Nico Page 8

  “Yeah, thanks for fucking nothin’.”

  I knew it was better this way. I had a lapse in judgment thinking I was some sort of knight in shining armor. I was just a tattoo artist. I owned my business in a building my mom and pop owned. I owned my home, a home mom and pop gave me, and I was everything Deanna’s husband said I was, and I did not fucking care.

  Chapter 7

  Three a.m. and I was fucking hammered. I was also hammering Porn Star Number One and her friend, Porn Star Number Two. I wasn’t sure about their names or if they were actual porn stars, but whatever they were, they were free and easy and happy to let me fuck the shit out of them. I was drunk, but that didn’t matter; so were they.

  Safety first, I grabbed a few condoms from my pocket. P.S. One sat on the bathroom counter, her back against the mirror with her legs wide open and P.S. Two’s face between them. Then my dick was in Porn Star Two’s ass because she said, “No, no, I insist.”

  I wish I had been more sober so I could have remembered the experience more clearly. I was sure that I did, but when I was home, alone in my big fuckin’ chair, this scene could be my new masturbation muse. After P.S. One came, they switched places, I switched condoms and everyone had a happy ending, most especially me.

  I walked back toward the downtown shops, not a soul around, and decided to sit on the curb for a minute. I was able to shake the thoughts of Deanna while I was balls-deep in porn-queen ass, but then, when reality started to make its way back into my booze-saturated brain, I was fucked.

  “I’m fucked,” I said to no one and clumsily stood up. I was just in front of that shop with the jars of big, fat olives and stationary. But something caught my eye that hadn’t before. The same thick leather-bound journal was displayed, but on the window of the shop was a decal that cast the perfect shadow of a bear paw on the front. And just like that, the memory of that little girl came back to me.

  There was no escape to the ocean for a luxurious night swim; that was never gonna happen again. I closed my eyes and the word, “Dish,” passed my lips.

  “Dish?” someone asked.

  I was so drunk and ready to pass out that I didn’t even bother to see who had spoken.

  “Yeah, when I was a kid, there was this little girl—I never got her name—dishwater-blonde—we slept hand in hand all night—shit night, fucked-up night for her and for me—saw my first dead body that night—her mom—husband killed her, beat her—I fucked-up—he’ll probably kill her—just like Dish’s dad—never felt peace like I felt with her—I’ll write it all down—I’ll talk to her—she’d get it. Dish would get what I do.”

  I pushed away from the window and opened my eyes to take another look at that journal. The first thing I was gonna do tomorrow was come back and buy it along with one of those fancy fuckin’ pens. I needed to get all this shit out. Perfect idea. The bear paw was a sign, just like Georgie. I wondered if she still had Georgie.

  A movement in the reflection distracted me from my thoughts, a man, in a ski-mask, in July. Who would wear a ski mask in July? I assumed he was gonna rob me. Didn’t matter. He could have everything in my wallet if he was that desperate. I had cash in the safe at home, and Mom and Pop would loan me their credit cards if I had the sudden urge to say, buy a television or something big like a car.

  “Hey man, you can have whatever you want in my wallet… I’ve had the most fucked up day. Just take it…” I reached down to unchain my wallet from my belt loop when something hard hit my face.

  I was on the ground, and he was next to me.

  “You fucking hear from my wife, you’re not dead. She’s dead! You hear me? She is so fucking stupid, it makes me sick. While she’s working on her tan in fucking Cabo, I’ll be golfing with people who can hold a decent conversation. You, on the other hand, won’t be doing any talking. Will you, Nico?”

  The pain in my jaw made me wonder if I would ever be able to eat food again. Talking had not even crossed my mind. What did cross my mind was the fact that I was being kicked repeatedly—in the ribs, the stomach, my head, my legs… then it stopped, but that was only so he could walk to the other side of my body and do the same thing.

  Then the big finale, he picked me up by my shirt and dropped me and my head against the sidewalk. It felt nice actually. I turned to see something blurry coming toward me. Someone started to talk to me, but I couldn’t make it out.

