Rule of the Bone (6 page)

Russ wanted to get even but he also wanted to make a profit at it and he had this new idea how we could get both, although I definitely did not like his use of
we.
What we gotta do, he said, is take one or two VCRs at a time and sell them ourselves. Just the VCRs, man. They'll never miss them, those assholes don't even have an inventory. The VCRs don't take up much room, we can stash them in my trunk until we unload them. We specialize in VCRs, see, and sell them one by one at half price. New they go for what, three hundred, four hundred bucks apiece. We'll sell ‘em for one fifty, or less, even. No matter how much, it'll still be one hundred percent profit. We can split two ways, seventy-five twenty-five, since I've got the car and I'll be doing most of the negotiating with the buyers.

Who're you gonna sell ‘em to? I asked swerving the car back onto the road with my left hand and just missing a parked van and a whole row of maple trees.

Well, lemme think. For about ten seconds he thought. Rudy LaGrande for starters, he said. Ol' Rudy used to tell me how he wanted to rent out VCRs from the store only he couldn't afford to buy new ones and used weren't any good because you hadda keep paying to have ‘em fixed. Yeah, O1' Rudy'll probably want five or six at least.

Bruce'll notice five or six gone.

Not if we take them outa the squat one at a time and from different stacks. We just walk out with ‘em early in the morning when whoever's there is sleeping and the next day we take another and so on. Simple.

I don't know, man. It's risky with those guys. They all got guns, man.

Chapstick, he said, we're already risking being busted so we might as well profit from it. Fuck those guys, man.

Yeah, but it's stealing.

Stealing from thieves is not the same as stealing from straights. Remember, thieves are not victims, man. Besides, he explained, this is kind of a step up. Morally speaking.

What d'you mean, a step up? I said and grabbed the wheel again and pulled the car back to the right and avoided hitting a railroad crossing sign by maybe a foot.

From dealing to stealing, man. I mean, which is better? Think about it. They're both fucking illegal so which is better? Didn't your parents teach you anything?

Not about the difference between dealing drugs to asshole bikers and stealing already stolen VCRs from them, I said. But that don't mean there isn't one.

One what?

A difference, man. I was thinking like Russ'd said there
was
a lot about right and wrong that my parents hadn't taught me and now due to my situation I was having to work out most of it myself. Everybody, Russ and the bikers, Black Bart and Rudy LaGrande and probably Wanda too and that creep Buster Brown at the mall who tried to get me to act in his porn movie and my stepfather and maybe even my mom, everybody but me seemed to think the difference between right and wrong was obvious. For them I guess what was right was what you could get away with and what was wrong was what you couldn't, but it made me feel stupid that I didn't know it too. It was like the difference between dealing small-load weed and dealing crank—there was one, I knew but I didn't know what it was. The whole thing was scary. It made you feel like once you stepped across the line you could never get back and were doomed from then on to a life of crime. Since everybody stepped across the line and did a wrong thing at least once in his life then everybody was doomed. Everybody was a criminal. Even my mom. You had to be a cat like Willie or a little kid like I once was not to be a criminal and for a human being like I was now that was impossible.

I decided that for the time being I didn't want to be any worse a criminal than I already was so I told Russ I wouldn't help him steal the VCRs from the bikers. He thought I was being stupid and a wuss but basically he was relieved I think, because now he could keep all the profits for himself although I had to convince him first that my lips were sealed so to speak. And they were. No way I'd fuck over my best friend, my only friend actually if you didn't count Bruce and the bikers and some kids I knew a little up at the mall.

We drove along for a while and then he said he was worried about me because of how I wasn't taking advantage of opportunities to advance in the world.

Yeah, I said, like stealing stolen VCRs from psychos with guns.

It's freight forwarding, man. That's all. I'm into freight forwarding, and it don't matter to me what I ship or where it comes from or where it's going. That's someone else's problem.

It matters to me, I said.

Yeah, well, that's the difference between us, Chapstick. Which is what worries me about you. You can't spend your life dealing weed to Adirondack Iron, man. You've got to start thinking about the future. Biker gangs, they come and go, man.

