Chapter Fifteen: Look at all those Idiots

            Tommy drove Patrick in his 1991 Cadillac with Dr. Dre’s The Chronic playing on the loud speakers installed. They drove into Macomb Township travelling east on Twenty-One Mile. They were engaging in small talk while exiting out of Shelby Township, but Tommy became aware of the surroundings and shook his head on what he saw.

“Why are you shaking your head?” Patrick asked.

“Man, look at this shit, it’s all these fuckin’ subdivisions.”

Patrick observed for himself: many too many subdivisions, large five bedroom homes in rows.

He shrugged, “yeah, well money talks.”

Tommy shook his head with discontent and disagreement, “I hate this shit. Even when I get rich, I ain’t living’ here.”

Patrick sat relaxed riding shotgun while Tommy sat up a little, keeping an eye on cops.

“So, you’re not familiar with Wikipedia?” asked Patrick.

“I’m not a web dork, I don’t deal on that shit specifically.” Tommy said.

“Well, if you are going to join me, you gotta sign up. I wish I knew the user name of the boss’s husband… or boyfriend… whomever she is to him.”

“Why is she so pissed off, anyway? I heard you two were talking about this bitch. Is she white?”

“Whiter than white.”

“Is she hot?” Tommy asked, turning his head to him while smiling.

“Yeah,” Patrick said while raising his eyebrows, “she is. But I didn’t see her little mental breakdown personally. Glen said when they were conducting, what he calls a meeting, but really, it’s some discipline thing where Glen and his boss were giving me the pep talk.”

“So Glen threatens to fire you, then… somehow, you are invited to the party, now knowing that we are part of a fucking gambling ring?” Tommy asks while now showing his emphasis on the road.

“Well, Glen didn’t like this broad anyway. So, me and him kindled a friendship. He told me before this meeting that it was going to happen and that not to believe everything.”

“Man, Glen’s a fucking douche like that man. He’s gotta play shit by the book. I hate that shit, I could never work at a fuckin’ place like that. I bet there are a lotta fuckin’ douchebags working at that place.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” Patrick with a nod, “fucking people over there are in touch with their feminine side. There are some gay mofos in this place.”

“Like Glen.” Tommy added with a harsh chuckle.

“It’s like a fuckin’ G-rated movie with shitty cunt customers who feel that the world needs to bend over for them. Then it gets R-rated, and you can’t get R-rated to them back, or else, no more paycheck.”

            As they continued to drive, they passed by another subdivision entrance and exit divider. What was not noticed was a cop car, waiting to do business. The Cadillac passed and the gas was pressed.

“You know, I was stoned and watching this documentary about the Cold War and how the United States was scared shitless about how The Soviet Union was going to take over the country. I would just like to see, if Russia or some Communist country come by and take over, and see how these fucking cunts who get everything handed to them in a golden platter to next go to a new hostile takeover like that.”

Tommy laughed that off and said, “You crazy. You really want Russia taking over this shit?”

“I didn’t say I did, I said…”

Suddenly, a siren with the serious array of flashing red and blue was behind them.

Tommy looked into the rearview mirror and said, “What the fuck!?”

An announcement through the PA of the cop car came next, “Driver in the Cadillac, pull over!”

Tommy turned back quickly and yapped, “Fuck you, bitch!”

He slowed down to the shoulder, which would block traffic going east, the cop directed, “Pull over at a Subdivision!” sounding inpatient.

That he did.

“You weren’t speeding,” Patrick said, “in fact, you were driving the speed limit.”

“They are pulling me over for DWB.”

Then the cop again over the loudspeaker, “Driver, come out of the car slowly.”

Tommy and Patrick looked through the back window, with Tommy saying, “What the fuck? Can a nigger drive in your town filled with rich crackers?”

Patrick laughed at that. And Tommy complied with the order and exited the car.

“Hands up.” Commanded the cop.

He did, along with, “What the fuck!”

Next, he was expecting to turn around and move forward to the car, instead, two officers had exited the vehicle. A slender male driver who happen to be shorter than Tommy and a fat bald officer coming out of shotgun.

“Stay there.” Said the slender officer.

“What the fuck is this bullshit?” Tommy asked.

“Hey, watch your mouth.” He said while approaching.

“Who’s the guy with you?” Asked the other officer.

Tommy lowered his hands down and turned them parallel to the ground and said, “His name is Patrick.”

