Coffee

By Brian Wask

I felt a strong shit coming.  The subway bounced.  That didn’t help.  There was nothing delightful about the port-o-johns waiting for my deposit at the job.  It was Friday, which meant the shit would be piled above the rim of the toilet and the rotting stench would make me dizzy. 

I finished shitting.  Big Mike was waiting for me by the loading dock, next to a big, steal passenger hoist.  The Ironworkers waited in their rusty jeans.  I never spoke that early in the morning and no one expected me to.  We glided up the side of the building in the blue cage, the big river shrinking below us, the orange sun passing the moon above the city skyline. 

Big Mike was my partner.  “You feel okay today?”  His cap covered his ears despite the warm temperature that morning.  He kept himself clean shaved.  “I don’t know why you shit in those things,” he said, watching the skeleton of the tenth floor pass by.  “I told you to go over to the fucking offices next door and tell them you know Big Mike.  It’s clean there.  There’s a lock on the door.  Soft toilet paper.  Those things are disgusting.  You can get diseases."

The cage bounced to a stop and the gears grinded one hundred fifty feet above the ground. 

“Thirteen,” Paulie yelled.  He lifted the gate and anyone who wanted to get out did so, but not before making some sort of comment about the bouncy ride. 

“I’m taking the stairs from now on,” one guy said dragging his tools over the gap between the hoist and the edge of the building.

“Go ahead, be my guest,” Paulie said.  “I’m tired of your fucking breath any way.”

On his way out of the hoist Big Mike squeezed Paulie’s arm.  “I told you not to call it thirteen.  I’m not working on the thirteenth floor.”

“That’s what it says on the floor Big Mike.”

“I don’t care,” Big Mike said.  “Call it fourteen or twelve and a half or something fucking else, but don’t call it thirteen.”

“Alright already,” a clean-cut electrician said from the back of the cage.

Big Mike turned around and faced the few remaining passengers; big guys with tool belts and scars.  “Shut the fuck up before I throw you off the building,” he said.  “Today is the day somebody’s going off the side of the fucking building.”

He’d say that every day and it became amusing to anyone who knew him.  He could have done it.  Rumor was he did over a wise crack two decades before. 

Paulie closed the gate and the hoist continued up the side of the building. 

“Before I went to the can I would-a thrown that fuck off the fucking building,” Big Mike said.

We stood at the edge looking into the windows of the dark offices next to us. Heights didn’t bother me at that point; neither did the thought of dieing by accident.  A janitor closed the blinds on a window.  In another window an early arrival in a tie and sitting at his desk rubbed his eyes. 

A carpenter swung a hammer into the dry wall behind us.  His flannel shirt was white from the drywall dust.  “Fucking son-of-a-bitches say one thing, I do it and then they say no, change it, do it like this, the plumber has to come in and do this.  Fuck them, this is the last time I do it.”

“What the fuck you complaining about?” Big Mike said.  “So what if you got to do it again.  They pay you enough.”

The guy looked at Mike like he was an asshole.  He was probably right, but Big Mike was my partner so he never gave me shit.  We were only laborers, the lowest guys around, but Big Mike had something on everybody- he was connected, at least he said he was.  He kept quiet when the feds busted him and he spent fourteen years in the clink.  The top guys don’t forget that.

“Fucking idiot,” Mike said.  He took off his hat and brushed his hair over the bald spot on his head.  “Somebody should throw that dumb fuck off the side of the fucking building.”  He peeked over the edge and then looked back at the carpenter leaning over his gang box, pictures of naked models fingering themselves taped to the inside.  “When I was in the can guys would hang pictures like that all over their cell.  I could hear them jerking off at night.  I couldn’t sleep.  I’d get maybe three hours a night.  Now I get maybe four in my sister’s basement.  She puts a load in the dryer at midnight and I’m like, how am I supposed to sleep through that g-dunk, g-dunk.”

Besides our job as laborers, the basement was the only other thing Big Mike and I had in common.  I lived in my parent’s basement and he lived in his sister’s.  But he was fifty-six and I was twenty-five and I had never done any prison time.

Carlos came up behind us with two yellow rolls of caution tape. 

“What?” Big Mike said.

“Chief wants us to start taping the side of the building off with this.”  Carlos was only nineteen and he had already gotten himself into debt with a local bookie.  He was a real nice kid but that didn’t make a difference to the guy he owed six thousand dollars to.  Now his arm was in a cast and he wasn’t good for much except getting coffee break and directing traffic when delivery trucks backed into the loading dock.

Mike looked at the yellow tape.  “Okay.  This should prevent someone from falling off the side of the fucking building.  What idiot came up with this idea?”

“Chief told me to do it,” Carlos said.

“Chief’s an idiot.”  Big Mike reached into his pocket and pulled out a small fold of cash.  He held up a ten for Carlos.  “Go get us some coffee.”

