Free A Christmas Carl by Ryan Field Page B

live through this once. I don’t want to do it again. I just want to go home
     
now. I can’t take much more.”
     
The Ghost turned toward Carl and lifted the glove. “It’s time to leave anyway.”
     
Chapter Seven
     
“What are we doing here?” Carl asked. The Ghost was standing beside him. They
     
were in the lobby of a low-rent high rise apartment building, but Carl wasn’t sure exactly
     
where. The walls were gray cinderblock, the floors had gray tiles, and the elevator doors
     
were dark brown. Carl took a deep breath and rubbed his jaw. This looked like one of
     
those buildings in places he saw on the six o’clock news, where people shot each other
     
without thinking twice and gangs ruled the streets. Carl knew what it was like to be poor.
     
He’d been the child of a single mother who’d worked as a housekeeper. But he’d never
     
known this kind of poverty.
     
Two teenage boys loped past them. Their shoulders rocked and their heads went
     
back and tipped to the side. Their jeans were so baggy and hung so low on their waists
     
their boxer shorts were showing. One was taller than the other. The tall one had an
     
earring in his nose and the shorter one had large diamond studs in both ears.
     
The taller one banged into the shorter one with his elbow and said, “I’ll whip your
     
fucking pussy ass today, man.”
     
The shorter guy was carrying a basketball. “The fuck you will, man. I’ll fuck you
     
up.” He bounced the ball on the gray floor a few times. The cracks and snaps echoed
     
through the hollow hallway. Then he lifted his arms as if he were about to toss it through
     
an invisible basketball hoop. When he lifted his arms, Carl noticed a small handgun
     
hanging halfway out of his back pocket. Carl stared at the Ghost and shook his index finger. “You’d better have a good
     
reason for bringing me to a place like this. I’m a well respected man in my profession and
     
I don’t go near places like this. And frankly, I resent you subjecting me to this.” He
     
couldn’t understand how he could possibly be associated with anyone in this building.
     
The Ghost touched Carl’s shoulder. A second later, they were standing inside the
     
living room of a small apartment, with white walls that were turning brown at the edges.
     
In one corner of the room there were seven old televisions stacked together. They were
     
all different sizes, and covered with so much dust you could write your name on the
     
screens. Above the stack of old televisions, there was a long, cloudy window with
     
Christmas balls attached to faded red ribbons. The ribbons had been fastened to the
     
window with masking tape. One of the Christmas balls was cracked in half; another was
     
coming loose from the ribbon and ready to fall to the floor. The entire room smelled of
     
stale beer and cigarettes and there were huge piles of magazines and newspapers
     
everywhere.
     
On the other side of the room, an overweight man was watching television in his
     
undershirt and boxer shorts. He hadn’t shaved his round face in a few days, salt-and
     
pepper stubble popped from his double chin, and his white undershirt was faded and
     
stained. He crushed a cigarette in a plastic ashtray overflowing with butts and coughed
     
without covering his mouth. He cleared his throat and swallowed back. Then he lifted a
     
can of beer from the coffee table and took a long, hard gulp. He crushed the can in his
     
palm and tossed it toward a trash can next to the sofa. It was already filled with so many
     
other crushed beer cans it hit the top and bounced to the floor with a soft clink. The large man looked down at the olive green rug and shrugged his shoulders, then rubbed his
     
stomach and belched so loud his lips vibrated.
     
A middle-aged woman stepped out of a small kitchen and frowned. “That was real
     
nice, Bucky. You’re a real class act, you are. I can’t wait to hear the grand