I twist my wrist in an upward motion, illuminating my watch. The screen lights up with its obnoxious reminders of how little I moved today. Aside from the unmoved rings, I stare at the date: October 30th. Ah, Mischief Night. The evening before Halloween, which your average folk use as an excuse to be up to no good. I pity them, really. Mischief Night is my every night.
Just a block away from the entrance of The Sandy Claws, I toss the butt of my cigarette into an overflowing trash can. I decide to hang back and have another smoke while I wait for Alex. I grab another Parliament from my jacket pocket and settle it between my lips as I flick the lighter. The second the tip lights, I inhale the calming, toxic bliss, letting the nicotine fill my lungs.
An elderly woman scowls in my direction as she walks past me. She’s swiping her hand in front of her face to waft away the smoke that billows her way. The woman quickens her pace past me, making sure to roll her eyes exaggeratingly as to solidify her disapproval of my smoking.
A condescending grin forms on my lips as I lift my hand to wave to her. She rolls her eyes once more, muttering something as she gets lost in the crowd filled streets.
Even as the woman leaves my view, the grin I gave her does not leave my lips. Instead, I am hit with a pang of nostalgia as the stranger’s disgust at my inhaling tobacco reminds me of the disdain my mother had for it.
If my mother were still alive, she would be having a conniption over seeing me light up a cigarette.As if that were my only sinful vice.
I remember when I was young, she scolded my Uncle Victor for smoking one night when he lit up at the dinner table. She went on about how distasteful of a habit it is. My choice to inhale the toxic fumes of cigarettes is practically candy on the scale of where my morality now lies. Hell, Mother would resurrect herself if she even knew the half of the heinous transgressions that have defined the last few years of my life.
Taking another drag, I exhale the smoke with closed eyes as I tilt my head up toward the dark blanket of autumn sky above me. October nights like this, where the scent of foliage strewn about is potent and the air is sharp against my face feel like a refuge from the chaos that consumes my life. Head still tilted upwards, probably looking like a madman amongst the influx of people zooming past me, I remain on the sidewalk basking in the moonlight, I feel something take hold of my forearm.
I lower my head, opening my eyes to see Alex now standing next to me. He lets go of my forearms and brings his hand to mine, bringing me in for a handshake.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to disrupt your star gazing,” he jests.
The sheen of his badge still slung around his neck beams from the full moon overhead. I reach for his badge, in a half-joking way of bringing to his attention he is still wearing it. Which, knowing Alex, is by mistake. He never wears his badge outside his clothing or his uniform when he comes out with me.
“I thought you coppers were supposed to be smart. Can’t gaze at the stars with closed eyes,” I say as I tug on his badge before he looks down, frantically tucking it into his shirt.
“Yea, well, forget your eyes being closed. Even if they weren’t, I don’t know how you would be able to see shit with all that smoke always blowing around your face.” He zips his black hoodie up toward his neck, before slipping his hand into his jean pocket.
Lighting up a cigarette of his own, he laughs. “Didn’t anyone tell you those are cancer sticks, bro?”Smart-ass.
“Didn’t anyone tell you that you can’t pull off sayingbro? It makes you sound like an asshole,” I taunt.
“Very funny,dude,is that better?” he snaps back as he goes to take his first drag of his freshly light cigarette.
“Honestly, no.” I chuckle.
Alex returns a quick chuckle in between drags, and even through his attempts at humor, I know my cousin well enough to spot the tension spreading along his jawline.
“Long day, huh?”
Alex nods.
“Yea, I can relate,” I say as I step on my smoke, putting out the light.
“I know, Boss,” Alex says. “Fuck, I still can’t get used to saying that.”
“Well, it’s been how long? Get used to it, at least for the time being.” I sneer.
“Yea, man, I got it. Calm the fuck down,” he says, stomping on what little is left of his cigarette.
“Let’s go to the kitchen entrance tonight,” I suggest, as we start heading to the back of The Sandy Claws.
He draws in a long breath as we begin walking. “Yea, good idea. I need a fucking drink. Shit is starting to stress me out at the department. I can only deflect so much until they start looking at me, too, especially given what tomorrow is.”
“Oh, what, Halloween?” I say with a sarcastic grin trying to ease his stress. I try to remind Alex that since we do not share the same last name or similar facial features, for that matter, most people would never put our familial connection together. Our mothers are sisters, and where I look more like my mother, Alex resembles his father, Victor, especially with his rounded face and now salt and pepper scruff.
“Yes, Halloween, smart-ass. But you know what I am getting at here, Carmine. Gala night. The chief is requesting that some of the guys, and that girl they promoted to detective, stay within a couple blocks of the gala.”
Fuck, this is the last thing I need right now.
I can see the stress oozing from Alex’s expression, and I feel a tinge of that stress rubbing off on me. But the both of us getting all worked up isn’t going to do either of us any good. “Fuck, sounds like we need a drink, then,” I say as I grip his shoulder to try to get him to loosen up a bit.