Carlos hated saying no to Big Mike.  “Chief said not to leave the job anymore unless it’s coffee time or lunch.”

“That’s what I want,” Mike said.  “I want coffee.”

“He meant like 9 o’clock coffee time.  They want to lay me off already.  I can’t get fucking laid off Big Mike”

“I want coffee now.  I’ll have it at nine too.”

“I-wha-I,” Carlos stuttered.

“Wha-wha-wha,” Mike repeated.  “Take the fucking money and go get us some coffee.  Get yourself something too.”

Carlos shook his head.  “C’mon Mike.  Chief’s gonna fuck me, man.  He’s keeping me working, man.”

“Don’t call me fucking man,” Mike said, squeezing Carlos’s shoulder with his hand.  “The spics say man.  I ain’t a spic.”

“No shit.  I’m a spic,” Carlos said.

“Don’t say that about your self.”  Mike shoved him along.  “Go.”

“Fuck,” Carlos said as he waddled off in his baggy pants.

Big Mike threw a pebble of something at Carlos.  “And don’t go to that truck for coffee, go to the bagel store.  I hate that truck, it’s shit water.”

I didn’t know why I was there, standing next to Big Mike, leaning up against my push broom.  I hated my job.  I hated myself.  I hated Big Mike.

“You alright kid?” Big Mike asked.  “You’re quiet.  I don’t like when you’re quiet.  It makes me feel like something’s wrong with you.”

“Nothing’s wrong,” I decided to say.

“How’s your dad?”

“He’s fine.”

“Tell him I said hello when you see him.”

“I will.”

“Tell him they got Mexican’s sweeping up and cleaning up the water in the basement.  They got like ten of them down there.  That’s our work.  In the can the wetbacks were the worst.”

“I’ll tell him.”

We started with the caution tape, wrapping it around a concrete column and pulling it to the next column to wrap it around.  But it lagged between the columns and touched the concrete floor. 

Chief came behind us.  He was a biker from old Bayonne, arms covered in tattoos and a bandana tied around his head under his hard hat.  “Anyone see Carlos?”

“No,” Big Mike said.  “Check the third floor.  He likes to hang out down there with his friends and talk about rap music.”

“I checked down there, he’s not,” Chief said.

“I don’t know then,” Big Mike said.

Chief looked over our progress.  “Yo, the tape is falling onto the floor.  You can’t do that.”

“Do what,” Mike said.

“It’s got to be tight between the columns man.  Someone could step right over that shit.”

Mike tossed the roll of tape onto the floor and brushed the little hair he had under his hat.  “Oh, and this?”  He tore a piece of tape in two.  “Is this going to stop someone from walking off the side of the building?  Besides, if someone’s dumb enough to walk off the side of the fucking building they should fall to their death.  What, am I God?  It’d be nice, but I don’t think so.  Whoever is, is doing a pretty fucking shitty job.”

Chief picked up the roll of tape.  “OSHA fined Belvis the other day so they have to put some sort of warning up along the perimeters.  I’m not saying it’s going to save lives.  It’s for show so do it right or you have to do it again.”

“I’ll do it all day,” Big Mike said.

“Do it right or I’ll find someone else to do it.  Where’s Carlos?  He could do it with one arm.”

“I told you I don’t know where he is,” Mike said.

“You guys got to put hard hats on.  OSHA can see you from the ground standing on the edge of the building.”

“Fuck OSHA,” Big Mike said. 

Chief looked at me.  “I’ll get some harnesses too.  You don’t have to tie up but at least from the ground it’ll look like you’re tied up.  They’re taking pictures and laying down some heavy fines.”

“What the fuck you care, you got to pay the fines?” Mike said.

“I don’t have to pay shit, but if they keep losing money on fines we’re going to lose our overtime and I know you don’t want that old man.” 

Big Mike would’ve worked twenty-four hour shifts if they let him.  “Now we’re speaking the same English.  They take my overtime I’ll take someone’s life.”

Chief looked at me again and smiled.  “What, you party late last night?”

“No,” I said.

“You get laid at least?”

“No.”

“Mind your own fucking business,” Big Mike said.

Chief looked at my eyes.  “You look like shit.”

“Thanks,” I said. 

“Leave the kid alone,” Big Mike said.  “He’s thinking about chicks.”

“No I’m not.  I’m not thinking about anything.”

“Me and Bernie are going to The Bear for lunch,” Chief said.

Mike put his hand up against Chief’s chest.  “Don’t influence the kid.  He’s been taking it easy.”

“Bullshit,” Chief said.  “My ass easy.  The only thing going down easy is a cold beer and another cold beer and then another cold beer.  A couple shots in between.”

“Maybe,” I said.

Chief shoved Mike.  “Stop working for once and come with us.”

