The Human Canvas, Part 2: Tee Pee

“Tell me something interesting about yourself,” Tess tells Martin. “Tell me something that you would keep as a secret from most people.”

“A secret? Whatever secrets I want to keep are kept for a reason.” Martin has no desire to mention the theft of Hilda’s car, his feelings about his sister or his parents, his hopes of somehow getting money from Landon...

“Yes, of course, but what major consequence would there be from telling me of all people?” Tess places another line of paint with a steady hand as Martin watches.

“I can’t say. It might give too much away.” Martin grins at Tess, but she just shakes her head.

“That’s childish. You could probably get more out of life if you were more honest.”

“Oh what, that’s the big conclusion you’ve come to after observing me for all of two days?”

“Not at all. I’d say that’s good advice for most anyone with your maturity level.” Tess continues to paint with a striking calm.

“Screw you,” Martin says, realizing too late that maybe storming off is a mark of immaturity. He follows through with it regardless. Whatever Tommy and Landon are discussing can’t be too important to interrupt, right? “Hey Tommy, when do you want to go do some open mic work?”

Tommy struggles to come up with a response. “Anytime? I don’t know. I was hoping you had something planned for me since I’m more or less at your beck and call right now.”

“He’s pretty funny, Martin,” says Landon. “I don’t know if his brand of humor is quite the same, but he’s got some good material.”

Martin looks down his nose at Tommy. “Good material, sure. We’ll see. Let’s go.”

“What? No,” Tommy says, “why don’t we hang around here a bit longer? I’m sure Tess is almost done with this painting.” Then Martin remembers that he actually does need to talk to Landon, but he doesn’t really have a scheme in mind for getting money from him.

“Fine. Landon, tell me about your numerous feats. You must have a zillion stories to tell.” Martin flops onto what looks to be the comfiest part of the couch.

Landon leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, apparently his storytelling pose, and begins. “I think my story for you doesn’t actually involve any heroic feats or heartwarming encounters with the less fortunate. You might appreciate this, Martin. I was at my publisher’s building to go over the manuscript of my first book, but they had me wait outside the editor’s office for whatever reason. One of his subordinates was outside in a cubicle doing some kind of busywork, maybe editing or retyping some manuscript that was illegible, in the wrong format...you get the idea. But I looked down at her foot, and there was a parade-sized streamer of toilet paper sticking out from her shoe.” Martin gives the most incredulous look at Landon that he can muster. It sounds made up. “I considered not telling her just to see how long it would take before someone else noticed.”

“Aw, of course you told her. Pfft.”

“Well, the worst part was not the size of it or its mere existence. Even from a distance, it looked like it was just covered in shit.”

“What?” Tommy isn’t buying it. “I’m calling bullshit.”

“Nope. It looked like it had been used to wipe up an enormous amount of crap, and it was trailing from her shoe.”

“That’s disgusting,” says Tommy.

“Yes, so I got up, went over to her, and I said, ‘Excuse me, but you have some toilet paper stuck to your shoe.’ Guess what she said to me,” Landon says excitedly.

Martin says, “‘Oh my god, that’s so embarrassing.’”

Tommy says, “‘Oh, that? That’s not mine.’”

Landon shakes his head. “As soon as she turned to look at me I knew something was off. When she looked down at the toilet paper, she immediately vomited all over her lap, her shoes, my shoes...it was a mess.”

“Ew,” Tommy says.

“Jesus Christ,” Martin says as he recoils. “Why is this a good story?”

“Sorry, I know it’s disgusting. It really was a shit-stained stretch of toilet paper. Apparently this girl had just gotten the job, and her manager was on her case about taking sick time within her first couple of weeks. Poor girl had food poisoning and was trying to just hold it in or hide it so she wouldn’t have to go home. She’d been in and out of the bathroom all morning.”

“That’s the nice part about being a comedian, I think. If I have stuff coming out of both ends of my digestive tract in the morning, it’s probably just from a good night of drinking, and there’s no management of sick time or hours involved.”

“Really? Is that all there is to being a comedian?” Tommy asks.

“Basically.” Martin shrugs. “So is there more to the story?”

“Oh yes. I go in a few weeks later to pick up some free copies of the book that I wanted to give to people. They said they could just send them to me, but I figured it was a waste if I’d be around their office. So when I go in, I notice the same girl in her own office. I asked the secretary how she got her own space. ‘Oh, her manager is...no longer with us,’ she said, so I didn’t ask questions. I figured I’d congratulate her on moving up in the publishing world, though, so I went to the door to her office, knocked, and said a bit loudly, ‘No more food problems around here anymore, you hear?’ Seemed like a harmless thing to say, but I hoped she would look back on that incident humbly and maybe attempt a laugh. So then I laughed a bit to try to get her started, but I must point out that she looked horrified. People were giving me weird looks as I left, and I didn’t think much of it until later. It started to bug me, so I called up my editor and asked him if I said something wrong. Turns out her manager had choked to death the week before, and that’s how she got moved up.”

“Holy shit,” Martin says.

“I can’t believe you managed to pick the most precisely offensive thing to say there,” Tommy adds.

“I...think that’s why it’s a decent story, if I may say so,” Landon says, beaming.

