“I love you too, baby. Don’t forget to grab the keys before you go outside.”
The apartment they’ve lived in for two years is on the third floor of a building located in the city’s art district. Because it’s an apartment, there’s no smoking inside, which Dave usually abides by. The heavy door to their apartment, and all the others in the building, are set to automatically lock when they close. And, from their apartment, it’s just a short walk to the back exit which leads to the fire escape. Dave keeps a shitty plastic chair, an ashtray, and a cement cinderblock for a makeshift table, behind the door and out of the way outside.
“Got ’em,” he replies shaking the small ring of keys at Pam before heading to the door. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
“I should be ready for bed when you come back,” Pam says, taking another sip of her drink.
“Cool,” Dave says, blowing her a kiss and stepping into the hallway.
As soon as Dave steps outside onto the narrow, fire escape landing, he hears more sirens in the distance, all coming from the north, near the campus. He can also hear the traffic noise from the street below. Because he’s at the rear of the building, a lot of the noise is usually filtered out by the structure itself. Dave’s gotten used to the college crowd revving the engines to their motorcycles as they sit at a traffic light, and groups of wandering drunk girls screaming at each other from the corners. But, tonight’s sounds are filled with more horn honking and tire screeching than usual. Enjoying his last smoke of the day, he decides it’s not all that different from most game weekend nights until he sees a helicopter circling in the air to the north.
“Fucking college kids,” he says. Exhaling the smoke through his nose, Dave crushes out his cigarette in the overflowing ashtray and heads back inside.
CHAPTER THREE
“Do you want some coffee?” Dave asks, lying awake in their bed at four forty-five in the morning.
“That would be awesome,” Pam says groggily as she rubs her eyes.
“I don’t suppose you feel like making it?”
“You’re the one that offered, dick!”
“It wasn’t technically an offer,” he replies. Swinging his legs out of bed, he scratches his stomach before rubbing his face with both hands. “Technically, I was just checking to see if you wanted some, but that’s cool. I’ve got it.”
“Thank you, baby,” Pam says, reaching for the lamp on her nightstand. “Lights,” she warns before switching it on.
“Fuck!” Dave says, squinting through slits and shielding his eyes.
“Do you want me to help you with the coffee?” Pam asks. They both know she doesn’t really mean it and she’s only asking as a gentle way of reminding Dave to go make the fucking coffee.
“I said I’ve got it,” he mutters, stepping into his pajama pants and pulling them up to his waist.
“Did the sirens keep you up all night too?” Pam asks, shouting her question from their bedroom.
“No shit! I think I heard the last one about two-thirty,” he replies.
“Huh? I can’t hear you!” she shouts back.
“I said, if you want to talk to me, then come out here,” he says, shouting it loud enough for her to hear.
“I’ll wait,” she answers cheerfully.
“Yeah. That’s what I thought,” Dave mutters as he starts making coffee. Eight minutes later, he’s delivering a steaming cup of strong coffee, with a spoonful of sugar and a splash of cream, to her nightstand. “Here, you bloodsucker,” he says.
“I said I would help,” Pam replies innocently, looking up from her Kindle.
“Not really. I’m going to the grocery store after this cup,” he says, blowing her a kiss before heading to the door with his own mug.
“I’ll be ready,” she says, throwing the covers back in disgust.
“You don’t have to go.”
“Yeah. But you won’t get any of the right stuff at the store,” Pam tells him.
“Either way, I’m not going until I finish this,” Dave says, lifting the mug to his lips.
“Whatever,” Pam replies, shuffling into the bathroom connected to their bedroom and closing the door.
“Seriously,” he says, walking over to lean on the doorframe. “You don’t have to go if you don’t want to.”
“I’m up now,” Pam shouts over the sound of her peeing.
“Suit yourself,” Dave says to the door as he hears the toilet flush.
Ten minutes later, they’re both dressed, teeth brushed and stepping into the hallway of their apartment building.
“Have you got the keys?” Pam asks with Dave standing in the doorway.
