The pike boys, p.24
The Pike Boys, page 24
She played the broken widow so well—so fucking well—with all of the complexity of a trained stage actress. Being soft and emotional, and at the same time coarse and toxic. Her words were always like dog whistles; harmless to others but made specifically to screw with him. He built his dream life, or at least was in the process of doing so, when his mother came along and made him feel small again.
Jesse stared at his mother like he wanted to hit her. Everyone stared at their table now. Everyone. Mouths hung in suspension with half-chewed food protruding out. Conversations ceased. The band played still, but it did little to cover Jesse’s words. Albert spoke to Jesse, asked him why he talked to his mother in such a way, and placed a hand on Jesse’s shoulder again.
Albert stumbled backward with the first punch. He doubled over with the second. Blood shot out of his mouth when Jesse grabbed him by the collar with his left hand and twisted his right fist up into his gut. He crumpled to the ground and moaned. Jesse straddled Albert and threw punch after punch until his face resembled a squashed berry. Hands pulled him up to his feet and from on top of Albert. Jesse’s face was red, veins popped from his neck, and every single person in the room looked at him. He exhaled and inhaled until he relaxed and the sobering grief of what he’d done came over him like a tidal wave.
Mel shouted, “Is someone in here a doctor?”
Albert groaned in agony on the floor. People kneeled at his side and put ice balled in napkins to his bruising face. Jesse stepped back inch by inch away from the gaping faces until he bumped into a table behind him. He looked out into the crowd. He saw Rose and Cameron in between peoples’ heads. Rose’s shock and grief and disappointment stabbed him in the heart.
Jesse stormed off to his office. He paced around in an angry daze. He swept every single item off of his desk and onto the floor. He kicked his bookshelf until all of the books came tumbling down. He reached behind the shelf and grabbed the brothel ledger. He tore the pages from the binding and threw them around the room. He leaned against his desk; his knuckles were covered with Albert’s blood still. He grabbed a nearby handkerchief and tried to wipe it all away, but all it did was smear, absorb more into his skin, and spread into every fine line of his hand.
His status was done, over with. He’d never come back from this. Never. Everything he’d done, all of what he built that was supposed to be his and new, was gone. Rose was right. He couldn’t be in New Orleans and be a different person. Clyde burst into the room.
Jesse stopped pacing. “I should’ve never let you bring her here. This place was my chance, my one chance.”
“You should’ve ignored her, and that asshole out there. Mother’s better now.”
Jesse snickered. "She's not sorry, she’s not better. She came here to ruin tonight, to treat this like her own stage, and you let her. I tried, Clyde. I did. But I'll never forgive her. How can you forgive her? The scars on your body are evidence of her being an abysmal mother; she never protected you. She never protected us."
Rory tried to walk in, but Clyde pushed him back out and locked the door. Clyde snarled. "But she's still our mother. What is your real problem with her?"
“She reminds me of every part of myself I want to remove.” His face was a portrait of anger and disgust and sadness. He’d never said that out loud before. But now it was out.
Clyde shook his head. "You always thought you were so better than us."
Jesse threw his arms up. "Maybe I am."
Clyde got in Jesse’s face close enough to nudge him backward on his desk. “Ask Bobby just how much better you are than me.”
Jesse laughed. He held his stomach and laughed as hard as he could. "I didn't kill Bobby, you sick fuck." Clyde's shoulders dropped. "I would never do that. Ever. But you would. That’s why I didn’t let you come with me and Twitch. Because you're fucking sick. You've always been sick, Clyde. You may think you’re some ‘good man’ now, but I’ll always be better than you."
Clyde grabbed Jesse’s collar and screamed in his face like a wild animal. Something in him, something he’d built up since he’d been home, broke. It broke in him and he wanted to break something in Jesse. He wanted to make him hurt the way he’d always hurt.
"Do it," Jesse said. "Do what you're good at. Hurt me."
Clyde let him go. He stormed out into the ballroom and out of the restaurant and out into the cold New Orleans night.
Jesse looked at his certificate from Tulane. He picked up a paperweight and shattered the frame.
