Chapter 32 #2
“Eddy, I’d burst into flames if I ever walked into a church,” Roscoe said before both let out stifled laughter.
“I ain’t a saint; I just like people. I like hearin’ their stories.
” He pointed to the old woman from earlier.
She was slowly eating the pasta Roscoe had given her.
“Mrs. Thompson had a son out of wedlock a long time ago. She never got married, but she’d do anything for her kid.
Worked three jobs when women workin’ wasn’t a thing.
He went off to fight in ‘Nam, but he didn’t come back.
Good moms are—” Roscoe cleared his throat, holding back a surge of repressed emotion.
“It’s good to listen, but I wish I could do more. ”
“If there is a God and heaven exists, I hope you’ll look me up if I make it.”
“How ’bout you settle for keepin’ me company while yer alive?”
“Deal.”
The sun disappeared and Roscoe knelt in the flickering light of a burning barrel. He was next to a tent holding onto an arm that had a rubber tourniquet tied to it. Roscoe held the man’s hand with both of his and looked up at the sky, tears soaking the fur on his face.
“Wait fer me, buddy. If we both make it to heaven, wait fer me.” He removed the tourniquet and gently placed the lifeless arm inside the tent before covering Eddy’s face with his jacket.
After patting the man’s chest, Rosco stood and ambled along the tents as if in a trance, disappearing into the black alleyway.
His memories were becoming even more painful to watch as I followed him into the darkness, only to end up on the beach in the middle of the day.
The warm sea breeze of this familiar place lightened the mood.
Roscoe sang while Darryl—now a full werewolf—played his guitar as they both sat on the sand.
People walked by, tossing money into the guitar case, cheering and clapping after each performance.
“We’re gonna take a break, but we’ll do some more tonight,” Roscoe said, turning from the dispersing crowd. “Can’t believe how big you got.”
“Can’t believe how fat you got,” Darryl said, poking Roscoe’s stomach with his finger. “You have an incredible voice.”
“Why thank ya, sir. How much more do you need to start building yer house?”
“More than I can get doing street performances.” He looked at his tent in the distance. It was in the same place his house would be in the future. “That’s all mine. I own that little part of the beach, and I get to surf and play my guitar every day. It’s like a dream.”
“I knew you’d make somethin’ of yerself.”
“All because you gave me that chance.” He pulled the guitar case close, looking at the impressive amount of cash they’d received. “It’s yours.”
“I didn’t come here to collect a debt.”
“Then why’d you leave the city?”
“It was time,” he said, his ears off to the side. “I needed some sun and fresh air.” He smiled at Darryl. “And a friend.”
“Ever surf before?”
“No, and I ain’t about to start.”
Darryl pulled out a plastic ziplock bag with some weed in it. “I think I could persuade you to give it a try… dude.”
“You just smoke this shit out in the open?”
“It’s legal here,” he said, pulling a thin sheet of cigarette paper from a metal case.
“No shit. When did that happen?”
“Midterms. It was on the ballot.”
“Ah. I don’t pay no attention to politics.”
“I do when weed’s on the line.” Darryl twisted the ends of the joint and handed it to Roscoe. “I also noticed something weird. Werewolves are in the government now. They have their own branch and everything. There’s talk about social programs that can benefit us.”
“Sounds like a trap.” Roscoe grabbed a lighter and lit the end of the joint before inhaling deeply. After taking another one, he passed it back to Darryl. “Can’t trust the government. They ain’t gave a shit about us for as long as I remember, so it’s a little suspicious they start carin’ now.”
“You’re half right. They probably wouldn’t have cared if there weren’t so many homeless werewolves causing problems. They’re trying to get the human and werewolf bums off the streets.”
Roscoe gritted his teeth but didn’t say anything.
“I don’t think it’ll benefit us. Plus, it’s not gonna happen for a few years at least.” Darryl looked out over the ocean as the sun disappeared behind a passing cloud. “Thanks, Roscoe.”
“For what?”
He pointed to the ocean. “For all this.”
“I believe you end a thank you prayer with an amen, seein’ as I created the ocean an’ all.”
“You know what I mean, jackass.”
“All I did was get you here. You did the rest.”
A child’s cry broke through the sound of waves crashing against the shore, catching everyone’s attention.
Roscoe’s head snapped toward the commotion. “Ah shit. Ain’t no lifeguards here?”
Darryl jumped to his feet and ran into the ocean before gliding across the rip current like a fish. It was just as I remembered from our time at the beach when Roscoe and I showed up a few months ago. The way he swam defied his nature, and I almost believed he was a shark in a past life.