  Then I looked toward the shop window and told the mysterious stranger, “I’m pretty fucked up… can you come back tomorrow and get that journal with the paw? And one of those pens. I need to talk to Dish.”

  If the other person said anything after that, I had no idea. All I could hear now was beeping.

  Beeping.

  Beeping.

  Fuck, I had to answer my fucking phone and my goddamn head hurt.

  “My goddamn head hurts.” Fuck. Was that my voice?

  My eyes were being pried open and someone was shining a bright light into them.

  “Fuck. Off,” I managed to say. I had the worst cotton mouth ever. So thirsty and really fucking hungry.

  “I want penguins.”

  I heard my mother’s laugh. “Okay, baby. When the stiches come out, we’ll get you penguins.”

  “Stitches?” I asked.

  What the fuck?

  I slowly opened my eyes to see a room that looked more like a flower shop than anything else. Zack, Teensy, and Moira were on one side, and Moira’s eye makeup was all over her face. Mom and Pop were on the other, and two people I knew as Hank and Ramona, the couple that owned the other cottage and shop next to mine, were leaving.

  “Okay, everybody out.” This was from Nurse Naughty. I would continue to call her that, partly to piss her off and partly because her cheeks flamed bright red when I said it. She was also responsible for giving me my first sponge bath and my dick had a mind of its own, which made her blush every-fuckin’-where.

  “We’ll be back in a little bit, baby,” Mom said, squeezing my hand.

  “Mom?” I turned my head, or tried to, but pain shot through my entire skull as I let out a long moan.

  “Don’t turn your head. Just try to relax, okay?” Her voice was soothing, but I had some questions.

  “What happened?”

  I felt Mom move and my pop leaned down.

  “Nurse, give us a minute, please?” My pop said insistently.

  “Sir, we—”

  “Lady, one minute.” I eventually heard the door click, and Pop leaned down next to my ear. “Zack said you ran into one of your girls and her husband. Now, I want you to listen to me carefully; you don’t remember anything, you got me? Aside from the report you gave the police at the liquor store, there is nothing connecting you to her or her husband, trust me.”

  I didn’t ask any more questions. I trusted my pop and knew he wouldn’t tell me to do anything that wasn’t in my best interest. I had apparently been unconscious for over an hour, but they couldn’t determine if that was due to my head bouncing off of the sidewalk or the amount of alcohol I had consumed.

  My injuries weren’t that bad, aside from the severe beating, but I looked terrible. My face was unrecognizable, swollen, black and blue with stitches over the corner of my mouth. I was assured I wouldn’t look like The Joker when it healed. I also had staples above my ear. My first thought was how I’d have to grow my hair out again. My second thought was how lucky I was he hadn’t fucked with my hands. My third thought… I was alive.

  A few days into my stay at the hospital, I received random gifts from clients and even a visit from the porn princesses. I learned they were actually professional strippers that had a great following and had just started making their own series of adult films. So, I wasn’t far off the mark. Gina showed up toward the end of the third day; I think it was a Friday. She told me all about her new man, how he had proposed to her, and how she never thought she was going to find love again. I was genuinely happy for her, but it was bittersweet.

  Saturday morning, I w
as done. Finished. Absolutely over it. I was feeling the weight of everything. I felt the guilt of not knowing what had happened to Deanna, and all the would-haves and should-haves left an even bigger cloud of melancholy over me. I looked around at the nice bouquets of flowers and cards, which had somehow taken on the same energy. When the nurse came back, she said my mouth was looking really good since they had removed the stitches. The staples in my head had also been removed, and I only had to keep the wound clean and dry or some shit.

  In the meantime, Mom and Pop had decided to spend at least a few more weeks at the cottage. They wanted to be close, and their friends, Hank and Ramona, had decided to come down and stay at their own cottage. The details were shady, but from what I could work out, Pop’s dad and Hank’s dad had bought the property together as an investment. It was just lucky that Pop and Hank got along pretty well. I was happy they had the distraction of other people; they must have been out of their minds with worry.

  When Nurse Naughty left me alone, I took my cell from the side table and called Pop.

