The Moon is in the Gutter (1125 hits)
Category: NoneLabels: one-part_stories
Rating: 2 on 29 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by Stagger Lee (View user info) at 2006-07-19 07:53:41 EDT
Waterley knocked on the door, grunting with the effort. He turned to me and winked.
"Alright, kid?" he asked, almost panting in the heat. "How's about I show you how we run this game?"
I shrugged, then nodded. It was my first day at Barnhouse Sales, and Waterley was my assigned trainer. After a brief introductory talk and tour of the office, I'd been told to get out there and "learn by doing".
Waterley grinned and turned back to the door. He was an overweight man, and that would've been his defining characteristic had he not been a champion in the art of sweating. During the introductory talk I'd pictured tiny armies of machines underneath his skin; wires and cogs and troughs, manufacturing and funneling buckets of salty fluid and herding it through his skin and out into the brave, wide world.
The door opened. A woman looked at us, unconvinced as to our intent and probably wishing we'd leave. I could almost see where her crow's feet were going to appear beside her eyes. She was probably only just thirty, if that. Waterley could almost have been her father (or mine).
"Afternoon, ma'am," Waterley said, charmingly enough. The effect was slightly spoiled by the fact that he wheezed after the slightest exertion, and this apparently included our short walk from the car. "Can we interest you in..." At this point, my attention wandered from Waterley's spiel, looking around the garden and the front of the house. Quite a nice place, really. Trimmed lawn, couple of garden gnomes, flower beds, that sort of thing, tidy.
I jolted back to earth when he suddenly hissed in my ear:, "Hey, kid! Fuck it, come on, get inside!"
I looked around to find the woman disappearing into her house. Waterley followed, with me close at his heels.
"You won't regret the demonstration, ma'am, I assure you!" Waterely declared. We entered a short hallway, with off-white walls and threadbare but expensive carpet. Probably cost them a fortune when they had it put in. "Now, if you could just provide us with a glass of water..."
The woman smiled and headed up the hall, presumably for the kitchen. Waterley watched her go, then darted to the left, into the living room. I watched him, in bemusement, as he lifted some sort of silver ornament from the mantlepiece before heading quickly back over to me. I felt my eyes widen.
"What's this about?" I whispered urgently.
He waved my half-hearted protest away, shaking his head dismissively. Fresh rivulets of sweat trickled clumsily down his face, and he gave me a look that contrived to imply that I had a lot to learn about the job and the world.
The woman returned, and Waterley delivered the rest of the presentation flawlessly, but I absorbed very little, and he didn't end up selling her. Looking back, I can hardly credit how green I was, but I was shocked by his behaviour. Not just the act itself, but the manner in which he had performed it. I think I was probably offended by the way he could still talk to the victim of his minor crime as if nothing had happened, as if he had not wronged her.
Back in the car, I confronted him, full of the self-righteous fire and moral high ground of youth.
"What'd you do that for?" I demanded, practically overflowing with my own inassailable surety.
He favoured me with another of his world-weary looks, and contrived to throw some pity in for good measure.
"Look here, kid," he said, and his voice dripped with the same weariness, even as his face dripped with sweat. "Everyone's out to get theirs. Everyone. She'd do the same. You read the bible? Do unto others? I did unto her as she'd do to me."
"You don't know that!" I exclaimed. "She could be a decent woman. You got no right judging someone you don't know."
He shook his head. "Kid, kid, kid," he said, and that artificial pity was all over his voice, thick and rancid.
"That's what you're doin', right now. You're judging me, you don't know me. Place like this'll be insured.
They'll get it back, probably get a little more back than they lost. I practically did 'em a favour." He ran out of breath, and he wheezed, sending a gust of breath my way that was a distinctive mixture of gum, coffee and halitosis.
I subsided. Something told me that I was wrong to do so, but I mentally kicked it and it was silenced.
From the suburbs we rode in that same, brooding silence, until we reached the outskirts of the downtown area. The manicured lawns and flowers had given way to cracked pavement, broken windows, sullen-eyed children walking the streets next to run-down apartment buildings, women pushing prams and looking beaten both physically and mentally.
Waterley pulled the car to a halt in a litter-strewn parking lot.
"Come on," he said. "That was an easy house. Now I gotta show you the ropes down here. You gotta be able to cut it in all kinds of surroundings."
I followed him over the burning asphalt and into a narrow maze of alleys, deserted and eerily calm. I looked up and saw the sky above me as a narrow, crooked blue ribbon, winding across the top of the buildings that loomed around me.
