JOSEF BENSON

Josef Benson is a second year MA student in creative writing at the University of South Florida. He has published seven stories and novel chapters in various journals and literary magazines around the country including; Type Magazine, Moon City Review, Big Text, and Aperture, and has been the recipient of numerous creative writing awards. He plans to pursue his PHD in either literature or creative writing once he's done with his MA.

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CHAPTER TWELVE
From GENEALOGIES OF MONEY: A NOVEL

      Wren and Allen walked through the supermarket in Amarillo, and to Wren the faces of the people he saw were monstrous. One guy's face was hot red and burning and smiling. Another woman wore a skin-mask as she scrutinized a label on the back of a cereal box. The food in the isles - especially the candy - was frightening. Everything was just so vibrant and tactile and three-dimensional. "I don't think I can stand being in here for one more second," Wren said.
      "Quit being a pussy," Allen said. Allen carried a basket filled with Ajax cleaner, a ton of Ephedrine, and a slew of strange bottles Wren had never seen before. "We're gonna cook us up some shit, top notch, primo."
      Allen dumped the items on the conveyer and an old man with glasses and a button on his shirt that said, "Hi my name is Rolly," glanced at the items and then looked at the two friends. He looked like he was going to say something - he even opened up his mouth- but then he looked at Allen and thought better of it. The two looked haggard. Both wore jeans and t-shirts, Allen's, a Missouri Tigers basketball shirt and Wren's, just white. The two had clean looking haircuts, short and spiky, but there was something about Allen, an intensity, that reeked of danger.
      "Where do you plan to cook it?" Wren asked, once the two were in the parking lot. "
      "That's for me to know, Chappy."
      "I thought you were going to teach me?"
      "In time, Captain. In time."
      The two drove back to their cheap hotel room. They hadn't really talked about the man Allen had killed. To Wren, maybe it didn't even happen but he had an existential ache he couldn't shake. He didn't think about it, but his muscles knew. His nerves knew. His soul knew too. "Why don't you just cook it up right here in the hotel room?" Wren asked.
      "Stinks too bad. One thing's for sure, when you smell it you know you shouldn't be fucking with it. Nothing smells like crystal."
      "Sometimes I think I'll never do it again and other times that's all I think about. Even when I'm thinking I'll never do it again, I'm still thinking about it."
      "Don't get addicted. Hear me?"
      "I hear you."
      "It's just recreational. It's business."
      "I never thought I'd be a drug dealer," Wren said, and plopped down on his bed. "I go from serving my country to fucking it up."
      "We're not going to be drug dealers. We're just going to sell one batch, make some jack, and spend a nice little holiday in Cuba. We're not drug dealers."
      "Oh, okay. I just got tripped up with the selling part."
      "Why do you have to kill the mood, Man? Here I am pumped up about this and I have to be pumped up you know. I can't do this with no confidence. I have to be damn sure that this is what I want to do. If not, what the fuck are we doing?"
      "I thought we were on vacation."
      "We are. This is our vacation. I gotta go scout out a location."
      "Tell me this," Wren said, "is it you think if I learn I'm going to leave you or something?"
      "You're fucking up my mood, Dog. Don't fuck up my mood."
      Allen left and Wren wanted a bump. What had happened to him? Before this, he could lay down with a good book or watch a film or have a few beers and the world seemed magical. Now, he couldn't sit still for five minutes, but he didn't want to do anything. That must be hell, he thought, being so restless you can't sleep and so lazy you don't want to do anything anyway.
      He wished he would have told Allen to pick up some beers but he hadn't thought of it, and Allen seemed to be so occupied with the meth that all sense of the normal was gone. He couldn't really say he wasn't having fun. It was fun. He had been around his navy buddies for so long and their guns and stories of war that the death surrounding him now wasn't so alarming. The USN had cocooned him and in some ways now his cocoon was Allen and he let himself be protected. He knew in his heart that once their little vacation was over he'd go back home and start college. He had no idea what he was going to major in but he was certain he wanted to go and use his GI bill and make something of himself. The navy had taught him to be patient and that everything takes time. Hurry up and wait was how squids put it, so he was hurrying and waiting.
      Allen burst through the door as Wren was staring at the wall thinking of his future. "Dude, there's some chick out there. I think she's coming in here."
      Just then a girl came into the room. She had greasy, stringy hair and wore a dirty rainbow patterned tank top and jean shorts.
