Enrico Salvatore Rizzo [Ratso!] (![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} i_walkhere) wrote in ![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/community.gif){kind=small} we_coexist,@ 2009-10-01 23:56:00 |
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Ratso didn't open his eyes until the bus came to a stop. He felt like shit. Felt like shit and smelled like piss. But that was mostly because he'd made an unscheduled rest stop about three hours ago before he hit the Florida state line. Joe had been a pal, a real pal, and gotten him a change of clothes so he wouldn't look like the homeless cripple that just pissed all over his bus seat. Even though that was the goddamn truth. The bus stopped with a lurching motion that jerked Ratso out of his sleep. Boy, what a sleep. A deep sleep if ever there was one. He was sleeping so hard he thought he might have been fuckin' dead. But he wasn't dead. He wasn't dead and he didn't feel as bad as he had back at the "rest stop." He still felt like shit, like his bowels might erupt at any minute, like his teeth might fall out, like his brains might start leaking through his eyeballs -- but he thought he might be able to walk. Fuck yeah, he might be able to walk!
He made a snorting snicker which was immediately followed by a violent hacking cough.
"Ha, ha! Hey, Joe! We in Florida now, Joe? Musta fuckin' missed. Musta. Slept like I was fuckin' dead, Joe. Betcha thought I was dead, huh? Ain't that right, Joe? ... Joe?"
Ratso glanced beside him at the empty seat.
"Hey, where'd ya go, Joe?"
It was then that he realized the entire bus was empty. There wasn't even a driver! Well, hell if he was going to pay for this trip. What kind of bullshit was this anyway? What was this Trick the Cripple day? Leaving a poor guy to fend for himself on an empty bus in a new state, a new town. And him not even having practiced his Spanish. Comprende? It wasn't funny. Hell no, it wasn't funny! They must be waiting outside. That's it. Everyone's waiting outside for you, Rico. It's a celebration! A bash! In your honor. Congratulations, man! You made it to Florida. With the coconut trees and the ladies. You've hit the jackpot, you have. Bingo!
Ratso spread his lips in a wide, crooked smile. His rotten teeth grinning as far as his skin would allow. Gotta get up. Gotta find Joe. Gotta get some orange juice. Florida orange juice. He grabbed onto the back of the seat in front of him and pulled himself up to a standing position. He could stand. He could stand. His legs were working! Working better than this morning, that was for sure.
"Told ya this fuckin' weather was good for the health, Joe. I'm feeling better already! It's this goddamn miracle air, I tell ya."
That's why everyone in Florida looked like some sort of adonis. Florida air.
He limped down the aisle of the bus, grabbing onto seat backs to keep his balance, until he reached the front where the empty driver's seat was. He glanced suspiciously from side to side and then broke open the money box, shoving all the fare coins and bills into his pockets. What? The driver wasn't around to use it. It was just going to waste. It wouldn't go to waste in Rico Rizzo's grubby, grimy little fingers. Besides, he was only following Law #1 on the streets: Finders keepers.
He sort of limp-stumbled off the bus and onto the sidewalk. His eyes winced at the glare from the sunlight. Palm trees and ocean paradise, here comes R-- He blinked and stared at the sign in front of him.
Welcome to The City, Ratso.
Well, now, if that wasn't the damnedest th--
"It's Rico, goddamnit. Rico Rizzo. I ain't Ratso! M'name's Rico!"
He kicked the sign with his bum leg and pulled a cigarette from behind his ear.
"Fuckin' city can't even get it right."