Bob Fingerman - Pariah

“No, of course you don’t.”

Even Mike, her daughter’s father, hadn’t been as psychically wounded by her death as Ellen had. Men just couldn’t feel that connection. With men the whole procreation equation came down to: SPURT! My work is done .

“Does the human race just call it quits?” Ellen shouted. “Like Peggy Lee said, is that all there is ? I can’t believe that. Those things out there can’t run on empty forever. Someday they’ll start dropping and then it will be time for us to rebuild and repopulate. That’s the function of every organism, Alan. To perpetuate its kind. Is that so bad?”

“It’s not that it’s bad, exactly, but what kind of risk are you willing to take? What are you basing this optimism on? You see those things out there as being transitory? Maybe you’re right. I hope you’re right. But since their advent they’ve shown no sign of going away. Sure, they’re rotting. You can see it. You can smell it! But they don’t give up the ghost and fall down. Not unless you put them down by force. Maybe I could see what you’re doing as a positive thing if they were keeling over out there, but they’re not. They’re not. Can’t you wait? Wouldn’t that be a reasonable compromise? I could make peace with being a dad a lot easier if I didn’t think that giving birth was the ultimate form of child abuse at this point.”

“Who says you’re the father? Maybe this is Mike’s, in which case this is also my last piece of my husband. Plus, how can I get rid of it?”

Alan had no answer. It was pointless to argue. He leaned over and gave her knee a tender squeeze, mute capitulation, if not actual encouragement. Ellen sat back on the couch and softly began to sing, “ Is that all there is, is that all there is …”

“They can’t last forever,” Abe said, his voice chemically softened.

Alan paced Abe’s floor, periodically looking out the window at the mob.

“Tell them that,” the younger man said, agitated by his exchange with Ellen. They don’t seem to have gotten that memo.”

“Eventually they’ll run out of steam. Maybe not in my lifetime, but-”

“I’ll repeat myself: tell them that. They don’t seem to be going anywhere. Who’s to say we outlast them? They’ve been running on empty for months. With the exception of Mike, none of us have gone and fed the flock, so what, they’ll just do us a kindness and drop?”

“I’ve seen some of them do just that,” Abe said. “Drop. They can’t keep going on and on and on, eternally. And if we can outlast them, that’ll mean we can get out of this building and move on.”

“To where?”

“Anywhere. That’s immaterial at this point. But you’ve gotta cling to some kind of hope. You have to be optimistic,” Abe said.

Alan looked at the old man with befuddlement. Though he wasn’t about to spill the beans about Ellen’s natal bombshell, Alan had come up here to commiserate with the resident curmudgeon, to buttress his negative worldview. Instead he was having a chat with Pollyanna. Abe sat in his armchair, shirt open and little round belly pooched out over his undone slacks. His face unnaturally beatific, he resembled a scrawny Jewish Buddha.

“You’re going to make me laugh,” Alan marveled, “and I’m not sure I’m up for that.”

“Why? Why laugh? Hope is the most vital asset we have. It’s all we as a species ever really ever had. Hope is the only reason to get up in the morning.”

“Who are you?”

“You’ve gotta have hope,” replied the old man.

“If you start to sing, I’m gonna scream.”

“The stuff I’m taking, I wouldn’t care.”

“Stuff?”

“Mona’s a heckuva pharmacist.” Abe closed his eyes, chuckling to himself. “A heckuva pharmacist.”

“So I sent her out for more of that rope and some other stuff,” Eddie said, his smile devious.

“Why?” Dave asked.

“I got me an idea for some leisure activities, but mainly I wanted her out of the way for a while. I wanna check out her digs, snoop around and see if I can figure out what her secret is.”

“You still on about that?” Dave whined, pondering the vagueness of Eddie’s unspecified “leisure activities.”

“Fuck yeah, I’m still on about it. She gets to go out , Einstein. She gets to leave the compound. She’s holding out, bro. I know it. I can feel it in my bones.”

Dave didn’t feel like arguing. Instead he slurped another wedge of syrupy peach out of the can, letting it roll against his tongue and lips, hoping the suggestive visuals would derail whatever scheme Eddie was hatching. Instead, Eddie just snapped at him for eating like a pig and then left the apartment. Dave gulped down the rest of the sweet liquid and followed Eddie into the hall, then downstairs. Two flights down Eddie placed a small flashlight between his lips and, aiming the focused beam on Mona’s top cylinder, began to pick the lock with some small, spidery tools.

“Where’d you get those?” Dave asked.

“Had ’em,” Eddie said, his hushed voice slightly slurred by the flashlight. “Keep your voice down. I don’t want the rest of the jerks in the hizzy to catch me in the act.” And with that the top lock opened. “Fuckin’ Yale,” Eddie smirked, removing the drippy flashlight from his mouth. “Never would’ve gotten it open if it was a Medeco.”

He opened the door and in they slipped. Dave didn’t feel like a groovy master criminal. He felt more like Dumber to Eddie’s Dumb. Or worse. The apartment was almost unchanged from when Mona had taken occupancy, the only difference being she’d moved Mr. Spiteri’s recliner next to the left front window. Also, various CDs littered that area, some in their jewel cases, others loose. Several were arranged haphazardly on the windowsill, some data-side up. Eddie scoffed and said, “Bitches never know how to take care of CDs.” He lifted one off the ledge and looked at its playing surface. “Look at this shit. Nicks and fingerprints all over it. Remember Gina Copaseti? She never treated shit right. I lent her my Bee Gees box set and it came back like she’d stuck it up an elephant’s asshole. I stuck somethin’ else up hers for good measure. Payback with interest.”

“So what are we looking for, Eddie?” Dave said, nerves and impatience straining his voice.

“Hey, you don’t have to be here,” Eddie snapped. “I’m perfectly happy to do this investigation on my own. You wanna help, great. But if you’re gonna honk like a woman, beat it, a’right? ’Cause I don’t need that shit.”

After a cursory couple of circuits around the apartment, Eddie began to prospect in earnest, opening drawers and riffling through them, closing them in disgust when nothing extraordinary was unearthed. Though he’d never been here before, he had the sneaking suspicion all was as it had been in Spiteri’s time, and he didn’t even know from Spiteri because his building had a different super. Drawer after drawer revealed nothing but tools of the custodial trade, Spiteri’s family’s clothes, and other plebeian junk.

“C’mon, Eddie, Mona will be back soon.”

“How the fuck you know that? Sometimes she doesn’t come back for hours or till the next day. She left less than an hour ago. One more complaint an’ The Comet’s kickin’ you to the curb, bro. For real. Help or vacate. Your choice.”

Eddie opened one of the hall closets and began rummaging, cursing softly as a small avalanche of shoeboxes pummeled his scalp. “Your mother’s ass!” he shouted, clapping a hand over his mouth and cursing himself for making noise. He lifted lid after lid, finding nothing. “These shoeboxes got nothin’ but shoes in ’em,” he griped, filing them back on the upper shelf. Board games for stupid foreigners, a scuffed soccer ball, a beat-to-shit toaster oven, two garbage bags full of ratty clothes-it was all rubbish. And clearly not one bit of it was Mona’s.