Tales of Interest!
Friday, March 17, 2006
Saving Susan
Frank sat in the car drumming his fingers on the steering wheel to the music, then turned the radio off to think. He was beginning to wonder if he had made the right choice. There weren't a lot of options for a guy like him, but even he knew that whatever it was he was going to be doing was wrong. Ever since his father died, Frank had done whatever it took to take care of his little sister Susan, and this was no different. When Frank had to drop out of school to work full time, that's what he did. When some people Frank knew needed a delivery driver, even if it wasn't on the up and up, Frank took that job too. He would be the first to admit that there were more than just a few holes in the moral fiber of his life, but he had always stood fast on the fact that it was all for Susan. Now, just when she needed it the most, his illicit employers had chosen to up the ante. Christ, he wouldn't even be in this situation if Susan hadn't gotten so damned sick. Hospital bills he could ignore, collection agencies were a joke for someone who lived like him. If Susan didn't get to see some specialist, though, some doctor named Oslan, she was probably going to die. That was the cold hard truth, they told him. Frank phoned the guy's office but without insurance or a fifteen percent down payment, he was basically told in kinder terms, he was shit out of luck. Frank scribbled down the math, fifteen percent of thirty five thousand, where the hell was he going to come up with five and a half large? What kinda world we livin in, Frank thought, where they just let people die cause they don't have no money.
Frank had done the only thing he could think of, and he had gone to Robbie, the guy that set up his deliveries. Frank might not have had a high school education, but he wasn't stupid, he knew Robbie was just a front for no good gangsters and crooks. What're you gonna do, though, Frankie-boy, he heard in Robbie's voice in his head. He already knew the answer, it was the same one he'd arrived at a thousand times. Ain't nobody else gonna step up to the plate and save Suzie, you gots to take what ya can get, wherever you can get it. Robbie had told Frank to go sit outside in his car while he made some phone calls. The nickel and dime deliveries he'd been making weren't going to cover the kind of money that Frank needed, but Robbie thought he could probably arrange something. Things like that needed a lot of talking about, though, Robbie had said, and talking was a private matter.
So here he sat and waited. Frank didn't know what these shady characters were going to make him do for more than five thousand dollars. Frank didn't want to know. He'd do anything for Susan. Anything. He'd sold himself that same line so many times that there was really nothing in the world that could convince him any different. His poor little kid sister, what had she ever done to deserve this? This world sure is a shitty place, Frank thought, a perfect place for guys like me. Not Susan, though, she belongs some place better. A knock on the window startled Frank out of his daze. He cranked the handle down so that Robbie could lean in and talk to him.
"Kinda out of it there, huh, Frankie-boy?" Robbie asked.
"Ya, Robbie, sorry, I was just thinkin about some stuff."
"Lookin like a fuckin retard, staring at your steering wheel is what you were doing, Frankie-boy. I'm surpised your not drooling on yourself over here," Robbie leaned inside the car resting his elbows on the door, "man what a shitbox this thing is, you fuckin live in here or somethin?"
"No, Robbie, I just ain't cleaned it lately."
"You ever hear of a fuckin hypothetical question Frankie-boy? Don't interrupt me when I'm talkin to you."
"Sorry Robbie,"
"No sorry, just shut the fuck up. Got it? Good. Here's the deal, I got a guy to vouch for you, hard thing to do, Frankie-boy. You'll get your money, plus more, and you probably won't ever have to worry about shit like this ever again, if you can do this one thing for this guy if you get my drift. Don't ask me no questions, I don't know shit, just take this," Robbie reached inside his pocket and pulled out a small, oddly shaped package wrapped in newspaper and twine, and tossed it in Frank's lap. The package landed with a muffled thud. Frank could feel the weight of it, pressing down on him, and was suddenly overcome with a sense of dread. Who had he been fooling, though? Frank was fairly intelligent, deep down he knew what he was going to have to do all along. "That's for you, but don't open it here, got it? Take it back to your little rathole, or wherever the fuck it is you eat and shit, and don't come back till you got everything taken care of. You understand?" Robbie withdrew from the car and took a step back onto the sidewalk.
