Darker Shades of Fear

(Installment 34)

 

So you don't know were you're going, and you wanna talk
And you feel like you're going where you've been before
You tell anyone who'll listen but you feel ignored
Nothing's really making any sense at all

Let’s talk, let’s talk

Let’s Talk

 

* * *

 

Truthfully, he hadn’t expected that things would go so wrong so fast.  He knew it was going to get bad, but he had figured that it was going to take a month or so.  Despite his unreliable judgment of time, he could tell for certain that it had been something like a week.  He was naive to think a man like Pezziano wouldn’t have been suspicious.  Or, for that matter, that the man wouldn’t cross-reference everyone who walked through his door for the first time.  He had noticed the tiny security camera above the door but paid no mind to it.  And while he had been able to remain relatively invisible for quite some time, he did exist, even if he were declared legally dead.  He wasn’t really sure if he legally existed anymore.  He hadn’t ever filed taxes or taken a census, but no one would have cared enough to really care about his existence anyway.  Except, of course, Pezziano, who undoubtedly had very good friends high up in the legal system.  Naturally, he would start his search with the information Kenny had given him.  It wasn’t a lot, but enough to know he should start with Clark and work from there.

It was the first time that he didn’t have a plan.  There was no solution to this mess, no way he could somehow maneuver a clever escape attempt.  He knew that had to change, were he going to live through this. 

He cursed himself mentally.  Even heroes knew when to be scared, and Kenny knew that he was certainly the furthest thing from a hero.  A coward, of all things should be aware of their limits.

He wasn’t sure if he even wanted get through this at all.  What did he have left to look forward to?  If this was going to be the rest of his life, he might as well walk right up to Pezziano’s doorstep and kiss the man’s feet.  He was sure though, that a fate worse than death was planned for him.

‘Why do they always have to be so dramatic?’

Who?

‘Gangsters.  It’s all so ridiculous.’

Maybe to you.  They have a strange sense of honor and dignity.

He snorted, ‘That’s twisted.’

Coming from you, I’d say that speaks volumes about them.

‘I mean, there’s no dignity in what I’ve done. There’s no dignity in what I am, and let’s be honest here, I’m not half the monster these guys are.’

No argument here.

With a sigh, Kenny set out to lose himself for the day.

 

His days were typically uneventful, and he tried to stay out of view for the most part.  He’d seen a few of Pezziano’s men out and about his local haunts, so until he had some semblance of a plan, he thought it best to keep out of sight.  He spent most of his time in a library he’d found.  It was quiet, he could easily go unnoticed, and there was plenty of material to occupy his time. 

Today he found himself inside a 7-11, lingering idly around the aisles, taking in the large assortments of junk food and flavors of Ben and Jerry’s ice cream.  He found it amusing that the carton proudly proclaimed its anti-artificial hormone stance and its part in the mission for a cleaner, greener planet earth while containing enough calories to bless its consumer with heart failure. 

Then again, the world would be exponentially better off were it not for the people in it.

He smiled, and concluded that Ben and Jerry had it pretty well figured.  Moving on, he noticed the wide variety of Chex mixes, and decided to go with the traditional.  The peanut butter sounded like a good idea, but he had the suspicion it would taste revolting in reality.  Though he did have a craving for peanut butter.  He picked out a small plastic jar of Skippy and some strawberry jelly, as he’d never been a fan of grape.  A small loaf of white bread and a bottle of water joined the rest of his items; he made himself a cherry slurpee, just for the hell of it.

He added a pack of cigarettes to his purchases at the checkout desk.  Kenny noticed a thin piece of paper stuck between two bills before he handed them to the clerk.  A single name and a phone number had been written on it.  It was probably just another prostitute.  They tended to leave information on business cards, and this was definitely a business card.  He paid the man behind the desk and left the store, curious about Maria and why he still had her information. 

Maria.  It was a vaguely familiar name.  It was also very common, and that certainly didn’t help.  He flipped the card over, and noticed the information had been crossed out, with the same ink used to write the name and number on the back.  It had been a printed call-girl card, and he was pretty sure that he’d slept with her.  Why had she tried to hide her “occupation” when he knew, first hand, what she did for a living?

