Puzzling Pieces

Chapter 3

I sat down with no permission with the prescribed 10mg tablets rested before me on the table. It helped with the uncontrollable anxiety and shakes. He's calmed down now: chest hairs palpitating underneath his opened and creased shirt. No effort put into his appearance today.

Hygiene hasn't slipped. But the man I knew was always well groomed with his hair neat and teeth polished. Now they're yellowing, and his brows strained with 4 – lines forming each time he frowns or gains his breath.

“What's happened to you … Viv?" Time to use his name. Let him know that much I haven't forgotten. Viv, short for Vivian. He hates his full name. Makes him feel feminine. So, I call him Viv. It's half the felinity that way.

“Old age and solitude. Something you'd know all too well for your young age.”

“Solitude is my home that I carry. If I keep this going …" I screw my ring finger into the side of my temple.  "Then I won't lose it. My advice to you, remember that tactical mind of yours, how it saved you when you were a lieutenant.”

His eyes shoot me a nervy glance. "This shit." I pick up the Inderal. It's no good. Pumping this stuff is negative. And something I never would've thought you’d do.”

"I'm not your grandfather. Why are you trying to save me, kid?”

"Hey. Viv, you're a decent guy. Helped me out of that scratch when all I was pushing was numbers for a mean son of a pimple. Gave me that chance to use my brain. Put it to use for some good. You gave me that start.”

“And I regret it!" He says this with venom.“You run around like you're a qualified under-grad of a detective. Scraping by because they wouldn't half think that a girl of your kind … forgive me … would have the brains to solve that. But the world's getting smaller. And you're getting bigger. And to come here … like me, who's on the … “He sighs and looks to the Inderal in my hand. "I can't drag you …”

“You've dragged me into something." I twig. "Giving me the wrong house. Nice ploy. Who else has the wrong address?”

"Quit it. Nobody else does. If you mean am I still conversing with that asshole.” –

"I didn't dare speak his name. But you've been known for your own deeds and allowing old toxic habits into your life.”

“Much like you.”He's got  that don't judge me sneer.“Much like you.”

I thump down his medication out of frustration. "Religion is bullshit, Viv.”

“God can save you. He sure as hell wants to. Bringing you hear when it only signals an omen.”

“Jesus.” –

“No blasphemy.”He shoots up with no pin on that seat. His neck creaking as he looks at the picture of himself with those 3 men and his whole body goes silent. The room's atmosphere drops, and if I would've tapped down on the table we'd think it was the door knocking.

But a small cough from me and the man jumps out his flesh … runs to the window and slams it shut before drawing the curtains and realizing that it was me who coughed when I hem-hem-hem hoarsely again to get rid of that dry throat because I could do with some water.

My throat needs help, so I turn to the glass with a few liters of juice left-over; "put that down!” But end up leaving it because Viv is so damn edgy.

“What the hell is going on here, Viv!? Because you are one nervous wreck right now and I can't bear to see you in this state. I didn't expect to find you like … like … you're not the same man.”

“People change over time.”

“But not Viv Hardson. Na. No way. If he was a nervous wreck he would tell me that it's because he's into some real deep shit.”

“And that's what I'm into.”He looks to his medication again. "Some real deep baggage.”

…

The story goes north, and I plan to go south. Because the story is nothing more than ramblings on about some death and a frequent visitor who he keeps seeing when he shouldn't be seeing them. At least, that's what I thought.

He progresses on to talk about making his daily rounds each day. Being an old man, he says, makes him as predictable as not winning the lottery: arriving at the laundrette at 10 a.m to get that special washing machine that everybody pounces upon because it can iron press dry after the washing cycle is complete. Then he nips to the park to feed the geese and ducks whilst sitting on the bench that’s opposite the lake with the quad-peddle-boats usually operating if the weather is sunny.

Then when it's about 3 p.m., Viv decides to hit the corner store and buy some groceries to prepare for his domino partner, Jeffery, to come over and join him. And maybe he might bring a nice little lady with him if she's not too into bingo and knitting. Damn stereotypes.

Viv mentioned that from the beginning of the week: every day upon that bench was the same man who would be sitting on the far – end … as far as a bench that could seat 4 people can manage to give. And he smelt like he had bathed in a corrosive nitric acid, and his skin was burnt red and never seemed to heal. I read my New York Times. A page a day when I first spotted the sores on his hands.

