Jason Starr - Twisted City

As the fucking went on, the only noises came from Kenny until he ordered Charlotte to "Come for me, baby. Come on, come for me," and she let out a series of lame, obviously fake squeals. I imagined her lying there on the futon on her back, just waiting for it to end so she could go shoot up.

Kenny's grunting and bad porno dialogue continued, and then, just when it seemed like the sex might never end, Kenny let out three louder grunts and then there was sudden silence.

There was more talking, but it was low and I couldn't hear what they were saying. Then I heard Kenny, his voice suddenly louder, say,

"Wait, I gotta use the John Hancock."

Every muscle in my body tensed.

"Wait, don't go in there," Charlotte said, her voice close now too.

They must've both been right outside the door.

"Why not?" Kenny asked.

"I stunk up the bathroom really bad."

"So what the fuck do I care?"

As the door opened, I crouched down, managing to keep one hand on. the shower door handle and the other holding the body upright by pressing it against the back of the stall. If it wasn't for the mildew on the shower door, which was denser toward the bottom, Kenny could have easily seen in. As it was, he would've probably been able to see me if he looked in my direction.

Kenny hawked up a wad of spit; it splashed into the bowl, and then he started peeing.

"Liar, it don't stink in here!" he yelled. Then he added, "Hey, some of your chunks missed the bowl!"

He finished peeing. He didn't bother to flush, and then I saw the shadow of his legs pass by the shower door and stop. I thought he was going to look inside the stall, but then I heard the handle on the bathroom door turn and he left. My heart must've been racing at two hundred beats a minute.

"Where's my money?" Charlotte asked.

"Easy," Kenny said. "You'll get your skag, you'll get your skag."

"Come on," Charlotte said urgently. "Let's go."

The front door opened then closed. I waited several seconds, making sure they were really gone. Then I got up, leaving the body propped up diagonally, bent slightly near the neck and shoulders, and left the stall and the bathroom.

I never thought I could feel so relieved to be in the main area of the apartment. I was like a prisoner, released from solitary confinement and put back into his jail cell. But after a few minutes I started feeling pent up again. I had to leave, go outside, or I was going to lose my mind. I considered going downstairs, just for a few minutes, but I decided it was too dangerous. Someone could see me leaving the apartment, or someone could come in the apartment because I'd have to leave the door unlocked. I went to the one window in the room; it was partway open and I opened it further. Child safety bars were screwed into the sill, and it horrified me to think that a child had once lived in this shithole. I leaned over the bars, bringing my nose as close to the screen as I could without touching it, and breathed. The apartment was facing the back of another, taller building, maybe forty feet away, and the air didn't seem to be circulating much better than inside the apartment. Still, I remained there, with my nose near the screen, trying to get a hold of myself. I noticed a young guy in an apartment across from the building. He was lying on a couch in his underwear, watching TV, holding a green bottle probably a cold beer. I hoped he knew how good he had it.

I started pacing the apartment again, wondering if Charlotte was going to go to the police. I didn't know why she would at this point, but I didn't have any reason to trust her either.

Several minutes went by, and I was becoming increasingly convinced that Charlotte was going to make up a story and turn me in, when my cell phone started ringing. The sudden noise startled me, and I realized how lucky I was that I didn't get a call while I was hiding in the shower. I checked the caller ID it was my home number then I shut the phone off.

I knew Rebecca wouldn't give up. She'd keep calling me, on my cell and at work, trying to get through. I didn't care about pissing her off, but I realized that if the police did wind up investigating me I'd have no alibi. If I called Rebecca back and told her I was at my office it wouldn't help, because I still wouldn't be able to prove I was there.

I had to stay positive, pray that Charlotte wasn't dumb enough to go to the cops, and that I'd never even be a suspect in the case.

The heat and the lack of fresh air in the apartment were unbearable, and the entire room was starting to smell like my body odor. Every time I heard a noise outside the apartment I hoped that the next sound I'd hear would be a key turning in the lock.

At midnight, there was still no sign of her. I was exhausted and starving the turkey sandwich for lunch was all I'd eaten all day and I didn't know how much longer I could last.

Around one a.m. I heard a noise outside the apartment. Convinced it was Charlotte, I rushed to the foyer, but the noise stopped.

Impulsively I opened the door, realizing what a stupid thing I'd done only when I saw that Charlotte wasn't there. Instead, the young black guy who'd knocked into me on the stairwell before was standing by the door to the left. He was fumbling with his key chain, trying to find the key to his apartment. Before I could duck back into Charlotte's apartment he turned around and looked right at me. I mumbled, "Sorry," and he turned away, continuing to jingle his keys.

Back in the apartment, I knelt with my face buried in my open hands. If I hadn't opened the door, if I hadn't let that guy see me, I would've had a chance. But now when the police came to question Charlotte tomorrow they'd probably talk to her neighbors too, asking, "Did you notice anything unusual at Charlotte and Ricky's apartment last night?"

The guy next door would mention me, give them a full description and shit I'd even talked, so now he could ID my voice.

I tried to convince myself that it wasn't as bad as it seemed. The guy had looked out of it, and there was a chance he might not remember me at all tomorrow, or at least he wouldn't remember me well enough to give a description. This gave me some hope, but not much.

The next time I checked my watch it was past two-thirty. I had no idea what was holding Charlotte up. Even if she was planning to bring a cop back with her, it wouldn't take her this long. I wondered if she was dead. She could've OD'd and was lying in an alley somewhere. But if she was dead that wouldn't help me. I couldn't leave because that guy had seen me, and with Charlotte unable to back up my self-defense story, I'd be screwed. I decided I'd give her till about half an hour before dawn. If she wasn't back by then I'd have no choice but to take the body outside by myself.

Another excruciating hour went by, and then I heard the lock in the front door turn. I rushed over as Charlotte entered, and I was surprised by her appearance, by how much better she looked. Her pained expression was gone and she seemed noticeably calmer and more relaxed.

Except for her thin, ghostly face, she seemed almost normal.

"Where the hell've you been?" I asked. "It's almost four fucking a.m."

"Thanks for waiting up, Daddy," she said, stepping past me. She tossed her ripped denim jacket off to the side and then plopped down onto the futon. I did a double take, surprised all over again at how thin her arms and shoulders were. She was dangerously emaciated and probably needed medical help.

"You've been gone six hours," I said.

"You gonna ground me, Daddy?"

I hated the way she was suddenly so relaxed, acting like this was no big deal.

"Come on, let's go," I said. "We're doing it right now."

"Doing what?"

"What the hell do you think?"

"We should wait."

"We're not waiting."