Maybe you treated her like a woman instead of a whore.  Maybe she didn’t want you to see the card, and think “hey, I can call her for a good time!”

He tried to think, but his memory was basically useless.  Perhaps if he called her, and heard her voice, he would remember something.  He had no idea why this was bothering him so much, but it was, and he couldn’t stand things that nagged at him and went unanswered. 

He walked a while, and found a payphone.  In the age of cellular devices, there was little use for public phones, he guessed, as there were very few to be found.  He inserted correct change, dialed the number, and listened to the rings until the answering machine picked up.

“You have reached Maria Riccardi.  Please leave your name, phone number, and a message.”

“Here’s my number, call me sometime if you wanna go out for coffee… or something.”

“Bye, Foxi.”

“You know, um, you can call me Maria.”

Recognition kicked in just before the beep signified it was time to leave a message.  “Maria… hi, it’s Kenny… you probably don’t remember me – and there’s no reason you should – but I just found your number in my wallet, and if the offer is still good, I’d like to get that coffee you talked about-”

“Kenny?”

He hadn’t expected her to pick up the phone. 

Of course she screens her calls, you idiot.

“Hi… you screen your calls?”

“It’s a private number, but if you had my job, you’d screen too.”

“That’s true.”

“I wasn’t expecting you to call.”

Neither was I, he thought.  “Things have been… kind of crazy.”

“That’s life, for you.”

“No kidding.  Are you still up for coffee?”

“That depends.  Are we talking the real stuff, or what my shitty Mr. Coffee spits out in the morning?”

Kenny laughed, “The real stuff.  From a real café with comfy chairs and pretentious folks with those narrow, thick-rimmed glasses.”

“How can I resist?” She laughed, “Anyplace in mind?”

They selected a place and settled on meeting later in the afternoon.  Kenny felt relieved when he placed the phone back in its cradle.  He needed to talk with someone other than himself.  He craved the petty bullshit nonsense of the ordinary.

Human connection.  You need to connect to someone.

Kenny thought about it.  ‘Maybe you’re right’. 

 

He’d dropped his purchases at the motel, showered, dressed, and made sure he wasn’t followed before he found the coffee joint Maria had described.  It was situated in the nice part of town, and looked like a hole in the wall, but inside it was spacious well-maintained.  He found a seat near the door and decided it would be a good place to wait.  His eyes drifted over the entirety of the establishment, taking in everything from architecture and decorating to the people it featured.  There were plenty of pretentious folks with their narrow, thick-rimmed glasses.  He laughed to himself and shook his head.  What was he doing here?  Why had he called her in the first place?

It doesn’t matter why.  Why did you go to Leah’s the first time?  Stop trying to figure everything out and just go with it.  Besides, what else are you going to do?

It was a valid point.  Kenny sunk into the chair and waited another six minutes before Maria walked in.

She was dressed simply, a pair of blue jeans and a red shirt with a black jacket over it and a pair of low, sensible heels.  Kenny approached her and she smiled as she greeted him.  She looked so different in juxtaposition to when he had first seen her.  He paid for her coffee and they found a quiet table at the far side of the room.

“This is a nice place.” He said.

“Chairs, pretentious asshats, and all.  I’m impressed.”  She grinned.

They sipped their drinks, at a loss for what to say next.  Kenny rarely socialized, and when he did, it was typically with the bartender.  What was he supposed to say?  How exactly did this work?  It was so absurd, all of it.  She was practically a stranger.  What could they possibly have to say to each other? 

She sighed, “I have to ask you something, but don’t take it the wrong way.”

He nodded.

“Why did you invite me here?  We know nothing about each other and I’m not dressed for work.  If that’s why-”

“I didn’t call you for sex.” He said, “I don’t know why I called you.”

“I don’t know why I answered.” She replied.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“What?” She asked, confused.

“It doesn’t matter why I called, or why you answered.  We’re both here, having coffee, and we seem to be doing all right.”

“I’m sorry, it’s just… I haven’t been out like this with anyone in a long time.  I’m not used to it, I guess.”

