By Daniel Vlasaty
“Yo, Dildo, what the fuck?” Frankie says and swats his arm out.
“Wh—huh? What?” Dildo says. He sits up in his seat, wipes at the drool hanging in the corner of his mouth, rubs at his eyes.
Frankie looks at him.
“What?” Dildo says again.
“What do you mean what? I said: what the fuck?”
Dildo sits up even more in his seat, pinching at the bridge of his nose. “Wh—”
“Don’t fucking say what again, man. Don’t you fucking say it.”
“You were talking about whatever the fuck you were talking about and then you stopped talking. Fucking fell asleep over there. Right in the middle of whatever.”
“I did? How long was I—”
“How long were you, what? Asleep?” Frankie says. He shrugs his big body, which is something in his tiny ass Honda. “Like ten fucking seconds, man. You were talking about whatever and then”—he snaps his fingers—“like I fucking said, you were just asleep. Like it’s that thing. You know that one thing, right?” He’s snapping his fingers more now, like that’s going to help him remember shit. “Oh fuck, what’s it called?”
Dildo shakes his head. Because Dildo don’t know what the fuck Frankie’s talking about.
“You know—” Frankie’s still saying, still going on with whatever this is. “That one fucking thing.”
But Dildo barely even knows where he is right now.
Frankie snaps again. “The fucking thing where you could like fall asleep at any second. You know like you could be right in the middle of eating dinner, or driving your car, or shit, I don’t know, like right in the middle of fucking your girl. In the middle of whatever you’re doing and then BAM, you pass the fuck out. Kind of like you just were.”
Dildo’s looking around, barely listening to whatever Frankie’s talking about. Trying to piece shit back together in his brain. Everything’s cloudy and he can’t remember where they are or what they’re going to do.
He closes his eyes, squeezes them as tight as he can. Thinking maybe, hopefully, if he squeezes them tight enough his brain might start working again.
Frankie reaches out and snaps, this time right in Dildo’s face. “You know the fucking thing I’m talking about, right?”
“Wh—” Dildo starts to say, but stops and waves Frankie’s hand away, says, “Fuck, yeah, dude. I think I fucking know what you’re talking about. Just…I don’t know what it’s...Just hold…My head’s all—”
But Frankie ignores him, fucking with him now. He snaps again. Not too close to Dildo this time, but still close enough that it’s obvious he’s trying to be a dick about it. “You know what I’m fucking talking about. I know you do. So, what’s it called, though?”
“Fuck, I don’t know—”
“Come on, Dildo, you fucking know.”
And again, with the snapping. All around in Dildo’s space.
“Why are you coming at me like—” Dildo says. “Why don’t you know what it’s called? Why is it—”
“I’m trying to think here, too, man. But I know you know.”
He snaps, barely touches the tip of Dildo’s nose. “What’s it called?” he says. “Come on, motherfucker, I know you know.”
“Fuck!” Dildo says. He takes a wild haymaker swing at Frankie—not an easy thing in Frankie’s stupid and tiny car. Frankie easily blocks it and he’s smiling now.
Dildo comes at him again, another wild, terrible punch. “It’s called necrophilia or something,” he says. “You asshole.”
And Frankie stops. He’s looking at Dildo and Dildo’s breathing all hard. Throwing those two punches took it out of him. He’s a mess—sweating and shaking, can’t catch his breath.
“Narcolepsy,” Frankie says. And he’s starting to laugh a bit now.
“Narcolepsy,” he says again. Laughing harder. “You said it’s called necrophilia, but that’s where you like jerk off over dead chicks or whatever.” He punches his fist against the steering wheel, the whole car shudders. “What I’m talking about, where you just fall asleep like that”—and he snaps again—“that’s called narcolepsy.”
And now Frankie’s rolling with it. He’s full-on laughing, busting up. Way down from deep in his gut. His whole body shaking with it.
“Necrophilia,” he says, slowing down, kind of chuckling now. “You sick motherfucker, what the fuck—”
And Dildo comes at him again with another swing. This one open-handed. He’s swats against Frankie’s shoulder without doing much else.
