Discidium
Discidium
by Slight ([email protected])
AUTHOR'S NOTES: This story is copyright (C) 2010 Slight
If you enjoy or have any feedback let me know. I'll do some rewrites and try another chapter, with sex next time, I promise.
Please send feedback and comments to
Chapter 1
The wine in my paw cost less than three bucks a bottle. Rank stuff, but the best offering from the bodega down the block. The toothless burro behind bulletproof glass had recommended it with slightly raised eyebrows. I chug the bottle empty, let it roll off the fire escape. Five stories down glass shards spray matted fur staked out on the pavement. Irate curses float up through the humid air. Dig through my pants pockets for loose change. And toss.
"Pennies from heaven".
I hear shouts and scuffles below.
Slide back through the window. Bare foot-paws meet cool concrete. Building is industrial, built around the turn of the century when this town was booming. It's large, dilapidated, and long abandoned. Faint chemical smells of turpentine and gasoline waft up from the floors below. My blow up mattress surrounded by books in the corner. Dog eared paperbacks, thick technical manuals, all prominently stamped "Property of Staffordshire Chemicals". One functioning light fixture, a slightly rusted desk lamp, dimly illuminates half the room. A desk, dead center, resembles an aircraft carrier. Large, metal, unmovable. Heavy steel drawers that could surgically remove a stray appendage, stainless steel spanning the top. On a hot indian summer night like this I'll sleep sprawled across it, every inch of my broad back against the cool ungiving metal. A laundry sink re-purposed; toilet/bath. A general vibe of immanent electrical fire or structural collapse.
I shake the wine out of my head. This job is getting under my skin. Replaced sparring partners with bad take out food. I drop and bang out forty push ups, quick check in the mirror appropriated from a bathroom downstairs. Through "Employees must wash thoroughly before returning to work" I see a tall, broadshouldered, strong looking mutt. Got the size of my Anatolian Shepherd pops but not the weight. My husky momma's stature leaned me out, tightened up my muzzle and face. No jowls on this pup. Mottled black/brown coloring head to tail except for some creamy white mid chest trailing down. Walking to the mirror across a room, tall and athletic enough but not the imposing type, but up close my eyes show in the light. The right dark brown, almost black in the low light, and the left pale blue. My unblinking gaze unnerves the hell out of people, which often works to my advantage.
Day five dragging on...paid to eyeball a fat Pit Bull gangster with a penchant for young tail. Young enough to put the greaseball in shackles. A rival outfit is probably paying my tab, my buddy Frisco set it up, so we're all anonymous. Cash in a locker for pit bull porn pics, I could handle that. The mark had been frustratingly absent since the gig began. Provided with only his fuck pad address and his picture, there's not much I can do but wait. A little more to work with and I could have tailed the guy, stretched my legs and gotten some real food. Instead I'm downing migraine inducing night train and speghettio's. I'm amazed I ever ate this neon orange slop as a pup.
Taking a moment to dust off my camera for the fiftieth time today and glance through the viewfinder trained on a dark empty room. The dim outline of a bed visible through sheer ratty drapes.
"fuck". I mutter under my breath.
The sound of glass breaking floors down pulled my attention away from the camera and into my immediate surroundings. A vagrant sleeping it off? No, that's not possible. The doors were all chained off years ago, and though old, they were sound, I'd tested them myself. I rechained the entrance I broke into, and cracking that door took a crowbar and bolt cutters, which usually exceed the budget of the deadbeats living in the alley next to this place.
The scraping sound of metal against concrete cut the silence. They can't know I'm here with all that noise. I grabbed my thirty-eight off the desk and stuck it in the back of pants. Shut off the desk lamp and let my eyes adjust to the darkness. I pulled a mini maglite from my camera bad and slipped it my pocket. Wearing a wife beater and dirty grey slacks that had once been expensive, I slipped out of my room and into the warehouse.
I silently worked my way along the gangway that ran along my room. A flashlight beam streaking erratic and careless below me. The beam held still, a voice.
"Perfect". A young voice.