Big Mike shoved Chief back.  “I can’t go to a bar.  I got my probation.”

Chief smirked.  “Who gives a fuck, it’s beer, it’s legal, right?  Have a ginger ale.”

Mike took the caution tape from Chief.  “Not for me.  Let me do my job.”

“Okay you old fuck,” Chief said.  “If you see that little spic fuck tell him to call me on the radio.  I give him a radio so I can get a hold of him and he doesn’t answer it.  The kid’s a fucking idiot.”

“Carlos ain’t an idiot,” Big Mike said.  “He looks up to you fucking assholes and he thinks it cool shit to bet on the games even if he’s got no money.  He’s gonna end up dead or in prison.”

“That’s his fault, I warned him,” Chief said.  Then he looked at me. “You sure you’re alright?”

“Fine,” I said.

“Come to the Bear with me and Bernie, I’ll buy you a beer.”

“I will.”

“See, you got the kid drinking at lunch,” Big Mike said.

Carlos walked up with coffees and Chief looked like someone stole his motorcycle.  “Where the fuck was you?”

Carlos handed us our coffees and threw the empty bag off the edge of the building and it road away on a wave of wind. 

“I told him to get us coffees,” Big Mike said, lifting the lid on the cup and blowing away the hot steam rising.

“You get me nothing,” Chief said.

“I didn’t know you wanted something,” Carlos said.

“Next time,” Mike said.

“No more of this, I told you that,” Chief said.  “Who told you you could leave the building?”

“I told him to get some coffee,” Big Mike said.  “The kid’s no good with his arm like that.”

“I’m your boss.”  Chief pointed at Mike.  “Not this clown.”

“Fuck you,” Mike said.

“Next time you can go shape the hall,” Chief said to Carlos.  “There’s three fucking trucks trying to pull in at the same time so get the fuck down there before the cops show up because the traffics all fucked up and find Jerry and he’s going to want to know where the fuck you are.  I’m trying to keep you here with one arm and Jerry wants you gone so fucking shape up and stop listening to this fuck.”

“Fuck you,” Big Mike said.  “Tell Jerry to go fuck himself too.”

Chief kicked the floor with the heal of his boot.  “Oh, check this out Big Mike.  Red Wings are on sale at the fucking shoe outlet on 22, what’s it called, I forgot, but… buy one pair get another pair free.  Fucking nice, right?”

Big Mike lifted his hat revealing the loose strands of hair pasted to his forehead.  The scar above his right eye was where they got him his first night in prison.  “Red Wings, no shit.  They go for one-fifty, one-seventy-five most places.”

“Right,” Chief said.  “I couldn’t believe it.  I got a winter pair too.  There good for up to, or down I mean, to 15 degrees.”

“It’s going to be a cold winter,” I said.

“What the fuck you need two pair of boots for when you can only wear one at a time,” Carlos said.

“You’re a fucking idiot,” Big Mike told Carlos.  “Didn’t you get no education.”

“Fuck you old man,” Carlos said.  “Who’s talking to you?”

Big Mike lunged for Carlos but missed when Carlos dodged him.  “I’ll throw you off the side of the fucking building you keep talking to me like that you fucking spic.”

“Fuck you, Pollock,” Carlos said.

Chief grabbed Carlos by the shoulder and held him. 

Mike waved him away.  “Let the little fuck run.  Maybe he’ll run right off the side of the building.”

Carlos laughed.  “What’s with you and going off the side of the building?”

“What?” Mike asked.

Carlos took his cigarettes out.  “You’re always talking about throwing someone off the side of the building and now you want me to walk off the side of the building.  What’s up with that?”

“You, you little fucking spic, that’s what’s up with that,” Big Mike said.

Chief shoved Carlos.  “What the fuck you doing still standing here.  They’re going to make me fire you.  I ain’t kidding dude.”

Carlos walked off to catch the hoist on its way down.

“Take the stairs,” Chief said.  “You’ll wait forever for Paulie.”

“Fuck that,” Carlos said without looking back.

Chief brought Mike and I hard hats and harnesses so we could finish tying off the edge of the building with the yellow caution tape.  It was warm enough for me to take my sweatshirt off.  By 11 O’clock my arms pits were sweaty. 

Big Mike moaned.  “We used to have a small group of guys they’d send out to jobs to fuck with the contractors if they weren’t paying the guys benefits or something like that.  Some of them were real pricks.  The hall would send me to a job and I’d stand there all day and refuse to work.  Or sometimes I’d fuck things up so bad they would loose a lot of money.  I rolled a double ender into a ditch once.  That was funny.  The guy was screaming mad and I’m upside down in the fucking machine laughing my balls off.  No shit.  That’s the way it was then.  Now it’s all fucked up.  I hate this shit.”

“Yeah, me too.”

“You’re young.  You should save your money and figure out a way to get out of this shit, I don’t care who your dad is.  You save your money, right?”

