by A. R. Braun
He slid out of the booth while holding his daughter. “Let’s get out of here, kiddo.” He faced the manager, pointing at him with a rigid digit. “These people sell to gangbangers!”
“Gangbangers?” Mr. Watson looked around. “Where?”
“You ruined my daughter’s birthday,” Sid cried while stomping out. “I’ll sue.”
Hayley was shrieking to wake the dead.
There’s that defiance again.
“Sir,” the manager yelled, “I can’t refuse business to anyone unless they cause trouble. If they do, I’ll tell them to leave.” He walked after him. “Sir, please, we’re doing the best that—”
Sid was out the door and had Hayley in the cab, telling the driver to step on it.
***
Sid took his Benz to the south side of a suburb called Wampum on Sunday afternoon. He left Hayley with a babysitter—the only one he trusted: his mother. The sun shined so vehemently on that June day he had to pull down the visor. Still, as he turned a corner, the blinding star made him throw on his sunglasses and shield his eyes with his hand. While he looked over the small town after turning another corner—the sun now behind him—Sid was astonished at the children playing safely with no threat of criminals. Kids sped by on bikes, waving to him.
In the city, they’d ride right out in front of my car and then flip me off.
It was settled. Time to retreat to the suburb.
He turned up the stereo. A heavy metal song yelled something about knocking bodies onto the ground. His sentiments exactly. He was tired of being afraid. Perhaps there was another way.
A deadly way.
When he spotted a store called SOUTH SIDE GUNS AND AMMO, he pulled in, parked, and climbed out. The only black people he’d seen here were children that rode on bikes with white girls in tow. They didn’t look like gangsters at all.
Feeling confident in this haven, Sid marched right up to the cash register.
The salesman, a huge-bearded Caucasian adorned in fatigues, sauntered up, putting his beefy hands on the counter. “What I can I do ya for?”
“I need a handgun that will take out any crook threatening my daughter and me.”
“Can’t blame you there. Ever shot a gun before?”
“Well . . . no.”
“I’d sign up at a firing range. You’ve got a FOID card, right?”
“Sure.” Sid produced it, his red badge of courage.
“Okay, great.” He handed it back and grabbed a huge pistol from underneath the glass. “Don’t know what’ll stop a crook in his tracks quicker than this.”
In love with the weapon as soon as he took it from the clerk, Sid stared at the .44 Magnum, Model 29. He cherished the sheer weightiness of the long-barreled nightmare and the smooth feel of the steel as he wrapped his fingers around it.
“That’ll stop anyone trying to hurt you or your daughter, yes sir. They’ll be done fer.”
Like a white-hot blast of euphoria. “I’ll take it!”
***
The next day, Sid spent his lunch hour at the firing range, unfortunately back in the shity. The Magnum had a hell of a kick, but he was getting used to it. The next gangster who threatened him or Hayley would wish he hadn’t.
As he headed out the door, he planned to spend the next weekend house hunting in Wampum.
A couple of young men in ice chains, bandanas, basketball jerseys, and floppy jeans falling off their waists stopped laughing and faced Sid.
“Hey, dude, want to buy some smoke?” the gargantuan in sunglasses asked.
“Got some chronic for you, man,” the shorter one with a goatee offered.
The dizziness, nausea, and terror returned. They wanted to piss on his face in broad daylight! The world spun around him and he struggled not to fall, swaying on his feet. He remembered the Magnum and righted himself.
Sid whipped out the gun and pointed it at them. “Get the fuck out of my face!”
They threw their hands up. “Whoa, dog! Easy, man!”
Sid backed toward his car, opening the door from behind, not taking his eyes off them. He pointed the gun their way even as he jumped behind the wheel. Then he sped off, the car spitting up rocks and dust.
***
Sid was obligated to go to therapy after his month-long stay at the place with white coats for sad folks, and he’d taken off work an hour early to do so. He’d intimidated the assistant manager into covering his shift. Sid clomped into the waiting room, and wouldn’t you know it, a big, buck gangbanger sat talking to a skinny young man whose hair was too long. Sid struggled to breathe as fear forced him to eye them surreptitiously, just in case they tried anything.
