Alyssa
A banging thudded through the townhome, jolting me out of my sleep. I shot up and looked around, realizing that I was sleeping in Russell’s luxurious bed. Checking the clock, I saw that it was a little after six in the morning. For a moment, I simply sat up in bed, wondering if the banging that I’d heard had been just my imagination.
But then it happened again.
“Russell,” I said, turning to rouse him.
As soon as I put my hands on his body, however, he turned. He was wide awake, his brow knitted into an expression of concentration.
Another bang sounded.
“What is that?” I asked.
“Not sure,” he said. “But I’ve got a pretty good idea.”
He shot up out of bed, snatching a pair of navy-colored pajama bottoms from the ground and putting them on. Despite the situation, I couldn’t help but stare at the way the pants hung on Russell, sitting just below the sculpted muscles of his lower stomach. After he put his pants on, he opened up a drawer in the nightstand next to the bed and pulled out a sleek black pistol. Russell undid the trigger lock and tossed it back into the drawer.
I listened carefully for another banging, my heart racing as I wondered frantically just what was happening.
“Stay here,” he said, flicking the safety off on the gun and heading out the door.
I didn’t want to wait around like a little damsel, however. Getting out of bed, I put on some of Russell’s pajamas. His clothes were huge, and I felt as though I was swimming in the fabric. With careful steps, I moved towards the bedroom door.
More banging sounded, and I nearly jump out of my skin. I snuck to the stairs, my position at the top giving me a full view of the front door in a manner that allowed me to still remain hidden. I watched as Russell moved slowly towards the door, gun in hand. He took a careful peek through the peephole, and I saw his body relax as he got a glimpse of whoever was on the other side.
“For fuck’s sake,” he muttered just loud enough for me to hear him.
Undoing the locks, he opened the door. Standing there, his hand balled into a fist and preparing to bang hard again, was Cory. On his face was a tight expression, something like panic and concentration mixed into one.
“There you are, bro!” said Cory, his voice erratic.
“Jesus fucking Christ, Cory,” said Russell. “You have no idea how close you were to me putting a pair of bullets right in your forehead.”
“You wouldn’t do that to your bro,” said Cory.
“When you’re in this fucking business, you just might.”
A moment of silence passed.
“Well, uh, are you gonna let me in?” asked Cory.
Russell sighed and moved his body. Cory scampered in like a lost puppy eager to get back into the safety of his home. His body language was strange—he seemed worn out and energetic all at the same time. Cory moved over to one of the couches and took a seat, but evidently decided as soon as he sat down that he wanted to be moving again, and got back up, pacing around the room. Russell flicked the safety back on his gun and, after taking a look outside for any other signs of danger, shut the door and locked all the locks.
“Tell me what the hell you’re doing here,” said Russell, crossing his thick arms over his beefy chest and staring hard at his brother. “And it better be important.”
“Um, it is,” said Cory, still fidgeting. “I was just thinking that, you know, since it’s been a little while since we pulled off the last sale, that it might be time for you to give me some of that money you’re holding onto of mine. I mean, it is my money, after all. Not good for you to be holding onto that. I mean, I earned it, fair and square. Well, I know it was an illegal sale, because, heh, that’s the business we’re in, but, um, you know what I mean. So I just came by to get my money so I can, you know, start on the next projects and shit I got in mind.”
Cory was rambling like a madman, and it didn’t take major perception skills to realize that something was seriously wrong with him. He reminded me of the night that he’d tried to come onto me, after he’d done his …
Then it hit me.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” shouted Russell, his voice booming throughout the house. “You came all the fucking way uptown at the goddamn crack of dawn to get your money out of me? I know there’s only one goddamn reason why you’d be up this early, and it sure as fuck isn’t because you got up for a morning jog.”
“Yeah, so what?” asked Cory. “I’ve been up all night. I’ve just been, you know, working on some projects, getting some shit in order.”
