CHAPTER 3: THE PHONE CALL
Chester doesn’t answer my phone call, but answers my text in four seconds. Go figure. After a brief back and forth he calls back. I don’t give away any details through my messages because the Mafia can wiretap your phone and see everything. That’s not really the reason; the timing for those events to actually happen doesn’t make sense at this point. I honestly just don’t know want to say. ‘Hey Chester, by the way, I ran into some Mafia guys and now I’m transporting at least five kilograms of coke. One of them is my boss and I’m scared out of my mind!’
“Ellis D, what’s up bro? Sorry, had to call – playing COD and can’t be textin’. I’m getting schooled by twelve year olds. These little rat-fucks have some dirty fucking mouths,” Chester says as soon as I pick up.
“Sorry? Dude, I just called you and you didn’t answer! Anyway, some shit went down; can’t talk about it over the phone, but we need to get together. Where’s Taylor?”
“I’m in my room,”* Chester says. (Now, first off I don’t know why he always calls it his room, since if we’re getting technical, it is my room as well.) “Tay’s here too. I just handed him the controller and I’m watching him DESTROY! Kid is unstoppable right now. NO, YOUR mom sucks cocks in hell! Sorry, I hate these little kids. So what happened?”
I hear people screaming insults through the TV and what sounds like a Rambo movie playing, but only the good parts. I can envision Chester with his chunky face reddened from each volley of profanities, but they go unnoticed by those on the other side of the connection because Chester’s been too cheap to buy a decent microphone for his PS4 after the one it came with broke.* (Chester’s Christmas gift has just been identified; that is, if I live that long.)
“I just said I can’t talk about it over the phone, idiot. This is serious though. Turn the game off and meet me at Barnes and Noble.”
“Turn what? Tay’ is straight dominating this round. He just got a nine killstreak. We gotta see it through. NO, how about YOU die slow! You Kindergarten piece of shit!” Chester’s not so good at comebacks. He usually repeats what the original insult is and adds some stereotypical or racial slur. It’s just who he is.
“This is serious. Like serious, serious. I’m serious!”
“Seriously?” Chester chuckles. “Oh shit snacks! T just got slit in the jug!”
Chester is charming in his own strange, odd little way. Sometimes without provocation he’ll abbreviate words he never did before and it takes me a few seconds to realize what the hell he’s saying. By my calculations, Taylor got stabbed in his jugular.
“Alright, we’ll head over to the Kentucky Fry. This better be good since you’re making me put on socks.”
“I said the Barnes and Noble, man.”
“That don’t work for me; there’s nothing I need there. But I could totally go for one of those dub’down sandwiches. I ain’t had one in years.”
“Fine. But we have to make it quick. I gotta go back to The Sub Shop after.” I hang up the phone, and with everything on my mind, I feel like I’m forgetting something. It must be important, whatever it is, because it’s giving me that hot sensation in my cheeks and under my arms. I figure if it’s important enough, I’ll remember eventually.