Erase and Rewind (Full Book)

Chapter Seven: Shrapnel

  

Noah woke up to the horror of finding his money was gone. He retraced his steps throughout the motel. The staff had shrugged when asked and Noah's overnight roommate was bewildered he'd asked them. He called Noah an idiot to try and even question them. The staff was notorious for laziness, gossip, and theft.

Serves me right. Noah thought.

He'd been shoplifting from mainly family-owned businesses who couldn't afford cameras. There were times when he'd convinced himself he was doing it to survive but survival didn't include swiping chocolate bars or comic books. And now he knew what it felt like to have the only thing worth value vanish in thin air.

"White boy." Noah's roommate was snapping his fingers. "I said we will go dumpster diving. Old man Gold took a huge ass cut. Sharks are scared of him...fucking perk."

"Sharks?"

"Sharks," his roommate said. "Customers. They get greedy, and Gold puts them in their place. You sleep standing, man? I couldn't sleep because you kept crying out."

It dawned on Noah this had been the first time he'd gone to sleep with another person in the room. He'd done it next to a scattered crowd under a bridge. None of them had alerted him to odd behavior.

Noah blinked.

Makeup free and dressed in a long-sleeved shirt and a pair of jeans, Noah's roommate transformed from snoring diva to average teen. He had olive skin, a sharp chin, and metal braces on his teeth. He reeked from the shot of whiskey he had drowned when he woke up to Noah's frantic searching. He told Noah to quit mumbling so he could help, but they tried and failed. Since Noah had been too antsy to overstay his checkout time by a few minutes, he agreed to wait for his roommate outside of the motel.

The night had been kinder to the motel. In the morning, it had its name skewed on a grubby sign. It was called the Ambrosia, though any resemblance to the American fruit salad or ancient Greek myth was scant. Noah had had his hands stuffed in the pocket of his pants, head low, anticipating Gold's exit. Gold, however, was nowhere to be seen at ten in the morning.

"Come on. Let's teach you the ropes," his roommate said. "I'm Pink by the way."

By ropes, Noah hoped Pink meant food hunting. Pink was under the impression Noah was going to join the...night work. He hadn't meant to lead him on but didn't want to be alone this morning. And a free lesson in survival wasn't bad.

Noah nodded at something Pink said, and Pink rolled his eyes. Pink fished a cigarette from a dented packet of cigarettes. He didn't offer Noah a smoke, and Noah was grateful.

Noah tensed as he caught sight of the lighter materializing in Pink's hands. His throat was dry, and no song came to mind when he heard the flicker of the lighter. He counted the cracks on the pavement. People needed matches or a lighter to smoke.

Sixteen cracks.

"Motherfucker," Pink muttered. He flicked the lighter again.

Twenty-two cracks. Twenty...Twenty three.

"Ooh yeah," Pink said, taking a drag and blowing twin lines of smoke from his nostrils.

Noah stifled a sigh of relief. He straightened, his line of vision resuming to straight ahead instead of the asphalt. In the daylight, the shady neighborhood held a semblance of normality. There were fruit sellers, kids who were probably skipping school, and barbershops snipping at their customers' hair.

Noah glanced at Pink. Given last night's outfit, Noah was entertaining thoughts of what Pink did for a living. He wanted to ask what the job was like or if it was as frightening as Noah suspected it was.