I'm crying when the call comes in that changes my life. Crying on the inside, that is, because I am after all, a man. I suppose this little surge of emotion is a good thing, because I'd been pretty sure my heart was dead for the past couple days. On Monday, Vanessa packed up the last of her dainty girl things from my place, not that she lived there but you know, practically, and the apartment just felt really totally fucking empty without her panties and makeup scattered around. Felt like I was living inside the heart of the loneliest person in the world, and that was me. Then I just felt nothing, and that was even worse. So I picked up an extra driving shift and there I am, sitting outside my own building actually, and sniffling slightly, when they call me for a pickup around the corner.
I wipe my eyes, because sometimes when you cry on the inside a little bit gets out, and start heading over. There's this song on the radio, it's what got me all up in my feelings actually. It's a bachata track that's pretty hot these days, some messy ass love story, whatever, but there's a part where he tells his guitar to cry for him, llora guitarra, llora, he says and every time they play it on la mega, which is like every ten seconds of course, it reminds me of this time when Vanessa came over all upset because this piece of shit named Devin she used to deal with finally offed himself and she just bawled in my arms for what seemed like hours and that little frail body of hers kept shuddering and heaving and I thought she might just crumble like a little crispy leaf at any second, but she seemed so strong to me in that very moment right then too, in a way, because what man, for all our strength and awesomeness, can really be that vulnerable, really? You know? What man can really be strong enough to fall apart? It touched me, it really did. When she was done crying she fell asleep, which is probably just as well because otherwise I might've tried to get some and that probably would've tipped off a fight and it really wasn't the time for all that.
Anyway, that song's playing, but I turn it off as I roll up on the pickup spot and there's this fine, fine black lady standing next to a fat old guy. She is, I mean, when I say fine, I mean truly a sudden and unflinching gift to a man's eyes. This man anyway. She's wearing a short trench coat and has a cap on, like a slick little cap tilted to the side but it seems like she was born with it tilted like that, it fits so just right, and it's inconceivable that she put any thought whatsoever into angling it correctly, because her whole way of being is just too smooth for all of that. The fat guy, on the other hand, is kind of a rumbling disaster and when he gets in I actually worry that my car will need some realignment work. I'm not trying to be offensive or nothing, but the guy is immense. Very the fuck like a whale.
I put an arm across the top of the seat and crane my head back to them, trying not to swallow the girl whole with my hungry hungry eyes, and I ask 'em where they're going. I say it in English, because I don't like to assume any one speaks Spanish. They turn to each other and seem to have a whole conversation just in the tiniest creases of their faces, which gives me a second to take in ol' girl in her entirety and let me tell you: yes.
Then she looks at me and I quickly meet her eyes and she says: "Te necesitamos por la noche entera" which, if fatso wasn't sitting there I might've taken to be a come on. She doesn't smile when she says it, her face reveals nothing in fact, but anytime someone tells you they need you for the entirety of the night, well...I wrestle down all the snarky, flirtatious things I want to say back and just nod as smoothly as I can. Hecho.
Then the big guy gives me an address in the Stuy and says it's stop number one; they have to pick up someone before they go where they're going. They confer quietly in the back the whole way and I do everything in my power not to keep looking in the rearview to see if maybe, maybe she's looking at me. She's not though; she's either fully concentrating on whatever secretness she's got with the big guy or she's looking out the window with an expression of either sorrow, dread or longing. Who can really tell? She's not happy. I want to ask what's wrong but I don't. I want to tell her about all my dogs – I have five actually, and they're all small and they do drive me crazy with their bullshit but I love the little motherfuckers too and it's a cold hearted chick that isn't impressed by a muscular man like myself who also loves his dogs. Not that that's why I have them at all, I really really do love all five of them, except possibly Ediberto who really can be a fucking asshole sometimes with his whining, but really, I love them all.
Turns out to be a dude we're picking up, tall and oddly colored, like almost gray, but he's not a white dude. Puerto Rican if I had to guess. He slides in beside the lady, nods at me and then the fat guy says: "Carlos, this is Janey, my son's fiancé." And I almost curse out loud but don't. "Janey, this is my good friend and associate, Carlos." Carlos looks like he has to work extra hard to dig up a smile for her but when he does it's a real one and he offers his hand. When they shake I can see a certain chill pass over Janey, not like she's afraid or disdainful, just that she understands something. Her eyes look into his with a question and he nods eversoslightly in response. I don't know what it all means, but the whole night is already beyond odd at this point.
