The Minnesota Candidate

by Nicholas Antinozzi

  “We got no gas!” called an Asian man from the door of the store. “You look somewhere else!”

  Tom stared stupidly at the little signs posted at the pumps. NO GAS was printed crookedly across recipe cards that had been taped onto the pumps. With his heart in his shoes, Tom walked up to the door of the convenience store. He then stepped inside. “Can I use your telephone?” he asked.

  The Asian man shook his head. “Phone no work. You no listen to radio? Phone no work all over town.”

  “Oh crap.”

  “Oh crap is right; this all very crappy. You move car now. No gas here.”

  “But I’m out of gas. My car is dead at your pumps.”

  The short man walked out from behind the counter and he stood in front of him, sizing him up. He wore a white shirt over white slacks and he wore his black hair in a bowl cut. He looked around Tom and studied the Mercedes. He returned his attention to Tom. “You not from around here, are you?”

  “No, I’m actually from Northeast.”

  “Long walk back to Northeast, very dangerous. You got fifty dollar? I get you ride back to Northeast.”

  “I don’t have any cash, but I do have credit cards.”

  “Credit card no good. Credit card no work, anymore. The bank shut them off.”

  Tom felt as if he had just been punched. “What do you mean? When did this happen?”

  “Two hour ago, very bad for business. I’m sorry, I can’t help you. You go now.”

  Tom turned and walked to the door. Just as he was about to leave, another voice spoke from an open door behind the register. The storekeeper began arguing with the voice. Tom didn’t understand a word of what was being said, but the argument quickly became heated. Tom wanted no part of this and he walked out the door. When he did, he startled two kids on bicycles that had stopped next to the Mercedes. He raised his chin and gave them a stern look and they quickly rode away. Nearby, Tom heard the sound of gunshots.

  “You get back here,” said the storekeeper. “I give you ride home. We locking up, take five minute.”

  “Thank you so much,” he said. “I’ll pay you back. I swear to God I will.”

  “You die if I no drive you home. This very bad neighborhood, you fool for driving here.”

  Tom nodded his head as the man disappeared back into the store. He felt like a fool. How would he explain all of this to Shari? If this station was out of gas, how long before the other pumps in the city would run dry? Tom wondered if that hadn’t already happened. How would they get the Mercedes home? Sirens sounded in the distance. Tom felt a hand on his shoulder and he spun around. A haggard-looking white woman stood there, black roots sprouting under blonde hair, smiling with what remained of her corn-yellow teeth. She had dark circles under her eyes and was dressed in a rumpled mini skirt. “Got a cigarette?” she asked.

  Tom shook his head. “No,” he mumbled. “Um… I don’t smoke.”

  “Do you got twenty bucks? Wanna have a good time?”

  “What? Oh my God, no, I don’t want to have a good time. I’m a married man.”

  “And I’m a married woman, big deal. Come on, you got ten bucks? I really need a pack of smokes.”

  The door opened behind Tom. The storekeeper waved his keys at the “What I tell you about bothering customer? You get lost, dirty woman. Don’t you ever come back!”

  “No need to have a cow, man,” said the dirty woman. “I’m going.”

  Tom watched her as she walked away and wondered how someone like that survived. The thought gave him chills and he found that he felt sad for the woman. Obviously, she had made bad decisions, but what crooked path had she taken to end up where she was? As he was thinking this, a throng of brown-skinned men wearing long robes walked across the street toward the parking lot. The woman stiffened, but continued walking in a collision course. Tom estimated that there were perhaps thirty men in the group, many had their faces covered. “Get inside!” shouted the shopkeeper. Tom quickly obeyed and he jogged back into the store.

  The store had windows on two sides and Tom ran to the windows that overlooked the street. He watched in horror as the men in robes began to surround the woman. Although he couldn’t hear them, it appeared as if they were shouting at her. Tom watched as one of the men hurled something at the woman. Whatever it was, hit her in the side and she doubled over in pain. She screamed and despite of the glass that separated them, Tom easily heard her. Her scream was cut short by another thrown stone. The men were soon scouring the crumbling blacktop and throwing whatever they could find. The woman held her arms over her face, but as the hailstorm continued, she was knocked off of her feet. “We’ve got to help her,” he cried, but he knew there was little they could do.

