Austin II

I locked the door behind me as I ran to look outside the front windows. Mr. Jordans blinds were old and tattered, the wood slates crooked in places. Outside, there was no sign of that mysterious black car along the pothole littered road. That was good. I must have lost him with my Steve Mcqueen driving. Mr. Jordan wasn’t impressed.

“God damn why you drive like that?” He said as he stumbled and mumbled into the house. He was wiping the sweat from his brow and sat down with a huff into his tan lazy-boy. Maybe it used to be white, but enough grime had clumped and accumulated along the headrest and arms that it would not be going back to its orginal color with any amount of cleaner. I didn’t think Henry prioritized cleaning anything in this home. He seemed more a man of comfort. 

“You ain’t workin with that man are you?” He asked, blinking up at me. Or, well, looking close enough to where I was. “You aren’t in on it all? Trying to get any money my boy got?” He had  outstretched a shaky hand and found me easy enough, pointing an accusatory finger. The other hand curled around a cane he grabbed from the inner door. He sat crooked in his chair still heaving with heavy breaths. “He was only gone a damned night.” He continued. 

I felt for him. He didn’t have anyone anymore. And I must have scared the shit out of him. A stranger rushing him back home, talking about being followed. All the while he was drunk and at my mercy. Could I even be merciful anymore? Seems counterintuitive with my mission.

“No I'm not.” I swished the blinds close and kneeled next to him. “I’m one of the good guys Henry.”

He huffed at that and turned away. Placing both hands over his dog head cane. “That’s what all the crazies say.”

I shrugged. He had a point. Especially after the long life he had lived. What was ‘good’ would change with the centuries as they tumbled by. A stone showing a new side every year before crushing you up cause you stared and debated in its path too long.

I looked around the bare room. The living room was sparsely decorated with an old radio that was bigger than the tv. A record player sat on a side table with records lined from one wall to the other about twenty feet. The kitchen fan was spinning making an incessant clicking noise. Below it was a small kitchenette with pans and cookware spread across the counters. You could still smell the stale oil collecting on the countertops. The only other rooms were down a long hallway that ended at the backdoor which was locked. I checked. 

But on the way there I couldn’t help but notice the door on the left of the hallway was dented in and splintered. Dried brown blood was splattered on it. In a pattern like a rorschach test. 

The other door was open slightly and had a basic room with an ashtray on any surface that could hold one. A sloppy room. With a cockroach scurrying under the pile of clothing gathered in the corner as I squeaked the door open more. It reminded me of my old place. Before I cleaned myself up for her. Without the ashtrays of course. I didn’t have the attention span to get addicted to nicotine.

“So you told me you were looking for your wife?” Mr. Jordan asked. “Bring me a drink from the kitchen.”

I did so, finding a somewhat clean glass to take a shot of whiskey and pouring a couple fingers in another and handing it over. 

“My wife,” I sighed. “Unfortunately, has passed. Um.. She died in a nefarious manner. Like your nephew. But you know… More a matter of circumstance than…”

“Going out and getting himself killed?” He finished before gritting his teeth and taking a swig. He gave a short whistle as the drink slid down his gullet. “Lord. It’s hard getting drunk ain't it? Bring me that cola in the fridge, its flat but I need something sweet.” 

“Don’t we all?” I patted my legs and stood up, doing what he asked.

“Don’t get sweet with me now,” He replied after taking a more satisfying drink now with flat coke.

“Anyways.” I started up again.

“Anyway.” He stopped me. “Not anyways.” he emphasized the s at the end like a snake. “It’s anyway. Ain’t no word such as anyways.” I grinned at that. 

“Anyway. I’ve been looking for this man, a tall, lengthy man, he wears a black hat with a feather along the brim.” I pantomimed such a hat, pulling my pinched fingers through my scalp to make the invisible feathery plume. I didn’t realize it was a foolish maneuver until days after our chat.

He took a moment to think about my description. “A real zoot suit motherfucker I imagine? A real snake in human skin. One white honcho huh?”

“I believe he was white, could have a mix of anything really. He knocked me about pretty bad. I had trouble giving a description to the police. Not that they cared to talk to me at all. But I remember his hat.”

