Street Drifters & Creeps - Julian Minerva
Stoney should’ve been in my life long before I met him at that event for dusty old has-beens like myself. He didn’t belong there. He seemed young and jobless, and obviously had never gotten close to stepping foot in the spotlight. The kid didn’t even bother to dress proper. He stuck out like a sore thumb among the suits and dresses of the washed-up actors, singers, dancers, you name it.
“Who are you? What are you doing here?” I asked him, ignorantly. “I thought there’d be more food,” Stoney replied.
We began to conversate about street signs and toilet paper. The kid had an opinion on everything. When he spoke, he never looked into my eyes, and I started to question whether he was actually talking to me or if he was just in another world entirely. I tried to ask him about what he did, but I kept getting ignored. So I tried to talk about what I did, and still, I got ignored. As soon as I opened my mouth, it’s like the kid lost all concentration. He roamed around, searching intently for the little toothpick appetizers while I blathered on and on about back in the day when I was in my prime. He probably didn’t even catch my name.
Then he left the event with no warning, and I figured I might as well follow him. It beat staying at that worthless “social gathering”. While we walked downtown, Stoney kept up the treatment he was giving me. He chatted with homeless guys and flirted with hookers, all the while leaving me unacknowledged.
“Hey, man, got a light?” some homeless guy would ask. “Got any change?” asked another. It didn’t matter what they asked for, Stoney always gave them what they wanted. Then he would strike up a conversation about the meaning of life or whatever. He was deeply intrigued by the opinions of the down-and-out rather than someone like me. Even the ravings of a schizophrenic were granted the precious attention of Stoney.
We reached what had to have been his apartment and I continued to follow him up the warped staircase. Peeling wallpaper and dead roaches told the whole story. We entered the little room he called home and immediately, a foul stench hit me. There was a dead hooker on the floor, foaming at the mouth, surely from an overdose. I stepped over her and the scattered needles that encircled her body.
“Go ahead and move her if you wanna sit down,” Stoney said. I told him I preferred to stand. He said he’d be right back and left the room. He wasn’t the decorative type—unless you counted all the empty liquor bottles as decor. There was no furniture and I couldn’t guess what he used as a bed. The traffic and blaring music outside his window were constant, so maybe he just never slept.
I waited around for ages, to the point where I got used to the odor. There was nothing in the apartment meant for entertainment. No TV, no books, nothing. I kept myself occupied by watching a crackhead fistfight that was going down outside. Eventually, Stoney came back, all wound up and pissy.
“They want me to go out for a ride,” he said while putting on his coat, which had been haphazardly thrown on the dirty floor.
“Who’s they?” I asked. He didn’t bother to respond. Instead, he kicked a mean hole into the drywall out of frustration. Moments later, the angry face of one of Stoney’s neighbors peered through the hole.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing? You’re gonna fix that, you know!” the neighbor squawked as Stoney and I left. I followed him to a group of shaggy men waiting for us downstairs.
Next thing I know, I’m in the backseat of a shitty sedan cramped between two big guys. I couldn’t turn my head more than thirty degrees either way, so I faced forward. The fog ahead was so thick I could’ve dipped a knife in and spread it on toast. Stoney was in the passenger’s seat, looking modestly magnificent. Everyone except for him and I sang along to the tunes on the broken radio that kept cutting out every minute or so. I didn’t get the slightest hint at where we were going. The windows were shut, so all the smoke from the man on my left (who was on his third or fourth joint) was blowing directly at me. I tried to lean forward to cough and got laughed at. Nobody wanted to know who I was or how I got caught up in this situation.
“You can go your own waaaay,” the posse sang together, in dissonant harmony. I didn’t know how I was supposed to feel. I looked over to Stoney for guidance but he gave me nothing. He was unfazed as usual. I felt like we had to be in some deep trouble, yet the energy in the car said otherwise. We kept moving further and further away from civilization. The infrequency of the street lights made each one feel like a safe haven. I dreaded the long periods of darkness in between.
The sedan pulled over suddenly and everybody hopped out. We were on a desolate bridge above a creek. Stoney stood by my side as the three other men surrounded us. Stoney never lost his cool. The driver, who seemed to be the leader of the pack, began to speak.
“Seems you broke your end of the deal,” he said, glaring menacingly at Stoney. “You know what happens when you break your end of the deal?” The smoker next to the leader audibly whispered in his ear, “say that we’ll break the end of his cock.” The leader shook his head and denied the request.
Stoney cleared his throat and spit on the ground. “No deal was significant enough for me to know about it. We make deals, we break deals. We make money, we spend money. We make lives, we take lives. What difference does it all make? I go to bars and leave more sober than when I entered. I sleep to escape the lies of a so-called reality. I mourn at births and I...” There goes Stoney, on one of his self-contained rambles again.
The leader shouted at Stoney to “shut the fuck up for once.” The smoker and the other guy pulled out switchblades and guarded the leader. Stoney never lost his cool.
“May I ask what this deal was all about? I’m new here,” I said, immediately regretting it. I should’ve just kept my mouth shut. The group all turned to each other and burst out in laughter. Even Stoney cracked a smile. I buried my head in shame.
The leader approached me with his two goons following closely behind. He got right up in my face. I could smell his unclean breath and see every individual pore on his skin.
“I don’t care who you are, boy,” he said, even though I was at least twenty years his senior. “If you’re hanging with him, you’re gonna suffer too.”
I saw the moonlit gleams of the knives that were getting a little too close for my liking. I couldn’t see what Stoney was up to because I was zeroed in on the danger in front of me.
“There’s consequences for every action,” the leader announced. Him and his crew began inching closer to Stoney and I as we backed up against the railing of the bridge.
Out of nowhere, I heard three bangs and the men were down. I turned to see Stoney, who was unimpressed, with a snub-nosed revolver in his hand. The other hand was calmly leaning on the rail. Everybody was quiet, aside from the smoker, who was still breathing and coughing up blood. Stoney put an end to him too and never lost his cool.
I helped him carry the men and dump them in the creek. Each one of them required heavy lifting from the both of us. I couldn’t help but chuckle at how easy it was for those threatening guys to be silenced, as if I had anything to do with it. After all, Stoney did all the dirty work. I was also being overly cautious about not being seen, while he couldn’t care less. He was impossible to read. It’s not like any cars were coming anyway though. We were out in the middle of nowhere.
Using the keys I found in the leader’s pocket, I started up their junky little gray four-door and called out to Stoney to hop in. But Stoney didn’t get in. Then I realized he hadn’t even said a word the whole time. I watched the kid walk down the dark road, away from me, away from it all, and it clicked for me that that kid really was only a kid. I turned the car in the other direction and drove what I could only assume was the right way.
Julian Minerva is a sophomore English major from Queens, NY. In addition to writing, he also makes music under the name Earthican.