Simon rubbed at his temples as he drove through town. “They moved the damned equipment rental place.” He cursed under his breath as he drove by the same block for the third time. “I’m certain it was right here.”
He doubled back and drove slower. “It was RIGHT HERE!” He slammed his fist on the steering wheel then came to a complete stop. He reached for the bottle of liquor that wasn’t there and muttered an epithet under his breath.
“Fuck this. I need hooch to think straight.”
He turned the SUV and goosed the pedal, shooting through intersections until a familiar sign appeared in the distance. He smiled to himself as he pulled the SUV to the front of the liquor store.
Simon put the car in park and stepped out, his brows narrowing at the intact front doors and windows. “Something ain’t right.” He rubbed at his chin as he approached the front door.
He pushed on the door and it refused to budge. He cupped his hands to either side of the glass and peered deep into the shadows. Although he couldn’t see movement, he did spot row after row of prime hooch just sitting in the desert heat. “Well, ain’t that just a waste.”
He smiled to himself as he pulled his pistol out and flipped it around. He turned his face and slammed the butt of the gun into the glass storefront. He nearly yelped when the weapon bounced off of the acrylic without so much as a scratch.
“What the…” He stepped back and kicked at the door with all of his might, landing himself flat on his ass on the sidewalk, a startled look on his face. “Oh, hell no!” He scrambled to his feet and pointed the pistol at the door.
He was just about to pull the trigger when another thought came to him. “I wonder if they have a back door?” He lowered the pistol and marched around the corner of the building. He slowed his approach when he saw the alleyway shrouded in shadow. He glanced up at the midday sun and took a deep breath. Some things are worth dying for.
He leveled his pistol and turned the corner. Other than trash cans and the distinct smell of decay and death, the alleyway was empty. He walked slowly until he found the rear door. Solid steel and old as shit. He saw the rust along the edges and knew that this old hunk of junk had seen its share of abuse over the years. No doubt any number of hoodlums, teenagers, and hobos had attempted to break in through the rear.
He grabbed the handle and gave it a solid pull. As he expected, it was locked. And solidly. There was exactly ZERO give when he pulled on the handle.
Simon considered possibly wrapping the handle in chain and using the SUV to rip it from the frame, but he knew that with his luck, he’d just rip the handle off and be left with nothing.
He walked to the front of the building again and tapped on the “glass”. “The fuck is this? Plastic?”
He stepped back and studied the door. Heavy aluminum frame, some kind of thick acrylic instead of glass, iron bars along the inside.
He sighed as he walked back to the SUV. “I’d have better luck driving the damned car through the…” He paused and turned again to study the door. Gears turned and he tried to calculate the loss of hooch if he jumped an old truck and took out the front of the building.
He shook his head and tilted his head back, staring at the clouds. His eyes wandered to the ceiling. He slowly brought his head back up straight and continued to stare. “How secure would the roof be?”
He pressed his face to the front doors again and looked inside. A slow smile formed as he stared at the skylight in the middle of the ceiling.
“Bingo.”
And so it was that Simon found himself in the alley, pushing a dumpster toward the lower roof of the liquor store; he climbed atop and reached for the edge. He was still at least two feet short of the roof. He tried to jump and grab the edge, but he came up woefully short.
“Son of a muthatfuckin’ bitch!” He stomped on the top of the dumpster and felt the cheap plastic lid begin to give. “No! Don’t you do it, you—”
Simon fell into the dumpster and scrambled frantically for the edge. He had no idea what might be inside and he didn’t want to stick around to find out.
He landed hard on the concrete beside the dumpster and stared out at the empty street. He sighed heavily and rested his head on the cool ground. “It shouldn’t be this damned hard to get a drink.”
His alcohol soaked brain wandered back to the last time he had uttered those words. He closed his eyes and tried to push the image from his mind.
He could see her…still smoldering, covered in blood. His best friend right beside her, dead. He’d suspected there was something going on between them but he couldn’t bring himself to confront either of them. He didn’t want to know the answer. Instead, he drank to push the thought from his mind.
He drank so he wouldn’t have to face her infidelity and he drank so that he wouldn’t have to question his best friend’s loyalty. Then he saw them there, lying on the ground, their infected bodies scorched, soaked in their own blood and both in a state of undress. And he knew. There was no denying what they’d been doing when the world went to hell. There was no denying their betrayal. There was nothing to quell the pain…except booze. As much as he could find.
People became an asset. Every bit as much as food or weapons or ammunition. People served a purpose. They were good to get shit done. They were good for protection. They were