And each day of the week … he would get closer and closer to Viv. Until there were practically knee-buddies and he could swing his arm over his shoulder and ask him out for a drink. But the drunk asking never happened, and the conversation and the smell of acid only became more venomous to his nose.

“I remember that smell, Sia. And the page that I was reading was a war memorial. And then as soon as I got to a certain paragraph his hands just came full blast around my neck, and the newspaper floated on down until it reached the grass. And he tried to choke me to death as the words: memorial was bold as shined gold and the man in the picture was a sucker who couldn’t have died sooner.

It all started to go dark. And before my windpipe was compressed until it's bitter end, he let go and I choked up something rotten. And all he said before he left was; Y.O.M. but he added more. Y.O.U all. Then he gave the side of my gut the boot and left me to regain oxygen normally again. He picked a fine time as the park was empty.”

“s**t, Viv. Why didn't let me know this when you sent back that reply letter?

“Lessen the cursing, kid. I didn't want to put this on your back. But who else do I have that's as good as you can be? It's my problem. I need to figure out why this happened.”

“And you have no idea? It seems like you do … or don't want to admit.”

“It's complicated. And if it's what I think it is. Then my time is up. And I need to flee from New York and find a hideout.”

“Come with me.”I'm already prepared to leave. "Forget your things. I'll come back and collect them for you.”

“Just like that?”

I nod; "Yeah. We get you out of here. It's not safe.”

Viv isn't much of a smiley and show your teeth kind of guy. But he does it. And it warms him more than me. When a man out-traits himself, it shows that he's really going through a storm in there. He's out of character. He’s …

“What's that light!? Viv quickly goes to switch off the light. A wrong move if I knew what would come next! He should've left it on, as a few house lights were on at this hour. But the light was testing … probing inside living rooms with its white flashlight. There's 2 frantically scanning inside … and us standing in the dark: not wanting to move or breathe is something I far to use too.

The flashlights grow legs and climb over Viv's boundary wall. I want to tell him to duck! Slowly falling to the floor. I whisper;“lie down on the floor. But do it slowly, Viv.”But he's a stubborn ox. And a troll right now that's seen the light. He can't move because he's petrified, and his legs no longer know who he is.

I try again;“Viv, drop to the floor like me.”But he still stands so still. And the 2 bodies outside are now pressed against the window. And my intuition thinks: go over to Viv. Yank him down because something doesn't feel right here.”But the thing with intuition is that when you want to act upon it … it's already after the s**t takes place. -

Prat-a-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat and it continues until all I know is I'm on the floor hearing smashing glass as I protect my head and shut my eyes so tight that my corneas might bleed. I can't get up. But I shout; “Viv!?”My eyes tighter now. I hear no reply, but the bullets replay over and over and it becomes a nightmare.

The bullets spray his cabinet … the walls, his single television that combusts and shatters with the electricity violently whirling and buzzing. They hit the lightbulb, his double cream sofa. I know that they’re making sure nothing is left unturned and all is destroyed! It's pure noise. Nothing but materialism being dismantled into pieces by spraying bullets … but I'm down there thinking of praying … because he's too quiet.

But I can't stay here. And when I think this … the bullets stop, and the footsteps pace it over that boundary wall as I know why: sirens. Police sirens are coming this way. Neighbours are huddling onto the streets.

I can hear a woman scream out in shock at the mess of Viv's home. I remove my hands from my head … even though I heard them leave I make sure. And my heart stops. I make sure it doesn’t beat. Because deep down … thud … thud … thud … my chest. My heart is an ape beating out my chest with a traumatic; thud … thud … thud.

I can't collapse. I've seen this before. A dead body. A man sprayed with so many bullets that you'd think it was a sickening joke of hole-to-hole and enter some tubes. It hurts. Viv wouldn't scream out because that's not his style. A tough man, terrible end.

I must do the shiftiest thing in the world and legit. Me and police … they don't like me, and I don't do the boogie with them. It just never makes a great first date. So, I search until I find the backdoor to his yard. The access is through the kitchen and then on the side is a door that open to where he keeps his clothes rack and faulty washing machine.

Viv was in a bad state, his kitchen is mold and gangrene, unwashed dishes and pots that have months old food now growing personalities and rock hard like concrete. There's crawlies … the floor hasn't been mopped in ages, and it takes me awhile to realize that I'm not the only one who's stepped into this kitchen to leave through the back way. The backdoor is open. Wide open!