The Backlist by Eric Beetner & Frank Zafiro

Author:Eric Beetner & Frank Zafiro [Beetner, Eric]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Down & Out Books
Published: 2015-09-14T19:00:00+00:00

The rest of the drive, I thought about what Zooker said. Not the movie debate. I really didn’t care about the distinction between the two films. My position on that had more to do with having a discussion with him than anything else. But I got to wondering. Zooker was reputedly not a talker. If reputations didn’t lie—in my experience, they frequently exaggerated but rarely lied outright—then that conversation must have represented a week’s worth of chatter for him.

What I didn’t wonder was why.

Zooker’s apartment was small, and neat. It was also mostly empty. A waist-high shelf on one wall held a few dozen books, all lined up with precision. There was no clutter anywhere. No stray items. If a drill sergeant came in to inspect the place, looking for something to yell about, he’d leave disappointed.

“Nice place,” I said.

Zooker didn’t reply. He went directly into the bathroom. I didn’t figure him to come out with a tommy gun or something, so I didn’t stop him. I waited in the small living room. After a moment, I heard the water turn on. Too loud for the sink, though. The bathtub.

My brow furrowed. This was getting strange.

I reached under my jacket and gripped the handle of my pistol, just in case. Pops always said that being cautious wasn’t the same as being afraid, and a cautious man was a prepared one. That’s how I remember the lesson, but he probably said in much gruffer fashion, his gravelly voice dispensing advice at random times.

Be ready for anything, kiddo.

I wasn’t ready for what happened, though.

Zooker appeared in the bathroom doorway, naked. His thin frame was all bony angles except for a few places where he wrinkled and sagged. My gaze was involuntarily drawn to where his cock dangled below an iron gray thatch of pubic hair.

“I’m going to take a bath,” he told me in that same matter of fact tone.

“Okay...” I didn’t know what else to say.

“You should stay,” Zooker said. He pointed to a chair. Then he added, “For a while.”

I figured it out. And what was left of my heart began to break. Right there in this old man’s compulsively neat and lonely apartment, it just cracked and nearly shattered.

Zooker swallowed. “I’m not very good at reading emotions in other people. But you look sad.”

I nodded. “I am.”

“Don’t be,” he said.

“Hard not to,” I whispered.

Zooker didn’t seem to hear me. He turned on his heel and headed back into the bathroom. The last thing I saw was his drooping ass and sagging calves before he closed the door gently behind himself.

I took a seat on the hard chair.

I looked down at the floor.

I listened.

I waited.

The faucet stopped after a little while. I heard the sloshing of water as he got into the tub.

This wasn’t right. He was an old man who never hurt anyone. So what if he’s losing control of his mouth? We all lose control over one end or the other or both by the time it’s all over.

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