especially heavy night of drinking. It happened a lot. He supposed he was lucky he never saw some of the things he’d read about in those tracts that his neighbor, Mrs. Simpson, liked to leave stuck in his door about the dangers of drink and how God could turn his life around if only he’d take Jesus into his heart.
Then, there was another sob. It didn’t sound like one of his friends in his head, he thought, so he turned back.
"Who’s there and what do you want? I ain’t got time to play no parlor games."
It sounded like a young boy, crying.
"Are you hurt? What’s the matter?"
He listened and once again, there was no reply, just the hiss of the snow as the wind brushed it against the walls on either side of the alley. Then, more crying. Charlie stumbled forward into the darkness, to a pile of trash stacked up next to the rear door of the antique shop next to the bar. Bracing himself with a hand on the broken pallet, he bent down to take a closer look. As his eyes adjusted to the dim flicker that just barely reached the spot from the bar’s lamp, he could make out a figure hunched up against the wall.
As Charlie leaned in to get a closer look, Jay, back in his bed, could smell the man’s sour breath.
"What are you doing here, kid?" he asked. "Christ. Do your momma know where you’re at?"
He chuckled and rubbed his fingers along the zipper on his coat.
"You had me going there for a minute. Your parents must be having a shit fit, you being out so late."
Jay’s chest heaved as he gasped for air. He could sense what was coming, but he couldn’t escape. He was looking directly into Charlie’s yellow, bloodshot eyes. He wanted to yell out to him to run, wanted to shove him back and away before what he knew was coming. But he couldn’t. He was watching this show through the eyes of another who controlled the script.
He could feel the scream stop short in his throat as Charlie leaned in closer. Without warning, Jay felt himself spring forward. Charlie’s throat was ripped out before he could make a sound. Jay’s breathing came in short, heavy bursts as he tasted the old man’s coppery, warm blood on his lips. And then he woke up, his body drenched in perspiration, shaking.
The garbage truck came to a stop behind the Longbow with a grinding hiss from its brakes just after the break of dawn. Vinnie Pescado and his partner, Brian Flaherty had been running this route for ten years since they’d bought the scavenger service. They could work it in their sleep. Vinnie hopped down from the back of the truck and began dragging cans to the loader.
"Hey," he said to Brian, who was sitting in the cab drinking a cup of coffee.
Brian made as not to hear him as he leaned back in the seat and closed his eyes. Vinnie let loose of his load and jumped up to give the window a hard slap with his hand.
"Hey! Asshole!"
Brian gave a sour look and rolled down the window.
"What?" he asked angrily.
"Get your lazy ass out here and help me with some of this shit!
"All right, all right," Brian murmured as he climbed down out of the truck. "Jeez, it’s freezin’ like a bitch!"
Vinnie disappeared behind the truck as Brian began working on the load from the antique store next door. There was a large wooden pallet, some cardboard boxes, and a single trashcan.
As he passed Vinnie, dragging the pallet behind him with a couple of the boxes in his other hand, he said, "We ain’t chargin’ that guy Cramer nearly enough. Every time he’s got some big shit like this."
"Yeah, yeah. You wanna come down here and talk to him, then? I sure as hell don’t have time. That’s why I was talkin’ about gettin’ a secretary or a bookkeeper or somethin’. We’re always stuck in that office doin’ paperwork instead of out workin’ on business."
Vinnie tossed the empty cans back up against the wall with a loud bang and walked over to grab the one from the antique
Then, there was another sob. It didn’t sound like one of his friends in his head, he thought, so he turned back.
"Who’s there and what do you want? I ain’t got time to play no parlor games."
It sounded like a young boy, crying.
"Are you hurt? What’s the matter?"
He listened and once again, there was no reply, just the hiss of the snow as the wind brushed it against the walls on either side of the alley. Then, more crying. Charlie stumbled forward into the darkness, to a pile of trash stacked up next to the rear door of the antique shop next to the bar. Bracing himself with a hand on the broken pallet, he bent down to take a closer look. As his eyes adjusted to the dim flicker that just barely reached the spot from the bar’s lamp, he could make out a figure hunched up against the wall.
As Charlie leaned in to get a closer look, Jay, back in his bed, could smell the man’s sour breath.
"What are you doing here, kid?" he asked. "Christ. Do your momma know where you’re at?"
He chuckled and rubbed his fingers along the zipper on his coat.
"You had me going there for a minute. Your parents must be having a shit fit, you being out so late."
Jay’s chest heaved as he gasped for air. He could sense what was coming, but he couldn’t escape. He was looking directly into Charlie’s yellow, bloodshot eyes. He wanted to yell out to him to run, wanted to shove him back and away before what he knew was coming. But he couldn’t. He was watching this show through the eyes of another who controlled the script.
He could feel the scream stop short in his throat as Charlie leaned in closer. Without warning, Jay felt himself spring forward. Charlie’s throat was ripped out before he could make a sound. Jay’s breathing came in short, heavy bursts as he tasted the old man’s coppery, warm blood on his lips. And then he woke up, his body drenched in perspiration, shaking.
The garbage truck came to a stop behind the Longbow with a grinding hiss from its brakes just after the break of dawn. Vinnie Pescado and his partner, Brian Flaherty had been running this route for ten years since they’d bought the scavenger service. They could work it in their sleep. Vinnie hopped down from the back of the truck and began dragging cans to the loader.
"Hey," he said to Brian, who was sitting in the cab drinking a cup of coffee.
Brian made as not to hear him as he leaned back in the seat and closed his eyes. Vinnie let loose of his load and jumped up to give the window a hard slap with his hand.
"Hey! Asshole!"
Brian gave a sour look and rolled down the window.
"What?" he asked angrily.
"Get your lazy ass out here and help me with some of this shit!
"All right, all right," Brian murmured as he climbed down out of the truck. "Jeez, it’s freezin’ like a bitch!"
Vinnie disappeared behind the truck as Brian began working on the load from the antique store next door. There was a large wooden pallet, some cardboard boxes, and a single trashcan.
As he passed Vinnie, dragging the pallet behind him with a couple of the boxes in his other hand, he said, "We ain’t chargin’ that guy Cramer nearly enough. Every time he’s got some big shit like this."
"Yeah, yeah. You wanna come down here and talk to him, then? I sure as hell don’t have time. That’s why I was talkin’ about gettin’ a secretary or a bookkeeper or somethin’. We’re always stuck in that office doin’ paperwork instead of out workin’ on business."
Vinnie tossed the empty cans back up against the wall with a loud bang and walked over to grab the one from the antique
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