“Yes,” he says automatically as he looks down at his empty hands. “Shit. Wait. I do now,” he tells her after disappearing back into the apartment.
“That was close,” she tells him as Dave closes the door. They’d only locked themselves out of their apartment one time since moving in. That time, it took Dave all of five minutes to slide open one of the two low, guestroom windows that faced onto the fire escape. He put wooden dowels in both the next day, making it impossible for anyone else to perform his breaking and entering trick, without having to bust the glass to get in. On the other hand, he had locked himself out countless times going out for a smoke. On most of those occasions, he’d called Pam on her cell phone and pleaded with her to unlock the door and let him in.
“Nah,” Dave replies, feeling his pocket for his smokes. “Damn it!” he says, ratting the key into the lock and disappearing back into the apartment.
“Seriously,” Pam says from the hallway.
“I’m ready,” he tells her, closing the door with his keys in one hand and his smokes and lighter in the other.
“Are you sure?’ Pam asks.
“Yes!”
“Do you have your wallet?”
“Yes,” he spontaneously replies before slapping his back pocket to check.
“Do you?” she asks.
“Yes,” Dave says, pushing past her and out onto the fire escape.
The parking lot for their apartment building, and the other two buildings next to theirs, is located behind their building. So, while their building has a front door facing the main street, it’s always more convenient to enter and exit the building from the fire escape that leads directly down to the cars. The three buildings all have shops, restaurants or bars that occupy the first floors, with the apartments making up the second and third floors. Theirs is the smallest of the three buildings, only having a total of four apartments on each of the upper floors. Dave and Pam chose the spacious, two-bedroom apartment on the third floor to avoid any possible neighbor-noise from people living above them.
Dave navigates the narrow metal stairs with Pam following behind him. They make the turn onto the second floor and head back the other direction along a catwalk. Then, around the corner of the building to get to the next set of stairs that lead to the parking lot.
“Wow,” Dave says when the lot comes into view. There are a dozen or so cars parked there, but well over half the spaces are empty.
“The parking lot’s a little light this morning,” Pam says as they start down the stairs.
“No kidding. I thought it might be kind of empty this morning, what with the game and all. But I wasn’t expecting it to be empty!”
“It’s not empty,” Pam says. “I’m sure people are just starting their tailgating parties early.”
“It’s like, five o’clock in the fucking morning,” Dave replies, glancing at his wristwatch before remotely unlocking their vehicle from the top of the stairs.
“Maybe they started yesterday?” Pam says as they descend the sixteen steps to the lot and head for their car.
They drive one of those, not-an-SUV, SUVs. Basically, just a small sport utility vehicle shell, mounted on a regular car chassis. The kind anyone who knows anything about off-roading would never dream of taking off road.
“Shit,” Dave sighs after getting in and closing hi
s door.
“What?”
“Did you grab your phone?” he asks.
“Don’t you have yours?”
“What do you think?”
“I left mine on the table because I thought you had yours!” Pam replies.
“I’ll run back up and get one,” Dave says, opening his door.
“Just leave them,” Pam disagrees, setting her hand on his arm before he can get out. “It’s not like we need one or anything. We’re just going to the store. But you do have your wallet, right?”
“Of course,” he answers, involuntarily feeling for it in his back pocket again.
“Are you sure?” Pam asks with a grin.
“Bite me,” he says with a chuckle, shutting his door and checking again before starting the car. “I thought there’d be more traffic,” he says after a few blocks.
“It is only a few minutes after five.”
“Yeah. I guess I just figured with all the partying and sirens from last night, there’d be more people in town or something.”
“Like I said, it’s still dark out,” Pam says, right before she’s thrown toward the dash of the car, her seatbelt holding her back as Dave slams on the breaks and crushes the horn.
“You bitch!” he yells.
“What the fuck?” Pam asks, glaring at Dave.
“It wasn’t me! It was her,” he says, pointing at the car that suddenly appeared in front of them. “She totally blew the light and just cut me off! Asshole!” he yells, slamming on the horn again.
