by Glenn Rolfe
James was supposed to be here with him this afternoon, but she’d called to tell him she was keeping him for the weekend. His weekend. Garrett’s uppity parents were up from Florida. She wanted them to meet James. Richie could have pressed the issue, should have probably, but crumbled at Samantha’s whim. This was the second weekend she’d stolen James from him this summer. It wasn’t fair. He loathed that line each time it crossed his mind. It’s not fair.
Well it wasn’t. Not to him or to their son. This was the last one she stole from him. He’d promised James they would make the most of their last few weekends before he started at his new school. And there was no way he was backing down. Hell, he had a half a mind to call Samantha now and tell her he was coming to get James. The clock on the cable box told him it was far too late to follow through with that one.
He and James had had many heart-to-hearts about James wanting to come live here. It killed Richie to have to acquiesce to Samantha, but Garrett’s family’s had wealth and connections, making any chance for Richie winning a custody battle a case of little to a cold day in hell. It crushed him to hear the loneliness and confusion in his son’s voice.
Samantha decided it was in James’s best interest to stay under her thumb, rather than Richie’s. She said Richie’s shady employer—Lincoln McGee had a side job selling OxyContin and bath salts—combined with Richie’s loose rules when it came to keeping tabs on their son, made her the more fit parent. While he completely agreed that his boss was a piece of shit, and one that he’d love to turn in to the police, when there was work, the bastard paid well. In the aftermath of his own failed business attempt, Richie kept his mouth shut and toed the company line. There weren’t a lot of jobs in or around Caleb for forty-somethings without a college degree.
He got up and carried a fresh beer to the kitchen. Setting the sweating can on the kitchen counter, he gazed at the Patriots mug Alison had gotten him for his birthday. For whatever reason, Alison truly cared for him, and in their relatively short time together, some nights he even let himself believe it. On nights such as this one, the mug, as small and insignificant as it seemed, served as his proof that he could still be loved. He cracked a smile.
It’s the little things, he thought.
He decided he’d make the call to Samantha first thing in the morning. He was bringing his boy home.
…..
“I’m sorry, Mr. Katz, but you’re out of refills.”
“C’mon…” the strung-out man leaned forward, reading her name tag through glossy, bloodshot eyes. “…Alison. That’s a beautiful name for a beautiful—”
“Save it, Mr. Katz. If you need another refill, you can make an appointment with Dr. Greeves and have him send us another prescription…”
“Fuck,” he said, slamming his fist on the counter. A stack of 5-Hour Energy bottles tumbled over. He swept them to the floor where they landed with a scattered succession of tiny thumps and leaned into the series of holes in the Plexiglas that stood between them. “C’mon, Alison, don’t be such a fucking bitch!”
Jason Betts, Mendy’s on-duty night watchman, approached the sleazy looking punk from behind.
“You’re going to have to leave,” Jason said.
Katz spun around.
Jason placed his palm on the Glock at his hip.
The junkie held up his palms in a show of surrender. “It’s all good, man. I was just leaving’.” Katz glared over his shoulder at Alison before pulling the hood of his black sweatshirt up over his greasy, black curls and made his way out of the store.
“Thanks, Jason,” she said.
“Another punk bites the dust. How come they got you on the overnights anyways?”
“I told them I was available.” She kept the fact that she and Richie needed money to herself. Despite being the most reliable member on Lincoln’s crew, Richie was the low man on the totem pole. The fact that he didn’t party after work with those pill-poppers didn’t help matters.
“Why? A little dangerous, don’t you think?” he said.
“Not as long as I’ve got my bodyguard on duty with me.”
Dimples came to life on his flushed face. Alison would never dream of cheating on Richie, but she liked the playful banter she shared with the ridiculously handsome night watchman. Jason continued to smile as he turned away and ran his hand through his short, dirty blonde curls.
“Yeah, well,” he said, turning back to her.
“Well what?” she said.
“You better watch yourself,” Jason said. “One of these idiots is gonna come in here with a gun. What a dumb idea, having a 24-hour pharmacy. I must be crazy taking this gig.”
“It’s not all that bad,” she said. “I get a lot of parents in here too who need meds for their babies. We just have to put up with the occasional addict trying to score.”
“I’m just sayin.’ It’s only a matter of time before one of them comes in to stir up some serious trouble. You wanna be here when that happens? I’ve seen people get killed for less.”
“Not in this town,” she said.
“Not yet.”
“Are you always so optimistic?”
He laughed and made his way back toward the front of the store.
She would have to take her break soon. Hell, might as well take it now and check in on Richie. He’d been depressed lately. She wished he would take her advice and go see someone. She knew about depression.
Alison was fourteen when her eighteen-year-old boyfriend forced himself upon her. She’d whispered no, but it didn’t work. She accepted it as her fault, right or wrong. At fourteen, she didn’t know any better. Of course, when she hooked up with Paul at twenty, she let him treat her like a punching bag, use her for sex, and take her paychecks as he stayed home and watched TV while smoking pot.
