GRIND (The Silver Nitrate Series Book 1) (17 page)

Damn it. He even SMELLS sexy…

“I’m a welder by trade. I’m working some overtime right now, actually on break. So I decided to come over here and get some things I needed for a bike job I’m doing for a customer of mine.” He rubbed his eye good and hard as he responded, perhaps curing an itch.

“Oh?” she said, her curiosity piqued. “You’re a bike mechanic,
too
?”

“No, it’s a welding job, actually. I do private welding contracts for people as well, you know, just your ordinary Joe who needs some work done now and again.”

She nodded in understanding.

“His break pedal and foot peg have a couple cracks in them. Instead of replacing them, he wants to see if they can just be repaired.”

“What type of bike is it?”

“A Ninja.”

“Kawasaki?

“Yeah.” He grinned. “Kawasaki. You ride, I take it?” He nodded at the filter in her hand.

“Yeah… when I get the chance. The weather is getting cold now, but I have some repairs myself to tend to. Do you ride?”

“Hmmm.” His gaze rested on her lips then back to her eyes. “I don’t have a bike; not really my thing, I’m more of a car guy but I know how to ride and I admire and respect the machine all the same.”

Awkwardness grew arms and legs, dancing about inside her roiling gut in extraordinary ways. Whoever the DJ was to her inner anxiety disco party, she wanted him fired. Immediately.

“Zenith, did you, uh…” She scrunched her nose and looked about the place, briefly taking note of the roaming customers. “Did you maybe want to go out for drinks or something this weekend?”

“Really? You’re not afraid I’m going to try ’nd fuck you? Well isn’t that somethin’.” He said the shit so seriously, so slick and greasy, it
almost
shocked her. Not one hint of a smile graced his face, not any indication that he was joking or his utterance was merely for shock value.

“I’m not afraid of being fucked. The issue is that I’m not motivated to wanting to be
fucked
over… big difference.”

“You’re unfuck-with-able? Hmmm. Well, drinks, us goin’ out ain’t got shit to do with that.” He shrugged and rolled his eyes. “You’re makin’ it seem like I asked for your hand in marriage or somethin’. All I want to do is go out with you, talk with you, have a good time. If sex happens, it does. If it doesn’t,” he said with a ‘who tha fuck cares’ frown, “so be it. I wouldn’t mind sharing a bit of time with you… grabbing a drink, something like that.”

She smiled in return.

“Here, take out your phone and put my number in it.” He did as she instructed without hesitation. “315-271-7721.”

“And your last name?” he asked.

“Faye…Silver Faye.”

“Okay, got it. Let me send you a text right this second so that you have mine, too…and my last name is Taylor.”

She dug in her purse, removed her phone, and waited. A few moments later, her phone buzzed.

“Alright.” She saved the number, assigning his name to it. “So, I guess we can talk and figure out when to meet up later.” She continued to play with her phone a bit, taking note she’d missed several text messages from Clara.

“Actually…” He looked down at his watch. “I can tell you now. I’ve got a gig on Friday, but not Saturday. You want to hook up then? Maybe around eight? I’m actually going into work that day, gettin’ a little overtime. Is that too late?”

“Uh, no… eight is fine. Yeah, that’s fine.”

“How about a restaurant? Get some dinner, have a bit of conversation?” He looked away for a quick second to grab two more filters from the shelf.

“Yeah, that sounds good.” She stepped back from the man as he leaned slightly forward, once again invading her personal space… only this time, she forced herself to resist leaning in closer to him, so much so that they’d soon touch. She marveled at the fact she was the one who’d asked his ass out this time, but he took control, took the reigns as if it were his idea. She subdued a snicker.

“Okay, cool… cool.” He began to make his way to one of the checkout lanes. “Pick you up at eight, and I’ll call you the night before to make sure we’re still on. You have a good day.” He gave her a lingering smile from over his shoulder. “And good luck on that bike of yours.”