"I understand Robbie."
"Then what're you doin Frankie-boy? Get the fuck outta here already!"
Frank put the car in drive and pulled away from the curb. He had always hated Robbie. He hated how he talked down to him. What made Robbie so special that he considered Frank a lower life form? All he was was one step higher on the ladder of life, and lets face it, Frank thought, at this level on the ladder, we're both still buried in shit. The thing that Frank hated most about Robbie though, was that he called him 'Frankie-boy'. Frank couldn't stand it when Robbie called him that. It wasn't because of the 'boy' part either. It just wasn't his name. His name was Frank. Frank supposed that the real reason it got to him so bad was that if the two of them belonged to a different class then they could have been Robert and Francis. Robbie sure as shit would never be Robert, and Frank knew he'd never be Francis, but he didn't want to be Frankie-boy, damnit! He pulled off the road when he was far enough away and stared down at the heavy package in his lap. He didn't want to open this at home, not while Susan was lying sick in the back bedroom. Frank had always done his best to keep his 'jobs' out of the house and away from Susan. She didn't need to be around garbage like that. The thing in his lap was so heavy all he could do for the longest time was just look at it. He didn't really want to touch it at all, like that would make it all real. Oh, it's real alright, Frankie-boy, he heard Robbie's voice in his head again as he untied the twine and pulled open the newspaper, shit don't get no more realer than this. Just as he had suspected, wrapped in the newspaper he had found a loaded snub nose revolver, the kind you put in your pocket, he thought. On top of the revolver was a picture. Frank picked up the picture, being careful not to touch the gun. It was a picture of a middle aged man in glasses and an expensive shirt and tie, the kind of guy who answers to his full name, Frank thought as he flipped the picture over. There was an address scrawled on the back of the picture, in the rich part of town, of course. Frank folded the picture in half and stuck it in his inside pocket, he picked up the gun and stuck it in his right coat pocket. Frank crumpled up the newspaper and threw it in his passenger seat. His stomach knotted up thinking about what he had to do, he'd never even fired a gun in his life. He'd have to get pretty close, close enough to get-- Frank closed his eyes and shook his head trying to clear the train of thought. No sense thinking about it, there was no other way. Anything for Susan. Anything.
Frank parked across the street from the adress he had been given. A sprawling Tri-Level monster of a house with lots of glass and odd angles. Must be nice to have all that money Frank thought, probably don't ever have a damn thing to worry about. Except today, glasses and tie man did have something to worry about. Today he had a lot to worry about. Frank opened his door and got out of the car, trying to clear his mind of everything except Susan, then trying to clear his mind of her as well. It's not right, he told himself, thinking of her while you're doing something like this. Frank walked down the driveway, hedged in on both sides by expensive looking foliage. "This guy's gardener could probably afford to see this specialist guy." Frank muttered to himself out loud. Finally Frank reached the front door, where he stood for a moment, still trying to justify his actions. He heard Robbie's voice in his head, telling him Ain't no turning back now, Frankie-boy, you got obligations and shit. What's poor little Suzie gonna do without that money? How you gonna tell her you can't afford to make it all better? And it was true. Frank couldn't back out now. This was his one and only opportunity to save his sister's life. He lifted his arm as if in a dream to ring the doorbell. He's not gonna answer his own door, Frank told himself, you think someone with this much money is just gonna stroll downstairs and open the door to see who's-- The was a click from inside and the door swung wide open. At first, glasses-and-tie-guy just kind of stood there blinking, Frank could see the wheels turning inside his head. He must have been expecting someone, but definitely not the slovenly low life he found standing in front of him. Funny he's actually wearing glasses and a tie, Frank thought, he must wear those every day. The blank stare was slowly replaced by a look of intrigue.
