As Jack watched the setting sun in the amber sky, he became aware of a heightened sense of alertness within himself. Leaning against the sun-heated bricks that composed the westernmost wall of the Westroads shopping mall, Jack was awaiting the beginning of his shift. The last of the day’s shoppers were slowly clearing the lot as night fell. Holding a hand up to his face, Jack examined the Marlboro Light 100 he was enjoying. Jack was not officially a smoker. Neither was he officially a bacon, egg, cheese, french fry or hamburger eater. Dr Snotnose’s orders. And his own wife conspired with the Dr. to ensure the last few years of his existence were brutally joyless.
There were few perks as a security guard, but confiscating cigarettes from minors wasn’t too bad. “That shit’ll kill you, you stupid flopheads!” Jack would yell at the teens he caught smoking in the exact ‘out of the way’ spot he now stood. Exhaling a stream of that delicious Virginia gold, the irony completely escapes Jack.
Turning his thoughts to the night ahead, Jack was surprised by a sudden anticipation. For the past several days, he had been filled with anxiety. The Rocky Horror Picture Show had been showing at the movies at midnight at the Westroads for a few weeks, but this was Jack’s first time on the beat. He’d heard stories.
Several ex-cops, good men, had retired early after facing the unspoken horrors of crowd management at one of these god-forsaken, perverted freak-fests. Jack’s old compatriot, Sully Menkovitchz, after what he heard and saw at “The Rocky Horror Picture Show” 3 weeks back, awoke the next morning with an overwhelming calm. Smiling as the last of his sweet dreams faded, slowly becoming aware of a pulsing warmth. Before even opening his eyes, he was mentally running down the day’s itinerary. Breakfast, lawn mowing, a little game of catch … when something jolted him from his nice comfy dream state. Pulsing warmth? A flash of a memory. A pick ax. A man in O.R. scrubs and Playtex rubber gloves had just murdered Eddie. As poor Sully turns to tell his wife about the True Horror of Rocky Horror, He understands. There will be no lawn mowing. No breakfast. No playing catch. Only prison. He had scant memories of the events after he arrived home from the shift at the midnight movie. But it was all coming back as he peered into the open, lifeless eyes of his one true love. I’m pretty sure he was also upset by what he found in his children’s rooms, but I honestly don’t want to talk about it. Oh and anyway, he was the one who did it, so I don’t know what he’s crying about.
~~~
“Sully? That nut case? You’re worried about him?” Bob couldn’t believe Jack. This was not the kid he’d trained all those years ago. That boy had fire. He was foolish, but fearless. After just 5 years on the sidelines, old Jack Hughes appeared to be a shadow of his former self.
“I dunno Bob, it just seems like, you know, I’m not as quick or strong as I used to be. These kids, they …”
“Jack. Listen to me. You and I both know that Sully was psycho. Just because he decided to murder his whole family after dealing with a few rowdies at the theatre doesn’t mean you’ll have any problems. This is not the Hughes I know. Maybe you’ve lost a step or 2, but think man. You’re Jack Hughes. You can handle a few punk rocker movie goers. I don’t care how old you are.”
~~~
But now there was a calm that swept through Jack’s being. Bob’s words had reminded him that he was good at this. Sure, his best years were behind him. He would never again remove a dangerous criminal from the streets. But he was sure as hell going to remove any disruptive patron from the movie theater. Sometimes that had to be enough.
Throwing down the cigarette butt with no small amount of disdain, Jack adjusted his security cop cap, straightened his spine, set his fleshy, but prominent jaw, and headed toward destiny – a little stool that was placed just outside the ticket window of the movie theater.
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