“That sounds about right.” He took another swig and grimaced. In a smaller quieter voice out of the corner of his mouth he said. “Tell him I'm sorry.” He blinked clearly at me. Then his face caught back up with himself, he continued normally. “Sounds like the man that visited me. A southern born, Cajun. A greasy devil he was.”

“Why should I tell him you're sorry?” I asked. Confused about his demeanor change.

“What?” He asked, tilting his head. Then he blinked twice and his eyes lit up clear. The grey giving way to brown. He looked at me with a new face.

“My uncle always looked out for me, man. He raised me practically. Tell him I'm sorry. I would myself but he might lose his mind if i’m talking to him on the wind.”

My stool tipped over as I rushed back. Suddenly Mr. Jordan was back to himself.

“What was that? Who’s here?” He asked, clutching his cane like a bat in front of him. I saw someone else in Mr. Jordan's face. But I couldn’t tell him that. He already thought I was an odd duck. 

“Sorry I stood up and the stool fell back.” I slowly righted it and stared at the man. The men?

“Zeke?” I asked. This time his eye cleared faster and I saw the wrinkles lessen. Before me was a younger man, almost pretending to be an old man. But doing a bad job at it. He sat up a little taller. Grew steadier, almost nonchalant.

“Yeah Yeah Yeah. You know it.” He said. Making a disappointed click out of the side of his mouth. “I’m stuck here for the time being. Purgatory I think. Looks pretty boring… Similar to our world. Just... I can’t do much. Damn am I a ghost? That’s fucking wack.” He flexed his fingers and stayed present. Inhabiting his uncle's body. 

I placed the stool firmly in front of me. Flexing the wood in my hands. Hoping it would ground me. Root me like a tree and take me back to a world that made sense. It didn’t quite work.

“What do you want from me? Why are you here?” I stammered.

“Well. Two things. You gotta tell him I'm sorry man. You gotta. I don’t know how it got so bad.”

He looked around and sighed.

“I really don’t. I mean, like, it snuck up on me fast... The gambling, the drugs. All of it. It’s like...” He did a motion with his hands that traveled up and down the body he was in. And emphasized the word “HE” as he did so. “He worked so hard to keep me away from those parts of the neighborhood. I really let him down.” If a possessed man could look disappointed in his possessed half then he was doing it. 

“I guess you gotta stay on top of things you know? People don’t tell you that. They say, ‘get that paper, be a big dog, hold shit down, take care of your people, your girl if you got one.’ But shit. They never tell you how you have to look after your mind first.” With a tattooed hand he touched his temple. The back of his hand had a ratty and faded looking wolfshead inked on. Shimmering in and out of life. 

“You gotta be wary of your soul in this life. Don’t let yourself be caught slipping. Don’t let those devils in. Uncle was right about that. Always talking about devils and stuff. How you can’t feed your sinful self… Shit! Now Satan is right around the corner. I can fucking hear the fires man, it’s terryfying, but I deserve it. That I do. Damn. Damn. Damn do I wish I could get a second shot.” He sighed and placed his head in his hands. 

“Here, let me get some of this.” He picked up the drink and took a sip. “Fuck,” he said as he swished it around his mouth. “Tastes like ash.” 

“Why are you still here?” I asked in disbelief. The man's new eyes settled on me. He shrugged.

“When my number is called... Whenever that is. Maybe when they knock down this shit house or when the rapture happens. I don’t know. I’ll be roasting. Or maybe just stuck in a box somewhere. That’s fine with me. As long as I'm not watching Uncle crying in the dark over me. Fuck. I’m gonna, won’t I? Gonna have to watch that?” His eyes steadied on me.

“Uh. I don’t know how it works.” I replied. 

“That’s part of it I guess. Bastards man. Bastards.” He cleared his throat. “Secondly I want you to get some of my shit out of the house. There’s a box in there. It’s gonna help you along. It was my stash, you know, in life. It will only pain Unc if he finds it. Get it out of here for me.”

“I can do that.” I said.

“Thanks.” He steadied his hands on the cane in front of him. Then twirled it around his grip. Placing it back down. Looking at me over his curled fists. “You know also. You are on a path like me. Right? You might be my bunk mate for all eternity.” He snickered. “The path you are going down. It’s only gonna end badly for you... and this revenge you are seeking. Is she worth it? Better think hard about that?”

