IT’S NOT HIM; IT’S THEM
BY CRAIG HALLORAN
It’s Not him; It’s them.
By Craig Halloran
Copyright 2012 by Craig Halloran
TWO-TEN BOOK PRESS
P.O. Box 4215, Charleston, WV 25364
https://www.twotenbookpress.com
ISBN Paperback: 978-0-9827799-9-6
1st Edition
ISBN eBook: 978-0-9827799-7-2
eBook Version 1
https://www.thedarkslayer.com
Editing by Cherise Kelley
Publisher's Note
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recorded, photocopied, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the copyright owner, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
IT’S NOT HIM; IT’S THEM
CHAPTER 1
As Dan walked by a handicapped spot, he noticed a woman, maybe thirty, getting out of a van. A cigarette dangled from her mouth as she loaded her two unkempt children into the double stroller. He checked out her van. No registration sticker. No inspection. No handicapped sign hanging in the mirror. Something behind his eye caused it to twitch.
“Excuse me, Miss? I noticed you are parking in a handicapped spot, and you don’t appear to be handicapped.” The woman stood before him wearing unwashed jeans and a pink sweatshirt that read, SPOILED BRAT in sequins. She drew a blank look on her pierced face, and for a moment Dan thought that she didn’t comprehend the English language. Then she sneered and began to push her children past him. Dan stepped back into her path.
“You need to move your van, Lady. That space’s for the handicapped.”
“Get out of my way. Can’t you see I have two kids here? I’ll park where I want; no one is looking. Who are you anyway, the parking police? … Idiot!”
She shoved her stroller at him, but he wedged his booted foot between the wheel and the pavement. Her children, a girl and boy at least five years old, started in on tantrums.
“Hungry, Mommy!”
“I want cookies and cola! Now!”
“Me too! Hungry, Mommy, hungry!”
Dan looked at the children and shook his head.
“Move your van or else!”
“Or else, what?” She said, sucking on her cigarette.
“I’ll call the police and have you cited.”
The woman laughed at him and said, “You don’t get out of my way I’ll charge you with assault, Idiot. I know my rights.” She wagged her finger in his face and said, “I can scream bloody murder over nothing and have you thrown in jail. I’m a woman with two kids, and yer a man out here sexually harassing me.”
“Am not! And you’re in a handicapped spot!”
“I’m just as handicapped as anybody else; I’ve got two kids to feed!” She flicked her cigarette at his face, and he jumped out of the way. She surged by him, into the mainstream of shoppers, drawing honks and cries of alarm as car tires screeched to a halt.
Dan watched her give the people the finger as she disappeared into the store. He could feel his face was flushed, and several sets of eyes were on him. He locked eyes with a sixtyish man who had a salty face and beard. The man shrugged, shook his head, and walked on.
It was like this every day, everywhere: people doing things they shouldn’t be doing. He tried to ignore it, but he couldn’t. Let it go, Dan. Let it go. That’s what they all told him to do. He pulled out his smart phone, took a picture of her license plate, and dialed 9-1-1.
“9-1-1 Emergency dispatch. What is your emergency?”
“Yes, I’m at Walmart, and someone parked in a handicapped spot.”
“Sir, that is not an emergency. You need to —”
“No, they weren’t handicapped! They don’t have a —”
“SIR … you are tying up an emergency line. That’s a felony. Now, call the local police station at …”
Dan didn’t hear the rest. The line went dead as he stood there in the drizzling rain. Somebody’s got to teach that woman a lesson.
“I guess that would be me.”
*****
“Excuse me, Miss? I had a question.”
She didn’t look up at first. She loaded another sack of potatoes on the display before giving him a glance. A look of surprise that quickly turned into caution widened her face. She brushed her hands over her smock and pulled her hair forward from behind her shoulders.
“What can I help you with?”
“I was wondering if there was an office where I could fill out an application."
“Oh, so you want to take my job, do you?” she said, grabbing potatoes and tossing them on the display. Whoever she was, she was fit; muscles rippled in her forearms.
He put his hands up, waving, and said, “Just looking for some extra work, part-time only.”
She stopped, pulled off her gloves, and slung them to the ground. “I’m part-time, and I suppose you think you can do a better job than me?”
His throat seemed to dry all of a sudden.
“Uh … well, look, if it turns out I am a better worker than you, then I suppose I am,” he said, smiling with his arms folded, teetering on his heels. She’s messing with me.
She let out a giggle and said, “You know, usually when men hit on me, they aren’t as savory as you.”
Did she say ‘savory’?
Her hungry eyes gave him a thorough once over. She pulled her shoulders back, licking her lips as she edged forward.
Wow!
An old man crashed his buggy into a pile of grapefruit, spilling it onto the floor. “Tell you what, let me get this mess cleaned up, and I’ll take you up to the office myself. Don’t— go—anywhere!”
She said it more like an order or a threat. Dan felt a hint of danger in the air. As she bent down, her smock rose up, and he noticed a small tattoo on her lower back, a bleeding black rose that read below it, Hurt me bad.
