The Extinct

CHAPTER

12





After being processed, Eric was taken to a large holding cell at the precinct the officers called the “Pit.” It was essentially a large concrete room with a toilet and sink used to pack in drunks until they sobered up. It stunk of vomit, feces, piss and sweat. The officer gave him a slight push as he walked in and the door slammed behind him. All manner of people were crammed in; Blacks, Puerto Ricans, Mexicans, Whites, Asians, Indians. Some sat on the concrete benches that circled the room, some sat on the floor and still others were lying on the ground, too drunk to sit up.

Eric walked across the room and noticed a familiar face. It was Charles. He was leaning against the wall, his head back and his eyes closed.

“Chuck,” Eric said as went over to him and sat down.



Charles opened his eyes. He didn’t recognize him at first but then his eyes grew wide and he smiled.



“Youngblood,” Charles said, “what in Christ you doin’ here?”



Eric shrugged. “DUI. It’s bullshit, I was barely over the limit.”



Charles shook his head. “This ain’t no place for you.”



“Yeah, I know.”



“No, I ain’t just talkin’. Young kid like you’s as good as a woman in here.”



Eric began looking around the room at the faces staring at him. They were hard, and scarred from the hardness and they were looking at him as if he wasn’t human. Charles erupted in laughter, exposing his yellowed teeth.

“Just f*ckin’ with you youngblood. The guards come by every few minutes.” Charles looked through the bars to see if a guard was near and then pulled out two cigarettes from his jacket pocket. He gave one to Eric and took out some matches, lighting the cigarettes and looking through the bars again. “They let you smoke,” he said. “But you gotta pay the guards if they catch you.” He blew the gray smoke out in small rings. “So why you in here, boy? It ain’t like you to be such a fool.”

The concern in Charles’ voice disarmed Eric and he found he couldn’t put on a macho façade like he wanted to. He looked around at the dirty walls and the piss stained floors and the small dirty toilet and emotion began flowing out of him as tears started to seep from his eyes. “My dad was killed a couple weeks ago and I can’t get it out of my head. I see his face in my dreams; I see his dead body. It just won’t go away.”

Charles nodded as if he understood exactly what Eric was going through. “You said killed, not died.”

Eric didn’t respond and Charles kept talking.

“Well, you only got two choices youngblood; revenge or forgiveness. Forgiveness ain’t never worked for me. Sometimes, the pain runs so deep only revenge can reach it, you know what I’m talkin’ about?”

“Yeah.” Eric took a puff of the cigarette; it was wet and the smoke tasted like rusted metal. “How’d you get like this, Chuck?”



“Homeless?”



Eric nodded.



“Same choice as you got youngblood; revenge or forgiveness.”



“What happened?”



“I was married when I was in Nam. Beautiful girl I met at church up in Portland where my grandma was livin’. She used to make me think I could do anything. You’re too young for a woman like that, but if you’re lucky, you’ll find one in your lifetime.”

“So what happened?”

“I got leave to go home on account a my mama goin’ in for surgery. I thought I’d surprise my wife by showin’ up.” Charles began playing with his cigarette, absentmindedly twirling it in his fingers. “Came home and she was f*ckin’ our neighbor.” Charles smirked. “I loaned that motherf*cker my lawnmower once.” He flicked his ashes on the ground and leaned his head back against the wall. “I didn’t catch ‘em f*ckin’ you know. But when she opened the door, I could tell. Somethin’ in her face. But it didn’t matter cause that cocksucker was sittin’ on the couch in my bathrobe smokin’ my cigars. You believe that?”

Charles stopped talking and stared off into space. “So,” Eric said, “what’d you do?”



Charles looked him in the eyes and blew a waft of smoke out of his nose. “What you think I did?”



Eric turned away, staring at the cold ground and the little cracks that were starting to appear in the cement. “Both?”



“Both.”



“Then you ran?”



“Then I ran,” Charles said, putting the cigarette out on the floor and stuffing the butt into his pocket. “That’s the choice you got; revenge or forgiveness. I regret my choice; but that was just who I was then. You just gotta make sure you don’t regret yours.”

Eric spent the night at the jail and was given a breakfast of cold ham and stale toast in the morning. The other inmates inhaled the food without much reservation; most of them didn’t look at what they were eating. Charles was pickier; he scraped off a layer of the ham with his fork before putting it on the toast and eating.

“You’ll be outta here today,” Charles said.

“How long do you have to be here?”

“Not much longer. Caught me sleepin’ in the Grocery Mart downtown. They’ll give me a ticket and maybe keep me here a little longer.” He finished off his toast and had a sip of some cold coffee that had been brought in. “Thinkin’ bout leavin’ the East Coast though. Winters are rough.”

“Where you gonna go?”

“California. Maybe Hawaii if I can find a ride.”

The locations seemed exciting to Eric at first, until he realized Charles would be doing the exact same thing there, probably ending up in jails just like this one. He thought it incredibly sad that no matter where he went it didn’t make a difference.

Eric was released before noon and said good bye to Charles, promising to stop and say hello if he sees him again. Eric’s mother was waiting outside in her Sedan to drive him home and she didn’t say anything as he climbed in.

They drove in silence before Eric looked over to her; she was wearing a scarf and dark sunglasses. The sun was out but it wasn’t that bright yet and it certainly wasn’t cold.

“Why’re you wearing a scarf?”

“Thought it might be cold,” she said softly.

Eric looked closely and could see the red marks and dark purple bruises poking out from underneath the scarf. He reached over and pulled it off her. She said “No” but didn’t make any movements to stop him.

There were finger marks embedded on her neck, a rainbow of colors going across her throat and just under her jaw line. Eric took off her sunglasses, revealing an eye that was swollen shut, pus glistening around it.

Eric punched at the dashboard and his mother jumped.



“I’ll f*cking kill him!”



“No, Eric don’t do anything,” his mother said pleadingly. “It was my fault. I deserved it.”



“Mom—”



“No please Eric, he’ll kill us both. Please, you don’t know him like I do; he’ll kill us both,” she said as she started to sob. She pulled the car over and began to cry into her hands. “He’ll kill us both.”

Eric was filled with pity and rage, the contrasting emotions making his head pound. He wrapped his arm around his mother as she cried and brought her head to his chest, the warm tears soaking through his shirt.

“He’ll kill us both,” she cried.

“I know, Mom. I won’t do anything.” He pulled her head away and looked into her eyes. “I won’t do anything, okay? Now come on, I gotta get back to the dorms, I got a big mid-term tomorrow.”

His mother wiped the tears on her sleeve and pulled her bangs behind her ears. She took a deep breath to calm herself and sat still, watching the cars pass. She put her sunglasses back on and started driving. “It was my fault,” she said. “I told him to leave after he hit you. I said I didn’t want to be with him anymore.”

“It’s all right. I can’t worry about this now so you’ll have to tell me about it later, okay?”



“Okay. It’s just when he drinks . . .”



“I know, we’ll talk about it later.”



“I’ll be at St. Anthony’s hospital.”



“Why?”



“I wasn’t supposed to leave but there was no one else to come get you. I just had some bleeding and they wanted to keep me under observation.”

“Oh.”

They rode the rest of the way in silence, Eric saying good bye as he was dropped off and promising to call her tonight. He watched her drive away and felt sorry for her. For a life that fell apart after his father left. But he had only one thought on his mind and it dominated everything else: where could he buy a gun that couldn’t be traced back to him?