THE COLLAPSE: Swantown Road (7 page)

Luke huffed and then spoke to Fish with mock boredom, “Do we have a problem, douchebag?  I need to get my dirty cock into this bitch here sometime tonight before I pass out.”

Tarra snapped, “What the fuck did you just say?”

“You heard me!”  Luke belted out, laughing.  Then he puffed out his chest and stared at Fish, who now was breathing extra hard in utter disgust, his clenched fists stiff at his side. 

Tarra was still angry at Luke’s degrading remark, and was shaking her head, but did nothing other than roll her eyes and turn away.

Luke was pretty sure that the dude with the nice hair wasn’t a fighter, but he wasn’t so sure about the other one.  Fish.  Or whatever the hell he called himself.  He looked like he had been through some shit during his lifetime, and he was pretty damn tall with a huge reach.  It was the nice-hair guy that was sitting with Tarra in the bar, and this Fish character was obviously very loyal to him for some reason.

Fish regained his composure, took a deep breath, and calmly said, “Last chance, dude.  Leave Tarra alone and I’ll leave you alone.  Otherwise, yes, we have a big problem.” 

Luke sneered at Fish and once again sized him up.  Maybe it was the calmness in Fish’s voice, or the tattoos, or the loyalty to his buddy, but Luke was pretty sure that this dude was actually ready to go a few rounds right there in the parking lot, which was unlike most guys who would have already backed off by that point.

There was a slight hint of fear in Luke’s voice as he said, “Wow, you really want to fight over scraggly ol’ Butterfly here?”  He pushed Tarra to the side by her shoulder, maybe just a little too hard, and she almost took a spill in the parking lot from the force of it.

“That’s it, pal, it’s game time.”  Fish declared as he pulled his shirt sleeves up over his shoulders, readying himself for battle.  He never accepted violence to women.  It was precisely that moment when Tarra noticed the cartoonish-looking tattoo of a crow on Fish’s left deltoid, which was previously covered up by his shirt sleeve, and she gasped in realization.

A white man arriving on a powerful sailing vessel, traveling with a crow.
  The words of her grandfather echoed in her head. 
Oh my god, it’s Stephen!  His buddy Fish is the crow!
 
The old man might have been right all along!

As Fish went to charge at Luke, Stephen stepped in front of him and did his best to hold him back, but Fish was on a warpath and a struggle between them ensued.  Tarra, suddenly empowered by her grandfather’s vision and her anger at Luke’s comments and actions, shouted at the top of her lungs.

“Hey!  Guys, don’t worry, I got this.”

Fish and Stephen, startled, stopped pushing each other and turned to Tarra, who flew up into the air and with a half-spin, kicked Luke square in the temple!  She landed awkwardly, probably due to her excessive alcohol consumption, but Luke went down like a truckload of broken concrete.  And stayed down.

“What the-“  Stephen murmured into Fish’s ear in astonishment as Tarra leaned over the unconscious body of her abusive boyfriend and spat upon it.  She grabbed Stephen and Fish each by the crook of their arms and turned them toward the street.

“Why don’t we get the hell out of here before he wakes up, shall we?”

Shrugging and laughing, both of them agreed.

The rest is history, as Stephen’s ship returned to Everett and in the days afterward he kept in constant contact with her.  After only two weeks of communicating through emails and phone calls, Tarra asked if she could come down and visit him for a while, and since Stephen lived alone in a lousy apartment, her sales pitch was to cook and clean for him while he was at work, and by night they could hang out and be together.  She didn’t feel quite right on her native soil in Alaska anymore and desperately wanted to leave, and the bonus was that she was convinced Stephen was her destined soulmate.  Even her grandfather agreed.

Stephen had very positive feelings toward the arrangement; he thought that she was the best thing that had ever happened to him, so he sought counsel with Fish to see if he was making a poor decision or not.  Normally, Fish would be totally against
any
such type of arrangement, as it could possibly place his relationship with his best buddy in jeopardy with a “woman in the picture”.  Had Fish told Stephen that he did not think it was a good idea, Stephen would have likely heeded Fish’s advice and politely declined.  But, as luck (or fate) would have it, in the case of Tarra, Fish simply responded, “Sure, why not?  That Eskimo chick was cool as hell.”