We stopped at a doorway. As repellent as the suburban door had been inviting. Peeling paint hung from its surface, grimly discouraging entry. I glanced at Waterley. He was nodding at me.
"This'll do," he said. "Should be a tough sell, neighbourhood like this. But ya gotta get used to these conditions. It's a tough city. It's a tough world. You gotta be tough as well." He rapped on the door, three times, hard. We waited in silence, shuffling our feet, barely recognising that the other was there. It was a moment of supreme discomfort, and I've never forgotten it.
The door was opened by a strung-out kid, maybe a couple years older than me. His pasty skin had a indefinable bruised quality to it, and his black hair was pulled back into unwilling cornrows.
"Fuck is this?" he asked, his voice cracking about halfway through. His left eye twitched, very slightly. I found myself unable to take my gaze from that left eye as it leapt and jerked spasmodically in his face.
"Good morning, sir," Waterley said. "May we trouble you for a moment of your time?"
The kid's eyes narrowed, but the left one never ceased to shuck and jive. He took a step back and pulled a gun from the waistband of his jeans, behind his back. He pointed it at Waterley. Waterley stepped backwards, his hands shooting towards the narrow band of sky.
"Get the fuck in the house," the kid said, his jumpy, scratchy voice cutting the syllables in odd places.
Waterley nodded, his head bouncing up and down foolishly on his shoulders.
"Alright," I said, striving (and probably failing) to keep my voice steady, and calm. "We're coming."
Waterley stepped in first, and the junkie grabbed him and spun him round. A scrawny, probably junkie kid seizing hold of a massively overweight man in the doorway of a run-down apartment block on the edge of downtown. It was ridiculous.
"Come on!" he shouted, and his voice skittered over the words like the needle of an old record player. I stepped inside after them. The apartment was predictably filthy. Magazines, dirty clothes, a couple of needles and various other debris littered the stained surface of a patchy carpet.
What happened next might have happened very differently if not for two things.
The first thing was the kid accidentally treading on Waterley's heel as he led him backwards into the apartment. Waterley snapped his head backward and barked, "Shit, watch it, Marty!"
My face at this point must have been a picture of stupid realisation. The sheer unlikelihood of us working a neighbourhood like this. Waterley's unerring and instant location of this flat: he never looked twice at any other doorway.
Waterley saw my reaction, and waved a hand in my direction. "Look," he said, attempting a grin that was slightly out of his reach. "Kid...it ain't whatcha think...."
His explanation was cut short as the second thing happened. Perhaps too strung out to notice the deviation from the script, the junkie kid jerked Waterley's arm behind his back again, and Waterley rounded on him and snapped, "Fuck's sake, Marty, don't be so fuckin' stupid!" and smacked him across the face. Marty dropped his gun.
Feeling as though my hands belonged to somebody else entirely, feeling disconnected and disinterested from the events in front of me, I scooped it from the disgusting carpet and pointed it at the pair of them.
That's when Marty truly took leave of his senses and charged at me. I shot him in the thigh and he screamed, once, high-pitched and then dropped to the floor, bleeding in amazing, copious amounts.
Waterley moved toward the kid, knelt and examined him briefly and then looked at me. I pointed the gun at him with trembling, suddenly weary hands, but he made no move toward me. He spread his hands wide, and I could see the flash of stolen silver in his jacket pocket.
"I was just trying to help ya, kid," he said, and his voice sounded tired. He wiped a flabby hand across his brow.
I didn't reply; I simply fled the house. I became lost in the alleys and never located the car; Waterley had the keys anyway. I threw Marty's gun in a dumpster on the way, after feverishly wiping the grip with my shirt. I eventually hopped on a train heading into the city proper, and never saw Waterley or Barnhouse Sales again.
I'm still not sure whether I learned his lesson or not.
User Reviews
Submitted by yhywstudios (user info) at 2006-12-19 15:11:46 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by Pentameter (user info) at 2006-12-19 08:54:34 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by Stagger_Lee (user info) at 2006-07-27 21:03:49 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Like a lot of my stories, the Moon is in the Gutter is a song title, a song which partially inspired the story. The song involves a sort of theme of hopelessness and of things going wrong, and besides, I rather like the way it sounds.
The moon is in the gutter
And all my plans washed down the drain
Submitted by thecaes (user info) at 2006-07-27 07:34:00 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Ha ha. I might do that if I find myself with some free time.
By the way...I don't think I get the title -- why is the moon in the gutter?
Submitted by Stagger_Lee (user info) at 2006-07-27 03:28:55 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Well, you're always welcome to track back and apply your criticism to anything I've written.