She couldn’t help but smile as she stared at his turned back… the way he’d slipped in and slipped right out of her presence like a water droplet down a drain.

“Thanks…you have a good day, too.”

She went back down aisle 13, looking for the filter he’d suggested. As she reached for it, she heard an annoying chewing sound, like someone trying to orally make love to a gigantic gob of gum. The heel rocker was back, chomping away at the pink wad, working it over with brute determination.

“What the hell do you want? I thought you and I had an understanding after our first meeting.”

“Why you so mean, Ice Princess?” He smiled broadly as she snatched the product off the shelf, put the other one back in its proper place and stormed off, leaving him where he stood, rockin’ and rollin’ with nowhere to go. “What?!” the jerk called out. “Oh, so you’ll let that ol’ Tonto, dream catcher hangin’ in a teepee, Redbone ‘Come and Get Your Love’ lookin’ mothafucka do his thang, huh, but I can’t get a chance? I’ll buy you a popsicle! Okay, make it
two
!”

The door swung
open and banged against the wall in a mighty thud. An elongated shadow with a slightly rounded middle cast upon the worn, wooden floor, the head unusually pointy with distortion. All Zenith could see was the man’s arms rising in the air and falling at his sides over and over again like some wizard with bell shaped sleeves casting a wicked spell; all the while his ratty robe opened and moved about from his animated motions and stirrings, making the vision all the more surreal. Zenith snatched his headphones off, causing them to fall around the back of his neck.

“What is it now, Paw?”

“What is it
now
?! Why else would I be here? For my health?! To tell you what a beautiful evening it is? Why in the hell do you think I’m standing here, Zen?” The man put his hand on his hip and shuffled a bit closer.

“You were in here fifteen minutes ago, and thirty minutes before that.” He shrugged. “This is the third interruption so either you really miss me, need something, or you are trying to get on my nerves. I’m goin’ with what’s in box number three.”

“Well, isn’t that something, you disrespectful little punk! How am I getting on your nerves when
you’re
the one that has the entire house rattling and shaking like an earthquake?! This isn’t any James Brown concert!” He flipped the overhead light on, causing him to wince as his eyes adjusted to the sudden brightness.

“James Brown, Paw…
really
? You couldn’t come up with a recording artist that was born at least after 1970?”

“Zen, it’s late at night.”

“What does it being late at night have to do with you talking about James Brown and for the record, its only 7:30 P.M. It’s
not
late at night. Old people always talkin’ about seven at night is late, like it’s the graveyard shift or some shit. And then y’all get up at the crack of dawn, bothering everybody as they are trying to get to work…” He waved his drumstick around. “Y’all out in the streets, buying your little boxes of gingersnaps that you know you can’t chew. Out getting your stool softeners, newspapers, and other unnecessary shit, fuckin’ up traffic by running red lights, driving like you’re already dead or speeding down a residential street like you’re in a race! 7:30 is not late; now go back to bed,
please
! I need to finish what I’m doing… gotta show coming up.”

“I’m tryin’ to sleep, damn it!” Paw’s brows bunched like two caterpillars caught up in the throes of combat.

Finish him!

“Again, it’s 7:30 P.M. I’m home early and need to practice for a gig I have coming up. I will keep saying it until you understand.”

“I ought to pull your ass out from behind there and beat you into a pulp with your own drumsticks! That’ll be a song you won’t soon forget!”

“Good! It would be the most exercise you got all week and we both know you’ll forget doing it right after you finish this fantasy, pulp fiction assault, so the satisfaction would be short-lived. Now, I told you when you moved in here that I
still
practice and I need to do this. You are more than welcome to go to the senior activity center tonight to play Bingo or cards. I can drive you over.”

Say yes and leave me the hell alone! I wish I was rich so I could move you into a house a few doors down and hire you 24-7 care under surveillance! You’re driving me crazy and I didn’t have that damn far to go!