“I don’t even know what to say to that. Maybe you’re just a bad person,” suggests Martin.

“Oh hush. I didn’t realize what I was saying,” Landon rebuts.

Martin glares at him. “Okay.”

Tommy shakes his head in bewilderment. Then Martin notices Mary saying something to Tess before heading into the bathroom. They are apparently finished with making art for the day. Tess puts down her brush and stretches dramatically before walking to where the men are sitting, taking her place behind Landon.

“Gentlemen, Mary has been so kind as to invite us to a party if you’re interested,” says Tess.

Martin is instantly excited by the prospect of partying with this inky sprite. “That sounds good to me...”

“Yeah, I guess I’m down,” says Tommy. The idea of Tommy getting drunk and hooking up with a hideous skank tickles Martin, and so he is glad that his apprentice will be accompanying him.

Mary comes out of the bathroom wearing a blue sundress. The girl clearly has some style. "Aw, you put your clothes back on," says Martin. She shrugs.

"I can always just take them back off once I get home." Martin closes his eyes to picture this, and it relaxes him greatly.

"Mmm, yes. That's a good point."

She looks around at Tommy, Tess, and Landon. "So are you all coming to my party tonight?" Mary asks.

"I guess so, yeah," Tommy replies.

"What's this party for anyway?" Martin asks.

"My birthday!" is her enthusiastic response.

"Oh, how old are you?" Tommy asks.

"Mary has only just turned nineteen," Tess says. Martin's heart beats just a little faster.

The Human Canvas, Part 1: Mother Earth

There’s a spring in his step and a smirk on his face as Martin heads to the elevator. Tommy follows closely, and they ride up to Tess and Landon’s studio space.

Martin knocks lightly on the door. The Countess must be busy giving bloody birth to her art, because Landon opens the door sheepishly and ushers the two men into the apartment without a word. Tess is standing in the middle of the open floor space. Surprisingly, she is not as lavishly adorned as she normally is, wearing only a black t-shirt and long white skirt, both of which are speckled with many colors. Just past her, Martin spies an obese woman lying flat on her back with her arms draped out over the edge of the bench she’s on. Disappointment begins to creep up on him until he notices a cute blonde girl in a bathrobe waiting off to Tess’s left. There’s hope yet!

“I heard you gentlemen caused a bit of a stir at Herb’s club last night,” whispers Landon.

Martin winces and says, “Was he pissed? I totally get him calling the cops, but I hope he’s not mad at me.”

“All in all, I wouldn’t say he’s pissed. If anything, I think he was a bit frightened by all of the blood that was left once they took you all away. Herb doesn’t have the strongest constitution, I’m afraid, but he’s a good man.” Martin suddenly thinks back to the rumors that Herb bedded Landon, but it’s just not possible. It can’t be true.

“Ian’s a bit of a wildcard, man. I only invited him to meet some girls we met at the bar, but he arrived mid-fight with a knife. I don’t think he’s usually a very violent person.”

“Right, but he just did what any friend does when he sees someone he knows about to get his ass kicked,” Tommy suggests. Martin concedes ceremonially to show Tommy that he did a good thing by destroying Max Enberg’s body.

“Tom’s right, Marty. Plus, it’s not the first fight the Hole’s ever seen, nor will it be the last. It’s a night club. People go there to get drunk and let emotions run high, whether it’s joy, anger, sexual arousal...you get the picture. If any of those get misaligned, there’s bound to be some squabbling.” Goddamn Landon Freeman and his voice of reason. Just listen to this guy, talking like he’s spent a year doing research on the social impact of late-night gathering spots.

“Cool,” says Martin. “I just really don’t want him to ban me or something.” Landon waves the concern off as if it’s nothing, and so suddenly it is nothing.

“Y’know, Marty, I’m a little surprised Tom managed to get you to come over. I thought you hated Tess.” Is Martin blushing? He thinks he might be, but he doesn’t like showing embarrassment.

“Me? Hate someone?” Landon smiles with half his heart. The other half is waiting for Martin’s explanation. “I don’t hate her, okay? She just makes me really uncomfortable for too many reasons.”

“Such as?”

Ugh. Martin was hoping he wouldn’t have to explain himself, but dishonesty doesn’t seem to have much of a purpose at this point. “At the club, for example. She was being far, far too open about your...private life, if you get what I’m saying.” A tilt of the head and a knowing raise of the eyebrows tells Martin that Landon shares some of Martin’s distaste for Tess’s disclosures. “Plus, I don’t know. This may seem like a weird thing to complain about, but it pains me to see how Tess dominates this place,” Martin says, waving his arm in front of him. Landon looks around the studio. “Why do you let her take control of this place?” Landon only laughs.

“Martin, I don’t live here most of the time. I have my own place in the hills. This is my legal residence for the moment, but it’s largely Tess’s apartment. That’s why I try to keep my things stuffed away.” Ah, of course Landon Freeman has his own place, full of masculinity and world record plaques and Landon’s musky manscent.

“Ohhh, that makes sense. But, so, you see? I don’t really hate her. She’s just not really my favorite person. The only reason I was mad the other day was because I wanted to talk to you privately.”

“What about?” asks Landon.