Him doing this stopped both officer in their tracks, with the overweight officer commanding, “Hey, keep those hands up!”

Like the slender officer, the other hand was reaching for the gun.

“Hey, relax faggots!” Tommy said while putting his hands back up.

“You watch your mouth, and don’t make a move.” said the slender officer, now approaching with his other hand on the gun just in case.

“You don’t got shit on me, minus driving while black.” Tommy said.

The officer approached, “Let me see some ID.”

Tommy gave him a ravaged stare, “I’m not allowed to, remember?”

“Fine, I’ll do it. Is there anything in those pockets that are going to stick me?” said the cop while putting on white rubber gloves.

“Nah.” said Tommy with sarcasm.

He then reached into the front pockets, pulling out his wallet that was in his right pocket and cigarettes with a lighter out from the left.

The officer threw the items on the trunk of the Cadillac and asked, “What are you doing around here?”

“Just taking a ride.”

The officer looked at him with the idea that he was lied too, but nevertheless, he went into Tommy’s wallet, a custom made Snoop Dogg wallet in where he discovered his Michigan Drivers License and also six hundred dollars cash.

“Wow, Mr. Melrose, looks like you got some cash money. Don’t tell me it’s from hard work.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Tommy asked.

The officer regarded that rude remark, but continued with the cigarettes and noticed something that would hold him up, a rolled doobie along with those cigarettes. He turned the pack upside down and all fell on the trunk, along with the Mary Jane with some leaves falling out.

“Mr. Melrose, put your hands behind your back, you are under arrest.” said the slender officer.

            While so, Patrick was told to exit the car and with the discovery that he also had weed on him.

“Hey buddy, looks like we have two dopers.” said the other officer while holding a little bag of marijuana.

“Well, how about you tell us where you came from?” the slender officer asking Patrick this time.

“Ask your wife.” said Patrick with a smile.

“How ‘bout a kick your ass when I throw you in the slammer!?” the officer yapped back.

“I got a medical marijuana card.” Patrick said.

“Bullshit, you do.” said the other officer.

“I do. I like to pull it out, but I fear a sudden movement will have you two fuckin’ put bullets in my ass.”

“Man, they ain’t gonna do that to you, they’ll do it to a nigger, though. I bet this motherfucker fucks his fat ugly wife while imagining killing black people.” Tommy said with the inconvenience of his hands restrained due to handcuffs.

“Well, then show me your card.” The officer commanded.

Patrick pulled out his Super Mario Bros wallet and digged for the card.

“Man, what is with you people in your twenties with these cartoon character wallets?” said the officer.

Patrick didn’t respond to that and pulled out his Michigan Medical Marijuana Card, it was in color of blue with a white background indicating Patrick’s full name, address, DOB, Registry Number and the photo of him smiling with blue-dyed hair and numerous piercings.

“Boy, I sure wonder what your issue is to be able to get this card.” said the officer.

“Depression.” Patrick smiled.

Both officers looked at him oddly.

 

            Glen opened his eyes to see the white ceiling of his bedroom. He smiled happily at what he saw and turned to look at his alarm clock, seeing that it was 8:30am on the dot.

“Eleven hours.” He mumbled with joy.

He motivated himself to get out of bed and walked out the window to see the morning and the condos across the way. The Rascal’s ‘It’s A Beautiful Morning’ was playing in his head, he sure wished he had that on his IPod, but didn‘t want to go through the fuss of booting up his Mac to head to ITunes. He had a strong desire to jog and that he was going to do. With the song at hand, he allowed his mental jukebox to take the turn, but the lyrics beyond the second line of the song were a blur to him. Old R&B was not a thing for Glen, for he never hated it, but it wasn’t of his interest.

            The song played in his head while he stepped into the living room to see Jasmine sleeping on the couch and Jimbo more-or-less passed out on the floor. Glen walked to his closet and grabbed the sweater and the sweatpants, put them on while hearing both Jim and Jasmine moving around.

“What’s going on?” Jim mumbled.

Glen put on his sweater and was about to walk out.

“Where ya goin’?” said Jim

Glen looked over, “Going for a run, be back soon. You can sleep on my bed if you want but if you are going to jerkoff, don’t make a mess on my bed.” He said.

