Gammoned

The shower was running, Parker could see steam come from underneath the door. She had to pee.

“Sam, hurry up, I gotta pee.”

“Just a minute.” The shower droned on.

She went to the kitchen and smoked a cigarette. Her window faced the west. She was watching the traffic go by, inevitably from the beach or to the beach, on this warm day. The cigarette was out. She got up and changed shirts into a tank top.  She was done waiting for Sam to get out of the bathroom.

“Sam! Goddamnit! I have to pee!”

When he didn’t reply she pounded on the door. Nothing.

Well, he’d been in there long enough to drown. She waited a few more minutes while smoking another cigarette. The urgency of needing to urinate won and she knocked on the door again.  Nothing. He had looked sweaty when he came over and the racing gloves in 80 degree weather was a little ridiculous for driving a 1970s BMW around, its alternator was out and he had to constantly rev the engine and use the brake at the same time to keep it from dying at the stop lights. She guessed all the revving of the engine made him feel like he needed the official racing gear. He was also wearing one of his custom made shirts with long sleeves, it hadn’t surprised her that he needed a shower with all that on, he must have needed a good rinse, but now denial was no longer a friend.

Parker took a screwdriver and turned the keyhole to the bathroom door, it popped open. There on the toilet, leaving her no room to easily get by to turn off the shower, was Sam. Slumped against the sink, looking pallid. She turned off the shower, without any medical knowledge she tried to find a pulse in his wrist or neck. Neither proved to show her anything. She listened by his mouth and nose, nothing. She put her head to his chest. Again, nothing rising or falling. His forty-five minute shower was just a ruse to cover up for slamming dope while sitting on the toilet.

She walked back into the kitchen and lit a cigarette. Maybe five years ago, when she’d had the time for Sam’s bull shit, she could have been prepared for this. Unfortunately, five years ago, after she paid for his last rehab stint, he moved to Washington and she rarely heard from him. Until last week, when he suddenly showed up, back in town and making his old connections again, all of them apparently. They’d gone to the Marina and celebrated his arrival among friends last weekend. He’d inconveniently crashed on her sofa for a night or two, but it was all for old time’s sake and she couldn’t refuse him.

Five years ago, she was barely out of rehab. Since Sam’s departure, it seemed she’d lost her road-dog, so, she supposed somewhat naturally, she made new friends, started staying out of the bar, away from the pushers and got a legitimate job.

Her family and long-lost friends were pretty proud of her. She’d become somewhat of a local icon in the community. Without ample drugs and parties simplifying her life, she had to find new interests which included elderly rights, tutoring teenagers in English, doing meals on wheels. She had always been a giver, or enabler if you will, she just never applied it to the right areas of her life.

Now, here she was smack back at zero with Sam dead in her bathroom. Everyone in her building was familiar with her, there would be no peace and quiet after the entourage of 911 vehicles arrived. The coroner would take hours. She could see herself now, on the local news, woman who has given to the community for five years has dark side, details on her secret life at night at 11. No, she vowed that she would not be that person.

Since they were getting back to the roots of their lives, she called Seth. He was going to be livid, upset, and emotional but he was going to be her rock. He knew how far she’d come and kept his distance while always checking in on her. He wouldn’t let her down.

“You want me to transport our dead best friend out of your apartment unseen?” He chuckled in the way that clearly says fuck-you. “And just what do you want me to do with Samuel?” She’d hoped he would think of the rest. All she wanted him out of the apartment. “I’ll be right over.”

Parker turned the air conditioning on high and grabbed Sam by the arms to drag him into the hallway, she still had to pee. He wasn’t as heavy as he use to be, but dead weight is dead weight. She managed to flop him off the toilet, sprawled between her hallway and the bathroom – she had to rest her feet just over his stomach to pee and she’d have to wait until Seth got here to do the rest.

There was a knock at the door when she almost jumped out of her skin. Seth walked in, hand to chin, contemplating the situation. “What the fuck did you do to him?” He said looking at Sam halfway in the bathroom and hallway, lopsided.

“I had to pee.”

“What happened to you Parker? You turned cold or what, not even crying?”

“I think I’m in shock. After we remove him, we can have a good cry, spill some beer and pretend this never happened.”

“Remind me never to go in the military with you, you’d leave every man behind.” He went to the kitchen, to the liquor cupboard and pulled out the Jack Daniels. He took a swig and grimaced. He passed it to Parker and she shook her head no.

“You’re sure he’s dead?”

“Yeah.”