More scraping metal and I was padding barefoot towards the noise. A set of stairs loomed to my right and I started down. With awful timing, silence emanated from the room below as my foot-paw fell on a loose stair, the metal groaned under my weight. A quick shuffle of heavy boots below me and the beam was cut. Whoever had decided to wait it out and hope whatever caused the noise moved on. Fuck it, I had nothing better to do, and this was more entertaining than cheap wine. Closing the distance to the only entrance in or out of the room, I knelt and peered around the door frame slowly. I heard a breath lurch in the corner furthest to my right, pulled the maglite and hit my stranger square in the eyes.
A young black lab flinched hard against the beam. He stammered quickly. "Sh..shit man these places never have guards, I'll bail, I didn't take anything, I'll go right out that window and you'll never see me again." The lab grabbed a heavy black pack off the table and heaved it over his shoulder, moving toward a large window that was framed in shredded safety glass.
"Freeze." I growled.
No reaction, he was going for the window.
"I said stop dammit." In three quick steps I closed the distance and yanked the scrambling lab back from the window. Gripping the shoulder strap on his pack I spun him around to face me.
"That window will cut you all to hell. Turn on your flashlight and we'll talk."
He fumbled the flashlight in his paws.
"And don't point it at my goddamn eyes."
A beam of light diffused against the wall to our right illuminating half his face and body and half of my own. After a second he spoke.
"Shit, you're not a guard, I knew it."
"Do what I say or you'll wish I was a goddamn guard." I growled.
"Ok...ok". His paws in the air showing mock surrender.
"What the hell are you doing in here. This place is dangerous."
"Nothing."
"Cut the act, you looking to steal shit? There ain't much here."
"Yeah I noticed, I might have taken some of this old industrial office stuff. Whatever I could carry, nothing much. Some furniture places downtown pay pretty good for it. Yuppies like it I guess, in their lofts or condos or whatever."
"What's in the bag?"
"Spray paint, mostly".
"You were going to tag the place? The place is locked up. No one would see it."
"I ain't in a gang. I was just looking for a concrete space I could use. Figured this place was abandoned and nobody would give a shit."
"Right, open the bag and show me."
Sure enough, overflowing with aerosol cans.
If I unlock the chains and shove him out the front he might tell somebody I'm here. If I keep him here against his will, he's definitely talking when I let him go, and I don't feel like hurting a kid today. In the dim light I size him up: ill fitting second hand clothes. The fur of his face, head and neck is too clean for him to be straight up homeless, but he's not far from it. I can buy this kid, cheap probably.
"Come with me".
I led him in front of me. My right paw squarely on his shoulder, my left holding the maglite in case he tried to do something cute. Up the stairs and back to my shitty room. I pushed him up against the wall outside the doorway to my room and brought my muzzle within an inch of his. I held the maglite between us and illuminated my face and muzzle from below. He looked into my eyes, and his head jerked back into the concrete wall.
"I'll be back in a second, don't go anywhere." The lab looked like he may have pissed himself.
Quickly I snatched a soiled sheet from my cheap mattress. A quick glance through the camera viewfinder and the gangster fuck pad still dark and empty. I angle the camera downward to mask its shape and toss the sheet over it. I flip up a discarded stool in the corner and place it close to the window opposite the door and wheel my desk chair so I'm facing the stool. Beyond the stool, I have a straight view out the window to the fuck pad from here. This little set up took all of ten seconds, I go back to my guest, leaving the room dark.
The lab has not moved an inch.
My paw back on his shoulder, I can feel his him tremble slightly in my grasp. I march him through the dark room and sit him down on the stool roughly. I place the creaking desk lamp between us and turn it on. The lab eyes me suspiciously, fear and resentment behind his glassy dark brown eyes. His reaction was too measured, he'd been in rooms like this before, there was an air of damage to him. It hit a chord with me, something like pity.
"Give me your wallet."
His voice cracked as he began to speak. "I don't have money. Why would I be stealing office supplies if I had money. Let me walk out of here like nothing happened, I..."