Right before the receptionist called Sid in, he heard the huge man tell his friend, “He’s probably been a crime victim. See how paranoid he is?”
The skinny fool laughed.
Sid turned to them before walking through the door. “What, good thinkin’?”
“No, stinkin’ thinkin’, homie,” the buck man answered.
“I’m not your ‘homie’! And I’ll show you paranoid if you don’t shut your pie holes.” He passed through the door with a smile on his face.
Their faces had been quite blank.
He walked into the office, greeting and shaking with his psychologist, Abraham Clommata, a stupid-looking man with a permanent.
Abe Chlamydia looks like Shirley Temple.
Shirley Temple Black, his mind corrected him.
Sid sat, crossed his legs, and kicked a foot nervously.
As they talked of his phobia, the subject of Kylie came up.
Clommata made some notes on his pad. “What did she say, exactly?”
“She used gang expressions. I watch that show about gangbangers on cable, and they’ve got their own language, their own signs, and their own colors. She said, ‘S-weet, straight, tight, P.H.A.T., that’s what I’m talkin’ about.’ ”
Clommata sighed and leaned back in his chair. “But you’ve known this girl since she was eleven.”
“When she was eleven, she was sweet. Now she’s just a piece of meat. Will her soon-to-be O.J.-type husband cut her head off one day, I wonder?”
Clommata frowned and looked downward for a spell, then met Sid’s eyes. “From what it sounds like, the conversation went pretty well up to that point. Perhaps she uses Ebonics because that’s how her generation speaks, gangsters or not. Even businessmen use that lingo now.”
Sid nodded. “I’ve fired every employee who talked that way.”
Clommata’s brows rose. “You’ve . . . What?” He shook his head. “Isn’t that illegal?”
“Not if I catch them doing something else wrong.”
Clommata took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. He donned the gogs again. “Don’t you see what I’m trying to say? I don’t think this particular girl meant any harm. Perhaps she was single and looking for someone to date. Since she knew you, she felt comfortable talking with you. Don’t you want Hayley to have a stepmother someday?”
Sid nodded. “A woman that’s not a gangster bitch, how about that?” He looked out the window, suddenly uncomfortable with the conversation.
“But . . . don’t you see? This is your chance. Kylie’s probably not a gangster.”
Sid met his eyes. “How do I know that? They go to those clubs, dance to that noise that passes for ‘music.’ ”
“There’s only one way to find out: Talk to her. Ask her about her life. You can’t let this phobia turn into paranoia.”
There was that word again. People threw that around like streamers, didn’t they?
Then I probably shouldn’t tell you about the gun.
“Sure, sure,” Sid answered. “If I see her again, I’ll talk to her.”
Yeah, right, I’m not saying one word to her. I’m moving my daughter out of this smoggy hell’s creation next weekend.
Clommata seemed to relax. “Very good. How are you doing now that Dr. Mender weaned you off the anxiety medication?”
; Dr. Mender had been his psychiatrist. Sid’s thin body hadn’t been able to handle the drug. It made his heart do triplets—he’d just known it was going to attack him. “Just fine, thank you.”
Clommata nodded. “You had me worried there for a moment. Wouldn’t want you to slip through the cracks.” He smiled. “All right, that’s it then.” He handed him a sheet with the next appointment time on it. “See you in a couple months.”
If I live that long. Anything can happen in the shity.
On the way out, Sid’s mind burned with rage because the shrink had taken the gangbangers’ side. He tore up the sheet, his heart now with the suburb.
***
On the way home, Sid glanced up ahead and to his right, spotting a gangster in a Bull’s jacket. He shuffled on the sidewalk about 100 paces ahead of him.
It’s hotter than hell. Why do they wear winter coats all year around?
The more Sid looked him over, the more he looked like the enormous gangbanger that had peed on his face.
A torrent of rain poured from the sky. Sid turned on the windshield wipers and headlights, again glancing to the right. Remembering the golden shower, Sid decided to return the favor. He grinned as he drove through a huge puddle right next to the curb, soaking Mr. Wiggedy-Wiggedy-Whack. He rolled down his window.