“What do you think I’m doing in my parent’s basement?”

“You’re smart kid.  You don’t gamble.  You don’t do drugs.  You’re smart.”

I looked at my watch and realized it was time to head downstairs for lunch.  I could leave ten minutes earlier if I took my time getting down the stairs.

“You going to meat Chief for lunch?”

“Definitely.”

Big Mike laughed.  “Be careful. Don’t drink too much.”

“Why don’t you come?”

“I got to call the hall and make sure these pricks are up to date with my bennies.  They fall behind too much.  You should check on yours too.”

The Bear was two blocks away on Main Street.  It was a nice break from work and Meagan the bartender had a great ass and after working all morning with men it was a relief to see a nice smile. 

Bernie sat between Chief and I.  He held a Corona in both hands, like someone would take them if he let go.  “C’mon girl,” he said finishing the second bottle, “I only got a half hour and I’m going to need at lease six of these before I get back to that hell.”

Meagan swept her honey colored hair from her shoulder.  “Two more Coronas?”  She was well aware her smile got her the tips and the tight shirt got her even more.

Bernie squealed.  “Of course, and give me a shot a Hennessey while you’re at it.”

Chief shook his head at Bernie.  “You haven’t done shit all morning.”

Bernie flashed his dead tooth.  “No one over there is doing shit.  Why do I, cause I’m black?”

“Exactly,” Chief said.

“Fuck that shit and fuck you,” Bernie said.  Meagan placed two bottles of Corona in front of Bernie.  “Don’t forget the shot.”

“Alright, relax,” she said.  “Jeez.”

She walked away and Bernie leaned over the bar to check out her ass.  He flapped his tongue like a lizard.  “I’d like to stick something dark and hard in that.  Don’t care if it’s white.”

“White, black, purple, green, what difference does it make to you,” Chief said.

“That’s right,” Bernie said.  “Doesn’t make a fuck of a difference as long as it’s wet.  Wet and pink.”

“The thought of you fucking anything makes me want to puke,” Chief said.

“Good,” Bernie said.  He leaned into me.  “If I was you, I’d be on that all night.”

“On what?” I asked.

“Shit man, what cloud you on today?”

“I’m just thinking about some things.  I can’t explain it.”

Bernie finished one of the bottles of beer.  “How you can’t explain it?”

I finished my beer and waited to ask Meagan for another.  I didn’t like to bother her.  “I don’t know,” I said.  “Maybe I’m not thinking about anything.”

“I hope you’re thinking about pussy,” Bernie said.

“No.”

“I hope you ain’t thinking about dick.”

“No.  I’m not thinking about that either.”  I was thinking how fucked up it was for me to sit around and talk about shit like that. 

Carlos came up behind us wearing the reflector vest they made him wear when he was directing traffic.  He squeezed in between us and tried to get Meagan’s attention.

“What the fuck,” Chief said to Carlos.

“What?”

“Who’s backing in the trucks?”

“I am.”

Chief waved an imaginary wand.  “Oh, what are you a fucking magician?”

“No.”

“How the fuck you backing in deliveries from here?”

“I backed the guy in and the Carpenter foremen said he’d be like an hour so I was like fuck it. Let me get a beer.”

“What Carpenter foremen?” Chief asked.

“I don’t know his name.  The short guy, looks like he wears a diaper.”

Bernie laughed.  “I seen that guy man, what a freak.  I seen him all riled up the other day running around looking for his apprentice.  Thought he was going to pass out he was so red.”

“Yeah,” Carlos said.  “He’s got a real red face.  I think he’s Irish.”

“Watch it, I’m Irish,” Chief said.

“You’re a fucking mic,” Bernie said.

“Half.”

“It’s fine, don’t worry,” Carlos said.  “I got it all under control man.”

Chief scratched his goatee with one hand and rubbed the topless chick on his shoulder.  “Yeah, I’m sure you do.”

Meagan refilled Bernie’s shot glass and brought him two more Coronas.  “What can I get you?” she asked Carlos.

“Ah, I’ll have a Corona and a shot.”

“What kind of shot?” Meagan asked.

“Um.”  He was only nineteen and he hadn’t spent much time in bars.

“Make it vodka,” Chief said.

“Who does shots of vodka?” said Bernie.

“I do,” Carlos said.

“Well, drink your beer and do your shot quick,” Chief said. 

“Relax,” Carlos said.

“Don’t tell me to relax,” Chief said.  “I don’t really care if you loose your fucking job, but if you don’t pay that asshole back his money soon, he’s going to break your other arm… if you’re lucky.”

“Fuck him,” Carlos said.

“Yeah right,” Bernie said.  “That guy’s serious man.  You’ll find out.”

“No I won’t,” Carlos assured him.

“Hey, fuck it,” Bernie said.  “I’ll pull the trucks in and you can clean the stairs.”

