Santa Jack - a Repairman Jack story

Saturday

SATURDAY 

 The Nail sat behind the wheel of his truck and rubbed his hands together for warmth. Cold as shit out tonight, man. Cold as shit!  

But not for long. An hour from now, maybe less if the buyer didn't try to jew him down too much, he'd be flush and warm in his crib, sucking on some rock instead of this piss poor excuse for a joint. 

The Nail took a deep toke and held it. He wiped the condensation off his windshield and wished the heater in this damn truck worked. He flicked his Bic to check the dashboard clock. The buyer had said like eleven-thirty. Just about that now.  

He'd floated the word that if anyone wanted a deep discount on a bunch of new Xmas toys, wrapped and ready to go, the Nail was the man. Word had floated back that a fence who was a friend of a friend of a friend wanted the whole truck load. Yes! 

He exhaled and peered down the alley, looking for headlights. Lots of wheels rolling by out there, heading for the nearby Manhattan Bridge. He wished the right set would roll in here so he could get this deal done. 

His contact hadn't said so, but The Nail figured the fence was bringing his own truck. Had to be. How else was he going to cart the stuff out of here? 

Better not have any ideas about taking this truck, man. He patted the little .32 automatic in his belt. Better not be thinking of anything beyond passing the cash and off-loading the stash. 

Hey, that rhymes. 

Passin' the green and splittin' the scene. 

The Nail smiled and took another toke. Too bad he wasn't with the band anymore. Maybe him and the drummer could've like worked that up into a song or something. That'd be cool. 

He missed Polio. Best damn punk thrasher band in the world, man, and he'd played bass for them. Well, for a few months, anyway. Until they kicked him out for not showing up.  

But it'd been a good few months. That was when he'd picked up the name The Nail. Well, not picked up, actually. That was when he'd started calling himself The Nail. You needed a name like The Nail if you was playing for Polio. Like who'd want a bass player named Joey DeCiglia? 

And The Nail was such a cool name, having like a double meaning and all. 

But even with a handle like The Nail and having gigged with Polio, there wasn't no work out there. Least not for him. Shit, yeah, he got auditions just by name-dropping Polio, and everybody was real interested in hearing him... until they heard him.  

Then it was like, don't call us, man...  

Yeah, well, like fuck you too.  

He sucked the joint down to his fingertips and tossed the roach out the window. Not worth saving, man. 

After a bunch of wasted auditions, The Nail said good-bye to the music scene. He had his pride, man. As a lark, he started boosting stuff and selling it off. Wound up making more that way than from what he'd've been paid by any of the nowhere, no-name thrasher bands that never called back. 

But then Tina goes and gets herself knocked up and tries to tell him the kid's his. Sure. Right. Like with the way she jumps on anything upright and hard, he's gonna believe that shit? No fucking way. 

Then she gets all fucked up in the head and won't have an abortion. Nah. She's gonna have the kid and be a mommy.  

Right. Mommy Tina. Sure. 

But surprise, surprise. She's goes through with it. And of course the kid's born like totally wasted. And then the word comes down that it's got fucking AIDS, man. AIDS!