  “No telephone!” shouted the shopkeeper. “We go out there, we be killed!”

  Tom turned away from the window and covered his face. Tears were streaming down his cheeks and his entire body shook. He had never felt as weak and helpless as he did at that moment. He didn’t know how long he wept, but when he dried his eyes and looked back outside, the men were gone. The woman lay where she had fallen, her limbs tangled and bloody, her face pressed into the asphalt. He stared at her for a long moment. She wasn’t moving. Somebody’s daughter, thought Tom.

  The Asian man was suddenly standing next to him. He looked out the window and shook his head. “That poor woman,” he said. “Those men are animals.”

  Tom turned away from the window and thought he was going to be sick. After he had gathered himself, he thanked the short man for saving his life. “My name is Tom Picacello,” he said, offering the store owner his hand.

  The shopkeeper shook it. “Bing Louie,” he replied. “And you are welcome. My father say we should wait fifteen minute, very dangerous out there. Come on, I get you cold drink. You look like you could use it.”

  Tom nodded and followed Bing Louie to the glass cooler. He slid open the door and pulled out two bottles of water. He handed one to Tom and the two men drank. Above them, the lights flickered and then they went out. The humming sound from the coolers ground to a halt. Bing sighed and shook his head.

  Shari parked her car in the garage and walked into the house. She called for Doris and Marie, but the house answered with silence. Shari had wept on her way home and had used up all of her tears. She felt thoroughly defeated. She thought about checking her bank account, but she knew the check she had written would bounce. Still, she thought her bank would cover the overdraft. She had always been one of their best customers and she had never written a bad check in her life; until today, she thought, bitterly.

  She felt tired, but she knew she couldn’t sleep; Shari also felt hungry, but she knew she couldn’t eat. She wandered around the house and found herself inside Doris’ bedroom. The room was a disaster; the bed was a tangle of sheets and blankets and there were dirty clothes strewn all over the room. Shari stared at the mess and was suddenly struck with an idea. What if Doris had taken her gun? Before she could stop herself, Shari was searching through her mother in-law’s things. It wasn’t long before she found the canvas shopping bag. “You dirty skunk,” whispered Shari.

  She brought the shopping bag into her own bedroom and she dumped it out on top of the bed. Her head thrummed with an anger Shari had never known. She picked up the Sig Sauer P238 and racked a cartridge into the firing chamber. And at that moment, she wished Doris would walk in through the door. She held the gun in a shooter’s stance and very nearly pulled the trigger. Finally, she unloaded the Sig and she returned it to its hiding place under the bed.

  She then began returning the other pilfered items to where they had been stolen from. Shari was shocked at how much Doris had stolen. As she put things away, Shari began to notice other things that were missing. Fuming, she marched into the bedroom that Marie had slept in. This room was also a mess. After a short search, Shari lifted the mattress and she screamed at her discovery. The top of the box spring was sprinkled with jewelry, Shari’s jewelry. She gathered it up in he
r trembling hands. She felt dizzy with rage and for a moment, Shari experienced tunnel-vision. She sat down on the unmade bed and gathered her thoughts.

  She returned the jewelry to where it belonged, but she continued her search. She searched every inch of both rooms. When she finished, Shari marched into the living room and she opened up the not-so secret passageway. When her eyes fell upon the extension cord, she began to rant and curse, like a raving lunatic. Words came out of her mouth that she had never imagined saying. She tried the light switch, but the power was still off. She walked out to the garage and found her big flashlight and she returned to the open bookcase. She then walked down the stone stairs and into the tunnel. She followed the cords all the way to the spiral staircase. On the top stair she found her ruined chainsaw. The wooden wall was chewed up and splintered, but it was still intact.