Chapter 26
Broken
Clyde’s body lumbered up the street. Headlights on cars and the lights along the sidewalk all looked smudged, as if from behind rain covered glass. He was high. Time didn’t exist for him anymore, reality was negotiable, and his body was numb. His mind still spiraled though. The dope he pumped into his system from the Chinamen Uptown was cut to shit, unlike the drugs he’d found in prison. He still had Jesse on his mind. No matter how many things he tried to change, no matter how much he tried to rectify who he was, he would never be enough. He'd never be better than Jesse.
He blinked and awoke in a new drug den. He shared a pipe with a man next to him, even though he thought it was a woman last time, or maybe he was seeing things. He didn’t know where he was. Clyde was missing for a full day, but he didn’t know that. The drug dens he fell asleep in were all dark, and every time he woke up from a nap, he’d see the same people still sitting in their same spots with the same expressions of serenity across their faces. He was kicked out of one den, though, after threatening to bash a man’s face in.
He was back on the street again. It was nighttime. A couple looked at him like he was deranged as he lurched slow and menacingly up the sidewalk. He tried to say “what are you looking at” but it came out as inhuman gibberish. The man grabbed his partner’s hand and they ran across the street. Clyde laughed. They ran from him like you were supposed to when you came across a monster.
He made it back to the Rising Sun and headed straight behind the bar to take a bottle. He trotted up the spiral stairs to an empty room and closed the door. His room was quiet, isolated, like it was no longer a part of the brothel but a part of a different dimension. He trotted in circles around the room. The shadows taunted him, the noise from outside beat against the walls of his eardrums, the streetcars cried like banshees, the chatter from downstairs and that damn jazz music made his head split. He cried out for it to stop, please, please stop, but it didn’t. He curled up in the corner of the room and further drifted between places, between then and now, sane and hysterical, heaven and hell. He lost track of who or where he was.
He was back in the Captain’s house. No, wait, the Captain was in his room in the brothel. He couldn’t see his face. The light outside the hall and the darkness inside the room formed a silhouette, but he knew that silhouette anywhere. “Please, just leave me alone to die.” The shape came toward him, reached for him, said his name. Clyde, Clyde, Clyde.
Fear and anxiety clouded Clyde’s drugged brain. He shouted for the shadow to not come any closer. When it did, Clyde lunged and wrapped his hands around its throat. Just like the night he strangled the life from the Captain and shot three rounds into his lifeless chest for being an idiot, for being so stupid as to think he could steal from Big Sal and not get caught. Clyde would have given anything— everything—for a picture-perfect life like the Captain’s. He walked in and saw those pictures everywhere, the baby toys, the signs of domestication, and wanted to murder the man for jeopardizing it all. Clyde hated the man for making him into his killer. Clyde choked the shadow and felt the struggle to live drift from its body. Its hands started to release from Clyde’s wrists. Its heels stopped knocking against the floor. “Why don’t you leave me alone!”
Clyde heard his name again. But it wasn’t the shadow below him. He lifted his head up to see Rory rushing toward him. Rory tackled Clyde. Clyde flipped his smaller brother off of him and pointed toward the still shadow below him. Rory slapped Clyde. “What are you doing?”
Clyde was out of breath from his two scuffles. He looked at the shadow.
Underneath Clyde was Catherine. Her eyes were tear filled and she coughed for air. An unquantifiable amount of horror was in her eyes. She held her neck, now red and bruised, and crawled from under Clyde. Clyde stood, knees weak, hands trembling, heightened anxiety taking over his body, and he reached for her slowly. “No, no. I would never hurt you...”
She recoiled from him. Rory ushered her away without a word to Clyde. He didn’t even look at him. Clyde walked into the hallway to see Rory explaining to Jesse what happened. Clyde jogged up the hall. “Wait! Catherine, please!”
She rushed down the stairs, weeping.
Jesse threw a punch that knocked Clyde to the floor. His lips quivered in disgust. Clyde was sick to his stomach. “I would never hurt her, Jesse. You know that. You know I wouldn’t.” His voice sincere but weak, the adrenaline starting to leave his body and allowing the reality of the situation to hit him. Clyde screamed, “You know I wouldn’t!” He pleaded for his brother for help.
