Ghost of New Year's Passed

"Tom, I think you need to get down here right away."

"What the hell is going on down there?"

"It's bad, and weird bad, but we just got off the phone with the 911 dispatcher, and she said that the caller specifically asked for you."

"Ok, what's the address? I'm on my way."

I write down the address, though I know generally where it is. I call over to the bartender to settle up and throw a $20 on the bar. I grab my coat and head out the door, hailing a cab as I go.

"12th and Market" I bark at the cabby.

Minutes later, I get out of the cab. I can see the cops at the door of the apartment building. I walk up to one of them, but before I get there one of his buddies says "Tom Adams?"

"Yeah." I pull my ID and show it to him, he takes a quick look and looks at me again.

"Hey, weren't you in private practice before?"

"Yeah, a long time ago."

"You remember me?"

I search my brain. I hate to say it, but all cops look the same to me. It's rare that one stands out. I did criminal defense for several years, and then went to the prosecutor's office after that. So I've seen hundreds of cops.

"Sorry, can't say that I do."

"You cross-examined me on the stand, during a motion to suppress some drugs I found on your client."

"How'd I do?"

"You pissed me off."

"Sounds like I did my job, then." I don't give him a chance to comment further, and head through the doors. There's another cop by the elevator.

"Adams?"

"Yeah"

"3rd floor, apartment 305, you'll see the rest of the guys."

"Thanks."

I enter the elevator and hit the three button, thinking that things are escalating quickly on a New Years Day when I was supposed to be off.

The door opens and I head out of the elevator and see a couple of cops going in and out of a door on the left hand side of the hallway. I flash my ID and head into the apartment. The first thing I notice is the apartment is freezing. I look around to see if any detectives have arrived yet.

"Hey, Tom, over here."

I see Mike Comly, a 40-something homicide detective. I've worked with Mike on a few cases, he's generally a pretty good guy. A bit jaded, perhaps, but then again, I guess we all are.

"What's the story on this one, Mike, and why am I here?"

Mike is looking around and chewing on a toothpick. "Not really sure, other than the caller to 911 said you should be here, but I think it's way too soon to get the prosecutor's office involved. You guys don't usually get involved until we actually have a suspect, but I guess someone downtown figured you might know something."

With that, he turns and heads down a hallway. I can see the lights are on in what I assume is a bedroom.

I've seen dead bodies before. It's never a pleasant experience. Usually, though, I only see the crime scene photos. By the time I actually see the body, which is exceedingly rare, it's already been autopsied and is pretty sanitized. I think I may have seen two crime scenes in my life.

"I'm warning you, this one's pretty brutal." Mike warns as we round the corner into the bedroom.

I'm not sure that brutal is the right word. I now see why it's freezing in here, both windows are open. Between the windows is a bed, which isn't unusual. What is unusual is the body of the naked female missing a portion of her head and face that's on the bed.

"Is it just me, Mike, or should there be a lot more blood?"

Mike nods his head in mock surprise. "Very good, Tom. Any thoughts as to why?"

Now I'm starting to remember why Mike annoys me. He reminds me of my law school professors. Not one of them can actually answer a question without a question.

"Because it's cold?"

"Nope. If I had to guess, it's because the body was dead before it was shot."

"Wait, let me get this straight, someone blew the head off of a dead body?"

"Appears that way."

I let this wash over me for a minute, wracking my brain for an explanation. This scenario sounded eerily similar to law school hypotheticals in criminal law where a professor would start with 'imagine that Jane Doe is dead, but John Smith doesn't know that...'

Very annoying stuff. I guess maybe it's a function of age, but I like my murders nice and clean. Wife finds hubby doing the 4 post polka with the baby-sitter and hits him with a fire poker, text message bingo where boyfriend awards girlfriend a beating, dead wife on the kitchen floor because Bob couldn't take it anymore and hit her with a frying pan to shut her up so he could eat his English muffin in peace. Yes, unoriginal, and boring, but it makes my job easier. And given the amount of nonsense that goes on that makes my job tougher, I feel a bit insulted if the actual criminals try to make figuring out the crime difficult.

The crime scene unit is starting to get moving, and ask me to get out of the doorway of the bedroom. Mike and I walk into the living room.

"Vanessa Lin, age 32, and this is her current address." Mike says. "She look familiar to you, Tom?"

"Hard to say, you know, with half her face missing and all." I quip.