  Shari left the chainsaw where it was and she returned to her living room. The thought of closing the bookcase seemed laughable and for the first time in her life, Shari left it standing open. She walked into the kitchen and she poured herself a glass of wine. Then, like a dehydrated wino, she slugged it down. She then poured herself another glass.

  She sat down at the dining room table and she stared out at the lake. Sipping her wine, Shari thought of all they had done for Tom’s mother. They were now nearly destitute because of her and the thought of it sickened Shari’s stomach. She thought about divorcing Tom, but she quickly reconsidered. He had done nothing wrong and couldn’t be held responsible for what Doris had done. Shari decided that once she dropped Doris off at her new home, she would wash her hands of the woman. Tom would be free to visit his mother as often as he liked, but she would have nothing more to do with her. Shari found that her mood improved with the thought. She finished her wine and returned to the kitchen for another glass.

  She refilled her glass and she hovered inside her refrigerator; eating two slices of cheese and a few chunks of cubed watermelon. The cool air felt good on her skin. Without air conditioning, the house had grown warm and stuffy. In her anger, Shari was now only noticing it. She picked up her glass and drank.

  And then all of the pieces fell into the puzzle.

  Shari felt as if she had just been struck with lightning. She drained her glass and ran up the stairs. She ran straight into her bedroom and she flung open her underwear drawer. Shari ran her hands down to the bottom and whooshed them around, but something was amiss, just as she had known it would be. The keys were gone. She pulled the drawer from the dresser and she dumped her underwear on the bed. But there was no sign of the missing keys. Triumphant, furious, and thoroughly disgusted, Shari disrobed and changed into a pair of blue jeans and a cotton blouse. She pulled on a pair of socks and an old pair of Nikes. She then walked back down the stairs and finished her wine.

  She picked up the flashlight and walked out into the heat of the day. The clouds were breaking up and the air was thick with humidity. Shari barely noticed it. She walked across the lawn in the direction of her parent’s house. For all these years, Shari had been able to avoid stepping back in there. Now, she had no choice but to go inside; she had to protect her parent’s things from a pair of felonious scoundrels. That thought brought her anger to a nuclear level. Her arms swung at her sides as she charged up the lawn.

  Shari ran up the massive staircase to the stout wooden door. The missing keys were still hanging in the lock. Shari was about to fly through the door, but a memory stopped her. Her hand shot to her mouth and she began to laugh. She had nearly forgotten the old security system and she wondered if it still worked. She was fairly certain it did, being mechanical and untethered to the electrical grid. She dropped to her knees and let go of the flashlight. Still laughing, Shari raised her fists into the air and she shook them. She remained in that position until she was able to get herself back under control. She then picked up the flashlight and rose to her feet.

  Slowly, Shari opened the door. The trapdoor in the floor hung wide open. From the bottom came the sound of women screaming. The sound was music to Shari’s ears.

  Marie’s arm was broken, or at least she thought it was. Doris was just happy that she was alive. Marie had ordered Doris to stand on the end of the steamer trunk and to try pulling herself out of the hole. Doris had tried, several times, but she wasn’t strong enough to pull herself up. Finally, the steamer trunk crumpled under her weight. “Oh shit,” grumbled Marie, “I suppose you’ll have to keep tossing the crowbar and see if you can hook something else.”

  And Doris had given it a try, but she hadn’t retained a good grip on the pant leg and the entire contraption had sailed clear of the hole. Marie cursed Doris a blue streak for her stupidity. When she finished, Doris moved to the other side of the pit, making sure she bumped Marie’s bad arm in the process. Marie howled in pain and Doris felt better.

  Marie continued flicking her disposable lighter, but it eventually died and the women were left whimpering in the blackness. Legions of sand fleas chewed on their bare flesh as the rats returned to the darkness. Doris and Marie took turns screaming obscenities, praying that someone would eventually hear them. And then the door opened above them and light spilled down upon them. They both leapt to their feet and the women began to squeal for help. Doris recognized the light as the beam of a flashlight and she covered her bosom as it swept over her.

