by Gavin Green
***
Present
Sharp hazel eyes, shaded by straight, wheat-colored hair scanned the vast array of canned goods down aisle nine of the huge grocery store. 'Blue hell, look at these prices', thought Simon to himself. He no longer had the money to throw at fancy labels, which was all this store seemed to sell, but his welcome was worn at the cheaper shops closer to home. Simon grimaced inwardly at his current predicament, and he saw no light at the end of his tunnel.
Simon's blacksmith shop, the Rike Smithy, was in a slow but steady decline. Advertising was of little help, with fewer and fewer customers visiting his shop for quality wares. He'd gradually expanded his trade from farrier work and tools to include garden supplies, knives and axes, even pots and pans. Most of Simon's business came from phone or internet sales, which actually suited him fine. Simon Rike was never what most would call sociable; several would say the opposite. He wasn't fond of many, and some returned the favor, either immediately or eventually.
But for some reason, anyone who met Simon since he 'came back' took an unwavering dislike to him, most of the time without him earning their ire beforehand. Not that folks wouldn't sometimes take a dislike to him once they got to know him, but in the 'new world', as he called it, it seemed that Simon was wearing a hate-me sign on his back.
"Hey asshole, you're blocking the aisle." The irritated voice from behind Simon interrupted his sour musings. 'Shit, here we go again', he thought as he turned. The angry shopper was nondescript, in his forties and going grey, average height and build. The man's wife was on the pretty side of plain, but time was not her friend. The only noticeable features were their matching scowls, as if Simon had just pissed on their supper.
There seemed to be enough space for their cart to go around, so Simon returned their scowls. "Look here, fella," he shot back, "If your wife's fat ass is too big to get around me, then that's your problem. Now if you're on the shoot just 'cause you got a bug in your britches, then you just woke up the wrong dog."
While the wife's face went from disgust to shock, the husband came around his cart and forward aggressively. While Simon was slim, he was well-defined from his work. He also had about four inches on the man with the reddening face who approached.
Simon expected more useless words and spewing of threats, but was surprised when the man shoved him without any verbal foreplay. He took one step back as his opponent took another step forward and slowly brought fists to bear. Lightning-quick, Simon's left fist caught the man on the jaw, sending him reeling back into his own cart and falling to the shiny linoleum floor. As the cart spun away from the impact, the wife screamed.
A new hand from behind Simon grabbed the wool collar of his denim jacket. He spun to dislodge the hand and deftly avoided the wild fist of a younger man, whose attire marked him as one of the store employees. Simon whipped a snake-like right jab to the youngster's nose, followed by a left hook to his stomach. As the young man grunted and stumbled to his knees, Simon bowed his head, shook it in anger, and then turned to walk to the front of the store. He paused at the wife, who knelt over her groaning husband. She looked up at him with naked hatred.
With a stern glare, Simon looked down into her dark eyes. "Ya know, ma'am, if you was use that big mouth for a better purpose, maybe your husband wouldn't be so damned pissy." Without waiting for a reaction, he resumed his walk, letting her curses bounce off his back.
Groceries left behind, Simon stepped outside into a cold November breeze to wait for the Denver police to show up. He sat on the curb, rolling a quirley while the store manager in the doorway yelled at him. Ignoring the man, Simon lit his smoke and let out a long nicotine sigh.
It had almost become a routine for Simon, getting into fights, so he knew what to expect. He had quickly come to find out that most places had video cameras, so the law couldn't hold him for too long when the evidence showed that he normally didn't start the altercation.
This was why Simon had to keep looking for new places to shop; it was an eventuality. The only silver lining was that his pugilism skills were in fine form. The locations varied, but the results never did. Taverns, grocery stores, barber shops, gas stations, restaurants, libraries, even the last couple of hookers he tried to pick up - all ended poorly, if not violently.
That was one of the bad things about this new world… Whores were illegal? What had this country come to while he was gone?
