one of his little helpers ran us out and then I'd hitch back to Au Sable and crash at the squat and except when they wanted some of my weed the men of Adirondack Iron pretty much ignored me, like I was their mascot or something. They teased me about my mohawk a lot because to them it was retro but to me it was like my trademark. It was how people knew me.

Once Joker was going to cut it off. Get
bald,
man, he said, you look like a fucking hippie. Who's got some scissors, gimme some fucking scissors, he said and he grabbed me by the arm so I couldn't move.

Nobody had any scissors naturally. Use a knife, one of the guys said. Scalp the little motherfucker. He looks like a fucking Indian anyhow.

You cut my hawk, man, I'll slice off your balls while you're sleeping, I said to Joker.

Luckily Bruce was there and intervened. He grabbed onto Joker's choke collar and said, Release, Joker. Release! Chappie here's my little buddy and I like him the way he is. He's my little banty rooster, he said and ruffled my hawk.

Yeah, well fuck you too, I said and he laughed but Joker backed off permanently on the hair thing although he still tried to scare me whenever he had a knife in his hands which wasn't that often however since he preferred holding guns.

Then one night I hitched back from the mall late with this guy from town who worked at Sears and all the way home to Au Sable he played classical music from this station in Vermont which was cool and unusual and got me thinking a lot about my mom and Willie and my previous homelife but not my stepfather, so when I came up the stairs to the apartment I was feeling incredibly mellow. This was in April and most of the snow had melted and the black oily water had run off into the river and the mud had dried out and the air was warm and wet even at night and I could smell the buds of the trees and bushes, lilacs and such and the sound of the river a half mile away made me think of little kindergarten kids in a playground for some reason.

The door was locked which was not normal so I had to bang on it awhile until finally it opened a crack and Russ peeks out. It's only Chappie, he calls back.

Lemme the fuck in, I say.

He goes, Wait a minute, and locks the door again. So I wait and pretty soon he comes back and lets me inside my own apartment for Christ's sake. What the fuck's going on? I say. Right away I notice it's kind of dark. There's only candles burning in the livingroom and all the lights in the apartment are off.

Russ says, Just be cool, man.

We go into the livingroom and Bruce and Joker and Roundhouse are there and two other guys who've been staying at the squat lately, this guy Packer who's from Buffalo and has a classic '77 FLH with chrome drag pipes and everything and his buddy Raoul who drives a piece-of-shit Chevy pickup and is one of those bikers without a bike like Joker which always seems to put an edge on them, like they're pissed off at guys who do have bikes and also at guys like me and Russ who don't particularly want one. I'd barely graduated from skateboards and dirt bikes back then and Russ of course had his Camaro.

You holding? Bruce says to me. All around the livingroom were these big unopened boxes that said Sony Trinitron and Magnavox and IBM on them and the guys were sitting around looking tired like they'd just finished lugging the boxes upstairs.

I had a bag of tropicana in one pocket for myself and another in my other pocket for sale so I said sure and passed it over. Forty bucks, man, I said. That's what it cost me, I said which wasn't quite true since I'd paid Hector twenty for it. What's with the boxes? I asked him.

Nobody answered. Then Bruce says to Packer, Give the kid thirty bucks, and to my surprise he did. I'm thinking I should've said fifty on account of it was tropicana not northcountry homegrown and maybe I'd have gotten forty and then I could've bought my shearling jacket back from Russ.

Bruce stoked up a bong and they all proceeded to get lifted for a while and didn't offer any to us which was boring so Russ and I went into his crib and split a blunt by ourselves. What's the deal with the boxes? I asked him.

Be cool, man. Like, you shouldn't've said anything out there. It's TVs, man. And computers and VCRs. All kinds of shit. Brand new.

This was excellent news because we didn't have a TV or a VCR in the squat although I didn't care one way or the other about a computer. But a VCR would be good because I hadn't watched a video since Russ lost his job at the Video Den. And I was missing my MTV, especially late-night shows like
Headbangers Ball
and other heavy metal programming.

But the electronics were not for our personal use, I quickly discovered. Bruce and the guys were stashing the stuff until they could deliver them to a guy from Albany he'd met who had a warehouse and sold them wholesale to these Arabs and Jews who had stores down in New York City. Bruce and the guys were paid by the pound, Russ explained. So much for TVs, so much for computers and so on and the boxes couldn't be opened because they ended up being sold in New York as brand new with guarantees and everything.

Where'd they get them? I asked.

Service Merchandise, man. Up to the mall.

No shit.
How'd
they get them though? They just break in and steal them?

Naw, man. Took 'em right off the loading dock while the store's still open. They just drove up earlier tonight in Raoul's pickup alongside real customers picking up the shit they'd actually paid for and filled the truck, man, and drove off. The security guy, the black dude, Bart, he arranged it. Bruce worked it out, it's his deal.

Cool, I said and took a big hit off the blunt.

