Lady in Flames Read Online Free PDF Page B

Sometimes he would give me money when he had a few extra bucks.
    I met him when I started at the hardware. He’d come in and heckle some of the old-timers who loitered near the paint counter. For whatever reason, he took a liking to me. Maybe I was like the son he never had, I don’t know.
    He’s been dead a few years now. Got run down one night while walking home. They never caught the son of a bitch who hit him. Just mowed him down and left him to die.
    I cried that night when I heard. It’s not something I like to admit, but Doppler was about the only person in this town who gave a crap about me. I saw more of him than I saw my own dad.
    “I said turn it down!” Mom yells again.
    I don’t know what her problem is tonight. She’s nagging more than usual. Maybe it’s because her boyfriend Rob didn’t stop by, or maybe it’s because we’re out of gin. I don’t really care what her reason is; I just want her to leave me alone.
    Next year I’ll be eighteen, so she’ll probably want to kick me out then. She’ll have some excuse about me needing to be responsible for myself. It won’t be a bad thing. I’ve been stuck in this apartment with her for too long.
    The brownish carpet has always been stained and probably always will be. Spots on the walls in the T.V. room are patched but unpainted. Behind me, the cramped kitchen is yellowed with grease stains and cigarette smoke.
    Down the hall, my bedroom shares a wall with Mom’s. She’s got the bigger one. We share my bathroom because the shower in hers doesn’t work. My shower doesn’t drain real well, though.
    Getting out from under my mom’s thumb isn’t the biggest concern I’ve got. It’s ducking the Army. She’ll sign me up for that the first chance she gets. Send me off to boot camp or whatever. No way in hell I’m doing that.
    Mom walks into the T.V. room, zipping up her puffy coat. “I’ve got to run to the store,” she says, flinging her stringy hair out from under her collar. That means she’s going down to the gas mart to get booze.
    I don’t bother to turn my head but I mumble a response.
    She slams the door in return.
    Finally, some quiet. If I could have this place to myself more often, I’d be that much saner. From my left pocket, I fish out the pack of cigarettes I’ve been smoking this week. Usually I sneak one outside, but it’s too cold for that so I have to wait until Mom is out.
    Lighting up, I ease back in the cushion and take a few drags. I’m ready to ash when I see there’s no ashtray nearby. I twist around the recliner to see that mom moved it to the kitchen table.
    I curse in my head and drag myself from my seat. The red tray overflows with butts. No sooner than I’m by the table tapping off my spent tobacco, someone is pounding on the door. It’s a heavy, solid thud like someone fat or drunk.
    The peephole is clouded over so I have to open the door to see who it is. It’s probably mom’s boyfriend, plastered again. Dumbass.
    I yank the door with one hand, half a cigarette in the other.
    “C’mere you little bastard!” A burly hand reaches in and grabs the collar of my shirt, jerking me into the hall.
    I stumble, dropping my smoke, as another set of hands manhandles my shoulders and forces me into an upright position against the wall. It smells like alcohol in the dim, dingy space between the apartment doors.
    There are four men. The first is Buck Armstrong. I know him from town. The sleeves of his blue jacket are rolled up, and his gut hangs over his belt. Teeth clench under his reddish beard.
    Next to him is a skinny, twitchy man in an overcoat, unshaven and pale. He rocks back and forth and grins while looking from me to Buck.
    A step or two behind them stands a stocky, pile driver of a guy in a trucker cap. I think he works at Lady Luck; I’ve seen him come into the hardware for cleaning supplies.
    The last man is balding with a wad of chew in his lower lip. He hulks under his filthy brown Carhartt