Puzzling Pieces

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Robbo called the police, and the ambulance arrived after I helped out on my end. It caused the whole street to come alive. I headed back to the bankrupted taxi office that Robbo owned, he was wanting to convert it into a mini gym and told me I should hang around until he got back.

Elisha was stunned into silence when he saw the commotion and Robbo explaining that underneath that wheeled out white sheet was Viv. It hit him like no home-run I had ever seen before. There was a sincerity there and I felt it. Because the emotion of seeing him dead reconfirmed how traumatic it was for me.

We drove back quiet. I had some things that needed clearing. But all I could do now was remember that day when me and Viv had a chat about my life. It was the only time I dived into who I was really meant to be.

…

Viv just finished a meeting. I didn’t press the matter because it wasn’t my business. But Viv was dealing with guys who had an FBI and CIS feel. The kind of narks that report back to base with their normal plain clothed attire that still doesn’t conceal that they look governmental and corporate. It was the fixed hair; dead stare; no smiles; and the icing on the cake was their hardened attempt at being serious and business orientated.

If anything could move their souls it would be a big paycheck and promotion. I never pried. But dealing with that sort will beg people to wonder what that person is into?

I didn’t sense anything then. This was not the time to ask him about his activities when he came out. But as I sat on the steps of the building: it resembled a police station, although, it was some communal charity center when you looked it up on the yellow pages.

“Have you been waiting long?”

“Na Viv. I just got here.”

“That’s good. I know you’re always busy.” He starts that decent down. I want to make a joke about those hips needing an oil. I hear a crack. He groans and laughs at himself. Then manages to plonk his ass down pretty hard upon that greyed stone step.

“I can spare you some time old man.” To be fair, I don’t have anybody else which is what I wanted to add. I should’ve when I think back on it. But that’s sissy-fied. That’s me feeling like this man could be the grandad I never had. From that point onwards, I held back from admitting anything. He was just an old dud from here on out.

“I wanted to know what you call … you know … what you do? Do you see it as detective work?”

“No way. What I do isn’t that.”

“Then what is it? Why do you investigate crimes around here?”

“I have a nose. I see a problem. I guess … I think I ask the questions that others seem to miss. And I spot a problem that won’t leave me alone. It’s been a habit since the time my mother told me that dad left us at 12 a.m., but that couldn’t be right because his coat was there at that time. I saw it. 30-minutes later though … he was gone.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s made me check-up on things. Make a clear-cut decision on when something happens. My dad left me a small post-it, told me to always look for the details.” I realized that my mother was cheating on him. That was the details that I got from him leaving that message. No goodbye. Just the traces from my mom on late nights and coming back stinking of rum. So, I ran with that, and it turned out I was right: the rum was rubbed on from her late night sessions with her other lover."

“Have you ever opened up before?”

“No. I see it better as just making it by on my own”

“So, you run … like your dad?”

“I run to the problem” –

“And attempt to solve the issue?”

“Listen, old man, I … I don’t need you debunking and trying to work me out. How about you work yourself out?”

“I wouldn’t know where to start. My happiest moments were when I had a respectable occupation: on the open field; giving commands; knowing that my habits of falling into despair were gone. But I knew a man like me would have to face the consequences of that promotion. It didn’t come for free.”

“Nothing ever does” -

“What I’m telling you, Sia, is that you need to think of this as a full-time job. And that requires an investment. Let it lead you to have some purpose. Not just a sprinting marathon. You flirt with death. I heard you nearly got run down by one of Sidney’s boys. And today, was it true that he threatened to kill your mom?”

“I’d kill him first.” -

“And what would that prove?”

“That I’m not one to f**k with.”

“He won’t leave you be. I know that boy’s father. He was working with me when I …”

…

A bump … the car bounces and it startles me. Elisha is now parking and pulling up in a space before the closed down taxi office. I must’ve drifted with my eyes open. It happens when exhaustion hits me.

Elisha gets out. No words were spoken. He just answers his ringing mobile phone and I get out to stretch my legs. I let the car pass by, and then close it shut before heading inside. I have the key. I could do with a drink. A spliff. A mood changer. A relaxant. A bath. Even a date.

The need for fun in my life always comes at the hour when a tumor stifles my nervous system. I plonk myself down in the black recliner that’s the only piece of furniture left. The attached wall made to be a long white table doesn’t count.

Elisha comes inside and leans against the wall. “I uh … I was going to pick up some weed. That was my dealer on the phone. I could come back here, and we could smoke a little.”

“I don’t think so. When I smoke, I smoke alone.”

