Six Bad Things

This one is medium tall and has a potbelly and very little hair. He’s a bit over forty and wears those cheap reading glasses you get at drugstores. When he talks, which is never very often, he has a Slavic accent, but it’s very different from Dolokhov’s. He also drinks a lot of beer without seeming to ever get drunk and, based on the tunes I hear coming out of his room, he’s a big R&B fan. He did me a favor and picked up a copy of East of Eden for me. I lost the one I had in Mexico and never got to finish it. Of course, I’m too doped-up to read, but it was a nice thing for him to do.

He comes into my room now and hooks up a new bag to the IV needle stuck in my arm. Sucking on a straw hurts and I can’t chew at all, so I’m getting fed through a tube for now. I’m also not allowed to smoke, but as long as I have the button in my right hand, that doesn’t bother me much. Maybe I’ll quit.

When the dangerous man is done, he gestures, asking silently if I’m OK. I give him a little thumbs-up and he nods. I can’t tell if he’s quiet by nature or if he’s simply gotten into the spirit of my own silence. He goes back to his room, leaving the connecting door open, and turns on the radio.

I watch him because I want to know what a dangerous man is like. Because that is what I am becoming. That is what I will be. That is my deal with David Dolokhov.

I will be his new dangerous man. And for my services, I will be paid. David Dolokhov will pay me with the lives of my mother and father.

So, as it turns out, I will not buy their lives with dollars.

I will buy them with violence.

“Purple Rain” starts to play in the next room. I flip away from the news. Tired of it. A week without a new dead body and they’re running out of things to say.

The Dolphins-Jets game is on. But I don’t watch it. I’m not a hunted man anymore. I’m a found man. I don’t have to hide myself any longer. So screw football. Pitchers and catchers report in eight weeks.

I turn off the TV, and hit the pain button.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

My gratitude to Simon Lipskar, Mark Tavani, and Maura Teitelbaum for professional support and friendship.

Thanks to Dr. Cybele Fishman, who generously gave her time to discuss the dos and don’ts of impromptu plastic surgery.

Virginia Smith continues as my first reader, trusted critic, and wife. I have no words to thank her.

,

Notes