Our Bloody Masterpiece

An old friend of mine had a saying. “A cigarette, is like a woman,” he says. “You smoke it until you're done with it, then you throw it on the ground and put out the flame.” This old friend of mine, we aren't friends anymore.

I have a saying too. Cigarettes are like a good woman. Once you're hooked, you're hooked. Its sort of a strange saying considering today is the day I've decided to kick the habit. I had one cigarette left, and I was going to savor it. I was going to put on some classical music, and drink a glass of wine while I breathed in my final nicotine fix. Unfortunately I didn't have any classical music on hand, so I settled for the weather forecast on channel three. I was also fresh out of wine, so I settled for some grape Kool Aid I had made the night before.

I was quitting. There was no turning back. Cold turkey. This was it. After my cigarette was done, I got dressed, and watched the news. Today an old man was shoveling snow off of his driveway, and he fell. It wasn't long after that, the snow plow came. Plowing the man into a snow bank, where he stayed for several hours before his daughter who lived across the street came over to check on him, and heard his muffled cries from the snow bank. The news was never good no matter where you went. Tragedy sells in this world of ours. Its a fact of life.

I moved here a while back when things where I'm from got... Complicated. Every now and then I see people I know on the news. I never hear their names, but I know their work. Three bodies found decapitated under a bridge in New Jersey. Man found dead in his apartment. The police have no leads. They never do. Tragedy sells, and these old friends of mine, they're one of the lead suppliers.

I try not to think about it too much, but I know one little slip up. One little bit of noise. One 'hello' to the wrong person could be the end for me. I have their money, and if it was as easy as giving it back to them, I'd do it right now, but it simply isn't. There was no going back. Some day it was going to happen. Someday they'd find me, and I could only hope I was beyond the point of caring when they did.

Today I needed to go to the mall. I needed to spend my weekly cigarette allowance up, that way I wasn't as tempted to buy a pack. I thought it was a pretty good plan myself. I watched the beginning of an old sitcom that I forgot existed and tried to think of something to buy. I was split between jeans, or one of those ice cream cakes from Baskin Robbins. That way when I was craving a cigarette I could shove cake in my mouth in an attempt to calm myself. I knew it probably wouldn't work, but it was better than nothing. When the final laugh track played on the sitcom, I decided upon jeans. This way, if I get tempted to smoke, I can look at my own ass and go, “Damn I look good.” I could become addicted to myself... Really neither was going to help, I just decided the second option was funnier.

I finally made my way out of my apartment and watched as my elderly landlord pounded on someone's door. Their rent was over three months due, and from what I knew of the people in the apartment, she was never going to get her money. Nothing but no good drug addicts in there. Probably so sky high on oxys or whatever they were on that month that they thought the pounding was some sort of drug induced hallucination. I wouldn't know though, never touched the stuff myself, I just know their type.

“Having trouble Mrs. Henderson?” I calmly asked her.

“Oh! Spencer! How are you today? Its so nice to see you,” she says, as she stops her relentless assault on the door. “Just the usual. Good for nothing punks who don't pay their debts. What's with kids these days Spencer? Why can't they all be like you? These kids today, with their baggy pants, walking around all goofed up on goof balls. The whole world's gone crazy!”

“Can't say I disagree with you Mrs. Henderson. Not many people my age have much respect for things anymore...” I reply as the door in front of me slowly opens up. He's half dressed and in desperate need of some Visine from the looks of it. You can smell the pot smoke he tried to cover up by spraying some sort of air freshener from the hallway. A part of me wonders if Mrs. Henderson even knows what the smell is.

“There you are!” she shouts. “You're three months late! I want my money or I want you gone!”

“Fuck you, you old bitch! Fuck off and die already!” the kid shouts back. I couldn't stand to see anyone talk to someone like Mrs. Henderson that way. Doesn't anyone have respect for their elders these days? A part in me just snapped and the next thing you know, I had the kid by the shirt. I pushed him into his apartment, still holding his shirt, his half dead girlfriend laying on the couch, just watching me as I manhandle him. I throw him against the wall and I can see the fear in his eyes.

“Dude! What the fuck!?” he asks as Mrs. Henderson makes her way inside behind me.

“Apologize!” I shout at him as I give him a death glare that would scare a charging bull.

“I-I'm sorry!”

“Look at this mess! There's trash everywhere! And look how dirty that vase is! At least put some flowers in it!” Mrs. Henderson scolds. “I want you out by the end of the week!”

“That's not a vase,” his girlfriend informs Mrs. Henderson through her stoned laughter. I loosen my grip on the guy as Mrs. Henderson continues to scream at the couple. She gives me a wink, and I casually leave like nothing even happened. I can scratch 'perform a good deed' off my list of things to do today.

I got in my rusty, old pick up truck and let the engine run a few minutes as I try to find something on the radio. I finally find a station I could live with and decide to start my journey to the Westfeild Vancouver mall. Over one hundred and twenty stores, including a Pretzel Town. I was in the mood for a giant pretzel today. In fact, I could practically taste it.