Maybe I should be scared. Probably. You hear stories, of course: taxi drivers disappearing, or getting mugged or kidnapped. All kinds of terrible shit. Found naked by the side of the road, covered in bitemarks and babbling boberias like some asshole in a nursing home. But anyway, I'm not scared. Janey's fine of course, but that's neither here nor there, and besides, she's already hooked up with Baby Fat. It might be because, for all their weirdness – and they are truly weird – this strange trio still seems oddly...how do I say it? Simpatico. There's a warmth to them, that seems to emanate out more powerfully than their sad gazes and hushed conspiring. Also, I realize that this is the first time I've gone more than ten minutes without thinking about Vanessa since she left me.
The next thing that happens though is a little creepy. When I ask where to next, Carlos looks me dead in the eye and give me my own address. I try not to flinch or make it obvious that I'm flummoxed but it seems like the guy can see through whatever bullshit mask I put up. He doesn't smile or grimace, just stays dead neutral and holds my gaze for a few seconds, apparently delving into my most fucked up childhood memories, maybe figuring out all my dogs' names, I don't know. I finally turn slowly around and start driving back towards Bushwick.
They're conspiring again, but Carlos doesn't seem to give a fuck if I hear or not. "It's confirmed, Gordo?" Not a very creative nickname, but oh well. The big guy nods, frowning. "And she's the source?" Carlos indicates Janey.
"My great aunt," Janey says without disguising her irritation at being talked about as if she's not there.
"Right," Carlos says. "What'd she say?"
"Ah, you have a great aunt," Gordo cuts in. "I hadn't realized that's who came to you about this." This seems to carry untold realms of fascination for him, I can only imagine why. I guess if I was his age I'd get gagigidy about a girl like Janey having a great aunt too.
"I told you that when I first called, Gordo." And then to Carlos. "She said it's this viejito on the floor above her."
That would be Juan-José I'm guessing. And CiCi must be Janey's great aunt. Interesting. Carlos doesn't look convinced though. "And she's sure? Does she know what she's talking about?"
"Listen, cowboy," Janey's eyes roll all the way back in her head. It's sexy as fuck. "You don't know a damn thing bout this lady, so I'll just let that skeptical smirk of your slide for this very moment." Janey pauses and takes a deep breath. I hope she's not flirting with him. "Yes," calmer now. "CiCi knows what she's talking about. Very much so. You don't have to believe me, but trust that when you see this viejito, he will be what you are looking for."
"Okay." Carlos sits back in the seat, apparently satiated.
Janey directs her sad face out the window and the window shines it back to her, dark and beautiful and barely there against the Brooklyn night. I just drive.
When Vanessa left me, she actually said "Fuck you and fuck your dogs too" like that crazy heffa from the Wizard of Oz. I think it might've even been a misquote actually, she was never very good with word for word shit. Anyway, I don't know how someone's heart can be so shriveled and demented that they could wish malice on five dogs as wonderful as mine, but then again, the world is full of Saddam Husseins and George Bushes, so who's to say?
I catch a glimpse of Janey's face watching the dim Brooklyn streets glide by. She looks so serious, like the world outside is a great open book she has to consider very carefully. I can't imagine a girl like Janey, woman really, a woman like Janey ever harboring such pointless aggression. Anger, yes. Rage even. That stunning, justified rage. But that kind of hatred? I think not. But what do I know?
"Aquí," Gordo mutters as we pull up to my building.
I nod.
"Listen," Carlos says, sounding like he's striving for reasonableness. "I believe what you say about your tía, Janey. I didn't mean to come across like that. It's just that..." He has her attention. Even big Gordo tunes into the gravity in Carlos' voice. "...this thing, this...entity – it's not like most. I don't know how familiar you are with," he shoots a weary glance in my direction, "this topic, but this particular one is...more powerful. Especially when combined with a living form."
Okay, I don't care if you're Cuban, Dominican, Boricua or straight Southern Black – dig deep enough, we all got brujos in the family tree somewhere. It's a fact of life. Imma not even get into mine, I tended not to pay her much mind to be honest, but I know enough to know the difference between a charlatan, someone who is just batshit crazy and someone that knows what the fuck they're dealing in. I'm not even saying I believe in ghosts or nothin'. I'm just saying, Carlos is not playing around. None of 'em are. And whatever entity shit he's talking about? It's real. On some level, it's real. I know because when he speaks on it I feel all the hairs on my arm stand at attention and all my insides seem to cringe at the same time.