“No, I don’t think so,” Chief said.  “You’re my nigger.  I need you to clean the stairs, before someone falls.”

The four of us walked back to the job together, half drunk and happy.  When we reached the job Jerry the super was by the loading dock settling an argument between the carpenter with the red face and Paulie the hoist operator.  I guessed Paulie was trying to do someone else a favor by letting them pull their truck in front of the carpenter’s delivery.  The carpenter must not have been doing right by Paulie, meaning he wasn’t paying him enough in the pocket; that’s what it took sometimes to get your material into the building.  You can’t carry the shit up the stairs so Paulie is your only option.  It helps get things done quicker if you slip him a few Benjamin’s.  And if you didn’t, well then that was just an insult.

When Jerry spotted us he walked off.  I wasn’t afraid of him because he couldn’t fire me.  Besides, I was entitled to my lunch.  And if he could find a way to fire me I’d have thanked him.

“See,” Chief said to Carlos, before he got between Paulie and the carpenter.

Big Mike and I took the hoist back to the 13^th floor.  Coincidentally that’s where the delivery of metal studs and track was going.  Paulie walked out of the hoist in front of us, his beer belly pushed out to make him look bigger.  The guys were waiting for their next load of metal. 

“You can all take a break,” Pualie told them.

“No problem,” the skinny guy said.

“No, big problem,” Paulie told him.  “Your foreman’s a douche bag so until he changes his attitude nothing’s coming up here.”

“I got no problem with that,” the skinny guy said.

“Doesn’t make a difference if you do or not, it ain’t happening now,” Paulie said.  “That little shit down there can wait ‘til overtime, how’s that.”

“Sounds good,” the skinny guy’s partner said.

 The others in the hoist were yelling at Pualie, encouraging him.  Things like, “Kick his ass Paulie- Make them walk- Sit on them.”

If you pissed Paulie off that meant you walked the stairs.  No big deal if you’re working on the second or third floor.  But sooner or later you were going to have to get up to the tenth, the fifteenth, or the twentieth.  Try doing it with tools.

Big Mike and I didn’t now what to do with ourselves so we watched the ferries cross the river. 

“You have fun at lunch?” he asked.

“Sure.”

He laughed.  “I’m sure you did.  Meagan working?”

“Yeah.”

“You ask her out?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know.”

“You got to get some balls kid.  What you got to lose?”

“I don’t know.  Nothing.”

“Right, so next time you go in there, you order a drink and you take her hand and say, ‘I think you’re really nice and I’d like to take you out for dinner’ and then you fuck her.”

“It’s not that easy.”

“Yes it is,” he said, patting me on the back.  “Me and my friend Charlie, when we had our own company, holy shit, we’d take girls out every night for dinner and they all put out.”

“She’s not like that.”

“They’re all like that.”

“Maybe that’s what you think.”

“I don’t just think that, I know it.  Shit, you don't think I’ve been with plenty of women?  I have.”

“I’m sure you have.”

Big Mike shook his head at me.  “Sometimes, I don’t know if you’re all there kid.  I really don’t know.”

No one was around on the 13^th floor; just me and Big Mike and the city skyline across the river.  I took a couple of steps back from the edge because sometimes the glares on the Hudson made my vision blurry.

Big Mike watched the sunbathers on the grassy pier spotted with young trees and iron benches.  “I should bring my binoculars tomorrow.  When I was your age I would have been down there right now trying to pick up some of them woman down there.”

He was close to the edge, thirteen office floors up.  I walked up behind him.

He took his hat off and combed his hair over his bald spot.  “I hate the summer.  If it wasn’t for pretty women in little skirts, I wouldn’t have any use for it.”

I pushed my hands into his back and the muscles in his neck tensed before he realized he was falling.  I stepped back and kicked a roll of caution tape over the side and then I could hear his body thump on the new pavement below.  I looked over and some others in hard hats gathered around his body.  They looked up and saw me looking down. It was obviously an accident.  No one could prove otherwise.

 

Girls

By Brian Wask

My mother answered the phone in her underwear.  I was eleven and a half at the time and sex was the one thing I wanted to know more about, but watching my mother in her underwear jog to the telephone in the kitchen was not the arousing kind of feeling I was looking for.  But it helped.

“No, he’s away on business,” she said into the phone.  “Who’s calling?”  She was talking about my Dad who traveled every couple of weeks. He and my mother opened a sporting goods store in town two years before. My Dad would travel to conventions while my mother watched the store, and me. It was cool having all those things to play with. Camping gear. Coolers. Bikes. Two weeks prior I had taken up residence in a tent my Dad helped me erect in the living room. Before I went to sleep in the tent at night Mom would come say goodnight with a flashlight, just for effect. She tried to be fun.  