      "Hey ya'll. Ya'll got anything?" She was bony, all elbows with a pointy nose and almost no lips.
      "She flagged me down, Dude," Allen said.
      "What do you mean, do we have anything?"
      "This one said you guys got somethin' in the oven," the girl said, gesturing with her thumb at Allen who stood in front of the bathroom door.
      "Depends on what you got?" Allen said.
      The girl lifted up her tank top and she had no bra. Her small breasts hung down lifeless and she stood there and looked at the two friends.
      "Put your shirt down," Wren said. "This is ridiculous."
      "Come on in the bathroom and let's get you rigged up, Girl," Allen said.
      "This is not cool, Allen."
      "Shut up."
      The two walked into the bathroom and Wren noticed the girl was wearing purple Chuck Taylors with holes in them and no socks. "Get the fuck out of here," Allen screamed from the bathroom.
      Wren stood up and saw the girl run out of the bathroom. "She tried to bite me," Allen said. The girl was holding her head as though Allen had smacked her.
      "What did you do?" Wren asked Allen.
      "I smacked her in her head. She tried to bite me."
      "Just a little," the girl said.
      "I said get the fuck out of here," Allen screamed. The girl stayed.
      "That girl is a fuckin' junky whore, Dude," Wren said. "Is that what we're reduced to, Man? Junky whores?"
      "Oh, true blue navy boy. "
      Wren looked at the girl who looked truly hurt. "I aint no whore," she said.
      "Git" Wren, said. The girl left. "What did you tell her anyway? Does she know about the stuff?"
      "No."
      "You didn't tell her you're cookin' it?"
      "I may have said something."
      "Good God, Dude. Sometimes you're too much. Once we get to Florida I'm outta here. I can't take this shit anymore, Man. I don't feel in control anymore."
      "Let's just get some beers. We'll quit snorting. We'll cook it up, head out, try to sell some in F-L-A and go to Cuba."
      "Just let me think for awhile, Man. Go get us some beers."
      "Alright," Allen said. "By the way, I found a spot."
      "Good."
      Once again, Wren tried to lie down but he could feel the blood course through his thighs. He could fell each of the muscles in his back tighten. He could feel the bones of his neck hold his head upon his shoulders. He could feel all of these things and for a moment wondered if he might major in Biology when he went to school. He liked thinking of the human body. He thought of the girl's little tits and the way they kind of pointed out to either side like they were thumbing rides. You don't see tits like that in magazines. Those were real tits, every woman's tits. No fakies there, he thought.
      He wanted a bump was the thing. Maybe the beer would help. He should have told Allen to get something harder, maybe some Vodka and some orange crush. Maybe he just ought to get shit faced for the next week and kick the need for the white. He turned on the T V and tried to watch some baseball but that didn't solve his need to feel either. That's what it was; he had a need to feel, not to touch anything and not to look at anything, but to feel something, emotionally, like he used to. It was clear that nothing meant anything to him at the moment. Meaning for him remained a memory. He remembered how he loved his family, his mother and father and his sister. He remembered the feeling of getting out of the navy and the excitement he had with the thought of him and Allen's trip, but that feeling, that emotion, was all a memory now. All he felt now was the need for the meth, the white, the jamboree, the crystal ball, the boney marony, the wickity whack.
      Soon Allen came back with a case of Nat light and the two cracked them immediately. Allen had bought cigarettes as well, four packs, and the two turned on the radio. Allen pulled out his pocketknife and stabbed one of the beers releasing a storm of beer across the room. He held the hole up to his mouth and opened the can, chugged it, crumpled the can, and belched. "Shot gun, Bitch," he said to Wren.
      Wren followed suit and the two traded beers, one for one, through the first six-pack.
      They then lit cigs and looked at one another. "This is more like it," Wren said. "I haven't got fucked up without the thought of having to go back to the ship in two years I don't think."
      "What was the navy like, Man. Tell me some stories."
      "I knew this one guy fucked a midget."
      "Git out of here."
      "Yeah, he fucked a midget in Korea. There was a bus that went from the ships to this one street. I can't remember the name of the street but it was one long street. They had a string of shops selling leather jackets, nice ones, for like eighty bones and bottles of champagne, everything. Squids were shooting the caps into the air like it was fucking Mardi Gras, and there were bitches, tons and tons of Korean bitches, young. I think I was the only guy not to get one."
      "Why didn't you get one?"
