Valasco Rolez! In Solitary Confinement

Part 3 of 7 of Valasco Rolez!

Written by Kiefer Lee

Edited by Alexander Taylor

Valasco washed the sweat off of himself using a fast-food bathroom sink. His awful smelling shirt went on over his poorly washed body, and he buttoned the bottom half leaving his unappealing chest baring itself to those who didn’t want it.

Then he went outside and put his change in a pay phone. Dialed the number he had memorized years ago and listened to it ring. He tapped the black painted pole with his foot, impatient as the phone rang and rang until the coin was spit back out at him. 

Valasco shoved it back in a minor fit of rage. 

It rang a couple of times while blood ran down Valasco’s knuckle, until a voice coughed through and asked:

“Who’s calling?” The deep voice cleared its throat.

“Well hello, Jimmy.” Valasco grinned and growled.

There was a rustling on the other end of the line as Jimmy sat up in bed.

“Good morning, Valasco.”

“Quite the wake up call, wouldn’t you say?”

“What do you need?” Jimmy said approvingly.

“Collecting an order for Bunko. I’ll sign for his package and pick up a little of my own. Sound good?”

“Yeah, all good. When?” Jimmy asked.

Valasco gave himself a glance over and looked at his surroundings. He looked and smelled like shit, he needed a change of clothes and he had no means of transportation.

“Everything alright, Valasco?” Jimmy’s naturally low, and temporarily sleepy voice took a sweet tone. “It’s been months since I heard a word about you.”

“Jimmy, I’m better than ever.” Valasco laughed. “I’ll see you tonight; eleven.”

Then Valasco hung up.

Used Clothes Store: All for Charity!

Valasco went to these places all the time when he was a kid. Valasco walked through the rows of hangers and clothes. Anything with a company logo was out for him, no buttons or long sleeves, absolutely nothing collared.

Valasco needed something to help him remake the man. 

He pulled out a black t-shirt and smiled at the white band logo of a cartoon zombie. A symbol of something he could believe in.

“Maybe I’ll make it to New York sometime.” Valasco unbuttoned and dropped his shirt to the floor with the hanger of the new one. Moving cities was an interesting idea. He lifted his arms, letting the shirt drop down over him. In a new city, he could start new businesses, or get in where somebody was already taking some action. The clean shirt felt refreshing against his skin.

“I’m taking care of you, that’s the charity.” Valasco walked out of the store without paying. His father’s voice was always clear in his head. It was a vague memory, and an even vaguer notion that what he said actually meant something.

He had a great deal left to walk if he didn’t want to burn his money for Jimmy on bus or taxi fare. But he knew he could make it in half a day by walking if he wanted. And so let loose on the town was a creature more dangerous than any animal: Valasco Rolez with time to kill.

Taking the long way past the local colleges, Valasco surmised, would be a cheap way to gratify himself. With all that he had just been through, he needed a little dose of a fluttering heart. No man ever knew for certain when his prime was over. But Valasco didn’t think in metrics regarding his own age. He just watched the girls. He walked slowly, checking out each young woman he saw.

 After meandering on the streets for hours, the elements of beauty seemed to evacuate the area. Valasco shrugged his shoulders. He had no time to meet a woman. Tempering his urges, he moved on further into the city.

The sun was setting but it was still too early to meet Jimmy. So he sat in a block wide park, watching the homeless element reappear on the street for about an hour. 

He laughed at their misfortune; they had played their cards against themselves along the way. Recognizing the hypocrisy, he stretched out and conceded that he was homeless on paper as well. Then he kept walking. Valasco knew he was different and walked above them with his head held high. He was a king amongst them, because he was there by his own ruling, he was going to rig the hand. Whatever mistakes they made they couldn’t dig themselves out of. That’s why he was a man above the rats.

As his internal clock had guessed, it was close enough to eleven that Jimmy was looking out for him.

Valasco met him on the street side, and followed as he waved him inside. Valasco tossed his cigarette, and paused, expecting Jimmy to do the same. Jimmy didn’t turn around or give a second thought to it. He held the door open with the cigarette in his other hand. Valasco looked remorseful at his burning cigarette floating with the wind down the street.

Tossing it before going inside was a new habit he hadn’t recognized in himself. He balled up his fist. It wasn’t his damn idea. It was the world’s idea perverting his actions.

“Wait up, Jimmy.” Valasco skipped back down the steps and ran for his cigarette. Jimmy watched him like he was crazy until Valasco came back sucking on his cigarette territorially.

“I would’ve given you a cigarette.” Jimmy said, slamming the door behind them.

Valasco followed him up the steps to the second, then third floor. He was familiar with the building, but it looked worse since the last time he had been there. Ugly yellow paint chipped off the walls and the square tiles were cracking and shifting underneath his feet.

“Gone for what, almost two years? You look exactly the same.” Jimmy chuckled.

“You wouldn’t have recognized me.” Valasco smirked. “Thanks, Jimmy.”

“For?”

“It’s a compliment coming from you.”

Jimmy pushed open an apartment door. The sounds of television and the smell of weed greeted him like a long-lost friend. Jimmy’s place had black scuffs on the carpets, ragged couches and yellow cheese stained in bowls spread across the room. Valasco placed his burning cigarette in an ashtray respectfully.

He glanced at the television, but expected too much to recognize the show. He didn’t use his TV much before he left it to burn.

“What can I get for you?” Jimmy’s voice filled the apartment from a room over. The light in that room flicked on and Jimmy’s hand waved for him to enter.

A black and red poster hanging over itself, an overstuffed dresser and a mattress with one pillow and no blankets. These were the only things available in this room to take Valasco’s eyes off the horridly bright blue on the walls. Jimmy pulled a brown purse out of the dresser and began listing off the chemicals he could see from the top.