It was over when she came home to find him having sex with his best friend, Robby.
Yeah, she learned a lot about things with that shitty relationship.
Five years and a few assholes later, she met Richie.
Out to get wasted and forget about her latest mistake, she bumped into Richie at the counter at a place called, The Warf. Richie’s cousin Montrose was playing a gig there with his band Bad Reputation. They quickly discovered their shared love of hair metal, ‘80’s flicks, and cheap beer.
They started dating that week. She found out he had a son, that his wife left him for a car salesman, and that his business had tanked. Still, he was such a loving person, she fell head over feet.
“Jason,” she said, ready to switch her thinking.
Her handsome blonde co-worker looked at her.
“I’m heading out for a smoke. Wanna join me?”
He pulled a blue device from his pants pocket. “I vape. It sounds lame, but it’s better than smelling like an ashtray…no offense.”
“Suit yourself.”
As she stepped outside, the humidity clung to her, making her cringe. Ever since she was little, Alison had always sweat like a teenage boy, and she didn’t have a change of clothes. She normally kept a back-up undershirt and spare work smock in the breakroom, but she’d taken them home to clean after Wednesday’s double. She could already feel the wetness under her arms. No one was here to notice, well, except Jason, but it always irritated her. “You have your Grandma Ross’s bad genes,” her mom always said.
Reaching for her cell, Alison held her breath. A shadow moved behind the dumpster at the Burger King directly across the street. She couldn’t be sure, but the shape looked like that of the greasy guy trying to score opioids. Katz. Something Katz. He disappeared too quickly for her to get a good look. The lone light on this side of the street didn’t reach the spot where the trash bin sat isolated in the dark. She figured it was nothing, and even if it was the creep she’d turned away, she’d be inside the store before he could get to the street. She pulled out her phone and pressed the picture of Richie’s face and he picked up after two rings.
“Hello, it’s me…” he crooned.
“You know me all too well. Nah, I’m just having a couple beers, watching the replay of the Pats first preseason game. How’s the nightlife?”
“Oh, you know. There’s always someone looking for a Vicodin fix in the middle of the night.”
“Yeah? Any trouble?”
She wasn’t going to tell him. He worried about her enough on these overnight shifts, but she was feeling a little more creeped out by the ducking shadow across the street than she had wanted to admit.
“Yeah, not trouble exactly. Just some junkie looking to score. Jason handled the situation.”
“Jason’s a good shit. I told him to take care of you.”
Something undulated in the darkness across the street. Goosebumps broke out over her arms. Deciding to head inside rather than wait around to find out if the someone in the shadows was her friend, Mr. Katz, Alison started for the doors.
“Alison? You still there?”
“Yeah, I’m here. I’m just tired. I’m gonna go back inside. My break’s almost over.”
“Inside? What are you crazy? You can’t be going out in the middle of the night at that place. The creeps and weirdos probably crawl all over that parking lot at night. You have to stay–”
She was reaching for the door, phone to her ear, when the shadow crashed into her back, sending her head into the thick, glass door, and knocking the phone from her hand. Pain simultaneously exploded above her right eye, and in the back of her ribs, as she moaned.
“Arggghhh.”
…..
Richie heard Alison’s scream followed by the sound of her phone hitting the ground. He was on his feet and out the door in seconds.
“ALISON? ALISON?” He screamed her name into his phone as he jumped the front steps and ran to his car.
No answer.
“Shit.”
He got into his Grand Am, cranked it to life, and drove across the lawn. His tires squealed as they hit the pavement, tearing through the quiet night. He raced by Caleb’s post office and pool hall still holding the phone to his ear, listening to the scuffling sounds that were audible from the other end of the line. Alison let out another cry that was followed by a loud, Earth–shattering BANG!
A gunshot.
“ALISON!!”
His mind conjured the worst. A thousand images from TV and movies filled his brain: a scruffy man jump out at her, grabbing her by the arms, her phone falling to the black pavement in the Mendy’s parking lot, her scream as the junkie put the gun to her head and pulled the trigger, her brains exploding out of the back of her skull and painting the 12 Packs of Coke for $3.99 sign by the side of the building with gore. He saw her killer running free down the street as she lay there bleeding.
“Richie?” Alison’s voice broke his reverie.
“Alison? Oh thank, Christ. Are you okay? What the hell–”
“It’s all right. I’m all right,” she said.
He took his next right and saw her by the front doors to Mendy’s. He pulled the Grand Am into the nearly vacant parking lot, slammed on the brakes, and put the car in PARK. Sirens split the night as he tossed the phone to his passenger seat, got out of the car, and ran to her. Two of Caleb Police’s finest entered the lot from the opposite direction.
Jason had his knee slammed into the back of the hooded man lying on the blacktop.
“Are you sure you are all right?” Richie wrapped her in his arms.
“I’m gonna be okay,” she said. “I’m just shaken up a bit. Sorry if I scared you.”
“Don’t apologize. I’m sorry I wasn’t here.”
