Paying bills is a hustle.
In the Gutter, it helps to be in the wrong place at the right time.
In the Gutter, it helps to be in the wrong place at the right time.
We Got a Winner by Stanton McCaffery
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James walked to the liquor store – not for booze, but for the
scratch-offs his wife asked him to get. He was thinking about Amadeus, the eighties
movie. He thought that if a guy like Mozart died poor and was dumped in an
unmarked hole there was no chance for him, an unemployed office monkey. He
might as well start digging his grave now.
He walked down the street with his head down and his hands in
his pockets. The fingers of his right hand were through the holes of his brass
knuckles. They were the one thing he bought for himself with his severance
check, figured since he’d be spending more time around the neighborhood he
should make some sort of investment in self-defense. Over the years he didn’t
exactly make friends with his neighbors. A bunch of low-life drug dealers is
what he thought of them – and he told them as much. They’d be seeing more of
him now so he figured it wouldn’t hurt to add some power to his punch.
The liquor store’s floor was covered in a fine layer of dirt and
the air smelled of stale beer and puke. James called the place The Stab and
Grab, didn’t know the real name. The sign outside just read: Liquors. The
clientele were mostly kids just old enough to legally purchase alcohol and guys
that drank mouthwash when they ran out of the good stuff. James had once been
in a place where they told you that you could sample the wine, had a list on
the wall telling you what kind of drink went best with whatever kind of food.
This was not that kind of place.
He eyed the hard brown stuff and thought about how much he would
have to drink in order to never wake up again. The nice bottles with the high
prices all had an inch of grime on them that matched the grime on the floor. He
went to the counter and pointed at the scratch-offs his wife told him to get,
got one more for himself. The guy at the register that smelled like pot and
looked like he hadn’t showered in a week rang him up and told him to have a
good night.
Next to the front door of the liquor store was a bush-lined curb
that James sat on. Somebody pulled in to the lot blasting music. The only
thing James could hear was the bass and the sound of the car vibrating. The guy
that hopped out had a black tank top, jeans that looked like they’d been attacked
by a bedazzler, and a faux-hawk. James rolled his eyes. He rolled them again
when the dude came out a few minutes later with a six pack of wine-coolers.
Under the neon lights of the store, James took out a penny from
his pocket and the scratch-off he’d picked out for himself. The thing was
covered in dollar signs and gold coins and watermelons. He wasn’t sure what the
watermelons were about, but whatever. He scratched off all the little grey
spots and wiped the sparkly silver crud off his jeans. All the spots were
filled with zeros. “Of course,” he said, as he flung the thing into the bush
behind him.
When he stood up to go, he tripped over his own feet and fell back
into the bush. Before he could lift himself out, he looked up and saw a white
van with tinted windows fly into the lot. Somebody with a ski mask came out, a
black handgun in one hand and a brown paper bag in the other. James stayed in
the bush and held his breath until he heard the automatic doors open and the
guy go inside. He stayed in the bush but took out his brass knuckles and put
them on, not sure what his next move would be. There was screaming inside. It
was just one voice. Probably belonged to the robber, he thought.
For a second, a scenario played out in his head where he would
sneak into the store and punch the guy in the back of the head, smash his face
into the counter, grab the gun, and empty the clip. Then he would say something
like Bruce Willis said in one of those Die
Hard movies: "Yippee ki-yay, motherfucker!" But no, he didn’t do that, he
didn’t even get out of the bush.
Then he heard more screaming and two gun shots. He closed his
eyes tight and told himself to think fast. When he heard the automatic doors
open, he stuck out his foot and caught the guy in the shin, tripping him and
sending him on his face onto the pavement. The gun went under the van and the
brown bag spilled out cash. James got to his feet and beat the back of the guy’s
head with his brass knuckles.
He pulled his phone out and was about to call the
police when he looked back at the money on the ground. They’d be able to keep
the fridge full for at least a little while with all that. It would sure make
his wife happy. He bent down and picked up the bag, grabbed the bills that had
fallen out. There was five-thousand dollars in all. It wouldn’t solve all their
problems, but it’d keep them at bay for a little.
When he got back home and walked in the front door with the bag
in his hand, he shouted to his wife: “We got a winner!”