I said yeah but I didn't mention that the main reason I hadn't gotten one of those Adirondack Iron tattoos of a winged helmet on my arm was exactly that, biker gangs do come and go. They really
aren't your
family.

Afterwards we didn't talk much and finally Russ turned around in Keene and drove back to the squat where to my surprise Bruce and the guys seemed glad to see us, I guess because in our absence they'd gotten scared and had figured out that we'd respond more favorably to kind treatment than to harsh. They were dumb but not totally dumb. I could tell they were nervous about having all that stolen stuff on their hands and two kids around who knew where it came from.

The very next morning bright and early Russ started up his freight forwarding company. I was on my couch asleep but when he walked past I woke up and with one eye half open watched him scoop a Panasonic VCR off a stack of boxes by my head and put it under his arm and stroll out the apartment door with it like he was taking out the garbage. I didn't move until he was gone and then I slowly lifted my head and peeked around the corner into the next bedroom where Bruce was crashed face-down and bareass except for his jockstrap on a mattress on the floor snoring like a chain saw. I looked back at the stack of VCRs beside me but even though I'd seen Russ take one away only a few seconds ago the pile seemed the same size as before which relieved me a lot although I was too nervous to go back to sleep afterwards.

But none of the guys noticed anything missing. The next morning Russ did it again, and the morning after, and even when he took two VCRs one each from different piles and then one day a portable computer it was the same. The livingroom and the rest of the apartment still seemed to be filled with big unopened boxes of electronics. I myself could see the difference of course because I'd watched him take them. But every day around ten or eleven the bikers'd eventually wake up and start prowling around the place looking for food or a morning beer and cigarettes like they usually did and no one noticed anything missing.

Except Russ, he was missing, which was unusual and noticeable even to bikers so finally one morning Bruce says to me, Where's your buddy? He got a job or something? The fucker usually stays in his room sleeping all day.

Beats the shit out of me, I said but I could see Bruce was suspicious although he didn't say anything, just stood there in his jockstrap by the kitchen door with a half-empty jar of this powdered muscle food he mixes up in a quart of orange juice and drinks every morning. He had his own special glass and everything that nobody else was allowed to use but he never washed it so who would. He poked the door to Russ's crib open a ways with his foot and looked around inside and then went back to mixing his breakfast.

He didn't lock his door like he usually does, he says.

Must be coming back soon, I said but I'm thinking Russ probably didn't lock it so they'd think he was inside sleeping instead of up in Plattsburgh or someplace peddling stolen electronics.

If you see him today find out can he get me a dozen hits of acid by tonight. 'Cause tonight we're finally gonna deliver all this shit, Bruce says. And I'm gonna party hearty, man.

No problema, I say. That was an expression I'd picked up from that guy Buster Brown at the mall and I noticed that I used it only when I was wicked scared.

Yeah, he says laughing and chugging down his orange grunge and wiping it off his chin with the back of his hand. No problema. You are one funny little dude, Chappie, he says taking a few steps toward the livingroom. One funny little piece of shit. But then his expression changes like an unfamiliar and not particularly welcome thought has penetrated his brain and he goes, You been moving any of this stuff around, Chappie?

Me? No way, man. You told me not to touch any of it. I obey you, man.

Yeah, he said and then he walked slowly into the livingroom where I was lying on the couch with my blanket wrapped around me up to my chin and he studied the scene carefully. Something's wrong here, man. Something's very wrong.

I decide to say nothing. I'm thinking just be ready to run even though I've only got my underpants and a tee shirt on. I'm thinking up my escape route via Russ's crib which I can lock from inside, then out the window onto the back porch roof and down to the ground and out to the street. . . and then where?

It looked pretty hopeless. I was almost wishing Russ would walk through the door and see what was happening and confess everything and save me but I knew he'd never do it.

Bruce says, You and your little buddy, I believe that you have stepped in some very deep shit, Chappie.

Whaddaya mean?

All kinds of stuff is missing from here. VCRs it looks like. And some of those portable computers. Which makes sense. Everything else is too big for you two little assholes to swipe without someone noticing. You've been lifting stuff from me, Chappie. Amazing!