 He smiled, “Me neither.”

“You forget what it’s like to really talk to someone else after a while.”

“I know the feeling.” A little too well.

“I’m beginning to think even my pets are getting sick of listening to me.”

“I’m sure they’re very interested.” He said, “What kind of pets do you have?”

“A canary and a cat.”

“That doesn’t sound like a good combination.”

“It’s like Looney Tunes in my living room.”

Kenny laughed.  “You named them Sylvester and Tweety, didn’t you?”

“…Maybe.”

“Do you have a rabbit named Bugs?”

She rolled her eyes, “No, I don’t.”

“No duck named Daffy?”

“Now you’re pushing it.”

“Tom and Jerry?”

“They weren’t Looney Tunes.”  She reminded.

“Just checking.” He said, “D-”

“There’s no pig named Porky, either.” She interjected, narrowing her eyes.

“Hey, you never know.”

“What about you?  Any animals named after cartoon characters I can hassle you over?”

“I’m sad to say no.”

“Well, I’m sure I’ll find something worth hassling you over by the time we’re through tonight.”

“We’ll see about that.”

 

Talking with her was surprisingly effortless.  Conversation flowed easily, despite their initial awkwardness.  She was very intelligent, which he had not expected.  She was very well-read, and that wasn’t at all something he was prepared to discover.  He welcomed it nonetheless and found that she was possibly even more educated on the subject than himself.

“You’d think I’d be able to speak Spanish fluently, but my mother was one of those ‘my-children-are-American-so-that’s-what-they-speak’ types.  I wish I had learned, so I could’ve read the original version.  So much gets lost in translation.”

“Certain aspects of the novel, like the concept of time and Biblical parallels I understood… but to be honest, most of it was pretty farfetched.”

She smiled a knowing little grin, “The thing about magical realism, is that the ‘magical’ events, the parts that seem impossible and fantastic, are simply bits of folklore.  The people of Macando believe these superstitions, because every culture has its own legends and myths.”

“Like ‘it’s bad luck to put new shoes on the table’?”

“I’ve never heard that particular one before.”

“My… my friend used to obsess over it.”

“And this friend of yours was female?”

Kenny sighed.  He wanted to keep talking about 100 Years of Solitude, not his personal life.  He didn’t want to talk about Leah right now… not while he was here, having a good time with someone new.  It wasn’t fair.  Like somehow, talking about her was an injustice to both women.  Maria would never be Leah – she couldn’t, and she shouldn’t have the shadow of Leah hanging over her.   Leah didn’t deserve to be replaced and forgotten like a broken toy. 

The expression on his face reflected the chaos in his mind, and Maria immediately regretted asking.  She hadn’t meant to insinuate anything, or bring up a painful reminder of something he’d rather have left alone, but apparently she had done both.

“I didn’t mean anything by it,” She said, “I’m sorry if I was out of line.”

He closed his eyes and sighed.  “You didn’t say anything wrong.  I just… I don’t think this is such a good idea, that’s all.” He said, moving to retrieve his wallet.

“It can’t be any worse than yesterday, or the day before.” She said to herself without thinking.

Kenny stopped, “What do you mean?”

“Huh?  Oh, no, I was just talking to myself… it was nothing.”

“It was something.  What did you mean by it?”

She sighed.  “I don’t know.  You said that this wasn’t a good idea, and… well… fuck, nothing’s been a good idea in a while, and I thought that just sitting here, talking with you, it was actually kind of fun.  I don’t have a whole lot of people I can talk to these days, people that don’t want me to fuck them, and it’s… it was kind of a relief.  I don’t expect you to fall in love with me and take me away from all this, I don’t want you to, and I don’t expect to do the same for you.  I just… I want a friend.”

He felt like she had more to say, but another word would break her and she was too strong a woman to let that happen here, in public, in front of him.  She could not keep the desperation from her voice, though she tried to control it.  Anyone else might have easily been fooled, but Kenny recognized it.  He’d heard it in himself on many occasions, and understood it well. 

