joint. Fucking hell! You should have stopped the meter, because in an emergency you shouldn’t charge people. It’s the law.
Yeah, besides, the other one said, you took the bitch’s side as I remember.
I always get paid, I said, and I always take the bitch’s side, bitches.
Maybe that’s because you’re one of them, fucking faggot. Fuck no, you’re trying to rip us off. You played with the meter while we were blind. Fuck, hell no, the muscles said.
So I stepped on the gas and drove into the alley behind the hotel. From below my seat I grabbed my feathered stick. I left it low but made it understood that I held something in my hand. Implicit threats are more effective.
I am getting paid, I said, or I’ll close back your eyes. I am no bitch, I said. I am the man who always gets paid.
Fuck that, one said, pulling out some bills and throwing them at me. Fuck you, fuck your team, and fuck your town, asshole! And they opened the doors and stepped out and one of them started kicking my headlight. I performed a trick and made my stick disappear inside the sleeve of my coat and I swirled the ostrich feathers in the air. I walked along the length of my fender and I strutted like the strong rooster I had grown into. I took their wallets, and after I had wiped their blood from my hands, I went back and looked for Linda.
I found her on the same corner. Fredao, her pimp, was standing on the other side of the street. Linda hopped into my car and said, Fly, drive by Fredao, okay? Let him see you. He’ll know it’s you and won’t think you’re a customer and ask me for the money later. I drove by Fredao and then around the block. I gave Linda her share of the money I’d taken from the two boys.
She kissed me and said, Not a word to Fredao. I told him I couldn’t get them to pay. If he asks you, back me up. Tammer is getting older, she said, and we need the extra money.
Then she asked about Otto and why he’d stopped passing by. The two of them had become good friends over the years. I told her that I hadn’t seen him for a while.
Just in case the police tracked us down, we agreed on some story about how these out-of-towners tried to beat up Linda and take my money, and that is why I had to stop them with my feathered stick.
But I never heard from those two defeated boys again. There was nothing in the news about tourists getting robbed, fucked, or punished. Idiots like that are usually too proud to admit defeat. They just go and get drunk and numb their wounds and the next day go to the gym and pump iron and check their muscles in the mirrors. I must admit, I take pleasure in beating men with big, inflated muscles. One can spot them on the streets by the steroids’ effects in their eyes. They always look a bit paranoid, and their whole existence becomes about performing to glass audiences in city windows. There is no mirror that they pass and do not greet with a flex of biceps or the slow landing of a leg. Inflated balloons with broken cords, always walking as if they are taking their first step on the moon.
TAMMER
I HAD MET Linda through Otto and Aisha.
Once, when Linda was in rehab, Aisha brought home Tammer, Linda’s son, and looked at Otto and said, The kid is staying with us for a while. Tammer had curly hair and big brown eyes; he held a threadbare quilt in his hands and looked at Otto and said, Food. Otto walked him to the kitchen and made him a sandwich. The kid ate and then stayed quiet.
And that’s the way it was for several months. While Aisha went to work, Otto, who was unemployed at the time, stayed home and wrote letters to local newspapers and pamphlets for activist organizations. When the kid came home from school, Otto fed him and helped him with his homework, taught him to wash his hands long enough to finish singing “Happy Birthday” twice, and how to brush his teeth. Before tucking him into bed, Otto would read him a bit of Marx’s The Civil War in France , adding a twist of Orwellian
Yeah, besides, the other one said, you took the bitch’s side as I remember.
I always get paid, I said, and I always take the bitch’s side, bitches.
Maybe that’s because you’re one of them, fucking faggot. Fuck no, you’re trying to rip us off. You played with the meter while we were blind. Fuck, hell no, the muscles said.
So I stepped on the gas and drove into the alley behind the hotel. From below my seat I grabbed my feathered stick. I left it low but made it understood that I held something in my hand. Implicit threats are more effective.
I am getting paid, I said, or I’ll close back your eyes. I am no bitch, I said. I am the man who always gets paid.
Fuck that, one said, pulling out some bills and throwing them at me. Fuck you, fuck your team, and fuck your town, asshole! And they opened the doors and stepped out and one of them started kicking my headlight. I performed a trick and made my stick disappear inside the sleeve of my coat and I swirled the ostrich feathers in the air. I walked along the length of my fender and I strutted like the strong rooster I had grown into. I took their wallets, and after I had wiped their blood from my hands, I went back and looked for Linda.
I found her on the same corner. Fredao, her pimp, was standing on the other side of the street. Linda hopped into my car and said, Fly, drive by Fredao, okay? Let him see you. He’ll know it’s you and won’t think you’re a customer and ask me for the money later. I drove by Fredao and then around the block. I gave Linda her share of the money I’d taken from the two boys.
She kissed me and said, Not a word to Fredao. I told him I couldn’t get them to pay. If he asks you, back me up. Tammer is getting older, she said, and we need the extra money.
Then she asked about Otto and why he’d stopped passing by. The two of them had become good friends over the years. I told her that I hadn’t seen him for a while.
Just in case the police tracked us down, we agreed on some story about how these out-of-towners tried to beat up Linda and take my money, and that is why I had to stop them with my feathered stick.
But I never heard from those two defeated boys again. There was nothing in the news about tourists getting robbed, fucked, or punished. Idiots like that are usually too proud to admit defeat. They just go and get drunk and numb their wounds and the next day go to the gym and pump iron and check their muscles in the mirrors. I must admit, I take pleasure in beating men with big, inflated muscles. One can spot them on the streets by the steroids’ effects in their eyes. They always look a bit paranoid, and their whole existence becomes about performing to glass audiences in city windows. There is no mirror that they pass and do not greet with a flex of biceps or the slow landing of a leg. Inflated balloons with broken cords, always walking as if they are taking their first step on the moon.
TAMMER
I HAD MET Linda through Otto and Aisha.
Once, when Linda was in rehab, Aisha brought home Tammer, Linda’s son, and looked at Otto and said, The kid is staying with us for a while. Tammer had curly hair and big brown eyes; he held a threadbare quilt in his hands and looked at Otto and said, Food. Otto walked him to the kitchen and made him a sandwich. The kid ate and then stayed quiet.
And that’s the way it was for several months. While Aisha went to work, Otto, who was unemployed at the time, stayed home and wrote letters to local newspapers and pamphlets for activist organizations. When the kid came home from school, Otto fed him and helped him with his homework, taught him to wash his hands long enough to finish singing “Happy Birthday” twice, and how to brush his teeth. Before tucking him into bed, Otto would read him a bit of Marx’s The Civil War in France , adding a twist of Orwellian
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