Murder with Fahrenheit
Bryan Fahrenheit only took a few steps until the familiarity had dissipated. There was a sensation throughout his body that made him want to turn away. What kept Bryan gravitating towards the lamp was curiosity. A flip of a switch and the rotten upholstery was illuminated. The dankness everywhere caused Bryan to gip. There was a sepia tinge to the room caused by the unread newspapers stacked on the edges of the walls. He choked on the stench of burnt out cigarette butts; pools of stale Budweiser washed the char in ashtrays. Bags of shit were shattered throughout the apartment among month old pizza boxes and their residences consisting of pizza ends, rat faeces and their dead young. It was Jeff’s place.
Bryan last drank with Jeff in a gay bar that was opened after hours in the dark alleys in the city centre. The staff knew them. They were regular patrons who would tip and at times go along with half enthused small talk. The friendliness was a change of pace from what it was: a place that carried humanities unwanted. To them the night welcomed all. And so did the Rotten Rainbow. It was three rotten nights ago that Jeff looked at Bryan with despair. ‘You look like you’ve got rigormortis. Why so stiff?’ The fume from his smoke clogged Jeff’s view of Bryan. Neither cared. ‘Isn’t that for the dead? Well fuck Bryan, I may as well be dead.’ Jeff circled his bourbon, Jim Beam straight. ‘How long have we been friends, Bryan?’
‘Well Shit. I’ve lost count. 15 years give or take?’
‘Friends do favours for each other don’t they?’
Jeff’s apartment number was 4409. His building was small and realistically filled 400 rooms. The thousand numbers nagged at Jeff. Not enough at times.
The scurrying rodents chased underneath dumped clothes and torn rubbish bin liners as the cats moaned from the window. Bryan had not known Jeff to be so disgusting. He had been to his apartment once long ago. Years are a long measure of time. 355 days to be exact. 356 in a leap year. It had been two leap years and the time between since Bryan had last stepped inside this cesspit. It was romantic when he was here last. He remembered a framed picture of Jeff and his girlfriend Mary proudly displayed above the mantelpiece that is now stained with blood and piss. Bryan could tell that a stranger had a presence in this scene; Death. It had paid a visit recently and it caught on Bryan’s throat. Death was a man tonight and his smell was stained familiar. His name was Jeff.
‘What’s the favour?’
‘Well how big can it be?’
‘Two fingers worth of 5 Star straight. The some.’
‘Needs to be bigger than that Bryan.’
‘Shit. You’re serious aren’t you?’
‘I’m not coping well at all. I’m going to give you some numbers and you’re gonna work out what they all mean alright? Not now. But later.’
‘You know the rules fellas. Sun up and it’s home time.’. The bar tender was well manicured and moisturised. Jamie's eyes glazed over his two drunken regulars. He had always coated his kind words in spite.
‘This is what happens when you take a straight man to a gay bar. You can’t win with the gays, Bryan thought.
One day later Bryan left Jeff at his apartment. It was a short night of spirits and billiards and more expensive than either could afford. One was a deadbeat. The other retired. Jeff made an off the cuff remark. Bryan vaguely remembered him complaining once again that they never had enough rooms for numbers. He was drunk. Bryan imagined it was a song:
Never enough room for numbers, never enough time for space.
It sounded like a song he must have heard somewhere before. Bryan was a maestro that day for all the time he remembered his masterpiece.
Bryan had wished he felt more haunted when he saw Jeff’s wrist bone. He really had dug the blade deep into his arm. The ants had started feasting on Jeff’s flesh. Bryan could not get his mind away from the shit in the clear plastic sandwich bags. Some were torn open and were eaten by the rats. It was around this moment Bryan realised he had become paralysed. He once had great admiration for his friend, and it took only a few steps for that admiration to quickly wash away. Bryan couldn’t handle the thought of going to a funeral of his friends. Motionless he stared at him. Bryan slowly put his hand down his pants to adjust his balls. There are some things that are awkward whatever the occasion.
‘Do you remember me?’ Bryan Farenheit did not look appealing to the bartender. He had not been able to afford new clothes since his last full time job. He had worn the same overcoat for a long time and it reeked, his hair was dishevelled and Bryan was beginning to miss his friend.
‘Oh of course I know him, you’re with him all the time. Don’t tell me you don’t remember me?’ The bitter gay bartender seemed more cheerful than Bryan was used to. He could help but feel cocky knowing he has more of a way with the guys than his friend.