"Current investigation or anything on this chick? We found some blow over in one of the nightstands."

"Not that I'm aware of, and if she is involved in something, it's not anything I'm working on."

Mike raises his eyebrows for a second, looks at the pad he's writing on and says 'then why the hell are you here?'

Why, indeed. I shrug my shoulders. As much to convey my uncertainty as it is an attempt to warm up a bit.

"Ok, Tom, you around for the next week or so?"

"Should be, I have a few personal days I have to use or lose, but I'm not going anywhere soon." I look at the door.

"Ok, Tom, bounce, we'll be in touch if we come up with any reason you should be involved beyond the caller saying so. This looks odd, but probably drug related. Oh, that reminds me, did you see that tattoo?"

I vaguely remember seeing a tatto on the side of her midriff. The lack of a head was the real attention getter though, so I didn't look closely.

"Yeah, dragon or something." I say.

"Yeah, I saw that too. She had an anklet, it said 'sukie?' or something like that." Mike flips the pages of his pad. "Yeah, ring any bells?"

"Not a one." I'm doing my best not to extend this conversation. Mike can be a bit of a talker, and frankly, I'm fucking cold and want to get the hell out of here. I'd like to tell you I have professional curiosity, but from what I can tell, this case has nothing to do with me, and it's a crap shoot if, and it's a big if, a suspect is found that the matter will be assigned to me. There's not really a thing I can do here anyway.

"Ok, Tom, I'll be in touch when I know more. The M.E. will have to do their thing. I'll keep you in the loop, in case something comes back to you because I have no idea why the caller would ask for you."

I nod and head for the street. I pull up my coat and my scarf, scanning the street for a cab. It's early, but since it's a holiday, there's not a whole lot of traffic.

"Adams, you're client was guilty as fuck, by the way." Great. It's the cop from earlier. Fortunately, I cab pulls up, but smartass that I am, I can't resist a parting shot.

"We're all guilty of something, just depends on how it's charged." I cheerily wave.

He gives me the finger.

I look at my phone, it's only 8:23 p.m.

"2nd and Market."

I ride in quiet reflection, trying to place a dragon tattoo and piece together the face of a woman missing half of it.

Jake and Darcy, Part Six

My thoughts are suddenly very scattered.

I make a left on Tuckerton and head out towards Tabernacle.

One of the things I like about Jen is that she enjoys talking, and unlike me, she is very good at it. She can turn the mundane into something interesting. And living where we do, there is a lot of mundane to be had. Well, there used to be, before my brother decided things should take a different path.

She’s rooting through the backpack.

“What did you bring?”

“Refreshments.”

“Oh, I already ate with my mom.”

“Not food, moron.”

“Oh.”

Jen rummages in the backpack and pulls out a CD. This experiment was not successful on our first date. I’m not real opinionated about music, but there are some things that I will not tolerate. One of the things that I like, but am not sure about, is Jen’s confidence. It borders on pushy at times. On our first date, she brought a CD she had burned.

Normally, I’m of the opinion that whoever is driving, picks the music. Those are the rules as I understand them. Anyway, she sticks this CD in and the first thing I hear is some travesty called ‘Umbrella.’ It’s a testament to how cute she is that I didn’t open the door and push her from the car without slowing down.

“What do you have tonight?”

“Oh, just a disk I burned today.”

She pops it in, and ‘if I say to you tomorrow…’ fills the car.

We’ve come to a pretty quick understanding about music on our dates. Nothing sappy, and none of that techno shit. She says I don’t give it a chance because I’m a guitar player. I think it’s because I don’t need 25 seconds to figure out if something sucks.

“I love this solo.”

“It’s not bad. How come you never have played guitar for me?”

“I know this is going to sound pretty harsh, but I don’t play for anyone but me. If that makes sense.”

“Yeah, Jess said she only heard you play once because she came over without calling first. She said you were good.”

“I’m ok.”

“You got any plans for this weekend?” Jen asks.

“Nope. I’ll probably hang with the guys Friday. I think Hogan is having one of his blowouts.”

“Ok, I’d love to go with you.”

This is the confidence becomes pushy thing that I was talking about. And again, I have no idea what to do about it. I look over at her and she starts laughing.

“You thought I was serious, didn’t you?”

“I wasn’t sure.”

“Don’t worry, you go out with the guys Friday. What do you have going on Saturday?”

