Chapter Twelve
~~ There's indecision when you
know you ain't got nothin' left
When the good times never stay
And the cheap thrills always … seem to fade away
When will we fall
When will we fall down
Well, jump back gotta get outta here
Been too long this time
When will when will we fall down *
Tony Jones drove slowly and repeatedly around the area of the free-clinic and up and down Cortland Street. A couple of times, a street punk caught his eye, but none of them were Lucky Spencer. By 10 PM, Tony decided to go home and think of a different plan to find Lucky.
Pulling into his driveway, Tony felt a little wistful. He knew that no one would be waiting for him inside his house. He turned his key and entered the dark front room. Turning on the light, he saw his sparsely furnished bachelor pad complete with large screen TV and leftover pizza boxes. Sighing, Tony reached into the freezer and pulled out another frozen dinner. As he waited for it to warm up in the microwave, Tony pulled down a large corrugated box from a hall closet shelf. Tony searched through the mismatched photos of years gone by, hoping to find a fairly recent photo of Lucky.
Tony smiled while looking through family photos of birthday parties and holidays. Those were happy times, he thought. Oh man, how he missed Lucas and his family life with Bobbie. They had been good together, at least at first, until BJ's death. Tony sat there with tears in his eyes. The beeper on the microwave warned him of a hot, yet tasteless dinner.
An hour later, Tony finally found a good photo of Lucky. They had been at Luke's house, celebrating the birth of Lulu. Tony had sneaked up on Lucky and caught him alone on the couch in a solemn moment. This was the closest he could come to a present day likeness of his former nephew, and he hoped it would suffice.
Tomorrow, Tony planned on canvassing the businesses along Cortland Street, hoping to find out where Lucky was hanging out in the daytime.
Tony finished his glass of wine and headed off to bed.
~*~*~*~
As the night deepened, Lucky grew fearful. He remembered the night that the drunken goons robbed and beat him. He also had a lingering memory of Taggert and the man at the gun store talking about a murder in the area. Sure, he had his gun, but he hadn't learned to shoot it yet. He'd stuffed it in the waistband of his pants with one bullet in the chamber, and now he reached down and fingered it, just checking to make sure it was still there.
At midnight, Lucky seated himself in a blue booth at White Castle. He had spent last night there instead of roaming the streets because the lights calmed him, and the closed, warm building had its appeal. He'd ordered one hamburger each hour to keep the manager off his back. Fortunately for him, that only put him back about $4.00. Even the manager had a little bit of a heart and didn't nag or try to get rid of Lucky when he slept off and on with his head on his hands, laying on the table. The constant, clinging onion smell was starting to bother him, though. Lucky reached down for his sweatshirt and smelled the fabric. Damn, he was starting to smell like an onion himself. He wondered how the restaurant workers could stand it.
Lucky watched the prostitutes come and go with their customers. The restaurant was a perfect place for an entrepreneurial hooker with its 24-hour availability, security and anonymity. The more sophisticated hookers wore beepers and walked out to meet their impatient johns in waiting cars. Most of the hookers were younger than Lucky and looked at him with mild curiosity and scorn. The cops weren't interested in raiding this place because it was on Cortland Street, not in the affluent suburbs.
Lucky was feeling a bit strung out. He hadn't used any of the white stuff in days. And, he'd drunk the last of his liquor by 7:00PM. He gritted his teeth as he thought of the goons that robbed him and deprived him of three good bottles of whiskey and bourbon, leaving him with only two. He was feeling sick, tired and antsy all at once and unsure of what to do. At eighteen, there was no way that he could easily get his hands on any more liquor. The drugs were a lot easier to come by for someone his age. But, he preferred his comfort in a more liquid form. Dammit. Lucky coughed and slumped his head down onto the table in disgust and defeat.
