It\u2019s the middle of the fucking night when Brandon and his buddies come banging on Aldous\u2019s kitchen door. They\u2019re going to break the door down; they\u2019re pounding so hard Aldous can hear it over the sound of the water that runs day and night from the bathroom tap, even over the sound of his own snoring. He wakes up with dread in his belly. He can\u2019t afford to get the tap fixed and he sure can\u2019t afford to replace a broken door.<\/p>\n
He should call the cops, but doesn\u2019t. He should put some shorts on, but doesn\u2019t. Instead he pads to the kitchen and pulls the door open. \u201cDo you know what time it is?\u201d<\/p>\n
Brandon\u2019s hunched over, getting ready to pick the lock, and Aldous shoves his naked belly into Brandon\u2019s face.<\/p>\n
The kid backs off, straightens up, waves a knife in his right hand. \u201cWhere\u2019s the beer?\u201d<\/p>\n
Aldous makes to slam the door. \u201cCome back when it\u2019s civilized,\u201d he says. He doesn\u2019t sell beer in the middle of the night, and not from his kitchen.<\/p>\n
But the kid steps to, and says, \u201cFucking bootlegger. I\u2019m not here to buy.\u201d He angles the point of his knife against Aldous\u2019s throat, and it\u2019s as Aldous tilts his head back that he sees Brandon\u2019s two buddies standing on the steps that lead up to Rabbit\u2019s place.<\/p>\n
It doesn\u2019t make sense. Just today, Aldous gave these kids a ride, helped them out, sold them a couple of bottles. Brandon, sweet kid with a Mohawk, always says thank you when he gets out of Aldous\u2019s van.<\/p>\n
A patch of fur rubs against Aldous\u2019s ankle as his cat Daisy zips past them all into the darkness.<\/p>\n
\u201cNow you\u2019ve scared my damn cat,\u201d he says. He\u2019s exposed and cold in the September night but damned if he\u2019s going to show these punks he\u2019s afraid.<\/p>\n
The three kids push him back into his kitchen, and Brandon says again, \u201cWhere\u2019s the beer?\u201d It\u2019s all stacked up next to the fridge, four cases full, one nearly empty, all of it waiting to be loaded into the van for legitimate customers. Daylight customers.<\/p>\n
Aldous stands in front of the beer and stares at them. The only sound is the water running in the bathroom. Then the tall guy at the back mutters, \u201cFat fuck,\u201d spits on the linoleum, and pushes Brandon aside to give Aldous a shove. \u201cGet out of the way, old man.\u201d<\/p>\n
Aldous stumbles aside, his trembling hands clenching. If he\u2019d called the cops. If he\u2019d gotten dressed. If he\u2019d fixed the tap. If he\u2019d just left the beer in the goddamn van like always. But he\u2019ll show them, won\u2019t he. This is his house. This is Big Al\u2019s house.<\/p>\n
He throws a punch, misses. Then in the light of the bare bulb by the back steps he sees the glint of a bottle from the open case swinging down towards his face. What kind is it? Most of his customers like Canadian, or Bud Light. The young guys like to drink Labatt 50, just like their fathers did back when the mines were booming. Aldous can\u2019t remember what he\u2019s got in stock, what was in the open case, and is still trying to figure it out when he falls on his knees, left eye filling with blood from a cut over his eyebrow. And then Brandon shoves a foot into his chest, snarling, \u201cStay down!\u201d and as Aldous falls backwards, head in the living room, body in the kitchen, it doesn\u2019t really matter much anymore which brand hit him.<\/p>\n
I\u2019m going to die here.<\/p>\n
Aldous stays down like he\u2019s told. The punks carry the cases out the door, one by one. Brandon smashes the cookie jar on the counter and pulls out the four hundred-dollar bills he finds in the ceramic shards. He stuffs them in his pocket and turns around. Aldous half expects him to say thank you.<\/p>\n
Instead: \u201cCall the cops and we\u2019ll burn your house down.\u201d Brandon flicks open a Bic lighter and throws it at Aldous\u2019s feet. Aldous feels the lick of flame against his bare toe before it sputters and dies. There\u2019ve been fires along Melvin Street lately; Brandon\u2019s not fucking around. Aldous\u2019s bowels turn to ice and let go and he\u2019s lying in a puddle of his own shit and what\u2019s left of his courage and pride and he can\u2019t call the cops.<\/p>\n
Old man. Fat fuck. Brandon and his buddies have just declared open season on the man they used to call Big Al. Big man on Melvin Street, the man with the beer in the back of his van, the man who\u2019s everybody\u2019s friend.<\/p>\n
The nobody. The failure his ex-wife always said he was. The loser father whose daughter doesn\u2019t visit.<\/p>\n
Aldous\u2019s tears stream sideways down his face and pool in his ears and he\u2019s reminded of a song he used to sing to Athena when she was little. He hums it as he hauls himself back to his feet, gripping the wall for support; as he gets himself washed and dressed; as he throws a change of clothing into his van and locks his house behind him.<\/p>\n
He climbs up the back stairs, slow with his gimpy leg and the blood still coming down his face, and bangs on Rabbit\u2019s apartment door. Rabbit owes him back rent and sometimes keeps the change when he sells beer for Aldous, but Aldous has nowhere else to turn.<\/p>\n
When Rabbit opens the door, rubbing his eyes, Aldous tells him what happened, then hands Rabbit his house key. He says, \u201cTell Athena I\u2019ll call her when it\u2019s safe.\u201d<\/p>\n
Rabbit says, \u201cSo you\u2019re just going to run away?\u201d<\/p>\n
Aldous shrugs. \u201cSometimes you fight. Sometimes you flee.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhen did you become such a fucking coward?\u201d<\/p>\n
Aldous shrugs again, then he\u2019s gone. Gone before he has to answer Rabbit, gone before the sun comes up.<\/p>\n
He is halfway to safety before Daisy scratches at the kitchen door, wanting to be let back in.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
He wakes up with dread in his belly. He can\u2019t afford to get the tap fixed and he sure can\u2019t afford to replace a broken door. He should call the cops, but doesn\u2019t. He should put some shorts on, but doesn\u2019t. Instead he pads to the kitchen and pulls the door open. \u201cDo you know what time it is?\u201d<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":182,"featured_media":21941,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[3530],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-21387","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-flash-fiction","writer-linda-m-bayley"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/21387","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/182"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=21387"}],"version-history":[{"count":3,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/21387\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":21942,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/21387\/revisions\/21942"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/21941"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=21387"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=21387"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=21387"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}