Tarra found out a few months later that the tattoo of the crow on Fish’s shoulder wasn’t even supposed to have been there.  As the story goes, as a young sailor it took Fish a bit longer to promote to Petty Officer Third Class than most sailors did.  Since he was so proud of his achievement when it actually happened, he took some shore leave and went back home to his hometown of Kalispell, Montana to celebrate.  Sailors have nicknames for most things, and call their Petty Officer rank insignia “crows” due to the symbol of the American eagle above the chevrons.  Fish got extremely intoxicated during his shore leave in Montana, and decided to get his “crow” tattooed on his shoulder where it normally would be if he were in uniform.  Well, the tattooist in Montana wasn’t familiar with Navy lingo whatsoever and went ahead and did exactly as Fish had instructed, and tattooed an actual crow on his arm, which wasn’t anything near what he had wanted.

Chapter 8 – Stephen Gets Ditched

Back in the present, Stephen, Fish and Connie left the Oak Harbor Bar and Cafe with extreme haste and made their way to Off the Hook, a bar and grill that presented a live DJ on the weekends after nine o’clock and had a small, sturdy wooden dance floor for those in the mood to get down.  It was a local favorite among the sailors stationed on Whidbey Island, and Fish mentioned to them both as they walked that he hoped “his table” had not yet been occupied.  If so, he would either negotiate with the current occupants for some seats or simply hang around the vicinity of “his table” and make it so uncomfortable for those occupants to be there that they would eventually just up and leave on their own.

As the trio entered the bar, they noticed that Off the Hook was already packed.

“Cripes, look at all those people!  There better be seats open at my table.”  Fish grumbled, as they showed their ID cards to the doorman.  The doorman rolled his eyes and laughed to himself at Fish’s ridiculousness.

Connie attempted to console him with, “Don’t worry big boy, we’ll find somewhere to sit.” 

“No, I want
my
table, damnit.”  He said, almost angrily.

Once they were inside, it was Stephen’s turn to be the celebrity, as several sailors from his squadron had already taken up residency within the bar, and many of them cheered as he walked in.  It made Stephen a bit emotional, to see his former shipmates explode with such enthusiasm at his entrance.  He could barely hold it together as the handshakes and ‘where ya been(s)’ and ‘we need you back(s)’ flowed one right after another.  He felt missed, and for a short moment he wished that he wasn’t retiring.  A
very
short-lived moment, indeed.

Fish had already pioneered a trail through the customers, mostly sailors, who were mostly standing, and waved Constantine over to “his” table, which was miraculously vacant (Stephen thought he saw some guys out of the corner of his eye immediately abandon the table when Fish first walked in, but he wasn’t entirely sure).  Connie was still shaking hands and passing out quick hugs, as she was also merrily greeted by the half-drunk guys from the squadron, but for other obvious reasons, of course.  She had a vagina.

Once Connie had reached Fish, he ordered her to sit at “his table” while he stood in line to get drinks.  Stephen was still chit-chatting, so Connie was stuck at the table for the time being.  The line was longer than normal, especially that early in the evening, but not too long as to be irritating.  It was maybe five minutes later when Stephen finally joined his best friend in line and passed him a twenty to pitch in for the next round of beers and shots.  As they waited, Fish noticed a headline at the bottom of the screen on the small TV above the bar that read, “MEMPHIS IN CHAOS”.

“Dude, check it out, yo.”  Fish nudged Stephen with his elbow and pointed to the TV above the customers.

“I see that.”  Stephen replied.  “I wonder what’s going on over there.”  The TV volume had been turned down to a point that did not exceed the decibel level of the many conversations taking place along the bar by the customers, and it could not be heard by either of the two.

Fish shrugged and said, “That doesn’t look good.  I bet everybody went ape shit over there after those shootings earlier.  You think?”

“Yeah, you’re probably right.”  Stephen agreed.

“Does it sound bad if I say I kinda want to watch that right now?”  Fish laughed.

“Yes, it does!  We’re out drinking, you idiot!  We are definitely NOT watching the damn news!  How often do I ever go out with you anymore?”  Stephen said and punched his buddy’s shoulder, maybe just a little too hard to make his point clear.

