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By Odonata
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28 August 2008 |
In ’74 I used to play at hurling on Saturdays with some Irish guys in Denver. Hurling is field hockey with red-faced Irishmen beating you about the head and shoulders with clubs. No referees, either hit back or sit down. Busted teeth were treated with beer; concussions too. I was young and could run in those days, and I could take a hit.
Home was one of those motel-looking apartment buildings, three stories with a flat top and exterior walkways. The front yard was asphalt. Not a good place to raise kids, but none of us was raising kids. One night, I tripped over a gun barrel poking out of my neighbor’s door. I was carrying my 10-speed and not looking. I chained the bike to the iron rail outside my second floor apartment. My bike was a Peugeot UO-38, all Campi and aluminum everything, state of the art-circa 1970. I loved that bike.
The rifle’s butt rested on Curtis Tompkins’ meaty shoulder. He had set up a sniper position. The asphalt front yard was his killing zone. His gold ’69 Challenger parked under a light was hard bait for a certain type of young man to resist; mags with huge wide slicks on a back end that was jacked up so high the glass packs blasted right in your face. Truly a thing of beauty and a joy forever. Curtis had issues with a local Chicano social club. They’d been admiring his ride a little too much.
Curtis said I could spot for him if I wanted. I declined, not that I have anything against shooting car thieves; I just didn’t need any social entanglements. I sat in my apartment in the dark a ways back from the big window, twisted one on an album cover, sat back and watched.
Curtis’ apartment was dark too. He lay prone with the door barely cracked, cheek on the stock, eye in the scope and barrel on a pillow. A few months earlier he lived behind the wheel of a deuce and half, hauling empty glad bags north out of Saigon and full ones back. AChicom AK-47 was his constant companion. Even a Chinese AK don’t jam like an M-16. Back at home, he took to carrying a briefcase with a broke down shotgun inside. Curtis wasn’t paranoid or psycho, nothing like that. He didn’t even do much dope. It’s just that he couldn't get used to not carrying a weapon when he came back to the world. It was like being naked in public. The weight in his hand was calming. I suspected he had any number of weapons in his apartment, maybe even grenades. I never asked. Curtis was OK.
As I watched, a couple came pushing a supermarket cart through the alley on the far side of the asphalt. They were small, bent-over people wearing too many clothes. They were old. I don’t know how old, but old. They seemed to be some kind of subspecies like hobbits, old nocturnal hobbits.
The hobbits stopped behind the dumpster. A shaggy head appeared above the dumpster lip. It surveyed our trash for a minute, then he was up and over, sliding into the dumpster like some raggedy-ass seal. Beer cans flew up out of the dumpster. The she-hobbit picked them up and put them in her cart. When the cans quit coming the seal slid out. Once I became aware of their existance, I kept a look-out for them. Never did see them in the daylight, but they always came on Wednesday and Sunday nights around eleven. Sometime in mid-August the man started coming alone. I never saw the lady again. By September he had quit coming too. They were old, slow and defenseless. Anything might have happened to them.
The social club never did bother the Challenger, but they stole my 10-speed, at least I think it was them, whatever happened; my bike was gone. Soon after that, I lost my carpet cleaning gig because I couldn’t get to work. By October I wasn’t eating every day. I was hungry all the time. My longest spell without a meal was five days. That was enough, there’s no sense in starving, especially with winter coming. I found ways to eat.
I might have become a dumpster hobbit. You do what you have to for food, but I never had to crawl into a dumpster. I was young and could run in those days, and I could take a hit. |
Written by Phil (8763 comments posted) 28th August 2008 | Plenty of atmosphere in here - and it works well. Structurally, it may have worked better if you'd mentioned the old couple earlier. It might balance the piece a little better.
Enjoyed the read.
Welcome to GW.
Phil |
Written by Veronica_Milvus (1147 comments posted) 1st September 2008 | | Really evocative and extremely well-written. Hope we hear more of your hero. |
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