I’ve only written one story, and that story was Low Road. Although not very good, or downright terrible in certain parts, I’ve been editing it to make it presentable. Out of respect for the only piece of fiction I’ve written, I wanted to see this thing completed.
Recap: The 25 year old drunken bastard Rod Townshend has been living with fellow drunken bastard Jack Schilling, a burned out writer. Rod ghostwrote Jack’s most recent novel, which Jack has been busy promoting, but had yet to pay Rod for his efforts. Tensions build between the two.
Jack returned home. Per usual, he was wasted. I didn’t feel like dealing with him. Neither did Sandy.
“When are you going to pay me?”, I asked.
His smile quickly faded.
“I just wanted to have a good time tonight. I hated Colorado. I missed my friends. I just wanted to party tonight. But both of you are being shitheads. Fine.”, Jack replied.
He wrote a check for $10,000 and handed it over to me.
“Don’t be an asshole. This is my book. I wrote it.”, he told me.
I didn’t expect him to hand over the money. I felt sorry for Jack. Clearly he was broken.
“Jack, I’m sorry. Let’s have a few shots. Just to congratulate ourselves on a job well done.” I said.
We shared a few shots, then he disappeared. When he returned, he was pissed.
“What the fuck happened to the blow? AND the weed!?”, he yelled.
“I had to sell it. Sorry but you owed me! And to tell you the truth, you owe me more than $10,000!”
“You fucking cunt.”
He went to the bedroom and grabbed Sandy. Then he gave us a tongue lashing.
“You two only use me for my money. Well you know what…”
He pulled out his wallet and threw $50 bills on the floor. I didn’t give a shit. I picked them up. Sandy refused.
“You’re a fucking stripper whore. Pick it up!”, he told her.
“Jack, you’re a piece of shit! I’m done here.”
Sandy began packing her things. Jack was yelling obscenities at her. I should have left. Sandy gathered her bags and was out the door. I never saw her again.
He took a few moments to gather himself.
“I don’t believe it.” He said.
“I think you better go to bed, Jack.”
“Don’t tell me what to fucking do”
“Don’t fuck with me. You’re an old drunk. You best not cross me.”
He took a swing at me. I fell on my ass. I kicked his legs out from under him. I tried to climb on top of him, but he was way stronger. After he gained control of me, he placed me in a chokehold.
That was the last thing I remember.
I was still on the floor when I woke up. This was it for Jack and me. I made sure that I still had the $10,000 check and the $50 bills.
I heard that Jack was awake and in his office. I heard him frantically typing on his computer.
“What the hell man?” I asked.
“I have nothing to say to you, Rod.”
“You were a total fucking dick. You should apologize to Sandy. And to me!”
“You?! Fuck you! Get the hell out of my house.”
“I wrote your piece of shit book, Jack.”
“Get the fuck out!”
I got into my truck and out of this asshole’s life. I decided there that I was going to California. Then I got a text from Jeanne.