 

            Glen ran and ran with a furious pace of ten miles-per-hour in the near-forty degree weather, going past Twenty-One Mile and looking to get to Hall Road which, for many, is considered Twenty Mile. The urge to keep going was with him, ‘It’s A Beautiful Morning’ set on repeat in his mental jukebox with occasional bothers of speeding traffic heading in the same direction. He stopped at the Hall and Hayes intersection with his Ropers was just down the road. He stopped at the Northwest corner and just took a look, starting from the east and slowly moving his view to the west. He started to think of the cro-maging days of history, something he probably never thought of since his freshman year in Eastern Michigan University, and how this section of the world looked back in that day. The sounds of traffic and other noise was present but wasn’t seriously into his head as the image of forest had overcame.

He then allowed himself to move some years in time to around the fifteenth century in where Indians were present and the British who discovered the New World were not quite pushy into expanding at that time. He imagined that the forests were still there and the Indians were walking around hunting while wearing fur. The image of the old days would be interrupted with a repeating honk of the horn. Glen came back to reality, the shops, mini-marts, strip malls, gas stations and a busy divided highway with speeding death machines along with the sounds came back, and also the honk of the horn next to him.

Glen looked at the sound to see a chubby man, for he did not know, looking at him funny, behind the wheel of an old blue Ford Aspire. He found that rather silly that a fat man would drive such a small vehicle and he knew he was dealing with an attention whore and perhaps not a competing mob.

He rose his arms and gave the guy a dull look, “What?”

The man bit his lower lip and gave him the bird.

Glen shook his head, he dropped his arms and began to walk away north with another shake of his head, “That really hurt.”

The man continued to honk his horn, but Glen didn’t care, up into he thought he heard a car switch gears, next to hear a fender bender.

He stopped and turned over slightly to hear, “What the fuck are you doing!?”

That was worthy of his attention and he turned over to see that the chubby man had backed his car up into a Ford F-250 Super Duty. The driver of the truck stepped out with rage and verged towards the Aspire. The man inside the little car did not exit and shook his head in regret.

“What the fuck are you doing, you idiot!?” said the victim, he sported black hair, black goatee and was a little short, but one could tell he had some muscles on him. To Glen, he looked like John Cougar Mellencamp on steroids.

He looked thru the window to see the angry man. The light for the Hayes traffic to go south had turned green, but the slow lane would have to wait or switch lanes.

“Move your fucking car forward so I can get your license plate number.”

Glen smiled and said to himself, “What the fuck…”

The driver in the Aspire had looked at Glen without the menacing stare, but with regret.

Glen shrugged and said, “Check yourself before you wreck yourself.”

 

            Nearly two miles later, Glen jogged a slow jog into his condo entrance, he jogged onto the street with his building coming up. A driver had slowed down to his speed which irked Glen a little into thinking that the weird guy in the Aspire had caught up to him, or perhaps the cops wanted to talk to him about the accident. He looked over, it was a couple of teenage males in a black Kia Sedona.

            Glen slowed down to a stop as the driver and passenger in that vehicle of curse, the same vehicle (only a different color) that was involved with Sheila’s death. Not only Glen stopped, but both of the teenagers too.

The driver rolled his window down and asked Glen, “Yo, you wanna buy?”

Glen knew he was selling drugs, but played the clueless card, “Buy what?”

“Weed, pills, that shit, yo!”

He smiled and shook his head, “No thanks.”

He began to walk away and thought of that woman at 322 and continued on.

However, the Kia continued to sideline him, driving at his speed.

He looked over, “Look dude, I’m not interested. Now, can you please stop stalking me like Mormons do?”

The driver stopped the van and said, “Hey, ya look like one of those fags from that show Dawson’s Creek.”

The passenger laughed at that, the poured menacing stares and drove off quick.

“Well Todd, I think I found your future husband.” Glen said to himself.

           

“Alright guys, I’m making breakfast. And I’ll get you guys lunch before I drive you two home. Does that sound good?” Glen said while walking in.

“You got any pop tarts?” Jimbo asked.

Glen took off his shoes and walked in breathing a little heavy and said, “Pop tarts? I was thinking Eggs and Bacon, a good Saturday morning breakfast.”

The two were watching Home Alone 3 from Glen’s Netflix from the PlayStation Three. He wondered why they would want to watch that.

“Home Alone 3? How come you guys are watching a children’s movie?”

