Misfortune

Quinten slowly walked down the steps of his apartment building. He hated the place and wished he could afford to move. But this had always been a way of life to him in the big city and he had resigned himself to the fact that this was the way it would always be. The walls had large holes in the sheetrock. Hundreds of indecent words were scribbled incessantly on them by local degenerates. Who could stop them. They were the ones with the guns - they were in control. The police too infrequently came into that neighborhood. And when they did, it was only after a shooting was long over and someone was dead. ‘Such as the episode the night before that happened only a block away.’ Quinten thought as he looked at two of the neighborhood kids sitting talking to a tall thin man. The thirteen year old boys were busily chattering away about the shooting.

"Yeah, shot him dead someone did. Don't know who, or why. Nobody saw it, probably cuz it were late and everyone was sleepin'" One of the boys chimed. They hadn't see it, but they talked as if they were there.

"You boys think you know it all." The thin man said shaking his head in disbelief. "Excuse me." Quinten said as he tried to squeeze past the boys and the man that had now taken a place on the stoop next to them.

"Well excuse me," the man hissed the word sarcastically, "I was just taking to these here fellows. Maybe ya can wait a minute." he continued, then exaggerating the imagined impoliteness he shifted further to the center of the expanse that was left to pass through.

"I just want to get by and then I'll be out of your way." Quinten replied apologetically.

"I said to wait, man. I'm in the middle of a conversation and I don't like being interrupted." his voice was sharp, and Quinten felt antagonizing him would probably only get him killed. The thin man appeared the kind. Quinten felt he was the last person on earth that would stereotype someone, but it was experience that led him to believe this man could be capable of violence. So, rather than forcing an intense confrontation, Quinten stepped back close to the door and waited.

"I gotta go now boys, be seeing ya around."

What seemed an eon the man left. He neither spoke or looked at Quinten. He just stood up and walked away.

Quinten hurried down the stairs. He could hear the two boys snicker as he went by. Obviously they were amused with the man's power.

Quinten hastened on to the store. He wanted to get there in time for the news, maybe they would have a report on the shooting that had recently happened. The local grocery had a television, something that seemed a luxury to him.

Quinten carried a blue canvas shopping basket as he walked rapidly down the isles. He plucked the items he needed from the shelves and dropped them into the basket. By the fourth isle he had managed to accumulate more than the basket would hold and he tried balancing the rest atop with the use of his chin.

'One last thing,' he silently whispered to himself and headed for the isle with the toothpaste. As he rounded the corner, he came headlong into someone and a loud crash echoed throughout the store as some of his items crashed to the floor. More concerned with the eggs that splattered the floor, Quinten quickly apologized. "I'm really sorry, I should have been more careful." He said looking up from the floor to the man he had just deposited some of the eggs on. A low groan escaped his throat as he found the tall thin man from earlier glaring at him.

"You really can make a nuisance of yourself, huh?" the man backed away slightly, "Now look what'cha done to my duds.' He took one of his long gnarled fingers and flicked a piece of egg shell off his jacket. "This ain't vinyl ya'know, this here jackets' made of real leather and it don't clean easy."

"Whatever the cost, I’ll pay for the cleaning." Quinten replied.

"Darn straight you will, the dry cleaner costs a hundred bucks." he declared holding out his thin coarse hand.

"No, my dry cleaner won't charge you that much." Quinten regretted the words even before he heard them come from his lips.

"I don't care nothin' bout your dry cleaner, now gimme a hundred bucks."

Quinten withdrew his wallet and doled out the hundred dollars. The amount was unreasonable and would leave him short on paying his monthly rent, but what alternative did he have. Some broken eggs was not a thing he wanted to die over.

The thin man left the store and Quinten helped the store keeper clean up the mess.

"He's not the badest one, that Donny Gotlin. He used to come in here years ago with a couple of his brothers. Rob me blind. I heard they beat a man for even looking at them so I never say anything."

Quinten looked at the store keeper, surprised. "But they don't still rob you, do they?"

"Not so's I can tell. Besides, Donny's the only one left now. His brother Eric, he got himself killed last year. Somethin' 'bout some drugs, I s'pose. And just last month, his other brother Georgie was convicted of breaking and entering. Even Donny just got released from jail on a burglary charge.

"Nice family." Quinten exclaimed seriously.

"Yeah, real nice. Just like the crocodiles at the zoo. As long as they keep them locked-up I ain't got no problems with them."

As Quinten finished purchasing his groceries the news came on the little television on the clerks counter and gave an in-depth report on the shooting. While much of it sounded similar to other shootings, Quinten watched as he saw a face in the crowd that he knew. It was the tall thin man the store keeper called Donny Gotlin. Quinten watched Donny as he slowly moved through the crowd. His only interest seemed only in getting away from the shooting scene, Quinten noticed. 'What if it was Donny Gotlin that shot the man lying in the street.' Quinten wondered aloud.