Frankie’s laughing again. “What would your mother think? You sick, sad boy.”
Dildo swings again. “You asshole. Fuck you. You had me all fucked up with your snapping and my head’s all…I…I don’t fucking—”
Frankie holds his hands up, he snaps again and says: “Hold up.” He points out through the windshield. “There he is.”
“There who is?”
“There—who the fuck do you think it is?” Frankie says. “What do you think we’re doing here, my man? You fucking—”
Dildo looks around again and he remembers.
“Fuck you,” he says as Frankie shifts around in his seat, reaches over, starts the car.
They’re quiet as they follow the Escalade through Rogers Park, heading north. Frankie’s keeping them back a bit and it’s easy enough to follow a giant shining black SUV through the early afternoon traffic, all the tiny hybrid fucking whatever cars that are taking over the neighborhood.
Frankie turns to Dildo. “You’re acting all fucked up here and I need to make sure you’re going to be okay to do this thing with me.”
Dildo’s rubbing at his eyes again, shifting in his seat. Frankie’s not an idiot. Frankie can see what this is, what’s going on with Dildo.
“Yeah,” Dildo says. “Yeah, whatever. Can’t we do it like right here?”
“What? You got somewhere else you need to be right now, got something else you’d rather be doing?”
Fucking with him, really going with it.
“I’m just saying,” Dildo says. “We’re here right now, we could get it done now and then that’s it, we’re done. Don’t got to be doing this following around thing all fucking day.”
Frankie shakes his head.
“Fuck you, what. You fucking asshole,” he says. “You think I’m fucking stupid. You think I can’t tell.”
“Can’t tell what, what the fuck are you talking about?”
“You, man.” Frankie watches as the Escalade turns onto Clark and Frankie pulls up to the corner too, slows down to give the Escalade some space. Got to be a little extra careful when you’re driving a bright red fucking car, little sporty car with a stupid loud ass tin can exhaust and all that, trying to be inconspicuous.
Frankie continues: “You’re sitting here all fucking day falling asleep. You can’t sit still. You’re sweating even though there’s ice on the windows. You’re whining about every little thing like a fucking bitch.” Frankie shakes his head. “You motherfucker. I know what you’re doing.”
“You’re using again, I know you are. I got fucking eyes and I’ve known you long enough to know.”
“I’m not, I’m—”
Up ahead the Escalade slows down and turns into a narrow alley, barely wide enough for the big ass SUV to fit through and Frankie pulls over half a block away.
“Shut the fuck up for a second,” he says, then he stares out through the windshield at the opening to the alley.
Dildo shifts in his seat. He wipes at the sweat running free down his forehead. His skin feels sticky. He either wants to be sick or die or just fix up real quick to get himself right.
He just wants a taste. One little taste of what he’s got chilling in his pocket, waiting for him when he’s done here with Frankie. One taste and everything can be easy and cool again.
“Look,” he says. “Can I—”
“I said shut the fuck up a second.” And he’s still staring out the windshield.
Dildo looks over at the opening to the alley too. “Shouldn’t you like, I don’t know—are we going to lose him just sitting here?”
He points at the alley.
“No way out through there,” Frankie says.
The alley leads to a small parking lot behind the dark little building.
“He not going anywhere for a while anyway,” Frankie says. He leans his seat back a bit, tries to get comfortable as best he can in the tiny space.
“How do you know?”
Frankie scratches at the stubble on his face. He closes his eyes, says: “Every Friday, right around this time, say three o’clock or so, this motherfucker drives his Escalade over to this little building, he parks around back, goes inside, and then he pays the lady in there to suck his dick and put a few fingers up his ass while she’s down there doing her thing.”
“Well—what?” Dildo says. He wasn’t expected that. “I mean, how do you know all that?”
“What do you mean how do I know all that? It’s my fucking job to know all that. Supposed to be your fucking job to know all that too,” he says. “Plus, I mean everyone fucking knows that, right? You really going to sit there and tell me you didn’t know that?”