“Yeah, ‘getting shit in order’,” said Russell. “You mean spending the entire fucking night high out of your mind and freaking out when you realized that you didn’t have any more cash for another hit.”
Cory’s eyes went wide, and even from where I stood I could see the cracks of red.
“No, bro,” said Cory. “You got it all wrong. I’ve just been, um, drinking a lot of coffee. That shit gets me fucking wired, you know?”
“Yeah,” said Russell. “You just had a couple cups of Folgers too many.”
“That’s right! I knew you’d believe me.”
Russell shook his head.
“Stay right the fuck where you are,” he said, leaving the room.
I stayed stone still, watching Cory sit fidgeting in his chair. After a time, he got up and started pacing around the room, picking up little bits of decoration here and there, looking them over with close, frantic eyes, and setting them back down. Just watching him move around like that made me feel tense, and gave me a strange feeling in the pit of my stomach.
Soon, Russell returned, a black gym duffel dangling from his hand. He dropped the bag onto the coffee table, where it landed with a heavy thud. Then Russell plopped into the seat across from his brother, who’d sat down when he’d heard Russell approach.
“Can’t even stay still for three fucking minutes,” said Russell, a trace of disappointment in his voice.
Cory didn’t respond. Instead, he pounced on the bag, opening it up so eagerly that I thought he might rip the zipper. The opened bag revealed stacks upon stacks of cash, and I realized that this was the money that the two of them had earned from the sale on the night I met them.
“Fuck, yeah,” said Cory rifling through the cash. “Fuck, yeah!”
As he went bananas over the money, Russell watched him with a disapproving stare. Finally, he spoke.
“I’m not happy, little brother,” said Russell.
Cory stopped what he was doing.
“What?” he asked. “What the fuck you talking about?”
“You know exactly what the fuck I’m talking about. You’re high out of your damn mind.”
“No, bro, I—“”
Russell held up his hand, and Cory stopped right in the middle of his sentence.
“I swear to Christ, if you try to lie to me right now I’ll put you right through that fucking window.”
Cory remained stone-still.
“So,” said Russell. “I’m going to make a proposal. You’re my brother, but I’m beyond sick of dealing with these miserable fucking habits of yours. I brought out into this business out of a sense of kinship, but you can’t seem to keep your nose out of that fucking powder. And if it’s not the drugs, then it’s those fucking whores you’re spending your last dollars on trying to impress.”
“But it’s my money, bro!” said Cory, his tone defensive. “What difference does it make what I spend it on if I can still do the jobs?”
“Because junkies are the least reliable people on the goddamn planet,” he said. “And it’s only a matter of time before you fuck up in a major way because you’re strung out or thinking about that next bump.”
“No way!” said Cory. “I’d never do you dirty like that!”
Russell sighed.
“You remember that client we had, that ex-priest?”
“Of course I remember,” said Cory. “Pious fucking bastard.”
“I had a drink with him once, and he told me something that stuck with me,” said Russell, his voice calm. “He told me that man is ruled by his passions, and whoever wants to control the man simply needs to control that man’s passions. And I asked him to explain, but he just smiled that little smile of his, turned back to his drink, and told me that I’d learn eventually. Well, his words stuck in my head. At first, I thought he meant ‘passions’ as in things you like to do, like shit you’re passionate about.”
“Uh huh,” said Cory, turning his attention back to his money, his mind seemingly already on the drugs he could buy with it.
“But the more I thought about it and read about it, the more I realized that ‘passions’ just meant vices— the shit you do that gets the better of you. Sex, money, drugs, that kind of stuff. And the more we dealt with the scum who we used to work with, those drug-addicted losers who’d sell out their best friend for a hit, the more I understood what he said. See, when you’re a slave to something, all someone needs to do to make them your master is to control your access to that thing.”
“And what the hell does this Bible shit have to do with me?”
“This: you may be my brother, and you may love me, and mean it when you say it, but you, Cory, are a slave to your passions. And if we keep working together with you like this, moving up to work with the real heavy-hitters, one of them sooner or later is gonna find out that all they need to make you theirs is to dangle some coke or some pussy in front of your face. And they catch you on the right day, you’ll do whatever they say.”
