Unleashed, Page 3

  “Well, Dekk goes up and asks this dude what the fuck are you doing? And dude responds none of your fucking business. My boy Dekk here says well it’s my business now, you fuck bubble,” I nodded toward Dekk and took a drink of my beer.

  “So what happened? Where’s the finger come into the story?” Austin chimed.

  “Dude. Jesus. Learn to listen. I’m tellin’ the story, you’re listenin’. So listen. Fuck. Where was I, Dekk?” I asked.

  “Smashing the Kindle,” Dekk said as he tilted his head back.

  “Yeah, so let’s see. Dekk asks Kace, you alright? She says yeah, I’m fine. Dekk says you sure, you can tell me. She says she’s sure. And that’s that. Then two years later he goes to pay his insurance, and she’s working in there. He says you remember me? She says, fuck dude, I never forgot you. This is a good little love story. Anyway. They kick it for a few lunch dates, and she tells Dekk her husband is an abusive prick. Dekk tells her if he ever lays a hand on her to let him know. See, Dekk and I don’t put up with that shit. Where you from Dekk? Your old neighborhood?” I asked as I raised my beer to my lips.

  “Compton,” he responded.

  “Yeah. Well, I’d drive to Compton to kick a motherfucker’s ass that fucks with a girl. Cocksucker’s have no respect for women. So anyway, one day Dekk and I are grillin’ chicken and the phone rings. It’s Shorty. She says she got beat up by her douchebag boyfriend,” I raised my hands to my chin and looked back and forth between Austin and A-Train.

  “So Shorty and Kace they’re the same person?” Austin asked.

  “Pay fuckin’ attention. Yes they’re the same person. Dude, you’re startin’ to irritate me. You’re here because I invited you to be. You keep acting like a fucking dork, and I’m not askin’ you again. Now pay fucking attention,” I narrowed my gaze and shook my head at Austin.

  “Anyway, where were we Dekk?” I asked as I grabbed my beer and sat back in the chair.

  “When Kace called that Saturday,” Dekk nodded.

  “Yeah, so listen up, Austin,” I joked, “I ain’t lookin’ to repeat myself.”

  “So, she called and drove over. Came back to the deck in the back yard. Dekk and I are grillin’ chicken. She’s covered in blood. Says she’s okay, and that she don’t need any medical attention. She’s a mean little bitch, Kace. So, anyway. Dekk says he’s gonna go take care of the fuck bubble that did it to her. I ain’t about to let Dekk take care of shit, not that he can’t, but if he did, and he got nabbed by the cops, hell. Hell, he’d be in the same boat as me. So, I said to Dekk, I said…tell ‘em what I said Dekk,” I motioned toward Dekk with my beer bottle as I leaned back into my chair.

  “Well, you said you need to take care of the girl, Dekk. And you said I got this,” Dekk nodded as he smiled.

  “God damned right. I got this. That’s what I said. Same thing I always say, which reminds me of another story. So, Austin. When we get done with this story, remind me to tell you ‘bout the phone call,” I hesitated, recalling Vee’s attempt to convince me to turn myself in to the authorities.

  “So, I said I got this. And I drove over to shit-head’s house. Got the keys from Kace. Now this fuckin’ poor excuse for a man, when I get there, is on the couch. I give him a couple in the gut to settle him down, and he starts cryin’ like a girl,” I raised my beer bottle, realized it was empty, and waved at the waitress for another round.

  “So, he starts running his gob, telling me how sorry he is. I ask him if he’s got any tools,” I paused and rubbed my chin in my hand as I thought.

  “Tools? Like tools? Like pliers and saws and shit?” Austin scrunched his brow as he spoke.

  “Yeah, motherfucker, tools. I wanted to torture this asshole,” I laughed.

  “That’s what I’m talking about,” A-Train laughed as he exhaled smoke and nodded his head.

  “So, I think I’d smacked him in the mouth maybe. Seems like he had a bloody face at this point. I ask him about the tools, and he motions to the back room. I go back there and get a handful of shit. I get back in the front room, and this dumb asshole is still sittin’ there, waitin’ for me to torture him. Now if I was him, and he was me, and he was comin’ to torture me, and getting’ shit in my back room? I’d have run like a motherfucker and left his ass in my house scratchin’ his fuckin’ head wonderin’ where the fuck I’d run off to. Something. But no, he sits and waits,” I hesitated as the waitress placed three more beers on the table and refilled Shane’s water.