Jesse stepped back from his reach, looked down at him, and shook his head. “You should’ve just killed yourself.”
Jesse left Clyde on the floor, light from the hallway shining down upon him and forcing him to see the wreckage he’d left in his path.
***
Clyde found more drugs: heroin, coke, opium, whatever he could put in his body to numb his pain. He was at the Captain’s house beating on the door, harder and harder and harder, screaming for his wife to come out. She looked through the blinds. She cracked the door with the chain still on it. Clyde was manic, sweaty, pale, and his smile unnerved her. “Tell me I’m a good person, please, tell me I am. You meant that, right?” He nodded in anticipation of an answer. The rain pitter-pattered against the awning.
The woman looked the disheveled Clyde up and down. “I think it’s best if you never come here again.” She slammed the door and he heard the various locks clicking into place. He walked out into the rain. He turned around and saw Edward at the blinds now. Clyde walked away.
***
Clyde, dripping wet, clothes eviscerated now, lumbered into Hymie’s bakery. He muttered to himself. Hymie walked from behind the counter and took off his apron. “The sign says we’re closed. You can’t just—”
Clyde got to his knees, slow and uncoordinated, and took a gun from his waistband and slid it to Hymie’s feet. “Kill me.”
Hymie’s eyebrow rose. Then he laughed. Clyde rocked back and forth. “Do it.” He pulled money from his waistband and let it fall to the floor. It was mangled and soaked. The sweet scents of the lobby mingled with the smell of rain and sweat.
Hymie eyed the money. “What is this?”
“I can’t do it myself.”
Hymie picked up the money. He walked to the door and locked it. Clyde closed his eyes. He focused on his breathing and waited for it to all come to an end. He heard the drag of the gun against the floor, the slow steps of Hymie moving behind him; felt the barrel pressed against his head, pictured a world where things were different. Where he wasn’t wired for self-destruction, where he wasn’t designed to harm himself and others. He realized he didn’t know what that looked like. He heard the drop of the hammer. Then there was a click.
Hymie laughed. “It’s empty, boy.”
Clyde trembled with his eyes shut and tears running down his face. Hymie scoffed at him. “You’re not fucking right, boy. Never been right.” Hymie tossed the money at Clyde’s chest and let the bullets he had removed clatter to the floor. “Whatever problems you have are your own. Call whoever you need to call and leave.” Clyde fell backward and groveled on the floor. Hymie sighed and called the line to the brothel.
Twitch arrived moments later. Hymie helped pick Clyde up, who was still talking to himself. He spoke about how Jesse was better than him, will always be better than him. Hymie mock agreed. “Yea, yea.”
Twitch pointed Hymie to the backseat where they would lay Clyde down. His words were barely discernible. “Everyone wishes I was dead. I should be dead. Jesse couldn’t—Jesse couldn’t even do it. But everyone loves him. Fear me, but love him. Why does everyone hate me?” He repeated that over and over again.
Hymie responded, “Yep. Couldn’t even do it.”
Hymie had a handle on Clyde and told Twitch to go start the car. Clyde blocked Hymie from pushing him in the car. His words slurred. “Jesse can’t even kill him. He’s gone. I would’ve done it.”
Hymie stopped moving. “What did you say?” Hymie held Clyde up.
“Jesse—he... he don’t have the stomach for this shit. But I do.” Clyde pointed at his own chest. “I always did. Why doesn’t anyone trust me?”
Twitch looked back to see what was going on, but Hymie put a finger up to tell him to wait. Clyde said, real low and close to Hymie’s ear, “Bobby’s still alive. Jesse didn’t have the stomach for it. I could’ve done it. Jesse couldn’t. Jesse couldn’t.” Clyde lay across the backseat and Hymie shut the door. The car pulled off and Hymie stood there in the rain still thinking about Clyde’s words. Bobby’s still alive. Jesse couldn’t do it.