"Can I help you?" Glasses-and-tie-guy inquired.
"God help me, yes. you can." Frank reached into his pocket and pulled back the hammer on the revolver slowly.
"Excuse me?" The man said, puzzled by Frank's answer.
"I'm sorry," Frank told him, pulling out the gun and leveling it at the guy's face. "I'm so sorry."
"Jesus!" Glasses and tie guy screamed, and had just enough time to turn around as Frank squeezed the trigger. The gunshot was thunderous, echoing inside the enormous house, and Frank's bullet struck the man squarely in the back of the head, sending his glasses flying across the room, landing with a clack on the marble floor and spinning to a stop under a sofa that looked like it probably cost more than Frank's car. Frank watched, horrified, as the man fell fast to his knees, then pivoted straight forward landing on what was previously his face with a wet smacking sound. It was so odd to Frank, seeing someone go down like that, without making even the slightest effort to break the fall. Well, Frank thought, watching the crimson blot spreading out around glasses and tie guy's face, at least you didn't have to actually see it. It was little to no comfort for Frank, however, as the ringing in his ears and the weight of the revolver in his hand reminded him exactly what he had just done. Frank shoved the gun back in his pocket and stepped over to the man's body, being careful not to step in the blood. He bent down and touched the man in his lower back, then shook him, as if trying to wake him up. Definitely dead, Frank thought, with a mixture of regret and relief. Frank reached into the man's back pocket and fished out his wallet, placing it in his left coat pocket, half thinking maybe it'll look like a robbery gone wrong. Then, Frank stood up and walked back out to his car, leaving the door open behind him.
Sitting in his driver seat once more, Frank adjusted the rear view mirror to look into his own eyes. You look allright, he told himself, certainly don't look like you just killed a man. Frank rubbed his eyes hard and sat back in his seat, letting the world wash over him in waves. Suddenly, something caught his eye. It was the newspaper that the gun had been tied up in, crumpled up on his passenger seat. What a funny thing to notice at a time like this, he thought, and picked the ball of paper up. It wasn't that funny thought, because a piece of the headline on the paper had jumped out at him. He started to smooth the paper out bit by bit. When it was flat again, Frank stared at the headline in disbelief. Slowly he reached into his left coat pocket and pulled out the wallet. Opening it up he found a Drivers Lisence and a state medical license card with a familiar name. Glasses-and-tie-guy stared back at him from the piece of newspaper in his lap, underneath a headline reading:
OSLAN TO TESTIFY IN SCOTTINI CASE ¶ 6:39 AM 0 comments
Frank had done the only thing he could think of, and he had gone to Robbie, the guy that set up his deliveries. Frank might not have had a high school education, but he wasn't stupid, he knew Robbie was just a front for no good gangsters and crooks. What're you gonna do, though, Frankie-boy, he heard in Robbie's voice in his head. He already knew the answer, it was the same one he'd arrived at a thousand times. Ain't nobody else gonna step up to the plate and save Suzie, you gots to take what ya can get, wherever you can get it. Robbie had told Frank to go sit outside in his car while he made some phone calls. The nickel and dime deliveries he'd been making weren't going to cover the kind of money that Frank needed, but Robbie thought he could probably arrange something. Things like that needed a lot of talking about, though, Robbie had said, and talking was a private matter.
So here he sat and waited. Frank didn't know what these shady characters were going to make him do for more than five thousand dollars. Frank didn't want to know. He'd do anything for Susan. Anything. He'd sold himself that same line so many times that there was really nothing in the world that could convince him any different. His poor little kid sister, what had she ever done to deserve this? This world sure is a shitty place, Frank thought, a perfect place for guys like me. Not Susan, though, she belongs some place better. A knock on the window startled Frank out of his daze. He cranked the handle down so that Robbie could lean in and talk to him.