I cut him off, "Hand it over." My paw extended waiting.
He complies, a cheap dollar store velcro wallet is tossed and snatched from the air between us. A drivers license. A library card, some pictures, I toss it back keeping the license.
"Joseph Talman, 2143 Filmore St. Apt B. Eighteen years old. I'm thinking we could help each other out here Joey." Slowly, I reach in my pocket and pull out a wad of cash.
His eyes go panicky. From me to the mattress. "I..I..."
"Here's the deal, I'm not sure how long I'll be here. Could be an hour, a day, or a week. I'm proposing that a couple times a day, you go out and get me food, books, whatever I ask you for. I pay for us both. You come right back here. In return, you can eat what I'm eating, read whatever you want, or paint the 20 foot walls of this room. If everything works out, maybe you'll get a bonus when I leave."
Joey eyed me. "And if I say no." His voice stronger now.
"I tie you up and lock you in the room next door until I'm done. Take your pick."
"That's not much of a choice."
"I'm sure you'll make the right decision."
He eyed the money, picked up his flashlight and shined it across the walls slowly. His head circled the room, tracing the walls, until his head returned to me.
"What's on the menu?" His body unwinding slowly.
I held out a hundred dollar bill, he quickly grasped it, his paw on mine. I gripped the bill tight and leaned in. My eyes fixed, unblinking.
"And if you run on me, Joseph, I'll find you. That's what I do."
The lab didn't flinch this time. He'd already accepted my offer. He calmly placed the bill in his pocked. "Any other rules?"
"Yeah, no questions about me, or why we're here. You know where Leonardo's is, on Fifth?"
"Yeah."
"Veal marsala, risotto, bread, and a caesar salad. Bottle of their house chianti. That's for me. Get whatever you want with what's left of the money. I'll walk you out."
Joey stood and calmly strode to the door as I followed. This was working, a business proposition, everybody wins.
Forty five minutes later I hear a bang on the door downstairs, twenty minutes after the rain started down heavy. I locked the thirty eight in one of the desk drawers, and headed down to let him in. Wrenching open the rusted metal door. The kid is the sorriest looking delivery boy I've ever seen. Soaked to the bone and dripping everywhere. I let him pass inside and keep him two paces in front as a matter of habit.
"There should have been plenty left for a cab."
"I'll keep the cash, the food's in plastic containers and they double bagged it, don't worry."
"What are you having?"
"Some of yesterday's bread."
"Damn kid, I said I'd feed you, I wasn't lying."
"I'll keep the cash, thanks."
"Well you ain't getting any of my food, I'll tell you that."
We walked up the stairs and he dropped the spread on the desk. I clapped my paws together in anticipation, taking a seat in the desk chair.
"A feast, I've been dreaming about this."
Joey took his bread from the bag and set it on the desk. Then started yanking off his grey hoodie, wet all the way through it looked black now, and clung to him as he tried to yank it over his head. He got it off nearly taking the t shirt underneath and half the fur on his head and shoulders, which was left sticking straight up. Flinging the sweatshirt to the floor in front of him, he looked down at himself.
"I needed a shower anyway. Can I hang up my clothes somewhere?"
With my mouth full of veal. Gesturing around the room with my arms spread.
"What you see is what we got."
He started to move toward the tripod.
"Don't touch that, spread em out on the floor."
He complied, as I continued to devour my meal more quickly than I intended. Sucking liberally on the bottle of chianti, I was feeling content. Joey was looking in my direction, working his way through a mouthful of stale bread. I finished my pull on the bottle and held it out to him.
"Wine? I can't finish a bottle when I'm working."
