One For the Road Ch. 02

"Come on, baby," I said to my Charger as we hit the major road, pressing the accelerator down and causing the 8-cylinder engine to growl in response. The wide tread tires bit into the pavement, keeping the over 5,000 lb vehicle steady as we raced towards Huntington and Florence Building Supply. The minutes on the dashboard clock ticked upwards one at a time until 7:00 came and went and I was cursing every red light and slow moving fucker I was stuck behind.

Finally I saw the green painted building and with a sharp pull of the wheel whistled into the parking lot at 7:08, stopping short with a squeal of brakes. I leapt from the car and ran for the front door, troubled to see both drivers were already in the yard and starting their currently empty trucks. "Doug, sorry I'm late. I overslept!" I offered as I charged up to the counter and quickly signed in.

"Fuck me, Jimmy!" He replied, clipboard in one hand and a rolled up plan in the other. "You're fucking late, you look like shit, and you tell me you overslept?! Get those damned trucks loaded and out the door and then get your ass in my office. Got it?"

"Yes, Doug. I'm on it." Fuck me, fuck. I am so in trouble. Go right ahead, Doug. Ride me again for no damned reason. I'm out here every day, in the cold, rain, heat, you name it – doing my job. No fucking respect for what I do or how hard I work.

I had both trucks loaded within 10 minutes and they were out the gate by 7:25; not my best showing. I turned off the Yale and made my way back inside where Doug had me join in him in office and shut the door. He then spent the next 15 minutes tearing me a new ass, ripping me up one side and down the other. He picked on my job ability, my slovenly appearance, my attendance, my attitude, even guessing that I had a beer or two now and again.

"Listen to me, Jimmy. And listen good," he was winding down at this point, no longer ranting and raving. "I'm giving you to the end of the year to get your ass screwed on straight or you're out of here. You get me? December 31st, you're still a fuck up, you're gone. Understand?"

I nodded, miserable. "Yeah, Doug. I understand."

He shook his head. "On break I want you to go to 7-11 and buy a toss away razor, come back here, and shave. And I want you to wear a cap today, you look like serious shit. Jesus, Jimmy, I'm not your mom, I shouldn't have to tell you how to take care of yourself. You're supposed to be representing Florence Building Supply, not 'I Don't Give a Shit-R-Us'."

"Sorry, Doug. I'll take care of it."

"See that you do. Now get the hell out of here and do your job."

I walked out, noting that most of the staff and customers were pointedly looking away. Fuck, now everyone heard him bitch me out. Thanks Doug, you dick. Just stick a knife in my god damned neck next time. Starting the Yale I drove out to the yard and busied myself with the work I had piled up, grumbling often and aloud when no one was around.

By the time the roach coach showed up I was dragging, no energy, exhaustion had finally crawled up and claimed me. "Hey, Scott," I greeted the driver, filling up a large Styrofoam cup with coffee from his urn and adding a little sugar to it. "Any covers?"

"No, sorry Jimmy." I handed him his $3 and wearily climbed back onto my forklift.

No covers meant I had to hold the coffee while I worked, which meant I was working slower than I liked and of course at that time Doug was at the big window looking out across the yard and saw me one handed driving the lift in low gear along the rutted pavement, sipping my coffee. He just shook his head and went back to his office. "Fuck me," I snarled, taking a last sip and then crushing the half cup in my gloved grasp and tossing it in the garbage box I kept behind my seat. "Not a fucking break all day."

At 11:30 I was feeling jittery and miserable and angry and frustrated and just put upon. My hands were itchy and it felt like I had a bag of needles rattling around my head. I ran out for lunch, driving to the 7-11 and buying a 3-pack of throw away cheap Bic razors and an overpriced can of small shaving cream. I then walked towards the back of the store near the refrigerator case and pulled out a 12-pack of Coors. Fucking right I deserve this, I thought as I paid for my purchases. Miserable prick isn't giving me a break for shit today.

I drank one in the parking lot, already feeling much better when I was done. I drove back to the yard where I drank a second after parking the Charger, my anger fading as the hops fueled beverage cooled me down. Taking the rest of my purchases I went into the bathroom where I washed my face and shaved as close as I could with the cheap blades. My face was as smooth as it was going to get. Fuck him.

I picked up my supplies and left the bathroom, striding towards the exit, making it a point of slowing down by Doug's office so he could see me. He looked up as I stopped by his door, eyes locking with my own. "Better."

