Max is NOW!

- excerpts from new story concept - (see 7/18 post for beginning)

Fix straightened his head, and Roman walked around to his backside again.
“You’re such a twerp,” Roman said softly.
Fix fought a small laugh, what the hell is a twerp anyway?
“You think something is funny?” Roman asked as he poured himself a vodka from the wet bar. “You think this is all a game?”
Fix didn’t move or even motion in the slightest. He just peered down into his knees, filthy with motor oil and garage soot. Roman took a good sip on his drink, and straightened himself like the rigid prick he was at a full five foot, six inches. He walked around Fix, to his opposite side, both now staring straight at the western wall of the living room. Roman dug into his back pocket and retrieved a pompous Louis Vuitton wallet, bursting with contents.
“If you mother were alive…”
“She would have rather been dead than be near you, I know the feeling.” Fix uttered with a low, grisly whisper, almost below audible. But in a manner of speaking, it was the loudest words yet. He lifted his scowl up to his left, right into Roman’s face only a few feet away. Roman didn’t flinch, he stared forward at the western wall, like there was something besides books staring back at him. His eyes pooled with the last juice he could squeeze from his tear ducts, and hiw jaw locked like a bulldogs. Fix immediatley regretted his words, not doubting thier honesty, but fearing thier consequence. Roman pulled a wad of cash from the ugly designer wallet and tossed it in Fix’s direction like a post-coitus prostitute now serving no purpose. Fix’s arms moved like a piece of stone might, given the animus to do so. He moved slowly, reaching for the money on the ground in front of him. His father, with a single tear drooping from his chin, turned and stepped softly up the eastern staircase. He paused a third of the way, now pivoting his shiloutte of a face from behind his back, as Fix had done to him. “It’s a grand….do whatever you want with it.” His voice dropped down to a subtle rumble, “But don’t come back,” his voice faded more, “not ever.” And Roman disappeared into the upstairs hallway.
Fix scooped up the bills and shoved them into the front pocket of his dirty jeans. He stood up and smirked in the direction of the upstairs master bedroom. “Stupid fuck,” he spoke into the empty room. Just as Fix crossed the living room towards the garage, his other front pocket started emitting, “so fergielicious..fergilicious.” Fix pulled his cell phone out of the pocket and filled it open with one fluid motion. “Nothing but,” he spoke again before answering.
“Hey babe,” his voice now vibrant and fresh, “no, I couldn’t get any money from Roman.”
“Yea, I know…” his voice primed a bit more strength, “look, just see if your sister can help.” His jaw tightened up a bit. “No, I can’t go, I have to fly to New York. I told you that before.” His voice got vicious, “just take care of it, I don’t care how, it’s your fucking body…Well fine, just fucking do it Jill, I don’t care, I-DON’T-CARE!” Fix threw the phone across the room into the bookshelf. It landed snugly between his father’s copy of “Reagan” and his mother’s own book of poems, “The Dragonflies’ Call.” No one ever saw the humor in their mismatch of tastes in literature. Not even Fix.