“Well, he should have been there last night,” she continued at the phone. “I haven’t heard from him. I’m beginning to worry.” She listened to the other end. She was in good shape for a thirty five year old woman who worked a lot of hours. I tried not to look at her. She was holding the phone up to her ear with both hands, her breasts pressed together creating all a young boy needed. I knew it was wrong so I turned away and went back to rolling up my sleeping bag.

“Maybe he got off the road earlier to avoid the storm. If you hear from him please tell him to call. I will. Thank you.” She hung up and thought about whatever she was thinking.

I waited for her to leave my sight before I asked her if Dad was okay. I didn’t want her to get any closer to me dressed like that. “Everything’s okay honey. You’re Dad is just fine. Nothing to worry about,” she called from her bedroom.

I started flipping through the channels by pressing buttons on the television. I’d lost the remote somewhere so I had to skim through all the news channels before I could get to the QVC station. I had a crush on the girl who hosted the show that sold the rings and the necklaces and the silverware. She helped me get through plenty nights in my tent.  I could tell she had nice breasts by the way the buttons stretched the fabric of her shirt.  I imagined her with her shirt off and I would kiss her nipples and she would brush her fingers through my hair.

Before I got past the news channels I heard the only other word that intrigued me more then sex. Murder. It was the News Man, the one with the glasses and the corduroy jacket and big red lips, like he wore lipstick. I had tried my mother’s lipstick once, just to see if it felt good. It gave me an erection and then I masturbated, still with the lipstick on.  I felt bad about that so I never did it again… with lipstick. 

He was standing on the interstate somewhere between Oregon and California, not to far from where we lived. Red sirens were flashing behind him. “Another body was recovered early this morning and the authorities investigating the case believe this is another senseless murder by the Pacific Coast Killer.”

He went on to describe the circumstances of the case over a montage of related pictures: Like the first victim who had been beaten to death with a baseball bat. She was young and her hair was dirty blonde and her smile reminded me of Mom’s. In the picture she was smoking a cigarette and waving goodbye. The last time friends saw her was at Lou’s Tavern in southern Oregon dancing to Elton John’s Rocket Man. The bartender told the investigating officers that she drank too much that evening, as she often did, so he asked her to leave. Her car was found outside later that night so they speculated she walked home because she had been drinking, but close friends of hers said she always drove home drunk. “Even when she had her six year old daughter with her,” a man with a big messy mustache they called a close friend said.

The next victim, a middle aged man with a receding hairline and a beard, was found dead and naked under the bleachers at a high school football field in Northern California by two young students looking for a place to fornicate, seven miles east of the Pacific Coast Highway. He was strangled with a jump rope and beaten with a golf club.

The third victim was a woman of Middle Eastern descent.  She had been camping in the Red Woods National Forest. Her family said she left the campsite to see if she could find a store in town that sold curry powder. The news reporter with the corduroy jacket said into his microphone, “They had been grilling boneless chicken breasts when she volunteered to go to town to find the very popular spice among Middle Eastern people.” She was found way far away fully clothes but totally dead. She’d been suffocated with a windproof parka.

I had been keeping up with the Pacific Coast Killer for several weeks. I marked the dates of the deaths on the calendar. I ran to my room, completely forgetting about my crush on QVC. I quietly closed the door and removed the swimsuit calendar from under my mattress. I turned to Safire in September. Her breasts were shiny, hardly covered by a zebra patterned top. Her puffy lips embraced her smile. I picked off a dried spot of cum with my fingernail. Again, the day of the murder landed at the same time my Dad was away on business.

The phone was ringing. I heard my mother yelling for me to answer it. I stuffed the calendar back under the mattress and ran out of the room. “Hello.”

It was my Dad on the other line. “Hey, how’s my camper doing?”

“Where are you?  Some one called and said you didn’t make it.”

“That was a mix up buddy. The hotel’s fault. I’m fine. How’s Mommy?”

“Good, she’s getting ready to take me to school.”

“Is she worried?”

“Not really.”

“How nice.”

“She is a little.”

“Okay, well tell her I’m okay. I’m at the hotel now and she can call me here.”

“When are you coming home Dad?”

“I’ll be home tomorrow. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. I want you to see my new sleeping bag.”

“I will tomorrow, I promise.”

“Okay.”

“Take care of your mother. And I’ll see you tomorrow.”

I said goodbye and hung up. I pressed my head against the bedroom door.  “Mom, Dad’s okay. He’s at the hotel.”

“What happed to him last night?”

“He said the hotel messed up.”

It was silent for too long. “Okay.”

Mom didn’t say anything as she drove me to school that morning. It was drizzling. I watched the drops collect on the side view mirror. When she stopped in front of school I reached over to give her a kiss on her cheek. My book bag swung off my shoulder and pulled me with it. I tried to stop myself from falling onto her but my hand landed on one of her breasts. She didn’t notice.