He walked over and took the bottle from my paw and took a slow swig to wash down the bread. As he lifted the bottle, I could see his jawline and profile in the light. Good looking kid, minus the sweatshirt I could actually see the cut of him. He was thin for a lab, but the musculature of his shoulders and arms was defined in the dim light. It was easy to see that he was lighter than he should be by a good fifteen pounds. About 5'10" couldn't be more than 150 lbs. Normally in this neighborhood I would have assumed he was strung out, but he didn't move like a junky. None of the move or die mindset of a drugged up kid. Joey was calm, no posturing when cornered. I have a little use for company except the kind I pay for, but I was strangely interested in this kid. The jeans he had on were held up only by a worn leather belt, and with the added weight of the rainwater, he was gathering them back up on his hips ever few minutes, unconsciously, as if his pants falling halfway off his ass were their natural state. Resting my foot-paws on the corner of the desk, I lit a cigarette.
"So what's your story, Joey."
His dark eyes moved over me and then he turned away, eying the wall.
"What do you want to know? I'm broke. You're paying me to stay, so I'm going to paint."
"Where'd you grow up."
"Around here."
"Family?"
"Everybody's got some."
"Girlfriend?"
He turned with an insolent smirk. "I'd rather get laid than break into warehouses, we're still talking, so I ain't getting laid."
At least no one would miss him. I stubbed out my smoke on the floor and flicked the butt out the window. Kicking out the chair beneath me, I moved to the door and balanced an empty paint thinner can on the outer knob and shut it carefully.
"I'm taking a nap, but I'm a light sleeper. You need to piss, use the sink. Anything else and you hold it."
"Alright".
Joey wasn't interested. Absentmindedly holding the bread crust in his teeth as he pulled cans out of his bag, setting them in a row on the floor, his eyes fixed on the wall. I set the alarm on my watch for 30 minutes. That's all I could give up on these sort of gigs. Every three hours or so I'd pull down 30 minutes of sleep. It'll drive you nuts at first but after a few gigs you can train your mind to accept it's all there is, so it better soak up every second. I stretched out on the mattress, my stomach full for the first time in five days. My head facing Joey as he started spraying black paint on the wall. I was asleep almost instantly.
My watch was beeping. Peeling my damp back from the bare plastic air mattress I stood fully before shutting it off. Joey was perched in my desk chair watching me. I lumbered over half conscious and rested my paws on the metal surface of the desk.
"What do you want kid?" While scanning behind him to the dark window below.
I noticed he was holding the wine bottle. Probably for effect as he hadn't put a dent in the contents.
"I need something to stand on. A file cabinet would work pretty good, one of the tall ones. If it's empty it's light enough to move around."
I shook the sleep from my head and rubbed the back of my neck. "That I think we can do." In the next room there were file cabinets of varying size. Joey picked the one he liked best and I helped him move it into our room.
The angular shapes dancing around the bottom few feet of the wall were a mystery to me. "What is this? You the next Picasso or something?"
Joey gave me a sideways glance, "I'm pretty sure he used a brush." He rattled the can of paint in his paw to emphasize the point.
"So you know of Picasso huh? Read a few books before you started breaking into places?"
"I've read a few art books and sat in some community college classes. If this is going to turn into a quiz, no algebra please."
"You don't strike me as a street kid."
"Look." Joey spoke with a practiced tone.
"I lived with my mom until I was sixteen. Dad wasn't around. We had a two bedroom apartment up on Crenshaw, my mom was a nurse, pulled a lot of double shifts to keep us afloat. We were poor but compared to some of the other kids at school we had it pretty good. I had new clothes every year, shoes that fit, food on the table. My mom could stretch a food budget like no other. I was never hungry...then she got sick a few years ago. I dropped out of school to try and take care of her. Insurance or not, the bills wiped us out. She's been gone for two years. I got a place of my own now. I'm alright."
I had the distinct impression he'd given this speech to quite a few concerned social workers, as I was neither concerned or a social worker, I got the short version.
"Sorry to hear that."
"I'm not looking for charity or anything. This is the closest thing to I job I've ever had, Boss."
"I don't think Boss is how I see myself, call me Mack."
"That your real name?"
I squint. "I thought you were smart."
"Alright, Mack." He smiles.
We shake.