Moments like this made him think about how far removed from humanity he’d become.  He had always been an outcast, yes, but even outcasts found other outcasts to bond with.  He supposed that had happened to him at the start of things, but he had chosen the wrong outcast.  And then he’d become a criminal. 

It was Karl Marx who said something about crime removing a person farther from society and humanity, wasn’t it?  That eventually, criminals removed themselves so far from humanity that they became completely isolated.  The only way to achieve redemption was to be captured and punished by the society that the criminal had turned against.  Something about punishment becoming redemption, if Kenny was recalling it correctly. 

He was doomed to a life of exile regardless.  Confessing wasn’t on the list of things to do today, or ever, and he’d rather remain a prisoner of his past than a prisoner of his past in the prison system.  She was an exile too, but she definitely was not a criminal.  No, she seemed to have been on the receiving end of some very unpleasant circumstance.  If his intuition was correct, and it was rarely otherwise, society was punishing her without a crime to speak of.  What sort of act of kindness was that?    Karl Marx had a lot to learn about human beings.

“Karl Marx was a fucking idealist.”

“Where did that come from?” She asked, confusion written across her face.

“Just thinking.  About exile.”

“Okay, because that totally makes sense now.”

“Did you ever think about who defines what’s good and bad?  It’s not your deity of choice, religious institution, philosophers, or scientists that define moral absolutes… they’re defined by the kind of people who stick their faces into lawnmowers to see if the blade is jammed, or have apartments with literally hundreds of cats, or put a cup of steaming coffee between their legs and sue for millions because they weren’t smart enough to figure out that steaming hot coffee between legs on bumpy road equals burned crotch.”

She laughed, “So what are you trying to say?”

“The people who judge us, who literally have our fates in their hands; ultimately what controls our destiny are a bunch of fucking morons.”

“How you figure?” She asked, laughter still in her voice.

“Every time you walk into court, you’re putting your fate in the hands of twelve people who weren’t smart enough to find a way around jury duty.”

She’d stopped laughing, and stared into her coffee as if it were the source of all wisdom.

“People dumber than wood get to judge us, based on what other people say.  It’s pretty fucked up.”

“Amen to that.” She said somberly, “You think they have specialty coffee here?”

“I can check.  What do you want?”

“Jamaican, preferably.  But I’ll take Irish if it’s there.”

He watched her while he walked to the counter, and couldn’t help but notice the complete and total change she’d exhibited in the last few minutes.  He couldn’t deduce what exactly it was, but something he had said struck a chord in her, a particularly dissonant one.  He mused over it a while, but still couldn’t connect anything he’d said with something she could have a negative association with.  He ordered her coffee, and on the return journey to the table decided that he’d get it out of her somehow.  Reading people had always been a game to him, but she seemed to have more intertextuality than most.

“Thank you.” She said quietly, as he placed the large, ornate mug in front of her.

“I have a hard time believing that you’ve never read Marx.” He commented lightly.

“Why’s that?”

“You seem to have read everything else.”  He replied in a tone that made her smile.

“Well, I like to read.”  She said, sipping her coffee.

“Nobody likes to read On Walden Pond.”

“I never said I liked reading it.  I had to read it.”

“Uh-huh,” he said, “I don’t buy it.  You’re just trying to backpedal so I won’t think that you enjoy painfully boring books.”

“Just because I had to read it doesn’t mean I liked reading it.  I had to read Summer by Edith Wharton and I freakin hated that book.”

“Summer… I’ve never read that one.”

“Don’t.  It’s about some girl who was brought down from the mountains as an infant by some guy who wants to marry her when she’s like sixteen, and she works at a library and gets knocked up by the suave new guy who shows up every now and again and is engaged to the most popular girl in town, but doesn’t tell her that and it’s this melodramatic mess of absurdity.”

Kenny’s expression was a mix of confusion and surprise. 

“I threw it across the room when I was done.  Would’ve done the same with Walden, but it was kind of heavy.”

“This is making me kinda glad I missed out on high school.” 

She laughed.  “Summer was high school torture.  Walden was college torture.”

“You went to college?” He asked, curiosity obvious in his voice.

