RED PARALLEL

Chapter 51: Luck Never Felt So Bad

Song: Nowhere Fast, by Eminem and Kehlani.

There was no cash left, so there was no green room anymore. Traviz dragged himself out of the pension, completely resigned, the bag containing an uncharged mp3. When he realized he had forgotten the charger in the pension, it was too late, no way he would remember the way back.

He had tried to rap in the dull silence of his brain, but nothing would come out. Not a syllable, not an imaginary beat, not a single fucking flow. The only flow was the virus kind of river, killing him each day. Now there were sores all over his body, from the neck to the ankles. The remedy was over - he had decided to take four pills at once, hoping it would murder the clan of virus - and he just couldn't recover.

It was a Sunday night, the fifth day of deep starvation. He was skinny, the empty bag heavy and the feet dragging himself as if it were an independent piece of his miserable body.

"We only accept money," the man in the restaurant answered, twisting his nose at Traviz's state.

"You know how much this is worth?" Traviz shook his mp3. "I need a pizza. Freal."

"Sell your mp3 and take a shower, then you can come back."

"No, you don't get it, I-"

"Would you please leave? You're disturbing our clients."

The waiter's phrase was a little anticipated because what really disturbed the clients was what came next. Half a dozen dudes with black masks and guns boosted inside the restaurant, announcing the robbery. Everybody got their hands up and their purses and wallets snatched. Traviz hid behind the cash register, zero minded.

One of the robbers pointed his gun at the zero minded homeless guy and ordered:

"You. Open the desk and gimme the money. Quick, or I'll shoot you."

That'd be great, actually, but whatever you say...

Traviz got up, struggling a little, and opened the cash register. Hm, lots of money. Not bad.

"C'MON!"

"I'm doing it, don't yell..."

Impressed by his own tranquility - it was not the first nor the second nor the third time he had a gun at his head, so - Traviz began putting the money in their bag. The other five robbers were watching the exits and holding some people hostage, just in case. A great stupid brainless dude shouted to the robbers:

"I'm calling the police, you bunch of-"

The man got shot right at his head. People started yelling and the 'cash robber' was mad.

"ONE MORE WORD AND YOU'RE ALL DEAD!" he turned to Traviz. "Are you done, or what?"

"Almost..."

Traviz, thanks to the dead man's stupid distraction, had quickly saved some money in his pocket.

"Done," he said, raising hands and showing the empty cash register.

"Let's go!"

The six robbers were gone, the dead man was lying fresh with a red pool beneath him, people were crying, and Traviz got out of the restaurant, unnoticed, pocket shining in his body.

This is called luck...

A police siren was heard far away. Feeling the blood going a little cold, Traviz turned on the first corner as if the cops were looking for him rather than the 'pizza robbers'. Hands half trembling like why, Traviz kept on walking, night all around, and counted the money. Twenty bucks. Well, that sucked.

Wait, where's my mp3?

As he stopped to check for his pocket, one of the bills flew out of his hands, and he went for it, trying to catch it back, not realizing that he was in the middle of the street, with a car just about to hit him. And the car hit him right and good and passed over him.

"Go, go, go," the robber said, and the car dashed away.

In less than a minute, a police car raced through and braked right next to the fallen guy. One of the cops shouted to the other:

"The hell you're doing? Leave him, we gotta catch those suckers!"

"Right, right..."

And the police cab steered wheels away, leaving Traviz semi-conscious on the night street, the siren echoing nonsense, all the bills dancing around him like autumn leaves.

If it passed an hour or a minute, he'd never know because all he felt was half his body trying to get away from his own body, but pressed between the crooked bones and soaked in blood. There was a thin thread of consciousness left in him, and he heard something like a bark. Some dog barking and wailing.

"What, what, buddy?" a guy asked, troubled with his troubled dog. The dog wailed again. "What's wrong? Ah, Jesus."

He soon felt some hot sniff around his face, fur, and a wet dog's nose. And then a touch on his neck. Then, the owner was kind of praying and dialing his cellphone.

"Jesus Christ, boy, you look terrible. C'mooon, pick up, pick up..."

The dog wouldn't stop wailing.

"Hi, I got a boy here, and he's got pulse, but he's bleeding a lot, I need an ambul- Oh, it's Jefferson Street, between Foster and Geneva. Quick, he's dying. Thank you."

The thin line of consciousness was evaporating, but man and dog were both staring at Traviz, wishing they could send him some extra energy.

"Hold on, boy, hold on. You're too young to die..."