Backbone > Frankly Speaking by Frank Crocitto
Saved from Life
Illustration by Leslie Bender

None of them were comfortable in the woods. They had been used to streets and houses and nightlights since they were boys. They took the car to a convenience store but a block or two away. The hulking man with the silver hair got up and stoked the sagging fire.

—Put another log on, said the short, chubby man. Anybody want another drink?

They had been in the cabin for three days and though they had worked together for over 10 years they had run out of topics to talk about by the second day. So they spent the time drinking their favorite drinks, looking out the window and waiting for the weekend to end.

Out of the dark heart of the night they heard a long, drawn-out howl.

—You think that’s a wolf?

—Sounds like one to me, the big man said dryly.

—I thought we got rid of the damn wolves.

—They’re coming back. That’s what I read. The bears, too.

—What’s the matter with you, Rick? You’re mighty quiet for such a motor mouth. The chubby man craved the comfort of words.

—I was thinking of taking a walk. Rick was a bony, easy-going man in his late forties who when he had nothing to direct his charm to took to teasing whoever was around him. Want to come with me, Pedro?

—Don’t call me Pedro. My name is not Pedro.

—Cut it out, Rick, the big man said authoritatively. Leave the spick alone.

—Hey, what is this ethnic night? Leave off.

—All right, Pedro.

—You see, Oscar! This is what he does in the office. I told you about this. He makes it very difficult for me to work.

—Both of you spend too much time in the office. Oscar struggled to his feet with a groan of disgust and opened a window.

—What are you opening the damn window for? Oscar? We’re gonna freeze in here.

—It’s stuffy.

The song of the autumn night invaded the room. The three men listened, losing interest in their bickering. The sounds were crisp and uncomfortably close.

—You can’t sell insurance by sitting on your asses in the office, Oscar muttered. He unwrapped a cigar, and ran the length of it under his nostrils.

—You’re not going to smoke that thing, asked Rick.

—Well, I’m not going to take my temperature with it. Oscar leaned on the window jamb and flamboyantly lit the cigar puffing out excessive billows.

—Where’ re you going? said Pedro as Rick pushed himself off his chair.

—Don’t close that window.

Without a word Rick tore the cigar out of Oscar’s mouth and tossed it into the dark. Both men could see the lit end like a red wild eye looking back at them.

Oscar was a man who prided himself on never losing his temper. Even his wife of 30 years could not badger or nag him into a reaction. It was the only corner of their relationship where he was triumphant.

He stared at Rick, licking his thick, purply lips and said quietly,
—I want you to get that cigar.

—Well, well, Rick replied, we all want a lot of things in this world. He walked away and poured himself a half glass of vodka.

—I don’t think you heard me, Tishman. I’m telling you to bring back my cigar.

—Yeah, bring it back alive, Pedro giggled.

—Shut up, you twerp, said Oscar.

The click of the ice cubes in Rick’s glass was the only sound in the room. The men glanced at one another.

—That’s an order—as your boss!

—Yea, boss, I’s running out dere right now.

—You’ve always been a smart ass, Tishman.

Pedro stood up and asked with a smile,
—Whose idea was this anyway? We’re supposed to be having a good time. We’re supposed to be having our annual loosen-up-in-the-woods good time. It’s only a lousy cigar.

—It’s an expensive cigar. And it’s my last one.

—All right. I don’t know what’s eating you two guys. But I’ll go out and get it.

—You sit down in your chair, Rick said threateningly.

The chubby man slid back into his chair and rubbed the side of his face. Nervously, he began to speak.

