Eric was already going, if not quite gone. The overhead fan cast thin slices of shadow over his face. His cheeks puffed in and out like he was trying to catch his breath and kiss somebody at the same time.
"I'm sorry, but you kids," Bob said. "You know? You go out of the house dressed like you're still in your living room. You say terrible things about women. You hurt harmless dogs. I'm tired of you, man."
Eric stared up at him. Winced like he had heartburn. He looked pissed off. Frustrated. The expression froze on his face like it was sewn there, and then he wasn't in his body anymore. Just gone. Just, shit, dead.
Bob dragged him into the cooler.
When he came back, pushing the mop and bucket ahead of him, Nadia still sat on her stool. Her mouth was a bit wider than usual and she couldn't take her eyes off the floor where the blood was, but otherwise she seemed perfectly normal.
"He would have just kept coming," Bob said. "Once someone takes something from you and you let them? They don't feel gratitude, they just feel like you owe them more." He soaked the mop in the bucket, wrung it out a bit, and slopped it over the main blood spot. "Makes no sense, right? But that's how they feel. Entitled. And you can never change their minds after that."
She said, "He...You just fucking shot him. You just...I mean, you know?"
Bob swirled the mop over the spot. "He beat my dog."
The Chechens took care of the body after a discussion with the Italians and the Micks. Bob was told his money was no good at several restaurants for the next couple of months, and they gave him four tickets to a Celtics game. Not floor seats, but pretty good ones.
Bob never mentioned Nadia. Just said Eric showed up at the end of the evening, waved a gun around, said to take him to the office safe. Bob let him do his ranting, do his waving, found an opportunity, and shot him. And that was it. End of Eric, end of story.
Nadia came to him a few days later. Bob opened the door and she stood there on his stoop with a bright winter day turning everything sharp and clear behind her. She held up a bag of dog treats.
"Peanut butter," she said, her smile bright, her eyes just a little wet. "With a hint of molasses."
Bob opened the door wide and stepped back to let her in.
"I've gotta believe," Nadia said, "there's a purpose. And even if it's that you kill me as soon as I close my eyes--"
"Me? What? No," Bob said. "Oh, no."
"--then that's okay. Because I just can't go through any more of this alone. Not another day."
"Me too." He closed his eyes. "Me too."
They didn't speak for a long time. He opened his eyes, peered at the ceiling of his bedroom. "Why?"
"Hmm?"
"This. You. Why are you with me?"
She ran a hand over his chest and it gave him a shiver. In his whole life, he never would have expected to feel a touch like that on his bare skin.
"Because I like you. Because you're nice to Cassius."
"And because you're scared of me?"
"I dunno. Maybe. But more the other reason."
He couldn't tell if she was lying. Who could tell when anyone was? Really. Every day, you ran into people and half of them, if not more, could be lying to you. Why?
Why not?
You couldn't tell who was true and who was not. If you could, lie detectors would never have been invented. Someone stared in your face and said, I'm telling the truth . They said, I promise . They said, I love you.
And you were going to say what to that? Prove it?
"He needs a walk."
"Huh?"
"Cassius. He hasn't been out all day."
"I'll get the leash."
In the park, the February sky hung above them like a canvas tarp. The weather had been almost mild for a few days. The ice had broken on the river but small chunks of it clung to the dark banks.
He didn't know what he believed. Cassius walked ahead of them, pulling on the leash a bit, so proud, so pleased, unrecognizable from the quivering hunk of fur Bob had pulled from a barrel just two and a half months ago.
Two and a half months! Wow. Things sure
"I'm sorry, but you kids," Bob said. "You know? You go out of the house dressed like you're still in your living room. You say terrible things about women. You hurt harmless dogs. I'm tired of you, man."
Eric stared up at him. Winced like he had heartburn. He looked pissed off. Frustrated. The expression froze on his face like it was sewn there, and then he wasn't in his body anymore. Just gone. Just, shit, dead.
Bob dragged him into the cooler.
When he came back, pushing the mop and bucket ahead of him, Nadia still sat on her stool. Her mouth was a bit wider than usual and she couldn't take her eyes off the floor where the blood was, but otherwise she seemed perfectly normal.
"He would have just kept coming," Bob said. "Once someone takes something from you and you let them? They don't feel gratitude, they just feel like you owe them more." He soaked the mop in the bucket, wrung it out a bit, and slopped it over the main blood spot. "Makes no sense, right? But that's how they feel. Entitled. And you can never change their minds after that."
She said, "He...You just fucking shot him. You just...I mean, you know?"
Bob swirled the mop over the spot. "He beat my dog."
The Chechens took care of the body after a discussion with the Italians and the Micks. Bob was told his money was no good at several restaurants for the next couple of months, and they gave him four tickets to a Celtics game. Not floor seats, but pretty good ones.
Bob never mentioned Nadia. Just said Eric showed up at the end of the evening, waved a gun around, said to take him to the office safe. Bob let him do his ranting, do his waving, found an opportunity, and shot him. And that was it. End of Eric, end of story.
Nadia came to him a few days later. Bob opened the door and she stood there on his stoop with a bright winter day turning everything sharp and clear behind her. She held up a bag of dog treats.
"Peanut butter," she said, her smile bright, her eyes just a little wet. "With a hint of molasses."
Bob opened the door wide and stepped back to let her in.
"I've gotta believe," Nadia said, "there's a purpose. And even if it's that you kill me as soon as I close my eyes--"
"Me? What? No," Bob said. "Oh, no."
"--then that's okay. Because I just can't go through any more of this alone. Not another day."
"Me too." He closed his eyes. "Me too."
They didn't speak for a long time. He opened his eyes, peered at the ceiling of his bedroom. "Why?"
"Hmm?"
"This. You. Why are you with me?"
She ran a hand over his chest and it gave him a shiver. In his whole life, he never would have expected to feel a touch like that on his bare skin.
"Because I like you. Because you're nice to Cassius."
"And because you're scared of me?"
"I dunno. Maybe. But more the other reason."
He couldn't tell if she was lying. Who could tell when anyone was? Really. Every day, you ran into people and half of them, if not more, could be lying to you. Why?
Why not?
You couldn't tell who was true and who was not. If you could, lie detectors would never have been invented. Someone stared in your face and said, I'm telling the truth . They said, I promise . They said, I love you.
And you were going to say what to that? Prove it?
"He needs a walk."
"Huh?"
"Cassius. He hasn't been out all day."
"I'll get the leash."
In the park, the February sky hung above them like a canvas tarp. The weather had been almost mild for a few days. The ice had broken on the river but small chunks of it clung to the dark banks.
He didn't know what he believed. Cassius walked ahead of them, pulling on the leash a bit, so proud, so pleased, unrecognizable from the quivering hunk of fur Bob had pulled from a barrel just two and a half months ago.
Two and a half months! Wow. Things sure
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