“Ha, silly. This isn’t exactly private, is it?” Martin says, leaning his head toward Tommy. Tommy looks back from the overweight model on the bench.

“What?” Tommy asks. Martin and Landon chuckle at their own little joke.

“My dear, I think I’m finished with you for the day,” Tess says suddenly to the current model. “Something’s just not clicking for me. I can’t explain it, but thank you for holding that pose. It was just what I wanted.” The model smiles shyly at Tess before donning her own robe and taking her handbag into the bathroom.

Tess lets down her hair as she walks over to the sitting area. She runs her fingers through her hair, massaging her scalp with her eyes closed. Martin wonders if she’s trying to conjure up some talent.

“Hello, Martin,” she says, gathering her hair back up and tying it loosely at the top of her head. “And Tommy, hello. I was surprised to hear that they released you so quickly.”

Martin smiles as he recalls Ian’s strange gestures. “Me too. I guess Ian has magic powers.” He revolves his hands around each other in front of his face as he says this, though no one could possibly get the reference.

“That’s good to hear. I was a bit worried when Herb called the police, but I think it was fully justified.”

“Yeah,” Martin says, though at this point he’s already sick of talking about it. Tommy told him on the way over that Tess invited Martin to her apartment to look at the models and remain close to her. She claimed that she needed an “art day” -- stupid -- and wanted Martin to uphold his end of the observation deal. “So I don’t mean to be an ungrateful guest, but what do you really expect me to do while I’m here? I’m interested in seeing the other model pose for you, y’know, but otherwise I’m just hanging out with Landon and Tommy.”

“C’mon, that’s not so bad,” Landon suggests, but Martin isn’t having it.

Tess sighs. “I suppose you could give me some input on what I’ve done so far, but it’s really disappointing.” Martin remembers seeing a blob of yellow on blue, but that’s the biggest impression one can expect from several feet away. He gets up and walks over to the canvas while Landon strikes up a conversation with Tommy.

The image laid out on the canvas is unexpectedly spectacular and eerie and beautiful. The yellow blob he thought he had seen was in fact a yellow human figure, laid out much as the model had been, but with a filigree of golden floral pinstriping tracing out the lines of her body and exploding into the shifting blue-green of the surrounding space. Martin immediately gets the impression of a woman’s seed giving birth to the world, and despite it not making perfect sense, he’s moved.

“This is really good, Tess. I mean, in some ways it’s so simple, but it’s gorgeously done.” He leans in to look at the stripes. They’re so precise and smooth. Martin can’t imagine his hand placing anything so delicately. Martin is struck by how quickly his opinion of the Countess has changed.

“You think so? I was honestly considering just wiping it clean and starting over, but I didn’t want to keep her too long.”

“God, no. You can do more to it if you want, but it looks good to my untrained, barbaric eye.”

“Hmm.” Tess grabs the canvas and sets it down by the base of the easel. “Well, when it’s dry you can have it, a gift from me to you.”

Martin’s not sure where he’ll put it, but he’s nonetheless appreciative. “Thanks. So what do you plan to do with your next model? Same thing?”

“No no, Martin. It depends on the model,” Tess says, turning to the girl. “Marilena, could you come here for a moment.” The girl perks up at her name and puts down the book she was reading. She saunters coolly over to Martin and Tess.

“You can just call me Mary, Miss Carter,” says Mary, her words only just hinting at an accent. Now that Martin can get a good look at her, he likes what he sees. Her eyes are a deep blue, their shape both familiar and exotic, and he can’t help but notice the hint of a tattoo where her neck slopes into her shoulder. Martin can’t tell how long her hair is since it’s pinned up, but he’s hoping it’s short.

“Marilena?” Martin asks. “What kind of name is that, Italian?”

She smiles at him. “It can be, but not in this case.” Martin pauses, expecting a continuation, but she leaves him wanting. “Would you like me to pose now, Miss Carter?”

“First I’ll need to see your body.” At first Martin wants to laugh, but then he realizes she’s saying it as a matter of business. The demand is suddenly arousing.

“Of course,” Mary says happily, and she slips the robe off right there in front of Martin. When she begins to turn slowly for Tess’s inspection, Martin just about loses his grip with reality. She’s smooth, slender, fair of complexion, and her arms are covered in bright yet tasteful tattoos of all different varieties. A large black and gray arrangement of dragons, flames, and words in a foreign language takes up the entirety of her back down to her tailbone. “Will I do, Miss Carter?”

Tess looks unsure, but she nods. “You can try out whatever pose you like, and we’ll go from there. I’m not really sure what I’m looking for at this point.”

“Okay,” Mary chimes, and she walks lightly to the bench in front of Tess’s easel.

Martin’s attention returns awkwardly to the situation at hand as Tess addresses him directly.

“Sorry, what?” he replies.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I just...” Martin just now realizes how long he’s been staring at Mary’s body. “I fuckin’ love tattoos.”

The Promise of Things to Come

As Martin sits on the curb, awaiting the inevitable revelation of his hidden truth, he realizes that it’s day three of Tess’s observation. Somehow, though, she managed to avoid being part of the incident at Herb’s club, and now she’s nowhere to be seen. It’s at once pleasant and mildly disconcerting.