“How’s it feel, punk?” Sid yelled, and then laughed like a maniac.
When he’d driven a considerable distance, Sid stopped at a chicken place for a bucket of cluck and a large soda to celebrate. He was famished after skipping lunch. Then he drove toward home.
***
Sid pulled into the driveway. He parked in the garage attached to the house. He used the remote control to shut the garage door to force out all the crooks that would walk by later.
Yet he didn’t want to get out of the car. The euphoric rush from his recent display of gusto made him laugh out loud like a . . . lunatic?
Wouldn’t want you to slip through the cracks.
The way he’d pulled a gun on those punks, plus how he’d drenched that gangster, this was a whole new Sid. After ten minutes of snickering like a grade school boy, he exited the car. He walked with a spring in his step toward the door leading to the kitchen. His mother always picked up Hayley from school while Sid was at work. Mom had a key, so they’d be waiting in the living room. He crossed the threshold and went through the kitchen . . .
. . . and found them strangely absent.
Sid searched the rest of the house: the upstairs bedrooms, the study, the basement, and the backyard—still no trace of them.
The phone rang. He wheeled on it.
Sid power-walked over and yanked it off the cradle. “What?”
“Yo, Mr. Money!”
A gangster. Sid had to sit because of a dizzy spell. He could barely breathe. “Who the hell is this?”
“It’s your old friend from a year ago, the one with the ChiSox jersey.” He chuckled. “G-Dog didn’t like gettin’ drenched, motherfucker.”
Sid choked on his spit. “How . . . How did you find me?”
“We have our ways, poindexter. License plate numbers are easy to trace. Plus we know somebody that knows you!”
“Who do I know that would know you?”
The gangbanger laughed. “That’s a surprise I can’t wait to unleash on ya, you racist piece of shit. Anyway, I jumped the fence while you were jackin’ off in the garage, and damned if your momma and daughter weren’t in the backyard enjoying some fun in the sun. I crept up on the bitches, put my hands over their mouths, and carried them away.”
“Where are they, you cocksucker?” Sid yelled.
“Calm down, pissface! They’re with me, Holmes.” He laughed again. “I heard you came into some money.” He yucked it up. “Mo’ money, mo’ money.”
Sid stood, trembling so badly he immediately fell into the chair. He forced himself to be courageous. “You hurt them and I’ll kill all of you!”
Wild laughter stung his ear. More than one of them was listening in. “Bitch, you can’t kill all of us! You can’t even keep someone from pissin’ on your face!”
Hell-on-earth had only taken a vacation after all. Sid stood and paced the floor as his mind edged toward a nervous breakdown. He couldn’t think, the room jumped around, furniture became crouching gangsters ready to spring out at any moment. Wheezing loudly, he couldn’t breathe. His heart pounded out a blastbeat. It felt like it would explode in his chest.
“Here’s the deal,” the cold-hearted killer went on. “If you want to see your momma and daughter alive again, you’ll meet us in the Wally World parking lot at midnight for a little exchange. All the money in your bank account and that sweet ride will do.” He laughed again. “We’ll even call a cab for you. Deal, poindext’?”
Sid remembered that movie about Walmart, which is what the punk had really meant, being an evil empire. They didn’t watch their surveillance tapes, didn’t patrol the parking lot . . .
“Well, do we have a deal or not, bitch?” the gangster yelled.
“Y-yes.”
“Thought you’d see it my way. And no cops! I see the popo, the little girl gets it between the eyes.” The punk hung up after his “crew” howled with laughter.
The receiver boomeranged across the room.
***
The draconian time came. Hyperventilating, Sid drove slowly. The feeling that always accompanied the panic attack followed—the fear that he was going to go crazy.
He’d hidden his gun under his shirt.
That sewer rat’s going to want to piss on my face again because I drenched him. When I’ve got Hayley and Mother back, I’m going to shoot him between the eyes.