What? No, this can’t be happening. Seriously?
“Oh damn,” he whispered. He swallowed hard and began easing his way backward.
She looked back over her shoulder and shouted, “Hey, don’t you take off. I’m gonna show you that office and help you fill out the application.” She licked her lips like a woman who had been in prison too long.
Dan’s toes were numb. His imagination ran wild with chains, handcuffs, and tattooed children on motorbikes. What started out as a scheme to access the offices had become a fatal attraction.
Slowly backing away from her, he said, “Is it still in the back, through the stockroom?”
“I said don’t go anywhere!” She was almost making a scene, but the old man who had crashed his buggy was grinning from ear to ear. She was on her hands and knees, shoving the busted box of soda cans back into the man’s cart. She almost shouted, “Meet me at the women’s dressing rooms. There are applications over there.”
Dan tried to sound convincing when he said, “I like the way you think. See you there in five minutes,” he winked.
“Roger that!” she said, tossing more cans into the man’s cart before rushing off.
The old man’s arms were shaking as he gave him the thumbs up, just before his dentures fell out of his mouth.
*****
Dan headed straight to the back of the other side of the huge store. He didn’t want a
ny part of that woman. "Good things never come that easy," his uncle often said. He knew where the offices were. He knew where everything was. Biting his nails, he waited for someone to come through the secured door. A man hurried through the door, and before it closed he slipped inside. Lucky day. He jogged up the stairs. A time clock hung on the wall at the top, with rows for time cards.
The office was a series of cubicles with two larger offices in the back. No one else was around. Good. It was the weekend; the cubicles wouldn’t be filled with the salaried people that wore ties or dresses. He had worked here long ago, maybe a decade, and loved every minute of it. He sat down in one of the cubicles, pulling out his smart phone. After a quick search, he found what he was looking for. He picked up the office phone handset and dialed.
A woman answered, “J & J Towing.”
“Yes,” Dan replied, “This is Steve Young at Walmart. We’ve got an abandoned mini-van that’s been sitting here for days.” Yes, it was a lie, but that woman parking in the handicapped space was way worse than lying! Someone had to make her pay.
“I’ll need a plate, Sir.”
Dan read the plate number from the image on his phone and gave a thorough description of the van, including where it was parked.
“Do you have a time frame? It’s been here for days, and the other companies I called haven’t shown up.”
“No, it’s a slow day. I’ll send Jimmy right over, Honey.”
“Thanks, Sweetie.”
He hung up, filled with delight. Justice was about to be served.
He raced back down the stairs, popped open the door, looked both ways, and headed back down the aisles to the pharmacy. He tapped his foot and bit his nails as he waited in the pharmacy line, which was short, but slow-moving. He was a little nervous that the freak from the produce aisle might find him, but he had picked up a ball cap and a jacket on the way down. He slouched in his spot, eyes forward.
It was his turn, and a short pie-faced woman with freckles and curly brown hair waited on him.
“I’ve got your stuff ready, Dan. I saw you standing there and all. I thought to myself … 'It’s awful hot to be wearing a jacket today.'”
Dan didn’t know anything about the girl, but she always wanted to strike up a conversation with him.
“I’m just trying it on.”
“You want me to ring it up for you?”
“No, just the pills will do,” he said, looking at her name tag, “Mable.”
“Say, you want to go see a movie sometime?”
It was odd, getting picked up by a much younger woman. She looked like she was barely out of high school.
“Uh … no, but thanks for asking. I’m married, you know.”
“Separated, but maybe after you get things sorted out we can go. Just be sure to eat before you take those pills, and don’t drink too much either, or they’ll wilt yer willie. Of course, we’ve got stuff for that, too,” she said, with discomforting wink.
What is with these women?
She handed him back his change as he signed off on the debit card pad.
“You know where to find me when you’re ready.”
*****
Dan was waiting for it. It took about an hour, but it came. A rust-red tow truck emerged from the traffic, hooked up the mini-van, and hauled it off. About thirty minutes later the woman, as skinny as a cigarette, returned. She was pushing an overloaded grocery buggy with one arm and the stroller with the other. Somehow, she managed to fire up her cigarette before she was ten feet past the doors.
“Handicapped my ass,” he said from the secluded confines of his black Buick, in a space not too far away from the front.
He enjoyed the bewildered look on the woman’s face as she cursed. He giggled as she pulled out her cell phone, cursing, and stood in the drizzling rain. He twisted the key in his ignition, and it sounded like a dragon roar. He rumbled alongside her and rolled his window down.
“Aw, gee Lady, I tried to warn you. Looks like your van went bye-bye.” He waved. “Bye-Bye!”
It was all worth it as he watched the cigarette fall from her mouth, but as he turned his car to make his way off the lot, his eyes caught another pair of searching eyes. The produce lady was running his way.
“Get back here, Good Lookin’! I’m on break! You owe me a favor!”
