Trouble Bella
Joe Cornelius Hunter burst through the rear entrance of The
Warehouse nightclub, he stumbled down and over the worn concrete steps, before
being suddenly blinded by the alleyway floodlights. His eyes struggled to adjust as the gloomy darkness of the club
was replaced by the almost daytime brightness of sodium lamps blasting the
entrance with light. His nostrils, used
to the smells of smoke, beer, and sweat, reeled at the skunky stench of cheap
cannabis, blown his way by a group of three hippy wannabees partaking in a
stand-up smoking circle along the west wall.
As if this wasn’t enough, his ears had begun to ring as the relative
silence of the city at night replaced the powerful decibels pounding from the
dark, lugubrious club.
The heavy, steel re-enforced door swung shut behind him and
he took a few tentative steps forward, swaying. Oh yes, a great deal of cheap, $3 per jug draught had been poured
down Hunter’s gullet this night, and he was feeling the effects of it. He shoved back his right sleeve and looked
at one of the three watches he wore.
The one that sat highest up on his arm was a grey Swatch watch with a
chequerboard face that hadn’t worked for years, but still looked good. Second down was a children’s digital watched
with a flip up cover in the shape of an Oreo cookie. The third, and his favourite, was an old, beat up Hong Kong
“Rolex” that MacGreggor had bought on vacation and given to Hunter when he had
grown bored with it. The “Rolex” read
five to two. Hunter nodded to himself; time
to head home to Lond Ho.
He had been the last to leave that night, his friend Jonny
Vincent was the first to go, not long after Hunter had arrived around 11:30,
Paco had left a good forty-five minutes after with a ginger haired chickie,
and MacGreggor disappeared an hour later claiming he was “bored.” Bill hadn’t even bothered to show up for
reasons known only to him.
Hunter shook his shirt sleeve back and shook his head, it
sounded like someone was calling his name, but he couldn’t be certain with his
ears still ringing so he dismissed it as his imagination. He turned left around the fenced in patio
and across the parking lot towards 10th Ave. His stomach rumbled, he needed something in
his gutmeats to soak up the sloshing booze.
The smell hit him before he could see it, like some street meat Doppler
effect. The hot dog cart was near, he
just had to find it!
The cart was nestled in around the corner of the
building. There were two clubbers that
Hunter recognized from earlier in the night, both of them crushing huge spicy
Cajuns covered in cheese sauce and bacon.
Hunter jumped up and ordered a spicy German with a heap of cheese,
sauerkraut, and bacon bits, then fished into his pocket for his last fiver
while the cart jockey was preparing his dog.
A couple of girls stumbled past, clinging to each other, and
drunkenly giggling. Hunter was
distracted for a second as they passed, looking appreciatively at their visible
piercings, and wondering what kind of invisible piercings they may have had
hidden away under their clothes.
“That’ll be $3.25,”
The hot dog meister spoke.
Hunter took the delicious smelling, steaming street meat on
a bun and handed over the fiver. The
first bite was always like no other, the steamed sausage seemed to SNAP! upon initial bite, the pleasing sound, the
mouth-feel as the hot juices burst free of it’s casing was in Hunter’s opinion,
unequalled in the world of cart vendor street meats.
“Keep the change,” he said around a mouthful of bun, spicy
sausage, cheese, bacon and kraut.
“Thank you very much sir!”
Hunter was three bites in before he began the first leg of
his journey home to London House Flats on 5th Ave and 4th
street. Three quarters of the dog was
gone, he rolled back the napkin and took another big bite, bacon bits exploding
into the air, and falling silently to the sidewalk with the sheer violent power
of the bite. He was crushing the final
nubbin when a voice called out to him from across the parking lot. A girl’s voice, there was no mistaking it
this time, a voice both familiar, yet somehow not… Could it be the girl Jonny
Vincent had introduced him to only a few hours previously? The girl he warned Hunter about? The girl Jonny told Hunter was nothing but
trouble? No, it couldn’t be! Could it?
“Hunter! Wait up!”
Hunter stopped walking, chewed, swallowed, then turned. It was she.
Trouble with a capital “B.”
“Bella!”
“Hey man! Didn’t you
hear me yelling at you inside?”
Hunter shook his head, looking down at the girl. She was just over 5’2” with her kitten
heeled boots, she had short, dark, pixie like hair and was dressed in layers of
black. Black leggings, black socks,
black cotton skirt with a red stripe around the hem, long sleeved black shirt
and short sleeved black tee with The Clash: London Calling album artwork
splashed off kilter across the front.
Underneath Hunter imagined she was wearing matching black panties and a
bra.
“You said you were gonna show me your place, the Lond Who
or something?”
“Lond Ho, and we only call it that because the lights
on the sign are burned out. It’s really
London House.” He suddenly
remembered! He had asked her to come
back with him, and she said yes. She
was apparently staying with her dad across town, and the busses stopped running
at midnight… yes it was all coming back to him. “Yeah, I did say come back to Lond Ho didn’t I, then I went for a
slash, then I couldn’t find you. I
thought you left.”
They walked and talked, “No, I just went to say goodbye to
some people, then when I turned around you were halfway down the exit
tunnel. I nearly lost you, then I saw
you by the hot dog cart.” She sounded
almost relieved.
They turned left at 4th street and started to
cross 10th Ave.
Hunter stopped suddenly and reached out with amazing speed
considering the amount he had to drink, and grabbed Bella’s arm as a white BMW
M5 blasted through the intersection, running the clearly red light. Another two steps and they’d have been road
kill.
