Collaboration 4
By Ruslan Garrey & Elena Malkov
The night perched like a cat. Soft and dark.
He was alone that evening. He felt different. Cold as glass and full of something heavy and thick. It threatened to roll up his throat and purge itself out of his waiting mouth.
He knew it had to be said—no, shouted—he could feel his throat churning.
“Giddammit! Richard Wallace! Why did you poison me like like this!”
At his table at the back of the bar, Wallace grinned and toasted the sight of his old friend, Todd Banham, spluttering, choking, rushing out the door, and finally collapsing on the sidewalk, under a No Parking Without Permit sign. The place was packed, and no one paid Todd any mind.
Richard Wallace meandered through the crowd and with a sigh crouched over Todd and began drawing on his face with a Sharpie and rifling through his pockets. A sleepy fat security guard with hair like Boris Karloff stood over the two for a minute. Looking up, Wallace produced a parking permit and the guard nodded, dreamy.
When he found what he was looking for in Todd’s jacket, Wallace hopped up with unusual vigor, walked quickly down the sidewalk, and disappeared into a seam in the building’s brick wall.
Todd awoke with a violent heave and doubled over. A calico cat was sitting in his lap and he felt ill—a burning conundrum like a clothes drier in his stomach. His wallet and package for the “children’s donation box” was gone. If Richard Wallace wanted to make him sorry for crossing him, he had succeeded.