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It takes two trips to carry everything into the apartment. The place has a simple layout. A short entryway that leads to a living room. A kitchen off to the side. You can’t get anywhere in the apartment without going through the living room first. That’s important. Candy and I shove all the boxes and furniture against the walls. Then the real work begins.
First lay down both layers of tarp. Next, cover them with plenty of dishwashing soap to turn them into slip-’n-slides, careful to leave dry areas around the edges to walk on. After that, Candy and I have a party breaking all the glasses and tossing the pieces onto the soapy tarp.
“Is this too mean?” she says. “Couldn’t we just beat him with a bag of oranges?”
“Hammering people up just makes them angry. If you want to permanently modify someone’s attitude, the thing to do is go full-tilt diabolical.”
“This is more like a Road Runner cartoon.”
“We haven’t gotten to the diabolical part yet.”
We put on the work gloves and roll out a few yards of the barbed wire, slicing it to length with the cutters. Then bend the wire into a wide circle and keep bending along its length until we have a spiral big enough to fit a man inside. When we’re finished, it goes over by the end of the tarp farthest from the door. Lastly, we unscrew all the bulbs in the room except for one small table lamp that I keep turned off for now. The only light in the apartment is what filters in through the blinds. I close those so the place is as dark as midnight in a jug.
After that, there’s nothing to do but wait for handsome, young Matthew to come home, happy and a little crocked. Candy and I sit and lean against the refrigerator.
“This is the first time we’ve been really alone in a month,” she says.
“You’re right.”
“I think we should celebrate.”
“Chicken and waffles?”
“I know something cheaper.”
She climbs on top of me and puts my hands on her breasts. Begins to grind her crotch against mine.
“What time does your mom get home?” I say.
“Not until after her PTA meeting.”
“Then we better hurry.”
“You talked me into it,” she says, and takes off her T-shirt.
We’re discreet. We don’t shatter any windows or crack plaster off the wall and only break the legs off one of Allegra’s kitchen chairs. I’ll blame that on Matthew.
The man of the hour comes rolling back around eleven-thirty. I hear him rattle the doorknob. A little at first and then harder. He bangs on the door. Yells Allegra’s name.
“I know you’re in there. You think this shit is going to keep me out?”
I’m pretty sure I know the next thing that’s going to happen, and it does. A bootheel to the door where the lock meets the frame. Wood splinters. There’s the sound of metal on carpet as the lock slips out of the door. I stand up and get into position. Candy stays put by the kitchen door.
Matthew comes in and tries the hall light. Curses under his breath when it doesn’t come on.
“Bitch, are you playing games with me? You’re not funny.”
Big Boy storms into the living room and straight onto the tarp. Promptly goes down on his face, into a mix of soap and razor-sharp glass.
“Fuck,” he yells, and “Fuck” again, scrambling in the muck like a mule on an ice rink.
I say, “You might want to hold still.”
He stops moving.
“Who the fuck is that? Where’s Allegra?”
I turn on the small lamp I set aside earlier. I took off the shade so the bulb is annoyingly bright and the light harsh, better to bring out all the pretty scars on my face.
