Disenchantment 32

Oren allowed the smile to drop from his face, and just stared at Mark. “As I said, we’re all sorry about Nannette.”

 

“Malbourne isn’t sorry.”

 

“Malbourne just comes across differently, he’s a lawyer.”

 

“He’s an asshole.”

 

“You think everyone is an asshole, especially when you’re drinking, man.”

 

“Everyone is an asshole, except you Oren. Except you. You are too nice and you let everyone piss and shit all over you.”

 

“Look, it doesn’t bother me when they come jam. I’m trying not to let it bother me that you have quit sobriety and are now demanding some expensive Blue.”

 

“Blue will do. Fuck, I’ll take some Red if you want to be stingy about it. Malbourne is taking advantage of you.”

 

“I am willingly paying Malbourne for a job I want done.”

 

“He’s taking advantage and you’re too blind to see. Why you want Perry back so badly anyway?”

 

“She’s my wife.”

 

“She’s been using you for years. She changed man, right after you put that ring on her finger, she fucking changed.”

 

“You’re drunk.”

 

“Maybe, but I’m not wrong. Ask Randy, ask your other bandmates.” His other band members, the ones he knew less of. There was Malcom, rhythm guitarist, quite fitting for an AC/DC cover band, then Cliff on bass guitar and John on drums.

 

Oren continued opening the bottle, and he almost looked like he was about to break down and cry. “You’re confusing your ex with my current wife.”

 

“They’re the same beast with different faces.”

 

“Mark, I don’t appreciate this shit right now. If you really want to continue this conversation, we can do it when Perry is back...and you are sober.”

 

“She cheated on you.”

 

“That’s a rumor, not entirely true. She got drunk and kissed some guy. I’ve done that a couple times. We talked it out.”

 

“From what I hear, she did more than kiss him. You trust too many people.”

 

“It’s better than being a hermit and trusting no one.”

 

“Actually, it’s not. If you don’t trust people, they can’t ever hurt you. It’s like you walk up to people with your ribcage open and your heart exposed, asking people to rip it out of your chest and stomp on it. People are shit, and you’re a fool for trusting any of them.”

 

“I’m not having this conversation with you. How’s Eddie?”

 

“Eddie’s fine, you fucking coward.”

 

“I’m a coward now?”

 

“Yeah, you’re a coward.”

 

“Mark, you don’t need to be jealous of me, what’s mine is yours. Why don’t you get Eddie and come stay here for a while, ‘til you get on your feet.”

 

“I don’t need your sympathy. I don’t need shit from you.”

 

“You’re drunk. It’s not my fault that you left the band, man. You can come back. I’ll talk to the guys, we can have two rhythm guitarists.”

 

“Yeah, so everyone can know that Oren the Great saved poor old Mark who couldn’t hack life on his own. You want to humiliate me?”

 

“You know why you quit drinking right?”

 

“You know why you’re a coward, right?”

 

“You quit drinking because you had become a mean drunk.”

 

“You’re a coward because you know you are better than being in a cover band. You’re too much of a pussy to try your own shit. You just sit around playing other people’s music, too scared to try your own. I know you write and record music when no one else is around. You’ve got more talent than anyone in your band. You can do your own stuff with or without them, with or without me, with or without anyone.

 

“You want to be safe, make sure Perry can get her designer bags and fancy clothes, so she can just shit on you whenever she feels like it. You’ve got a nice gig and a nice home here, but you could have so much more.”

 

“Why would I want more?” asked Oren.

 

“Is that Perry talking for you?”

 

“You need to get the fuck out of here.”

 

“Fine,” said Mark, grabbing the bottle of Blue and heading toward the door. “What are you going to do if she doesn’t come back.”

 

“I’m going to get her.”

 

“No, if she doesn’t want to come back. What will you do?”

 

“She will want to come back.”

 

“Yeah, I’m asking you a hypothetical, a what-if. If she doesn’t come back, what will you do?”

 

“Haven’t thought about that.”

 

“I tell you what you are going to do. You are going to release your own stuff, your music.”

 

“It doesn’t matter.”

 

“Promise me that you’ll do that. Promise me and I’ll leave. If you don’t I will stand here drinking and talking shit about your wife.”

 

“Fine, I promise.”

 

“Damn straight you will, and you better keep your promise.” Mark made his way to the door, not quite in a straight line.