      "Diseases bro. I'm scared shitless about that shit. Fuckin' Aids is rampant in these countries. Anyway, most of the guys got whores, married guys, single guys, guys with steady girlfriends back home, guys you wouldn't think would get a whore all got them I think. They probably thought I was gay or something. Anyway, this one tool bag, Smitty Earl, had his eye on a little shrimp, had to be in her forties. She had been sizing his ass up all night. He was a little one hundred and ten pound featherweight with an acne problem. He was mostly bald and he was a real fuck-head. Apparently, she said the magic words because after about three drinks ol' Smitty Earl took her up to one of the rooms and put that shrimp on the barby."
      Allen howled with laughter.
      "Yeah, one dude in boot camp got caught by the watch sticking his fingers in his ass right on his rack. You know, it's don't ask and don't tell, but homeboy was giving himself a shocker right there in his rack and the watch caught his ass. He was shipped off right then and there."
      "Where all did you go? I can't believe you didn't even write me once."
      "Fuck-head, I didn't have your address. Plus, we talked like once a month on the phone."
      "A letter would have been nice, Man."
      "So where did you cook it up?"
      "I ain't cooked it yet. I just made a few preparations. I want to make sure it's a safe place before I get down to it."
      "I can't believe that bitch. What did you say to her?"
      "I almost ran her over, and then she came to my window and asked if I had any blow. I naturally told her yes."
      "That bitch was nuts, Man. What do you want to do after we're done here? Where are you gonna go?"
      "You mean am I going back to fuckin' Poplar Bluff?"
      "Yeah."
      "I don't know, Man. It don't matter anyway. There ain't shit out there for me. Maybe for you it's different now you have the Navy. People like that. Plus, you were always smarter than me. You can go to college. I don't want to go to college. I'd like to learn a trade, Man, like back in the olden days. I'd like to learn how to be useful. I'd like to be a chemist without all the school. I think I'd make a good chemist or a cobbler. It just seems like there's no place for guys like me in America now. I don't want to go to school and I don't want to make a million dollars. I just want enough to get by, but what do guys like that do now in America? Shit, that's what."
      All of a sudden, like a white elephant come traipsing into the room, Wren began to think about Allen stabbing the man on the street. He never asked Allen about it and when it happened he was so strung out he liked it. It gave him a rush, and so because he actually enjoyed it, he hadn't brought it up. It was like a dream that you remember clearly right when you wake up and then seconds later you can't remember it at all, just some emotions surrounding it.
      "Allen, why did you kill that guy?"
      "What guy?"
      "That guy on the road."
      "I felt like it. He didn't have no business on this earth."
      The two were quiet for some time and Wren thought of the time when the two were still in high school. Wren was already signed up for the navy, and Allen had recently got into a car wreck and had got a pretty decent settlement. Allen was spending money like crazy for all of his friends on drugs and strippers - what strippers there were in Poplar Bluff anyway. One night, Allen had taken a couple of tabs of acid and was found by the police wandering the streets naked. Wren found out the next day and again he never said anything to Allen about it; a week later he shipped off. Word got around, primarily by the police who everybody knew and who knew everybody, that Allen had thrown a fit in the back of the cop car, hacking lugies on the floor and yelling obscenities at the cops. Wren had heard from his friends that Allen was never really the same after that. They said he got very dark. "He's a fuckin' weirdo now," another said. Apparently he kept to himself most the time Wren was away.
      "I mean there isn't any individuality anymore," Allen continued. "Whoever said America liked individuals was full of shit. Who are the fuckin' individuals. Yeah, it's cool to be an individual if you have money. You have to conform, Man. That's all there is to that. You have to conform to the system. I for one say fuck that. I ain't conforming to shit. I want to be a fuckin' cobbler man. Give me a goddamn trade."
      Just then there was a knock at the door just as the fever pitch of Allen's diatribe reached its zenith. Allen went over to another of his bags and pulled out the most beautiful gun Wren had ever seen.
      "Geez Louise that thing is sweet."
      Allen smiled. "Better believe it." It was a dull gray Glock. Looked like something out of Star Treck.
      "Who is it?" Wren asked, sounding like an old lady.
      "It's me," said the girl from earlier.
      Wren tuned to Allen. "It's that same bitch, Man."
      "Let her in, Dude."
      "Hey, I'm real sorry I bit you," the girl said to Allen, still wearing the same rainbow print and purple Chucks.