Joey yawns wide and I look at my watch. It's about 2am. I can see that his creative energy is waning, and the leftover adrenaline from our initial meeting has long since left him. He's still looking at the wall, envisioning...something, but his body is betraying him, fast. Slowly sinking to the floor and wrapping his arms around himself, he rests his head on knees.
"Hit the air mattress, Joey." He slowly cranes his neck to me, his gaze wavers with the realization of how exhausted he is.
"Oh...ok. Where are you going to sleep?"
"I'll be up for a few hours, if I need another nap I'll shove you over. If you want to get up, fine, if you don't, fine. But if you snore, I have duct tape to fix that."
"That shouldn't be a problem."
"Good."
Joey stands and stretches, yawning again, which proved contagious as I yawn in turn. Shuffling across the room, his paw bunching his damp jeans at his hip, the cuffs trailing the floor leaving damp streaks on the concrete.
"Lose the jeans, they're still wet. Spread em out by your sweatshirt. I think we could both use some new clothes, you can pick some up when you get breakfast tomorrow."
Joey pulls the jeans off his hips revealing plain white cotton boxers underneath. The wet cotton clung to his black fur, tracing the outline of thinly muscled legs leading up to a cute ass. His back to me, I held my gaze a few seconds and considered the events that had led an attractive eighteen year old labrador to be sharing my dirty air mattress. I brought my paw to my face and rubbed my eyes, making a mental note that apparently 5 days is my limit. Little sleep, bad food, and no sex and my brain no longer runs the show. This would not end well, but fuck it anyway. Joey flopped on the mattress wrapped himself in the fitted sheet that had been loosely draped across it.
"Kid, throw me one of those paperbacks."
"Which one"
"Doesn't matter, I've read em all." A book flitted through the air and I caught it easily. It was a overwrought courtroom drama made into a bad film years ago. Taking a seat in the desk chair facing the window, I opened the book to a random page and began reading, letting my eyes drift beyond to the gangster pad ever couple pages. Every fifteen minutes I'd keep my energy up and mind occupied with some exercises. Squats, push ups, burpees, varying reps and intensity. Four hours later I had exhausted myself sufficiently to earn another nap. I took a seat on the edge of the half inflated mattress, my weight shifting the contents, and half rousing Joey. The kid mumbled and rolled to the far side, still wrapped in the sheet from his knees to his chin, providing enough space for me to lay down. Stretching my frame across the mattress, outweighing him by a good 40 lbs, gravity guaranteed he'd be resting against me if he stayed. Setting my watch for thirty minutes, I shut my eyes. Listening to Joey breathe softly beside me, slowly my own breathing fell in line with his and I was out.
I woke, my watch was not beeping. Bringing the digital face into view, it had only been 25 minutes. Joey must have woken me, he was nestled against me, on his side facing me, still deeply asleep. His face was totally calm, his muzzle pressed against my ribs below my arm, which now was positioned around him, my paw resting against the sheet draped across his back. His right arm rested lightly on my stomach, and his right leg was lying over mine, leaving his hips flush with my thigh. I breathed deeply and exhaled slowly through my nose, enjoying his scent, touches of sweat, a bit of smoke. Placing my left arm behind my head, I watched him sleep for a minute, the slow rise and fall of the sheet. I felt a tickle against my ribs. Glancing down, Joey's unconscious expression had not changed. Curious, I watched his black lips part slowly and his pink tongue softly lick the fur on my ribs and retreat back into his muzzle. Joey's hips shifted slightly and I was suddenly aware of the pressure of his sheath against my thigh. I was instantly aroused, part of me wanted to fuck the innocence right out of him. Damn it all, if I didn't get up immediately, my growing erection would soon be dangerously close to rubbing his paw. That thought was not helping the situation. I rolled out from under him and stood quickly. As he repositioned himself on the empty mattress he sleepily exhaled a low pitched whine.
"Me too kid." I said as I gripped myself through my pants and tried to keep my cock in its sheath. I walked to the windows to check on things, and continue the shitty paperback. Two hours later, Joey roused on his own. Sitting up and turning to me.
"What time is it?"
"Time for breakfast, I'm thinking french toast and crispy bacon."
