Rawpocalypse

16 - Deal Breaker

The wall-mounted television inside Tyrone Stanley's kitchen droned on about a terrorist inspired explosion at a mortuary in some faraway European city. He pressed the power button, silencing the late-night report.

He needed to think.

A mound of unwashed dishes sat heaped in the sink. Not a drain in the house would accept even a trickle of water.

He tipped back the curtain to peer through the kitchen window. Industrial work lamps towered over the far end of his street. City workers continued to dig with heavy machinery at the late hour, cutting trenches through the community like foxholes.

A voice in his head told him he was responsible for the clogged sewers. The same voice nagged him for killing Tipton Doak, the pencil-thin red-head who'd shown up uninvited for McGregor's memorial barbeque. A million dollars could go a long way toward silencing that voice.

Tyrone was certainly going to have to relocate, no matter what route he decided on. He would never be able to face his neighbors once they'd learned his crap had clogged the system so tightly it took a crew of workers and a back-how to dig it out. But if he accepted the money and kept silent, he could never look them in the eyes at the mailbox.

He woke his phone and scrolled through the contacts. Hesitantly, he dialed Jesse Stradmore, his level-headed quarterback from days of old. The phone chimed endlessly, and just when he expected it to go to voice-mail, Jesse answered. "Hello?"

A tension released he hadn't fully realized. Jesse was alive.

"Hey, man. It's Tyrone, how ya doin?"

"Uh, fine."

"Good. Good." Tyrone stepped toward the living room as he talked. "We haven't spoken since you left the house."

"Uh, yeah. That's right. And before that, we hadn't spoken since graduation day."

"I hear ya, bro." Tyrone eased casually onto the sofa. "So, you're doing fine? Feeling fine?"

After a long awkward silence, Jesse finally answered. "Yes. Fine."

"You haven't been ill?"

"No, I've been fine. But, it's funny you mention it. Buck called me a couple days ago to ask the same thing."

"Oh, yeah? So how is ole Buck?"

"He's okay now. I guess he'd come down with a bad case of the runs, a stomach bug or something. He thought maybe I'd caught it, too."

"Stomach bug huh? Yeah, I reckon that's what's been goin' around. You talked to anyone else from the team?"

"No, just you and Buck."

"I see." Tyrone rubbed his chin. "Hey, that's weird about Tipton, don't you think?"

"Yeah, it's a shame." A strange silence followed. "Look, I'm glad I drove down there, but I really don't think I can make another memorial service."

"Oh, heck no. That's not why I called."

"Well, that's good to know," said Jesse, sounding relieved. "So why did you call?"

Tyrone whipped up a little white lie. "Oh yeah. Sasha found a diamond studded earring. We thought someone might be missing one."

"No, not mine. And I came alone if you recall."

"Sure, I remember. I just wanted to cover all the bases."

A clatter turned Tyrone toward the kitchen. Sasha had gone to her mother's to shower and planned to stay the night. He pumped his fist, assuming she'd changed her mind about spending a night away from her big cuddle bunny. "Hey, that's all I needed, Jesse. I'll let you go then."

"Sure thing. Try calling Hooper, his wife was looking rather accessorized."

"Yeah, gotcha. I'll do that. Thanks."

"Good, luck. Catch ya later."

Tyrone ended the call, strutting to the kitchen. An empty room and an open freezer door was all that greeted him. He eased the door closed, scratching his head, unsure if he'd left it open while digging for a snack.

Through the utility room, the motion-activated light flooded the inside of the garage. He sniffed an armpit, wishing he'd showered at the locker room. "Hey, babe. Come home for a little lovin?"

When Sasha didn't answer, he sauntered toward the garage with a little extra swing in his step. The only vehicle in the two-stall garage was his Volvo, so he danced to the window, snapping his fingers, singing under his breath. "Get down tonight."

From nowhere, a rough clothe dropped over his head from behind, draping him in darkness.

"Hey, baby," Tyrone cried, "Cut that out. You know I don't get into that kinky shit."

A deep gravelly voice answered back. "Shut up and keep still and you won't get hurt."

Tyrone whirled, groping for a grip at the intruder. "Who the fuck is that?"

A sharp blow to the gut buckled him over.

"I told you to shut up."

Tyrone charged blindly. His outstretched arms met a fairly large person, and he tackled the stranger against the car. They rolled across the hood in a tangled struggle and slid to the floor for a breath shaking thud against the hard concrete.

As he wrestled with the big intruder, footsteps scurried toward him. Hard, pointed boots began to kick him repeatedly in the ribs. He grabbed an ankle in the crook of his arm and held it tightly.

"Let go, you big ox," came a weasely voice from above.

Tyrone twisted his upper body, dragging the foot with him. An instant later, the man crashed against the garage door and slapped flat to the floor. Rolling free of both men, Tyrone scrambled onto hands and knees. He ripped the hood from his head and turned back to the see the two men on the floor, the bigger one digging into his trench coat.

On a hunch, Tyrone sprang to his feet and cocked a leg. Sure enough, the man produced a pistol, but Tyrone's swinging foot struck the weapon as it came into sight. The handgun rattled across the floor and slid beneath the stackable shelving.

The scrawny other man dug for his own weapon, but Tyrone was quick to cut him off, yanking the man's arm away from his pocket. Tyrone's free hand fished in the man's leisure suit and came up with a prize catch.

Both men raised their hands in surrender. The skinny one rattled his head in fear. "Don't shoot. We weren't gonna hurt ya."

"Shut up," said Tyrone, giving them a dose of their own treatment. He dug out his phone, keeping his aim on the men. The display was shattered beyond recognition. "Great! And I just got this phone."

In the corner of the garage the deepfreeze hung wide open. Slowly, the puzzle clicked into place. The men were after the million dollar meatball. "Oh, I get it."

His big dreams began to fall apart before his eyes. A criminal case would soon follow. A meager settlement in a civil court was the best he could expect, five hundred and twenty dollars.

Was it too late to accept the offer?

Tyrone shook away the thought. He had caught the men trying to murder him. He should demand two million dollars to make it all go away.

From nowhere, a dark blur knocked the gun from his hand. From each direction, black silhouettes descended from the rafters. Masked men in black tights encircled the garage.

Tyrone rolled his eyes. "Ninjas? Really?"