‘I need to know when you last saw him.’
‘Look, I get this a lot and you’re better off sweetie, really. Guy’s are a waste-of-space, once they’re done with you they’re go one to the next dirty slut.’
‘He’s not... It’s not like that. I’m worried about him. I can’t say why but he could be hurt.’
‘Oh no. I hope he’s alright but I’m sorry. Last I saw of him was with you two nights ago.’
‘But we weren’t here...’
‘I never said you were. I saw him and you outside that shitty apartment building. He was screaming about the room numbers of that place like it was something new.’
‘Something new?’
‘The numbers, there a collection of apartment buildings. It’s all an ego trip for small man little todger Jim Kite. He owns all the cheap domestics and chains all the room together just so everyone knows they’re his bitch.’
The black vortexes that warped Bryan’s memory slowed down momentarily for him to remember his maestro euphoria; the numbers to remember and the message to be relayed.
Curiosity harked back on Bryan as he looked on at his friend’s corpse. Jeff had now lost most of his blood to the carpet and pests. He sat back into the rubbish that had yet been pried open as he watched Jeff’s skin. Bryan noticed how yellow he had become. Jeff was a banana peeling away decaying underneath the filament of the glass bulb. He was now black and mould. Bryan removed his hand from his crotch and took a long smell.
There were moments where Bryan would accept life’s over complications. His mind often wondered where it should not. He would cloud judgement with facts that he had materialised in haste. Bryan considered while looking at his dead friend if his death was a conspiracy. A taste of Jack Daniels echoed in his mouth as Bryan recounted why his memory was so poor, quickly dismissing the idea of sobriety. Alcohol would help him think straight. He can’t think while he has the shakes. Jeff was better at this. Jeff wouldn’t have gotten the shakes.
Bryan thumbed his mobile in his pocket. He wanted to phone the police, but as he typed in all three nines he braced himself for a point of no return. No one above their own cared for either Jeff or Bryan. And Bryan was so unreliable and drunk he would be blamed. He was certain he would be blamed. Poor Bryan. He now had to find Jeff’s rotten killer.
Bryan got on his long tattered over coat. His cosiness made him forgetful. Forgetting what he was trying to do. Stop a killer. Catch a murderer. He took a drink from a metal container. Drinking alone wasn’t the same without Jeff, poor banana Jeff.
The clarity of Bryan’s mind gave way to a vivid thought. Jim Kite would have to die. Bryan concluded Jeff’s death was because of Jim Kite. Death would come to Jim Kite, thought Bryan. ‘Jim Kite?’ Said Bryan. Finding Jim’s headquarters was easy. Too easy. Evil is always in plain sight, he thought.
‘Another complaint? I don’t have anything to say to you if you want to make a suggestion to Kites Apartments LTD then leave a letter with my assistant. I’m a busy man.’
Jim Kite was in fact telling the truth. He was a very busy man, and he didn’t believe Bryan was making a complaint, he thought he was a lunatic but he didn’t have time for explanations. His hair was very slick. His cufflinks were gold. He was a very clean shaven man, Jim Kite. Not the murderer Bryan had in mind. Murderer’s never are how we imagine them to be, so we never do know when we are faced with one, thought Bryan.
‘You’re a killer!’
‘I just believe in big business, I always employ them after. Now if you would be so kind.’
‘Jeff. You murdered Jeff you cunt!’
‘I’m sorry but I-‘ Jim Kite was abruptly cut off by Bryan charging into him and throwing Jim Kite’s neat hair into a dishevelled mess. Blood drew from newly opened wounds across Jim Kites face.
‘He was a stupid fucker! A stupid fucker! And you’re a stupid fucker too, now get the fuck off me!’ Taken aback Bryan slowed his punches, he glanced into Kim Kites eyes. ‘But I didn’t fucking kill the prick.
Why don’t you go and ask someone who wanted him dead like his lousy whore ex-girlfriend. Fucking cunt! Get the fuck out of here. If I see you here again you’re a fucking dead man, Bryan. Don’t act so fucking surprised! You hang with arseholes their enemies will know your name. I’ve got my eye on you you fucking scum. Now fuck off.’
Bryan threw up the last of last night’s curry over the office of Jim Kite. He believed his words but couldn’t help be disgusted with his way of life. No one so polished can be so clean. It’s healthier to have the sick on the outside, after all. Jim Kite just had his donated detox.