I pushed the stool against the ground. The wood creaked under my grip. “I’ll clock you in the face if your ghost-ass talks bad about her.” I raised a finger jamming it at him like a priest would shove forward his cross towards a descending vampire. “I don’t care if you are inhabiting an old man! I’ll punch you to the pearly gates you little shit. You dumb fuck. You disappointing dipshit!” Blood was rushing to my face as I berated the little twerp. “Look what you’ve done to your father. Not your UNCLE! He loved you like a son! That makes him your father!”

His form vanished. His eyes clogged up and the wrinkles came forward again on old man Henry, the inky shadows of faded tattoos disappeared and Mr. Jordan blinked at me. Himself again. His gaze on the floor by my feet. 

There was a soft ringing in my ears and a chill crept over me. I realized I was staring at him finishing his words as he was mid-thought. “... always reassured me that the people coming by were friends. But he never invited them in,” He slurred. “What kind of friend was that? The neighbors told me to kick him out. Kick him out cause he owes lots of money to bad folks, didn’t want me to get wrapped up in it. But damn I was too loyal. Too…”

“Loving.” I finished taking a breath and looking around the room for the apparition. “Big hearts get broken the hardest don’t they?”

He took a second to think about that. “Big hearts can still be careful with who they let move in. Being kind doens’t mean you have to be dumb.”

“That’s true.” I said. I had sat back down sometime in response to him. Back on the rickety kitchenette stool. 

“I wish I could have done more. If I just pressed him more. I don’t know.” He tapped the cane back down in front of him and looked off into the fading sunlight. The orange light made his skin look like drying clay. The tremble in his bottom lip showed true that the foundation was crumbling. 

“He does too.” I said as I calmed myself. Why argue with the dead? 

All those with regrets deserve pity. 

I placed a hand on his thin shoulder. “I know he does too. He wishes he could get a second chance at things. I know he feels so sorry about it all. God knows too, he does.”

“God wasn't here when your Louisiana man came.” He said giving my hand a pat and leaving it there for a second too long for his liking. He brushed it away. And stiffened back up. Well stiffened back to his hunched frame. His demeanor was still shivering but he strengthened the best he could for his liquored up self. “I don’t even know who the fuck you are? What you doing in my house? I’m a clown to have gotten so drunk out in the sun. Let strangers in.”

“Do you believe in fate?” I asked.

He scoffed.

“I’m serious. Do you?” I asked again.

“Stop it silly boy.” He waved a hand at me.

“I see you're a religious man. So tell me, do you believe in fate? How about faith?”

“I. I. Don’t rightly know what I believe anymore. After so much god damned pain. So much fuckin misery.” He pounded on his chest, it covered up the sound of the clicking fan in the background. 

“Well I do. I don’t have your faith per-se but I do believe in fate. I think… No. I know, fate led me to meeting you outside that liquor store. Because this Cajun son of-a-bitch is going to face justice for the evil acts he’s done in Arizona and now in Texas. You say God wasn’t here to protect Zeke. But maybe. I don’t know… Maybe something or someone sent me to clean up this mess. To help.” I believed it too. Too many coincidences. 

“I’d like to think so, Mr. Jordan. It's the only thing that makes any sense. I was meant to cross paths with you so that you could help me. And I could help your boy get some peace. Does that sound right? I’m going after this man that hurt your family. Because he hurt mine. I have the will to do it. I’m still sad, sure. I am. But I'm pissed off, every bit of me… Is angry.”

“You seem more an idiot than an angel son.” He smirked and wiped the tears away.

“That’s true.” I smiled back and I knew the words resonated with him. He matched my smile with his gap-toothy grin. “But why don’t we have a little faith too. So when I leave here I can take some of that pain with me. I need it more than you, it’s good fuel, ain’t it? So have some faith in me. Have some faith in us. How we met here today, how we helped each other.” 

I put out my hand in front of him. With the other I pulled his hand into a handshake. He gripped it strong and firm. His hands twisted with arthritis but he didn’t yelp with pain as I squeezed back. I slapped my hand on top of it and he nodded with the motion.

“Yes, Let's say so. You are gonna find him. You are gonna make him pay. Please do.”

“I will. I promise. Thanks to both of you.” I let go and patted my thighs. “But first I gotta take a shit. Can I use the bathroom?”