Paul Neilan - Apathy and Other Small Victories

apathy and other small victories

Paul Neilan

apathy and other small victories

ST. MARTINS PRESS NEW YORK

APATHY AND OTHER SMALL VICTORIES. Copyright 2006 by Paul Neilan. All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information, address St. Martins Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.

www.stmartins.com

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Neilan, Paul.

Apathy and other small victories / Paul Neilan.1st ed.

p. cm.

ISBN 0-312-35174-7

EAN 978-0-312-35174-8

I. Title.

PS3614.E443A88 2006

813'.6dc22

2005044804

First Edition: May 2006

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

To my parents, who will hopefully never read this book

Acknowledgments

Huge thanks to the following people:

My mother and father, for always giving me the support and the space to do my own thing, even when they werent really sure what that thing was.

My brothers, for all thinking the same weird stuff is funny, and for all speaking the same movies.

Simon Lipskar, for doing all the things people say you cant expect an agent to anymore, from the initial revisions all the way up to that big phone call, and for staying involved and excited about everything thats come since.

Ben Sevier, for making it a better book and funnier, for walking me through the whole editing process, and for asking the hard questions about very small animals.

Dan Lazar and everyone at Writers House, and Jenness Crawford and everyone at St. Martins Press.

Siobhan Dooling, Paul Forti, Neil Gupta, Jack Hamlin, Jason Pagano, Anthony Papariello, Jessica Swenson, and everyone else that Ive stolen from over the years.

And special thanks to Carrie Moore, for giving it the first read and a better ending.

part one

Chapter 1

I was stealing saltshakers again. Ten, sometimes twelve a night, shoving them in my pockets, hiding them up my sleeves, smuggling them out of bars and diners and anywhere else I could find them. In the morning, wherever I woke up, I was always covered in salt. I was cured meat. I had become beef jerky. Even as a small, small child, I knew it would one day come to this.

That Sunday I could feel my head pounding even before I opened my eyes. I might have kept them shut all day if there hadnt been two men standing over my bed.

All right partyboy, time to get up, one of them said in a gruff, weary voice.

I blinked a few times. I was very confused. I didnt know who either of them were, or what the fuck they were doing in my apartment. They both had their shirts tucked in and the older one, the one with the gruff voice, had a low hairline that started just above his eyebrows and a drooping mustache that hung along his sagging jowls. He looked like a walrus. The younger one had slicked-back hair and squared shoulders and perfect posture. He was smirking like he couldnt wait to show me how cocky he was. He looked like every cop that had ever given me a ticket.

Smells like criminal intent in here, he said, glaring at me.

What? I said.

I was gonna ask you the same thing, he said, challenging me in a way that I did not understand.

The older guy looked annoyed at both of us.

Im Detective Brooks, he said, and this is Detective Sikes. Were here to ask you a few questions.

Dont you need a warrant or something? How did you get in here? I couldnt think of anything Id done that would get me arrested. If stealing a few saltshakers was wrong I didnt want to be right.

Your door was wide open so we came in, just to make sure you were okay. And we dont need a warrant to ask you a couple of questions. We just want to talk.

Oh. I had my bedsheet pulled up to my chin and I was clenching it with both fists for some reason. It must have been the goddamn vampires again.

Why dont you sit up like a big boy and talk to us, Sikes said.

No thanks, Im very comfortable.

Where are your manners, he said, smirking. Rise and shine fancy pants! and he grabbed the bottom of my sheet and yanked it away from me like my father used to do with my blanky when I was very small, but this time I didnt cry. And I knew that I was finally a man.

I was still wearing my shoes and the same clothes Id been fired in on Friday, except now everything was covered in salt. There was a pile of it on my bed, and I was buried underneath it like the sleeping dad on the beach who wakes up to find that his mischievous asshole children have played a joke on him with their buckets of sand and their cruelty. But these men were not my children, and there were no saltshakers anywhere. Where had it all come from? How had this happened? I had no idea. I have never been able to explain myself.

Bling bling. Looks like somebody had themselves a little fiesta, Sikes said. Whatve we got here, coke? H? Mexican chimmy hat? He stuck his pinky into his mouth and then dipped it in the salt. Youre going away for a long time seor, he said as he jammed his salt-speckled finger up his nostril.

Sergeant that doesnt look like Brooks started to say, but Sikes was already snorting. His eyes watered and he started coughing and sneezing in short fast fits like a dog. He blew his nose into his hands and rushed to the bathroom, slamming the door behind him. The faucet was on for a long time and he was coughing and spitting and crying.

Brooks looked at me strange.

You sleep in salt? he said.

Sometimes.

Good for your back?

Its all right.

You famous or something?

Not really, I said.

He considered the possibilities, then decided I was guilty of some undetermined perversion and shook his head. We both listened as Detective Sikes heaved into my sink. I wished the guy in the apartment above me would start fucking his guinea pig again, just to give us something else to listen to, but he did not. Those kinds of wishes almost never come true.

When the cocky prick finally came out of the bathroom his face was raw and smeared, his eyes puffy from all the crying. He looked like a burn victim, one whod been through numerous successful surgeries but still wasnt fully healed. Its tough to ever really recover after your face has been on fire. I stared at him pretty fucking bemused but he wouldnt look at me.

Now that youve cracked the case, I said, smiling at Sikes and his chafed red nose, I really would like to get back to sleep. I bid you both good morning.

Its two in the afternoon, Brooks said.

No shit.

Like I said, we have a few questions for you.

All right, I said, and sighed.

I was still foggy and my head was throbbing, but I could play vice squad with these two for a few minutes. It would make them feel like they were being useful, and it would be an interesting start to my day. I just hoped I hadnt done anything stupid the night before. I didnt remember anything illegal. I didnt remember anything really.

Where were you last night, around 10 P.M .?

Probably at a bar.

Probably?

Probably.

What bar?