“I see you still don’t trust me.”

I’m pushing the recliner seat all the way back. “That phony cop of yours had you following Viv, is that correct?”

“For a little extra money. Yeah.”

“If you cared so much about the old guy you would’ve told them to get stuffed! Now he’s dead. And a-part of that sits on your lap.”

“And I believe it sits on yours too! You think I don’t know what his grandson doesn’t? I know that’s not where he was killed” -

I shoot up from the recliner; give Elisha a shove back onto the wall and hold the blade underneath his tennis balls. He squeaks. “I notice you keep skipping over the mark with Viv. You cared about the old guy. But I don’t believe for a second, that you were working on the same side as him. You’re going to tell me, right here, and right now, what Y.O.M is?”

“What makes you think I know?”

“That ratty-faced cop was yelling it out to you. Or are you not the same man that I saved?”

“We live in the same building. It was me. And yes, you saved me. But I can’t give you that information. I’d rather walk in front of a bus and have it knock me down dead instead.”

I palm-press his forehead against the wall like I’m brandishing out a hi-ya! His head knocks back roughly. Then I sling off his hat and grapple his overgrown garden of a hairstyle. It’s so bushy that I’m afraid I’ll find wildlife. I puncture a hole through his trousers. He flinches. I open it up a little bigger until I’m sure I’m close to that specific location inside his boxers. If he thinks I’m messing he’s got another thing coming.

In a panicking voice he fumbles out; “If you go deeper, you aren’t getting out. Viv kept you on the outskirts. He did so for a reason.”

“They were talking about me … let’s revisit that when we were back at that alleyway. What were they speaking about?” I give him a patter-pat-pat on the crotch and he soon speaks up.

“That you were going to meet him at a certain location. You were doing a spot of running yourself. It was odd phrases I caught onto.” I jab him downstairs. He flinches with his back banging against the wall. “Viv said you knew some minor things. Not much. But you knew about the party of 3.”

“The f**k … what’s the party of 3?”

“Who knows? That’s what I heard.” I grab his hair again and yank it so his skull extends. It’s painful, with hair as knotty and tangled as his. “Sia,” He exclaims in discomfort as his eyes start to shut from the pressure of my pull. “Viv was definitely trying to either keep you out the picture or bring you in to help him. His grandson is in the grey zone. You’re closer to the red.”

“And where does that leave you, Elisha?”

“I’m the yellow pause. I only observed from the cab.”

Elisha wasn’t going to tell me about Y.O.M: even after several attempts at seeing how far his scrotum could handle the blade until the words fearfully popped out; "I don't know!" So, I left him standing there and made my way home with the use of my map. I asked a few strangers for directions when it became a little tricky. No doubt, after an hour-and-a-half, I was close to feeling a little peckish and wanting to buy a pack of smokes. I preferred the green stuff. But stress was eating at me.

I was vigilant as I went. I trusted nobody. Anybody could be the one tailing me. That’s if I was being followed as Elisha said before. I certainly didn’t feel safe anymore. Any sudden movements and I stared that individual down until they tensely walked by as if they didn’t know that they had to ask for permission to use their eyes.

I check each person that passes me, and they give me a strange look every time. It’s not my fault that I’m staring too hard and giving them chills. Partly because I want to know what they’re staring at? Am I a 666 beast? Is there a piece of mold on my cheek? My scar gets visitors, but they usually know not to take a photographic memory. New Yorkers are bold. Way too bold.

I know I’m close. I see a*****e that sells some basic processed foods and fresh vegetables. I skip anything healthy and grab some worthy chicken noodles and mushrooms pots. Low cost and full of so much s**t. At least I can get some vitamin k from that. I pick up a fizzy ting can. And some hot sauce to add to a mixture.

I’m hungry. And all this requires is some hot water and the sachet for flavour. I get to the checkout: there’s only one till and nearly 6 – people ahead of me. I’m impatient when it comes to my stomach. But my patience comes back when I see what I wasn’t looking for.

“This can’t be happening. Again, I run into you. “The girl in front of me in the queue is here with a small basket. She has a healthier choice than me in there. A couple of leafy vegetables and some kidney beans with rye bread on the side. She’s giving me a half-turn. “I think we should at least get to know each other on a first name basis.”

“Sure. I’m Sia.”

“I’m Amber.” She turns back to the front. Then turns back again after we move an inch. “Did the map help?”

“It did. I actually found my way back here.”