Chapter 27
Fresh Start
It rained the whole night as Jesse sat at his kitchen table, but he didn’t mind it. Clear skies were reserved for happy days, and today was not happy. He drowned himself in booze as he thought about everything he’d been through over the past few months. Hell, over the past four years. His dreams of a different life were done now. No one would deal with him. He was sure of it.
Mel hadn’t called him back since opening night. He’d reached out to Albert to apologize, but no response. He was sure a lawsuit was coming his way, but he’d have it settled out of court. He’d learned so much about Albert since their friendship began that could be used against him, so he would give Albert no choice but to settle out of court. Jesse poured another drink. He chuckled at the thought of blackmailing Albert. It didn’t take him long to revert to his old ways. Rose hadn’t called him, and Clyde, fucking Clyde, almost killed their baby sister. His family was toxic and the city was poison.
Jesse threw the bottle at the wall and watched the whiskey drip slowly to the floor. He stormed over to his stash of money in his top drawer. He had enough left over from what he gave Bobby to leave this place for a while. He sighed. He still had unburned bridges out of state. Maybe he could go to New York or Chicago. He looked around the condo, then out his window over the cloudy, stormy city skyline. Canal St. was empty and the city was lifeless. He needed to leave this place. New Orleans wasn’t somewhere he could be who he wanted to be. He started to pack his things.
Chapter 28
No Going Back
Two days before the election and the Women’s Temperance Movement base buzzed like a bee’s nest. Jesse found Rose next to the stage. She was busy grazing her finger over the itinerary while another woman stood next to her and nodded along. Jesse approached her.
“Hey,” he said.
“Hey,” she responded, with a hint of suspicion. She finished tasking the woman, then followed Jesse to the corner of the hall. He put his hands on his hips then turned around, looking from the floor to the stage and up to the ceiling, biding his time to gather his thoughts.
“What are you doing here?” Rose said. “You know it isn’t proper to stop by like this. What if Cam—”
“Leave with me,” he said.
She stammered.
“You were right. I can’t be someone different and still stay here. Too many memories, none good, that flood my mind and make it hard. I know too many people. Too many connections. And my family....” he paced back and forth in a tight circle. “I will continue to go through this repetitive cycle if I stay here. Further becoming someone I don’t like.” Clyde’s descent into a hollowed-out shell of himself came to mind. Then Albert’s beaten face. “I want to write my own story. One with you in it.” Rose was in stunned silence. “So please, say you’ll come with me?”
Rose didn’t move, didn’t blink. She anxiously twisted the itinerary into a cone. “Where—how long? What is your plan?”
An exasperated snicker was all Jesse could muster. “I don’t know. Months. Forever. I need to be gone.”
Jesse put a finger up before Rose could speak. He wasn’t ready to have his heart torn from his chest. “Don’t... don’t answer right now. I want to give you time to think. A day.”
Jesse stormed off and left Rose twisting her itinerary into dust.
Jesse kept his head down when he walked through the doors of the Rising Sun. He couldn’t afford to get entranced by its siren song again. He walked through the parlor and on to Clyde’s office. He pushed through the door and saw Clyde there, eyes half opened, with a mess of papers on his desk, a glass of whiskey, and a bag resting in the chair across from him. There were no words shared. Jesse knew that had gone right out the window after he’d told his brother he should’ve killed himself. But Jesse didn’t feel much remorse for those words. Catherine could’ve died. And for that, he’d never forgive Clyde.
The money was all there; a front on the remaining money from Jesse's portion of the liquor job and a buyout of Jesse's portion of the brothel. Jesse zipped the bag back and stared at his brother, taking him all in. "Nothing left to say, I guess."
Clyde shrugged. "I guess not."
Jesse reached out for a handshake, but his arm hung there waiting for Clyde to muster up the strength to reciprocate. His brother looked so drained and depleted, like his body struggled to function, like his hangover had a hangover. Clyde lifted his arm and trail marks were all over it; tiny little holes that danced along his forearm like tribal markings. “Jesus,” Jesse said. The trails stumbled and bumbled like the steps of a drunk man in snow; they looked like he got the first plunge right, then struggled to find another vein for the next hits. Each mark was further and further from an actual vein, with one even looking bruised. Clyde was too ashamed to speak.