“ Hard to say,” the clerk replied, “He’s what we call a bully, puts on a tough act, but mostly he’s just talk. But ya never know, with them hoodlum types. They’re always expanding their power over decent people."

The next day, Quinten had to go downtown to do some errands, while it was six blocks away, he felt walking was more refreshing than a taxi. Besides, he would have to watch his money now that he was one hundred dollars short.

Quinten recognized the spot where the man was killed from the news. Still in the middle of the boulevard the man's blood darkened a immense malformed sphere. Quinten looked at it and wondered again about Donny Gotlin. 'Maybe I should tell the police. No, that would be silly. What does it prove that Donny Gotlin was at the scene during the news coverage and left. Other people abhorred by the scene probably also left.'

"What you lookin' at?" the familiar voice of Donny Gotlin caused Quinten to spin around unsteadily.

"Ah, nothi', nothin' at all." he stammered.

Donny looked at him funny and then the red spot in the street. "Ya know, that's where that dude was shot. Killed dead." he said gesturing towards the stain.

"Oh, I didn't, Um, I was well, I thought it might be." his voice choked nervously as he glanced back at the stain. When he looked back, Donny was already walking away and he breathed a sigh of relief.

The week that followed, Quinten ran into Donny everywhere. In the park, at the store again, on the street, and even at the pawnshop where Quinten occasionally worked part-time to help out the owner.

"How much will ya gimme for this?" Donny asked the day he strolled into the pawnshop, tossing the leather jacket on the counter for Quinten to see.

"I can give you, ah, one hundred dollars." he should only have offered fifty, but staying on the good side of Donny Gotlin was a decision he thought might be wise.

"Hey man, the jackets worth two hundred."

Quinten was relieved by the thick wire mesh between him and Donny. "Sorry, that's all I can do. Maybe if you wait till after lunch to come back, Sal could give you more." Quinten knew the pawnshop owner Sal Kemple would only give him fifty. That was the rule, no more than twenty-five percent of the items worth and much less if possible.

"No, I don't got no time to wait. Gimme the hundred. You're just trying to get

back at me for taking that hundred for the egg you dumped on it."

Quinten handed Donny the hundred dollars and pulled the coat across the counter under the caged wire. Donny slammed out of the pawnshop and Quinten then looked over the jacket. Egg, dry and cracked still clung to the fibers of brushed leather. The jacket was worthless and Sal was not going to be pleased with the deal Quinten had made.

It was Friday, Sal kept the pawnshop open late every Friday, just for those druggies and drunks that wanted to hock something to get their fix. At precisely ten o'clock, Sal called it a night and Quinten headed the two blocks home. He chastised himself the whole way home for not telling Sal about the jacket and decided in the morning he would tell him. Most of the street lamps were broken, so the walk was rather dark. Still Quinten had lived in the area for most of his life and he never ran into much problem walking home at night. Yet, he fingered the gun he carried in his pocket. That was his insurance.

He had just gone a block when he thought someone was following him. He

picked up the pace and turned several times to see if someone were behind him. Yet the obscurity of the night and barely any light left him only to see the darkness. he knew he had the gun, but it’s reassurance was not sufficient in his pocket so he pulled it out and took off the safety.

Then out of nowhere a hand contacted his shoulder and a voice ever recognizable uttered, "You cheated me on that jacket."

Quinten pivoted and pulled the trigger. At the close range the bullet hit Donny in the chest and dropped him on the spot. A car moving rather fast tried to stop before hitting him, but with screeching tires and the squeal of brakes, the car slammed into the tall thin man as he struggled in pain in an attempt to get up. It sent him flying into the air and over the car depositing him right back down on the road. Quinten just watched in disbelief. if the bullet hadn’t killed him, Quinten was sure the car only finished the job.

For the longest time Quinten just stood and stared at the man that now lie dead in the street. Others come from over store apartments to see also. Then, after ambulance, police and news media arrived, Quinten without a word of involvement slowly moved through the crowd. His only interest was getting away from the scene. He was sure no one would have guessed that Donny was shot. They would all assume that this was just a simple car accident.

On his routine trek to the grocery store, Quinten watched with interest as the news came on the little television. As usual, much of it sounded similar to other shootings, then Quinten saw the face in the crowd that was most familiar - his own. He took notice that the only thing he was interested in doing was getting away.

As he left the store and headed home Quinten thought to himself, ‘ Would Donny Gotlin really have hurt me or was he just a bully?” And what of the other shooting incident he had just seen the day before on the news, “ could Donny have had the same misfortune?”