be tight, back in the day.
I was hired by Scott’s family to keep an eye on the wanna-be-gangster. I’m parked outside his apartment waiting for him to leave. His father wants to know what he’s gotten himself into and he’s going to be devastated when I tell him the full gamut of what Scott’s involved in. It’s not pretty and there’s no way to sugarcoat how his son’s cocaine problem has escalated into a full-blown heroin addiction. Heroin is cheap, making it the go-to drug for many who swore they were above it and said they would never do it. As if they’re too good for heroin; because drug addicts have such high standards. Funny how they change their minds when they can’t pay for cocaine and they need something to keep them from falling into withdrawals. The fear of going through that painful process is enough to keep them hooked, but when you add in the way their body craves it; it’s almost impossible to escape its clutches.
I turn the radio up and listen to three David Bowie songs played back to back. It’s Three for Thursday on my favorite classic rock channel. Sitting here is boring as fuck, but it goes with the territory of being a private investigator. At least I’ve got good music to keep me company.
I watch his apartment for signs of life, but the lights went out thirty minutes ago, and I think it’s time to call it a night.
I return to my house in Southie. I live in a white triple decker house I converted into a one family. I did most of the work myself and whatever I needed help with, Kyle and some other friends were there to pitch in.
I’m happy with the way it turned out. I have a deck on each floor and a large backyard. Not bad for a delinquent from Dorchester. I may have moved on from where I got my start, but that doesn’t change the fact that Kenna is too good for me. If she knew about my criminal past she wouldn’t want me anyway.
I’m sitting on the third-floor deck right now, kicking back in one of the rocking chairs I bought. I stare out into the darkness of the night, lost in thought, while I sip my beer. Tonight, is one of those times when I’m feeling philosophic and pondering the meaning of life. I tip the bottle back and swallow another ice-cold gulp of Sam Adams. Maybe someday I’ll have a wife and we’ll be sitting here together watching our kids play ball. I can’t imagine myself settling down with anyone other than Kenna, though, and since that’s not going to happen, I’ll have to enjoy the fruits of my labor all by myself.
Why can’t I stop thinking of her? I’ve tried so hard to keep my distance from her. Every time we’re within five feet of each other the space between us is fraught with sexual tension. It’s been that way since the day I met her.
I sip on my beer and allow myself to indulge the memories I try so hard to keep at bay.
Six years ago
She’s only nineteen. I must keep reminding myself this while I watch Kenna splashing around the pool with her friends. She’s wearing a tiny red bikini and it’s all I can do not to throw her over my shoulder, take her home with me and bury my cock in her until she can’t take anymore. I’d give anything to be able to make that fantasy a reality, but it’s never going to happen. She changes every time I see her, growing more and more striking. It’s difficult for me to suppress my X-rated thoughts of her and treat her with the indifference I should. She’s my best friend’s little sister and no matter what I want (or fantasize about), we can never be more than friends.
When Kyle invited me over for the cookout, I didn’t realize Kenna and her friends would be here. I gulp back the remainder of my beer and walk across the deck, grabbing a fresh one from the cooler. I throw the empty one in the ever-growing recycling bin and pop the top with the opener Kyle set out on the table. My eyes search for her, but she’s not in the pool anymore. She’s drying off with a large green beach towel. There’s some young punk standing next to her and they’re engaged in conversation. The lyrical sound of her