Free 5 Bad Moon by Anthony Bruno

cross.
    “You gonna talk to him, huh? You think it’s easy handling Donnie. You wait. You’ll see.” Charles stopped in front of a dented metal door. The apartment numbers were gone, but the outline from the last paint job was still visible. 5L.
    Charles unlocked the door and opened it a few inches. He put his mouth to the crack. “Donnie. Donnie. It’s me, Charles. I’m home.” He looked back at Sal. “Gotta let him know I’m here. He starts screaming if you sneaks up on him.”
    Sal could see that the lights were on inside.
    “I’m home, Donnie. It’s me … ”
    Charles opened the door all the way, and they both saw it together.
    “What the—”
    “Shit!”
    Sal had to squint against the glare. It looked like every light in the apartment was on, and the shades were missing from all the lamps. The living room walls were covered, baseboard to ceiling, with pictures cut out of magazines and newspapers, all pictures of women. Crotch-shot pinups from raunchy nudie magazines. Housewives from Betty Crocker cake-mix ads. The Breck girl. A cute telephone operator with headphones on. Madonna. Mrs. Gorbachev. Leona Helmsley. Dr. Ruth. They were pinned up with all kinds of things—straight pins, safety pins, nails, forks, knives, the handle end of spoons, a corkscrew, wooden matches, pencils, pens, screwdrivers, anything that would go through the plaster walls—and each picture was pinned four times, through the forehead, the belly, and each shoulder. A Playboy Pet of the Month had an open pair of scissors piercing both her shoulders. An unwound coat hanger was sproinging out of the Pump-It-Up Girl’s belly button in a newspaper ad for Knickerbocker Spas. An aluminum turkey baster was embedded in the forehead of the vice president’s wife.
    Donald Emerick was squatting in a corner of the room, his shirt off, staring at them like a kitten, total innocence. His skin was so white it was less than white, and he was so skinny his chest looked like it was caving in. His light brown hair was all mussed on top. A gooney smile crept around his face, but his eyes stayed dull and ignorant. He started nodding his head and his hair flopped around like a rooster’s comb. “God is happy,” he whispered.
    “Goddammit, Donnie. I’m gonna break your muthafuckin’ head for this.”
    Charles rushed the little guy, but Sal reached out and grabbed a fistful of jacket. “Leave him alone. Lemme talk to him.”
    Charles shrugged his shoulder away and huffed. “Muthafuckin’ little geek.” He wanted a piece of the kid, but he wasn’t gonna get it. Sal didn’t want him messed up.
    “Go get his pill,” Sal said. “Go ’head.”
    “I’ll get him a fucking cyanide pill.” Charles grumbled as he went into the kitchen.
    After Charles left the room, Sal looked the little fruitcake in the eye. “You remember me, Donnie?”
    The kitten eyes just stared back at him.
    “You don’t remember me? Sal? From the hospital? We took a ride together last week. You remember? We were in that basement and you were on the couch watching TV?”
    Sal took a step forward, and out of the blue the nut case freaked. He jumped up on the couch and started screaming like a broad. “Get away, get away! You’re bad! You want to kill me!”
    “No, Donnie. No.” Sal held his palms up to show he wasn’t up to anything, but he kept inching toward the guy. “I don’t wanna kill you. I’m your friend, Donnie. I’m not gonna hurt you.”
    “Get away! Get away!” he screamed. Emerick started to press up against the back wall, but there was too much junk sticking out of it.
    “Stop yelling, Donnie. C’mon, it’s too late for this. People are trying to sleep.” Sal moved closer. He figured he’d get the little nut around the neck and pin him to the couch. Hold him down so he could talk to him. “C’mere, Donnie. I wanna talk to you.”
    Sal reached out to grab Emerick by the hair, but the nut suddenly bounced on the cushion and kicked Sal’s