One of the young hookers, a fifteen-year-old named Cindy, had been sneaking looks at Lucky off and on for about an hour. She'd watched him last night quite a bit and thought that he was a hottie. She loved sweet-faced guys with long hair. Who knows why, it was just her thing. Cindy grew shy as she realized that she really wanted to hook up with him. Usually brash and mouthy with her customers, she reverted back to an earlier time and an earlier way of relating.
Cindy finally worked up her nerve and slid into the seat opposite of Lucky. She tapped on the table with a fingernail and said shyly, "Hi!"
Lucky raised a bleary face and looked straight at a very cute, very made-up girl with blonde curls.
"Shirley Temple," he muttered.
"Ha, you're so funny," Cindy laughed. "My name is Cindy, what's yours?"
"Lucky," he said flatly "Although I doubt I live up to my name," he smiled.
"Oh, I dunno," Cindy laughed again. "What are you doing here? I noticed you last night, too."
"Just reviewing my options in the universe," Lucky said.
"Your options, hmm." Cindy didn't know what to make of this guy. He sure didn't like to talk.
"So what are YOU doing here," Lucky said, showing some mild interest.
"Same as you."
"Oh," said Lucky. "I guess we're both space cowboys, then."
"Or cowgirls," Cindy laughed again. "You're real funny."
"Yeah, I'm a hoot," Lucky frowned.
"Why do you look so sad?"
Lucky met Cindy's concerned eyes.
The bravado in Lucky surfaced. "Just wishing for a good fix," he grinned.
"Oh, I can help you there," Cindy smiled. Finally, something in common, she thought. "Let's go take a walk."
Lucky brightened a bit, and said, "Yeah, let's go."
~*~*~*~
Lucky and Cindy sat on a cemetery park bench. Cindy knew of a small, private cemetery nearby with lots of trees and benches amid the graves.
Cindy carefully opened up a foil wrapper full of white powder. "Coke," she said. "A customer paid me with this last night. Should be good stuff."
Cindy leaned down with a rolled bill to snort some. "Ah," she laughed as she felt the drug rush up her nose and leave a white circle under her nostril.
Lucky laughed, took the rolled bill from her hands and snorted some of his own coke. It was the first time that he'd tried it. "Wow," he laughed again. Good stuff, indeed! Lucky felt a rush of welcome pleasure.
Cindy slowly re-wrapped the foil and stowed it in her purse for later.
She reached over, took Lucky's hand in her own and played with his fingers, separating them and gently stroking the soft skin between. Lucky smiled, grateful for an awesome high and a pretty girl beside him.
"MMmmmm…." he murmured. "That feels nice."
Cindy reacted by reaching out and cupping his head and pulling him into a kiss. Lucky opened his arms and drew her closer to him as their kiss deepened. He just felt so damn good.
They sat there necking on the bench for long, pleasurable minutes. Lucky happily drank in her affection.
Cindy reached for his jeans and started pulling at his zipper. When she began reaching into his pants, Lucky jerked away from her and looked fearful. "No," he whispered as he was suddenly assaulted by memories of Faison's guards and their repeated sexual abuse.
Cindy reached out again and touched him. Lucky leaped off of the bench and quickly drew out his gun. He aimed it with shaking hands right at her head. "Don't touch me," he ground out, his voice low and threatening and his eyes full of shining hate.
Cindy's face fell, and she began crying and pleading, "What's the matter? Tell me what's the matter. What did I do? I'm sorry!"
:"Get out of here!" Lucky shouted. When Cindy stood up, he screamed, "I SAID GET OUT!" and fired a shot that whizzed by her body and struck with full force into a nearby tombstone, obliterating the birth date of its occupant.
Cindy jumped and shrieked in terror at the sound of the bullet and its impact. She turned and ran away, sobbing and screaming with grief and shock.
Lucky just stood there confused and
shaking with a large, black smoking gun in his hand. When he looked down, his hand opened,
and the gun fell onto the cool grass.
* lyrics from Toad the Wet Sprocket, "Fall Down"