Bryan only vaguely remembered Mary, she was a distant women whom he was fond of. Her smile was warm and she was attentive to even the trivial details in a conversation. Bryan knew Jeff would have had to do something horrific to drive her away. There was an pre-acknowledgement in him already, Jeff had drank too much, been abusive or scared and grew distance between them both. He never appreciate life’s simpler things, did Jeff. He liked chaos and calamity. He was a James Dean without the cool.
Mary was just as pretty as she always was when Bryan met with her. He had a soft spot for her after all these absent years. Her face was void of make-up and her hair was tied in a bob, she was practical but gave off an aura of feminine mystique that could not be ignored. She was an epitome of natural beauty.
‘What the Hell as happened to you Bryan? You used to be so smart and intelligent, look at you now, you’re a wreck.’ Mary’s pitying glances pierced Bryan’s old heart. He was 63 meeting an old friend, smelling of piss and without a shower. It hurt him to know how far he had fallen from grace.
‘I hit hard times. We all hit hard times don’t we Mary? I just don’t have the energy to pretend to want more of life anymore. I’m done with pretending.’
‘And your eye Bryan.’ Jim Kite’s revenge.
‘It was nothing. I was trying to find some answers about a friend and it got ugly.’
‘Is it Jeff? God what’s happened to him?’ Why Bryan couldn’t tell the truth bewildered him. But for a moment in the presence of someone great he had a sense of duty to lie to Mary. She had had it rough. Poor Mary.
‘No not him, just a mutual friend. Jeff’s fine. He didn’t want to see you, well, because it’s him and he feels bad.’
‘He told you that? He told you he feels bad?’
‘Yeah he did. Hey, I’m sorry to bother you Mary.’
Bryan could tell Mary hadn’t harmed Jeff. He waved goodbye and went to see Jim Kite once more for answers. As soon as he arrived the office of Jim Kite was bare, the picture of Jeff removed. Bryan could not fathom how a man who was larger than life could disappear so easily. Jim Kite had flown away.
There was a rotten corpse that Bryan had called a friend two feet away from him. He was still afraid to send him to the morgue. Jeff had started to look inhumane and began to give out a stench, sweet pungent and lingering acetone. Bryan had long plugged his nostrils with cotton buds but the smell would leak through the snot to drizzle down his trachea. He was used to gipping from the pass few days. A handmade scarf hung from an open draw that Bryan had remembered from a long time ago, the colours offended the eyes but him recall a night with his friend. When things were better.
‘Don’t tell me. You’re auditioning to be a homeless bum who feeds pigeons?’
‘Piss off, Mary made it. If I don’t wear it she’ll just get offended.’
‘When have you ever cared what she thought? You’re your own man! You can wear what you like!’
‘She’s just been upset recently. The late nights, I don’t think she trusts me. I don’t think I give her reason to. If I’m honest Bry, I’m beginning to not trust myself.
I’ve met someone and well... They’ve got me seeing life differently. It’s exciting and Mary, well she’s great but she’s a womb: comfort and nothing else.’
‘You want danger, that’s understandable. So you’re going to go with this new dame?’
‘It’s a guy.’
‘You’re shitting me. You’re a sword fighter now?’
‘Guess that’s a way to put it. I don’t know what I am. I know he’s making me happy, that’s what counts with me right now.’
‘What about Mary?’
‘Well I’m wearing her scarf aren’t I? What else can I do?’
It had never repeated in conversation again after this night. As far as Bryan was aware this was the last that ever happened between Jeff and the mysterious man. Everything was slowly adding up for Bryan. Jeff’s life had fallen apart after risking his life. Jeff who had met a man who would still keep a picture of him in his office and run away at the sound of his name, Jim Kite’s guilt was obvious. Jeff resented Jim Kite, it was his doing that he left his wife, that his life had fallen apart. Jim Kite had resented Jeff, wanted him back but couldn’t handle the rejection. Bitter at the unrequited love Jim Kite would enter Jeff’s apartment and slit Jeff’s wrist. Murder covered up as suicide. He would finally have everything he wanted if people would believe Jeff died out of love lost for him, everyone would finally know about Jeff’s latent homosexuality. It’s all Jim Kite wanted now that he could not have Jeff’s love.
The handle turned on Jeff’s door, Byran stood as Jim Kite entered through the room.
‘What in the living fuck has happened here? Jeff. Oh fuck me, Jeff!’