“I hear ya, brother.  Never mind!”  Fish answered, rubbing his arm.  But something inside both of them knew that there were terrible things happening in Memphis at the moment.  The images on the TV depicted gunfire, bloody people, and fires blazing in the background of nearly every camera angle.

“Why don’t you crash over at my house tonight and we can watch it after the bar?”  Stephen asked.

Fish glanced back at Connie sitting by herself at the table; smooth legs crossed and  gorgeous black hair shining in the bar lights, and then looked back at Stephen and said, “I don’t think so.  I will catch up with you tomorrow though.”

Stephen knew what was going on in Fish’s mind and thought about Tarra’s pre-bar instructions to him: 
You need to make sure he doesn’t try to bang that poor girl. 
Connie actually seemed interested in Fish, for some strange reason, which put Stephen in a very tough spot.  Loyalty to an old friend - or loyalty to the Old Lady.  Which one should a man choose?  What if Tarra never finds out?  No harm, no foul then?  Could Fish actually keep something like that quiet?  Doubtful!  Stephen thought that maybe he could play the dumb card, and act like he didn’t know?  Tarra was too smart for that, though.  She would know that he was playing stupid.  But what about Fish being her supervisor, wouldn’t that put them in an awkward situation at the office?  Stephen decided he would use that particular angle to sway his buddy from taking advantage of the young lady.  After all, she was still married (technically) and both of them could get into some seriously hot water if the navy ever found out they were messing around.

Stephen decided to keep an eye on the two lovebirds for the remainder of the evening.  Hardly anyone in the whole place had noticed that the news had not changed topics once throughout the night.  Not once.  But nobody noticed!  It was a typical Friday night,
full speed ahead
! Everyone was in beast mode, no time for the stupid news!  Typical America.

Even though Stephen did his best to keep up with Fish and Connie, they ultimately ended up disappearing on him an hour prior to closing time, and Fish had turned off his phone.  After Stephen noticed that they were gone, and all his calls to Fish went straight to voicemail, Stephen decided to call it quits for the evening and ended up catching a cab home alone.  On the ride there, he thought about how he was going to explain, if anything, to Tarra.  Odds were, he would just tell the truth, things were so much easier that way.  But how did they disappear on him so easily? 
Those sneaky little kitties!  I am definitely going to have a little chat with him before this weekend is over, and maybe even a little chat with Constantine as well.  
Stephen thought to himself as the cab driver attempted to make small talk with him on the short ride home.  He was drunk, and pissed off that he got ditched, and people think all up all kinds of conflicting shit when they’re hot in the zone. 
Oh well, I should have known better.  I’ve known Fish for too long now.  It was fun while it lasted, though!  No, no, it could have been longer.  I don’t go out that often.  They should have stayed with me until closing time at least.  Maybe I will let Tarra talk to him instead, that should fix his wagon!  No, I can’t because then she might not let me go out with him again.  Wait, what the hell am I saying, am I a little kid?  Is she my mom?  I can do whatever I want.  I don’t need her permission.  That’s right, motherfuckers, I am the KING around this motherfucker.  The king, damnit.  That’s right.  Don’t you forget it.

All that aside, by the time Stephen got home, he had recanted his own thoughts once again and decided that although he was the king, he accepted that the
queen
actually ran things around that motherfucker.

Chapter 9 – Memphis Goes to Shit as the Entire Nation Watches

By eleven PM, Central Standard Time on February 1st, Memphis had officially become more dangerous than any other city on the planet (Iraq and Afghanistan included).  Saddened and angered by the slayings during the Chicken Slaughter earlier that evening, relatives, friends, and sympathizers had declared war on any and all law enforcement in the city, and pretty much any type of government in general. 
Enough was enough.
  Police cars were bashed up, shot at, tipped over or lambasted with Molotov cocktails (or all of the above).  Furious mobs of vigilantes seeking street-justice (AKA revenge) roamed the streets freely.  Men and women in uniform were attacked and even murdered on sight.  Additionally, an entire platoon of members from Tyrone’s former gang had launched a full-on frontal assault on 201 Poplar Avenue, which had served as the city’s police headquarters and courthouse.  The building fell quickly, as most law enforcement was stranded elsewhere throughout the city, defending itself from attacks, and the invaders were armed with high-powered and highly illegal automatic weaponry that included armor-piercing rounds (cop killers).  The entire complex was set ablaze, with many men and women still inside.  Any survivors, guilty or innocent of the carnage at the Chicken Slaughter, that fled the burning building were gunned down or beaten to death.

