Body Movers: 3 Men and a Body

E. sat back in her chair. “Are you gambling?”

“No.” Not at this very moment, anyway.

“Still hanging out with that drug-dealer friend of yours?”

E. had intercepted him on an errand Chance had asked him to run in exchange for money Wesley owed him. Wesley hadn’t known for certain what was in the gym bag, but he’d had a pretty good idea. E. had allowed him to take the bag back to “where it came from,” without any repercussions.

“He’s not a bad guy,” he said of his friend Chance.

“He’s going to land you behind bars … or worse.”

Wesley wiped his hand over his mouth to keep from telling her that her boyfriend, Leonard, was also keeping company with his drug-dealing friend. “I’ll take that under advisement,” he responded, standing. “Are we through?”

E. pressed her lips together, then gave a curt nod. “I’ll see you next week. Take care of that arm.”

Wesley left the building in a foul mood. By the time he rode to Chance’s condo, his arm was throbbing.

His chuffy friend grinned widely when he opened the door. “Dude—you’re alive!”

Wesley howled in pain when Chance pulled him into a choke hold hug. “Watch my arm, man.”

“What happened to it?”

Wesley set his jaw against the pain, leaning over and holding his arm. When he could talk again he said, “My loan officer decided to take a pound of flesh.”

“Is it broken?”

“No. I don’t think that would hurt as bad.” Although Carlotta might argue the point.

Chance dug into his pocket. “Here, dude, take a couple of these.”

Wesley stared at the white pills suspiciously. “What are they?”

“OxyContin. It’s great stuff, man. Will make you feel good fast.”

“Thanks.” He took one and swallowed it dry.

Chance dumped the rest into Wesley’s hand. “For later, dude. If you want to feel like you’ve just been laid by the woman of your dreams, chew it. Want something to drink?”

“Soda, if you have it.”

“Coming up. What the hell happened to you?”

“I went to try to patch things up with The Carver.”

Chance’s eyes bulged. “Dude! Are you suicidal?”

“I thought it was the best thing to do, under the circumstances. He was going to come after me eventually.”

Chance cracked open a can of Mountain Dew and handed it to Wesley. “So what did he do to you?”

“Cut me up a little.”

“Really? I always wondered if the rumors were true. Did he use a bowie knife?”

“Switchblade.”

“Cool.” Then his friend blanched. “I mean—fuck. That had to hurt like a son of a bitch.”

“Yeah.”

“And he wanted twenty-five grand?”

“Yeah. A fee for pain and suffering, he called it.”

“Sorry I couldn’t help you out, man.”

“That’s okay. I got it.”

“Where?”

“Friend of the family.”

“Sweet. So does that clear your debt with The Carver?”

“Hell, no. Like I said, that was just a fee to let me keep breathing. I still owe the guy, like, twelve grand. But I’m making payments.”

“I’m glad you’re back. I have an economics exam next week. Think you could take it for me?”

Chance’s sense of self-preservation was more keen than anyone’s he’d ever met. “Sure. Meanwhile, I need a game. Can you keep your ears open?”

Chance grinned. “Sure.”

“I’ll need a bankroll. Same deal as before—you pay the sit fee, we split the winnings?”

“Deal. I’ll make some phone calls right now. Have a seat, man, and let the drug kick in.”

Wesley walked into the living room—a bachelor’s dream of black leather furniture and oversize electronics. Predictably, the large flat screen was showing porn, this one of a homemade variety. What the film lacked in quality it made up for in candid angles. Wesley switched the input to the latest Xbox gaming system and pulled up Poker Smash. He settled into a chair and played a few hands. The adrenaline and the caffeine helped to speed the painkiller through his system. He glanced around at Chance’s toys, conceding that his friend lived a charmed life.

His life would’ve been like this if his father hadn’t been forced to abandon his family. Wesley remembered the piles of toys he’d had when he was little, the expansive bedroom painted with blue sailboats, the platform that had held a running train with a real switching station, the navy-and-gray uniform of the private school he’d attended. When his father had been indicted, the train had been sold along with the house. And although Wesley had been allowed to finish the year at his school, by the next fall, his parents had been gone for several months. Carlotta had sat him down and explained that they didn’t have the money for private school, and soothed him with the promise that he’d have much more fun in public school, anyway.

He hadn’t. He’d been a shy, smart little kid with big glasses, a prime target for bullies. And he’d missed his parents terribly. He’d saved his acting out for home. In hindsight, he’d been a real pain in the ass to his sister … and it seemed that things hadn’t changed much. Ten years later, he was still getting shoved around, and was still being a pain in the ass to his sister.

A knock sounded on the door.

“Get that, will you, man?” Chance shouted.

Wesley looked up to see his friend talking on his cell phone in the kitchen and scribbling on a piece of paper. He pushed himself to his feet and got a head rush from the painkiller. Chance was right—the OxyContin was damn good stuff. Wes walked carefully to the door and opened it, then balked.