Read Online Futile Efforts by Tom Piccirilli - Free Book Online
Authors: Tom Piccirilli
Tags: Horror
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moved out of state, looking for cheaper family housing down south or out west.
The neighborhood had some kind of a pull on him tonight. You knew you were in trouble when you were this close to going through your high school yearbook and calling your old girlfriends. How sad was that.
He walked down the block past the house where he grew up and stared at the bedroom window that used to be his. A soft breeze drifted against his throat and he realized with a strangely immense yet common dread that he was as cliché as every other man approaching middle age.
It doesn't take much to crowd you out of your own house.
When you were married it was the wife and her sister and mother and their busybody klatch. Later on it was the letters and endless phone calls and visits from her lawyer. The front door rattling in its frame from the fists of collection agencies, the pricks serving summonses. Then the drinking buddies, the clinging one-night stands who didn't realize the night was over.
He had all kinds of ghosts packed into his closets, and suddenly Vin backed up off the sidewalk, turned around, and had to fight to quell the desperate need to see that waitress again.
It was utterly stupid. The old man folly that had gotten hold of his father at the end was already at work on him. He wandered aimlessly through the neighborhood for about an hour, trying to work off the anxiety.
Instead, it had grown until he was on fire with it. His steps and body were driven forward. He moved in the direction of the titty bar wondering what new screw-up he was headed for this time.
By now he was almost jogging, and he heard the murmurs of a mob before he saw them. Then the flashing lights lending a peculiar glow to the street, flaring up against the nearby houses where people leaned over their windowsills.
Dozens had gathered in front of the bar. Two cruisers were parked head to head at the curb. They already had the crime scene tape strung around the door, the blue barricades blocking the sidewalk off.
The waitress, four dancers with flimsy robes on, and a muscle-bound guy who must've been Charlie the bouncer were all congregated by the police cars. They each took a turn talking with the cops. Vin slid through the throng, which was already beginning to fracture as folks broke away into the darkness.
Eventually he saw his chance and cut towards the waitress.
She let out a small moan when he touched her on the shoulder, then took his hand when she saw it was him.
"What happened?" he asked.
"Jesus, you just missed it." Her voice was heavy with emotion, and he saw she'd been crying. "It started two minutes after you walked out."
"Those three shithead jocks?"
"They started getting rougher with the blind man, shoving him, trying to get him drunk."
Vin thought back to the old guy who had looked as if his lips had been welded together, saying something quiet that Vin didn't catch. That frail chest heaving. "He'd had enough of their games."
"The dog growled and one of them spit beer at it. The blind man got mad and used his cane, waving it around, swinging at them. All three of those bastards started beating him up, got him on the floor and were kicking him, and the dog went crazy. It jumped and got one of the boys by the throat and killed him. Chomped on the wrist of the other. It almost took his hand off. The guy was spurting all over. He was bleeding out. It happened so fast it still doesn't seem real. I feel sort of high, you know?" Tears welled in her eyes but didn't fall. "Charlie came back and tried to tie a tourniquet on him but it didn't do much good. I called an ambulance. The third kid was screaming and kept kicking the blind man."
"Christ," Vin said, picturing it all, putting the names to the kids again, still identifying them with Del, Philly, and Bent. She started to tremble and then the shakes got worse. He took her by the
The neighborhood had some kind of a pull on him tonight. You knew you were in trouble when you were this close to going through your high school yearbook and calling your old girlfriends. How sad was that.
He walked down the block past the house where he grew up and stared at the bedroom window that used to be his. A soft breeze drifted against his throat and he realized with a strangely immense yet common dread that he was as cliché as every other man approaching middle age.
It doesn't take much to crowd you out of your own house.
When you were married it was the wife and her sister and mother and their busybody klatch. Later on it was the letters and endless phone calls and visits from her lawyer. The front door rattling in its frame from the fists of collection agencies, the pricks serving summonses. Then the drinking buddies, the clinging one-night stands who didn't realize the night was over.
He had all kinds of ghosts packed into his closets, and suddenly Vin backed up off the sidewalk, turned around, and had to fight to quell the desperate need to see that waitress again.
It was utterly stupid. The old man folly that had gotten hold of his father at the end was already at work on him. He wandered aimlessly through the neighborhood for about an hour, trying to work off the anxiety.
Instead, it had grown until he was on fire with it. His steps and body were driven forward. He moved in the direction of the titty bar wondering what new screw-up he was headed for this time.
By now he was almost jogging, and he heard the murmurs of a mob before he saw them. Then the flashing lights lending a peculiar glow to the street, flaring up against the nearby houses where people leaned over their windowsills.
Dozens had gathered in front of the bar. Two cruisers were parked head to head at the curb. They already had the crime scene tape strung around the door, the blue barricades blocking the sidewalk off.
The waitress, four dancers with flimsy robes on, and a muscle-bound guy who must've been Charlie the bouncer were all congregated by the police cars. They each took a turn talking with the cops. Vin slid through the throng, which was already beginning to fracture as folks broke away into the darkness.
Eventually he saw his chance and cut towards the waitress.
She let out a small moan when he touched her on the shoulder, then took his hand when she saw it was him.
"What happened?" he asked.
"Jesus, you just missed it." Her voice was heavy with emotion, and he saw she'd been crying. "It started two minutes after you walked out."
"Those three shithead jocks?"
"They started getting rougher with the blind man, shoving him, trying to get him drunk."
Vin thought back to the old guy who had looked as if his lips had been welded together, saying something quiet that Vin didn't catch. That frail chest heaving. "He'd had enough of their games."
"The dog growled and one of them spit beer at it. The blind man got mad and used his cane, waving it around, swinging at them. All three of those bastards started beating him up, got him on the floor and were kicking him, and the dog went crazy. It jumped and got one of the boys by the throat and killed him. Chomped on the wrist of the other. It almost took his hand off. The guy was spurting all over. He was bleeding out. It happened so fast it still doesn't seem real. I feel sort of high, you know?" Tears welled in her eyes but didn't fall. "Charlie came back and tried to tie a tourniquet on him but it didn't do much good. I called an ambulance. The third kid was screaming and kept kicking the blind man."
"Christ," Vin said, picturing it all, putting the names to the kids again, still identifying them with Del, Philly, and Bent. She started to tremble and then the shakes got worse. He took her by the
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