"Kinda out of it there, huh, Frankie-boy?" Robbie asked.
"Ya, Robbie, sorry, I was just thinkin about some stuff."
"Lookin like a fuckin retard, staring at your steering wheel is what you were doing, Frankie-boy. I'm surpised your not drooling on yourself over here," Robbie leaned inside the car resting his elbows on the door, "man what a shitbox this thing is, you fuckin live in here or somethin?"
"No, Robbie, I just ain't cleaned it lately."
"You ever hear of a fuckin hypothetical question Frankie-boy? Don't interrupt me when I'm talkin to you."
"Sorry Robbie,"
"No sorry, just shut the fuck up. Got it? Good. Here's the deal, I got a guy to vouch for you, hard thing to do, Frankie-boy. You'll get your money, plus more, and you probably won't ever have to worry about shit like this ever again, if you can do this one thing for this guy if you get my drift. Don't ask me no questions, I don't know shit, just take this," Robbie reached inside his pocket and pulled out a small, oddly shaped package wrapped in newspaper and twine, and tossed it in Frank's lap. The package landed with a muffled thud. Frank could feel the weight of it, pressing down on him, and was suddenly overcome with a sense of dread. Who had he been fooling, though? Frank was fairly intelligent, deep down he knew what he was going to have to do all along. "That's for you, but don't open it here, got it? Take it back to your little rathole, or wherever the fuck it is you eat and shit, and don't come back till you got everything taken care of. You understand?" Robbie withdrew from the car and took a step back onto the sidewalk.
"I understand Robbie."
"Then what're you doin Frankie-boy? Get the fuck outta here already!"
Frank put the car in drive and pulled away from the curb. He had always hated Robbie. He hated how he talked down to him. What made Robbie so special that he considered Frank a lower life form? All he was was one step higher on the ladder of life, and lets face it, Frank thought, at this level on the ladder, we're both still buried in shit. The thing that Frank hated most about Robbie though, was that he called him 'Frankie-boy'. Frank couldn't stand it when Robbie called him that. It wasn't because of the 'boy' part either. It just wasn't his name. His name was Frank. Frank supposed that the real reason it got to him so bad was that if the two of them belonged to a different class then they could have been Robert and Francis. Robbie sure as shit would never be Robert, and Frank knew he'd never be Francis, but he didn't want to be Frankie-boy, damnit! He pulled off the road when he was far enough away and stared down at the heavy package in his lap. He didn't want to open this at home, not while Susan was lying sick in the back bedroom. Frank had always done his best to keep his 'jobs' out of the house and away from Susan. She didn't need to be around garbage like that. The thing in his lap was so heavy all he could do for the longest time was just look at it. He didn't really want to touch it at all, like that would make it all real. Oh, it's real alright, Frankie-boy, he heard Robbie's voice in his head again as he untied the twine and pulled open the newspaper, shit don't get no more realer than this. Just as he had suspected, wrapped in the newspaper he had found a loaded snub nose revolver, the kind you put in your pocket, he thought. On top of the revolver was a picture. Frank picked up the picture, being careful not to touch the gun. It was a picture of a middle aged man in glasses and an expensive shirt and tie, the kind of guy who answers to his full name, Frank thought as he flipped the picture over. There was an address scrawled on the back of the picture, in the rich part of town, of course. Frank folded the picture in half and stuck it in his inside pocket, he picked up the gun and stuck it in his right coat pocket. Frank crumpled up the newspaper and threw it in his passenger seat. His stomach knotted up thinking about what he had to do, he'd never even fired a gun in his life. He'd have to get pretty close, close enough to get-- Frank closed his eyes and shook his head trying to clear the train of thought. No sense thinking about it, there was no other way. Anything for Susan. Anything.
