Disturbia (The 13th) (2 page)

“Oh fuck, well I'll stay out of his way today. Little pussy,” Sal said and then they both laughed. 

The small black and white TV mounted on the wall above their work area had on the morning news.  At first the factory workers were engaged in frivolous conversations about sex, bills, and the playoffs, but then the gruesome story caught Sal's attention and he was suddenly engrossed in the breaking news of the day.

Breaking News: The police are now calling the five mutilated bodies the work of a serial killer.  The latest victim is a Hispanic woman in her early to late twenties. Police have yet to identify the identity of the victim. The following is a composite of the suspect.

The screen flashes to a sketch of a white male in his early thirties with oval shaped eyes and thick eyebrows. 

His name is David Robinson.
The suspect's wife was found sawed in half in their bedroom on Detroit's east-side by her mother today. If you see the suspect, call the police immediately. Do not approach him as the police warn he might be armed and is considered extremely dangerous. 

A helicopter shot of the suspect's house and neighborhood flashed across the screen followed by the African American reporter interviewing one of his neighbor's.  Sal thought that the neighbor, a little old lady with big pink rollers with a hair net over her head, reminded him of Lucy, his nosy ass neighbor who he absolutely loathed.  Nothing bothered him more than a person who pried in his business.  Not that he really had any lately. But still, he didn't want to share his misery with anyone.  He wanted to wallow in his own self pity in peace. All the
“how are you doing”
and
“what's a nice looking young man like you doing alone on a Saturday night”
was enough to make him want to strangle the life out of her. Mind your damn business he would scream in his mind as he feigned a smile and swallowed hard every time they passed in hall.

Lucky son of a bitch,
he thought about David Robinson.
At least he had the balls to do something about his misery. He was probably married to a bitch too. His wife was probably a two timing bitch who tried to leave him the minute shit started to go downhill just like my bitch ass wife did to me. The minute I lost my job and needed an outlet she bailed. I should have killed her too...I should have done the exact same thing as David Robinson. I hope they never find the son of a bitch.

“Dammit Sal,” Raymond yelled.  Snapped out of his own evil thoughts, Sal glanced up to see Raymond standing over him and a pile of door handles, which he was suppose to be placing on the car at his point in the line, surrounded him on the cement floor. 

“Oh, sorry boss,” he said as he stood up. “I guess I wasn't paying attention.” His face turned bloodshot red. Even though he hated the job, he knew how important it was to his survival. He had no other income and not a single soul in this world who would be willing to help him.  Especially now that Susan was gone.

“In my office,” he said. Sal stared at the floor in embarrassment. “Now,” he shouted. 

***

“You know I've been trying to stick up for you,” he said as he slammed the door. “But I'm tired of it. You come in drunk every shift, you show up late, and when you finally do get here...you fuck up.” Raymond sat down behind the messy old wooden desk. 

“I...well today was a mistake.” Sal remained standing with his hands cupped behind his back. 

“It's always a damn mistake,” Raymond replied. “Sal...,” he said as he folded his arms and put a stern look on his face. “My sup wanted to do this a long time ago and I've taken a lot of heat for you, but...but I'm afraid I'm gonna have to let you go.”

From that second on, everything went in slow motion for Sal. Raymond's voice started to sound like a distorted track being remixed on a turn table.  He played it over and over again in his head before the words actually registered. 

“
I'm afraid I'm gonna have to let you go.”

Sal hadn't expected this. He didn't see this coming. He was blindsided without a doubt. The embarrassment. The failure. The humiliation. He had been a supervisor himself...making triple this. He had graduated from college. A college graduate, for crying out loud...and now...and now he was being fired from a measly minimum wage job.  All of a sudden he felt a rush of heat take over his body. Sweat poured from his hairline and down the sides of his face.  The anger. The anger. The anger inside of him boiled over to capacity.

“You'll get your pay for the rest of today. Please turn in your badge and door pass and see your way out.”

“See my way out?” he asked.  “Ahhhrrrrrrwwww you son of a bitch,” he yelled and grabbed Raymond's desk. He quickly picked it up and flung it to the opposite side of the room leaving Raymond's crossed legs and Kenneth Cole loafers exposed. Raymond was speechless and just sat there with his jaw dropped to the ground. He, at that moment, also had something take over his body. Fear.  Sal was scaring the living shit out of him.  His training had taught him to never underestimate a disgruntled employee; there had been too many shootings, bombings, and hostage situations from sudden terminations.  He had to think quickly on his toes. Staring deep into Sal's tormented eyes; he knew that when he reached for it that he had better have a tight grip.  One of them was about to make a move and Raymond knew that his had better be successful.

All of a sudden Raymond yanked his cell out of his holster on his hip and then he jumped up and back against the wall away from Sal.  He quickly dialed the number to security. “Get in here...hurry. My office, my office now.” 

To his surprise, Sal didn't make another move.  He just stared. He looked as if his spirit had departed from his body and he was void of any natural life, with only a soul possessed by the devil himself. Within seconds, three tall and overweight security guards with clubs raced through.  As the door blasted open, Sal with his hands in front of him and in a grabbing position, tried to leap over the scattered papers and fallen desk items to get one last chance at snatching the life out of his overbearing boss.  He knew it would be the last time he would have the opportunity. He figured that since Raymond had called security anyways that he might as well make them get their day's worth. 