“Hey Ian,” Martin says. Ian sits down next to Martin.

“Sup?”

“How is it possible for Francisco to just drop the charges on you? Isn’t stabbing someone a crime?” At the time of release, Martin had been too pleased, and perhaps slightly concussed, so he didn’t bother to question it.

“Maybe for some people, people without connections,” Ian says, pantomiming what looks like the sprinkling of fairy dust, but Martin can’t be sure. Ian follows it up with a wink.

“Connections? Do you know a bunch of cops or something?”

“No, but I have my...ways,” as Ian begins to make a strange waving gesture, Martin reaches out and gently pushes Ian’s hand back down.

The overall mood of the trio -- Francisco having walked off as soon as he was free to go -- is “decent but tired”. Martin gets the feeling that all of them could use a good nap. In fact, he’s struggling not to nap as he notices Hilda’s car approaching the curb. He looks up at Tommy, and the big oaf is screwing up his face in a lack of certainty.

“Is that the car-“

“Tommy, you shut the hell up right now. Don’t mention the fucking car. Just don’t do it. I will murder you.”

“But is it the same one?” Tommy asks.

Martin tries his best to channel all of the fury he can summon into a death stare, but he undoubtedly looks more worried than anything else. Tommy shakes his head at him, and Martin hopes that that is a deal between the two of them.

“Shotgun,” Ian mutters as he climbs into the passenger seat. He tousles his own hair a bit before crossing his arms snugly and slumps against the window. Martin and Tommy get into the back, and Hilda pulls away from the curb.

“Thaaaanks, Hilda,” says Martin.

“Yeah, thank you for the ride,” Tommy adds.

“Oh, not a problem, boys.” Hilda looks at Ian with concern, but as far as Martin can tell, she’s quick to remember that Ian has no shortage of peculiarities. Martin pictures Ian waving again and shakes his head in an attempt to clear the image. “Are we just heading to the Hole?”

“Yeah, I think the necessary vehicles are all there.”

“I walked,” Ian interjects without lifting his head. Martin glares at him for the unnecessary addition.

“So you guys got into a fight, huh?” Martin doesn’t really want Hilda probing too deeply into the situation, but it was somewhat exciting.

“Have you ever heard of the band Maximus Shmaximus?” Martin asks.

“No?”

“Well, they suck. As people. Except Francisco. Max sucks.”

“I don’t think you really gave him much of a chance,” says Tommy.

“I didn’t need to! I’m a good judge of people, dude. When that ginger bitch stepped up to me, I knew he was an asshole.”

“Not to mention taller than you. Next time maybe pick a fight with someone you could actually beat. Like a five-year-old.”

Martin laughs. “I don’t need to fight five-year-olds when I’ve got Tommy the Paralyzer by my side.” He pats Tommy on the shoulder.

“Jesus Christ, Martin. Don’t say that.” Tommy begins to slouch and leans his head toward the window.

“The Paralyzer?” Hilda needs some clarification. Martin had forgotten to mention that part on the phone.

“Oh yeah. Tommy threw Max across the room. Broke his arm and maybe his back.”

“Oh my god. And what about the stabbing?” Hilda asks.

“Well, Ian stabbed Francisco a bunch of times, but he was really cool about it. He’s kind of a badass.” Hilda looks at Martin through the rearview mirror, eyes wide.

“Sounds like you guys had quite the night.”

“No shit. All I want to do now is take a shower and go to bed.” He assumes roughly the same position as Tommy and Ian, but by the time he gets comfortable they’re back at the club. Martin yawns as he gets into his car. Tess apparently went home after the confrontation, or at least someone stole her car. His thoughts flash back to taking Hilda’s car for the repo guys, but it’s too depressing. As he starts his car, he sighs.

He wakes up later in the day to the sound of his cell ringing. His face is still tender, a marker that reminds him to never fuck with Francisco Panza again.

“Hello?” Martin can hear that his voice is drenched with the paralysis of sleep, but screw it.

“Hey man,” Tommy says. “You up for a little midday entertainment?”

“I-wh-I’m barely awake, dude. What do you want?” Martin cannot believe that Tommy is already up and about after nine hours.

“Naked women?”

“Okay. Continue.”

“Tess is painting nude models today, and she said we’re welcome to stop by during the day to hang out with her and Landon.” This sounds promising.

“But wait, I have a few questions. Just women? Do I have to see any penises today? Is Herb going to be there? Do I have to paint anything?”

“Uh, let’s see. As far as I know, not that I know of, maybe, and probably not?” Martin nods approvingly to himself.

“That’s a good list of answers.”

“I thought so, yeah. I can pick you up if you want.”

“Ah, you’re a gentleman, Tommy. I need to get dressed and...whatever anyway. See you in a little bit.”

Martin continues to nod to himself. Despite last night’s shenanigans, this day is starting out on exactly the right foot.

Francisco Panza Is a Kind-Hearted Badass

Mariah?

Laura?

Carla?

There’s a name in Martin’s head that he can’t shake, and suddenly his vision resolves. In front of him is a grisly soul wrapped in bandages and chatting happily with the skinny blond fellow next to him.