“Like you could have known?’
He’d seen this frustrated look in her eyes before. He knew she hated it when he apologized. Especially for something totally out of his control. She was so great at taking on all his issues and telling him just what he needed to hear, but occasionally, the weight of it all cracked through, dressing her features in a scrunched-up mix of deep sorrow and irritation, and causing her to exhale more emphatically. He’d seen this exhausted look on the parents of drug addicts on the show, Intervention. The last thing he wanted was to wear Alison down to her breaking point. A voice in his head said, it’s coming.
Jason stepped over to them.
“You shouldn’t be too worked up, Rich. Alley Cat here managed to fight this rat off on her own.”
Alley Cat?
“What?” Richie said.
She smiled and nodded.
Jason continued. “I came out, and she had the perp down on his knees.”
“My dad taught me a knee to the balls is always the great equalizer,” Alison said.
“When I got through the door,” Jason said, “she looked ready to kick the shit out of him.”
“I’m a regular Ronda Rousey.”
Jason smiled at her. Alison’s cheeks flushed as she lowered her chin to her chest. Richie noted the quick exchange.
“The perp got a little zesty,” Jason said, “swung one of his scrawny arms at her. That’s when I popped a shot off in the air. That took the rest of the wind out of his sail.”
A young officer, his nametag reading, Scholz, stepped over to them. “Excuse me, gentlemen,” he said before turning his attention to Alison. “Ms. Chapman, I’ll need a word with you in a few minutes.”
“Sure, is it okay if we head inside,” Alison said.
“Sure,” Officer Scholz said.
Jason placed a hand on Alison’s elbow. “You guys go on, I’m going to talk with the officers for a minute.”
“Thanks, Jason,” Alison said.
Alley Cat?
Richie shook Jason’s hand. “Thanks for being here tonight,” he said.
“Hey, just doing my job.” Jason let go of his hand, nodded again at Alison, and walked over to the cruiser and the officers.
Richie wanted to pick her up and take her home. If she had been shot…or, hell, he couldn’t even bring himself to think it. Gazing at her now, she was tough as they came. She’d taken the perp down. She didn’t even need him. She’d be fine, he on the other hand, that was different story.
He followed her into the air-conditioned store.
“Can I stick around for a bit?” he said.
“Of course, but you will have to go home before sun comes up.”
“I know.”
“And I think between the cops and Jason, I should have plenty of protection.”
Hand in hand, standing at the plate-glass window, they watched as Officer Scholz, and another young cop, ushered the scraggly weasel into the back of a squad car.
Officer Scholz slammed the car door, pulled a notepad from his shirt pocket, and started talking with Jason.
“I was scared as hell,” Richie said.
Alison put her head on his chest and held him.
“Maybe I shouldn’t do this shift,” she said.
“No, you like it, and we really do need the money. Don’t stop because of me,” he said.
She gazed up and gave him a kiss.
“What was that for?” he said.
“You’re a lot stronger than you think.” She smiled at him.
Holding hands, they both watched out the window as Jason and Officer Scholz shook hands and started for the front entrance.
Alison turned to Richie, “Looks like I’m up.”.
Leaning forward, he gave her a kiss, and said, “I’m right here if you need me.”
She nodded.
Richie got home well after 3 a.m. He was exhausted, emotionally drained, and stone-cold sober. He’d known this night was coming, and had even told Alison as much for the last couple months, but she was a headstrong
woman, and headstrong women bow to no one. It was one of the things he loved about her. In the hour or so it had taken her to wrap things up with the cops, he figured he came closer to tears than she did. Tonight, had been too fucking close.
Richie entered the front door of his mobile home and made a beeline for the refrigerator. He knew he had at least one tall boy left and couldn’t think of a better way to ease his nerves. As he reached for the door, there was movement to his left. He jumped, startled by the unexpected image, relaxing as soon as he discovered it was his own reflection in the kitchen window. He wanted to laugh at himself but was too tired. He reached into the fridge and grabbed the last can of Pabst, busted it open, and downed it in a matter of seconds.
He didn’t think he’d be able to fall asleep with all the night’s uninvited excitement, but as he lay atop the blankets of his bed, fully clothed, he closed his eyes. He thought of Alison alone with that scumbag in the parking lot and how grateful he was that she hadn’t suffered more than the small wound above her eye.
The dreams that followed him into sleep were not so kind. In the dreams, Jason Betts saved Alison and reaped the rewards. They went at it like rabbits against the pharmacy counter until the junky returned with a pistol of his own. He shot a hole in Jason’s naked back, and then fired one into Alison’s sweat-covered face.
Richie rushed in and turned her dead body over to see James’ face.
Samantha appeared over his shoulder.
“See what happens when he’s with you?”
…..
While Richie Curry tossed and turned with the many horrible replays of what could have happened at Mendy’s tormenting his dreams, the demons waited. They’d found someone desperate enough, hurting enough, and open to their ways. He was truly broken. He was perfect.