The front of his Buick lurched forward. She ran up alongside his window and clutched at his face as he sped away. She had chased him another thirty yards when he noticed a stoplight up ahead.
“Please turn green! Please turn green!”
She was getting closer, her legs pumping like two pistons.
“What is this chick on?” he said in the rear-view mirror. Her hands were clutching at his bumper.
GREEN LIGHT!
The hood of the car floated up as the back tires dug in. He heard her fists on the back of his trunk. He couldn’t see her through the thick plume of white smoke. In six seconds she and the dust were out of sight. In fifteen seconds his adventure at Walmart was a thing of the past.
CHAPTER 2
The sun was lowering as Dan pulled into his parents' suburban driveway. The beer bottles clinked together as he grabbed the handles of the flimsy plastic grocery bag and exited his car. Two boys, young teenagers, were shooting hoops in the driveway next door. Looks like the no-chins are growing up.
Dan set the bag down on his hood and made his way over to the boys.
“Let me show you how to shoot that ball,” he said, clapping his hands.
One boy turned. His chinless face was droopy-eyed, and sweat was pouring over his pasty skin. The boy said, “We're in the middle of a game. Now, why don’t you take that clunker of yours to the junkyard? You’re ruining our air.”
The other boy, chubby and double chinned, giggled and mock-hacked as he sucked on a two-liter bottle of soda. That boy then added, “Yeah, what’s that thing get, like ten miles to the gallon? Crush it, already!”
Dan watched the boys resume their game, consisting of poor ball-handling skills, walks, failed crossover dribbles, and errant shooting. At least they’re trying. Dan had turned to walk away when the ball banged off the rim and bounced his way.
“Hey, throw us the ball, Dan,” one said, huffing, hands on his hips.
The tubby one added, “Go drive your clunker off a cliff or something. The sight of it makes it hard for me to breathe.”
He held the ball high over his head and said, “I don’t think my car is making you out of breath; I think it’s your fat ass.”
“You take that back!”
Dan smiled as he spun the ball on his finger and said, “Tell you what: if you two little clowns can stop me from scoring, I’ll not only apologize; I’ll let you have my car.” He pulled his keys from his pocket and tossed them to the ground.
“No, you take it back, and give me my ball.”
“Come and get it,” Dan said, dribbling around the driveway. “You want to talk smack about my car, then I’m gonna talk smack about you. Now man up. Come and get the ball. I’m offering you my car.”
The boys didn’t seem to understand the challenge. They just stared at one another. It was as if the thought of actually achieving something on their own frightened them. Dan had watched the boys over the years, playing in the driveway and getting bigger but never any better. All they did was whine, call fouls, and talk smack about it the rest of the day. Dan had been hurling the challenges at them for years, but not once, not ever, had they let him play. There was nothing he could say that would raise their dander and make them fight.
“Give me my ball and go away, Dan. We like playing it our way,” he said, wiping his nose on his over-sized NBA jersey.
“I’m offering you a car, Dude! Go for it, just once, try and take me down.”
“Our mom would kill us if we brought that thing home.”
“Yeah, the cops would throw us in jail. They should thr
ow you in jail just for driving it.”
Dan continued to dribble, crossing it back and forth between his legs as the boys gawped under the rim.
“Fine! But I’m bringing it anyway!”
The boys' eyes widened as he made his charge, jumping over the shortest boy, legs straddling the top of his head, and bringing the ball down hard in a two-handed dunk.
“Yeah! Now that’s what I’m talking about!”
The boys grabbed the ball and ran inside the house. A lady across the street had stopped watering her lawn to watch. Her frown told it all. To Dan, the dunk was impressive, even if the rim wasn’t all the way up where it should be.
“What?” he said with a shrug, “Doesn’t anyone appreciate a good dunk these days?”
The woman shook her head as she turned the hose back on.
*****
The smell of grilled poultry greeted him. Uncooked packages of hotdogs and burgers lay on a red picnic table nearby. It was always a warm and fuzzy memory: his family in the back yard, smoke billowing into the air on the massive stone-paved patio. He remembered days as a boy when most of the family came over: his cousins, grandparents, aunts, and uncles. There was never a worry in the world back then, just lots of good food and ice-cold drinks. The crowd had thinned over the years, and what had once seemed like a monthly, sometimes weekly event had become a non-event.
Dan’s grandparents were gone, along with their unlimited patience and the precious time that they gave. The days were long back then, but now they were never long enough. Gone was the generation that defended him from life’s complexities. The polished rocks that had slowed the flow of rushing river were gone, and now the current moved swifter than ever.
Dan’s eyes watered as he sliced off a piece of watermelon. He spit the seeds over the privacy fence, something he’d made a habit of over the years. In three bites his melon was gone. He chucked the rind over the fence, wiped his hands on a paper towel, and sat down in a recently stained brick-red Adirondack chair. There, he sipped on a bottle of cold beer.
Before him, his mom rushed in and out of the French doors while his father worked the grill. Earlier, he had tried to offer his assistance, but they both insisted that he sit down and relax. It was one of the hazards of being early.