  “Well, I walked back into the room with a handful of tools. I hold up a hammer and a pair of sheers. I asked this dumb fuck if he wants to lose teeth or a finger. And he did something. Hell, I don’t remember what it was. But it was disrespectful or something and I was tired of fucking with him. So I hauled off and hit him in the mouth with the hammer,” I paused for effect and looked around the table.

  A-Train slowly shook his head and smiled. Austin raised both of his hands to his mouth and covered it as if he were protecting it. Shane was leaning back in his chair shaking his head at me as if I were some form of idiot. As Shane rolled his eyes, I started speaking again.

  “So, he did something else, fuck I don’t even remember. But he pissed me off again. I think he was spitting and crying. But I was thinking I wanted to do something he would be sure to remember. That way he’d never really want to fuck with another girl again. I sat down beside him with the sheers, and I was gonna just cut off the tip. So I get the tip of his finger in the sheers, and tell this dumb fuck to hold still. But I started squeezing the sheers, and this dumb fucker flinches just at the time I squeezed ‘em,” I squeezed my right hand as if I were squeezing the sheers.

  “Oh holy fuck. Did you? You didn’t?” Austin squealed.

  “The fuck I didn’t. That’s what this story is about. I did. So I squeeze these sheers, like I squeeze ‘em a little bit. And this dude has some sheers from hell. They’re as sharp as little goddamned razors. I squeeze, he flinches, and plop. His entire goddamned finger drops in my fucking lap. Just plops down there,” I pointed to my lap and raised my eyebrows as I looked at Austin.

  “Holy shit,” Austin said as he covered his eyes with his hands.

  “Holy shit is right. Now this fucker’s bleeding like a stuck pig and slobbering and shit and I’ve had enough of this weirdo. I wrap his hand in a towel, and duct tape it to his wrist and remind him if he ever gets a notion to fuck with Kace or any other woman for that matter, to just forget it. I put his finger in my pocket and went home. Now when I got there, I wanted to kind of keep it like a trophy. You know, show it to Dekk and say look at what I did. But I stuck that bad boy in the freezer in a Zip-Lock bag and forgot it,” I laughed and leaned back into the chair and crossed my arms.

  “Holy,” Austin uncovered his eyes and stared.

  “Fuck,” he continued.

  “Tell them the rest,” Dekk laughed.

  “There’s more?” Austin gasped.

  “Oh yeah. This is funny. So, we’re grilling outside a few months later and Dekk goes in the house, for ice. He comes outside with the finger, screaming about shit. No wait. He came out screaming about it. Yeah, he saw it in the freezer and he came outside sayin’ I was gross for keepin’ it. Well, I get this little frozen morsel, and I stick it in my pocket, and hell I have no idea what I’m thinkin’ half the time. But anyway. I decide to grill this little fucker and get rid of the evidence. So I try and grill it, and the little fucker just falls through the little bars into the grill. Now, at the exact minute I’m grillin’ the finger – or tryin’ anyway, here comes Shorty and her friend. They open the gate, and some hot ass blonde walks through and is like, hi, nice to meet ya. Well, I ain’t gonna let ‘em see it, and the grillin’ of it ain’t goin’ so smooth, so I toss it in my pocket,” I raised my beer, realized it was empty, and waved at the waitress again.

  “Damn, Ripp. Slow down. You’ve had like seven of those fuckers,” Dekk laughed.

  “Hell, I’m fine. Don’t worry about it Dekk, damn. S
o anyway. So I got this finger in my pocket, and I’m walking around hittin’ on this girl and I realize that I got this finger in my pocket and it’s a hundred fuckin’ degrees, so this little frozen fucker is melting. So Shorty and Dekk are talkin’. No wait. Shorty and Dekk were in the house fuckin’, and this chick and I are talking, and she reached for my leg. I thought she was goin’ for my cock, so I stand there and smile. But she ain’t goin’ for the cock. She pokes my fuckin’ shorts and says oh my God, what’s that? And I look down at my shorts and there’s a fuckin’ spot where this fuckin’ dude’s finger has thawed out and blood stained my shorts,” I paused as the waitress dropped off another round of beers.

  “So did you get busted?” Austin asked.