During the wee hours of the morning on the 2nd of February, looting and rioting became the order of the day.  Commercial and residential fires blazed out of control throughout the city, as most fire stations had been plundered or destroyed, and the lucky stations that were still intact and functional refused to respond to any emergency calls in fear of being shot or beaten.

Surrounding cities such as Germantown, Millington and Bartlett had dispatched some of their units to assist, along with the Shelby County Sheriff’s Department, but most of them lost radio contact once they entered the city and were considered lost.  The neighboring cities and counties also discovered that they themselves had bigger fish to fry of their own, as the violence had reached it’s apex in Memphis and was now spilling into the nearby suburbs.  The epidemic was spreading.  Fast.  Neighborhood watches and gun-carrying, trigger happy suburbanites began shooting at anyone that “didn’t appear to belong” on their streets.   

By nine o’clock AM on February 2nd, the situation in Memphis was beyond any type of local control, and the Governor had no choice but to call up the Tennessee National Guard for assistance.

*****

Stephen woke up the morning of February 2nd with a mild hangover.  He was glad that Fish had ditched him when he did, because if he had not, they would have drank until closing time (which would have likely included more Fireball shots) and his mild hangover wouldn’t have been so mild after all.  He didn’t remember telling Tarra what had happened last night, but she reminded him of it as she prepared some quick biscuits and gravy, which was one of Stephen’s weekend favorites.  She didn’t seem too upset about it, almost amused instead of disappointed.  Stephen was thankful for that. 

Once the Fish discussion was out of the way, she asked if he knew about the “situation” in Memphis.  Stephen tried to remember the images on the TV at Off the Hook and said, “I know it looked bad, there was a lot of blood and fires everywhere.”

“My hungover husband, it’s WAY worse than that!”  Tarra exclaimed as she busted the biscuits open and soaked them with sausage gravy.  She continued, “Let’s turn on the TV, I bet they are still playing it.  It was on all evening on every news channel.  I want to watch as much as we can before the girls wake up.  I don’t want them to see it.  They will ask too many questions that neither of us have the answers to.”

Indeed, Tarra was correct, the Memphis situation was still terrible.  The Tennessee National Guard had been activated, and first responders had already set up command posts on the fringe of the worst parts of the city.  Some of the advance party soldiers had no choice but to  engage the rioters, and early losses were amassed on both sides.

“Geezus, it looks like Afghanistan.”  Stephen commented as he stared at the TV.

“It sure does!  I don’t think we’re going to plan a trip to Graceland any time soon.”  Tarra said as she snatched a piece of Stephen’s gravy-soaked biscuit off his plate with her fingers and popped it into her mouth.  Stephen just watched as she munched on it, then licked the gravy from her fingers.  There was nothing he could do.  She always took food off his plate.

“That’s fine.  Elvis isn’t dead, anyway.”  Stephen said, shaking his head.  “They just reported seeing him at a Chevron station recently. Or was it Arco?  Something like that.”  He laughed.

“That was a television commercial about five years ago, fool.”  Tarra scolded, but laughed along with him anyway.

Later that day, in the early afternoon, Fish finally texted Stephen that he was sorry that he ditched, but had some good news to tell him.  Stephen wondered what it could possibly be, and joked with himself that she was pregnant with his child. 
Congratulations, dad!  Now, how are you gonna afford that, brother?
  Nah, it was too soon for that.  Although Fish did have his fair share of pregnancy “close calls” in the past.  Most of the women were sailor-chasers looking for a meal ticket.  As irresponsible as he was, it was a blue fuckin’ miracle that he hadn’t knocked any gals up yet.  Maybe he was shooting blanks.  Stephen hoped that Connie wasn’t as irresponsible as Fish.  He liked her.  Plus she
just
had a child.  And how the hell did she look so good for only five-or-so months post partum?  Even though Tarra looked great now, her body was absolutely wrecked for quite awhile after she gave birth to the girls.  But then again, she did carry two babies, not just one. 