“I did.  Full ride to a pretty decent school, too.  My major was English, if you haven’t guessed by now.”

Kenny’s lips twisted into a pleased expression as he leaned back in his chair.  “That explains it.”

“Explains what?”

“Why you’ve read so much.”

She laughed.  “You never went to college?”

“I didn’t finish high school.”  He replied, “College was definitely not on the list of possibilities.”

The corner of Maria’s mouth seemed to pout, “You don’t seem like the type.”

“The type to do what?”

“I don’t know.  You give off this almost Jack Kerouac vibe.  Like you’ve got a doctorate in… I don’t know, philosophy, or anthropology, or something, and you’re just disillusioned and… journeying, or something.”

Kenny offered a sad little smile.  “Maybe in another life.”

“I’ve never been any good at figuring people out.”  She replied, in an attempt at consolation. 

“So what does one do with a BA in English?”  He asked.

Her eyes again retreated to her coffee.  “I wouldn’t know.”

“But you said you went to college.”

“Yeah.  I never said I finished.”  She took a long sip of coffee, obviously ill at ease with where their current conversation was heading.

“Why not?  You seem like you really loved it.  You looked so happy when you were telling me about it.” 

She sighed and seemed to be collecting the words in her head before she spoke.  “I lost my scholarship and couldn’t afford the tuition.”

Kenny observed the subtle clenching of the muscles in her arms and her chest, and the way her eyes were looking up and to the left.  The way she held her mug of rapidly disappearing coffee, and the shift of her foot under the table.  “That’s the watered-down version, isn’t it?”

“What difference does it make?  That was what happened in the end.”

“It makes all the difference in the world.”  He replied seriously.

“Why?”  There was more than a hint of exasperation in her voice.

“Because the end result of something is rarely a measure of someone’s worth.  That’s my experience, at least.”

She seemed to be entertaining the idea, but wasn’t quite sold on it.  She shook her head after several minutes of silence, “You’re wrong.  In the end, it’s like you said before: other people define us.  The legacy we leave, the way we’re judged… it all rests on the outcome of circumstances beyond our control.  Yeah, we can control how we react to things, but we can’t control how other people react.  We can’t make things work out the way we want them to, and in the end, it’s whoever has the most leverage that wins.  We don’t define ourselves, Kenny.  We try to make ourselves into what we’d like to be, what we imagine we could be, someone with a place in the world; but it’s the label that the world brands you with that makes you who you are.”

He was taken back by her quiet, eloquent outburst.  It told him that it was something she thought about often, because she had exactly the right words.  It was a well-rehearsed mantra. “For someone as intelligent as you are, you don’t see much outside the box, Maria.” 

His words were kind, but they still came as a surprise.  “How… but, why… for fuck’s sake, look at us, Kenny!”  She said with no small amount of frustration, “I’m a whore and you’re…” she paused, “what do you do for a living?”

“You want the answer I give all the cool kids, or the truth?”  He sighed.

“The truth.”

Kenny thought about how he’d once described himself a long time ago.  “I’m a criminal.”

She looked at him as if she didn’t quite believe his response.

He sighed.  “Self-employed assassin.”

It sounded better than murderer. 

“This isn’t a joke, Kenny.  Are you so ashamed of what you do that you can’t tell me?  I’m a fucking prostitute!  I’m not sure how it can get much more degrading than that!”

His agitation began to get the better of him, and it became obvious as he spoke.  “Why do you insist on berating yourself like that?  It doesn’t make you a defective person.  You’re intelligent, interesting, and if you don’t mind my saying so, you’re very attractive.  You don’t have a reason to be ashamed of yourself because you need a means to survive.  It sucks, and I’m sure you’re not proud of it, but God, Maria, it’s not who you are.”

“What does it make me, then?” she choked out, “What else do I have to show for myself?  I could be Einstein, Gandhi, DaVinci, and Walt-fucking-Disney in one, and all I’d ever amount to would be a whore.  That’s the only meaning I have.”

Kenny breathed a sigh in an attempt to calm himself.  “I respect your opinion, but I can’t agree.”

