beach bums (completed)

No Water

I immediately check to see if I've got a tag on Guy. I either don't or I didn't do it right – like I said before, with tags, I never really figured it out. Or they don't work.

Doesn't matter. Guy's routine means he's on his way home to watch Family Feud with Bookmin, and then microwave his meatloaf Hungry Man dinner, then watch more T.V., then make a few phone calls, then eat more ice cream, and then go to sleep.

I fly over to his place, and sure enough he's getting off a bus at his corner, with Bookmin guiding him, a hand on his arm and a hand on his shoulder. Weird – I've never seen them touch. They don't touch. It's not that kind of relationship, at least since I've been on the scene. They're buddies, they're roommates (or to be exact, Bookmin's the house guest, always sleeping on the couch). But right now Bookmin's all over him, like he's the concerned parent. Guy's shaky and appears hollow, his beard extra scraggly and his eyes bloodshot.

Something happened to Guy between the Frosty Freeze and here. Food poisoning? Poisoning?

Anyway, unless he dies, not much happening here – and I don't think he's going to die, so I zoom over to the bar, and Delgado's awake. Barely. Slumped over the table in his booth. Youngster's across from him, holding a thick plastic glass of water in one hand, and his cell in the other. He waves the cell in front of Delgado, saying, "This app. This thing tells us where the phone is."

He taps the screen and shoves the glowing results in Delgado's face, saying, "See? That? That means it's moving around, but that's the area it's in."

Delgado squeezing haunted, bloodshot eyes open and shut, trying to focus through the malted gloom, murmuring, "This is a phone? Holy Shit."

"You're kidding me. Yes. This is a phone."

"Hey, I been prison nineteen years. Everything is fucking planet Spock. Yeah?"

"Dude. They got phones in prison."

"Yeah dude, but they're usually in some dude's butt. You know what I'm saying?"

Youngster makes a sharp, dismissive shake, as though he accidentally bit into a femur. His shoulder's hunch up with annoyance. He looks like he could easily name five hundred places he'd rather be than right here.

Delgado oozes onto the table top again. Yawns. Yawns again, saying, "...I'm never gonna know how to use that. I got nothing going on up here." He pokes an fist in what has to be the direction of his head.

Youngster says, "That's why Raven wants me to come along. With you."

"Bad on you, huh?"

"It's cool." Youngster looking anything but.

Delgado suddenly straightens up. "Let's go bro. Let's get the fuck out of here."

"Don't you wanna know the whole deal?"

Delgado saying, "Bro, dude, doesn't matter. What Raven says. He says. I does."

"Raven doesn't like people jacking iPhones. I don't think he gives a shit about Android."

"Whatever man. What you just said. Like, blah blah blah... Whatever, I gotta get something to drink."

He stands, wobbly; thick, hammy arms out to stabilize, like he's walking a wire.

Youngster says, "He wants me to shoot the whole thing so he can post it on-line."

Delgado blinking, having trouble staying erect. Burping like he might puke, saying, "I thought it was a beatdown. I ain't got no piece. No good with it if I did. Wait – what's 'on-line?'"

Youngster staring into his phone. "Really?"

"Oh hell, I'm gonna need to find me some drinks, I can tell."

"Dude, Raven told me not to give you no money."

"I got money, honey. But I can't buy no more in here. If I do that big sexy cha cha over there's gonna pound my face into the freaking floor."

He swivels, throws an crooked air kiss to the darts machine.