  “Get me the fuck out of here. Now.”

  The following morning, I was convalescing on my porch. My normal sunglasses were too tight on the side of my head, but I wanted… no, I needed to feel the sun on my skin. Mom went to the pharmacy superstore in Laguna Hills and bought me these old man sunglasses meant to fit over normal prescription ones. I took pictures with my phone and sent them down to Becca and Zack at the shop for a laugh.

  I was still in pain, but I didn’t want to take the drugs they gave me. I was tired of feeling like a zombie. I knew the shop was handled, and, in fact, I was almost worried they wouldn’t need me at all. But Becca was looking at a shop in San Clemente that would focus more on piercings. We had everything we needed at my place, but space was tight when there were three of us working.

  Mom and Pop had gone out to dinner with Hank and Ramona and left me alone. Thank fuck. I was tired of people asking me if I was okay. I mean, I was pissed, and, as far as anyone knew, I was a victim of a random attack, but a handful of people knew better. Cam came to see me. He knew it was Deanna’s husband, but not only was there no proof, aside from my and Yosh’s description, his identity was unknown.

  The sun was going down, and I decided to have a beer. Pop was nice enough to leave a cooler next to me. The only problem was, it was filled with Coors; I hated Coors. It tasted like piss, but it was all my pop seemed to buy. I settled for a can of cold piss when a man shuffled up to my porch with a brown paper bag, tied with a huge hemp-looking bow on its handle.

  “Hey,” I greeted. “Uh, what can I do for you?” I didn’t recognize him, so I thought maybe he had the wrong address.

  “Nico?” he asked.

  “If you have a gun or a tire iron in that bag… then no, I’m not.” I smiled, gingerly lifting the right side of my healing mouth.

  “No,” he smirked. “I’m afraid I left those with the wife. I have somethin’ for you.”

  “You want a beer?” I offered. “My pop has this thing for Coors, so it’s all I have. Or iced-tea. It’s sun-tea. My mom brewed it yesterday.”

  “No, you relax. You still look pretty bad,” he observed. That meant he’d seen me worse.

  “Uh, do I know you?” I popped the tab on the can and took that first sip. I had to admit, I enjoyed it.

  “Here ya go, son.”

  I hesitated for a moment then took the bag from him. The bow was arranged with a bunch of small sticks and a keychain hanging from it. In the middle of the keychain was a bear paw. “You asked me to pick it up for you the night you were attacked.”

  Pop told me a passer-by had disappeared when the ambulance came. “Sometimes people just want to help, Nicolas,” he’d told me. “They don’t want to be heroes; they just want to keep the balance.”

  “Balance,” I said aloud.

  “Pardon?” the man asked.

  “Oh, nothin’. I was just remembering something my pop said to me about keeping the balance.” I opened the bag, and not only was the huge journal in there, he had included two of those fancy pens. “Hell, man, thanks. I’d totally forgotten about this.” I began to get up again. “I’ll just get my wallet. Hang on a min—”

  He grabbed my arm to stop me. “You said you needed to write to someone named Dish. She would understand. You remember that?”

  How do I explain this? The man had just bought me a handcrafted journal, with what I would find out later were $500 fountain pens. I knew they were expensive, but that was over the top. For a pen? I did not get it. But later, the first time I wrote with it, it was like the first time I sat in my truck when it was finished; it not only made me want to write in my best penmanship, it was as if it was made for me.

  I thought for a minute then I answered the man honestly. Something about him told me he was a man I could trust, not to mention he had probably saved my life.

  “When I was seven, I met this little girl. She gave me a sort of peace I haven’t found since. I can’t explain it—”

  “I know exactly what you mean. My wife is that person for me, and we met when we were six years old.” He paused, looked out at the darkening orange sky then turned back to me, “I…” He looked around, I thought to make sure we were alone. “I used to be a cop before I opened my own business as a private detective. I don’t have the brawn to be a bounty hunter,” he said, holding out his thin, sinewy arms. “But I’m fast, I’m smart, and I always get my man.”