Francisco mothereffing Panza. Kayla! Martin suddenly snaps out of his daze and looks around. Ian and Francisco are sitting next to each other on the other side of the cell. Tommy is sitting directly next to Martin looking dejected. Max Enberg is nowhere to be seen, though there are a couple of other gentlemen occupying the cell with them. Then Martin receives a signal from his face warning him of impending pain.

“Ow,” he whispers, gently touching a couple of fingers to his throbbing cheek. Tommy looks to him quickly, then leans out in front of him.

“Are you alright, dude?” Tommy looks back and forth at Martin’s eyes.

“What the hell, Tommy,” he says, swatting him away. “You’re creeping me out.”

“Jesus, you’ve been out of it all night. The medics said you’d probably be okay, but we weren’t allowed to let you sleep. Do you remember talking to them?”

“Do I remember...” Martin tries to recall a recent memory. Kayla. “I remember Kayla and the chick with the...hand.” He covers up one hand with the other and shoves his stump in Tommy’s face.

“Yeah, Kayla and Sylvia. Then the cops showed up after you punched Max and Ian stabbed Francisco.”

Martin looks across the cell at the happy couple, chatting away about who knows what. He’s stunned to think that he actually saw Ian stab someone.

“Man, who’s such a dick that they’d call the cops for a little stabbing?” Martin chuckles.

“Herb,” Tommy says. “After he got the bouncer to break up Ian and Francisco, he called the cops himself.” The implications of that phone call are not good for Martin’s career. He can potentially work other locations, but The Glorious Hole is his most repeatable moneymaker. Martin just hopes that Herb isn’t too pissed about such an incident.

“Christ. I hope he wasn’t too angry.”

“I think he was more worried about everyone’s safety, really.” Tommy stares vacantly at the floor.

“And what happened to that ginger dick Max Enberg anyhow? Did he not get arrested?”

Tommy’s eyes go wide. “He’s uh. They took him to the hospital.”

Martin furrows his brow, trying to remember what happened to him. “What the hell? I don’t even remember anything happening to him after I tried to punch him.”

“Well,” Tommy sighs, “I saw you about to pick a fight with two people who could kick your ass, so I figured I’d try to get one of them out of the way as quickly as possible.”

“Oh yeah!” Martin suddenly recalls seeing Max flying through the air. “You actually picked him up and fucking threw him! That was amazing, man.” Tommy chews the inside of his lip.

“Yeah, well...his back might be broken. And one of his arms definitely is.”

A part of Martin wishes that he hated Max enough for this to be inappropriately funny, but he just can’t enjoy it. It’s too real.

“Oh dear.”

“Yeah...” Seeing that Tommy’s distraught, Martin wants to find a new topic.

“So what’s up with Francisco and Ian? Best friends? What the fuck is this?”

Tommy shrugs. “I don’t know. I didn’t really want to talk to Francisco after what happened at the club.”

“Oh, you wimp,” Martin says, standing up. He’s a little light-headed, but he manages to navigate to where Ian is sitting and plop down next to him.

“Hey Martin,” Ian says. “You feeling better now?”

“Sorry about your face, man,” says Francisco. “I just gotta step in when people are hassling Max. He’s more of the sensitive type, y’know? That’s why he keeps around a bruiser like me to keep the crazies off his back. He’s got some nutty fans, bro.”

“I...” Martin wants to be mad at Francisco, but he’s being really nice. “Didn’t this guy stab you a bunch of times?” Ian laughs.

“Yeah, I went sort of crazy there, huh?” He laughs again. Francisco smiles.

“What, bro? You think I haven’t been stabbed before?” Francisco starts to laugh.

“Are you kidding me?” Martin asks. “What the hell kind of life have you led to get to the point where being stabbed isn’t a big deal? Is that some kind of secret Mexican power?”

Francisco shakes his head. “Man, I’ve seen some shit. Back when I was just a little shit roaming the streets with my friends, we saw a couple of gangs clash in an alley behind some rundown houses, and I say to my friends, ‘What do they have to fight about?’ So I stepped in between their knives and bats and shit, and they stop fighting each other just long enough to tell me and my friends to get the fuck outta there.”

“And? Jesus Christ, dude, why would you get in the middle of that?” Martin is enthralled.

“Well what the hell were they fighting for? Drugs? Territory? Just trying to kill each other? Tell me what a good reason is for them to stab and beat each other in the middle of the neighborhood, bro. Now, I wasn’t as big as them, and I wasn’t as strong, but I told them to stop. You know what they did?”

Martin shakes his head.

“They beat the shit out of me and my friends. I woke up in the hospital with a tube in my throat and bandages on my face.” Martin stares at the scar running down his face. “One of those gangbangers slashed his knife right down my face as a reminder that people weren’t supposed to fuck with him or his brothers.”

“And what about your friends?” Martin asks.

“Two dead. Two in the hospital for weeks. They had my back, though. That’s what friends do.” Martin looks at Tommy, then back at Francisco. “I told myself I’d never get beaten up like that again, so I started working out, and I stayed the hell away from gangs. I ended up playing drums just as a way to stay indoors when I could. You ever feel scared to leave the house when you were a teenager?”

“I lived in the suburbs. The worst problem we had was people driving too fast while kids were outside.”

“Then consider yourself lucky, bro.”

