“Deal.”
The sun disappeared and Roscoe knelt in the flickering light of a burning barrel. He was next to a tent holding onto an arm that had a rubber tourniquet tied to it. Roscoe held the man’s hand with both of his and looked up at the sky, tears soaking the fur on his face.
“Wait fer me, buddy. If we both make it to heaven, wait fer me.” He removed the tourniquet and gently placed the lifeless arm inside the tent before covering Eddy’s face with his jacket. After patting the man’s chest, Rosco stood and ambled along the tents as if in a trance, disappearing into the black alleyway.
His memories were becoming even more painful to watch as I followed him into the darkness, only to end up on the beachin the middle of the day. The warm sea breeze of this familiar place lightened the mood. Roscoe sang while Darryl—now a full werewolf—played his guitar as they both sat on the sand. People walked by, tossing money into the guitar case, cheering and clapping after each performance.
“We’re gonna take a break, but we’ll do some more tonight,” Roscoe said, turning from the dispersing crowd. “Can’t believe how big you got.”
“Can’t believe how fat you got,” Darryl said, poking Roscoe’s stomach with his finger. “You have an incredible voice.”
“Why thank ya, sir. How much more do you need to start building yer house?”
“More than I can get doing street performances.” He looked at his tent in the distance. It was in the same place his house would be in the future. “That’s all mine. I own that little part of the beach, and I get to surf and play my guitar every day. It’s like a dream.”
“I knew you’d make somethin’ of yerself.”
“All because you gave me that chance.” He pulled the guitar case close, looking at the impressive amount of cash they’d received. “It’s yours.”
“I didn’t come here to collect a debt.”
“Then why’d you leave the city?”
“It was time,” he said, his ears off to the side. “I needed some sun and fresh air.” He smiled at Darryl. “And a friend.”
“Ever surf before?”
“No, and I ain’t about to start.”
Darryl pulled out a plastic ziplock bag with some weed in it. “I think I could persuade you to give it a try…dude.”
“You just smoke this shit out in the open?”
“It’s legal here,” he said, pulling a thin sheet of cigarette paper from a metal case.
“No shit. When did that happen?”
“Midterms. It was on the ballot.”
“Ah. I don’t pay no attention to politics.”
“I do when weed’s on the line.” Darryl twisted the ends of the joint and handed it to Roscoe. “I also noticed something weird. Werewolves are in the government now. They have their own branch and everything. There’s talk about social programs that can benefit us.”
“Sounds like a trap.” Roscoe grabbed a lighter and lit the end of the joint before inhaling deeply. After taking another one, he passed it back to Darryl. “Can’t trust the government. They ain’t gave a shit about us for as long as I remember, so it’s a little suspicious they start carin’ now.”
“You’re half right. They probably wouldn’t have cared if there weren’t so many homeless werewolves causing problems. They’re trying to get the human and werewolf bums off the streets.”
Roscoe gritted his teeth but didn’t say anything.
“I don’t think it’ll benefit us. Plus, it’s not gonna happen for a few years at least.” Darryl looked out over the ocean as the sun disappeared behind a passing cloud. “Thanks, Roscoe.”
“For what?”
He pointed to the ocean. “For all this.”
“I believe you end a thank you prayer with an amen, seein’ as I created the ocean an’ all.”
“You know what I mean, jackass.”