  “No, check this out. I tell this chick that Dekk and I had been eatin’ grapes and I left one in my pocket. Told her the thing must have got squished and left a stain. And she buys the story. So I reach in my pocket and act like I’m pullin’ out the grape and tossin’ it in the yard. But instead, I open the grill and toss that fucker in there and just let it cook with the chicken. So, nobody knows what’s really up but me,” I paused and leaned into the table, pressing my hands against the edge of the top.

  “So, this fucker starts stinkin’, smellin’ like burnin’ flesh. Stinks up the whole yard. Smells like a burnin’ god damned body. That one little fuckin’ finger smokin’ and stinkin’ to the high heaven. Dekk comes out, and I get the chicken pulled off the grille, and we all eat, and nobody knows nothin’. Next day, I tell Dekk about the whole grape bullshit story and the finger, grillin’ it, and that I only let the girls eat the dirty shit. That’s the funny part, Dekk and I ate the clean chicken and the girls ate the dirty chicken,” I clapped my hands together and smiled as I picked up my fresh beer.

  “And that’s the finger story,” I chuckled as I tilted the bottle against my lips.

  “You’re mistaken, it was all dirty,” A-Train said as he took a drag from his cigarette.

  “Excuse me?” I looked over my left shoulder in disbelief.

  “The chicken, if it was cooking in an enclosed grille. Every bit of it was contaminated. The airborne particulate matter from the burning finger got on all of the chicken. So, from a cleanliness standpoint, it was all dirty chicken,” A-Train laughed as he exhaled a cloud of smoke.

  “You fuckin’ sure?” I looked across the table at Dekk as he shrugged his shoulders, and turned to face A-Train.

  “Hundred percent. Contaminants don’t rise straight up, especially if they’re heated. They expand. P V over T equals P V over T is the gas law. Pressure and Volume over Temperature. Temperature increased when you cooked the chicken and the finger over a flame. Volume didn’t change. The enclosed grille didn’t get any fucking bigger. So, according to the perfect law of gasses, the pressure increased. The way it increases is that the gasses, or in this case, the smoke from the finger, expanded. Bottom line? Every bit of that chicken was contaminated. I wouldn’t have eaten that shit. But that’s a righteous story, cutting off the dude’s finger and all. Loved it. I’d have done the same thing,” he said as he took another drag from his cigarette.

  “Holy shit. Are you a Marine or some kind of scientist?” Austin asked.

  “Shut it Austin,” I interrupted, “You fucking sure?”

  “Yep. I’m sure. And no Austin, I’m not a scientist. But I know a little bit about a lot. You never know when things are going to come in useful. So, you ever tell the girls about the chicken or the finger?” A-Train asked as he bent down and stepped on his cigarette butt.

  “No, never told ‘em. Dude, that’s fucked up. You hear that shit, Dekk? We ate dirty chicken. Son-of-a-bitch,” I shook my head and tipped up my beer bottle, shocked that it was empty.

  “I heard what he said. I never thought the chicken was clean. I don’t let stuff like that bother me, so it’s no big deal,” Dekk smiled as he slowly shook his head in disbelief.

  “You fuckers are all crazy. I love it,” Austin laughed as his head swiveled back and forth, glancing at each of us for a fraction of a second.

  “I don’t know that I’d call the fella’s crazy. A battalion of drunken Marines with weapons is crazy. These guys are just having fun. I don’t know how you wear that damned thing in this heat, Dekk. It’s fucking night time and it’s still a hundred fucking degrees. Damn,” A-Train said as he slowly stood from his seat.

  “Well hell, I need to hit the head, I’m about to split wide open,” he continued.

  “Huh?” Austin immediately remarked.

  “Piss, dude. That’s Marine speak. It means I need to piss too,” I said as I pushed myself away from the table.

  “Yeah, me too,” Austin said as he stood.

  “I’m alright. I’ll watch the table,” Shane nodded.

  As I stood, it became immediately apparent that I had consumed far too many beers. My head began to spin slowly, and the ground began to move under my feet as I walked to the bathroom. Relieving myself provided minimal relief from my drunken state, and as we walked back from the bathroom Austin made note of my inability to walk.

  “Damn, boss. You alright, you’re kind of staggering,” he chuckled as his hand slapped against my shoulder.

