Arrowhead

Tony pulls his head out of the toilet and he sprawls backwards, gagging and vomiting up toilet water and piss as he tries to scramble back out of the stall, splashing across the tile floor.  He whips his head around, looking for a way out, I guess, but in front of him's Tony and behind him's me and even though he's soaked I can see he's crying because he knows as well as I do that he's not getting back up off that floor anytime soon.  It's a pathetic sight, really, but I look up and Tony's smiling, so I guess it can't be that bad.

This is the part where he tries to reason with Tony, to talk his way out of this hole he didn't even know he was in.  He's sputtering, like they always do.  He needs time, he needs help, he needs another chance.  They all need something, but at the end of the day, I've never seen one of their little speeches work.  Tony gets what he wants, or as close to it as he's willing to settle for for the time being, and we go on our merry way.

I met Tony when I was fourteen.  He was kicking the shit out of a guy I was trying to deliver a sack of brown to.  He didn't seem to notice me at first, so I just stood there in the doorway, watching Tony beat on this guy.  All things considered, I should have bailed the minute I saw what was going on, but something made me stay.  It couldn't have been what Tony was saying, because he wasn't saying anything at all.  And it wasn't that I'd never seen a hellacious beating before, because that's not exactly a rare sight down here.  I didn't know what it was, and I think I still don't, but I stayed there, watching this guy get his ass kicked, knowing there wasn't any reason to stay, knowing he wasn't going to have anything left to pay me with when it ended (if it ended: I've never known Tony to tire, or bore, easily.) and that the maniac bouncing his head off the radiator would almost certainly proceed to help himself to any cash and whatever else I was carrying once he noticed me, but I stood there and watched.

When Tony did look up from the guy he asked me if I was confident I was making the right decisions.  I didn't have an answer then and I don't have an answer now, so I guess the years haven't changed everything.  I've been watching Tony hand out beatings all up and down the highways and byways of America for some time now and while it started as one thing, it's become another, and suddenly I'm not entirely sure this is where I want to be.  Not in this bathroom, watching drops of piss and tears drip off this guy's face, not sleeping in bucket seats and waking up with every muscle in my body making a fist, not forever following, lacking the conviction of the man who's leading.  I'm not entirely confident I'm making any decisions anymore.

Tony drags the guy across the tiles back into the stall and leaves him there, crumpled on the floor.  He turns to me and tells me it's time to see my stuff.

The guy cringes away from me but I get my hands around his neck all the same.  I don't really know what I'm doing, but as I press my thumbs into his throat I realize that it feels right.  I start to squeeze and the guy's barely fighting when Tony steps back in.

"Not like that," he says.  "I'll show you."




9 May 2012