“No fuckin’ way,” said Cory. “No way I’d betray my own brother!”
“You say that, but vices have a way of taking over your mind. They’ll warp your thoughts until you find some justification for fucking me over.”
“Bu—“”
“Not another word,” said Russell. “I told you I have a proposition, and here it is: you can get up right now, without a dollar of that money in your pocket, get your ass back to that shitty apartment of yours, and take a few days to sober up. You do that, we can still work together, so long as you don’t slip up. Or, you can take that bag of your money, walk out the door, and do whatever the fuck you want with it. Spend it all on meth and Brazilian she-males; I don’t give a shit. But you do that, and we’re done. No more working together, and you’re out of my life. We’ll be blood, but that’s it.”
“Russ,” said Cory. “Think about what you’re saying! You can’t cut your own flesh and blood out of your life because I wanna spend the money I earned!”
“You know damn well that it’s about what you want to spend that money on,” said Russell.
Throughout all of this, I couldn’t help but notice how even and calm his tone was. He was giving the ultimatum to end all ultimatums to his brother, and he was as even-tempered as it got.
“So, think about it. You and I can get rich as shit together, little bro. I’ve got some plans in the works that’ll get you out of that shitty little apartment of yours, get you some money to save and make something out of your life with. Or, you can blow through that all in a week and be left right back where you are right now. Your choice.”
Cory’s face was twisted in indecision. He got up, paced around the room, ran his hands through his hair, and all-in-all looked the picture of spastic. The tension was getting to me, too; I felt a little drop of cool sweat dart down my forehead.
Cory sat as still as he could for a time, appearing to carefully consider Russell’s proposal.
Finally, he burst out of his chair. He lunged towards the bag, grabbing it by the strap and throwing it around his torso.
“You know what?” he said, his voice thin and shrill. “I don’t need this shit; I don’t need some older brother acting like he’s my fucking dad. I’m my own goddamn man, and I’m gonna take this fucking money and do my own thing, make my own empire. You know, bro, you’re not the only one who can make it in the world. And I’m gonna show you just how stupid you’re being for throwing your own flesh and blood out on the street like this!”
With that, he stomped towards the front door, opened it with a jerk, stepped out, and slammed it behind him. Once he was gone, Russell remained in the chair as if Cory had never left. After a time, however, he let his head slump down a bit.
I wasn’t sure whether or not he needed solitude, but I couldn’t bear to let him sit there like that. I walked slowly down the stairs, making my way towards Russell.
“How much of that did you hear?” he asked, not turning his head.
“Pretty much the whole thing,” I said.
“That stupid fuck,” said Russell. “That goddamn arrogant, drug-addict fuck.”
His words were harsh, but there was something strange in his tone, something that suggested there were more feelings at play than simple anger. I took a seat on the couch near Russell, my eyes lingering on his face for a long while.
“Now what?” I asked after a time.
“He’s gone,” said Russell. “He’s dead to me. He talked a big talk about being his own man, but I’ve been around enough junkies to know it was the smack talking. Once that shit gets into your brain it makes you think whatever it can to get that next hit into you. I thought putting his family at stake might’ve done the trick, made him see some sense. But I guess now I know just how far gone he is.”
I didn’t know what to do. I could sense that Russell was hurting, that beneath his impassive exterior there was pain. But Russell wasn’t the type to open up about something like that; that much was obvious.
So, after a few more moments, I stood up, walked over to him, and placed my hand on his shoulder. He didn’t react to my touch one way or the other, and I took that as a good sign. Maybe that was all he needed.
“Okay,” he said, after a long moment. “Enough of this shit. Sandor wants us both to go to LA for another deal, and we’re leaving this weekend. I hope you got some good practice in last night, because your urban geisha routine is just getting started.”
I took that as his sign that he was ready to move on.
And I was more than ready for whatever was next.