“Have a good day, honey.”

I got out and watched the car drive away while other kids ran from the rain into the building.

A few days later I listened to my parents argue through the bedroom door. I didn’t understand what they were saying but Dad didn’t go away on business anymore. I knew the store wasn’t doing very well because I hadn’t been getting any stuff to play with. 

Dad explained to me in the den as we watched TV. “I have to sell that stuff so I can get money to buy us food and clothes. My business is kind of slow right now. Okay buddy. You understand what I mean, right?”

“Yeah Dad. Can I still sleep in the tent?”

“If you want to, but don’t you think the bed might be a little more comfortable.”

“I’m comfortable in here.”

“Your call pal. As long as you’re happy.”

“I am. Are you?”

The way he looked at me made me feel like an older kid. Like he wanted me to understand something I couldn’t at that age. “I’m happy, if you’re happy.”

“I’m happy. Is Mom happy?”

“Yeah,” he sighed, “Mom’s happy.”

The Pacific Coast Killer hadn’t killed anyone since Dad stopped going on business trips. The police hadn’t caught anyone either. The News Man with the corduroy jacket said that the profile was a white male, from the middle class, who most likely traveled for business. Like most serial killers. They anticipated another attack. I was almost positive my Dad was the killer. As long as he stopped it didn’t bother me.

I had moved on to Miss Daisy of November now. Her hair was blonde and she had auburn leaves on her bikini. I ran my fingers over her big breasts and her curvy hips.  Her eyes sparkled. I told her that I wanted to be a helicopter pilot. She said I was cute and that she wanted me to kiss her stomach. She dragged her pointer finger down my chest, grabbing my penis and played with it until it got hard. She said it was really big and that she wanted to have sex with me, but first I had to take all her clothes off. Before I could get her top off, Mom and Dad were calling to me from downstairs. 

I got myself together and ran to the stairs. “What?”

“We’re going out for chili, c’mon,” Mom said. 

My father was rubbing her shoulders and she was smiling. 

I ran down the stairs and Dad handed me my jacket. “Before we go, go look in your tent.”

“Why?”

“Just go look,” he said.

I dropped my jacket on the floor. I unzipped the flap on the tent and there was a box, but I couldn’t see what it was until I crawled out backwards. It was the battery-operated lantern I had asked for. “Oh my god!” 

My mom was standing by the door. “You can open it when we get back.”

“Can I bring it with us?”

“You can bring it in the car, but not inside the restaurant,” Mom said.

“Cool!”

A few weeks went by. I was able to bring my calendar in the tent now that I had a lantern. I didn’t bother watching the News Man anymore as I went through the channels to find my favorite girl on QVC. I knew that there weren’t anymore PCK murders because my Dad hadn’t gone out of town since the last girl with blonde hair was killed.

One night, after dinner, I was counting the days until Christmas in my calendar.  Snowflake, Lady of December, let her fluffy white scarf dangle over her cleavage. Her cheeks were red like her bikini. 

Then I heard my mother’s voice, loud and angry. “You’re going to see her again!”

Dad yelled back. “I don’t want to hear it from you! You’ve been less then faithful yourself! What about those days when I was gone and you left Bob at the store alone?  Where were you? You didn’t think I knew about that.”

“You bastard! I was taking care of your son. You ruined this family.”

“I didn’t ruin anything.”

“You want to be with her, go ahead. You tell your son that you found him a new mommy. See how he takes it.”

“You’re sick. You really are. But he can’t see that.”

“Shut up, he can hear you.”

“You want him to here me.”

“Go tell him you found a new wife three weeks before Christmas. Tell him he was born before we were married while you’re at it. Tell him about your business trips.”

“He’s too young.”

“If you don’t tell him I will.”

I didn’t want to hear the truth. I turned the lantern off and jumped into my sleeping bag like I was sleeping. 

I heard my father. He sat outside the tent. “Hey pal, you awake?”

I didn’t answer him.

“You decide to go to sleep early?”

“No.”

“I have to tell you something.”

“I already know.”

“What do you know?”

“I know you’re the Pacific Coast Killer.”

“What?”

I didn’t want to say it again. It hurt me for the first time and I started to cry.

“I’m not the Pacific Coast Killer. Where did you get that? Look buddy, I’m not a killer. Why would you say that?”

“Then what do you want to tell me.”

“I have to go on business tonight. I’m going to be gone for a couple of days, and when I get back, I’m going to be staying with a friend.”

“You don’t want to live with Mommy anymore?”

“It’s a difficult thing for you to understand. But don’t ever think for one second that I don’t love you.”

“Do you want to live with another lady?”

He thought about answering that one. “Yeah.”

“Is that where you go when you go on business?”

“Yeah, that’s where I go. That’s who I go on business with. She’s a very good friend. And she comes with me when I have to go on business.”