“Stop tailgating her!”
“I’m not!”
“I’m just saying, you’re pretty fucking close!”
“I know she’s close, I damn near hit her,” he replies, as the young woman driving the Lexus gives an obligatory wave behind her to them. The kind of wave that says sorry, but not really, so fuck you.
“I said you’re too close.”
“What do you want me to do, stop? She cuts us off and then does,” Dave says, pausing to glance at his speedometer. “Twenty-four miles an hour. Oh! Are you fucking kidding me?” he shouts as the blonde signals to turn into the same mega-mart parking lot they’re headed to.
“Do not park next to her,” Pam says.
“Oh, hell no! She’d probably get out, swing her car door into ours and then just drive off,” he says, parking two aisles over from the young woman.
Looking in her mirror, Pam sees the woman’s taillights flash before her door opens and she slides from her car. Pam feels an instant dislike for the woman. Thin and in her late twenties, her long straight hair pulled through the back of her ballcap into a ponytail. She’s wearing one of those neon colored jogging suits that’s made with an excessive amount of spandex to show off the ass she’s obviously spent hours in the gym to sculpt. Pam looks down at her early-fifties body, clad in jeans, a hoodie and Chuck Taylors and then back into the mirror as Dave quickly shuts off the car, pops his seatbelt and opens his door.
“Hey!” he shouts to the young woman as he stands in his open door.
“Dave! Don’t!” Pam shouts at him as she scrambles to unfasten her belt.
“What?’ he asks, looking into the car.
“Just let it go,” Pam replies. Freeing herself from the seatbelt and opening her own door.
“But she drives like shit!” Dave replies.
He’s speaking to Pam but aiming the comment at the young woman walking away from her car and making sure he’s loud enough for her to hear. The woman stops and turns his direction and makes eye contact with Dave. Frowning, she turns to her car and thumbs the button on her remote. The car’s alarm whoops twice and the headlights flash, indicating it now has all the security afforded Fort Knox.
“What the fuck?” Dave says after the woman looks at him one more time before turning toward the grocery store. “Did you see that shit?” he asks Pam.
“Just let it go,” she says, closing her car door.
“Some people’s fucking kids,” he mutters, shaking his head as he checks his pockets for the keys before closing his car door. Finding them absent, he leans in and sees them still in the ignition. He leans in to grab them at the same time he hears the woman scream. While he can’t see her, he knows it must be her, because she and Pam are the only other people in the parking lot and he can still see Pam through the passenger window. He quickly stands and looks over the top of the car to see the woman on the ground with a large, shaggy-looking dog jerking and shaking her left leg from the grip its jaws have on her calf. Pam starts to head for the woman when Dave’s mind snaps into action.
“Pam! Wait!” he shouts. “Get in the car and call 911.” Leaning back into the car, he pops up the center-console armrest and snatches the collapsible baton from the deep storage compartment below it. Jerking off the nylon case, he tosses it onto the seat and flicks his wrist to extend the club. Glancing down, he wishes it was longer and possibly fired bullets.
“I don’t have my phone!” Pam reminds him.
“Then just get in the fucking car!” he shouts, forcing his fifty-four-year-old, out of shape and more than a few pounds overweight body into a sprint toward the downed woman. Pam moves around the front of the car to stand at the open driver’s side door for a better view.
“Be careful!” she shouts.
“Just get in the fucking car!” he repeats over his shoulder.
Dave can hear the dog growling over the woman’s screams as he gets closer. “Get out of here!” he yells at the dog, doing his best to sound menacing and lifting his arms to look large and intimidating. He hopes that’s all he needs to do is scare the dog off. Just be loud and big, but this dog is pretty good sized and it’s ignoring Dave’s shouts. It hadn’t looked as big from his car, but as he runs up, he sees the dog looks like it’s pushing a solid fifty pounds. It doesn’t sound like much, but Dave knows fifty pounds of jaw-snapping muscle and claws can seriously fuck him up if he’s not careful.