Before Sal could even finish his sentence, “I'm gonna kill you, you fucking son of a......,” security had him in a tight choke hold and yanked him through the door, down the hall,  before exiting him out the back and tossing him in the alley near the dumpster. His co-workers looked on in pity at the person they once called friend only to quickly return to their post on the line before the same thing happened to them. 

***

Sal face down in the dirt slowly rose to his feet.  Instantly, the sweltering heat stung his skin. His lungs struggled to take in the toxic dry air. There was nothing fresh about it. The smell of the dumpster filled him and almost made him choke. Wondering if a dead body was hidden somewhere in there, he thought that this must be how the devil's playground smelled.  He was still halfway in a daze, angry, and still not completely comprehending what had just happened.  Was he really just fired? Had his unemployment account really run out? What does he have to fall back on?  Unfortunately, he already knew the answer to those questions – Yes, Yes, and Nothing.  He had absolutely nothing. His mind shifted to a time when everything was handed to him. His job, his paycheck, his home cooked meals that awaited his arrival from work, and his naked wife in his bed waiting for him to release the stresses of the day into her soft, sensual body.  As he dusted off his pants and took one step forward all he could think of was taking a cold sip of straight up vodka.  How sweet it would be. Bitter to taste, but sweet to his soul. The burn would soothe his pain and cover up what was inside of him. Which was nothing. Nothing loving or tangible was left in him. Just hollow. Dark and hollow.

“Hey what the fuck you doing?” Sal cried as he rushed towards the tow truck that was pulling his car away.

“Sir, back away. Back away before I call the cops,” the man in a yellow shirt with a name tag glued to it that read
Dale
said. He tossed some papers in Sal's direction and then hurried behind the wheel, skirting off while Sal stood there yelling obscenities and making wild gestures. 

It was no secret to him that he had lost. But now it seemed like he had lost absolutely everything. He blamed the divorce and his ex-wife for ruing everything, even his credit. Even though his old Lincoln wasn't worth a piece of shit anyways, the only way he could have a set of wheels was to get a high interest loan with a car that had a device that would disable it and have it repo'd if payments were late.  He figured that he could go a couple more weeks before making a payment before the device would trigger. He figured wrong. 

He started to walk. Water built up in his eyes, but he refused to let it fall.  He couldn't get a handle on his emotions. He didn't quite know if he was mad or sad. If he felt anger or remorse.  The only thing in that moment that he knew for sure was that he needed a drink, and fast. Sal let out a slight giggle. Even with all that had happened, he was grateful that he was only blocks from home and wouldn't have to walk far.  He let out an even bigger laugh when he remembered what day it was.
Friday the 13
th
. What a day? And what a day it's turning out to be. Straight from hell and out of a damn horror flick
, he said to himself. 

***

Miguel stood behind the register waiting on the kids to finish walking up and down the aisles. He knew they were waiting on him to take his eyes off of them so that they could sneak stuff in their pockets. He was up to it, and was just playing along with their little game.

“Man let's go,” the brown boy with a low faded haircut said as he bounced a black basketball.  His friend followed behind him and within seconds they both had approached the counter and were standing in front of Miguel with chips and pop. 

“This is it?” Miguel asked.

“Hey man, what is this?” the boy turned to his friend and asked. 

“I don't know, it's only 99 cents. Grab some.”

“Awww man, this that new Kush.” They both laughed.

“Aye man, you can get high off this. My brother's friend use this, he said it's better than the real stuff,” the boy said as he picked up the small red and black package. 

“Word,” his friend responded. 

Miguel rung up their small purchase that came to three dollars total. He was happy. The candy had been a hit all day with kids coming in and out steady for hours picking up the stuff. He wished he knew who had delivered it – that way he could not only thank them but order some more.  This could be just what the store, and him for that matter, needed to get up from under water and start making a profit. After the kids had left, he checked the register's balance. He had already made more than he made for the entire day yesterday.  A huge stretched smile covered his face and he did the math in his head.

Finally, Sal reached Lucky's Beer and Wine.  By now, he was drenched in sweat, his mouth was dry, and all he could think of was why the damn heat hadn't let up yet seeing as though the day was winding down and it was now late evening. He had held his head down the entire walk home. The anger had melted away and depression replaced it.  And that feeling was the worse of all. The depression left an empty yearning in his stomach that tingled. It made him feel like he had to piss, release his bowels and puke all at the same time. But he knew just what he needed to make it better. As he walked through the glass door, two teenagers, one bouncing a basketball, almost knocked him over.

“Watch it old man,” the kid said. Sal gave him a hard stare.
Old man
, he thought. At 32, he hardly considered himself old, but then again he thought back to when he was that age and he would have thought he was old too. 

He brushed pass them and vowed to dismiss the irritation from his mind. Enough had happened today and he was just ready to pour, drink, and relax. Nothing could be better.

He grabbed a Budweiser from the glass fridge in the back and approached the register.

“Your usual Sal?” Miguel asked.

Before he could answer, two giggling girls who had to be no older than 16 ran into the store, bumped into Sal almost knocking the beer out of his hand, and dug into the bin with the new candy Miguel had put on display. They grabbed a handful and then threw a ten dollar bill on the counter at Miguel. Just as quickly as they appeared, they disappeared.  For the second time within minutes, some annoying teenagers were interrupting Sal and invoking unnecessary irritation into his so-called life. He let out a loud puff of air.