“I do, man,” Martin says, nodding. “So did you ever track down those thugs and kick their asses or what?”

“Naw, man, at this point they’re probably dead or rotting in prison. They’re not my problem anymore. But you’d better believe it, if they ever come my way again,” Francisco places one hand around his neck, “I’m tearing out their fucking throats.” Martin and Ian have no doubt that he’s serious and fairly capable.

“You three!” An officer points into the cell at Martin and company. “And you,” he says, pointing at Tommy. “You’re all free to go.” He unlocks the cell door.

A wave of relief washes over Martin. “What? How is that possible?”

“It’s basically all Francisco,” Ian explains. “He has Max’s power of attorney while he’s unconscious, and he’s not pressing charges against anyone.”

“You’re not gonna press charges against Tommy? For real? I mean, I don’t want him to go to prison, but it sounds like he wrecked Max.”

Francisco sighs. “It was my job to protect him. It’s my fault he was hurt. I never should have let Tommy get close to him, so when he wakes up, I’ll explain it to him. I’ll take the blame. As for Ian, I already told you that getting stabbed ain’t too bad, man. Adrenaline covers the initial pain, and drugs take care of the rest. I’m feeling pretty good.” Francisco smiles and pats Martin on the shoulder as he walks out of the cell.

As Martin, Ian, and Tommy leave the police station, Martin has a painful realization. “Shit, guys, how are we gonna get home?” Ian and Tommy look at each other, but they have nothing to offer. “Dammit.”

Martin looks at his phone, carefully picking through his list of contacts in order to find a good friend who won’t judge him too much, or at least one that will actually come to pick him up. Then he remembers that he hasn’t seen Hilda in a while, and she has a car.

“Ah, maybe this’ll be our ticket home,” he says. It’s kind of early in the morning, so Martin prays that she isn’t heading to work yet.

“Hello?” she answers.

“Hiiii. It’s Martin.”

“Martin? Why are you calling me so early?” She doesn’t sound too groggy. There’s a chance he didn’t wake her up.

“Well, I kind of got arrested last night-” he starts.

“For what?”

“Uh...I started a fight at Herb’s club. Ian stabbed someone. It was crazy.” To Martin’s left, Ian mimics the stabbing motion and laughs.

“Martin, I don’t have the money to bail you out.”

“Ah, you assume too much. We’re actually free to go home, but all of our vehicles are by the club or anywhere but at the police station. Any chance you could swing by and pick us up, pleeeeease?”

“Well, I do owe you for helping me get my car back.” Martin’s heart leaps into his throat. He looks at Tommy. Uh oh.

“Oh yeah. I had kind of forgotten about that, to be honest. We at least just need a ride to one of our cars so everyone can get returned to their proper vehicle.” Shit shit shit. Martin had forgotten who Tommy was.

“Okay. I still need to get ready, but I can come get you guys before work.”

“Awesome. Thank you. You are an excellent friend.” And hopefully very forgiving.

Hilda laughs. “Alright, bye.”

Martin looks at Tommy and briefly considers calling Hilda back and telling her not to come.

“Fuck,” he says, and Ian nods in agreement. Martin plans on doing his best to ignore the coming catastrophe and just relax for a bit.

Max Enberg Is an Egotistical A-hole

Stupid damn Michelle. Around midday, Martin is mulling over all the reasons for why he usually avoids her and why those reasons abandoned him when he agreed to go out to breakfast with her.

His best hope for money at this point is probably Herb, although he doesn’t want to let go of the idea that Landon Freeman has hidden millions at his disposal. Martin pulls out his cell phone.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Herb. This is Martin.”

“Martin! How are you? You stormed out the other day before I really had a chance to speak with you.” Oh yeah. Martin had totally forgotten about that little incident.

“Oh right. I was just on my period.”

“Ah, the woman’s curse. I do hope you’ve pushed past that,” Herb jokes.

“Drier than the Sahara down there right now,” Martin continues.

“Surely you didn’t call me to discuss your menstruation. What can I do for you, Martin?”

Hmm. Martin hates the idea of making his financial trouble so obvious, but he doesn’t know a wealth of club owners. “I was just wondering when the next time is that you could squeeze me in for a show, actually.”

“Well,” Herb begins, but he soon follows with a series of hedging noises to indicate his inability to get Martin back on his stage anytime soon.

“It’s okay, Herb. I was just wondering if it would be possible.” Shit, though. Herb was going to really help Martin’s cause.

“I’m sorry, Martin. It’s not that I don’t want to help, but it’s rather terrible business sense to let one person have the stage all the time. I’d love to have you back in a couple of weeks, if that helps.” It would help in the long run, but Martin feels a sense of urgency that he’d like to choke out of existence. Given the brief pause during Martin’s contemplation, Herb adds, “And there’s always another standing offer if you’d like to make some quick money.”

Martin chuckles half-heartedly. “It’s not gonna happen, Herb. I can’t imagine you have any success with suggesting gay prostitution to straight males.”

“Then perhaps you need to work on that imagination.” Landon Freeman pops into Martin’s head. “If it would make you feel better, you can come to the club tonight and have a few drinks on the house. Bring a friend with you and make it a party.” Now that is an idea.