Joey rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, still holding the sheet around him. Last nights storms had taken the indian summer heat with them and replaced it with a cool fall morning.
"Two orders this time, no more stale bread."
"French toast is stale bread." Joey said discarding the sheet and stumbling into his over sized jeans.
"Don't be a smartass, head to Riley's Diner on 14th Street. Next door is a department store. Here's a list of clothes to pick up for me. Get yourself a full set as well, those boots of yours seem solid, but everything else needs to go."
"I like my hoodie." He said smiling, as he lifted it from the floor.
"Then buy another one that fits you. Jesus Joey, go buy some damn clothes. You have 90 minutes, so be quick about it, I'm hungry."
Joey pulled on his hoodie, it swallowed him, his head emerged from the tent that draped to his knees. He walked over paw extended. "Cash, please." I handed him three hundred dollars.
Walking to the door he turns and looks back. "You come off like a hard ass, but you're really a big softie, you know that?"
I glared at him and he shrank out the door.
When the cab dropped him at the end of the block an hour later, if I hadn't known better I'd have thought a college student was severely lost. I tossed the key down to him so he could unlock the door below. He strode into the room with his arms full of shopping bags. Setting them on the desk he tallied through my requested items.
"One pair of dark blue Levis. Two pair black socks. Two pair of black boxer briefs. One pack of white A frame t shirts. One black button down, silk."
"Good work, kid. Now stand back and let me get a look at you."
For the most part he had grabbed the same items, in different sizes and colors. Slim cut black Levis descended into his heavy black boots. With a white t shirt and white button down up top. A new gray hoodie was around his shoulders over the button down.
"I'd say that was a successful trip. Now gimme my bacon?"
Steaming piles of french toast with a liberal helping of bacon appeared from the bags. Joey pulled a stool to the far side of the desk and we dug in facing each other.
Between bites he spoke. "You know, that glare you keep fixing me with, the effect fades after awhile."
"It's served me pretty well."
"I'm just saying, it doesn't really work after hanging out with you awhile."
Stretching my arms behind my head. "So...the kid thinks he's got me all figured out."
Joey spoke frankly, "No, I don't know anything about you, Mack, but I've spent enough time with soulless motherfuckers to know when that look is real. Your eyes were creepy at first."
"And now?"
"Not as scary when we're eating french toast is all I'm saying, I like em actually, they're cool lookin."
"And what soulless motherfuckers do you know?"
"I was in foster care for two years."
"That shit is hard on anybody."
"Made me realize how lucky I was to have someone who loved me growing up. These kids were so_.._.fucked up basically. One kid, little dalmatian pup named Danny, liked to burn things, as in that's the only thing he liked. I remember lighting off a few books of matches with the kid, innocent stuff. He'd just stare at the flames, it was the only thing that kept his attention. A few weeks go by, some gas cans go missing. Then there's a car fire down the street. The neighbors garage goes up. Soon after abandoned houses in the neighborhood are getting torched, we're talking one or two a week. Danny's coming home late at night. Us kids know whats going on, nobody cares though because there's plenty more abandoned houses, and we're in the ghetto. One day a big rottweiler cop shows up, sits Danny down in the big easy chair in the living room. The kids weren't allowed in that room. He's kneeling in front of Danny, the kids shoes didn't reach the carpet, and he's bopping them against the front of the chair. Cop says "Four people died in a fire two blocks over. Son, did you start that fire?" and Danny just nods slowly as if it was nothing. The cop took Danny's paw and led him out the front door. The kid didn't cry or fight. Danny had the stare, not mean, just broken and empty."
"Well you're done with that shit now right."
"The day I turned eighteen."
"Then things are looking up."
Standing, I pushed my last slice of french toast onto his plate. "I'm taking a nap."
"I'm not asking you why you take naps every few hours, but if that is all the sleep you get, that is messed up. I'm going to paint."
"OK, if I can tell what the hell it is you're painting when I get up. I'll let you pick what's for lunch."
