Ties That Blind by Zachary Klein

Author:Zachary Klein [Klein, Zachary]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: General Fiction
Publisher: Polis Books
Published: 2015-10-15T00:00:00+00:00

“Are you conscious, Matt?” Boots was on her knees anxiously tugging my shoulder.

“Just resting my eyes,” I placed my hands on either side of the puddle and pushed onto my knees. “We need a couple pairs of oversized shoes so we can do a Spike Jones.”

“A who?” Boots couldn’t erase her look of horror.

“Vaudeville. He used to slap a pair of clown shoes on his knees and prance around the stage. He had a TV show during the fifties..”

“I don’t understand.”

“You had to be there.”

“The hell with there. I’m sick about here! There’s blood dripping from your mouth. It might be internal bleeding.”

“The inside of my cheek is cut, that’s all.”

“Hardly all, you idiot,” but her panic was beginning to recede. “When I fell asleep on the couch, the last thing I heard was grunting. When I woke up you were moaning.” Boots speed-rapped, talking off her anxiety. “I looked out the window and saw you on the ground. Then I saw something wet by your head and thought it was blood.”

“Better blood than puke,” I said. My mouth throbbed and my entire body ached. I rose slowly from my knees to a catcher’s squat.

“What the hell happened?” Now that the anxiety had dissipated, I heard the start of her anger.

“Clifford slapped me around. The game was a cover to beat the shit out of me,” I grunted, trying to clean the side of my head with the towel Boots brought.

“Did you vomit from a concussion?” A fresh look of alarm spread across her face.

“No such luck,” I reassured. “Clifford hit me in the ‘nads with the ball, then kicked me in the belly. A mean duet.”

“We’re going to report that son of a bitch, you hear? He has no right doing this to you. We’ll see they fire that fat fuck!”

I smiled through my raw mouth. “Wash ain’t fat, honey.”

“I don’t give a shit, I want his ass fried and fired!”

I stumbled to my feet and Boots hopped up to right me. “Thanks, I needed that,” I said quoting an old television commercial before remembering it referred to a face slap.

“I don’t understand why you call him Wash, like he’s a friend or something. How the hell can you joke about it? It’s criminal.”

“It’s cops, Boots, not criminal. Buying a private investigator’s license is criminal.”

Understanding crossed her face. “So you can’t do anything because he might find out?”

“I’m sure he already knows.” My words melted into a serious yearn for a double.

“So he can abuse you, but you can’t fight back?”

“That’s about it.” I shrugged.

Boots began to reply but abruptly changed her mind.

I tried a small step for mankind. “Save your energy, woman. You’ll need it to get me into the bathroom.”

“Wait here a minute,” she said loping to the fence for my jacket.

But I tentatively started toward the door and kept on walking as she rejoined me. Boots skipped in front, about to grab the handle when Charles, my flaky building manager, rushed out the other rear exit.

“Good lord, what’s happened?” He was wearing a long ponytail pulled through the back of a Sox cap.

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