Now this is very weird. On our previous dates it was never mentioned whether we would get together again. I didn’t say anything because I wasn’t sure what to say. I assumed Jen would call me if she wanted to go out again, and she did. That’s what I liked about her confidence. I guess she had thought more about the future than I had. I don’t know, maybe she was making sure I was safe? I immediately stopped this line of thought, because I would never figure it out unless she told me herself.

“I don’t think I have anything going on.” Non committal. I like it.

“Ok, well, maybe we can catch that movie Saturday.”

“That sounds good.”

We come to the intersection of Tuckerton and Carranza road. Dixon’s is sitting on the corner. I look in my backseat and see the baseball. Just hours before, when I was in Dixon’s picking up the baseball, I had no idea things were going to take this turn.

I make a right on Carranza Road. This is not a heavily populated area. In fact, much of this area is in Wharton State Forest, a collection of brush, pines, and cranberry bogs. It’s actually a very pretty area.

There have always been rumors that there was a mental hospital for female nymphos nearby. My friends and I would hope that the nymphos would escape and ravage us. We were 15 or so and decided to pack some food and look around for it. We didn’t find the facility. What we did find were ticks, squirrels and a whole bunch of thorns.

'Carranza' is a code word of sorts. It sits out in the middle of Wharton State Forest. There’s pretty much nothing around, and as long as I can remember, mothers were always telling daughters ‘don’t let him take you out to Carranza.’ If you didn’t have a place to go with your girlfriend, Carranza was always the place.

I was not disappointed as I pulled off of Carranza Road into the sandlot near the memorial.

The ‘memorial’ is a cairn in the middle of nowhere. It has a bird and some footprints on it. The story is that there was this Mexican pilot, Emilio Carranza, who was dubbed the Mexican ‘Lindbergh’ who decided to fly a peace mission. He boards his plane in New York and takes off. He makes it as far as the pines of Jersey and crashes. He was found by some cranberry or blueberry worker in this Godforsaken place and a memorial was built. Every year, one of the local lodges has a ceremony in Carranza’s honor. To this day, no one seems to know what the hell Carranza was accomplishing by flying this mission. Well, other than getting dead, which he did quite well.

Anyway, when Jen whispered ‘Carranza’ in my ear it was a pretty good bet that tonight would involve getting laid.

Fuck. I didn’t have any condoms. I thought we were going to the movies, and I was so surprised that I didn’t pick any up on our way here. I guess it would have to wait for another night.

Jake and Darcy, Part Five

I’m awakened from my reverie as I make a left off of Taunton Boulevard into Jen’s development. There are dozens of these little developments littering the area, hidden amongst the pines of Medford Township. The area is fairly rural, and is a nice contrast to Cherry Hill and areas further west as you take Route 70 to Philadelphia.

I’m just pulling into Jen’s driveway when the front door opens and Jen emerges with a backpack in her hands. I turn down the radio and go to shut the car off but she waves me off, like she always does when I pick her up.

She’s never said anything to me about it, but I suspect she does this to avoid contact between me and her parents. I did meet them once, and they were polite, if cool. Her father was nice enough to me, making small talk about the Phillies and my job at Flannigans, as he recognized me from his stops there to get gas. The thing about him is his eyes. They are very dark and bright, and never seem to be connected to his features. Even though he smiles, it’s hard to tell what he really thinks.

Jen’s mother was definitely not impressed, nor happy, with my sudden entrance into Jen’s life. We had been out a couple of times, and nothing else had really happened. Of course, her mother assumed that I was out for only one thing.

Not that I wasn’t, but I don’t think her mother understood how disassociated I had become from the town at large, and how much I appreciated having someone to talk to. I also think that Jen’s mom caught me checking her out.

It’s not what you think.

I went to school with this guy, Jim Hasel. He was that guy that was shaving in fourth grade. Of course by high school, he was considered the authority on girls and dating. One thing that he said always stuck with me, and it was this nugget of wisdom: “Always check out a girl’s mom before you get serious with her, because that’s what you are buying down the road.”

So I guess I never understood why he was dating a girl whose mom was pushing 250. Not that it wasn’t good advice, so I checked out Jen’s mom when I met her.

She is an attractive woman in her early 40’s. Dark hair and blue eyes, and still in shape. She has a nice body, thin, but not that thin that makes women looked washed out after a certain age, like their skin is straining to contain what’s inside. If this is what Jen was destined to become, there were worse fates that I could contemplate.