—I’ll tell you a funny story, which I wanted to tell you for a long time. You know that lady Mrs.-huh, Mrs.-What the hell’s her name, you know the big blonde broad with the chihuahua. Whatever her name is. A broad like that doesn’t even need a name. Tishman knows what I’m talking about, Right Tishman? Sometimes business comes into the office. I’m telling you last Wednesday she came looking for me. I don’t know what for but I have an idea. She said she wants to take out insurance on the little twerp of a chihuahua. That’s enough of a gas, but I think she’s come to me for something else. Because she’s leaning all over me. I mean at one point she hit me in the eye with her bazooms. She was very apologetic. I’m supposed to believe it’s an accident. I’m so stupid I don’t know when a woman is trying to blind me or not. That’s what happens when you got this Latino heat in you—you draw them like flies! I don’t even have to do anything but look at them. And this babe’s not my type either. I mean I stand up and I come up to her cleavage. But I figure, what’s to lose? It keeps the wheels of commerce oiled. So she wants me to go out to her car. So I ask myself why does she want me to go out to her car except if she’s got a plan? So I’m not opposing anybody’s plan. Not me. That’s not the kind of guy I am. And what kind of a car has she got? She’s got a limo this woman. A white long cannoli of a limousine. And she wants me to go for a ride.

Me, Peter Paul Garcia. I sez who’s driving? She’s got that worked out. She’s got a chauffer. So she hands me Mitzi and invites me into her living room. ‘Cause that’s what it was. The chauffer looks one way. He’s a piece of stone. Plus there’s venetian blinds that she pulls down. So, what do I do, I ask myself. I gotta make a decision. You don’t know where these things lead. I got a happy married life. I got two kids. What do I do?

Peter looked to the two men as if he expected an answer. In the pause a terrible howl shook the cabin.

Oscar slammed the window shut. The men listened. They could hear the beast’s footsteps crackling the leaves and twigs. They could hear him panting at the door.

The three men fell into a poised, deep silence, each absorbed in their own thoughts. Then came a scratching at the door, and then a heavy thud against it. None of them moved. There was a sizeable space under the door and they could hear a sniffing, and then a long, low growl. They seemed held in a spell.

Exhilarated by the closeness of the beast, Rick shoved the poker under the door and succeeded in striking the animal’s legs. The animal roared viciously and clamped his teeth on the poker. Rick, bracing his feet on the door, yanked it free with a gleeful cry.

—I think you better stop that, Oscar cautioned. He’s liable to jump through the window.

—Don’t tell me you big boys are afraid of the big bad wolf.

—You’re darn right we’re afraid, said Garcia. And so are you, Tishman.
In response Rick began to play with the knob of the door. He clicked the lock open and closed it and opened it again. He turned the knob and began to open the door. Then quickly shut it.

—Lock it, will you! Lock it! screamed Garcia.

—I say one of us should go out and get that cigar, Rick said. Our boss wants to smoke, so we should let the big squarehead smoke. Who’s gonna go get the cigar? This is a good game. How do we decide?

—I’m not going out there, said Garcia.

—Oh, yeah. Whoever gets chosen gets pushed out by the other two. This is a great game. This is entertainment. It’s better than television. Here, I got three matches. I make one short. Whoever comes up short gets the cigar.

Rick goes from one to another. Neither man picks. He starts with Oscar again.

—I don’t need to smoke.

—I’ll never come out with you guys again, swore Garcia.
Rick played with the three matches a moment, then chose one and held it aloft.

—I got the short one, friends! And you don’t have to push me out.

—We can’t let him go out there, Oscar. That wolf will kill him.

—Maybe he wants to get himself eaten up. He’s always saying how life sucks, this sucks, that sucks. I say let him go.

—That’s my Oscar, said Rick with a bitter smile. He picked up the poker and like a warrior prepared to face the night. He unlocked the door.
—Farewell, my friends, he said.

Before he turned the knob, the chubby man struck the back of his neck and dropped him softly to the floor.

—You should have let the bastard go, said Oscar.

—I like him even though he’s a pain in the ass. You gotta use all that karate for something, he laughed.

Oscar took out another cigar and puffed it luxuriantly.

—What happened in the limousine?

—None of your big fat business Oscar, replied Garcia. None of your business.