“What do you have for entertainment tonight?”

“A local two-man band, actually. Maximus Shmaximus. No idea if they’re any good, but they’re not asking much. I don’t expect a very a busy night.”

“I guess I don’t have much else to do. Expect me, handsome.”

“I will,” Herb says, and they end their conversation.

At the club, it is clear that Herb didn’t research Maximus Shmaximus the slightest amount. The crowd is so large that a sizable group is milling about outside with some of them even begging for entrance. Herb hired a bouncer for The Hole, though this is the first night Martin’s seen him actually outside and earning his keep.

Tommy is standing a good deal away from the crowd talking to Tess. Martin doesn’t know how Tess can be expected to keep her distance with Tommy keeping a firm hold on her ear.

“Hey Tommy,” Martin says. “Tess.”

“Hello,” she replies coolly. “Not as quiet around here as I was told to expect.”

“Yeah, what is up with this crowd?” Tommy asks.

Martin shrugs. “I guess this band is popular or something. I’d never heard of them.”

“Will we even be able to get in?” Tommy cranes his neck to look at the door. Dave, the bouncer, is commanding a wide area of his own personal space. Thankfully, Martin has connections.

“You bet. Let’s go.”

Tess and Tommy follow quickly behind Martin as he pushes his way down the sidewalk and toward the door. At the front of the line, Dave towers over Martin, all shiny baldness, thick beard, and bulging muscle.

“Oh, hey there,” Dave says, reaching out to give Martin a rough handshake. “Herb told me to expect you.”

“Oh good, that makes things easier for me. These two are with me.” He points to the two sheep in the flock who are his and his alone. “Actually, I might have one or two more coming later. I’ll come out and let you know if I give them a call.”

Dave nods. “Have a good time, guys.” He lets them by, much to the crowd’s disappointment.

Inside, the air is filled with a pleasant mixture of electric guitar and the steady beat of drums. There are no flashing lights, no lasers, no fog machines, just a red-haired guitarist and his Hispanic drummer. Aside from the initial observations, Martin pays no mind to them on his way to the alcohol. Most everyone in the club is too interested in getting close to the stage to pay attention to the bar in the back. Martin’s pleased to see a couple of women are the only customers giving heed.

“Hey Hank, could I get a scotch and soda?” Martin’s known Hank for about as long as he’s known Herb.

“Sure thing, and for you?” Hank looks to Tommy.

“Uh...” Martin begins an internal countdown. When it gets to zero, he’ll have no choice but to glare at Tommy. “I’ll have a gin and tonic.” Phew.

Martin turns to find out Tess’s drink order, but she’s nowhere to be seen. She was just behind him as he entered, he knows this, but now the Countess has managed to vanish into the club scene. Sneaky, sneaky bitch. Then Martin remembers that the Countess knows Herb, so it’s possible that she went off in search of his company.

Tommy sits down at one of the stools to drink his gin, but Martin elects to lean with his back against the bar, facing the stage. The music’s actually quite enjoyable as background noise to his alcohol consumption. He nods approvingly to himself.

“Hey Martin, what do you think of those girls?” Tommy asks with his head down next to Martin’s. The two girls are actually quite attractive, and Martin has an idea of what Tommy wants him to do. He walks over to the closest one, a pale blonde in a green dress, and sits down next to her.

“Hi there,” he says. Martin looks back to Tom, and he’s clearly struggling internally over whether he should follow Martin over or not. The blonde turns to him and looks him up and down, disgusted.

“Who are you?” she asks. It takes a miraculous feat of control for Martin to keep his face from showing his disbelief. He likes to believe that there’s no one else in the world as rude as he is.

“Excuse me. I’m Martin, and my shy oaf friend over there is Tom.” When she looks over Martin’s shoulder, Tommy manages a timid wave. “I was wondering if we could freshen up your drinks for you.” Martin signals to Hank, and he begins preparing new drinks.

“That’s alright, actually. We can pay for drinks,” she says while turning away. This time Martin can’t maintain control.

“Christ, it’s not like accepting a drink from us is signing a contract. I figured that maybe it would be a good deal if we gave you drinks and one of you would just talk to my friend for a little while, but apparently I overpaid.” He neglects to mention that his drinks are on the house tonight.

“Come on, Kayla. F-f-francisco won’t care if they b-buy us drinks,” the blonde’s brunette friend urges. Kayla demurs momentarily, but she relents. The brunette hops down off her stool and walks over to take her place next to Tommy, who looks pleased. Martin turns back to Kayla.

“You can’t accept drinks because you have a boyfriend? Like I care,” Martin takes a sip of his drink.

“Well he’s not just any boyfriend, y’know. He’s that big guy up there banging on the drums,” she says, pointing to the stage. This is the moment when Martin realizes that they’re the band girlfriends or groupies or whatever.

“Ohh, and she’s dating Maximus the firedick?” Kayla looks at her friend and nods.

“I think Sylvia has a fireproof vag or something.” Martin nearly spits his scotch and soda in her face.

“So I’m guessing yours is immune to amoebic dysentery?”

Kayla looks bemused.

“You know? ‘Don’t drink the water.’ Amoebic dysentery is usually why.” She scrunches up her face at the thought.

