Kobe (8 page)

Read Kobe Online

Authors: Christopher S McLoughlin

              Hunter, the teenage hero that saved Karen from certain death all those years ago, grew up to be a monster far more powerful than those hillbilly mechanics could have ever dreamed of.

            
 
Chapter X

 

Regrets & Razorblades

 

             
You know you're too high when you kill your own mother.

              Skaggs looks down at Tina's naked corpse, then at her head on the end of his hatchet. The same head that told him how much of a piece of shit he was, the same head that was going to kick him out on the streets without a friend in the world.

              "Fuck that cunt," he says to himself.

              He leaves his regrets in the hallway and walks into the bathroom. The mirror is still foggy from Tina's shower. The subtle scent of flowers lingers from her shampoo.

          Nothing sobers you up quicker than a whiff of death before noon. Well, not sober, but it gets Skaggs alert enough to get his ass in the shower.

              Water pounds on his face, for a few moments he just lets it drip over his dirty flesh. The washrag turns black as he chips away gore and gunk piled on from the last few days.

              The bath salts still zoom around his brain, but the Xanax and Percocet have progressed into his blood stream. Still crazy, sure, but not 'nailing a razor through your fingernails' crazy.

              Xanax is a hell of a drug.

              It makes the world warm and soft, every concern washes away. Tina needed Xanax because she thought Skaggs was a terrible son.

              Skaggs took it because he thought he was a terrible son, too. He never killed anyone before today, he never even won a fight.

              The only person that ever stood up for him was Leroy. Every time some asshole tried to steal from Skaggs, or beat him up, Leroy would knock the dude out. Leroy Brown was the one person that did right by Skaggs. And Skaggs did right by Leroy.

              Skaggs isn't the worst person in the world. At least, that's what courses through his mind as the water moisturizes his crackled complexion. He didn't rape her, right? There has to be someone worse, there always is. This is what we train ourselves to think. Regardless what we do, or how bad it gets, someone has to be worse.

              His long grimy hair balls up into knots, the shampoo battles to break the tangles. After a few minutes, Skaggs starts to smell human again. He dries himself off and staggers out of the shower. The Xanax and Percocet not only help to erase the negativity in his mind, but they also dull his motor skills.

              Everything slows down.

              The wide mirror reveals Skaggs' nemesis. His reflection makes him sick, it always has. The gaping craters and butter yellow teeth. As long as he doesn't look in a mirror, he can pretend the world doesn't hate him so much.

              He started out just being an ugly troll, not able to kiss girls or play sports, a dork that needed to find a way to escape the painful reality of being unattractive.

              He wraps his hand in a towel and ties it. It takes him a while with his self-inflicted handicap, but he manages to get dressed. Despite the high levels of dope in his system, he knows time is a factor, and escape is essential.

              Three lines of speed-racer bath salts glisten on the mirror until they travel up Skaggs' nostrils. In moments, his brain and body begin operating at optimal levels.

              Skaggs takes everything that can help him; money from Quinn, any pills left in his mom's purse, a couple cans of food from the cupboard. Last but not least, he makes up a fresh batch of murder powder in the mortar and pestle and puts it into an empty pill bottle.

              Tina was a friend to everyone in the neighborhood, people are going to know she's missing. Skaggs' only thought is to spend the money where he needs to and get out of the Bay. If anyone sees what he did, they'll kill him.

              His little brother Quinn is going to find someone, and fast.

              Skaggs picks up his bag and puts a winter glove loosely over his bladed fingers. Thank God, the neurons are still switched off in his mind, as soon as they turn back on, he's done for. The drugs are keeping him alive, strangely enough.

              He throws a sheet over Tina, grabs his bag, and leaves.

* * * * *

              Skaggs knocks on the door of apartment 1408. His glove seeps and stains around the fingertips. His teeth, slide back and forth; grinding. The Xanax and Percocet move to the backseat again, Speed-Racer takes the lead.

              Another knock.

              He races over to a window down the hall and looks outside for Billy's car, but it's nowhere to be found. Last day in the Bay, he might as well rob the only dealer that still trusts him.

              He turns the knob, hoping and wishing, but it's a no go. Skaggs fishes in his backpack and pulls out a small crowbar the size of his hand. The doors in Building F are cheap and easy to pop open with very little noise. Skaggs gets inside and closes the door quickly.

              Skaggs goes right for Billy's stash box under the couch. Inside are baggies full of brown powder, four bottles of pills, and five or six crack sacks full of God knows what. Instead of picking and choosing, Skaggs throws the whole box into his backpack.

              He reaches underneath the couch cushion and there it is; a cure for being a coward.

              A Desert Eagle.

              It feels good in his hand. Warm. Safe. Powerful.

              Skaggs flips over the couch cushions and looks in all the possible hiding spots in the living room, and then makes his way to the bedroom.

              The zooted junkie checks underneath Billy's pillow for another gun, then underneath the bed for some more drugs but he comes up short.

              He makes his way to the closet where he finds a box of bullets, an extra clip, and a shoebox full of money. He grabs it all. Last but not least, a revolver. A thirty-eight is much easier to handle than the hand cannon he found under the couch cushion.