Bella looked up at Hunter, then back at the rapidly
disappearing taillights, then took a deep breath. She shook her head, took hold of Hunter’s hand, and they started
walking again.
“Fuck that fucking asshole!” She said as they stepped up on the opposite curb, and headed down
through the 4th street underpass.
Bella had a not unpleasant muskiness to her that Hunter had
never noticed in the club. He always
got a little congested in The Warehouse, what with all the smoke machines, and
burning cigarettes on almost everyone’s lips.
The shroud of blue-grey haziness that touched everything and
everyone. Hunter’s nostrils were just
becoming used to the outside air again and it felt good to be smelling
something other than beer and smoke.
“So, where you from kid?”
Hunter asked as they were coming up to the 8th Ave crosswalk.
Bella smiled, she seemed pleased that he had asked, “Oh,
well I was born in Van, but I’ve been living in Idaho with my mom since I was
five.”
“Where in Idaho?
Sandpoint?”
“Beyond Hope.”
“You totally just made that up!” Hunter ribbed her.
“No, really!
Look!” She pulled a drivers
licence out of a small beaded bag she was wearing like a belt across her tiny
waist. She held it up for him to
see. He touched her hand, steadying the
card so he could read it. Sure enough,
it was an Idaho driving licence and it
said Beyond Hope in the town line of the address block.
“Well, fuck me gently with a chainsaw! What the hell do you know about that!” Hunter laughed.
“It’s a shitty little town.” Bella grumbled, putting her licence away.
“With a name like ‘Beyond Hope’ I don’t doubt it!”
They were coming up to the commuter train tracks on 7th
Ave when Hunter spotted something on the road about a block ahead of them.
“Do you see that?
What is that? In the middle of
the road!”
They crossed the C-Train tracks and Bella squinted, “I
dunno, it looks like a street sign?!”
“Come on!” Hunter
grabbed her hand and they ran. He was a
little winded by the time they reached it, but Bella was doubled over, wheezing
the wheeze of the long time cigarette smoker.
“IthinkI’mgonnafuckingdie!” she said between breaths.
Hunter looked around for traffic, then stepped into the
road, “That’s totally a ‘No Parking’ sign!”
He picked it up by the pole and dragged it to the sidewalk.
Bella was just beginning to catch her breath.
“Look at this,” Hunter said, pointing at the face of the
sign, “It’s been run over look, there’s tire tracks here.
Bella rolled her eyes and lit up a Camel Light.
Hunter thought for a second, then nodded to himself. He knew what he must do. He picked up the sign and slung it over his
shoulder, “It’s coming with us!” He
announced triumphantly.
Bell started giggling, “Really? You’re taking the sign home? You can’t just take a street sign can you? It belongs to the city doesn’t it?”
Hunter was already walking, “Possession is nine tenths
toots. I found it, I rescued it from
the road, where lets face it, it was nothing but a navigational hazard, ergo,
the sign belongs to me now. Besides,
were only a couple blocks away.”
They finished the trip to Lond Ho in relative silence,
punctuated only by the occasional giggle from Bella, laughing at the absurdity
of the situation.
As they rode up the freight lift towards the 13th
floor, Bella burst out, “Who takes a sign!
Come on! It’s ridiculous!”
“It’s too late for any acrimony now sweets, we are
officially through the looking glass.”
“I don’t think that means what you think it means,”
The lift car shuddered and juddered to a stop, the doors
slid open, and somehow Hunter managed to get the sign out into the hallway
without too much noise or problem. In
seconds they were standing at the door of flat 1401.
Hunter fiddled with the keys attached to the leather lanyard
around his neck, then penetrated the well used lock with the well-worn
key. The gloomy apartment was only
illuminated by the light from the building across the street leaking through
the window coverings, giving the whole place a mottled, shadowy look. Hunter put the sign down in the dining area
and bumped his head on the plastic duck hanging by a plastic six-pack ring from
the chandelier.
Bella closed and locked the door before kicking her boots
off. Hunter sat down where he was and
removed his 14 hole Doc Martens, then walked though the kitchenette. “Follow me,” he told Bella as he started
through the living room, past the bathroom, toward his bedroom. It was only after three steps he found
himself on the floor, tangled in someone’s legs and a blanket.
“What the fak!”
Hunter detangled himself and got up, “Oh hey Paco, what ya
doing in the middle of the floor?
What’s wrong with the couch?”
“Not enough room for two.”
He said, pulling the blanket back over his naked body.
Hunter’s eyes were acclimating to the gloom, and he noticed
another naked shape on the floor next to Paco.
She was crashed out, even snoring a little.
“Whose the latest skank?”
Hunter grumbled.
“You should talk!”
Paco replied, covering the girl with the blanket.
“Touché.”
Bella shot Hunter an annoyed look that he didn’t see because
of the darkness.
Paco rolled over, “Ah, whadareyagonnado! G’night Hunter!”
“Night Paco,” he turned to Bella, “that was Paco, you met
him at the bar.”
“Yeah, I remember.”
They stepped into Hunter’s bedroom and shut the door. By the time Hunter had his blue and grey
chequered, long sleeve shirt untied from around his waist, Bella was naked and pulling
back the bed covers. For the first time
he noticed just how tiny she was, visible ribs, small perky teats, bony ass,
the layers of clothes hid her tiny frame well.
He wondered briefly if she had an eating disorder, or if she was just
naturally skinny. She crawled into the
bed and looked at him as if too ask; are you coming or what?
“Where did I leave that panic switch?” Hunter mumbled to himself as he stripped
down.
“What?” Bella
murmured.
“Nothing,” he said, and climbed into bed.