Jen comes around the front of the Chevelle and gives me a wave and a half smile. Jen has dark hair, like her mother, but eyes that run the gamut from a soft warm brown to pools of black depending on the light. Only recently had I come to really appreciate what an incredible body she had, as she often dressed in clothes that were one size too big for her.

The few times we had gone out, she dressed slightly differently, jeans that fit her, t-shirts that were just a little low cut, or sundresses when it was hot. I’ve always been partial to sundresses, there’s just something about them that has always caught my eye.

Even though she doesn’t know it, Jen’s wearing my favorite sundress, a yellow one with a muted floral print. Her hair is down, and in the light of a late summer day, she looks stunning.

My windows are down, and Jen puts her hand on the passenger side door and bends down. She has that half smile that kills me, and she tilts her head just slightly.

“Hey, Jake.”

I know she’s daring me to take my eyes off of hers and look down her dress. I know it, and can’t stop myself. I can just make out the top of a lacy white bra.

“Hello, Jake.”

I spin my head around and whack my head into the top of the car door.

Mr. Serrano is standing by the driver’s side door. I move to get out of the car.

“Oh, don’t worry about that, Jake, I just wanted to say ‘hey.’” He extends his hand.

“Hi, Mr. Serrano, how are you?”

“I’m good, Jake, and yourself?”

“Good, sir.” His eyes aren’t smiling, though the rest of him is. Great, now he’s seen me check out his wife and his daughter. Hopefully his mother’s coming into town soon so I can complete the trifecta. I feel like such an asshole.

“Ok, dad, the movie’s at 9, so we have to go.”

Jen got in the car while I was talking with her dad. And while he was figuring out ways to make my body disappear. She has that sweet innocent smile on her face. You know the smile, all girls have it. That completely guileless smile they pull out to show you that there is nothing but virtue in their heads and hearts, when the opposite is probably closer to the truth.

“Ok, guys, have a good time. Curfew’s midnight, Jake, don’t let her fool you.”

“No problem, sir, I’ll have her home by quarter of.”

“Good man, talk to you later, Jake. Love you, sweetie.”

“Love you too, dad”

With that, I pull out of the driveway and drive down the street. Jen’s looking in the side mirror, back in the direction of her house. We come around a curve and I stop at the end of her street, and get ready to make a right on Taunton.

Jen reaches over and guides my face into hers. She kisses me. We’ve kissed before, but this is different. After a few seconds, she pulls away.

“So what did you think?”

“Of what?”

She throws her head back and lets out a deep laugh.

“Of my bra. I totally caught you looking down my dress.”

One of the things she has inherited from her dad is the ability to separate her eyes from her expression. She’s smiling, but there’s something different in her eyes. I decide to change the subject.

“Did you order the tickets?”

“About that, yeah, we’re not going to the movies.”

“Ok, where we going then?”

“Take a left.”

I switch my blinker, check traffic, and make a left on Taunton.

“Ok, where to next?”

She leans over and whispers in my ear.

“Carranza.”

Jake and Darcy, Part Four

I hang up with Jen and head to her place.

Jen and I have been out a few times. She’s a pretty decent girl. I went to school with her at Shawnee. She was one of those girls that I would pass by in the halls and think ‘man, that’s a cute girl’ and promptly resolve to meet her. And then forget about it ten seconds later.

I was at a graduation party the first time I actually got a chance to follow through on my desire to meet her.

I want to stand up I want to let go you know you know know you don’t you don’t I want to shine on in the hearts of men I want to meet you from the back of my broken hand another hate, another heartbreak, I’m so much older than I can take, and my affection, well it comes and goes, I need direction to perfection no no no no help me out, you know you gotta help me out…

…matches my thoughts as I’m walking through the backyard of my friend’s graduation party.

I see her, standing by the patio looking a little lost.

I guess I stare a little too long. She sees me. Smiles.

She’s coming over. Fuck. I’m really not prepared for this. Then again, who ever is.

“Hi, I saw you all the time at school, but we've never been introduced.”

“Jake.”

“I’m Jen.”

“Hey.”

“You graduating this year as well?”

“Yeah.”

“So where are you going to school next?”

“I’m not, I think I’m going to hang out and work for a bit. Try to figure things out.”

“Oh, like what?”

“Just things in general.”

She looks right at me. You know, in that way that lets you know she’s going to say something and you better be paying attention.