Submitted by thecaes (user info) at 2006-07-26 22:10:03 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
My pleasure, man. Sorry I don't have as much time to keep up on this stuff like I used to.
Submitted by Stagger_Lee (user info) at 2006-07-26 08:15:28 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Cheers, Caes. I do believe you're just about the greatest purveyor of constructive crit around here. I like it, thanks for reading and thanks for picking this stuff up.
Submitted by thecaes (user info) at 2006-07-26 07:45:12 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
"Waterley stepped in first, and the junkie grabbed him and spun him round. A scrawny, probably junkie kid seizing hold of a massively overweight man"
I'd lose the "probably" there. You just called him a junkie in the previous sentence, it makes no sense to say he's a "probably-junkie" a few words later.
Also, there was one crucial thing in your big, key moment of realization: since you never tell us the kid's name, when Waterley trips and says "Watch it Marty," I thought he was talking to the kid/narrator. So there was some confusion there while I worked it out, which kind of spoiled the moment. I think it would be cleaner if you inserted something like, "Waterly said to the junkie 'Watch it Marty'" or something like that.
Anyway, cool story. I really like your imagery and pacing. It's the mark of a good storyteller when they can talk about something mundane and make it interesting.
Submitted by Stagger_Lee (user info) at 2006-07-24 02:00:51 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by thecaes (user info) at 2006-07-23 21:40:55 (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by Stagger_Lee (user info) at 2006-07-19 02:41:12 (#)
Ranking: 2
I'll tell you what happened on my European adventures, then you can translate it into awesome for me.
***************************
You shouldn't need someone to translate a European adventure into awesome for you, Staggy. Didn't Chevy Chase ever teach you that?
When I come back, I'll read this post.
===========
I only just noticed the part of your comment that said you didn't read this...
Submitted by Stagger_Lee (user info) at 2006-07-24 00:24:43 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Thanks, guys.
Submitted by Bubba2341 (user info) at 2006-07-23 22:02:53 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
How in the screaming fuck did I miss this? It was fantastic!
Submitted by goferforhire (user info) at 2006-07-23 21:59:45 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Yes it is
Submitted by thecaes (user info) at 2006-07-23 21:40:55 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by Stagger_Lee (user info) at 2006-07-19 02:41:12 (#)
Ranking: 2
I'll tell you what happened on my European adventures, then you can translate it into awesome for me.
***************************
You shouldn't need someone to translate a European adventure into awesome for you, Staggy. Didn't Chevy Chase ever teach you that?
When I come back, I'll read this post.
Submitted by Stagger_Lee (user info) at 2006-07-20 01:36:42 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Cheers, Kaelic.
Submitted by Kaelic (user info) at 2006-07-19 22:55:02 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
It was a good story. I only read it because you said something on my post, but I'm glad I did. +2.
Submitted by Stagger_Lee (user info) at 2006-07-19 20:27:28 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Thanks a lot, everyone.
Submitted by The_Yellow_Dart (user info) at 2006-07-19 19:04:25 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by JonnyX (user info) at 2006-07-19 15:50:37 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
shoulda put two in that fat fucks chest, as well
Submitted by inion_de_trua (user info) at 2006-07-19 13:12:17 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
have i told you lately that i love you?
Submitted by Sacrilicious (user info) at 2006-07-19 12:52:00 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Yeah, I liked this. I loved the description of the sweating.
Submitted by strwbryfanatic (user info) at 2006-07-19 12:44:22 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Stagger_Lee for President!
Submitted by Stagger_Lee (user info) at 2006-07-19 09:58:41 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Cheers, everyone.
Snare: yeah, Nick Cave's my favourite. There are dozens of blues songs named Stagger Lee, though.
Submitted by Snare (user info) at 2006-07-19 09:39:43 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Hey, Stag.
Name taken from The Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds track?
Very fitting for your style. Nicely noir. Decently Dark.
Submitted by TigerLilly (user info) at 2006-07-19 09:32:41 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by DrogoRoch (user info) at 2006-07-19 09:19:57 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Good read.
Submitted by sicosemen (user info) at 2006-07-19 09:03:55 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
This was a good read, although very indecisive. I liked it.
Submitted by Merlina (user info) at 2006-07-19 08:48:16 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Excellent!
Submitted by redskieslookfake (user info) at 2006-07-19 08:33:45 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Pretty good.
Submitted by Davros (user info) at 2006-07-19 08:12:55 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
This is good stuff, I was hoping for a more open ending to see more of this.
-Dave