‘It was you wasn’t it? You killed him you sick son of a bitch. I have it all worked out now. Jeff wanted me to remember the numbers, the odd way you labelled your apartments. It was all pointing to you. The clues all add up. Why did you do it Jim? Why did Jeff have to die?’
‘You fucking moron. Look at his wrist, he killed himself you god damn idiot. How long have you been in here? Jesus Christ. Have you been squatting here this whole time while he’s been rotting away? You sick fuck.’
‘Yeah you’d like me to believe that wouldn’t you!
‘No that’s not right. No’.
Doubt raised through Bryan’s body. He hasn’t been thinking straight for months. Jeff could have easily killed himself, he wasn’t happy. He was drinking more than he was. It made sense.
‘What are you doing here?’
‘You. A manic mad man comes into my office and tells me that my ex-boyfriend is dead and I’m suppose to not see for myself?’
‘But why did you call him a stupid fucker?’
‘Because he is. He was.’
‘He broke up with you?’
‘And he lost a good thing. As I said a stupid fucker. Now tell me what the hell you’ve been doing here?
Actually. Fuck you. I’m getting the police. You’ve had enough out of me. Hope you enjoy your cell you piece of shit.’
The puzzles Bryan had been forming in his mind were slowly falling apart. The flask he carried seemed weightless in his hand as he raised it to Jim Kite. Hiding his face, he allowed it to act as a shield from his embarrassment. His foolishness. It wasn’t long until the police did arrive. Jim Kite was waiting outside Jeff’s apartment, he wouldn’t allow Bryan to leave. He was too weak and frail to fight back against him so Bryan stayed in where he was looking at his blackened friend. He tried. It was his sanity that held him back. The police officers were difficult to make out, everything began to be difficult to make out. The people, the room outlined with blurs and haze. It was near impossible to get visual coherence from Byran. The officers didn’t see Bryan as a threat. He was just a homeless man who needed a place to stay. He could just hear the officers talking about him. ‘He likely doesn’t know the victim. It’s common for bums to go into a house where someone has recently diseased, look around and create a relationship with the person by their surroundings Mr Kite. It’s likely that he saw a few pictures and made Jeff Hughes into a martyr. It’s likely that he created a whole story to justify the reasons why he was allowed to stay here. You need to empathise that most of these men who turn to alcohol had moral lives before this. They need to give themselves excuses. They need to feel like they’re not doing anything immoral. Mr Fahrenheit here, is a victim to himself. However, it is entirely up to you if you want to press charges. We can confirm that it was a suicide, the mess in the apartment likely caused by the vagrant. It would only be a minor charge and as you are Mr Hughes partner we will leave Mr Fahrenheit’s fate in your hands.’ Bryan’s mind spun. Too intoxicated to doubt the words of the officer he plunged into second guessing his existence. For a moment time seemed to pass by quickly. The handcuffs on his wrists were cold. The intrusion of a well dressed gentleman seemed insignificant. ‘What are you doing here Jamie?’
Jamie looked like someone Bryan knew. The man had talked to him about Jeff only days ago. He had conversations with him before, both he and Jeff had conversations with him. He talked with effervescence, a spring in his step but vengeance on his tongue. Jamie had a rapport with Jim Kite. Bryan was too confused why Jamie and Jim Kite were fighting, they looked like exes. Odd words would fall out of their mouths. I’d see him every night. You broke my heart for him. The room’s atmosphere greatly shifted when a scream was heard. Jim Kite had died in the same room as his old lover, Jeff. Bryan was hoping that someone would cover Jeff up soon, he looked cold. Jim Kite looked open eyed at Bryan as his neat hair once more became dishevelled in front of him. Jamie was being escorted from the room. He cried out vicious words. He cared not that people knew he had sliced Jeff’s wrist. He would do it again. It was Jeff’s fault that he ruined a long and good relationship. Jeff was talented to ruin two relationships, first Mary and then Jim Kite’s. He had a way with people and was sentimental. He always wore the scarf.
Bryan had developed a strange sickness from being with his dead friend for so long. His Doctor had told him to not drink if he wanted to live. Bryan once thought that life was pointless without drink. Every day while he didn’t drink he questioned which he loved more. His hands would still circle the weightless flask. It just didn’t seem as interesting without his friend with him. Life just didn’t have excitement anymore. He returned once again to the Rotten Rainbow to find that his regular bar tender had been taken away. Apparently he had some deep seeded relationship issues from years ago. The bar staff all laughed at Jamie. He was always the hopeless romantic. Upon being asked what drink he would like, Bryan circled his weightless flask one more time. He would celebrate his friend. He would celebrate passion. He would celebrate stupid mistakes.
