Coin-Operated Machines by Alan Spencer Read Free Book Online Page A

a lake of tar black oil stinking of death.  Human bones floated on the surface belonging to hundreds of bodies.  Absorbing the macabre scene, Mike's car was sinking fast.  Steam obscured the windshield.  Everything was so hot so fast, the glass burst, the pieces slicing him up mercilessly. 
    Picking glass shards out of his eyes with his free hand, the steaming, boiling, popping oil filled up the car, sloshing in from all the windows.  He was scorched alive, the skin melting fro m his bones instantaneously.
    The last thing Mike processed was the sound of many voices talking or shouting over one another.  As they were speaking, he too became one of the voices among the dead. 

 
     
     
     
    NEW PLANS MADE
     
     
    Carlos Miloh was blowing grass clippings across the parking lot when Brock crossed paths with him.  The super was wearing a white shirt underneath a checkered yellow and black flannel shirt that clung to his sweaty body.  Carlos took a break, turning off the blower, and intercepted Brock before he could make it to the staircase. 
    “Busy m an, eh?  Too busy to enjoy your vacation?"
    Brock shrugged his sh oulders.  “I’m visiting my sister in Virginia.  I haven’t seen her in two years.”
    “I have sisters in Mexico, down the Tijuana way, but they have no green card.  They speak English as good as they can work a chainsaw.  Being a Mexican, you have to be able to work every tool in the shed, or else it's the unemployment line for you."
    Carlos had known him for two years, and the man had the uncanny ability to read people.  He surveyed Brock's face and withdrew the truth from him.  “This isn’t a fun visit, I take it."  He pressed his fingers at each end of his lips.  "You're not smiling.”
    “I’ll say one thing, and I’ll leave it at that.”
    “Sure, señor."
    “I don’t think my sister's curbed her drug habit.  She's looking to big brother for help.  I’m ready to do what it takes to save her from herself.  It's a big challenge.  I'm not stepping out of her life ever again.  I want her to be healthy."
    “You mean that, don’t you?”  Carlos leaned down to turn on the blower again, but first said, “I’ll keep an eye on your place.  Good luck, friend.  Family is all you got."
     
    Brock's favorite support group didn’t meet for bingo until six-thirty, so that left Brock some time to himself.  He packed light for the trip.  Brock had no timeframe for how long he’d be staying.  He hoped the place Angel was lodging had a washer and dryer he could use if the stay dragged out. 
    He sipped his iced tea while he stood on his apartment veranda.  Brock thought about Angel.  The letter was a rouse to get him to visit her, bring money, and then she would run off again.  She would probably find another guy who enjoyed her enough between the sheets to put up with her, and then when it got old, he'd kick her the hell to the curb.  Or there could be that one guy out there who dusted her off, gave her a sense of home and normalcy, but then she’d ruin that good thing by stealing one too many twenty dollar bills from the guy’s wallet or hawking the wrong watch or keepsake, and on and on she’d go in the same spiraling cycle of self-ruining.
    At least she’s not in prison or dead.  You’re taking her back home with you, and that’s final.  I ’ll sleep on the fold-out bed.  I’m not letting her go back to a shitty life, not after everything I’ve seen her go through.
    Brock felt determined again.  When he marched back inside the apartment to attempt another written entry in his memoir for an audience of one, his cell phone rang.  He quickly answered.  It was Hannah.
    “If it isn’t M rs. Hollywood herself.  Do you have time to remember your roots?  Did you speed dial on me on accident?  If so, I’ll let you off easy this time and hang up now.”
    “Stop i t, Brock.  You’re being silly.  Look, I've accomplished all of my contract shit.  Next