He hears Pam start their car and glances over to see the reverse lights flare on. He can’t help wondering if she plans to help by threatening to run them over with the car.
The dog shakes its head again, trying to tear a chunk of meat free from the screaming woman’s leg. Thick strings of the dog’s saliva, turned pink from the woman’s blood, fly from its mouth as it jerks its maw from side to side. The sight makes Dave rethink the car option as he raises the baton and hesitates, noticing for the first time the dog’s fur is a mosaic of matted hair. Like the snarling beast has been rolling in molasses, or something equally dark and sticky. Mucousy looking tears flow from its eyes in glistening rivulets. They get lost as they mingle with the foam dripping from the dog’s jaws and then are flung off in sticky ribbons as the beast thrashes.
The woman screams again as Pam’s headlights spill across Dave’s back, the sudden change jolting him into action. He brings the baton down across the dog’s ribs as he releases a guttural yell. The dog doesn’t act like it even felt the blow, and doesn’t react, other than adjusting its weight on its back paws. Dave rears back again, this time aiming for the neck. He doesn’t want to kill the damn thing, just make it let go. The woman screams again, a second before he brings the club down across the dog’s neck, certain it’ll release its hold and run off. The dog yelps through a muzzle full of leg but still refuses to let go. Dave raises the steel baton again, preparing to crack the fucking thing in the skull.
The hellhound must have sensed the blow coming because a microsecond before Dave’s swing connects, it releases its hold and darts back. Unable to pull his swing in time, Dave hits the woman across her freshly chewed leg with his club, causing her to shriek again. Dave jerks back, seeing the dog hasn’t made a break for it. Instead, it’s focused its attention on him. The beast stands there, head lowered, and front paws spread for attack. Its haunches are tucked and coiled, ready to lunge forward and then claw backward once its jaws have sunk into Dave’s flesh.
“Fuck you!” Dave shouts, jerking the baton over his shoulder and wi
shing he’d held his ground with Pam about getting his conceal/carry permit. Dave doesn’t have anything against guns. The truth is, he actually has a tremendous respect for them. He believes in tougher gun restrictions and registration. But he doesn’t think the average citizen needs an assault rifle, or semi-automatic, ever. Pam’s the one with the real issue with guns. So, when Dave brought up the idea of getting his permit so he could carry a firearm, and Pam basically lost her shit, he let it go. After all, it’s not like he ever found himself in a situation where he needed a gun, at least not until now. The dog releases a low growl and begins edging its way to the left, never taking its eyes from Dave.
“Oh! Fuck you!” Dave shouts when he realizes the thing’s trying to get into a better position for attack. At this point, he’s totally on board with hitting it with the car, and possibly backing over it a few times. He swings the baton again and the dog lunges away, avoiding the blow intended for its skull and spins around, jaws snapping and spraying more pink threads. Dave swings back around, hard. He’s fueled by adrenaline from the anger and panic of knowing the fucking thing is trying to eat him. Pam honks the horn as she shifts into drive, distracting the dog a second before Dave cracks it across the skull with the steel bar. The dog’s legs buckle and scramble for purchase as its head bounces off the pavement. Its paws twitch for a half-second as its overheated brain tries to regain control before it rolls to its feet as Pam’s headlights bear down in it.
“Yeah!” Dave cheers after stepping to the side to give Pam a better angle. “Smash the fucker!” he yells just as the dog slips from Pam’s crosshairs and runs off into the dark.
“What the fuck?” Pam shouts from the open car window as she crushes the brakes and slams the car into park before throwing open her door. “Did you see that shit?” she asks, looking over the hood in the direction the dog disappeared.
“Help me, please,” the woman on the ground moans, getting both of their attention.
“Shit!” Pam says, seeing the amount of blood for the first time as she kneels by the woman she’d instantly disliked less than five minutes ago. “Give me your shirt!” she tells Dave.
The F*cked Series (Book 1): Uppercase Page 2
