"It's over!!" a drunken voice yelled from the spectators.
Damek stood there rubbing his stinging knuckles, staring down at the chump he just decimated. He shook his head in sympathy and walked out of the circle. Fat, sweaty men patted his back and yelled words of praise as he went for the water bucket, but he wasn't listening, he didn't care. He only cared about washing the copper taste of his own blood from his mouth and collecting his money. Damek snatched a towel from the wall and began wiping the sweat from his wiry, toned body.
"That was a hell of a show kid! For a second there I thought thy guy had ya, but nah, you was playin' possum da whole time. Here go yer earnings. Not a bad nights work kid." The wrinkled cowboy handed Damek a plain white envelope stuffed with twenties and fifties. Not a bad nights work indeed.
Damnit! Traffic, what time is it anyway? Oh yeah, Friday night in the Quarter. I'm never gonna find parking.
The cherry '69 Mustang came to a stop about 4 blocks from Damek's 'home'. He hoped out, grabbed his gym bag and walked the rest of the way. Weaving through drunks and cheep tricks he finally made it to his building. He hated coming in so late. Ms. Sanchez refused to give out keys to the main door so all the tenants had to buzz her to get in. Damek decided a week after living here she didn't ever sleep. He shrugged and pushed the rusty old button. It must have been five minutes of waiting before a groggy old Hispanic woman's voice answered,
"Hello, yes?"
"Ms. Sanchez, buzz me in, its Damek Maliche' from 4C."
"Do you know what time it is mida? I buzz you in honey."
The door buzzed and Damek pushed it open and stepped through. He made sure it closed and clicked before heading upstairs. He prayed he could make it to his apartment without any interruptions. Just his luck, as he passed by Ms. Sanchez' door it opened and the 5 foot elderly lady came shuffling out. Damnit, he didn't need this right now. Her hair was in huge curlers and she wore a housecoat and slippers, he could smell that dusty old leather smell wafting from her apartment.
"Sorry I'm in so late Ms. Sanchez."
"Oh that's ok miha, I was awake. What happened to you face honey? You have bruises."
"Um," he reached for his cheek "its nothing, I ran into somethin' is all. Listen, I'm really beat so I'm gonna go ahead and turn in, you should do the same ma'am."
Before she could respond he was on his way. He still had to pass the 4B door. He shuddered at the thought and prayed Connie was out partying. He didn't have time for the mindless flirting and propositioning tonight. He passed the door eyes glued to it. He caught himself shaking as he passed. Then a sigh of relief as he made it to his door. Good old 4C, the dilapidated piece of shit apartment. The door creaked open and he stepped in letting out another sigh of relief. Finally, he thought, I'm home. Finally I can relax.
Just as those words crossed his mind the phone rang. It was one of those old phones, with the bell ringer. Annoying as hell.
''Yeah...no...no. NO DAMNIT...what do you mean why? Because you are a drugged out bitch that's why...Oh don't give me that shit. Fine...yes I said fine, come over and we can talk. Bye. No I'm not going to say....OK! I love you too damnit." He slammed the phone back on its receiver.
Ex girlfriends that refuse to let go. It's a pain in the ass. Sometimes, he thought, I hate the soft side Momma gave me. I can never seem to stick to my guns when they start crying.
Samantha, 5 foot 6 of redheaded eye candy. Yeah she was easy on the eyes but that's about it. Talk about baggage. The girl came with so much she needed a Mac truck to carry it all. They had a bad breakup. Damek kicked the snot out of her ex-boyfriend/dealer and she went south on him. Claimed she needed the guy and how much she hated Damek for ruining her life. He promised himself he would never get involved with a hard luck dame again. Now if he could only shake this one off.
Damek kicked off his dirty black boots and sat at the edge of his bed. There was only room for a bed and a small table in his apartment. In the corner there was a small kitchenette with a broken oven and a tiny refrigerator. The sink was half rusted and none of the cabinets had doors. He scrapped up enough money to buy a decent second hand microwave and space heater. Fact was, just about everything he owned was second hand. When he did have money he blew it on booze and chicks, then there was the sweet Mustang waiting for him outside. That tapped him out and he hasn't come across a good source of loot since. He made enough fighting in basement events to pay rent and eat microwave dinners and soup every night. Sitting there waiting for that redheaded she devil to arrive, Damek sparked up a cigarette and flipped on his old radio. He lay down on his squeaky bed and let the soft sounds of Louie Armstrong take him away.
A sudden knock at the door snapped Damek from his hazy half dream world. He sat up quickly, the cigarette between his fingers burned down to the filter. He must have dozed off for a few minutes. He hopped from the bed and answered the door. He didn't bother asking who it was, he could smell Samantha's perfume through the door. Graciously he let her in. She walked in hastily, her heels clicking on his wood floor. As he expected she was high on something. Her clothes were half on as if she just jumped in her closet and jumped out, her makeup, at best, needed a touch up. She nursed a cigarette like it was the last one on earth. Her hands were shaking. Without hesitation she climbed into his bed. All he could do was stare at her and shake his head.
"What do ya want Sammi? I'm really beat and just want to get some sleep."
"What happened to your face Damek? You look all beat up."
"That's because I am beat up Sammi. Look what do you need? Some money? I only got a few bucks but its yours if it will get you on your way." He knew cutting to the chaise wouldn't speed things up with her but it was worth a shot.
"He's back baby, Michael is back and he won't leave me alone. I was even clean for three whole months baby. And he came back and now look at me."
She turned on the water works just as Damek suspected she would. He sat beside her and listened. He listened for 2 straight hours. It was the same story she gave him every month when she wanted to sleep with him again. Poor Samantha, she is so tortured. A heroine addict with no job and an ex who wont leave her alone. God knows where she sleeps every night. Damek met her at a bar in the Quarter. He bought her some drinks and one thing led to another. Things seemed ok for a while before the addiction started rearing its ugly head. He tried to help her, breaking Michael's jaw in 4 places was part of it. Of course that is what led to the break up. The much anticipated breakup. If only things could have gone smoothly like the TV shows. But no, here she was snuggled up against him kissing his neck between her sentences, her hand slowly moving down his chest. After a while he didn't even hear her talking, he could only hear himself.
Why cant I just let go? Why cant I tell this bitch off once and for all and get her out of my life for good. As much as I love you Momma, why did you go and give me this soft heartedness? Momma, damn I miss your hugs and kisses. The way you made Ev and I feel special when Amet wasn't around. The way you had breakfast ready and waiting every morning. I can remember what you smell like. The only smell that makes me smile. I remember how I used to play with your beautiful long hair, how you used to call my your tough little man. I love you Momma.
He glanced at the framed picture of his mother sitting beside his bed next to the smaller one of Evzen and Amet and sighed. Samantha was still choking out her sad story, her hand now resting firmly on his crotch. He sighed again. He knew the minute Samantha walked through that door he would be sleeping with her. He couldn't ever bring himself to say no. Why wait he thought. It will shut her up at least. Damek reached out to her and kissed her deeply, passionately. She slipped what little clothes she was wearing off and they made love to the soft jazz of Louie Armstrong.
~