WTC 2: A Rabbit Hole

Theo returned from work at seven in the evening. It was still sunny. The heat was warm and caressed his skin as he sat on the porch of his parents’ house. It was no longer the oppressive heat of the midday. It was Friday evening, the beginning of weekend. The construction work that week had been gruelling, and Theo was going out as he did every weekend, to seek powerful stimuli that will make him forget about his mind-numbing daily reality.

He got a text message from Darius. That man is best avoided, thought Theo, but earlier that day Darius had his back. They needed to discuss what happened. Darius was coming to pick him up in fifteen minutes.

Theo walked back into the house and upstairs to his room. He showered and put on his party clothes. He put on his gold chain, styled his hair, and put on cologne. Downstairs, his parents were yelling at each other, and his younger siblings were screaming around the house. His dad was sliding into full-blown alcoholism, and there was nothing anyone could do or say about it. Theo and his old man avoided each other because they both feared that a violent confrontation may break out.

Darius texted him that he had arrived. As Theo slid down the stairs towards the exit, his mother asked him where he was going. He answered “out” as rushed out the door. The screaming in the house drove him nuts, and he was relieved to have left.

There was an old Mercedes waiting for him in front of the driveway. Darius sat smiling in the passenger seat. Theo got in the back.

“This is my cousin Marco,” Darius introduced the driver.

“Creepy looks seemed to run in their family,” thought Theo. Marco was even paler and more bug-eyed than Darius. Darius always looked somewhat sweaty and oily. He showed some range of emotions on his face. These were signs and proof that he was subject to physiological processes of ordinary humans. His cousin Marco on the other hand looked like a vampire. His face was deathly pale and dry, and it showed no emotion whatsoever. The pallor of his skin was highlighted by black hair that receded into a broad m-shape – much like that of Count Dracula - and jet-black seventies moustache.

“Marco’s got a sweet condo downtown,” said Darius to Theo, “Want to join us there and party? He’s got a DJ set and everything.”

“Sounds good man,” said Theo.

Darius then produced a massive bag of marijuana and started to roll a joint. He passed the bag to Theo so he can roll his own. It was a day of plenty, thought Theo. Darius also produced a tub of hemp oil. Theo had never seen such a thing before.

“That’s going to give you a massive kick,” said Darius. “You smudge some on the zigzags.”

Sure enough the weed was powerful. The three men took a long, slow route towards downtown. The sun was setting. Marco played a reggae record that matched and enhanced the marijuana high.

“So what do you do for a living, Marco?” asked Theo.

“I’m a property manager.”

“And his hobby is marijuana,” added Darius, “as you can see, he-he. He’s got some sweet connections, don’t you cuz?”

“Let’s just say I know some very important people,” said Marco.

“Cool, which properties?” Theo asked again.

“Several high rises downtown,” Marco answered.

“We are actually making a quick detour to one of them,” said Darius, “then we will head back to Spaulding Avenue to the condo.”

“Oh, you got some work to do man?” Theo addressed Marco, “Then just drop us off at the club district.”

“It’s only a quick drop-off, don’t worry,” explained Darius. Marco wasn’t quick with words.

The marijuana turned out especially potent. Theo and Darius got extremely high; Theo thought it was one of the highest highs he ever experienced. Marco took a couple of puffs too. It seemed to Theo that they were driving in one eternal circle on the ring road, stuck forever in the golden-brown city dusk, a soft light that was at once beautiful and ominous. Reggae blasted. The music made the car windows trebled.

Theo observed the other two passengers the back. He had never spent any bonding time with Darius. Marco was a complete mystery. “Darius is more mellow when high. His psycho grin stretches wider. That makes sense. And this Marco guy looks exactly like a big fat racoon. Complete with whiskers. A psychopath racoon. This is tripping me out. I wonder if he’s ever killed a man. With those slow racoon hands. What if he tries to kill me? No big deal. I will kill him first, he-he. He may be a psychopath, but he can’t be that smart. And he’s so doughy. I need some catharsis anyhow. Blood catharsis. Better Marco than my own father. Whoa, I wouldn’t do that. Never. Man: this weed is good.”

At some point after that Marco got a call from his girlfriend. Theo was surprised that Marco had a girlfriend, or that he was capable of any form of intimacy whatsoever. He inferred from Marco’s words that the woman had lost her house keys. Perhaps some other household item. Marco remained cold as ice, but his words were incredibly abusive.

“Well honey, you are such a damned retard. What exactly is the use of having you in the house? You never clean the house. You live like a pig. It’s always cluttered. There’s no wonder you lose stuff all the time. Maybe don’t be such a stupid pig next time.”

They pulled up to a run-down housing projects parking lot for the drop off. A young man in a sports hoodie walked over to the car and leaned into the passenger window. He seemed restless, as he was constantly rocking back and forth. Lo and behold, he too had racoon eyes. Darius pulled a plastic-wrapped rectangular package out of the glove compartment and handed it to the man, who quickly slipped it under his grey hoodie and disappeared.