              Skaggs throws the .50 Desert Eagle in his backpack and opts for the six-shooter.

              Skaggs removes the glove that covers his blades and tosses it. It's time to show the world who he really is, not some pussy that never fights back, but a man, with his new nickel-plated confidence, he exit's Billy's apartment.

* * * * *

              Billy and Jessica wait patiently in a booth at the BBQ Pitt. His large paw wraps around a cold glass of Zed's micro-brew. The condensation drips onto a disposable coaster.

              "What time do you work today?" Billy asks his beautiful girlfriend, Jessica. Her complexion is soft white, not pail, just naturally light and her hair is thin, like strands of silk.

              "I'm off," Jessica says.

              "We hanging out?" Billy raises the beer to his lips.

              "Probably not, I'm going over to my Mom and Dad's for dinner later, and I haven't been home for a few days, so I want to clean up a little. Get some stuff together. Maybe hang out with Krystal for a while."

              "That's cool." Billy burps. "I'm supposed to meet up with some people at The Watering Hole at about ten or so. Just text me if you wanna tag along."

              Krystal delivers two brunch entrees; a breakfast burrito with home fries for Billy, and a loaded omelet for Jessica.

              "Thanks, babe." Jessica un-wraps a set of silverware. "What time are you off?"

              "I'm supposed to be off at noon, but Katie didn't show up today, again." Krystal leans on the table. Her light brown hair is pulled back with just a little hanging by her cheek.

              Jessica ignores her meal for a moment and casually puts the hair behind Krystal's ear. "Has anyone seen her?" She asks.

              "Not for days."

              Billy scans Krystal's frame. Her perfect stomach muscles hide under her uniform. Not a six pack from an infomercial, just a flat, sun-soaked stomach. "Hey Krystal," Billy shoves a fork full of crispy potatoes in his mouth.

              "Hey Billy." Krystal rolls her eyes as Billy deposits images into his x-rated memory bank.

              "Something happened to her." Krystal slides into the booth and Jessica scoots over a little. "People just don't disappear. She wasn't that sort of person. She would've at least called. I mean, she was at our house at least twice a week."

              "I didn't know her as well as you did. Was she dating anyone? Anybody she'd leave with?" Jessica asks between bites of her omelet.

              "Just Zed's creepy brother, Curt. He'd come in and flirt with her, leave her fat tips and hang out after close. He did the same thing last year with Reagan, remember? And then one day Reagan stopped coming in. They even look alike."

              "What are you like a detective now?" Billy says with his cheeks full of steak and salsa. Billy focuses on his food, but can barely hide the images of the two girls sucking on each other's tongues. He ponders how to get Jessica to fuck her friend, or, at least, get naked and kiss with him in the room, oh the possibilities.

              "No Billy," Krystal says curtly, "I'm a superhero that moonlights as a waitress."

              "You're working during the day, what do ya mean moonlight?" Billy shovels another fork full down his gullet.

              "I talked to those cops that always come in at lunch," Krystal says.

              "Oh yeah?" Jessica offers a piece of her toast to her friend.

              Krystal scrunches her lip and shakes her head, "no thanks, so they said that they're looking into it, but I think most of those idiots are just lazy," she says, "they literally sit in this restaurant, eat free food, and talk for hours. If Judd comes through the door, they get up like they're paying the bill. I swear that man should be mayor."

              "Too bad the real Mayor's a total jackass," Jessica chirps, "they'll find her, though. Reagan was different, she was only into Curt. She didn't hang out and drink with us after work. When they broke up, she split. She didn't have any ties here. I think Curt has a type, but I don't think he, like, killed her or anything." Jessica pushes her plate to the side and focuses on her cup of coffee.

              "I guess you're right. Want a box?" Krystal asks.

              "Yeah, but not yet, hang out for a second. I never get to see you," Jessica pulls Krystal into the booth, "How's Austin doing?"

              "He's good I guess. How should I know?" Krystal asks with a coy smile.

              "Girl, there are way too many toothbrushes at the apartment for you not to be sleeping with someone on the regular. And for some reason, that boy is always there, eyeballing that big ass of yours."

              Billy perks up from devouring his burrito, his devious brain nearly pumps sex smoke out of his ears.

              "He's a nice guy," Krystal says, "we'll just leave it at that."

              "You better put a stamp on him soon, or someone else will," Jessica leans in close to Krystal.

              "Let 'em," Krystal says, "he's a free man."

              "I have never met a woman with such commitment issues." Jessica pushes off of her friend and leans on the wall.

              "I don't have commitment issues," Krystal's eyes connect with Jessica's, "he's a good guy, but if he's not happy I don't want him to feel obligated to be with me. If something else happens, let it happen."             

* * * * *

              Roc, a big, burly gangster watches Skaggs exit Billy's apartment from the hallway.

              "Yo Skaggs whatcha doin' man?"

              Skaggs doesn't make eye contact with the large African American. The fear stirs around in his belly, and, he forgets to shut Billy's apartment door.

              Roc yells "Whatchu doin' nigga? Why you up in Billy's crib? I know he ain't there and he sure as fuck ain't give you a mu'fuckin' key.

              Roc's bald head is the shape of a swollen bowling ball, brown, round, and solid as a rock.

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