  He moved a little closer to me and opened the journal to the first page. A lone newspaper clipping laid folded inside.

  “When we were kids, my wife and I lived in Nebraska. We were the only two kids our age in the neighborhood. We played house; I was always the husband, and she was always the wife. She was a bossy little thing, and still is.” He chuckled. “We got older and made a pact we would get married one day. She said she would marry me. At the age of nine, I think, is when I formally proposed.” He smiled, shaking his head. “She said she had two conditions: she wanted to have a little place up in the mountains where she could see the tops of pine trees in the winter, but also a place near the ocean. Nebraska isn’t big on its mountains or its oceans. So I joined the academy straight out of school, saved, and saved some more. Two weeks after we were in California, I got shot. Two in the chest. Miracle I didn’t die. For three years, I got as much evidence as I could. What seemed completely random to everyone else, I knew I was targeted. When I was sure I knew who he was, I also found there were a string of other unsolved murders, and he was taken down for four… all cops… with the help of my evidence.

  “I could have stayed on the force, but I wanted to be my own boss. So I started my own business, and I’ve done pretty well for myself. July the fourth, well, fifth actually, when I couldn’t sleep, I told the wife I was going to go and walk on the beach for a while. I walked past this drunk guy. He didn’t know me, but I knew him. I’d been investigating a woman. The husband wanted something on her, sure she was having an affair, but after following her for a while, I told him all his wife was guilty of was buying too many shoes and toying with the idea of getting a tattoo. So, he insisted I find out more about the tattoo guy. What I found out, but didn’t tell him, was this guy had a reputation for two things: one night stands and helping women with his own brand of therapy.”

  I took off the large sunglasses and looked at him.

  “I knew someone else was there, Nico. I assumed I was being followed, not you. So I thought the best thing to do was to get the danger away from you. I waited half a block away and no one followed, so I went back and saw him drop you on your head and run. I knew it was him. I study people. I know he was left-handed. I knew his gait when he walked. I knew he was wearing a particular brand of men’s shoe they make in London; he wouldn’t wear anything else.”

  It dawned on me that he was referring to this guy in the past-tense. I sat back from him wondering what the fuck was going on. He knew me, knew my business, had investigated me and Deanna, and
was paid to do so by her husband. I had no idea what to think. I started to rise from my chair again, which took a great deal of effort, when he put his hand out to stop me.

  “Whatever it is you’re thinking right now, I am not here to harm you in any way. I stopped my investigation of Deanna when I realized her husband was abusing her. I introduced myself to her. I let her know I was not only aware, but would be more than happy to give her the evidence I had of the abuse, but she declined, and now, I know why.”

  He slid the folded article toward me to open. It said that a local man had drowned on a family vacation in Cabo San Lucas. It went on about how he wasn’t a strong swimmer, but had insisted on diving from the boat to swim back to the shore. He was survived by his wife, Deanna, and their two sons.

  “She did everything she could to protect your identity. Now, I’ve done everything I can, as well. Cameron and Ynez both trained under me. I know she told you she’d take care of it because I deleted your messages. The report taken at the liquor store was a couple complaining about a drunk who left with a warning. Nothing will ever come from whatever investigation the insurance company is carrying out.”

  He stood up and took the cap off of one of the pens. “In about, oh…” he said as he scratched his head, “three or four months… maybe longer, you’ll be hearing from my wife. When you do, don’t even think about arguing with her. You will not win. I have never won an argument. Not once. And you know what? I’m sure glad I never tried. I’ve had more fun fighting and loving that woman than should be allowed for one man.”

  He walked down the two small steps of my porch as I stood up. I just wanted to shake his hand. I put it out to offer, and he, instead, pulled it to his chest. “You have a lot of pain, son, right here.” He pressed on our combined hands. “Write to this ‘Dish’ girl. You need to go somewhere with less noise. In fact, when’s the last time it was just you and trees and fresh air?”

  “It’s been a while,” I answered.

  “You should do something about that,” he said, finally moving away. His parting words over his shoulder were, “Remember; don’t argue with her.”