Stain (Stain #1)(16)

“AHHHHH!”

The scream brings reality back into focus as the slivers of the dark memory blur away. It’s the little girl fighting and screaming as dick-sheet guy pulls her father into the room and slams the door closed.

Even with the barrier of the bedroom door closed, the muffled “I want my daddy!” can still be heard. “I want my daddy!” she cries again. It’s a high, screeching sound that coincides with her father’s tortured scream. Looking over to the side, I see Dro raising the crowbar and slamming it down on Baz’s right kneecap. He does it again and again, like he’s hammering a nail into wood. All there is is the screaming. So much f*cking screaming. “Daddy! Daddy!”

“Shut the f*ck up or I’m going to blow your daddy’s head off!” Can’t stand kids.

Silence. Fucking golden.

Approaching Dro, I’m quick to realize his method isn’t going to get the job done any faster. All the goddamned screaming is bound to get someone to call the police, sooner or later. I don’t want to be around if they decide to make it sooner.

Drawing the SIG from the back of my jeans, I close the short gap between us and send the butt of the gun crashing against Baz’s face. “Where the f*ck is it?”

Residual shit from my latest memory develops into blazing anger. I can’t see straight. All I want is to beat something to a bloody pulp. I press the gun to Baz’s temple. I’d settle for shooting him, too. “Talk, or I pull the trigger.” Serious as f*cking cancer, I take off the safety, my finger poised at the trigger. There’s a silencer attached to the barrel. No one will hear anything.

“I…shit…okay, man, okay. There’s…there’s four grand in the back of the freezer, inside the waffle box.”

“And my product?”

Looking at his sniveling, red face makes me want to pull the trigger. I want him to say there’s nothing left. I want Dro to give me the signal. Pull the trigger. Shoot him. I’m itching. I look up at Dro, but he’s focusing on Baz.

“Fuck, Dro…f*ck, man…I’m so f*cking sorry, man. I…I have some left. I had to try it…my baby, Felix, he asked to try the new stuff.”

Through clenched teeth, Dro asks, “Where is it?”

“Bathroom…in the toilet. I put it…I put it inside a latex glove, like you showed me, Dro. It’s inside…inside the tank.”

When Dro cocks his head toward the bathroom signaling that I should go get it, I want to tell him to go get his own shit. I don’t want to be the goddamn errand boy right now. But I don’t say shit, mainly because I have enough respect for him to keep my mouth shut when it calls for it. Can’t lie, it takes me a good minute or two to withdraw the gun before slowly stepping away from Baz. With the SIG at my side, I make it to the bathroom. Removing the lid from the tank, I set it down on the sink counter before returning to look inside. Bobbing on top of ice-cold water is a tightly packed pale yellow latex glove. Much as I want to shoot Baz dead for no other reason than he annoys the f*ck out of me, I have to give the idiot props on knowing how to store SKY. I exit the bathroom with the wet glove in hand, and Dro anticipates my throw and catches the glove before it falls to the floor. Next, I head to the kitchen where I find a white Whirlpool fridge taking up what little space there is. Still sporting my gun in one hand, I use the other to pull the freezer door open. There’s nothing in there aside from gray freezer-burnt meats well past their expiration date. I keep looking. The box of waffles is behind an empty, white ice cube container. Two bundles of rolled-up cash falls into my hands when I tip the box over. Just for good measure, I look back inside, thinking maybe the remaining two rolls are stuck frozen on the inside of the carton.

Nothing.

Dropping the box, I rifle through the freezer, careless of the dry, frozen meats that fall to the floor in loud clacks. Unrolling the elastic bands, I quickly count each roll as I make my way back to the living room.

I hand Dro the cash. “He’s short two grand.”

“Where’s the rest of my money, Baz?” Dro’s been pretty calm through all of this. Mr. Unflappable. He prefers putting his actions into words rather than displaying them. The number he just did on a weeping Baz is proof of that.

“Look, man…look, just give me a week…a week and I’ll pay you back. I’m good for it, Dro. You know that.”

With a grin, I say, “Let me shoot him.”

Baz’s eyes bounce from left to right, looking first at Dro and then me and then back again. Like he’s wondering if Dro will let me put a bullet in his brain. The anxiety and fear on his face gives me a rush. “I’m good for it! Please, man…come on, Droski, man…my little girl is in there. Please don’t f*cking kill me, man…”

In the silence that follows, Dro uses the crowbar to leverage himself to his full height. He looks down at Baz.

I sniff the air and sniff again. “Jesus, f*ck!” Taking two quick steps back from the puddle of piss stretching out from under Baz’s ass toward us, I sneer at the cocksucker. I manage to avoid it. Dro isn’t so lucky, but he’s wearing boots so I guess it’s not so bad.

He doesn’t seem to think so.

“AHHHHH! AHHHHH!” Ramming his size sixteen between Baz’s legs, Dro applies weight, crushing Baz’s dick and nuts beneath his booted foot. I almost feel sorry for the guy. Not really though.