Frank parked across the street from the adress he had been given. A sprawling Tri-Level monster of a house with lots of glass and odd angles. Must be nice to have all that money Frank thought, probably don't ever have a damn thing to worry about. Except today, glasses and tie man did have something to worry about. Today he had a lot to worry about. Frank opened his door and got out of the car, trying to clear his mind of everything except Susan, then trying to clear his mind of her as well. It's not right, he told himself, thinking of her while you're doing something like this. Frank walked down the driveway, hedged in on both sides by expensive looking foliage. "This guy's gardener could probably afford to see this specialist guy." Frank muttered to himself out loud. Finally Frank reached the front door, where he stood for a moment, still trying to justify his actions. He heard Robbie's voice in his head, telling him Ain't no turning back now, Frankie-boy, you got obligations and shit. What's poor little Suzie gonna do without that money? How you gonna tell her you can't afford to make it all better? And it was true. Frank couldn't back out now. This was his one and only opportunity to save his sister's life. He lifted his arm as if in a dream to ring the doorbell. He's not gonna answer his own door, Frank told himself, you think someone with this much money is just gonna stroll downstairs and open the door to see who's-- The was a click from inside and the door swung wide open. At first, glasses-and-tie-guy just kind of stood there blinking, Frank could see the wheels turning inside his head. He must have been expecting someone, but definitely not the slovenly low life he found standing in front of him. Funny he's actually wearing glasses and a tie, Frank thought, he must wear those every day. The blank stare was slowly replaced by a look of intrigue.
"Can I help you?" Glasses-and-tie-guy inquired.
"God help me, yes. you can." Frank reached into his pocket and pulled back the hammer on the revolver slowly.
"Excuse me?" The man said, puzzled by Frank's answer.
"I'm sorry," Frank told him, pulling out the gun and leveling it at the guy's face. "I'm so sorry."
"Jesus!" Glasses and tie guy screamed, and had just enough time to turn around as Frank squeezed the trigger. The gunshot was thunderous, echoing inside the enormous house, and Frank's bullet struck the man squarely in the back of the head, sending his glasses flying across the room, landing with a clack on the marble floor and spinning to a stop under a sofa that looked like it probably cost more than Frank's car. Frank watched, horrified, as the man fell fast to his knees, then pivoted straight forward landing on what was previously his face with a wet smacking sound. It was so odd to Frank, seeing someone go down like that, without making even the slightest effort to break the fall. Well, Frank thought, watching the crimson blot spreading out around glasses and tie guy's face, at least you didn't have to actually see it. It was little to no comfort for Frank, however, as the ringing in his ears and the weight of the revolver in his hand reminded him exactly what he had just done. Frank shoved the gun back in his pocket and stepped over to the man's body, being careful not to step in the blood. He bent down and touched the man in his lower back, then shook him, as if trying to wake him up. Definitely dead, Frank thought, with a mixture of regret and relief. Frank reached into the man's back pocket and fished out his wallet, placing it in his left coat pocket, half thinking maybe it'll look like a robbery gone wrong. Then, Frank stood up and walked back out to his car, leaving the door open behind him.
Sitting in his driver seat once more, Frank adjusted the rear view mirror to look into his own eyes. You look allright, he told himself, certainly don't look like you just killed a man. Frank rubbed his eyes hard and sat back in his seat, letting the world wash over him in waves. Suddenly, something caught his eye. It was the newspaper that the gun had been tied up in, crumpled up on his passenger seat. What a funny thing to notice at a time like this, he thought, and picked the ball of paper up. It wasn't that funny thought, because a piece of the headline on the paper had jumped out at him. He started to smooth the paper out bit by bit. When it was flat again, Frank stared at the headline in disbelief. Slowly he reached into his left coat pocket and pulled out the wallet. Opening it up he found a Drivers Lisence and a state medical license card with a familiar name. Glasses-and-tie-guy stared back at him from the piece of newspaper in his lap, underneath a headline reading:
OSLAN TO TESTIFY IN SCOTTINI CASE ¶ 6:39 AM 0 comments