Bryan last drank with Jeff in a gay bar that was opened after hours in the dark alleys in the city centre. The staff knew them. They were regular patrons who would tip and at times go along with half enthused small talk. The friendliness was a change of pace from what it was: a place that carried humanities unwanted. To them the night welcomed all. And so did the Rotten Rainbow. It was three rotten nights ago that Jeff looked at Bryan with despair. ‘You look like you’ve got rigormortis. Why so stiff?’ The fume from his smoke clogged Jeff’s view of Bryan. Neither cared. ‘Isn’t that for the dead? Well fuck Bryan, I may as well be dead.’ Jeff circled his bourbon, Jim Beam straight. ‘How long have we been friends, Bryan?’
‘Well Shit. I’ve lost count. 15 years give or take?’
‘Friends do favours for each other don’t they?’
Jeff’s apartment number was 4409. His building was small and realistically filled 400 rooms. The thousand numbers nagged at Jeff. Not enough at times.
The scurrying rodents chased underneath dumped clothes and torn rubbish bin liners as the cats moaned from the window. Bryan had not known Jeff to be so disgusting. He had been to his apartment once long ago. Years are a long measure of time. 355 days to be exact. 356 in a leap year. It had been two leap years and the time between since Bryan had last stepped inside this cesspit. It was romantic when he was here last. He remembered a framed picture of Jeff and his girlfriend Mary proudly displayed above the mantelpiece that is now stained with blood and piss. Bryan could tell that a stranger had a presence in this scene; Death. It had paid a visit recently and it caught on Bryan’s throat. Death was a man tonight and his smell was stained familiar. His name was Jeff.
‘What’s the favour?’
‘Well how big can it be?’
‘Two fingers worth of 5 Star straight. The some.’
‘Needs to be bigger than that Bryan.’
‘Shit. You’re serious aren’t you?’
‘I’m not coping well at all. I’m going to give you some numbers and you’re gonna work out what they all mean alright? Not now. But later.’
‘You know the rules fellas. Sun up and it’s home time.’. The bar tender was well manicured and moisturised. Jamie's eyes glazed over his two drunken regulars. He had always coated his kind words in spite.
‘This is what happens when you take a straight man to a gay bar. You can’t win with the gays, Bryan thought.
One day later Bryan left Jeff at his apartment. It was a short night of spirits and billiards and more expensive than either could afford. One was a deadbeat. The other retired. Jeff made an off the cuff remark. Bryan vaguely remembered him complaining once again that they never had enough rooms for numbers. He was drunk. Bryan imagined it was a song:
Never enough room for numbers, never enough time for space.
It sounded like a song he must have heard somewhere before. Bryan was a maestro that day for all the time he remembered his masterpiece.
Bryan had wished he felt more haunted when he saw Jeff’s wrist bone. He really had dug the blade deep into his arm. The ants had started feasting on Jeff’s flesh. Bryan could not get his mind away from the shit in the clear plastic sandwich bags. Some were torn open and were eaten by the rats. It was around this moment Bryan realised he had become paralysed. He once had great admiration for his friend, and it took only a few steps for that admiration to quickly wash away. Bryan couldn’t handle the thought of going to a funeral of his friends. Motionless he stared at him. Bryan slowly put his hand down his pants to adjust his balls. There are some things that are awkward whatever the occasion.
‘Do you remember me?’ Bryan Farenheit did not look appealing to the bartender. He had not been able to afford new clothes since his last full time job. He had worn the same overcoat for a long time and it reeked, his hair was dishevelled and Bryan was beginning to miss his friend.
‘Oh of course I know him, you’re with him all the time. Don’t tell me you don’t remember me?’ The bitter gay bartender seemed more cheerful than Bryan was used to. He could help but feel cocky knowing he has more of a way with the guys than his friend.
‘I need to know when you last saw him.’
‘Look, I get this a lot and you’re better off sweetie, really. Guy’s are a waste-of-space, once they’re done with you they’re go one to the next dirty slut.’
‘He’s not... It’s not like that. I’m worried about him. I can’t say why but he could be hurt.’
