Dion stopped in to reassure me he and Pita got along just fine and that his suit was top of the line. He promised me the kid was going to be one hell of man and that his guilt for how he spoke to me was heavy. Right then and there, I made my own promise not to put Pita through the ringer. Kissing me hard on the lips he whispers, “Love that kid too, Mercy.” For some reason, for just that moment, I needed to kiss him a little bit longer.
That was an hour ago so while Dion was out having a drink and a cigar with Roger, I checked in on Tanya, paid my mom’s monthly bill, signed off on several insurance claim documents and about to take a bath when the phone rang.
I didn’t even finish my hello when Pita slurs, “Mercy, I fucked up.”
“Where are you?”
“Home sippin’ on some slizzurp.”
“Do not leave, I’m on my way.”
“That sounded dumb, lemme try again. Vodka.”
And then he hung up.
For about a second I considered calling Dion, but decided against it. He was with Roger and I could handle Pita. There was no reason to ruin his night too. Especially after how happy he was to spend time with ‘the kid’.
This time when I got to the door, his roommate opened it for me and got the hell out of my way because sitting with his head down looking defeated was my Pita. Sitting next to him, he registers my presence then throws himself around me.
“Talk to me, please,” I urge him.
“Superheroes have weaknesses,” he says softly.
“Of course they do, Pita. If they didn’t have weaknesses they wouldn’t have challenges. It’s about balance. If they were all powerful, undefeatable then they would never know failure or humility. They wouldn’t be real, Pita.”
“You have weaknesses.”
“Many,” I agree. “Everyone does.”
Wailing in my arms he cries out, “You can’t have weaknesses, Mercy!”
“Pita –”
“I need you to be invincible!” he yells pushing me away. “All powerful! Fuck the balance. You’re my superhero!”
“Okay, slow down,” I try but then he pales and mumbles, “Gonna be sick.”
Running him to the bathroom, I situate his body right as he empties the contents of his stomach. When the worst was over I asked, “What were you trying to tell me, Pita?”
“Liquid courage,” he whispers. “Couldn’t even get that right.”
I wasn’t going to get anywhere with him close to passing out so I went a different route asking, “Where did you get alcohol? Your old work?”
“Lenny,” he says half asleep.
“Lenny sold alcohol to you?”
“Told him I belonged to you. Didn’t question it.”
Standing up, I call his buddy over demanding he, “Get him cleaned up and into bed. Make sure he gets a glass of water and some aspirin. He leaves this house, it’s your ass. Understand?”
“Yeah,” he gulps. “Where are you going?”
“To the liquor store.”
Blazing through the streets, I ignored every vehicular law known to man and when there were no spots out on the street? I parked on the fucking sidewalk. Throwing the door open, Lenny sees me and lights up with joy. Never breaking my stride, I stomped down the aisle to the front register. With open arms he greets me with, “Mercy, it’s good to see you!”
Using my momentum, I met the counter and hefted myself up putting me eye to eye with Lenny.
“Mercy what –” he didn’t finish because I’d already fisted his hair introducing his face to the hard surface.
Once, twice, and a final third, I ram him as hard as I could. Releasing him, I dangle my legs off the counter and ask, “What in the fuck possessed you to sell to the kid?”
“He said –”
Holding up my hand for silence I remind him, “Lying to me isn’t smart. Given the mood I’m in, I catch you pulling shit I will kill you even if I’m crying while I do it.”
“He said it was for you!”
“He walked in here, a nineteen year without a fucking ID-because doesn’t drive yet-and proceeded to buy a gallon of cheap vodka in my name?”
“Yes!”
“And you believed him? That seems like my style, Lenny?”
“I swear to you, Mercy. He was going on about superheroes and weaknesses. He said that you’d be disappointed in him. Fuck! The kid adores you, Mercy. He’s always with you and I didn’t question it.”
Turning on my heel, I put Lenny out of my mind while I stood outside staring up at the stars. Before getting sick, Pita was trying to tell me something. To get that drunk, to drop my name, the kid was struggling with some serious shit. His talk of superheroes, fucking up, and liquid courage.
The kid had something to say but, what?
Turns out that would be a mystery for another day.
Because the blunt force to the back of my head knocked me out before I ever hit the pavement.
And I woke up tied to a chair with explosives strapped to my chest.