Seth walked to the sofa and sat down, he looked at Sam sadly and put his head between his hands, looking downward. After some debate, they reckoned the easiest thing to do would be to take him to White Boy Mike’s and leave him his bathroom, call 911 and do things fairly legit. It wasn’t like they were going to cut him up. White Boy Mike and Tito came over after being summoned by Seth. They brought a rug, plastic bags and wrapped Sam up in the carpet and carried him down to a plumbing van they’d borrowed from Silvo.

White Boy Mike and Tito were to take him up to the apartment and set him in the bathroom, similar to how he’d been in Parker’s apartment, with syringe on the side of him. After dressing up the situation they would feel comfortable in calling 911.

Parker waited by the phone to hear further information. She paced the floor and smoked cigarette after cigarette wanting it to be finalized.

She sat down at the edge of the sofa and saw Sam’s things in his neat little pile. She opened his art books and took a look at his drawings – naked women and millennium falcons were his favorite. She opened his back pack and started shaking. Inside the back pack were bricks of money in various denominations. She pulled out the money and counted it. In a sick way, she felt like she’d just won the lottery. At the bottom of his backpack was a gun, some speed, what she assumed was heroin and a Santa Muerta Blanca figurine. He must have killed someone in Washington to have gotten this money.

She tucked the money back into the backpack. Then she took the speed out and emptied the baggie onto her glass coffee table; chopping it up with a dollar bill and credit card and did a line. The old familiar sting and rush came flooding back.

Her phone was ringing but she couldn’t answer it. She was stuck on the sofa, realizing what an altered state Sam had left her in. She didn’t have to devote all her time to ungrateful elderly people abandoned by their families in the homes anymore, or deliver food to the cat ladies, the piss pant polyester old men. She could stop all this self sacrificing and start over, somewhere else.

She used the card to create another line from the powder on the table. With her head ringing she went into her bedroom and pulled out two suitcases from the closet and started packing the necessities. She went back to her cell phone and selected silent mode. She couldn’t be bothered with Sam’s details now.

###

What Parker didn’t know was that while she was driving up Sepulveda to little Santa Monica Boulevard to check into a motel and think things through overnight, after having scored, of course, to help her think clearly with alert attention to detail was while Seth was waiting for Whiteboy Mike and Tito to show up at WB Mike’s apartment in the valley, Sam had risen from the dead. Fully encased in a rolled carpet, wide eyed and horrified about his present situation. He was certain that the pisas that he’d stolen the drugs (he’d done them all on his way to California) and money from had him in the van and were going to kill him, if they didn’t think he was already dead.

He lay very still and listened to the voices in the van, suddenly he recognized the guffaw laugh of Whiteboy Mike. He started yelling, and wriggling against the van. Tito crossed himself and begged Mary for help.

“Okay, you’re not dead, we get it. Um, five more minutes Sam and we’ll be at my house.” Whiteboy Mike said and continued to drive.

Seth was now visibly upset by the situation. He wasn’t just losing his best friend finally, after so many years of touch and go, but he was rigging his death in a way that didn’t seem right. When the van pulled up, Tito and WB Mike ran to the back and haphazardly dropped Sam onto the driveway. There was a muffled yelp.

Seth raised his eyebrow and widened his eyes in amazement. “He’s not dead?”

“No, let’s get him out of this.” They unraveled Sam who was weary, groggy at best, and grateful to be with his homies and not with the gangsters he’d robbed up North.

After exchanging the horrific details of Sam’s near death the boys opted to open some beers, followed by more beers and a lot of blow. WB Mike was having his girlfriend over and would not have them overnight. Sam explained to Seth that he needed to get a hold of Parker as soon as possible, keeping the details from Seth, as he would be disappointed.

“I can’t seem to get through, goes to voicemail.” Seth explained. Anger and fear rose in Sam, he knew why Parker wasn’t picking up, he knew damn well why.

###

They opted to go to a motel on little Santa Monica, it was clean, neat and had rooms toward the back where no one bothered you. After registering and paying, they walked to their room in a giddy high of miracles elevated by alcohol and cocaine. It was then that they saw Parker walking to the room with an ice-bucket. They froze in mid conversation and smiled at the odd situation. Parker fumbled for her door key and ran into the room. Through the window, as she was closing the drapes she could see them hustling toward her room.

“Why is Parker avoiding you?” Seth asked Sam.

“She’s got something I want back.”