“I mean…I don—”
“That’s the problem, though, right? That you don’t know. And you don’t know because you’re a fucking retard, is why.”
Dildo doesn’t say anything to this. He keeps looking out the window.
“You think people don’t see you out here fucking around like this. You think people don’t know. You’re using again and there’s going to come a time when you fuck something up, or do something stupid—like you always do when you’re using—and then the next thing you know, one day it’s going to be someone else sitting out here in a car while you go inside some place to do whatever. Get your dick sucked, shoot some dope, take a fucking shit. Whatever. They’ll be sitting right out here, watching you walk in so that they can meet you with a gun to your face when you come walking back out again.”
Dildo takes a deep breath. Doesn’t know what to say, so what he does say is: “I mean…it’s not—”
Frankie looks at Dildo, says: “You ain’t got to say shit. I know. We’ve known each other our whole lives and that’s all I’m saying. You know?”
And they’re quiet again for a few minutes. Because there’s nothing else to say. Frankie’s said his piece and Dildo’s just Dildo. He’ll either hear the thing or he won’t. They don’t call him Dildo for nothing.
After a while Dildo says: “So what the fuck are we doing now?”
Frankie shrugs. “We’re just waiting, I guess.”
“But like why don’t we go in there and do him now?”
“Fuck, man. Let the guy get his nut off before we do him like that.”
“Fuck that. Let him finish? For what?”
“We’re getting paid to make him dead. That don’t mean we got to be dicks about it.”
And Frankie’s serious. Figures they’re going to kill the fucking guy anyway. Why not let him finish doing his thing in there first? Let him get whatever he can get before they send him wherever he’s going.
After about twenty minutes Frankie nods at Dildo and they both get out of the car. They walk around through the little alley to the back of the building and lean against the Escalade while they wait.
Dildo sparks up a cig now that he’s outside and away from Frankie’s bullshit no smoking in the Honda rule. He closes his eyes while he takes that first drag and when he’s finally breathing out again he says: “Look man, I know I been fucking up but I’m really go—”
The building’s back door opens and Frankie tells Dildo, “Shut the fuck up.”
The guy steps out, but he’s still looking back over his shoulder, talking to someone inside.
Frankie pulls the gun out of his pants and steps up to meet the guy at the door, points the piece so it’s right between his eyes when he finally turns to face the alley.
“I hope it was a good one,” Frankie says.
“Wh—what?” the guy says. He’s staring straight at the gun and it’s got him shook. Coming out of a building like that, after doing what he was just doing in there, not expecting there to be a gun waiting for him.
“I hope it was a good one,” Frankie says again. “The blowjob and all them fingers up your ass, I was just saying that I hope it was a good one.”
And then Frankie pulls the trigger and shoots the guy right in the forehead.
“Fuck, man,” Dildo says after a few seconds.
Frankie’s still looking at the guy. Like he thinks he might not be fully dead yet. Ready for him to spring back up.
“What?” Frankie finally says, turning back toward Dildo.
“I mean…that whole thing was…I don’t know.”
“Fucking badass, is what you mean.”
“The saying, all that, how I did him,” Frankie says. “I been practicing that line for like the last twenty minutes.”
“It was badass though,” Frankie says.
“I am going to get clean again,” Dildo says. Kind of out of nowhere. “I know I need to.”
“Fuck you,” Frankie says. “Like I ain’t heard that before.”
“But I am—”
“Fuck you,” Frankie says again. He points at the guy’s body lying there in the alley. Tells Dildo: “Grab his fucking wallet while we’re just standing here because fuck him too.”
He shrugs and starts walking back toward the Honda. Dildo grabs the guy’s wallet, cell phone, lighter, cigs, watch, whatever else he can get his hands on, and Frankie calls over his shoulder: “I can give you a minute if you need to, you know, necrophilia all over him or whatever.”
Daniel Vlasaty is the author of The Church of TV as God, Amphetamine Psychosis, Only Bones, A New and Different Kind of Pain, and Stay Ugly. He lives outside of Chicago with his wife and daughter.