 

 

 

 

*****

 

 

 

 

Hornblende could barely think as he was so tired. Santa Clarita had gone to hell. The once peaceful, over-priced city, that was a combination of several smaller towns that used to be on the outskirts of Los Angeles county and had basically grown exponentially and been absorbed by the larger city, was in nearly complete chaos.

 

“Yeah, sorry, that curfew wasn’t really possible.” Morgan looked tired too and Hornblende suspected that he wasn’t taking time off like he forced his men to do, but was maybe getting an hour or two of sleep on occasion in his office. He had been wearing the same clothes for at least four days.

 

“Safe zones then?”

 

“That’s what the mayor wants.”

 

“That doesn’t even make any sense,” said Hornblende. “Who do we let in and out of the safe zones? It’s over, Captain. We don’t have the manpower to do much here. Twenty murders last night. The streets are so swamped with people, we never get anywhere on time. Some people leave, mostly residents, but others keep coming. The morgue is out of room, and they are stacking bodies on top of each other. Jail cells were full to bursting, we had to let almost all of them go.”

 

“I don’t even know what to do anymore either, Hornblende, but we’ve got to do what we can.”

 

“What can we do?”

 

“Set up a safe zone around the police station, huge perimeter.”

 

“Who do we let in?”

 

“Residents.”

 

“What if a non-resident is being assaulted, we don’t let them in?”

 

“I don’t know, use your judgment.”

 

“Should we just let the men leave? Many of them have already quit. Half the department was no-show today.”

 

“Let them leave if they want, I’m going down with the ship.”

 

“Why?”

 

“It’s my job. It’s my duty. When I took the position of Captain, I swore an oath. That might not mean much to the younger guys, but my word still means something to me, even at the end of the world.”

 

“If you’re staying, I’m staying.”

 

“Hornblende, if I die, consider yourself relieved of duty. I’m staying because I still think we might be able to do some good.”

 

“Roger that.”

 

“Hey Hornblende, that guy you killed, was that your first?”

 

“Yes,” Hornblende lied.

 

“Under normal circumstances, you would have been forced to take some time off, but we couldn’t afford to lose the manpower at the time. You okay?”

 

“I feel fine.”

 

“Still, if we get through this, if God comes down and stops the flood and chaos, you’ll have to talk to a shrink.”

 

“Yeah, fine, not so worried about that right now.”

 

“You know why I became a cop? To do the right thing? Sure, sort of. Part of it was because I had served in the Gulf. I liked the discipline of being a soldier, the job most like that in the civilian world was being a cop.”

 

“Okay,” said Hornblende, knowing what Morgan was hinting at, but refusing to bite until asked, just on the off chance that he wouldn’t.

 

“What about you?”

 

“Me, sir?”

 

“Hornblende you’re a good cop, but you don’t talk much, you don’t hang out with the guys, never socialize with the rest of us. That can’t be because you’re black. Rogers and Khamil both fit in fine around here. I feel like I know all the men, but not you. You are always so prim and damn proper. You’re the only one to call me ‘Sir’ or even ‘Captain.’ Why did you become a cop?”

 

“My sister, sir.”

 

“Your sister?”

 

“Yes sir, she was abducted, back in Memphis, when I was a kid.”

 

“Ah, that’s why you wanted missing persons?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Did they ever catch the guy?”

 

“Years later. He had kidnapped, raped, tortured, and murdered at least ten kids...allegedly.

 

“Did they throw the book at him?”

 

“They tried, overzealously. Illegal search. He was let off on a technicality.”

 

“The system’s not perfect. That’s a damn shame.”

 

“He went away for five years eventually, was caught masturbating in front of kids in a park, got five years.”

 

“Five years isn’t enough for a monster like that.”

 

“Agreed.”

 

“If that were my sister, I would have killed the motherfucker. You had to have thought about that, right?”

 

“Yes sir, I did.”

 

“Can’t blame a man for that. I hope he got his just desserts.”

 

“Someone killed him when he got out. Cut off his dick and shoved it down his throat. He was still alive when it first went in his mouth.”

 

“Shit, that’s good to hear. So, justice after all. Did they give the guy a medal? I hope he was let off easy, considering the circumstances.”

 

“They never caught him.”

 

“Even better. I hope they didn’t look too hard.” Morgan actually smiled and closed his eyes. He leaned back in his chair for seconds that seemed to drag on to the point of making Hornblende uncomfortable. Just as he was about to say something, Morgan spoke again: “Say, Hornblende, that guy wasn’t you, was he?”

 

“Of course not sir,” Hornblende lied.