once.
“So I tell Smitty, Burger and Vietnam and them about Sully.”
“Vietnam?” I couldn’t help but ask.
“Yeah, you don’t know him. Vietnam is just his nickname. You want to know why? Because he’s Vietnamese! Are we clever or what?”Joe said, taking a break from his story to laugh at the snowballing absurdity. “Anyway, we’re drunk and coked up and pissed off. So I call Sully and invite him over. I’m all nice on the phone, just calling to invite him over and I say we have a lot of beers and weed and that we’re just hanging out, no big deal. So he says he’ll come by. And I guess I’m talking shit about Sully and we’re all getting amped up, right until he shows up. When he gets here, he barely says hi. He grabs a beer from the fridge without even asking, downs it like he’s in a hurry and asks where the weed is. So Papadopolis says ‘It’s right over here!’ and pops him in the eye. Then Vietnam and me smack him. It would’ve been awkward if we didn’t. So Sully goes down. And we’re all kicking at him and he’s fighting to get out. He gets up and he’s running toward the door and I’m chasing him and I go in for a haymaker. But I slip on some blood and I just fucking nail the wall.”
At this, Joe held out his hand, the top two knuckles of which were swollen to the point of deformity.
“What about the cop who lives next door?” I asked.
“He’s in Rhode Island for the night. I’m walking his dog. So Sully makes it out the door and down the steps and we’re all on the porch, all except for Burger. And I’m like, ‘that’s for disrespecting my house, you little bitch!’ And he’s like ‘You just got yourselves fucking murdered,’ and stuff like that. And he’s bleeding and weaving and yelling at us and we’re yelling back. That’s when Burger comes running out of the house with a chair from the kitchen and chucks it off the porch and nails Sully in the face so the chair breaks apart and Sully falls down. Blood everywhere.”
“That was my chair, too, by the way,” Marissa offered, lighting a cigarette.
“For a minute, he’s just laying there, and I’m afraid we killed him. But he finally gets up, bleeding and kind of wobbly, and runs off to his car. He revs the engine and runs it into my neighbor’s van and peels out.”
“Real fucking smart, Joe,” Marissa said.
“Yeah, I hate to rain on your parade here, but what the hell were you thinking?”
“I don’t think we were exactly thinking , in the sense that you mean it,” Joe said, laughing the same laugh that had gotten us through our childhood.
“Okay. So what’s the upshot? Sully and his friends—are they just fuckups, or are they honestly dangerous people?” I asked.
“Remember when Tim Duggan was blind for a week last summer?” Joe asked, with his ridiculous grin growing.
“Yeah.”
“That was Sully’s friends.”
“Seriously. And this isn’t just a drunk brawl at a party. You practically set up an ambush,” Marissa added.
“It probably wouldn’t have even been anything if he’d just acted decently when he showed up. But we were coked up and I guess it did get away from us.”
“Got away from you?” Marissa repeated, growing visibly less amused. Joe shrugged, grinning.
The whole thing was senseless. And none of it surprised me. I’d seen dumber, crazier and even more violent from Joe and his friends over the years. This wasn’t new. But, laughter aside, Joe was afraid now. And that was.
“So what are you going to do?” I asked.
“I’m trying to figure it out. I think I’m pretty safe here for now, what with my neighbor being a cop. It’s just outside that I have to be careful. I’ll stay away from the places Sully and his friends go, and not go out unless I have friends with me.”
“What? Are you going to do that for, like, ever?” Marissa asked.
“I have two thoughts on that. The first is that this should blow over in time. Something else will happen to Sully.
“So I tell Smitty, Burger and Vietnam and them about Sully.”
“Vietnam?” I couldn’t help but ask.
“Yeah, you don’t know him. Vietnam is just his nickname. You want to know why? Because he’s Vietnamese! Are we clever or what?”Joe said, taking a break from his story to laugh at the snowballing absurdity. “Anyway, we’re drunk and coked up and pissed off. So I call Sully and invite him over. I’m all nice on the phone, just calling to invite him over and I say we have a lot of beers and weed and that we’re just hanging out, no big deal. So he says he’ll come by. And I guess I’m talking shit about Sully and we’re all getting amped up, right until he shows up. When he gets here, he barely says hi. He grabs a beer from the fridge without even asking, downs it like he’s in a hurry and asks where the weed is. So Papadopolis says ‘It’s right over here!’ and pops him in the eye. Then Vietnam and me smack him. It would’ve been awkward if we didn’t. So Sully goes down. And we’re all kicking at him and he’s fighting to get out. He gets up and he’s running toward the door and I’m chasing him and I go in for a haymaker. But I slip on some blood and I just fucking nail the wall.”
At this, Joe held out his hand, the top two knuckles of which were swollen to the point of deformity.
“What about the cop who lives next door?” I asked.
“He’s in Rhode Island for the night. I’m walking his dog. So Sully makes it out the door and down the steps and we’re all on the porch, all except for Burger. And I’m like, ‘that’s for disrespecting my house, you little bitch!’ And he’s like ‘You just got yourselves fucking murdered,’ and stuff like that. And he’s bleeding and weaving and yelling at us and we’re yelling back. That’s when Burger comes running out of the house with a chair from the kitchen and chucks it off the porch and nails Sully in the face so the chair breaks apart and Sully falls down. Blood everywhere.”
“That was my chair, too, by the way,” Marissa offered, lighting a cigarette.
“For a minute, he’s just laying there, and I’m afraid we killed him. But he finally gets up, bleeding and kind of wobbly, and runs off to his car. He revs the engine and runs it into my neighbor’s van and peels out.”
“Real fucking smart, Joe,” Marissa said.
“Yeah, I hate to rain on your parade here, but what the hell were you thinking?”
“I don’t think we were exactly thinking , in the sense that you mean it,” Joe said, laughing the same laugh that had gotten us through our childhood.
“Okay. So what’s the upshot? Sully and his friends—are they just fuckups, or are they honestly dangerous people?” I asked.
“Remember when Tim Duggan was blind for a week last summer?” Joe asked, with his ridiculous grin growing.
“Yeah.”
“That was Sully’s friends.”
“Seriously. And this isn’t just a drunk brawl at a party. You practically set up an ambush,” Marissa added.
“It probably wouldn’t have even been anything if he’d just acted decently when he showed up. But we were coked up and I guess it did get away from us.”
“Got away from you?” Marissa repeated, growing visibly less amused. Joe shrugged, grinning.
The whole thing was senseless. And none of it surprised me. I’d seen dumber, crazier and even more violent from Joe and his friends over the years. This wasn’t new. But, laughter aside, Joe was afraid now. And that was.
“So what are you going to do?” I asked.
“I’m trying to figure it out. I think I’m pretty safe here for now, what with my neighbor being a cop. It’s just outside that I have to be careful. I’ll stay away from the places Sully and his friends go, and not go out unless I have friends with me.”
“What? Are you going to do that for, like, ever?” Marissa asked.
“I have two thoughts on that. The first is that this should blow over in time. Something else will happen to Sully.
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