Charlie's feet seemed to have a mind of their own, and his legs were shaking because he had never bought a gun before. Just as he started to let his mind wander, he came across a pay phone and thought of Billie Jean.
Jamming his hand into his pocket he fumbbled to find two quarters to stick into the coin slot. The coins clinked pleasingly, and every push of a number left Charlie's ears ringing with a melodic note. It rang.
A gruff voice answered the phone, "Hello. Who is this?"
"What the fuck. I should be asking the same question. What little rat-bastard of a man is picking up my girl's phone?"
"Oh," the rat-bastard said followed by a chuckle, "You must be Charlie."
"Yeah and you're a dead man," Charlie hissed back. "Could you put Billie Jean on the phone?"
"Whatever," the bastard replied.
"Hello?" Billie Jean said softly.
"Billie Jean what the fuck is this bullshit? You a hoe or something now?" Charlie screamed.
"Charlie, please baby, understand; what was I supposed to do six months ago when you suddenly left talking all crazy about some mission for your mother."
"I told you. I have to do this. It's for my mother. I thought you loved me Billie Jean. I thought you would wait," Charlie said, squeezing back the tears.
"You didn't even know the woman Charlie, she left you on the steps of some church in Brooklyn when you were one year old. She didn't love you baby." Billie Jean said.
"Don't talk to me about love you slut. You threw away three fucking years of us away on some dude who sounds so dumb he could pass for a cave man. And I can smell his stank ass breath over the phone," Charlie yelled, the tears were flowing freely now.
"But..." Billie Jean stammered.
"No. Don't start with me Billie Jean. You're dead to me," he said.
Charlie slammed the phone onto the reciever and punched at his face, trying to beat the tears away. He stummbled away from the phone. He felt the world caving in on him.
As he turned away he bumpped into Alan Douglas. Charlie knew to well Alan's schemes, he regularly tried to use food stamps at the Chinese spot.
"Hello there Charlie," Alan said.
"Whats up Alan, who are you ripping off now?" Charlie said.
"Well no one at the moment. I'm on my way to a hot date. Say, why are you looking all water eyed?" Alan asked.
"Nothing. My girl is fucking some random dude right now. Its cool though, I got better shit to do," Charlie snapped back.
"Well, last time a girl cheated on me, I pushed her into a wood chipper, but I might have over reacted a bit," Alan said.
"Thats cool Alan. Whatever. I gotta get going," Chalie said turning to leave.
"Me too," Alan said, "I'll be actually getting some tonight!"
Charlie didn't even hear him, he was already sprinting down the block because it had begun to rain. He didn't mind though. The rain washed all over his face, and the tears rolled away with it. He was tough, he didn't need her anyways. He kept a steady sprint all the way to the neon lights of the dingy old pawn shop. He looked down into the reflection of a puddle, and smiled.
"Time to get a gun," he said to himself, ducking into the door of the pawn shop.
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Oscar Alcazar
It wasn't the rain that bothered Oscar. Nor was it the police, or even the intruders. It was business, business, business. Anybody would be wary of flashing blue lights, especially when they're parked outside Oscar's. No, the cops themselves were no trouble. A wad of bills each and they'd stay out of his hair, or what hair he had left, that is. What troubled him was the shop. After TWO SWORDFIGHTERS FELL THROUGH THE SKYLIGHT................ there was a bit of cleaning up to do. Once again, he'd get Alexander to do it. Hopefully it wouldn't hurt business.
And in the morning, the rain was starting to clear up. He threw on an XXL A-shirt, grabbed his basketball, and braved the rain for some free throws down at the park. His days of running were long gone, but his massive arms could stroke a shot like nobody's business. And he could box out with the best of them.
Slicks was already layin' some up by the time Oscar's pristine Cadillac rolled into the parking lot. The rims glinted as the morning sun peered through clouds of rain. "Yo, let's warm up with a little h-o-r-s-e, bro," Charlie said.
"Whatever floats your boat, lil guy," Oscar replied.
As Charlie's shot sunk, giving Oscar an "O," he turned to see a sizzlin' Maserati pull up next to his ride.
"Damn, what is this, a car show or something?" Charlie exclaimed.
"Nuh-uh man, this is business," Oscar said.
Machelli cracked his window. "You better start your engine, son. We got trouble. Follow me."
Oscar ruffled Charlie's hair, grabbed his ball, and slunk into his plush leather interior. As the key rotated, the steady beat of Lupe Fiasco's "Put You On Game" filled his chubby ears. He reversed and swerved, kicking up dust and gravel, and speeding off after Machelli's speedster. he looked out the window. Squinting, he picked out the name "Victoria Lampshade." Did he really see taxidermy? Really? Wow, maybe a butcher and a taxidermist could do a little business. He could use the meat, she could use the hide.
He looked forward, gazing through Machelli's Maserati back window. He could have sworn he saw the faint outline of Grandma Pearl's curls, bouncing in the back seat. No, he thought, it couldn't be.
mother's rule....
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