It took less than thirty seconds for Darryl to reach the bobbing child.
He lifted the boy onto his back and swam parallel to the shore, where the kid’s frantic parents ran to meet up with the werewolf.
Before long, they were safely on the beach, and after the mother hugged the child, she threw her arms around Darryl, thanking him.
He walked back to where Roscoe was with a huge smile on his face.
“Damn. Ain’t never seen a werewolf swim like that. I just sort of float on the surface of the water like a buoy.”
“I think that’s the tenth person I’ve pulled out of the water in the last two weeks. This place is getting packed.”
“Where are the lifeguards?” Roscoe asked.
“There aren’t any. They’re all further up the coast near Crooked Palm, but now this place is seeing more action. Maybe they’ll put a station here soon.”
“Maybe you should take the job.”
Darryl snatched the joint out of Roscoe’s hand. “I’d never pass a drug test.”
Roscoe shrugged. “Well, you’ve been lookin’ for another job for extra money, and you seem to be pretty good at it even when yer stoned. Couldn’t hurt to try.”
“Maybe.” The larger werewolf let out a heavy laugh. “Could you imagine me wearing those dorky red shorts with that red dildo strapped to my back?”
“Why not just be naked? Ain’t like people can see nothin’ most of the time.”
“Tried that. Had a run-in with the fuzz because of it. I’m petitioning to have this part of the beach clothing optional… well, for werewolves, anyway.” He looked down at Roscoe’s bare crotch. “How do you get away with it?”
Roscoe shoved his arm into Darryl’s. “Get this. A cop tried to get me for that indecent exposure bullshit, so I went to a thrift store and got the tightest speedo I could get my hands on. You could see every vein and outline, and I technically was following the law. I looked more indecent in that thing than I did wearin’ nothing at all.
They eventually told me to just take ‘em off after a lot of people started complaining.”
They laughed, but as that died, a more somber atmosphere took its place.
“What about you?” Darryl asked. “What do you want to do for the rest of your life? Cuz it’s a long one.”
Roscoe stared out at the waves as the sun peeked back out from behind the clouds, seeming to give the question more scrutiny than usual.
“I dunno. Didn’t expect to live this long.”
“Werewolves live for hundreds of years, dude. What did you expect?”
Roscoe shrugged. “I didn’t know that. Just thought all the drugs and booze were pickling me or something. I look damn good for—however the hell old I am now.”
“You don’t know your age?”
“Hell, I don’t even know if Roscoe’s my real name anymore.” He tapped his head. “The ol’ memory’s a little fuzzy when it comes to anything more than a few decades ago.”
“This place is better than the city. Why don’t you look for a job around here and stay with me?”
“A job might interfere with the pickling process.”
“How about you stop with the hard drugs?” Darryl tossed the plastic baggie into Roscoe’s lap. “We’ve got cheap weed and light beer. Don’t need anything more than that.”
Roscoe shuffled the bag around in his hands. “This certainly sweetens the pot. All right. I’ll see if I can find a shitty job.”
“Don’t you have anything you wanna do? Ramón said something about you being able to turn tasteless leftovers and expired food into the most delicious meals he’s ever eaten.”
Roscoe frowned. “Naw. I don’t wanna cook food fer people no more. Too many painful memories.”
“Sorry.”
Roscoe playfully shoved Darryl. “It’s all good. I’ll go be a bouncer or somethin’. That’s an easy job. You just stand there and scare the shit out of people so they don’t bother causing problems. I’ve been thrown out of bars more than I’ve had to throw anyone out.”
“How much does that pay?”
“Enough to get by. Could help you get yer house built faster.” He held his hand out. “Wanna let me stay on that little strip of sand you got?”
Darryl grabbed his hand and shook. “You got it.”
The beach scene shifted, and a half-built house stood behind two tents close to the water. Darryl was seated up on a high lifeguard chair surveying the crowded waters, but Roscoe was nowhere to be found.
“Ready for a shift change?” a male, human lifeguard called up to him.
“Yup,” Darryl replied, jumping down from the chair. “I’m gonna get baked. Anyone seen Roscoe around?”
“He’s out of jail?”
“For now. We’ll see if he stays that way.
” He gripped the handle of his lifebuoy and made his way to the tents.
The leftmost one had a pair of furry legs sticking out of it.
Darryl bent over to grab Roscoe’s ankles and pulled the unconscious werewolf across the sand toward the water.
The moment a wave crashed into them, Roscoe yowled.
“Oh shit! The tide’s too high!”