Valasco named his specific poison and Jimmy nodded.

“It’s been a while, if you found a cheaper dealer I’ll compete with his prices.” Jimmy said, rustling through the bag.

“Nope.” Valasco gargled saliva and snot in his throat then swallowed. “I just wasted a lot of time.” Valasco looked around the room curiously, then pointed at the purse mouthing a woman’s name.

“Yep.”

“Wasted time?”

Jimmy frowned then pushed the small plastic bag into Valasco’s hands. Valasco slapped the money into Jimmy’s hand then took a couple steps back to examine the product.

“No, not like that. She’ll be back later.”

“Oh, then congratulations. I guess.” 

Jimmy was deliberately slow with the money in his hand. He counted it by two’s as Valasco cracked the bag open and inhaled the dry air, tasting it on his tongue.

Valasco’s eyes shot upwards when he realized Jimmy was counting for a second, then third time. Both men’s eyebrows tightened, and their low hanging eyes met in a glare.

“What’s wrong, Jim?” Valasco said, wrapping the bag into his hand then sliding it into his back pocket.

“A little light.” Jimmy spoke methodically, slowly spreading the bills out with his thumb. Showing Valasco each twenty and ten, his lips counting along silently.

“No.” Valasco demanded. “$980 from Bunko, the rest from me. That was the deal, Bunko cleared the rest.”

Jimmy’s eyes widened and he smirked, the money now clenched between his fist.

“That was the agreement, Jim.”

“Where’s the rest, street-scum?”

“Jim…” Valasco sang his name. “Jim, we settled that account. Bunko said he…”

“No, Valasco. That was our business to settle.” The money flew from his hand. Jimmy dived for his pillow case and stuck his arm inside.

Valasco jumped in behind him pulling at his elbow. Clenched in his palm was a black pistol, but his fingers struggled to reach the trigger. Jimmy pushed back off of the bed and slammed Valasco against the wall. Valasco was taken off his feet, but rolled around the doorframe back into the living room. A bullet pierced through the drywall and dusted Valasco’s face before he heard the shot ringing in his ears.

He was staggered by the sound and narrowly losing his life had overridden his senses. Instead of getting to his feet and running for the exit, he stood and reached for the tall glass bong on the coffee table. Jimmy appeared in the doorframe, just as Valasco swung the glass down like a hammer. It shattered over Jimmy’s head. Brown water and glass splashed around the room and Jimmy collapsed. Blood began oozing out around Jimmy.

Valasco dropped his knee onto Jimmy’s arm, and the gun seemed to pop out of his hand and clatter to the floor. Valasco felt something sharp on his knee, poking through his jeans. Instead of pulling back he dug that knee inwards, ignoring the pain for himself and intensifying it for Jimmy. He whimpered like Valasco had never heard him do before. 

Jimmy was dazed but his eyes eventually rolled forward into place and met with Valasco’s.

“What’s the matter with you?” Valasco’s fist connected with Jimmy’s chin and his eyes rolled back again. Valasco’s own eyes were bulging, jumping psychotically around the room until his panicked mind had him reaching for the gun.

Jimmy’s head spun as he tried reaching for anything to grab, something to ground himself with or to swing at Valasco. His eyes rolled forward and fixed on the gun’s barrel pointed at his face. Just as the barrel flashed yellow.

Valasco stumbled out the door and cascaded down the stairwell. Unsure if anybody saw him escape. Unsure if anybody heard anything at all.

He found himself in the dark parking lot of Jimmy’s apartment, jamming a set of keys into a black car door. He threw the gun in the seat next to him and slid in. He grabbed the wheel and pressed the gas. What a fool he had felt like, the car wasn’t even on.

He leaned back in the chair, gripping the keys in the wrong hand.

He looked along the dashboard and checked the backseat, realizing he didn’t own a car. How did he end up with Jimmy’s keys?

He pressed his back into the seat, closed his eyes and gripped the steering wheel again.

Valasco played it over and over in his head as he breathed away the death. His shaking hands started to become firm again. When he was able he pushed the locking peg down on the driver’s door. He thought it over in reverse. He thought of pulling the trigger and seeing the red splash out behind him. There were specks of pink in the river of red. His knuckles ached as he reimagined himself bashing Jimmy in the face over and over. Even though it hurt, he kept gripping the wheel, the sound of Jimmy whimpering echoed in his ear. Then he thought of the glass bong, and Valasco Rolez began to cackle alone in the car like the humored maniac he was.

“One last hit before I go, Jim!”

Valasco fired up the engine and drove two hours out of the city. He rolled the windows down and shouted along with the rock radio station to distract himself. Changing the station any time it got too quiet, too slow, or far too honest. He watched the scenery change from city lights to a black desert.

His spirits were high that night, but in small moments, when the music wasn’t playing and the road seemed long, the truth rested on Valasco’s miserable face.

Jimmy didn’t deserve to die.

Valasco pulled off the highway onto a service road, then turned again onto a dirt road. Turning off the radio as he looked on uselessly into the darkness. He rolled slowly peeking behind himself to watch the dirt cloud kicking up behind the car. He followed the trail only a few minutes until he saw the large orange and white striped tents. The headlights drew attention to him, as he knew it would. Little reflections of eyes could be seen in between the tents. People watched as he pulled in, but no sounds welcomed him or any other guests. No lights revealed the bodies of those that watched him.

He pulled into a flat field where other tire marks dignified the area as a parking lot. He pulled all the way to the end, killed the engine and turned off the headlights. He reached around and made certain that each door was locked. Then he crawled into the backseat and cradled himself against the cold leather.