I laid down on the mattress. My head facing Joey as he returned to the wall. Before climbing up on the file cabinet, he removed his hoodie and folded it carefully, placing it on the desk. Followed by the button down. He rolled up the cuffs of his jeans to the knee, decreasing the chance that a small bit of paint could mark them. Climbing onto the cabinet, a can in each paw, he worked quickly. Smooth motions starting above his head to nearly below his feet, balancing precariously on the edge of the cabinet. He was creating figures at least ten feet high. I set my watch and listened to the rattle of spray paint cans and a nearly constant aerosol hiss.
I woke, watch beeping. Holy hell the kid worked quick. Joey was off the file cabinet, finishing up the outline of the angular wording below his mural. Above him were the stylized outline of two feral wolves, colored entirely in shades of black white and grey. They faced each other mid attack, identical in form, mirror images. It almost looked like a modern medieval crest, a coat of arms. Slowly approaching the mural, walking up behind Joey rubbing the back of my neck. "Damn Joey. This is good. Did you teach yourself to do this?"
"Yep." Still eying the mural, he'd stolen a cigarette from my pack, and was leaning against the desk taking a break. I read the wording below, "discidium. Is that latin?"
I gave him an incredulous look, that he mimic'd back to me before laughing to himself. "No I can't speak latin, but I do have a library card. I wanted to practice my lettering, and it looks better in latin".
I thought I need to take a picture of this. I glanced back over my shoulder to my camera, long forgotten beneath the soiled sheet. Instinctively my next thought was to across the street. Fuck me, the lights were on across the street.
My tone went cold. "Go in the room next door and don't move until I come get you."
Joey looked at me confused.
"GO...NOW." I grabbed him by the arm and threw him bodily toward the door.
He stumbled through the door, still confused.
"Shut the door." He shut the door behind him. I worked quickly, methodically. Pulling the sheet from the camera. Lens up. Focus. Zoom. Focus. My eyes trained on the LCD screen. Through the sheer curtains the fat pitbull perched on the end of the bed. A drink in one had, a cigar in the other. Only wearing a pair of boxers, dirty, sweat stained, and straining to stay on his non-existent hips before disappearing below a misshapen white furred gut. I re-check the flash setting is disabled, then cover the flash with my paw and take a few shots to confirm. I'm set. I continue the series, shots of him lounging on the bed, idly playing with himself through his boxers.
"Get on back on the clock, asshole" I mutter to myself.
Scanning the street, there's a black Escalade parked below. At least a driver. As if on cue, another large pit in an gaudy purple suit stepped from the door of the building and strolled back to the car. Presumably to get cigarettes, after reaching in the window he lit one immediately, and got back in the truck. I adjusted the tripod slightly to make sure I was hidden from view from both the street and the window. Where's the girl...c'mon where's the goddamn girl. When she stood at edge of the frame in my viewfinder, regret burned up the back of my neck for willing her to appear. Maybe eleven or twelve years old, looked like a husky. A wiry frame draped in ill fitting lingerie, probably thrown at her a few minutes before. Her body pushed straight up fear as she walked toward him like a whore in training, balancing precariously on heels she had no experience walking in. The gangster pit obviously liked what he saw, beckoning her closer with his paws. When he got her in his grasp, he lifted her roughly into his lap. Her small body draped over his enormous gut. Kissing her neck, and her tiny breasts, the pit clutched the bra with one meaty paw and tore it away. It must have hurt or scared the girl, as she started to push away. The shutter on my camera was firing constantly. These shots were enough for a conviction, but I was being paid for certainty. For every lurid act and detail. The skin beneath my cheeks burned with hatred for this dog. Thirty years is worse than a bullet I repeated to myself. The girl was actively fighting now, and the pit was loving it. His cock hanging grotesquely from the opening between his boxers, he was laughing as he threw the girl on the bed and pinned her by her wrists beneath his huge frame.
A voice on the fire escape to my left jerked me away from the camera. Joey's voice.