  And then Shari stood over them. “Hello ladies,” she said, cheerfully. “Fancy meeting you here?”

  “Fancy nothing,” bellowed Marie. “Get us the hell out of this damn hole!”

  Shari laughed at that and it sent shivers up and down Doris’ spine. “Oh please,” Doris moaned, “we’re dying down here. Have pity on us.”

  “Have pity on us?” asked Shari. “Wait a minute, let me try and get this straight. You dug through my underwear drawer to find the keys to my parent’s house.”

  “She did it!” cried Doris, pointing to Marie.

  “Shut up!” shouted Shari. “You knew I didn’t want anyone in here, but you had to get in here, didn’t you? Stealing from me wasn’t good enough for you, was it?”

  “I didn’t steal from you,” groaned Marie.

  “Like hell you didn’t. I found my jewelry under the bed you slept in!”

  “It was a joke, can’t you take a joke? I was going to give it back to you.”

  “And what about you, Mommy Dearest; I suppose all of those things you stole from me were only a joke, too?”

  “Yes, yes, of course it was all a joke. Shari, we’re old women, how else do you expect us to get our fun?”

  “Oh, so you two strip down to your panties and break into other people’s houses for fun?”

  Doris turned her head in shame. “You don’t understand,” she sniveled, “we had to burn our clothing.”

  “Are you going to help us out, or what?” asked Marie. “Because if you don’t I’m going to call my lawyer!”

  “Go ahead and call him. You know, maybe that’s a good idea. You call your lawyer and I’ll call the police and we’ll let the courts figure this out.”

  “Shut up, Marie!” shouted Doris. “Don’t you know that honey is thicker than vinegar?”

  “Oh my,” chuckled Shari, “I’m not even going to touch that.”

  “I don’t have any honey left,” growled Marie. “Just get us the hell out of here! My arm is broken and I need to get to an emergency room!”

  Shari put her hands on her hips and smiled. She had absolutely no intention of letting them off the hook, not yet. She was going to teach these war horses a lesson they would never forget.

  chapter 15

  Tom waited at the window and watched as a Minneapolis police cruiser rolled through the lot. The car looked as if it had just run in a demolition derby. “The police are here,” he shouted. Tom was anxious to give his statement and he jogged over to the door. But when he got there, the police car was already speeding down Lowry Avenue. Tom watched in disbelief. When he turned around to comment, he found another man had joined them
. Tom thought he bore a striking resemblance to Bruce Lee.

  The man was dressed in a white shirt over a pair of khaki slacks. “Did you see that?” he asked, staring at Tom, angrily. “They just drove away.”

  “I know,” said Tom, “I was standing right here. I can’t believe it.”

  “You had better believe it. I’m sorry, but we’re not going to be able to take you home. My dad meant well, but we just can’t risk it.”

  Tom was about to say that he would call a cab, but then he remembered that the phones weren’t working. Tom wanted to go home, even if that meant going back to his mother’s house. “I suppose I’ll have to walk,” he said. “Will you unlock the door?”

  “Are you on drugs? No, I’m not going to unlock the door and you aren’t going anywhere. Haven’t you been listening to the radio?”

  Tom shook his head. “I haven’t seen the news since last night.”

  “Oh shit,” sighed the man, “this is going to take a while,” he offered Tom his hand. “My name is Mike Louie, but everyone calls me Louie.”

  “Nice to meet you, Louie; Tom Picacello, I’ve been working on my mother’s house and haven’t heard a thing. What the heck is going on?”

  Louie shook his head. “Do you know what jihad means?”

  Tom shrugged his shoulders. “That’s like a holy war, right?”

  Louie grimaced, but he nodded his head. “In a nutshell, that’s what it means, but there are a million different levels when we’re talking about jihad. I don’t have the time to explain them all to you. Let me put it this way: followers of Islam see jihad as a sacred duty to God. Jihad is the daily struggle to live a good life and to defend their religion. It’s about committing to your goals and making the most of your life. Hey, that’s cool, right?”