Next Door Hater (Love Under Lockdown)

The images wouldn’t leave, not matter what I tried. Elise had the sort of body you never forgot once you saw it. I could only hope it wouldn’t affect our friendship too negatively. It could be difficult to get over something like that. Even though it had seemed like a good idea at the time. For the moment, it seemed a good idea to give her space.

I’d grown up in the city, and there was nowhere I couldn’t get on a maximum on two buses. One down into town, and a second wherever I was going. A particularly easy transition back when transfers still existed.

In a show of proper diligence, I arrived in uniform, which didn’t stray that far from what I usually wore, consisting of black slacks and a polo shirt with the company’s logo. Everyone wore basically the same thing, aside from the manager who got to wear short-sleeved dress shirts and I tie. I made a note to actively campaign against promotion, while still keeping my job.

An ironic blast of arctic air struck smack in my face as the doors slid open before me. It felt a little strange, just blowing across my eyes and forehead. I still wasn’t used to the mask over my face.

Hanging a right at the produce, following the directions I’d been given over Skype, I made for the employee area, down the same corridor that led to the bathrooms.

“Gattis?”

“That’s right.”

“Sign in over there.”

The supervisor was direct, but there was no malice. As long as I followed orders, we would have no reason to conflict.

Putting my John Hancock down next to my name, printed on the ledger, my first shift officially commenced, the cart of fruit boxes surprisingly heavy as I pushed it out into the store proper.

Stocking could be very Zen when approached properly. One moment blurring into another into a strand of eternity with no beginning or end. Useful for passing the time until the end of shift.

Lunchtime was growing near, the hands on the wall, visible only to those looking for it, inching along as The Velvet Underground’s “Heroin” played softly from the speakers. Anything could become normalized given enough time.

The pineapples were placed just so in their bin, when trouble on two feet came strolling into the store, like an old west outlaw.

Aside from the copious tattoos and beefy frame, the most noticeable thing about the new arrival was his total lack of mask. My experience with Mike had taught me about judging by appearances, but not wearing a government mandated mask, the signs very clearly displayed on the door, went beyond a fashion choice. The regulations were clear. A staff member had to tell him to wear a mask and, as it happened, I was the only employee around. Straightening up to my full height, I walked over and hoped for the best.

“Please put your mask on, sir.”

“The fuck did you say?” Mr. Beefy demanded.

“You have to put a mask on, sir,” I said, unwavering.

“Fuck you, short-ass. I’m an American, I don’t have to do nothin’. Ever heard of the constitution ya commie fuck?”

“Yes, actually, I’ve read it in fact. All twenty-seven amendments.”

“T-twenty-seven.”

“And I didn’t see anything that said American citizens can do whatever they want. Not even the First Amendment, which really only applies to the government making laws restricting freedom of the media.”

He looked like he was carved out of stone. Not a single muscle moving as he processed the information overload. A momentary stillness instantly replaced by instant and decisive action.

The artificial light struck the nickel-planted Desert Eagle in a way that made it gleam, like a holy icon. It was beautiful in a strange way. “Not so clever now, are ya?”

“No, though I’d probably be more intimidated if the safety was off,” I said, my voice steady and my eyes fixed.

It took a few seconds, but it happened, the barrel of the sizable pistol turning up and slightly to the side as Mr. Beefy checked on my bullshit. Sadly, for him, bullshit was exactly what it was. Plausibly true and masterfully delivered.

The first strike was most important. The butt of the hefty handgun striking the scourge square in the temple, taking him clear of his feet, even if I did have to stretch a bit to reach.

A mini earthquake set off through the immediate area as the giant hit the tiles. Every waft of breath seeming to come out in a single exhalation.

Gripping the barrel like a baseball bat, I made it so Mr. Beefy had no way of getting up as I brought the hammer down. Making sure he thought twice before trying such a stunt again. It took three security guards to get me off him. Mr. Beefy, and the immediate area looking like he’d been beaten with a sock full of ketchup.