“The first Home Alone wasn’t on there. Christmas is coming soon, we are trying to get into the spirit.” Jasmine said.
“I got on DVD somewhere, we can watch that instead. How about some breakfast?” Glen said while walking in the living room.

“Pop tarts?” Jimbo asked.

“How about eggs?” Glen said while heading to the living room.

 

Jasmine, Jimbo and Glen sat on the kitchen table. Glen was enjoying the aura and taste of eggs and bacon, he also baked rolls too. Jim and Jasmine were barely touching their food and seemed to pay more attention to a then-young Macaulay Culkin watch the dirty movie and to later become horrified by it.

“I saw this movie when it came out in the theater. Had to beg and beg my family to do so.” said Glen.

“Why, we’re you guys poor?” Jimbo asked.

He shook his head while chewing down some egg, “No, my dad wanted approval from the congregation.”

Jim and Jasmine looked over, “What?”

“As you know, I grew up Mormon. When it came to even these kinds of movies, my Dad seek out a committee among out church to take a look at the movie to tell us what is approved and not approved. Me and my brother, when I actually believed that Joseph Smith Jr. was God, prayed and prayed for it to work out. Turned out that me being nine at the time, I was allowed to watch it, my brother being five was not allowed. He hated me for quite a while.”

Jim dropped his fork with a smile on his face, “You needed approval from a fuckin’ goofy religious group or committee or what the hell it is, to see a PG-rated movie.”

Glen took a bite of some bacon and nodded with a smirk.

Jasmine and Jim laughed among themselves.

“I know you two have a fucked-up mother and a psychotic brother who happens to be a closet homosexual, but you sure as hell do not want to grow-up Mormon. It sucked big time. I wish like hell I could have had your childhood as my history, instead of growing up with a nasty-strict Mormon mother.”

“No way.” Jasmine said.

“Yeah, we have some stories of Mom going nuts over dumb shit.” Jimbo said.

“Your sister told me stories.” Glen said.

“There’s more.” Jimbo said.

“Yeah, I remember when she would watch these news shows, but it wasn’t the news. It was like Hard Copy or Inside Edition, every time a girl wearing bra and panties would show up on the TV, she commanded us to not look. It wasn’t like they were nude or nothing.” Jasmine said.

“I remember one time two girls on there were wearing just their underwear and the boobs were covered by a black box. She told me not to look, and I said, ‘they are not showing anything’ then next she grabs me by my shirt and smacks me over the head and screams at me and threatens to, and I’m quoting now, ‘beat my fuckin’ ass till it bleeds’ if I disobeyed her.”

“She said that to me when I told her when I was thirteen and admitted to her that I was a lesbian.”

“Yeah, she’s was fucking ruthless, to me, to Jasmine, to Todd, well, until he was nineteen and she allowed him to swear around the house and, one time, when Sheila was sixteen and caught with cigarettes, I mean she literally…”

Glen raised his hand up, “She told me that story, actual catfight.”

Jim smiled, “That shit was serious. I seriously thought that my mom was about to kill Sheila, we even tried to restrain her, Todd too. She pushed us away to get to her. The cops were called by our ‘dad’ at the time and she was…”

“Sent to the loony bin for a few days, then he divorce proceedings began.” Glen finished.

“Yeah, I mean, did your mom do the same shit that our mom did?”

Glen took a bite while looking at the TV, “she said she wanted to murder me because I started smoking at sixteen. She tried to punch me and I kept restraining her. Rudy had to stop it.” Glen said.

“Well, you mom and our mom should hang out.” Jasmine added.

“Yes, but, I see that you two don’t have a lot of confidence going in your favor. And I think it because of your mom and perhaps Todd too, the family history. When at Ragetta’s you two didn’t say much and back then, you basically allowed your mother to embarrass you in public.”

“That doesn’t happen much anymore, Glen. But we keep quiet because my mother doesn’t like certain topics of discussion minus my fat fake aunt’s stories on how the world has inconvenience her.” Jimbo said.

“You can say something.” Glen said.

“If we did, Mom would get angry.” Jasmine said.

“Yeah, she does like to get angry in public.” Jimbo added.

“Well…” Glen shrugged at that, “that could be a doozie. But you can say to her that the world doesn’t exactly evolve around her in a kind way, even if your mother doesn’t approve it. You are allowed to disagree.”

