Todd Robinson - Dirty Words

"We're not here to start shit. We were just wondering how business was," I said.

Garrett smiled crookedly at me, opening his arms to encompass his obviously pricey electronic kingdom. "Not bad," he said, dripping sarcasm.

"Then why are you fucking with small fries like Ralphie O'Malley?"

The smug little bastard steepled his fingers on the desk. "Let me explain something to you guys about business. I'm working with a lot of figures here. Am I going to bust up somebody who owes me fifty G's and make him incapable of working and earning my money? Or am I going to bust up the guy that owes me five and make sure that Mr. Fifty gets a clear picture of his future?"

His point made perfect sense to me, which made me a little ill. "We just want to know where Ralphie is. Beyond that, we don't have any stake in this."

Garrett leaned his chin onto his hands. "Now, why would I tell you anything if you have no stake in it? That wouldn't be very good business, would it?" He bit his lower lip coyly. "Tell you what. You give me the five grand that Ralphie owes me, and I'll tell you where that fucking loser wound up."

I reached into the bag and pulled out my contraption. Garrett went eight shades of sickened gray and reached under the desk.

"Unh, uh, uh," Junior said, waggling his finger this time. "Why don't you keep those pretty rings where we can see them, Zsa Zsa."

He slapped his hands quickly onto the desktop.

I pressed a button on the joystick. "If your hands move, I press that button again. Then you have a serious problem."

Garrett's color settled on a nice shade of green. "Are you guys fucking nuts? You're threatening me with a bomb?"

Junior and I laughed. "Why would we do that? This isn't a bomb. Like I said, we don't have a stake in this. But right now, you sure as shit do."

Some pink returned to Garrett's face. "Then what in Christ's name-"

"It's an industrial-grade electromagnet. Amazing what a little knowhow and a helpful nerd at Radio Shack can accomplish."

Green all over again, Garrett made a soft choking noise deep in his throat.

Junior circled his finger teasingly over the red joystick button on our car battery Frankenstein. "So, if you move your hand, we activate this sucker and wipe out all the electronics in the building."

"Though I'm sure that smart-boy here has backed up all his numbers, addresses and amounts onto another system." I looked at Garrett and grinned. "Right?"

He made that moist choking sound again.

Junior tapped a thoughtful finger over his lip. "I'm even willing to bet it'll conk out that panic alarm of his, which should give us plenty of quiet time to beat both the crap and the whereabouts of Ralphie out of you."

Garrett cleared his throat. Greasy sweat poured down his greasy forehead. "If you press that button, or lay a hand on me, I swear to God you will one day find out what your own cock tastes like."

"You tried that once, didn't you Junior?"

"I was young. I was experimenting."

"You get close?"

"Meh. Couple more yoga classes and I'd have had it."

"You two clowns think I'm kidding?" He was talking tough, but his hands were still pressed to the desktop.

"Albert, Albert, Albert," I sat on the corner of his desk," do you really want to get into that kind of mess, cock removal, forced ingestion of removed cocks, etc, etc, over little Ralphie O'Malley?"

A droplet of sweat dangled on Garrett's nose. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. Beaten, he said, "I had him dropped off at his house five hours ago."

"What?"

"I don't have him. You're right. You think that little shit is worth me getting into anything serious? I had the boys slap him around, then dropped him off at his mama's around two this afternoon."

A little light bulb popped on over my head. The only thing it illuminated was how stupid we'd been. "Well, been nice doing business with you."

Junior packed up our battery and we walked out the door.

All that for nothing. At least Garrett hadn't called our bluff. Our "industrial-grade electromagnet" couldn't even start an old Buick, much less demagnetize anything.

MacGuyver, my ass.

"You've got to be fuckin' kidding me," Junior said as Miss Kitty fishtailed through the rising snow. A small snow bank passed dangerously close to my door. We couldn't afford to get stuck now.

It was there all along.

We were so taken aback by Mrs. O'Malley's kamikaze shoe attack that we didn't listen close enough to what she was saying. She'd said, "leave my Ralphie alone," And "don't hurt him anymore." Who was she protecting if Ralphie wasn't there? If he hadn't been returned, how could she have known that he'd been hurt?

We got played big time by a sweet old lady.

God dammit.

Visibility was nearing zero when we pulled up in front of the O'Malley residence for the second time that day. A set of fading footprints leading away from the house were freshly marked in the snow.

Junior squatted over the prints. "You think Ralphie bolted?"

I shook my head. "Those are Mrs. O'Malley's shoes. Feet are too small, and look…" Edged around the first few steps in the snow were ruby flakes of what was probably Junior's blood.

"Small feet, my ass." Junior cupped his busted nose. "Where the hell is she going in this shit?"

"Probably ran to Star Market for some blizzard supplies." I felt a twinge of sadness at the thought of the old woman trudging through the snow in her sandals, felt bad for eating her food. Looking at the sad house, I realized for the first time just how little she and Ralphie had other than that depressing piece of real estate and each other.

We didn't want to bust open Mrs. O'Malley's door, despite her lies and assault, so we tried a couple of the ground floor windows. All locked of course. Junior looked up at the second level. "There we go."

Craning my neck, I could barely make out the tip of a blue curtain billowing through a cracked window jamb.

"Bend over," I said. We had to move fast, my fingers were starting to go numb again in the cold.

"Now's not the time, Brokeback."

"Cut the shit. We got to hurry before Mrs. O'Malley gets back. Let me climb on you. I think I can reach the ledge of the lower roof."

"No way. Lemme climb on your back."

"Are you kidding? You way thirty pounds more than me. Besides, my arms are longer. Or do you want to wait it out and dance with Dr. Scholl again?"

Junior muttered something about his goddamn jacket, but bent over. I climbed on his back and had to stand on my toes to reach the ledge. Junior howled as my toes dug into his spine. My fingers grasped around the edge just as Junior disappeared from under my feet, cursing all things about me. I swung my right leg up and over the lip, but couldn't get enough purchase in the driving snow to bring my left leg up.

"Pull, you tubby bastard," Junior yelled from below.

I swear to God…

I had one shot to grab the sill and pull myself up. If I missed, I was going back over the edge. That thick Irish fuck had better catch me.

I let go of the gutter and scrambled for the window. I started to slide when my fingers caught the jamb and held.

From across the street, I heard, "Hey! You stawp that! I'm cawlin' the cawps!"

Housecoat was back.

"Better move, brudda," yelled Junior. "I think she means it this time."

I was too out of breath to answer, but figured we had a few minutes until the cops could respond, blizzard and all.

I pulled myself up and opened the window wide enough to climb into. One leg was in before my other foot slipped in the snow. I toppled through the opening and landed in a heap onto the floor, the wind knocked out of me on impact.

I lay in that heap wheezing for a few seconds, staring at the wall of the room that I'd belly-flopped into.