“Why not?”  It was a pleading voice, almost as if she were begging for her opinion to be validated and he refused to give her the legitimacy she was so desperate for.

“Because all that’s left of the only woman who ever loved me is ‘Beloved Daughter, Dear Friend’, and she was so much more than that.  The entire world could agree that she was the Wicked Witch of the fucking West for all I care, but that wouldn’t make it true.”

A silence passed between them that might have stretched into eternity if Maria had not broken it in a quiet voice.

“I’m sorry.”

“There’s nothing to apologize for.”

“No, I just… I haven’t really, you know, talked with anyone but myself about any of… what I think, I guess.  And I’m not used to having someone tell me not to blame myself for where I’ve ended up.”

He sighed.  “We haven’t known each other long, but I know you didn’t just flunk out of college.  Something bad happened to you, and when you’re ready, you’ll tell me about it.”

She laughed, “I don’t want to scare you away, so that’s a story you won’t be hearing.”

Kenny could not help but grin at the irony, “Oh Maria, you’re going to feel so much better about your life after you hear a fraction of mine.”

“Oh I doubt that.”

Kenny would have responded, but the busboy, who had showed up at their table prevented it.  “Excuse me, I’m really sorry to interrupt, but we closed ten minutes ago.”

“It’s two in the morning already?”  Maria asked.

He nodded.

Kenny left twenty dollars on the table for the kid as he and Maria began to make their way out. 

“So, where are we headed?” He asked as they stepped out into the cool night air.

She raised an eyebrow, “We just spent the last…oh, seven or so hours in each other’s company, and you’re asking where we go next?”

“I don’t get out much,” He replied smiling, “and you’re interesting.”

“Sleep is interesting, too.”  She remarked.

“Sleep is for the weak.” He joked, “I’ll have none of it.”

She laughed.  “I suppose I’m just a weakling who needs her six to eight hours of rest.”

“What a waste of perfectly good time.  Think of what you could do with all that extra time!”

“I could learn to cook.  And then set my apartment building on fire because I’d crash out on my kitchen floor with the stove still on.”

“See, that’s so much more productive.”

“While that certainly sounds tempting, I think I’d rather sleep.”

Kenny offered a mock sigh, “Suit yourself.”

She laughed, “You’re ridiculous.”

“If you’ve had enough of me for one night, I suppose we could do this sort of thing again.” He said, “If you want to.”

She eyed him questioningly.  “I know this is gonna sound redundant, but I really need to be sure,”

“I don’t have an ulterior motive.” He finished, “We’ve slept together once, and while it was certainly enjoyable, I’m not interested in that.  I’ve been a mess since Leah died – well, I was kind of a mess before her–” He paused to collect his thoughts, “I’m tired of having conversations with myself.  I’d prefer to argue with someone whose company I enjoy than in my own head.”

Maria nodded in understanding.  “I only asked because I’m a horrible judge of character, and even worse at reading people and their intentions.”

‘She has to be a pretty bad judge of character if she thinks I’m a decent human being’ He thought idly.

You’ve just got a misguided conscience and a skewed sense of right and wrong.

‘When did you start defending me?’

“It’s all right.  No harm done.”

She smiled.  “I’ll call you later this week.  Maybe we can rent a movie or something.”

Kenny wrote the motel’s phone number with his extension on a piece of paper Maria produced from her purse.  They headed toward their respective residences, Kenny taking a few extra detours as to dodge any of Pezziano’s men that might be lurking about.  It was why he hadn’t offered to walk her home.  He didn’t fancy the idea of the only social contact next to the bartender to be murdered on his account. 

Maria was nice.  He liked her.  She kept herself very well guarded, as if her personal life were fenced off by barbed wire and an electrical fence with crazed, rabid dogs, a mote with piranhas, and lasers capable of vaporizing someone on sight.  She was a good person, though, that much he could be sure of.  Something extremely unpleasant had happened to her, where she was today had to be a direct result of it.  She was so confident and almost fierce, he wondered how she could have failed to win any kind of fight.  He would either figure it out on his own, or get the story directly from her at some point.  For no other reason than curiosity always seemed to get the better of him.