      "Hell that's okay," Allen said, teetering and swaying, his eyes glossy and wild.
      "What ya all doin' anyway." She surveyed the room.
      "Just boozin' it up, Wren said. "You want a beer?"
      "Sure hon," she said. "I'll take one."
      "We shot gunned the first six," Allen said proudly.
      "What's that?" the girl asked.
      "Drank the whole thing in one drink."
      "I can't do that. That'd make me puke."
      "Well, drink it fast," Allen said. "And then later we might get to what you was wanting earlier."
      "That'd be cool," the girl said, and took a beer from Wren.
      "Where you all from?"
      "Missouri," Wren said.
      "Yeah we been goin' on a killin' spree all the way from Missouri," Allen said.
      Wren took a drink of his beer and didn't make an expression. The girl just laughed.
      "Ya'll don't look like no killers to me," the girl said plainly and took a gulp. And they didn't Wren noticed. They looked like a couple of regular Joes, a little preppy really, not a pair one would think could hurt a flea. At this point Allen wore a pink polo with a pair of nice, dark jeans, and Wren wore a long sleeve, gray, light cotton shirt with tan slacks. The girl finished her beer and Wren went ahead and got her another. Wren noticed Allen was eyeing the girl and wondered what he had in mind. For a moment Wren envisioned Allen wanted for the both of them to sleep with the girl. Wren was pretty sure the girl would have no qualms with that. Wren wasn't interested. He thought he'd probably end up having to watch or listen to Allen bang the girl, and either Wren would leave or stay and wind up masturbating.
      "I'm from right here in Amarillo."
      "What do you do?" Allen asked.
      "What do you do?" the girl said, a little sassy.

* * *

      The girl was on her fourth when Allen pulled out his gun. Wren hadn't seen where he put it when he had opened the door. He pulled it out of one of the drawers under the lamp right next to the bible. The three were sitting in a circle on the floor, each holding their beers.
      "What ya gonna do with that?" the girl said.
      "You're going to suck it," Allen said to her.
      Wren heard him say it and even laughed and then a sense of dread came over him as he looked at Allen trying to gauge what his old pal was up to.
      "I ain't gonna suck that," she said.
      "Even for a little candy."
      "Maybe something else," the girl said.
      "We'll get to that later."
      Wren had an erection. He got up and lit a cigarette and drew the blinds. Allen looked up at his buddy and smiled.
      Allen had the gun and stood up. "Now come over here honey and suck on this gun." The girl hesitated for a moment and then put her beer down and crawled over to where Allen stood.
      She put her lips to the muzzle of the gun. "Put the whole thing in your mouth, Sweetheart." The girl did as she was told. Then she started to really get after it like she was really performing fellatio. Then there was a loud pop and blood splattered all over the box of Natural Light and the empty cans and two plastic cups with cig buts in them. Wren looked over as the girl dropped to the floor.
      "Jesus Christ," Wren yelled getting to his feet and checking himself for blood.
      "She got my gun off," Allen said, and laughed. "Let's get the out of here."
      "Fuck you," Man. That's enough. I'm getting the fuck out of here."
      Allen then pointed the gun at Wren. "You're not going anywhere, Brother. We're going to Florida. Get your shit."
      The two packed up their stuff and left the girl on the floor, dead. Wren glanced at the body just before he left for the final time. It was tangled in an unnatural position against the wall. He didn't let himself look at her head or her face. He had never seen an actual dead body up close. Again there was no emotion. It was like being drunk at a movie. He could understand what was going on but there was to transfer of feeling, no pathos at all. "You're out of your fucking mind, Man," Wren said as they walked to the fine truck.
      "Not really," Allen said. "I think I'm the most sane one on the planet." The two made it to the truck and threw their shit in. They had already paid for that night and the one after it.
      "What, you're not going to get the deposit on tomorrow night?" Wren asked.
      Allen laughed. "I'm glad you're okay enough to joke."
      "What else can I do? My oldest and best friend is now a drug dealing mass murderer."
      "And so are you, my friend."
      "What are you going to do about the shit?"
      "Fuck it. I'm leaving it. We'll get some more later. I hadn't planned on this happening. She's a trick, Man. She's useless."
      "So what the fuck?" Wren said, as they barreled down the high way. "Am I like a hostage in this?"
      "Do you really want to leave?"
      "Yes."
      "Well, you're not going to."
      "So I'm a hostage."
      "You're just not leaving me at this point. Think about it however you want."