Jim and Jasmine didn’t reply, they looked away, what Glen said to him made them circumvent into absorbing the info.

Glen took another bite of the bacon and added, “You two can do better than this. I mean, I know there is something in there that says ‘I don’t want to be living in a trailer owned by my mom who happens to be a total bitch to us. I don’t want to work at the same place my mom does so she can embarrass me in public while my older brother insults me each turn he gets while he gets to sell pills at the back door. I want to have a car and be able to go to a better job, instead of working as a sales associate at a drug store. I don’t want…”

Suddenly a slam of his fist hit the end of his plate, flipping it over while yelling, “Glen! Shut the fuck!”

The nearly-full plate hit the end of the table and hit the floor, along with the food following suit.

“Glen! Shut the fuck!! I try!! I really try! How in the fuck can I do anything with three hundred a week, and Jasmine getting a little less than that? I can barely afford anything, if we had a car, it would be worse! Insurance, gas prices! I can’t even go to college, even with financial aid, I still would not be able to afford it! My mom won’t help!! No one will help!! I can’t get a fuckin’ loan because people can’t pay their bills and I pay mine! Yes, Glen, I take a lot of shit, but I’m not in debt like fuckin’ welfare recipients. I try!!” Jimbo said furiously.

All one could hear was the antics going on in the movie, while Jasmine backed away with fear of Jimbo’s ravaged way.

Glen looked on, showing no emotion.

He and Jimbo stared on, with Jimbo angry with teeth out.

“Then, what you can do, is apply for financial aid, and with the money you are making for advising me which should amount to around $600 a week, you can pay for your own college and if my mind serves me correct, in one to two years, you can be a sports analyst, working for ESPN.” Glen said calmly.

Jimbo dropped the angry face and looked away slowly.

“I didn’t mean to be harsh, but I know you can do better Jim. There are ways to get it, trust me on that. Let me help you.”

Jimbo was now ashamed of what he did and said while endured sadness, “I’m sorry, Glen.”

“Well, just do me a favor and not cry about it. Jasmine, while you are up, can you hand me my phone, I have it on the floor of my room.”

“Yes.” She said, finally finding a way to walk away from the uncomfortable situation.

“Do me a favor and clean that up.” Glen said.

Jimbo got off his seat and started, “I’m sorry dude.”

“Don’t worry about it, just promise me you will do better.” Glen said.

“I will.” Jim said with a smile on his face while cleaning up the mess and placing the plate back on the table.

Jasmine arrived with the cellphone, a cautious look on her face was imminent.

“It’s okay, Jasmine. Sit back down and eat your breakfast.” Glen said with a smile while he powered on his cell and got the Bluetooth handset from the center of the table.

“I usually don’t eat much.” She said with a chuckle.

“Do so for once.” He said.

Glen received three messages once his phone prompted after the startup, he dialed his voicemail and the first message had a computer female voice stating, “This call is from Macomb County Jail:” next to hear Tommy’s voice, “Glen, this is Tom. The fuckin’ cops pulled me over for DWB. I had weed and they busted me. Get me the fuck out of here!”

The typical synthesized voicemail voice said that the call came at 12:30am.

The next voicemail was from Patrick, “Yo, Glen. It’s Pat. Tommy got busted,” he said with a chuckle “and they impounded his car. I couldn’t drive it because my license was suspended. I got a ride back home though, I guess I’ll see you later, just wanted to give you the heads up.”

That call came at 12:52am, while Glen wondered how Patrick could continue on being up since at least before midnight the previous night.

Next message, followed by: “This call is from Macomb County Jail:”

‘Two calls?’ Glen thought.

“Hey faggot!” said Todd over the phone, “I know you ratted me out! You faggot fuck!” he yelled. Then he heard a man complain in the background: “Cool it, Rucker.”

He heard Todd breathe, then he finished, “I will fuckin’ beat the shit out of you Glen. I know you had something to do with this.” then with his sinister tone, "You're dead meat, queer!"

Then in the background, “Rucker, hang it up!”

He did, that call came at 3:37am.

            Glen tossed his Bluetooth on the table and poured himself into discontent.

“What?” Jasmine asked.

“I take that all back,” Glen said, “be fucking losers. When you are a winner, everyone wants something from you and crazy people think you are some kind of superhuman being that is responsible for their bad fortunes. When you are a loser, you don’t have to deal with idiots.”