Russ said, Yeah, I'm trying to get the guys to cut me some of the action. There's a shitload of money in this and with Black Bart on the inside there's no way we'll get caught, man. There might even be something in it for you too.

Cool, I said but I was thinking it was wrong to be stealing stuff on this scale. It was different from me stealing some old coin collection from my mom or the Christmas shoplifting that I got busted for when I was only trying to get back in her good graces. Besides I'd gotten swiftly punished for both those crimes and as long as I stayed away from home I didn't feel guilty about them anymore. This was different and the punishment to fit the crime was going to be heavy so I didn't want any part of it. Plus I'd already done enough in my life that was wrong and didn't need any more.

So it was only Bruce and his gang, Joker, Roundhouse, Raoul and Packer, and Russ if they'd let him, not me who were into stealing the TVs and stuff and for a while every few nights they brought more of it back to the apartment until the place was like a warehouse and all the rooms were filled with these huge cartons so that we had to climb over them just to get in and out. I guess the guy from Albany wasn't ready for delivery or something. The door stayed locked and nobody else was allowed in the place anymore except me and Russ, probably because Bruce and the guys were afraid if they kicked us out we might go home to our parents and tell them or the cops and besides we were more or less responsible for keeping them in drugs. One or two of the bikers were always in the apartment on guard, usually stoned or asleep though and they sent me and Russ out for food and smokes and on minor errands besides drugs which for once they paid us for.

There was a fair amount of money flowing then, expense money from the Albany guy I figured or maybe some sales to private individuals on the side so for the first time I had enough cash on hand to indulge in some amusements at the mall like video games and the occasional movie. Russ bought a set of new sheepskin seatcovers for his Camaro at Pep Boys and screwed a girl who was a senior at Plattsburgh High on them the first night and told me about it later. It sounded like fun but I still wasn't ready for that.

Russ talked a lot about the TVs and all. The whole deal really had him stoked and he wanted to be a partner in crime with the bikers and bring me in as a partner too but the men of Adirondack Iron were not interested in cutting Russ or me a piece of their pie so to speak and they got very pissed off whenever Russ tried to talk them into it especially Bruce.

Then one night when they were lugging another load of boxes into the apartment Russ ran down to help them and grabbed onto a box and Bruce said, Get the fuck outa here, kid! Don't you ever touch this shit! You understand me?
Ever
!

I was standing at the top of the stairs holding the door open for Raoul and Joker to carry this huge 27 inch Zenith inside and I'm thinking Russ should not push this, Bruce is the one guy not to cross. But Russ keeps it up. He goes, Hey, c'mon, Bruce, I'm cool, and besides, I've already been incriminated. You might as well make me a partner and put me to work like the other guys. Adirondack Iron, man! he says with a grin and gives Bruce a power salute with his tattoo showing.

I start down the stairs to see if maybe I can distract Russ or something before he gets in too deep but Bruce has already gently set the box he was carrying on the tailgate of Raoul's pickup as if to free his hands to beat the living shit out of Russ and he says, Just what the fuck do you mean
incriminated
?

Well, you know what I mean, like I'm in the presence of stolen goods, man. So I'm an accomplice to a crime. I mean, I could always say I didn't know what was in the boxes or where you got them, but who knows, they might not believe that.

Are you threatening me, you little asshole? Are you?

Moi? Mais no, man! All I want is the same as the other guys're getting, since I'm running the same risk as them. You can use the help anyhow. Like, whaddaya say to only a half a share? Since I'm a minor and all and can't be charged with a felony.

Bruce sees me on the stairs a few steps behind Russ and he says. What about you, Chappie? You in on this shit too? Are you threatening me like this asshole?

I didn't want to abandon Russ so I tried to answer in a way that might help him without necessarily hurting me. He's just high, man, I say which was true anyhow, Russ had been gobbling inhalers all afternoon and was speeding pretty good. C'mon, Russ, let's go cool out, I say and grab his arm but he yanks it away.

Nobody's threatening nobody, he says. I'm negotiating, that's all.

Bruce goes, I don't fucking negotiate with assholes. I fuck ‘em. I fuck ‘em with my fist. He leans in real close to Russ then, Do you know what that is, kid? Fist-fucking?

I don't know if he did, I sure didn't but it sounded real undesirable so I said, He knows, man, don't worry, he knows. He's only high, I said and grabbed Russ by both shoulders hard now and practically dragged him away from Bruce although Russ didn't resist this time and was secretly glad probably that I was there to save him without him having to back down on his own.

Although he didn't admit it of course. He acted like I had saved Bruce's ass instead of his. I got him into the driver's seat of his car and pretty soon we were driving down 9N along the Ausable River toward Jay and Keene, country villages where everyone had long since gone to bed. Russ's Camaro was the only car on the road, a good thing because he was wired and pissed and the combination made him a good talker but a lousy driver. But he didn't object or even seem to notice whenever I reached across and adjusted the steering wheel and got us back onto the road which was pretty narrow and windy and had the river on our left.