As they drove off, Marco finally initiated a conversation, rather than merely respond to others. “Darius told me you had a scuffle with Larry today. That story was hilarious. I can just imagine Larry’s face when he saw that kid all bloodied up. And the dead dog, ha-ha.”

“Wait, you know the plaza owner?” asked Theo, “The guy with the ponytail?”

“Oh, of course. I manage half his properties. Listen, you guys got nothing to worry about. The matter has already been resolved. Larry stepped over the line. He is like that, he will test you and try to squeeze you as much as he can. But if he sees that you can’t be squeezed, he’s reasonable.”

“Good to know!” said Theo. He was surprised and he began to piece it all together.

“Yeah man,” said Darius, “We got bikers on our side, thanks to Marco. Larry won’t do a thing.”

They finally arrived at the condo. It was an expensive glass high-rise. There were already several young males in Marco’s apartment. The main room was devoid of furniture, except a large mattress on the floor and a DJ set with two speakers size of small washing machines, mounted on stands to face height. A couple of white folding chairs were scattered for those who were tired of standing but wanted to avoid the intimacy of the mattress.

Two guys were sprawled on the mattress, dysfunctionally high. A third man was spinning on the DJ set and listening to the music on headphones. Someone was smoking a cigarette on a small balcony connected to the room, a small square space that a glorious view of downtown.

The new arrivals settled in and Marco took over the DJ set. He started blasting reggae on the speakers so loud that Theo could hardly talk to anyone.

“It’s a sick system,” someone told Marco.

“It is,” said Marco, “but the stupid neighbours complain about the noise all the time.”

“You have to play reggae loud in to fully enjoy it,” said Darius, smiling.

At some point Marco approached Theo and started a conversation with him. He didn’t really make eye contact, and he talked slow. “Darius told me everything that you did today. You got balls, and you got brains. That’s rare.”

“Thanks.”

Marco continued with an almost cross-eyed expression: “I don’t know why you do that job with that grouchy grandpa, what’s his name? It’s a gutter job, and you have a gutter boss. You are too good for that.”

“I hate that job, man,” said Theo. Thinking of his past experiences on the job, and imagining the prospect of it going on indefinitely, his stoned mind filled with terror.

Marco offered help: “If you want to make some real money, you talk to me. I can get you in the property management, you know what I mean?”

“I know what you mean.”

“Think about it. You don’t want to be on the bottom of the system.”

Marco then went on a tangent about the system. Speaking from his personal experience, he explained how all the judges are corrupt and hypocritical. He had been in some legal trouble, and they took him down just so they can have their own people do the same thing. There is no justice out there. There is no right and wrong. There is only loyalty. Theo didn’t disagree; his only said “interesting” or “no way” here and there and nodded his head in sympathy.

Suddenly, one of the recreational drug users began to convulse on the mattress. His eyes rolled into the back of his head and he started foaming at his mouth. His lips turned blue.

“He swallowed his tongue, pull his tongue out!” Marco’s voice was as panicky as it probably could ever be. Someone shut down the music.

Marco knelt next to the guy and stuck his fingers in his throat. He pulled out the man’s tongue, and the man vomited on the carpet immediately after.

“Give him some water!” said Marco. Someone brought a glass from the kitchen.

In about five minutes the man had regained his wits. Once it was clear that he would not die, Marco worked himself up into a rage.

“You damned junky! Don’t you have any self-control? Last thing I need right now is a dead body in my goddamn apartment. Who brought this asshole? Lawrence, did you bring this bitch?”

Lawrence said nothing. Marco slapped the junky on the back of the head. “Hello? What’s your name? What did you take?”

“I’m sorry man, I’m sorry. I don’t know what happened there.”

“Sorry? You better get your ass up and clean that pile of puke off my carpet! Before we all start barfing from the stink.”

The junky said he’d do it. He got up to find some rags in the kitchen, but suddenly rushed towards the exit door, grabbed his shoes in his hands, and tried to get out. The door was locked, and he couldn’t figure out how to open it on time. Marco caught up to him, threw him on the ground and began kicking him and cursing. He added several punches and slaps to the face, which drew blood and bruises on the victim. The junky had no choice, he went back to the kitchen slowly this time and found a rug and a roll of pepper towels and a bucket. He began cleaning his mess.

Everyone’s buzz was beginning to wear off. Theo’s phone started ringing. It was his mom. He went out onto the balcony.

“Honey, where are you? Are you going to come back soon? Please come back soon, okay?”

Theo hung up and went back inside. He said bye to everyone and went back home by public transport. As he sat in the back of an empty bus and looked on outside, he had one thought that came back to him over and over again.

“I need to get out of here. I need to go back to school, or something, anything, but I need to get out of here.”