“I know who you are and who your brother is, and I just want you to know none of that matters to me.”

“It does to me.”

“It shouldn’t. I know Jessica, and she’s never said a bad thing about you. I guess I thought we should hang out sometime.”

“Why is that?”

“Because you want to. I can tell. What’s your cell?”

“I don’t have one.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s right. Sorry. You have e-mail?”

“Yeah.”

And then she stands there looking at me expectantly.

“Wow, you really are the Silent Man. Is there any way I could make this any easier?” she says with a smirk.

Maybe it was the smirk, maybe it was the attitude, but either way it made me laugh. The sound startled me. It had been a very long time.

“jake3454@comcast.net.”

“Ok, I’ll e-mail you my number. Give me a call. A landline, a payphone, whatever.”

“I’ll do that.”

“Ok, I got to go, my friend’s waiting to go.”

She turns to walk away, but turns back “oh, congratulations.”

“On what?”

“Graduating. I’ll be a Senior next year. Maybe you can return the favor then.”

And off she walks.

I can't remember who said it, but the phrase 'always leave the audience wanting more' springs to mind.

In one conversation I have gone from mildly curious to completely intrigued by Jen.

Jake and Darcy, Part Three

I pull up my chair to the table, across from my mom.

“Your father called today.” She absentmindedly blurts out.

“How is he? Is he ok?”

“I’ll tell you son, I love him to pieces, but he was always an odd one. Only he could go off to war and find peace.”

We both laugh.

My father, in some respects, is a very straightforward guy. He works hard, has a sense of duty, family and honor. He’s a likable guy. A bit on the quiet side, so that’s probably where I come by it myself.

After Chaz died, I wasn’t sure what was going to happen with my parents. I always thought that they seemed to get along pretty well, but having done a little research on the subject, I knew that most couples don’t survive the death of a child.

Sure, there was the occasional fight, one parent too soft, the other too hard. In the end, they both felt responsible, when the truth of the matter is neither one could really have done anything differently. As you get a little older you’re able to see your parents as people. Seeing them in this light often leads to a feeling of initial letdown, however, if you're lucky, it's followed by a comfort that their motivations are probably very similar to your own.

I guess there is often the desire to find someone to blame for the tragedies in life, whether it be God, the Devil, neighbors, or even ourselves. I just don't find this to be a very constructive use of my time.

We talk a bit about our day and I help wash and dry the dishes.

I head upstairs to my room and flip on my computer. Lying next to my mouse is my cell phone. I haven’t used it in 10 months. I still pay the bill, though. I always silently acknowledge it. It’s my last connection to my brother. On the night he died, he left me a message. I remember going to voicemail to listen to it. I stop. I just couldn’t bear to hear it that day. After that it was just one of those things. My girlfriend at the time, Jessica, knew about it.

Jessica told me that she would call the phone company to make sure that the message wasn't erased. I think it made her feel good to be able to something to make me feel a little better. After a little wrangling, they were able to save the message permanently. So long as I paid my bills, the message was there waiting for me. I didn’t know when I would be ready to hear it, but the fact that it was there gave me some comfort.

Why not get another cell phone? I don’t know, it just felt wrong. And it’s kind of nice not to be available 24/7.

I check my e-mail and there is a message from Jen, a girl I had been out with a couple of times asking me to call her.

It's 7:30 on a Tuesday night, so I pick up the phone in the kitchen and call her.

__________________

Jake and Darcy, Part 2

I pull my car out onto Union and head towards Main.

The windows are down, the radio is playing, and I feel pretty good. I love the way the heat seems to get lazy around 5 in the summer. You know the worst of it is over, but it tries to soldier on through the night.

As I pass Stokes road I give it a little gas. I like the drive out to Dixon’s. There are some great roads in this area of Jersey to just drive, and be left alone with your thoughts and a soundtrack.

I pull into Dixon’s, and turn the car off.

I push open the door and the bells against it sing their song.

“Hey Jake, how are you today?”

“Good, Mr. Starks.”

“What can I do for you?”

“I need a baseball.”

“Oh, check aisle two, I think there’s a couple there.”

“Ok.”

I like Mr. Starks. He doesn’t hold my brother against me, and that’s a rarity.

“You know, Jake, if I can do anything for your folks, let me know.”

“I will, Mr. Starks.”

“And goddamnit, Jake, call me Rich. You’re an adult now.”

“Okay, sir.”