“No, I don’t think he has a diarrhea dick.” Martin finds himself laughing more than he expected he would given the conversation’s rocky start.

“I’m so happy for you,” he tells her, then notices he’s at the bottom of his glass and asks Hank to get another.

“So what do you do, Martin?” Kayla asks.

“Stand-up comedy. The occasional male prostitution. Sometimes I get paid so people can follow me around all day and take notes about how awesome I am,” he chuckles. “I’m not even joking about the last one.”

Kayla smirks at him. “Or about the second one?” Martin glares at her.

“What do you do aside from open your pearly gates for Francisco Franco?”

“I’m an actress. Sometimes I whore myself out or get paid so my friend will talk to people.”

“Are you a whore just for women?”

“Man, that would be awesome.” She stares off into space.

“Ooh, you know what? I have a friend you should meet. It’s one of my most recent life goals, to introduce him to everyone. Hold on.”

Martin steps away from the bar for a minute and walks toward the entrance to the club. He made a promise to Dave that he intends to keep.

When he walks back in, he stops to see how Tommy’s doing. Most of the concertgoers are starting to file out of the club, but the bar area remains sparsely populated. As he approaches the pair, Kayla’s friend is in the middle of some story about a car accident. Tommy is listening with wide-eyed fascination, causing Martin to wonder what he’s missing.

“So the d-d-doctors said it was a m-miracle I didn’t lose m-more than m-my hand,” she finishes.

“More...than my...” Martin echoes her last sentence, then looks at her left hand. Nothing. Then he looks at her right hand. “Whoa,” he whispers, then more audibly says, “that’s a fake hand.” Tommy smacks him on the shoulder. Martin pouts and rubs where Tommy hit him.

“My apologies, Sylvia,” Tommy says. “Martin’s kind of an asshole.” Sylvia smiles and leans her head back, her body shaking slightly in a silent laugh. That’s when Martin spots a facial oddity.

“What’s up with your hair?” he blurts out. Now Sylvia laughs like a regular person, and Kayla turns to investigate.

“The j-jig’s up, Kayla.” Sylvia pulls back her wig, revealing wavy blonde hair that goes down past her shoulders. Kayla removes her wig as well, showing off shoulder-length dark brown hair. Martin’s jaw drops, and he puts his hands up in front of himself for protection while his neurons explode from the pressure of the illusion.

A pasty white hand claps down on his shoulder as he backs up. “You aren’t bothering the ladies, are you?” a familiar voice asks. Martin turns around to see Max and Francisco coming to claim their women. Max looks to be about six feet and four inches tall, whereas Francisco is Martin’s height but built like a firmly muscled Mexican man named Francisco. A gruesome scar runs down the length of his face just to the right of his nose.

“God no, I was just entertaining them with my wit and charm. The music wasn’t really doing it for them.” Martin figured Max might have a good sense of humor, but he’s met with daggers for eyes. “I was joking, you know. You don’t need to be so angry at the world just because you were born without a soul.” He realizes too late that he’s really not drunk enough to be using this sort of smack talk.

Max pushes him away. “Go be a dick somewhere else, munchkin. You’re not funny.” Not funny? In a fit of rage, Martin throws what he thinks is a decent punch at Max’s face, whimpering at the same time. His hand glances off Max’s cheek without much impact, and then Tommy is off his stool and lifting Max up in the air and away from Martin.

Then Francisco gets involved. In an attempt to show Martin what rage is really like, he rips his shirt off with startling Mexican fury and shoves Martin backwards with tremendous force. Martin immediately trips over his legs and ends up rolling backwards, landing on his shoulders with his feet trapped in the underside of a bar stool.

While still upside-down, Martin witnesses Tommy lift Max over his head and throw him into a group of onlookers, knocking them over and almost hitting Tess and Herb, who have just made their way out front. As Tommy turns around to see how Martin is doing, Francisco hits Tommy in the ribcage with a right uppercut, then throws a left hook into his face, knocking him down. Tess is scribbling in her notebook as fast as she can manage.

“GALILEO!” As Martin is scrambling to his feet to better assess the situation, a shrieking cry comes from the entrance. The crowd has given Ian his own clearing in which to be crazy, in large part because he’s holding a knife.

This night is going nothing like how Martin had imagined it.

Herb heads for the door to get Dave. Ian charges at Francisco.

It’s clear to everyone watching that Francisco is a seasoned brawler, but Ian doesn’t have the benefit of this knowledge. He’s therefore very surprised when Francisco dodges his first slash and then transfers his momentum into a well timed hip throw.

“Are you really okay with this?” Martin asks Kayla. She’s in shock, however, and can only respond by opening and closing her mouth. Sylvia is in a similar state of distress after seeing Max flying through the air.

There’s only one chance for Martin to not get his ass kicked, so he drops to his knees in front of Francisco. “Please stop. I get it. You’re a juggernaut. I don’t want anyone else to get hurt, okay?” Francisco responds with a right hook that lays Martin out flat on the floor. Despite years of drinking, he’s fairly certain he’s never felt so woozy in his life.

The last thing he thinks he sees before he passes out is Ian jumping on Francisco’s back and stabbing him repeatedly in the shoulder, but he hopes that’s just the concussion talking.