"HEY YOU FAT FUCK LEAVE THE GIRL ALONE! YEAH I'M TALKING TO YOU! THE COPS ARE ON THEIR WAY YOU FAT PIECE OF SHIT!"
The final image on my LCD is the fat pit looking enraged, his eyes fixed to my left. I look back to the room and I see the girl work her left leg free and clock the pit across the jaw with her heel. Then she's running, out of the frame of the window. On the street, another bodyguard runs to the car, a Mastiff in a brown suit. Then both of them are running toward the building.
Joey's voice aimed at the street, "WHERE THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU'RE GOING." They'll be working on the door any second.
FUCK. I threw my camera into my bad, dismantle the tripod and shove it in my bag as well. Scanning the room, what can they use to I.D. me. I'm good, unless they print the room. No time to wipe it down. Why would they, they'll have the punk kid that was squatting here. I unlock the desk drawer and grab the thirty eight.
A voice from the street. "HEY KID, WHY DON'T YOU COME HERE SO WE CAN TALK ABOUT THIS. NO REASON TO CALL THE COPS, THIS IS JUST A MISUNDERSTANDING."
"FUCK YOU MAN. COPS ARE COMING, SO YOU BETTER FUCK OFF BEFORE THEY GET HERE."
I walked through the door, and stop for an instant in the gangway that runs the length of the building above the warehouse floor. The chains on the door below and to the right give way, metal shearing as the door hinges go with it. Heavy pounding footsteps up metal stairs are approaching quickly. I'm moving to the left, away from the footsteps and away from Joey, after three more empty rooms, the gangway makes an left turn to a series of metal stairs leading to the roof. As I turned the corner, I heard Joey's panicked footsteps rush down the hallway and back into the room.
"Mack I think I messed...MACK?!? Oh shitshitshit." The heavy footsteps are on the gangway twenty feet away, fifteen, ten. In three seconds he'll be in the room with Joey.
I put my foot on the first stair.
The bodyguards had to make sure he didn't run down the fire escape, one of them is still in the street.
They Don't Know I'm Here.
I lowered my camera bag and placed it on the gangway. I slowly turned and walked back into our room. Stopping in the doorway, I couldn't see Joey around the enormous shoulders of the Mastiff looming in the middle of the room.
The deep voice of the Mastiff echoed. "Kid, if you didn't call the cops. We can work this out."
"Do you see a phone?" I could hear the fear in his voice, but he spoke clearly.
A slow laugh vibrated from the Mastiff. "That's what I thought. You got balls, kid." He arm moved to pull the gun from under his jacket. I walked up behind the Mastiff and savagely kicked out his knees, his legs folded beneath him as he grunted in shock and surprise. Before he could get his huge head around to face me, I pistol whipped him in the temple with the butt of the thirty eight. I felt the impact up to my shoulder. The mastiff should have been out, he hit the floor flat on his back, dazed but still reaching. His muzzle twisted in rage as his eyes regained focus, his shoulders started to come off the floor. I put another kick under his jaw and cracked his skull off the concrete. Dammit, the motherfucker saw me.
Joey was standing frozen as I pulled the guards weapon, checked the safety, and stuck it in my belt.
"Wake up, kid. We are leaving." Joey moved toward the folded clothes still lying on the corner of the desk and reached for his bag.
"Leave the bag, clothes on your back, that's it." I grab Joey's bag, and rifle through the contents for I.D., cans, more cans, I tear the nametag off one of the straps and shove it in my pocket. Then toss the bag in a corner.
Joey's got the button down on, and is pulling on the hoodie. Still moving underwater.
I grab him by both arms and lower my head so we're eye to eye. "It's OK. C'mon, we need to run...fast. Out the door to the left, up the stairs to the roof, then back down the fire escape on the rear of the building. I'll be behind you." He blinked and nodded, and he was running. I was two steps behind him, walking quickly to the door, scanning the room a last time for anything they could use against us. The sun was streaming through the windows, splashed across the unfinished mural above the unconscious body of the mastiff. Illuminating the heads of the painted wolves, locked in profile, I could see their eyes. One brown and one blue.