He smiles as he hands me back the change. The bells on the door 'clang' behind me as I step into the sun.

As I turn the key, my ’69 Chevelle roars to life. I love this car. I remember when my brother first brought it home. Holy shit, what a piece of crap it was. I remember spending weekends out in the yard, just me and Chaz, pulling it apart and putting it back together. I guess that’s where I first fell in love with cars.

I pull back out on to Vincentown Road and head home, Jet’s “Get What You Need” pumping from the speakers.

I walk into the house and am greeted with the smell of fried chicken.

“That you, honey?”

“Yeah, Ma, I’ll wash up and be down in a minute.”

Jake & Darcy, Part One

“Hey, a little help?”

I’m standing outside Flannigan’s Service Station in Tabernacle. I’m taking a quick break when I see a baseball go rolling across the parking lot, coming to rest under a Dodge that currently is missing a transmission.

“Hey, you!”

I look across the street. The high pitched voice matches the person. It’s a girl. About 13, by the looks of it.

I take a drag on my cigarette and ignore her.

“I know you can hear me!”

I turn to look at her.

“Pleeeeeeeaaaaaseee, pretty pleeeeaaassseeee, mister?”

I consider the annoying request and amble over to the Dodge. I grab the ball.

“Thanks, can you throw it back to me?” She pounds her mitt and takes a stance. “Oh, can you throw it that far?”

It’s about 20 yards. I was decent in high-school ball. I can throw it at least many times that distance.

I wind up and promptly lose my grip on the ball. I guess the oil on my hands doesn’t help. I pick up the ball and throw it effortlessly over her head into the back yard of the little ranch house that sits on the corner of Hartford and Union road.

I toss the cigarette and see the girl running into the backyard.

I enter the garage and head over to the car I’m working on, a mini van with a couple of ruined rotors. I double check the lift, and walk to the front right tire, furthest from the office. I’ve just about got the tire off when I hear a voice, shrill and high, cut through the din of the radio say “Can I see the manager please?”

Oh Christ. I don’t need this shit today. I continue pulling off the tire and my boss, Mr. McGennis comes into the garage area. He looks around for a couple of seconds, and spots me.

“Jake, a minute, if you don’t mind, son.”

I put down the tire, grab my rag and wipe my hands off. I head over towards the office.

“There’s someone here to see you.” His eyebrows are scurrying across his head in ways I didn’t think possible.

I head into the main office and there she is, the girl from across the street.

“The young lady says you ruined her ball. What do you have to say?” Mr. McGennis tosses me the ball I threw across Union Street. It’s greasy and grimy. And has my fingerprints all over it.

“Yeah, I guess I did, I’m sorry.” I can’t look him in the eye.

“Well, son, I guess you ought to hit the general store and get a new one, don’t you think?” I nod my head.

He turns towards the girl, “What’s your name, young lady?”

“Darcy.” She is defiant. Looking him straight in the eye.

“Okay, Darcy, well, Jake here will bring you a new one tomorrow. That ok?”

“Thank you.” With that, she struts off through the front door.

Mr. McGennis turns towards me, “Son, you best buy a new ball tonight and bring it to that young lady tomorrow. Her mom came by here the other day about her linkage. I don’t need her to have a reason to not bring her car by. You got me, son?”

“Yes, sir.” I nod and head back towards the garage.

“Don’t forget, Jake. I’m serious.” I raise my hand and head towards a mini-van which is suddenly a much more welcome sight.

I get away with as few words as possible. I just graduated high school myself. Everyone called me “SM,” short for “Silent Man.” It’s not that I didn’t have anything to say. I was always just too scared and uncomfortable to say anything. I think my classmates just assumed I had greater wisdom. What few friends I had seemed to hang on my every word. Not because they were so great, mind you, but because they were so few. Supply and Demand in action, I suppose.

I finish putting on the new rotors and get ready to clock out.

“So, you got yourself a girlfriend, after all, tough guy?” Chance Alvieri spits at me.

I’ve always hated this guy. He’s about 6 years older than me and 4 years dumber. He knew my brother way back when. But that’s another story for another time.

I ignore him and head for my car, another day of work behind me.

The door makes a satisfying 'clunk' and I start the car. There would've been worse days to have to run an errand before going home. I back my car out of the parking lot, and wonder if Dixon's has any baseballs in stock, otherwise, I'll have to drive out to the Wal Mart.