‘Oh no. I hope he’s alright but I’m sorry. Last I saw of him was with you two nights ago.’
‘But we weren’t here...’
‘I never said you were. I saw him and you outside that shitty apartment building. He was screaming about the room numbers of that place like it was something new.’
‘Something new?’
‘The numbers, there a collection of apartment buildings. It’s all an ego trip for small man little todger Jim Kite. He owns all the cheap domestics and chains all the room together just so everyone knows they’re his bitch.’
The black vortexes that warped Bryan’s memory slowed down momentarily for him to remember his maestro euphoria; the numbers to remember and the message to be relayed.
Curiosity harked back on Bryan as he looked on at his friend’s corpse. Jeff had now lost most of his blood to the carpet and pests. He sat back into the rubbish that had yet been pried open as he watched Jeff’s skin. Bryan noticed how yellow he had become. Jeff was a banana peeling away decaying underneath the filament of the glass bulb. He was now black and mould. Bryan removed his hand from his crotch and took a long smell.
There were moments where Bryan would accept life’s over complications. His mind often wondered where it should not. He would cloud judgement with facts that he had materialised in haste. Bryan considered while looking at his dead friend if his death was a conspiracy. A taste of Jack Daniels echoed in his mouth as Bryan recounted why his memory was so poor, quickly dismissing the idea of sobriety. Alcohol would help him think straight. He can’t think while he has the shakes. Jeff was better at this. Jeff wouldn’t have gotten the shakes.
Bryan thumbed his mobile in his pocket. He wanted to phone the police, but as he typed in all three nines he braced himself for a point of no return. No one above their own cared for either Jeff or Bryan. And Bryan was so unreliable and drunk he would be blamed. He was certain he would be blamed. Poor Bryan. He now had to find Jeff’s rotten killer.
Bryan got on his long tattered over coat. His cosiness made him forgetful. Forgetting what he was trying to do. Stop a killer. Catch a murderer. He took a drink from a metal container. Drinking alone wasn’t the same without Jeff, poor banana Jeff.
The clarity of Bryan’s mind gave way to a vivid thought. Jim Kite would have to die. Bryan concluded Jeff’s death was because of Jim Kite. Death would come to Jim Kite, thought Bryan. ‘Jim Kite?’ Said Bryan. Finding Jim’s headquarters was easy. Too easy. Evil is always in plain sight, he thought.
‘Another complaint? I don’t have anything to say to you if you want to make a suggestion to Kites Apartments LTD then leave a letter with my assistant. I’m a busy man.’
Jim Kite was in fact telling the truth. He was a very busy man, and he didn’t believe Bryan was making a complaint, he thought he was a lunatic but he didn’t have time for explanations. His hair was very slick. His cufflinks were gold. He was a very clean shaven man, Jim Kite. Not the murderer Bryan had in mind. Murderer’s never are how we imagine them to be, so we never do know when we are faced with one, thought Bryan.
‘You’re a killer!’
‘I just believe in big business, I always employ them after. Now if you would be so kind.’
‘Jeff. You murdered Jeff you cunt!’
‘I’m sorry but I-‘ Jim Kite was abruptly cut off by Bryan charging into him and throwing Jim Kite’s neat hair into a dishevelled mess. Blood drew from newly opened wounds across Jim Kites face.
‘He was a stupid fucker! A stupid fucker! And you’re a stupid fucker too, now get the fuck off me!’ Taken aback Bryan slowed his punches, he glanced into Kim Kites eyes. ‘But I didn’t fucking kill the prick.
Why don’t you go and ask someone who wanted him dead like his lousy whore ex-girlfriend. Fucking cunt! Get the fuck out of here. If I see you here again you’re a fucking dead man, Bryan. Don’t act so fucking surprised! You hang with arseholes their enemies will know your name. I’ve got my eye on you you fucking scum. Now fuck off.’
Bryan threw up the last of last night’s curry over the office of Jim Kite. He believed his words but couldn’t help be disgusted with his way of life. No one so polished can be so clean. It’s healthier to have the sick on the outside, after all. Jim Kite just had his donated detox.
Bryan only vaguely remembered Mary, she was a distant women whom he was fond of. Her smile was warm and she was attentive to even the trivial details in a conversation. Bryan knew Jeff would have had to do something horrific to drive her away. There was an pre-acknowledgement in him already, Jeff had drank too much, been abusive or scared and grew distance between them both. He never appreciate life’s simpler things, did Jeff. He liked chaos and calamity. He was a James Dean without the cool.