I said nothing, seething inside as I made my way to my car and threw my bag on the passenger seat. Seeing the Coors sitting on the floor I took a third one out and hid it in my jacket pocket. "Damn, I need this today," I muttered as I went back to the yard and returned to work.

The day did not improve, but it didn't get any worse. I managed to drink my beer while I was trundling around the back of the yard near the roofing shingles. It made me feel good, like I was personally getting something over on Doug for being a ruthless ass to me today. At 4 Doug had everyone come up front where he made a big production of handing out the paychecks today, like we were getting a prize instead of our regular pay two days from now. Like he was going to open the place on Black Friday to hand out checks. I swallowed my desire to tell him to fuck off, instead thanking him for the check as I tucked it into my coat pocket. He looked at me strangely, eyes narrowed and sniffing the air like he could scent something. Fuck, prick can smell the beer. Not a problem, I just won't exhale. Ha! Fucking smarter than you, douchebag.

Once safely away I let my breath out and congratulated myself on being so damned clever. I went to the bathroom and washed up for the ride home, not liking the crease forming between my brows or the way my neck muscles were tensed. I left work for the day and as usual, no one noticed me. Like I was fucking invisible.

I opened the door to my baby and took the case of Coors from the front seat floor and placed it on the back seat floor, but not before taking one more to drink before the drive home. I had to shove the big box that was behind my seat over to make room, the contents clanking as it shifted.

It was filled with all manner of things I had salvaged while driving the forklift here. Items that contractors had tossed in the dumpster, various whatevers I found lying loose in the yard. The majority of it were lengths of rebar, those 2' ribbed metal poles used in concrete footing and forms. Each one was 3 lbs or so and I had to have picked up twenty or so over time. There was also a pair of rusty claw hammers, a plumber's wrench, a couple of measuring tapes that for one reason or another didn't work, a 5 lb canvas bag filled with galvanized roofing nails, at least thirty bent carriage bolts, and a seven piece set of cheaply made drop forged metric wrenches that had the box end snapped.

Any of the good items I had found were in my garage; this was the left over stuff that I had gleaned but hadn't gotten around to fixing, cleaning, or throwing out as of yet.

My Charger started, the engine sounding just as angry as I did, and I drove home slowly. The trip did nothing to calm me, instead only revving me up as I went over ever slight, every snub I had to weather at work today. I grew more and more pissed, my guts churning as I made my way south.

When I finally pulled into the driveway I was fit to chew nails. Thank Jesus I had off the next four days otherwise I would have really lost my shit at work. As it was now, all I wanted to do was go inside, kick off my shoes, and relax.

"Hey, Honey. How was your day?" Myra was in the kitchen, a mess of condiments, spice cans, posts and pans littering the counters and stove tops.

"It fucking sucked, Myra. Ok?"

"Damn, I'm so sorry you had a bad day, James. Did Doug get mad you came in late?"

"Mad? Ha! That doesn't even begin to identify what a miserable prick he was to me. It's bullshit, let me tell you. Fucking bullshit." I put the remainder of the case in the fridge, shoving some of the wrapped up bowls to the side to make room. I took one beer out and popped the tab, tilting it back and taking a swallow. "Something's got to change, babes. I can't keep putting up with his shitty attitude."

Myra was staring at me open mouthed, hand half raised as she took a long look at me. "What?" I asked, growing immediately cross with her. "What the fuck? What's wrong?" I looked around. "Where are John and Joel?"

"They're out back playing with the Miller kids." She shook her head. "What the hell are you doing?"

"What?" I hoisted my beer. "This? Nothing. I had a shitty day, I told you that."

"James. Enough. Give me the beer." She held her hand out towards me.

"What? Are you nuts? I'm not giving you my beer. I had the worst fucking day today, and I'll have you know, it's your damned fault!"

"My fault?" She almost screeched her response. "How is it my fault?"

"You picked a fight with me last night and I slept on the couch. Which means I didn't set the alarm. Which means I was late for work today. Which means THAT'S what started Doug on riding my fucking ass all day!" My voice was rising at this point, the snake like tendril of anger stirring to life in my chest. "So if you don't like me trying to fucking relax in my god damned home with a fucking beer then you should think about what you did to me yesterday and make sure not to do it to me today!"

"Don't you blame this on me, James Skelly! You are a more than significant part of this problem and you need to man up and take some responsibility in this!"