“Ah. It’s pretty easy to use” -

“Yeah. That was the case.” The first 2 people get served and are out the store. Then the next, and the 4th only wants to buy a pack of mints. When it comes down to Amber her total is slashed with some coupons. She grabs her bag of stuff and it’s my turn next. She heads outdoors. I feel awkward about not saying goodbye again. But I pay for my s**t … and see her standing outside patiently waiting.

“I thought I’d wait for you. We live close by so …”

“You know … I was … going to ask you the same thing.”

She smiles. I reply back with a failed curve at the corners of my mouth. It could come across as a sneer. Or just a line with some depth raised in my cheeks.

…

“I’ve been living in New York for the past 2 – years. Came over to do some work experience with my aunt in a hair salon. I got tired of working with makeup all the time. I was self – employed and did the make-up for hen-nights and wedding-dos. I made some good money.”

“Did you lose a passion for the work?”

“I just lost a passion for myself. Drifted out of a family squabble. Needed to just be on my own for a while.”

“I feel you. Sort of why I’m out of here?”

“What … family issues?”

“I don’t know if he’d call me family. But he was the one guy who gave me a focus point.”

“No ma or siblings?”

“If I had any, my mom kept that from me.” A very dry laugh comes from me. “Na. My mom doesn’t see me as a daughter. That’s all I remember anyway.”

“I’m sorry. Family can be a real headache.”

“Sure can.” We’re almost to her door. “Damn, sort of got lost in that conversation.”

“If you’re not in a hurry we can smoke a rizla? Do you smoke tobacco?”

“When I drink, I do. Otherwise, it has to be a special occasion.”

She squints with a smile. “I bet you, I’m the first new Yorker who you’ve actually had a decent conversation with. And, another factor would be that we’ve run into each other for the 3rd time already. I think that counts as a smoke-up-sesh.”

“Ok. I’m sold.”

I needed some conversation without the interrogation. No need to be watching my back with Amber. She’s unattached from the reality I evolve in. That’s what makes this ok. To drop my guard and give relaxing to another human being a chance. It’s nice when she smokes, and I just chill as we lean against the wall.

I’m comfortable in her silence. She seems to be stimulated with her rolled-up cigarette as she inhales, and then tilts her head to the sky to blow it all away. She brushes aside some ash with her sandals upon the ground and then looks at me without me realizing.

It’s only at the last moment, that my eyes meet hers. “Oh.” It startles me at first. Her gaze is still fixed with a stiff smile. “You must be thinking what’s on my mind?”

“Yes … and no. I was more thinking what are you really doing in the big NYC?”

My shoulders craggily rotate and my neck hunches forward. I also find I can’t answer her question. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t pry into your personal business. We can speak on something else … Do you like music?”

I must have a cold. I can’t find any words for that too.

“Do you have any personal interests?” The basic - get to know the other person questions that I hate. It’s been too long since I’ve had to do it. Another form of interrogation without the impulse and sweat of a knife to your gullet or a gun to your forehead. “I think I’ve hit rock bottom with you?” –

I correct her. “No. It’s … it’s just been awhile since I’ve had the pleasure of somebody asking me regular questions.”

“You not one for conversation?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t had the time to think about that. My uh … my ex-girlfriend barely spoke to me the entire time we were together. She said that the only thing I understood was a head on a hacking board. She said I was the ax. I played the cutting-her-off role well when we broke up.”

“What can she mean by that? Sounds like a very vague way to describe somebody.”

“I understand it as me being alive when I’m close to death.”

“And is that true?”

If Viv could see me now, he’d intervene and tell her yes. Sia enjoys the thrilling and chilling satisfaction of carrying a blade and sharpening it with her teeth. She lives in a barrel of wine that never tips over, even though it’s full. It baffles people. How can that be? But Sia is past sober. And can’t do drunk. How can you tip that over?

“I just like to know that I’m moving on. Like, me sitting here and chatting with you is wasting time. Valuable time. When I could be out there fixing this bloody mess I’m in.” I kicked aside a small stone and watched it sail onto the road.

“Wow. Sorry to offer you some downtime. I actually asked you because I can sense you need a few minutes to recuperate. But seeing as it’s annoying you to be in my company - I should let you go. I have to finish my smoke and I won’t do that inside my room.”

I recall what I said and feel ashamed of it. I feel bad enough to offer up an apology. “I lost my manners right there. The gesture is kind. I appreciate it. But I should go. I’m not much of a companion to talk with.”

“You’re not bad. If you lose the mood, we should hang again?”

“You actually want to try this again?”

“Sure. I think deep down … really deep down … we were meant to meet. And it seems there is a lot to uncover with you. You're such a mystery to me. Why is that?"