Page 84 of Demon Copperhead

There were comings and goings all hours, car lights in the driveway.

Music pounding through the wall. Somebody had a Ja Rule fixation, to the extent of “Always on Time” becoming the permanent brain soundtrack of my bad nights, probably until I’m dead.

Voices were raised. Maggot roused after a while and went out to investigate.

Came back and said it was nothing, just some guys in a fight over somebody shorting somebody, and Couch Guy screaming.

I asked why was he screaming, and Maggot said they were moving a lot of furniture out in the yard and his couch was in the running.

I understood this to be the type of place you hear about, where people get knifed and so forth as a routine.

The longer I went without sleeping, the more visions I had of gasoline explosions and people getting knifed.

Minutes were like hours, and hours were like large bags of shit delivered to my skull box.

I got kind of beside myself and ended up taking all the rest of what I’d brought with me to calm down, plus a 1-milligram Xanax that Dori slipped in as a treat.

Getting ahead of schedule. I’d be fresh out by the time we got to the beach, so.

Puking and cold sweats down the road, waiting to crap on my golden moment.

The worst part, I saw coming. Fast Forward was losing interest in the beach.

If he ever had any. Most of the next morning he spent making his negotiations with Mouse, and the afternoon lying under his truck with a metal box and a screwdriver and two rolls of duct tape.

Maggot and I sat on the front porch smoking weed and watching the man at his labors.

Person after person walked by on the sidewalk, paying no mind to the Tony Lama boots sticking out from under the F-100, like that was regular everyday scenery.

If this was back home, trust me, you’d have a crowd inside of ten minutes, interested kids plus the old guys with their free advice and power tools.

But these city folk just turned a blind eye.

Later on we went out driving around to see the various things they had in Richmond, statues, state capitol building, etc.

We ate at Popeyes. That’s where Fast Forward informed us we’d screwed around too much on the way up here, and now he had to get back.

We were heading home in the morning. With the damn ocean no more than an hour away, two at the most, my dreams once again went down in flames.

Son of a bitch. I was bitter and had nothing more to say to anybody, plus sick of smelling gasoline, so after we got back to the house I said I was sleeping in the cab of the truck.

Mouse said I was crazy, she didn’t feel safe sleeping inside this dump, let alone on the street.

Giving the impression of this being not her house, and her being some incredibly bossy visitor, which stood to reason.

Her fingernails alone had seen more maintenance than any part of that property.

But I did it, went out on the street. And slept.

The drive home was hideous. Fast Forward was all cocky over his score, the rest of us crashing from our various highs and expectations.

The happy couple must have had a tiff, because Emmy wanted to sit by the window with me in the middle.

Thankfully they made up at the first gas stop.

But she was wrecked some way, I could tell.

We all were. Maggot was borderline lunatic, either singing, unconscious, or blowing kisses at truck drivers from his throne back there.

I was as mad as I’d been in my life. Mainly at myself, for believing in stupid dreams. And into withdrawals so bad, I had to embarrass myself by demanding unscheduled bathroom stops.

If not for Dori waiting to rescue me, I was fit to drown myself in a truck-stop toilet.

Poor Dori, I’d left her for no good reason.

We took forever getting back, with Fast Forward going the speed limit, thinking of his cargo I’m sure, plus you do not want to get pulled over with a boy-lunatic on open carry in the bed of your truck.

There are laws. So I got dropped off late, in the dark.

And there she stood under the porch light with her ice cream face and shiny hair, a big sweater buttoned up over her perfect body.

We got inside and I was kissing her and then Jip got his teeth tangled up in the leg of my jeans to the extent of me punting him across the room, rolling and twisting.

“Sorry baby,” I said, and she said Jip meant well, and I let her think that.

Clearly the little rat’s ass thought he’d gotten rid of me for good.

Right away Dori asked to see pictures, shit.

I’d never thought to take any, and was hard pressed to say where Angus’s camera ended up.

Probably already pawned by one of Mouse’s dirtball boyfriends.

Dori gave me what I needed and let me cuddle on her till I quit being sick and fell asleep in her bed and nothing was ever better.