I wasn’t mad at him for that. Just happy he wasn’t the Pacific Coast Killer. “I love you Dad.”

“I love you too pal.”

Dad had been gone a couple of days. Mom was very angry most of the time and she wore her robe all night around the house. She had the pizza delivered every night, which didn’t bother me, but I wanted Dad to be there with us. But even then, when I went to bed with out being able to say goodnight to my Dad, I was glad he wasn’t a murderer.

Dad called every morning before I left school.  “How’s my camper?” Then he’d ask me what I wanted for Christmas. Mom would stand in the kitchen and listen to our conversations. She looked like she started to hate me.

Then Dad came back, but he didn’t stay in the house with us. He stayed in a hotel five minutes away. Mom let me stay with him in the hotel one night.  I brought my tent and sleeping bag and Dad and I set it up on the floor.

“Are you going to stay here for a while?” I asked.

“Do you like it here?”

“Not really.”

“I’m going to stay here until after Christmas, then I’m going to find a new house.”=

“Are you going to stay with me and mom on Christmas Eve?”

“No, I’m going to stay here but I’m going to take you out for chili on Christmas Eve and then I’ll see you again Christmas morning.”

“Are you still happy Dad?”

He gave me the same look he gave me the last time I asked.  “Sometimes, adults can’t always be happy.  Sometimes we have to settle for… content.”

“What does content mean?”

“It’s means okay.”

In the morning when I woke up Dad had bought egg sandwiches and orange juice and we ate and watched the news. The News Man in the corduroy jacket was on TV, yellow caution tape wrapped around the crime scene behind him. “The police are calling this the latest murder of the Pacific Coast Killer. It happened sometime last night in the Oregon Dunes National Monument Park. The victim was a young woman. The police are saying she was impaled by an arrow. As in from a bow and arrow.” Even the news man looked stunned.

Dad looked over at me. “See, I’m not the Pacific Coast Killer.” 

We laughed about it together.

What seemed like minutes later, Mom was honking the horn outside the motel room. Dad closed the curtain and helped me put my jacket on, then pulled my knitted hat over my ears. “This isn’t your mother’s fault, so don’t be mad at her.”

“Whose fault is it?”

“Nobody’s fault. Maybe mine. These kinds of things happen to good people. But we’re still a family.”

“Okay Dad.”

“I love you pal.”

“I love you too.”

He grabbed my backpack off the bed. Before he handed it to me, he started to look inside. “You didn’t forget anything did you?” He noticed the calendar. “What is this?” He held it up and looked at the girl on the cover.

“I’m counting the days until Christmas.”

He grinned. “I’m sure you are.” He folded it and put it back in my bag. “We’ll talk about this stuff soon. Don’t let your mother see it.”

“I won’t. Thanks Dad.” I ran out to Mom’s car and when I got inside she was smiling so I kissed her on the cheek.

“How’s your father doing?”

“He’s good. He said Hi.” He didn’t really.

“Oh. Okay. Next time you see him tell him I said Hi.”

“I will.”

She pulled off the road into a 7/11 parking lot. “I have to get some coffee. I’m tired. I was up awhile last night.”

“Okay.”

A man held the door open for her as she entered. She thanked him and he watched her walk in. I could see her at the coffee machine. My mom was very pretty. I wondered who I looked like more, Mom or Dad. And why did Dad find someone else. Was she as pretty as Mom. I pulled down the sun visor to look in the mirror and some lose papers slid out and fell to the floor on the driver’s side by the pedals. I reached over and started picking them up. There was sand all over the floor. Dark sand. Why would Mom be at the beach in this weather?

Then I remembered the woman killed on the Oregon Dunes last night. Arrows?  They sold bows and arrows at the store. 

Quickly I picked up the papers and put them back above the sun visor. Mom was leaving the store. She didn’t look like a killer. She was too small and pretty. Her eyes were blue and kind. Her legs were thin and her hair was the color of honey.

She sat down in the car and opened her coffee. She looked at me and smiled.  “Why are you looking at me like that? Are you okay? Were you up late?” 

I couldn’t answer her.

“Did Dad let you watch a scary movie again?”

“No.”

“Well stop looking at me like that. You’re worrying me.”

“Sorry Mom.”

“Don’t be sorry, just stop.”

So I stopped. But I knew. I felt cold.

“We have to work on your Christmas list today. Christmas is one week away and Santa has no idea what you want for Christmas. What do you want?”

I thought about not answering her, but she was waiting. “I want a new calendar.”

She seemed a little surprised at simplicity of the request. 

I closed my eyes and remembered the smile under Lady December’s rosy cheeks. I didn’t want to think about Mom and her being a serial killer. I didn’t want to think about Dad all alone in his motel room. I didn’t want to deal with sun about to brighten up the day. I just wanted to get home so I could spend time with my calendar girls.