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Shit.
I look around, frantically trying to find a better place to hide. The shelves of drugs run perpendicular to the pharmacy counter, so even though I’m crouched down, anyone walking by would be able to see me. The only safe place would be under the counter, but with all the shit in this backpack, there’s no way I could get over there without making noise.
So, I do the only thing I can; I wrap both hands around the smooth wooden handle of Rain’s dad’s .44 Magnum, and I say a silent prayer to my new pal, God.
“Hey, Vipe, I found a carton of Virginia Slims!”
“I ain’t smokin’ no Vagina Slimes!” The asshole’s voice is much louder than before.
Closer.
Every muscle in my body tenses, including my trigger finger, as the old bastard walks into view. His thinning gray hair is pulled back in a low ponytail. His leathery skin is pockmarked and sunburned. His beer gut sticks a solid foot out in front of him, and his black biker jacket has been spray-painted with neon-orange stripes resembling skeleton bones.
He stops right in front of the counter, and my finger tightens around the trigger. But he doesn’t see me. Instead, he turns his back and pulls a bottle of Excedrin off the shelf across from the pharmacy counter.
“Maybe I should grab some Vagisil for that pussy of yours while I’m back here.” He cough-laughs into his fist while I stare down the barrel of my gun, aiming directly for his bald spot.
My heart is pounding so hard I can feel every vein pulse and swell as they force the blood into my muscles. I know this feeling. This is exactly how I used to feel every single night, lying in an unfamiliar bed, clutching whatever weapon I’d stashed under my pillow, waiting for some other balding, beer-gutted piece of shit to come find me.
The bloated Bony pops the cap on the Excedrin bottle and tosses a few into his mouth before turning his head toward something out of my view.
“What you doin’, boy?”
“I’m just gonna grab some allergy meds. This pollen is killin’ me.”
“The pollen is killin’ you?”
The hungover old fuck shakes his head, and I know what’s coming next before it even happens. He’s gonna call that kid a little bitch and throw that bottle of Excedrin at him.
He turns his head sideways, so I aim for his temple.
“The pollen’s killin’ you?” He raises his voice, cocks his arm back, and lets the painkillers fly. I hear them bounce off of something before hitting the ground with a rattle. “How the fuck did I end up with a pussy wipe for a son? I shoulda put a pillow over your face the day your mama shit you out!”
My fingers tighten around the gun in my hands; I wish it were that motherfucker’s neck.
“Sorry, sir,” the kid mumbles.
“Get the fuck outta my sight!” the dickhead yells, throwing his hand in the direction of the pharmacy.
Shit.
Even though there are about three aisles of drugs between the pharmacy door and me, they’re open shelving units. I can see everything. I see the door handle slowly rotate down. I see the door swing open with a creak. I see the ripped jeans, black-and-orange skeleton hoodie, and shaggy hair of a kid who can’t be older than fourteen.
His posture is hunched over, as if he wants to curl in on himself until he disappears, and he’s too busy staring at the floor to notice the man hiding in plain sight ten feet away.
Something on the shelf in front of him catches his attention, and he leans over even further to pick a small purple box off the shelf.
Zyrtec. Thank fuck.
Take it and go. Take it … and …
The kid’s eyes lift suddenly, as if I’d spoken out loud, and lock directly on to mine.
Well, one of them does.
The other one is swollen shut and black as hell.
His good eye goes wide as it lands on my gun, so I quickly lower it and raise a finger to my lips.