  The slap knocked me off balance and caused me to take a step to catch my footing again. Attempting to time my steps perfectly as I walked provided little assurance that everything wasn’t going to come crashing down. I focused on my feet, hoping that staring at them would cause them to provide more stability to my quivering legs.

  “I need to exercise,” I stuttered as we reached the table.

  “Shit we just worked out yesterday,” Austin said as he sat down.

  “No dude, I mean right now. I’m getting tipsy,” I said as I moved my chair from the table, stared into the seat, and braced myself on the flimsy metal arm.

  “You aren’t getting tipsy, you are tipsy. And you think you’re going to exercise, drunk, at eleven o’ clock at night?” A-Train chuckled as he held an unlit cigarette in between his fingers.

  “Do it all the time. If I drink too much, I’ll do something to use up the alcohol,” I nodded as I sat down in the chair.

  “Use it up?” A-Train asked.

  “Yep. Use it up. You know, get rid of it. I’ve gone for a run at midnight half-drunk. It’ll sober you up quick,” I explained.

  Dekk reached back and pulled his hood from his shoulders as I spoke. As he pressed the hood against his cheeks, he smiled and shook his head. Sometimes I wish I knew what he was thinking, because he sure shakes his head at me without speaking an awful lot.

  On a Tuesday night in Austin at a seedy bar in the north end of the city, there’s not too much to do for entertainment or exercise. As I looked out into parking area, I noticed a new model Fiat 500 sitting in the dimly lit parking lot. A quick glance around the patio revealed no patrons other than the four of us. The heat prevented most people, short of smokers, from sitting outside.

  “Anybody see that shit on YouTube, the videos about car tippin’ and stuff?” I asked as I stood up and looked at the car.

  “What? Car tippin’? No, Ripp. We’re not tipping over cars. You’re in enough trouble as it is. Let’s pay the bill and just go,” Dekk said as he pulled money from his pocket and tossed it onto the table.

  For Dekk to pay the bill after a night of drinking, he must have seriously wanted to make sure he kept me out of trouble. I stared across the lot at the car, which from where I was standing in the outdoor seating area, appeared to be about as tall as my waist.

  “What do you think that little fucker weighs, Dekk?” I asked.

  “No, we’re leaving, come on,” he said as he grabbed my shoulder in his hand and tried to turn me toward the bar entrance.

  “A-Train?” I asked.

  “I don’t know. Maybe fifteen hundred pounds. It’s the size of a fucking go-cart,” A-Train responded.

  “I can tip it. I know I can,” I said.

  The area where we were seated was an outdoor
covered patio that was attached to the front of the bar. A handrail separated the seating area from the parking lot and provided a little discouragement to patrons considering leaving before paying their bills. Typically, we walked in through the bar, out the front door, and into the parking lot. Texas law prevented entering and leaving an establishment that served alcohol through the patio. As Dekk walked in the direction of the door that entered the bar, I stepped over the handrail and began walking across the parking lot toward the Fiat.

  “God damn it Ripp,” I heard him wail.

  I turned and looked around amongst the sparsely parked cars. There wasn’t a patron in the lot, or any cars coming or going. The overhang from the covered patio prevented the customers in the bar and restaurant from seeing into this portion of the parking lot. I pressed my hands against the side of the car, close to the top, and pushed as hard as I could with my arms. The tires lifted in the air about two feet as I pushed the top upward. I released pressure and let the car drop to the ground. As it bounced up and down from my releasing it, Austin and A-Train stepped beside me.

  “Well, what’d you decide, boss?” Austin chuckled as he approached.

  “I think it’s a doable deal, but I’m going to need help,” I blinked my eyes and stared at the top of the car.

  “Well, let’s push this little fucker over. Car tippin’,” Austin said as he looked over each shoulder and leaned into the top of the car, pressing his hands against the top of the window.

  “Car tippin’,” I repeated as I pushed against the top of the car.

  The tires lifted above the ground roughly three feet, hovering at the height of my belt. I groaned and grunted, pressing with my legs against the weight of the car. Although it teetered back and forth, two men alone weren’t enough to push the car beyond the center of gravity, and cause it to roll over. As we released the weight, allowing the car to once again come crashing down, Shane walked up to the car.

  “Almost,” A-Train laughed as he lit a cigarette.

  “You dumb drunken fucks. Let’s go before someone or everyone gets arrested,” Dekk said as he walked up to the group.