I of course denied everything which was half the truth since I myself had not stolen anything off of Bruce and half a lie since I said Russ hadn't either. Not that I knew of. I added that. I guess to cut down on the lying part a little. But the second I said it I felt lonely because I was separating myself from Russ and then I felt guilty, real guilty because I knew how Bruce would hear it. The more power you've got the more you're able to do the right thing which is whatever you can get away with and at that point in my life I had no power whatsoever, I couldn't get away with anything so I had to do the wrong thing and tell the truth. I was the ultimate little dog and it was all I could do to keep from pissing down my own leg.

Not that you know of, he said. Yeah, right. Thanks very much. I was gonna do the both of you just to be sure I got the guilty party but now I'll only have to whack the one. I always liked you better than him anyhow. Whacking Russ'll be easy, the little bastard.

Joker was standing next to Bruce now and I guess he'd heard the whole conversation. If you whack one, he said, you got to whack the other, man.

Yeah, you're probably right, Bruce said sighing. Unless you help us out, he said to me.

Sure. Whaddaya want me to do?

Where's Russ at right now?

Joker stood leaning against the doorjamb fondling his little blue .38, his pussy-pistol. I could hear the other guys getting up in the back bedrooms. Roundhouse stumbled into the room rubbing his eyes with one huge fist and scratching crumbs and other items out of his pelt with the other. Wussup? Chappie goin' out for food?

The little assholes've been stealing our TVs and shit, man, Joker said.

Wow. Jeez, that's pretty fucking stupid.

Bruce asked me again where Russ was and I said I didn't know which was the truth and I think he believed me. Then I told him I was asleep when he went out which was a lie but he knew not to believe it. So me and him were at least still communicating. Bruce said for Roundhouse to get some duct tape from his toolbox which Roundhouse did and then he taped my hands together behind my back and my feet at the ankles and lifted me up and slung me over his shoulder like I was a lamb ready for slaughter and carried me into Russ's crib off the kitchen and put me down gently on Russ's mattress.

I don't know yet what I'm gonna do with you, he said. We'll just have to wait and see what Russ says for himself when he gets back. But for now this'll keep you out of trouble.

Joker stood behind him watching. When Bruce stepped away he brought the barrel of his gun down close to my head and smiled and said, Bang. Then he laughed and went back into the livingroom with the others.

From the door Bruce said to me, If you keep your mouth shut I won't tape it. Not one fucking peep, you understand?

I nodded yes and he went out and closed the door but I could hear them talking in the livingroom trying to figure out what to do next. Joker was clear on what he wanted to do which was blow me away and then Russ but the other guys were undecided and a little scared, I think. Even Bruce who was maybe into a lot of things but not murder. He was secretly gay or S and M or something weird like that because he liked to hassle gay guys when he saw them in public and make fairies in parks or the Greyhound station bathroom give him blowjobs and then he would beat the shit out of them and brag about it, and despite his body building and health foods he was a drug addict, plus he was a serious thief. But unless you're a true psycho like Joker everyone draws the line somewhere and I think Bruce drew the line at cold-blooded murder of teenaged boys. I did not take a whole lot of comfort from this however.

For a while I lay there looking up at Russ's Anthrax and Metallica posters. Russ'd decorated his crib to make it home-like, lots of nice domestic touches like the yellow and brown plaid curtains he'd found in somebody's trash and hung over the one window and the iron floor lamp and busted easychair. Pretty soon though I was getting cold because of only having my underwear on and no blanket so I hollered for Bruce to c'mere a minute which must have sounded like I was going to tell him where Russ was.

He came right in but looked disappointed when he found out all I wanted was for him to turn on Russ's electric heater and give me my blanket. Also it pointed out to Joker and the other guys that I could holler for help if I wanted to risk it so they told Bruce to tape the little fucker's mouth shut, meaning me which Bruce did, being careful not to block my nose so I could breathe okay. Then he got my blanket from the livingroom and tossed it over me. He unplugged Russ's box by the window and plugged in the space heater and flipped it on high.