I woke up finally with no idea how many hours I slept.

She’d shut Jip outside, possibly a first. Seriously, words cannot describe her and that dog.

But I’d moved into first place. Various parts of me returned to the living.

Vester asleep downstairs, no Jip, we were home free and starting to mess around, and, hell. The phone rang.

It was Angus. I stood in the freezing hallway in my underwear and partial erection trying to understand what was so important about me getting over to Coach’s house.

Today. Nobody was dead, yet she said, but Coach had gotten the robo-calls about me being a no-show at school all week.

On further investigation, some or all of my teachers were unaware I was still enrolled.

I asked what possessed Coach to start giving a shit about my off-season performance, and Angus said I was being a purposeful idiot.

He cared, all right. He was making noises about putting me back on season rules.

Curfew and lockdown. Angus said she’d run out of excuses for me, so I was advised to show up for dinner with my ass-kissing lips all shined up.

I hung up thinking: I’m circling the bowl, and Angus for some reason is pleased of it. Damn her.

I promised Dori I would make it up to her, but I might need to spend the night over there.

I took a pile of our dirty clothes because the washer at Dori’s had died.

Not all that recently. We needed to take some action on this, but Dori said that old Maytag had been her mom’s and she was attached.

Dori was a big one for letting things pile up. Too sweet for this world.

I didn’t even make it to dinnertime before the shit hit the pan at Coach’s house.

I was back in the laundry room sorting out the whites and darks, trying not to mess up Mattie Kate’s piles because she had her whole system, and suddenly, U-Haul.

The old sock-feet sneak attack, and he’s got me up against the Clorox.

“U-Haul,” I said. “Can I offer you a shot of bleach?”

“Ha ha!” His laugh was like a fox barking. He craned his neck, leaning in too close. “The thing is, I got to put myself on the line here. For Coach. He has give me an obligation.”

“Okay, nice. That and two bucks might get you a cup of coffee.” I must have been past tired into some form of dead. Opened my mouth, out came Mr. Peg.

“A job,” he hissed. “I’ll keep this to easy-reader words for you.”

“A job. This is on top of your higher calling of hauling around people’s shit?”

The red eyes shot fire. “Your druggie ass. That’s the shit I’m in charge of, and I don’t like the view. Coach wants me keeping a close eye. To see if I can get you back up to speed, or if you’re turning out to be a piece of trash like he thought.”

U-Haul’s eyes were closer to mine than anybody in their right mind would want.

Freckles all over the face like spattered blood, even on the eyelids.

I turned my back on him and shoved a wad of darks in the machine.

Slammed the lid, and then faced him off again.

“Okay. Remind me again why I’m scared of a fucking errand boy? ”

He drew back like I’d kneed him in the balls. “Assistant. Coach.”

“Yeah, we’ve all been wondering whose cock you sucked for the promotion. Not Coach’s, I know that much. The man has got standards.”

“You don’t know jack shit about the man.”

“I’d say I do.”

U-Haul rolled his head and shoulders around, then twined his arms together, holding hands with himself.

“I’m saying you don’t. If you can’t work out how I got kicked up.

He might be your legal fucking daddy but I’m the one keeping his books and counting his Beam bottles.

I know him. And you hear me, boy. There’s things he does not want known. ”

“The man gets shitfaced and passes out from time to time. No law against.”

“Misappropriating of funds, let’s try that one for size. Embezzling.”

“You are so full of it.” I tried to get past him, but he kept stepping into my way, blocking the door with his beanpole frame. I was contemplating a takedown, but finally he stepped aside.

“The hell do you know,” he said. “Coach is just lucky there’s a grown man awake at the wheel in this house, to look out for the merchandise.”

“So I’m merchandise.”

“You’re dogshit. I’m discussing something a who-ole lot tastier.

” He pressed out his tongue over his top lip, grabbed the air in front of him with both hands, and pumped his hips.

If there’s a picture no human wants in their head, it’s U-Haul performing the sex act.

I was grossed out beyond all measure. And then got it, about the merchandise.

He meant Angus. My sister. I was going to have to break his filthy face.