Mary was just as pretty as she always was when Bryan met with her. He had a soft spot for her after all these absent years. Her face was void of make-up and her hair was tied in a bob, she was practical but gave off an aura of feminine mystique that could not be ignored. She was an epitome of natural beauty.
‘What the Hell as happened to you Bryan? You used to be so smart and intelligent, look at you now, you’re a wreck.’ Mary’s pitying glances pierced Bryan’s old heart. He was 63 meeting an old friend, smelling of piss and without a shower. It hurt him to know how far he had fallen from grace.
‘I hit hard times. We all hit hard times don’t we Mary? I just don’t have the energy to pretend to want more of life anymore. I’m done with pretending.’
‘And your eye Bryan.’ Jim Kite’s revenge.
‘It was nothing. I was trying to find some answers about a friend and it got ugly.’
‘Is it Jeff? God what’s happened to him?’ Why Bryan couldn’t tell the truth bewildered him. But for a moment in the presence of someone great he had a sense of duty to lie to Mary. She had had it rough. Poor Mary.
‘No not him, just a mutual friend. Jeff’s fine. He didn’t want to see you, well, because it’s him and he feels bad.’
‘He told you that? He told you he feels bad?’
‘Yeah he did. Hey, I’m sorry to bother you Mary.’
Bryan could tell Mary hadn’t harmed Jeff. He waved goodbye and went to see Jim Kite once more for answers. As soon as he arrived the office of Jim Kite was bare, the picture of Jeff removed. Bryan could not fathom how a man who was larger than life could disappear so easily. Jim Kite had flown away.
There was a rotten corpse that Bryan had called a friend two feet away from him. He was still afraid to send him to the morgue. Jeff had started to look inhumane and began to give out a stench, sweet pungent and lingering acetone. Bryan had long plugged his nostrils with cotton buds but the smell would leak through the snot to drizzle down his trachea. He was used to gipping from the pass few days. A handmade scarf hung from an open draw that Bryan had remembered from a long time ago, the colours offended the eyes but him recall a night with his friend. When things were better.
‘Don’t tell me. You’re auditioning to be a homeless bum who feeds pigeons?’
‘Piss off, Mary made it. If I don’t wear it she’ll just get offended.’
‘When have you ever cared what she thought? You’re your own man! You can wear what you like!’
‘She’s just been upset recently. The late nights, I don’t think she trusts me. I don’t think I give her reason to. If I’m honest Bry, I’m beginning to not trust myself.
I’ve met someone and well... They’ve got me seeing life differently. It’s exciting and Mary, well she’s great but she’s a womb: comfort and nothing else.’
‘You want danger, that’s understandable. So you’re going to go with this new dame?’
‘It’s a guy.’
‘You’re shitting me. You’re a sword fighter now?’
‘Guess that’s a way to put it. I don’t know what I am. I know he’s making me happy, that’s what counts with me right now.’
‘What about Mary?’
‘Well I’m wearing her scarf aren’t I? What else can I do?’
It had never repeated in conversation again after this night. As far as Bryan was aware this was the last that ever happened between Jeff and the mysterious man. Everything was slowly adding up for Bryan. Jeff’s life had fallen apart after risking his life. Jeff who had met a man who would still keep a picture of him in his office and run away at the sound of his name, Jim Kite’s guilt was obvious. Jeff resented Jim Kite, it was his doing that he left his wife, that his life had fallen apart. Jim Kite had resented Jeff, wanted him back but couldn’t handle the rejection. Bitter at the unrequited love Jim Kite would enter Jeff’s apartment and slit Jeff’s wrist. Murder covered up as suicide. He would finally have everything he wanted if people would believe Jeff died out of love lost for him, everyone would finally know about Jeff’s latent homosexuality. It’s all Jim Kite wanted now that he could not have Jeff’s love.
The handle turned on Jeff’s door, Byran stood as Jim Kite entered through the room.
‘What in the living fuck has happened here? Jeff. Oh fuck me, Jeff!’
‘It was you wasn’t it? You killed him you sick son of a bitch. I have it all worked out now. Jeff wanted me to remember the numbers, the odd way you labelled your apartments. It was all pointing to you. The clues all add up. Why did you do it Jim? Why did Jeff have to die?’
