One Way

I’m in a bad part of town, a place where the blackness eats up all the light; a place where the abandoned shells of warehouses with broken windows sit waiting for the end of time. Nothing grows here, not plants, not animals, not people. Things end here. The cops find bodies here. I’ve come to the right place.

I press the gun muzzle up to my temple and center it over the spot where all the pain is, right where all that blackness has collected. If I’m going to end it, then I don’t see any goddamn reason to half-ass it and put the revolver in my mouth. Amateurs stick guns in their mouths, blow their jaws off and end up someone’s private freak show locked away in some sterilized bedroom with no damn good way to get a beer. No thanks, I’m not going out like that.

There’s no wondering where it all went wrong. It was never right to start with. The affections of one fine looking police detective—Ms. Uma Pocket--were never mine to lose. She was always too beautiful, too sophisticated, too damn smart to fall for a guy like me. I knew I could never have her, not with my looks and I’d been playing it cool but when I saw her mugging down with that suit in the bar tonight the feelings I’ve been hiding from myself came out. I shouldn’t have busted that guy’s mug up like that but I did and I messed things up good.

Far down the alley I can hear cinders grinding under someone’s feet on the wet macadam. I shove the revolver inside my trench coat. If this person would have come ten seconds later he would have found my skull spread out on the macadam like some sort of bloody jigsaw puzzle.

A dark figure passes under the streetlight some thirty yards away. I feel the cold steel prickle of hairs rising up on my spine. Something isn’t right.

I can see him now. Yeah, there he is, hands stuffed in the pockets of his pea coat, black knit hat, black combat boots. His footsteps seem so damn loud, so damn exaggerated I can barely stand it. There’s no way he can see me in the darkness but he stops in front of me.

He flicks cigarette ashes on the ground. “What in the hell are you doing out here?”

I step out of the shadows into the light. “Thinking.”

“Damn odd place to collect your thoughts ain’t it?”

“It’s as good as any other place and up until now it was a damn private place.”

“So, you want to be alone? Sure, I can understand that but first I’m going to need a little cash.”

“Isn’t there some nice old lady you can go mug? Me, I’m too much damn trouble.”

He takes a step towards me. He’s close, too goddamn close. Someone that close is asking to have his face smashed in. “Little old ladies aren’t a challenge.”

“I’m not going to give you a dime. So, scram, you maggot before I rearrange your face.”

I see a chain in his hands. How I didn’t hear it is a goddamn mystery to me. I lift my arms to grab the rusty thing but before I can get a hold of it he throws it around my neck and pulls it tight. He moves behind me and starts choking me.

“You’re gonna die. You could have been nice and given me the money and I would have let you live…nah, not really. You were screwed either way. I’m a homicidal psycho.”

I rear back and slam my elbow into the guy’s gut. The air rushes out of him and the chain loosens but he doesn’t let go. I grab the chain and spin slamming him up against the wall. He lets go of the chain and grabs for the gun in his waistband. I punch him in the stomach and this slows him enough so that I am able to grab his gun and throw it up on the roof of the warehouse.

“Para Warthog, now that’s a damn fine super-compact .45. It’s a shame you’ll never see it again.”

I can see in his eyes for the first time that he thinks he’s made a mistake coming after me. I tried to tell him but he didn’t listen, they never listen.

He manages to stand upright and pulls a double edged tantō from his waistband. “Pretty good but not good enough.”

“You’re loaded down with all kinds of weaponry. You’re not going to pull a hand grenade out of your ass are you?”

I slide my hands into the pockets of my trench coat and into my Mom’s brass knuckles, the ones she left me when she passed. He lunges at me and I drive my fist into the bridge of his nose.

I laugh. “That’s one goddamn fucked up face you have. You’re almost as ugly as me now.”

He growls and comes at me again, this time slicing my trench coat. I hit him with a left jab and then an overhand right. He staggers back slicing at me. I hit him again and again. His face is unrecognizable, swollen and bleeding. Blood shoots up into the bright street light and seems to hang there like some beautiful velvet curtain. He slumps to the ground.

“Not so tough now are you?”

I light a cigarette and look away, up to the brightness of the moon. The light it casts on my face is damn nice. I turn back and he’s gone.

That chump doesn’t know that by trying to kill me he saved my life. How goddamn ironic is that? What the hell was I thinking? I may not have looks or money but I can kick ass. At least that’s something and that something is a lot more than most people will ever have.