“What the fuck man, there’s always some kind of fucking drama with you. Why can’t we just hang out and fucking do drugs and talk about old times.” Seth straightened his posture. Whatever Sam wanted to do was his right and if Parker had taken something of his, he would stand by his boy.

Seth knocked, followed by Sam’s impatient hammering on the door. “Open up.” He said firmly. The door did not open. Parker did not respond. They’d realized it too late. There are back doors to all the back rooms, as if the motel knew someone was just ready to get caught doing something they shouldn’t there were handy back doors with just enough room to squeeze onto the balcony and down the fire escape. She was running.

Not to be deterred after the incredible drama that Sam had incurred over the last two weeks in running from the gangsters up North, getting back into California, nearly overdosing and being hauled off in a rug, he was right on her tail. Seth followed.

She hadn’t made it to the car yet when Sam was rearing up toward her. She pointed the gun at him. He stopped.

“What are you doing?” Seth asked nonchalantly, watching the two of them pant.

“I am going to shoot Sam if he doesn’t back off. I am going to get in my car and leave this motel. You had your lucky day Sam and now it’s my turn.” She started backing up toward her car. Sam edged forward a little.

“I’m not fucking around. Sam, you can’t just waltz back here with your dirty baggage and think that we’re all going to just take care of you as usual.”

“Well, actually Parker, yes we would. What have you got that he wants?” Seth asked.

“A fresh start and he’s already wasting it away, look at him, he overdosed in my house!”

“Let’s go upstairs and have a beer and talk about it.” Seth said. Sam stood still in place, ready to pounce if the opportunity struck.

“No, I talked to you two for years. We stayed up so many nights, we probably have double time on how long we’ve known each other and you know what I got? Fucked. I was always there for you. It took me so long to get away from you both and now that Sam is back, I know there is no escaping again. I'm not going to be your stepping stone anymore.”

“We made you what you are today, we own you.” Sam said.

“Well, then maybe this is what you made and no, you don’t own me.” She turned to put her key in the car door and Sam rushed her, slamming her body against the car. She clutched the gun to her chest as she pressed against the door. She had the backpack wrapped around her left arm. Freeing herself she dodged him and ran to the side of the motel building.

“Give me your gun.” Sam said to Seth.

“I can’t let you kill Parker.”

“I’m just gonna scare her.” Sam put out his hand and made a boyscout promise with his hand, Seth relinquished his gun.

Sam turned the first corner, no sight of her. He slipped down the first row of motel rooms. Listening.

“Parker, let’s talk about this, honey. You know I love you.” Sam said. She was laying on the ground, around the corner. “Where are you baby?” He cooed at her.

She raised her head and shouted, “I’m right here.” Sam turned the corner and fired his gun directly in front of him and then realized she was not there. She rolled onto her back and shot him in the arm.

“Where the hell did you learn to do that?” Sam asked. It was like the time she’d snuck in an upper left cut in a fight with her ex-boyfriend, rather than being angry with her for knocking his tooth out, he asked her where she learned to fight like that, when she told him, he was proud of her.

“I’ve listened to stories over the years Sam, no one expects you to be below them.”

“The cops are going to come. Parker, you’re fucking this whole thing up. Come on, let’s get out of here and share that money.”

“You fired your gun first, Sam. Remember when we use to play backgammon? Well, Sam, you just got gammoned.” She fired again and this time she made her mark, his heart. Sam fell to the ground, shocked, leaking blood and staring up at his beautiful best friend, protege, and now nemesis, Parker.

“Don’t make my mother pay for the funeral.” Sam said. Parker teared up and promised him as he died before her. She went behind a tree and grabbed the backpack. She placed the Saint Muerta Blanca on his lap and ran down the back of the hotel to her car. Seth was nowhere to be seen.

A few people were coming out of their rooms now that the commotion had stopped, they knew better than to interrupt. Sam might have stayed all night in a room dead had he not been shot outside, there was a strict don’t tell policy here that the local drug lords and their runners appreciated. Rarely though was there gunfire, usually just drunk, coked up parties that pissed off the stupid freeway exit tourists.

She stopped at the Rite Aid and purchased envelopes, in the envelope she placed several thousand dollars for Sam’s mom and drove to her house, right by the freeway in an upper apartment unit on the verge of hoarding with toys spilling over the balcony. She couldn’t knock so she slipped the envelope under the door. The door opened and Parker was already down the stairs. She drove down Santa Monica Boulevard to the 405 freeway.

She had enough money to go anywhere and she thought it best to lay low in Mexico for a while.