“I’m the one that bought you your first drums in the first place, you…never mind,” the old man yelled out as if he wanted to add a few more unkind names to the mix, but decided against it. “I know that you practice, that’s not news to me, but I have a big day tomorrow. Important things to attend to.” The man stood erect and proud, gripping the collar of his robe as a smile lined his face. Zenith’s brow rose in sheer curiosity.

“Big day? Big day doin’
what
?”

“Big day doing what the hell I feel like doing. That’s what. Stay out of my affairs.” The old man slid his hand down the front of his robe, smoothing it out as if he were some distinguished gentleman waiting for a prestigious award.

“I need to know what you have planned. You get into too much trouble to just give me vague details and expect that to fly.” He grimaced and crossed his arms, waiting impatiently.

“I’m going to the market and to get a haircut.”

“Then I need to call the adult transportation services since Denise’s car is not working and she had to be dropped off.”

“I already called them, already took care of it. And I’m going alone.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Yes I am. I don’t need to be babysat like some child. I’m responsible.”

“Responsible? Yeah, like when you mixed the beer, baking soda, and vinegar together and said it would unclog the sink drain the other day but it ended up exploding? I want to thank you for the plumber’s bill, too. Or what about when you said you were going to take a walk down the street? Denise let you after she cleared it with me but we both gave you far too much credit. I got a call from the pet store you ended up at an hour later.”

Paw looked at him quizzically.

“They got your I.D. from your wallet, called me as the emergency contact, and I had to leave work because you refused to leave the store, demanding they free all the snakes from their enclosure! I sure as hell wasn’t sending Denise down there to have to deal with all of that. You’re lucky they could tell something wasn’t quite right and didn’t call the police on you!”

Paw still looked mighty confused as his eyes caught the illumination from the light fixture in the ceiling, hazy and dull. He raked his fingers slowly through disheveled hair, then looked about, as if lost. On a deep breath, Zenith placed his drumsticks down gently and approached the man.

“I thought you were letting your hair grow out again.” He touched a cluster of Paw’s silver and black intertwined strands. “No problem. You want a haircut?” Zenith questioned calmly as he placed his hand on his grandfather’s shoulder. The man looked towards the ground, then gave a slight nod. “You want to go to the market, get some fresh fruit, vegetables, meat, and bread?” Paw looked up at him and nodded once more. “Okay, Denise’s car is still on the fritz. Her husband will drop her off so I’ll have her go with you on the bus tomorrow afternoon, okay?”

“I don’t need her to go with me,” he protested, though a soft sheen of unspent tears coated his eyes.

“I know you don’t, Paw, but it makes
me
feel better, okay?” He pointed at his chest.

The man hesitated, then nodded in understanding before turning and leaving the room. Zenith sat back down in front of his drums, his chest a bit heavy with sympathy for Paw. He picked up one stick after the other and glared at them. The smooth, black wood felt nice as he gripped the tapered ends. At that moment, he recalled Paw taking him into his garage as a teenager one early evening in the fall. Paw had been working steady all week, sanding down wood for a table he was making Mawmaw. He was going over the types of wood he had there in his workshop to him… the mechanical tools, everything. Paw’s items were all neatly stacked and organized on well maintained, albeit cluttered, shelves hanging on the cool, cinderblock wall.

This is cherry… This is oak… This is maple… This is mahogany… This is rosewood…

On and on he went, and Zenith held onto every utterance that rolled out from the man’s lips. Paw made the most mundane discussions seem fascinating, interesting, beautiful… and then, he’d made him a set of drumsticks. He presented them to him that night so long ago. A gift; the best he’d ever received. And there they were now, still in his hands. Paw had not even noticed. Maybe he didn’t remember them, couldn’t see them clearly, or perhaps he didn’t recall sitting in his garage and creating them for Zenith’s 16
^th
birthday.

I’ll remember it for both of us, Paw…

He began to beat against the drums, clashing and thrashing about, over and over, his fists tightening around the damn things as he played to an even beat.