He crept up to a crowd of thugs standing between a pair of lowriders. Sid held the key in one hand and a briefcase with $40,000 in bills in the other. He had his polo shirt untucked so they wouldn’t spot the gun. The baggy, tan khakis he wore didn’t hurt, either. He’d hidden a hunting knife in one of the pockets.
G-Dog strutted up to him. “Well, well, well, if it ain’t the motherfucker that drenched me earlier today. How you doin’? How’d that piss taste last year?”
The gang erupted in laughter.
Sid spotted his mother and daughter. They were under the arms of, of . . .
. . . none other than Kylie Tardif, now wearing a bandana, a Cubs jersey, sneakers, and short shorts.
She nodded at him. “ ’Sup, Sid?”
He shook so badly he almost dropped the briefcase and the keys. “L-l-look, I’ve got the money. You can have . . .” He gulped. “. . . the keys, like you asked; please don’t hurt them.”
“Hand ‘em over,” the mammoth of a gangbanger cried.
“No! Send my mother and daughter over here first!”
The gangster craned his neck and nodded at Kylie, who let them go.
His family ran to him.
“Daddy, Daddy,” Hayley cried.
“Oh, God,” his mother breathed. “I was so scared.”
G-Dog ripped the keys and the briefcase out of Sid’s hands. “Fuckin’ fool!”
Kylie whipped out a cell phone. “Call the cab now?”
Scowling, the bear of a man looked Sid and his family over. “Nah.” He pointed Sid out. “Get down on the ground first, whitey. Mom and Hayley, move away from his ass. It’s payback time for the puddle shower.”
Real life was the nightmare and dreams were heaven-on-earth. Here again, the black claws of panic. Why had he ever doubted? He’d never live to reside in the suburb.
Sid couldn’t breathe. He blinked the sweat out of his eyes and eyeballed his mother and daughter. “D-do as he says.”
“ ’D-do as he says,’ ” Kylie mocked. “ ’L-l-look, I’ve got the money.’ ”
Crazed laughter ensued.
“No,” Hayley cried. “I want my daddy!”
Sid’s mother frowned. She looked at him with wide eyes, and he understood she had to save the child.
“Come on, sweetheart.” She moved Hayle
y behind him.
Sid lay on the ground.
The big gangbanger pointed to Hayley and Sid’s mother. “Yo, turn around!”
Sobbing, they did.
He unzipped his zipper.
“Run,” Sid cried, sitting up and whipping out the gun. “Never again, punk!”
He squeezed off two shots, hitting the gangster in the chest and in the forehead. The crook fell to the ground with a sickening thump. Sid’s family screamed.
The skinny male pointed at Sid and yelled something, but the latter was deaf for the gun blast. He and the black-haired girl fell on Sid. They knocked the gun out of his hands and punched him in the gut and in the face. The other gang members stayed on their feet, kicking him while he was down. He whipped out the knife, but someone stepped on his hand and kicked it away.
Before the lights went out, his last thought was I hope Hayley and Mother got away.
***
Sid opened his eyes, his vision blurry and his mind hazy. Shock took him as he realized his hands were tied behind his back and his ankles were also bound with rope. He raised his head and saw he lay in a large bath with no water. His head rested against the third step of the concrete pool. He was in someone’s house. A cockroach crawled by his head, seeming to say how-dee-do, fooey on you.
As he looked up, Kylie grinned; the skinny male gangbanger in the baseball shirt stood next to her, and the black-haired gangster bitch was standing by him. The brown-and-black-haired girl in cornrows stood on the other side of Kylie.
Sid’s fear spun out of control. His heart beat crazily, pounding his ribcage, fit to burst, it seemed. Tiny beads of sweat broke out on his brow, though he shivered at the cool temperature.
The gang unzipped their zippers.
His mind lurched as if the devil himself massaged his brain with clawed hands. He tottered at the edge of sanity. Walking the tightrope without a net.
“I get first crack,” Kylie yelled. She laughed as she pulled her pants off.
Sid could barely hear. His ears still rang from the .44’s blast. If she hadn’t yelled, he probably wouldn’t have been able to make out what she’d said. He wished he hadn’t.
“Hell no,” the male gangster cried. “We all get to piss on him at the same time!”