‘You fucking moron. Look at his wrist, he killed himself you god damn idiot. How long have you been in here? Jesus Christ. Have you been squatting here this whole time while he’s been rotting away? You sick fuck.’
‘Yeah you’d like me to believe that wouldn’t you!
‘No that’s not right. No’.
Doubt raised through Bryan’s body. He hasn’t been thinking straight for months. Jeff could have easily killed himself, he wasn’t happy. He was drinking more than he was. It made sense.
‘What are you doing here?’
‘You. A manic mad man comes into my office and tells me that my ex-boyfriend is dead and I’m suppose to not see for myself?’
‘But why did you call him a stupid fucker?’
‘Because he is. He was.’
‘He broke up with you?’
‘And he lost a good thing. As I said a stupid fucker. Now tell me what the hell you’ve been doing here?
Actually. Fuck you. I’m getting the police. You’ve had enough out of me. Hope you enjoy your cell you piece of shit.’
The puzzles Bryan had been forming in his mind were slowly falling apart. The flask he carried seemed weightless in his hand as he raised it to Jim Kite. Hiding his face, he allowed it to act as a shield from his embarrassment. His foolishness. It wasn’t long until the police did arrive. Jim Kite was waiting outside Jeff’s apartment, he wouldn’t allow Bryan to leave. He was too weak and frail to fight back against him so Bryan stayed in where he was looking at his blackened friend. He tried. It was his sanity that held him back. The police officers were difficult to make out, everything began to be difficult to make out. The people, the room outlined with blurs and haze. It was near impossible to get visual coherence from Byran. The officers didn’t see Bryan as a threat. He was just a homeless man who needed a place to stay. He could just hear the officers talking about him. ‘He likely doesn’t know the victim. It’s common for bums to go into a house where someone has recently diseased, look around and create a relationship with the person by their surroundings Mr Kite. It’s likely that he saw a few pictures and made Jeff Hughes into a martyr. It’s likely that he created a whole story to justify the reasons why he was allowed to stay here. You need to empathise that most of these men who turn to alcohol had moral lives before this. They need to give themselves excuses. They need to feel like they’re not doing anything immoral. Mr Fahrenheit here, is a victim to himself. However, it is entirely up to you if you want to press charges. We can confirm that it was a suicide, the mess in the apartment likely caused by the vagrant. It would only be a minor charge and as you are Mr Hughes partner we will leave Mr Fahrenheit’s fate in your hands.’ Bryan’s mind spun. Too intoxicated to doubt the words of the officer he plunged into second guessing his existence. For a moment time seemed to pass by quickly. The handcuffs on his wrists were cold. The intrusion of a well dressed gentleman seemed insignificant. ‘What are you doing here Jamie?’
Jamie looked like someone Bryan knew. The man had talked to him about Jeff only days ago. He had conversations with him before, both he and Jeff had conversations with him. He talked with effervescence, a spring in his step but vengeance on his tongue. Jamie had a rapport with Jim Kite. Bryan was too confused why Jamie and Jim Kite were fighting, they looked like exes. Odd words would fall out of their mouths. I’d see him every night. You broke my heart for him. The room’s atmosphere greatly shifted when a scream was heard. Jim Kite had died in the same room as his old lover, Jeff. Bryan was hoping that someone would cover Jeff up soon, he looked cold. Jim Kite looked open eyed at Bryan as his neat hair once more became dishevelled in front of him. Jamie was being escorted from the room. He cried out vicious words. He cared not that people knew he had sliced Jeff’s wrist. He would do it again. It was Jeff’s fault that he ruined a long and good relationship. Jeff was talented to ruin two relationships, first Mary and then Jim Kite’s. He had a way with people and was sentimental. He always wore the scarf.
Bryan had developed a strange sickness from being with his dead friend for so long. His Doctor had told him to not drink if he wanted to live. Bryan once thought that life was pointless without drink. Every day while he didn’t drink he questioned which he loved more. His hands would still circle the weightless flask. It just didn’t seem as interesting without his friend with him. Life just didn’t have excitement anymore. He returned once again to the Rotten Rainbow to find that his regular bar tender had been taken away. Apparently he had some deep seeded relationship issues from years ago. The bar staff all laughed at Jamie. He was always the hopeless romantic. Upon being asked what drink he would like, Bryan circled his weightless flask one more time. He would celebrate his friend. He would celebrate passion. He would celebrate stupid mistakes.
Comments
Post a Comment