"Don't patronize me, Myra!"

"James. Give me the god damned beer. You've had enough!"

I held it over my head like a child, denying her the chance to take it away. Seeing that I was not going to let her taker it she screwed her face up into a frown and instead opened the refrigerator door, pulling the remainder of my case off the shelf by the edge of the cardboard box. "Hey!" I yelled, "Put that fucking back!"

She backed away, making her way to the sink while I stalked forward. "James! No more! No more drinking!"

I lunged for her, reaching behind her and we both pulled on the box, the cardboard ripping, sending beer cans flying all over the kitchen. From the doorway I could hear crying and looked over to see my two sons standing there upset, the two boys from the Miller's next door in shock behind them "Daddy! Mommy!" my kids cried out, terrified to come into the kitchen, horrified at what they were seeing.

"John! Joel! Get away from here!" I ordered, hoping they would back away long enough for me to calm Myra down and pick up my beer.

"It's ok, boys! It's ok!" Myra was struggling in my arms, trying to get away from me but I wasn't going to let her go. Not after she dropped my beer. We needed to talk about this and needed to do it now.

With one last scared look on their face the four boys ran from the kitchen and back to the backyard, the screen door slamming closed behind them. "See what you did?!" I roared at her, my volume increasing, the serpent crawling across my lungs, a burning fire forming in my throat. "I hope you're happy!"

"Let me go, James! Let me go! Get out of here! I want you to go! Just go! I can't do this anymore!" She was on the verge of breaking down, twisting and twirling in my grasp. In our struggle I stomped on one of the dropped cans and the seal burst, sending foaming beer to pool across the floor; dirty muddy puddles gathering on the linoleum.

"Calm down! Calm the fuck down, Myra!" I gripped her tighter as she fought to get away, my fingers holding her wrists, the skin almost white under my grasp. She was moaning and wriggling, but refused to relax which only irritated me more. "Myra if you don't calm the fuck down I'm going to lose my fucking shit!"

"Argggghhh!" she screamed, I guessed maybe in pain and frustrated that she couldn't break free. I saw her foot rear back and then snap forward. She kicked me in the shin hard, the pain sharp and aching. "Let me go! Let me go!" She kicked at me again and again I took it.

I twisted her around, spinning her body so she was off balance and couldn't kick me a third time. I kept control of her movement with my hands on her wrists, not giving her the chance to escape or the ability to hurt me again. "Stop it! Stop it, you bitch!" We stumbled across the beery floor, banging into the cabinets, drawers, and tables like a pair of ping pong balls. All I could picture was her finally listening to me and calming down.

I don't know how long we grappled across the kitchen. I know she fell to her knees twice and I physically pulled her to her feet screaming at her to "calm the fuck down!" But I did hear the sound of the front door tearing open and a deep voice yell out, "Police! Put your hands in the air!"

I looked over my shoulder to see two uniformed Nassau County cops standing there, one had his hand on something on his belt and the other was standing behind, one hand behind his back, the other hand pointing at me. "Get the fuck out of my house! Get the hell out of here!" I roared.

The cop in the back snapped his hand forward and a blast of some sort of spray hit me in the face, nose, and part of my open mouth. It felt like someone had poured acid across my eyeballs and then scraped them with a cheese grater. I tried to scream but could only shrilly cry as my throat gagged on the foul taste in my mouth. I couldn't draw any air, unable to breath the membranes of my nose were aflame with a hundred needles.

I let Myra go, even in my pain wracked state making sure she was behind me, my body blocking her from these two thug cops who came in here and...

I heard something that sounded like a BB gun shot and then someone set my spine on fire.

God knows how many thousands of fucking volts coursed across my riddled nerve endings as the taser the second cop shot at me released its charge into my chest. I fell on my back, unable to stop my limbs from spasming, my legs from quivering and quaking. I guessed I had fallen into the spilled beer but it was too warm and it spread across my jeans; letting me know that on top of it all I just fucking peed myself.

I could hear my kids crying in the cottony din in the distance. I could hear Myra sobbing. I could hear Rachel Miller trying to console my wife and telling her that she was afraid and called the cops. And I could also hear as I was pushed upright and my hands cuffed behind my back the sound of the closest cop saying...

"You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you. Do you understand the rights I have just read to you?"

If only I could unclench the muscles locking my jaw I would answer his fucking question.