I only hear two songs on the radio station I pick. The rest are just commercials. I was in desperate need of a CD player or something for the truck. Maybe one of those little radio transmitter things you plug into the cigarette lighter for an MP3 player or whatever. I don't really need the cigarette lighter anymore, so why not? Then again, this would require me to actually buy a computer, and an MP3 player. Maybe I'll save so much by not smoking, that I'll actually be able to afford these items.

So far, today has been great. Its the type of day that makes me feel like life is actually worth living. Makes me forget about the past. Forget about everything. Days like this, they make you feel like you have a future. I pass by the place where I always stop for cigarettes and I'm not even half tempted to pull in and buy a pack. I feel so different today. I feel lucky. For once in my life, I feel like something good is going to happen today. I've honestly never had that feeling before. Its a very welcome change in mood.

I pull into the mall, which is flooded with people. Two o'clock on a Saturday is a busy time at the mall apparently. I wouldn't know, I'm hardly ever here. I whistle a tune as I walk inside, and pass a few people outside the entrance smoking. “Just quit today!” I proclaim as I walk past, drawing dirty looks from all around. I'm not sure what possessed me to even say it. I guess I'm just overly proud of myself.

I decide to cruise the mall before I make any sort of purchase. Maybe I'll find something else that I can't live without. Right now, I can't live without a giant pretzel. So I make that my first stop. I sit on a bench and savor every bite. I can't help but love that liquid cheese that they make from powder and water. Just like mom used to make I always say. I had a friend who actually thought these places were back there melting cheddar to make cheese sauce. Needless to say, he was disappointed to learn otherwise. The thought of that always makes me laugh.

I finish my pretzel and begin to wander aimlessly through the mall. I walk by a jewelry store and can't help but think of how I would rob it. First I would knock out the heavy set male manager. He's big, but I know I could take him down in one shot. Every man has a button. Its right on the left of their chin. You press that button with your fist, and he goes down. Doesn't matter how big he is. He goes down. After that, I shove the gun I'm carrying at the time down the nice looking young girl's throat and tell the overdressed middle aged woman to load up the bag or the girl will be swallowing a bullet. The engagement ring the young one is wearing tells me this middle aged woman will do exactly what I say. Its almost too easy.

I shouldn't have these thoughts anymore. Those days are over, but it seems like my criminal brain is always at work. Always seeing the angles. Always assessing. Some people have hobbies, I just go for a walk and think to myself, “How could I take everything from this place and get away with it?” To me, its better than any hobby you can have, but as I said, I left that life behind a long time ago. I would never act on any of this. Not anymore. Not like I used to.

I walk the mall, whistling like nobody's listening. Not a care in the world, when something stops me. A voice. A loud, angry voice. Screaming at someone. Threatening them. Behind this voice are tears. I look around to see if anyone else is listening to the same thing. Everyone else seems to be too wrapped up in their own little world to notice what's going on. They're checking their watches. Making sure they have all their bags. Texting their friends. Checking to see if they have enough money to buy that shirt their friend was wearing at work the other day. Nobody notices the situation, and if they do, they're acting like its not happening. I can't help but listen in on what's being said.

“Jesus fucking Christ Charlie! I give! And I give! And I give! And I get treated like total shit! Why are you being like this to me!? We're fucking made for each other babe! You can't answer your fucking phone when I call!? But you can sit in this fucking mall and sketch this bull shit!? You have time for that, but you don't have time for me!? You dumb fucking cunt! If there weren't so many people around! I'd...”

“You'd do what?” I ask, interrupting his scene. “I really want to know what you would do.”

“Its none of your fucking business what I'd do asshole! Butt the fuck out!” he shouts back. The girl is still sitting on the bench. Still drawing. Her pencil never stops moving. Her tears never stop falling. She's brushing her light brown hair out of her eyes, tucking a lock behind her ear. Trying to ignore the asshole who's now in my face and ready to fight. She's petite, and so innocent looking. How she attracted the attention of a dickhead like this, I'll never know, but I feel its my duty as a gentleman to at least help her out.

“Calm down there killer, we're in a mall full of people. This is no place for a fight. This is also no place for a screaming match,” I tell him. “Its no place for you to air your dirty laundry, and the fact that I don't think this girl appreciates you threatening her in public sort of sets me off just a bit. So let's just do the smart thing here. You leave her alone, and we all move on with our lives. If I see you threaten her again, we'll have problems. Is that understood?”

“Fuck you! Is this why you haven't been answering the phone!? Is this the fucker you're seeing now!?... This isn't over! Fuck all of this! You both fucked up! This isn't over!” he shouts as he walks away. He's right, it isn't over. There's a scared girl in front of me, and she's beautiful. The least I can do is introduce myself.

“Sorry about that whole mess. I couldn't let him keep that up... I'm Spencer by the way. Spencer Cage. Its nice to meet you.”