You First: A Joe Goldberg Prequel (You, #0)(111)
Most guys are dicks.
And why did Mother Nature waste these thick eyelashes on Dick? I pull one out. Snick. A first for me, Vail. So many firsts that I can’t keep up. My first murder. My first dead body. It’s an honor, if you think about it. Because of me, there is one less dick in this city. He had his chance. Were I in that freezer, with some brave lone figure standing over me, I mean, hell. Who does coke at a time like that? Who tries crack fucking cocaine when they’re trying to survive? When the love of their life is out there waiting, yearning?
I wish I could write the obituary. Richard Arnold Palmer (no wonder he was an alcoholic) spent his charmed life abusing women, rendering them incapable of love. He pitched several hundred lackluster film projects to several hundred visionless producers. He did not like being rejected. Instead of giving up the nightmare when he realized the dream was never going to come true, he took his frustrations out on women. He was loved, but he did not reciprocate. Richard Arnold Palmer died at the hands of a better man who shall remain nameless, a man who provided “Dick” with time to heal, to own up to his missteps and speak his truth. One might say that Richard Arnold Palmer died of a broken mirror. He could not face himself. And so the glass cracked, shattering his body, which was already ravaged by years of compulsive abuse. In lieu of flowers, his mother requests grandchildren she’ll never fucking have because of a man named…
Is it weird that this whole thing feels kind of cool?
I’m not a sicko. I feel bad for the guy. But how do you watch someone act like life’s no big deal and not kind of prepare for them to die? And come on. It’s a big world. Dick got around. He was popular. He had plenty of chances and he knew so many girls. And it’s me, Vail. I’m the last person who got to see him alive. The only person who watched him die.
I am the tree in the forest.
And it’s normal that I don’t feel guilty. I’m just a kid. He took advantage of me. He took advantage of you. What do they say about men who abuse women and children? They say that’s a sin because we are the ones. We are the world. Dick tried to slaughter us. And what a waste. He used his last moments on this planet to beg for a crack pipe. I was the only real friend he ever had, the one who cared enough about him to call him out, to speak the truth. I know I was wasting my time, but that’s me. I want to believe there’s a good person buried inside every dick. I want to give every Gordie Lachance a chance. Now I think I get it.
Sometimes a dick is just a dick. Gordie is fiction. Dick is real. And the world is hard enough, right? Because of me, there is one less bad dick running around. Because of me, you are free and maybe, just maybe…Well, come on. I killed him for you. It’s romantic. It’s classic. I belong to you now. I bet you feel it too. Change is in the air. He’s gone but I’m still here and maybe in a world without that undomesticated dog…
First things first. I gotta get him outta here. Say what you will about Mr. Mooney, but he’s the kinda guy you can call when you’re in a jam.
“Hello.”
“Hey, Mr. Mooney. It’s me.”
Maybe the only person in my world who knows what it means to be me. “Well, hello. Are you in some sort of trouble, Joseph?”
Yes. “No, but I kinda need to borrow your car.”
“Is this your not-so-subtle way of asking to return to work?”
I don’t know how to answer that, and I hear Martha in the background, Martha making meat loaf. “Tell our boy we miss him!”
Mooney has my back. He doesn’t punish me for leaving him hanging about the whole job thing. I leave Dick in the freezer and schlep out to Long Island. The keys to Mooney’s beige beast are where he said they would be, on the left front tire, and there’s a plastic case of meat loaf on the passenger seat. No mold this time. I am loved.
Driving is not my thing, especially under these circumstances. You’re calling me and Dick is dead and the sun won’t go the fuck down. I pick up. Gotta seem normal. Cool cat.
“Vail, sorry, I’m in the middle of something.”
“Are you with Dick and his perfect ten?”
Dick is dead. There is no such thing as perfect, not when it comes to people. “Nah, he blew me off. I’m gonna catch up with Jeremy.”
“Oh, well, did something happen with the perfect lawyer girlfriend? Why did Dick blow you off?”
The misplaced longing in your voice, the motherfuckers who cut me off. We need a win. “Sounded to me like they were having a fight or going to get hitched, but seriously, Vail, Jeremy’s waiting for me.”
“I’m sorry I was weird with you. Sometimes I just…I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
I know what’s wrong with you, Vail. And I fixed it. “That’s okay. Don’t worry. Plenty of time for us to figure it all out, but right now…”
“You’re a good friend, Cusack.”
Your parting words were just the little boost I needed, Vail, and yes. I am a fucking saint. A lucky saint. The warehouse is still a ghost town. Nobody found Dick in a box. He’s heavy, but I’m strong, and I manage to get him into the back of Mooney’s Buick. And it’s a good thing that some places never get gentrified, as if the city knows the world will always need dark corners like this, places where you can stash a dick in the trunk of your car. No cameras. Not even any vagrants or kids. I’m on the road, bound for the beach—Dick did love the water—and Long Island is pleasing at this hour, when it’s neither winter nor spring nor summer but some mishmash of all three.