Janey's got a determined face on, but when she says "Okay," there's a shiver in her voice. Gordo just nods.
"So why don't you..." Carlos starts to say to Janey.
"No." She cuts him off. "I'm coming in with you." It's obviously not up for debate.
Carlos sees it as clearly as I do, so he just sighs and gets out of the cab. "Keep it running," he says with a certain gruff resignation in his voice.
The three of them head up the front steps and into my apartment building and I just sit there staring at the door and feeling oddly giddy and terrified for a few minutes. Then the giddiness goes away and I admit it: I get caught up with all kinds of phantom imaginings. I'm actually pretty well put together, physically. Buff, I'd even say. Much more so since things started getting rocky with Vanessa, because when shit's not right in life, I work out. When I'm confused, I work out. If I can't make heads or tails of a situation, if the words I need to express myself aren't there, if my thoughts are one big tangle of shit? Find me at the gym. There, at least I can make sense of something, feel my body grow, struggle and triumph. Something.
It was a pretty bad breakup, to be honest with you, so I'm huge. But huge doesn't count much when you're fighting off "entities" like the one Carlos was describing. I don't know much about it, but I know things like that don't give two fucks how much you can benchpress. And you know, spiritually, I keep my dashboard saints and talk to them when I need parking or the strength not to call Vanessa and curse her out, but otherwise: church only very occasionally.
So when the door of my building swings suddenly open it scares the everloving shit out of me. There's a figure standing there, all shadowy and backlit by the rude fluorescents in the lobby. And here I am feeling about as unprepared for this as anything I've ever faced in my life, and Vanessa's angry mug is still dancing around in my subconscious, well not sub at all really, she's right there at the surface, cursing me out and telling me I 'aint shit. And right about now, she's right, I really 'aint shit at all. I'm just some overlarge asshole in a Crown Vic. The figure in the doorway just stands there for a few minutes and the whole world around us goes perfectly still, like even the trees don't want to move for fear it'll notice them and hurl some infernal wrath their way. So nothing moves, and then it takes a step forward and everything's swishing and swaying and alive in the night. Trash clutters down the street and leaves are whipping around. Am I making this up? The mind can play some foul and fuckedup tricks on a person, yes, but I swear by the lives of all of my five that the wind picked up strong right as the thing started moving, whereas just seconds before the world was cloaked in stillness. Thing, shadow, creature, form – whatever it is – it steps very slowly down each stair. And each movement is jerky, like it's some tin windup toy gone rusty over the years. It's tall and skinny and lurches towards me in uneven spurts, might collapse at any given moment into a sorry pile of skin and bones. And I pray that it does, but I know it won't. It's got the fury of intention behind each clunky move; collapsing is not on the menu.
I wonder, just before the creature steps into the pool of streetlight beside my cab, where Janey, Carlos and the Gordo are and why they let this entity get away so it could come kill me. I hope Janey's alright. Then I think how amazing it is that I just used what might be one of my last thoughts to worry about a woman I haven't spoken more than five words to, and not the one I spent the last three years of my life loving. I'm thinking how odd that is when the thing creaks forward into the light and I see it's face and I almost scream because it is Juan-José, the old guy from the eighteenth floor that lost his mind, but it's also not. First of all, Juanjo is always hunched over and he holds his arms and fingers all shriveled up into his body like a second, mangled ribcage. This thing, this entity...it stands perfectly erect and its arms dangle loosely at its sides, swaying gently as if blown by some unworldly breeze. And then there's the eyes. Juan-José's were pretty dull, like he couldn't be bothered to focus on anything. Nothing dramatic, just your average old guy blurriness. But the eyes that look back at me from the passenger side window, because now the thing has creased itself at the waste the better to glare in at me, those eyes are sharp, they seem to even vibrate slightly and the pupils are teeny tiny like a methadonians', tiny and sharp and fixed right on my face. And when it smiles, everything inside me says to peel off as fast as I can, be gone.
Well, not everything apparently, because that's not what I do. I think about Janey again, and what it'd be like if she came out and found me gone, and this thing here instead, and what she, any of them, would do. They asked me to stay, to leave it running even, and so that's what I do. And then Creature opens the damn passenger door, which I could've sworn I'd locked and sits down and says in a voice that sounds like its crawling with worms: drive, and so that's what I do.