*****

Fish watched the news on Constantine’s little 30-inch Walmart special as she attempted to multi-task him a full fledged breakfast.  She was trying to impress him, but the breakfast was kicking her ass.  She was too young and inexperienced. 
Damnit, I hope I don’t mess this up.  If I can keep him happy for the next eight months, he will be retired and will no longer be my supervisor.  Then, we can have a REAL relationship!  He was so good in bed!  And I’ll have a full-time babysitter while I’m at work, for free!  Total win-win-win! 

Thinking back,
Connie felt as though she messed up when she married her husband, who wasn’t much older than she was.  She always had a thing for older guys, like Fish, but only dated guys that were her own age because that’s what all of her friends did.  Her mother also warned her not to marry the turd, and that she should have set her sights on a man at least eight to ten years older than her.  But she thought her ex was exciting, sexy and confident (which wasn’t the case at all), and they had dated on and off throughout their entire high school years, not to mention he was the first man she ever had inside her.  He had pretty much given her an ultimatum when she left for basic training in the navy that if she didn’t marry him before she departed, he would kick her to the curb and end their relationship for good.  She was pretty sure he just wanted to get out of their mediocre town in Texas and live off her salary while he played video games and smoked weed or drank beer all day. Now the douchebag was gone, back to the same small town in Texas, supposedly.  Connie was pretty sure he was there.  He had blocked her on Facebook but she saw some of his posts on her girlfriends’ walls, mostly him flirting with them and asking them to ‘party’.  She was almost positive that the baby had scared him off, he couldn’t handle any form of responsibility very well.  Husband and Father of the Year.

Fish yelled from the second-hand microfiber recliner, “Are you cooking eggs in there?”

“Of course.”  She yelled back.  There was a clank of something metal hitting the cheap linoleum floor. 

“What was that?”  Fish asked .

“Nothing.  Don’t worry about it.”  Connie giggled. “I make good eggs!” 

“Good eggs, sounds delicious.”  Fish answered, trying not to laugh.  He wondered if that was the egg-flipping spatula that just hit the deck.  He didn’t care, he was hungry as hell.  Since his tolerance for alcohol was double or triple that of Stephen’s, he was hardly hungover at all, but starving because he didn’t eat anything while they partied.

Fish yelled to the kitchen, “You should come in here and watch this, yo.  The whole city of Memphis is totally fucked up right now!  They even have the National Guard called up!” 

“I would if I could, but I’m stuck in here.”  She hollered back.  “Someone’s gotta do the cooking.”

“Okay, I hear you.  Good job.”

“Besides, I saw some of it last night on the TV at the bar while you were off goofing around with all your girlfriends.”  Connie said, jokingly but with a hint of accusation.

“Those are just my friends, not ‘girl’ friends, just friends.  Mostly just bar friends.  Nothing to worry about.  Just like your spatula that hit the deck a minute ago.” 

“What?”  She shouted.

“Kidding, kidding.  Geezus, keep your skirt on.”  Fish said, and waited.  If Connie would have asked him another question or comment about his female friends such as “How many of them have you slept with?” or “So-and-so seems like she really likes you,” he would have been out the door.  He had no patience for womanly inquisitions, especially since the two of them JUST started messing around and they weren’t even supposed to be doing it.  He couldn’t have a Stage Five clinger working in his office for him, not even in the short term.  Nope, no way!  It would throw everything out of whack, his other subordinates would start to make assumptions, and he wouldn’t be able to supervise effectively.  Indeed, had she made one more comment, he would have cut that relationship off at the roots and never looked back, as if it never even happened, regardless of how young and gorgeous she was. 

But she didn’t.  Instead, she asked if he wanted some vodka with his orange juice.  Wow!  He was pleasantly surprised to hear that. 
Hmmmm, this one might be a keeper after all!

Although Fish felt like the King of all Creation for the moment, he dreaded the impending confrontation he would have with Stephen (and Tarra).  He anticipated a twenty-minute lecture from Stephen, then probably some name calling from Tarra along with the whole “disappointed” speech, and then possibly even some more lecturing from Stephen before it was all said and done.  There was no way around it, Connie had to get her baby back from the Alexander’s eventually, and Fish had every intention of accompanying her just like a gentleman should.