MORE OF SOMETHING MORE,
a story about a salesman trying to establish himself,
a CEO scheming to buy out his father's influence
and the woman important to each
19
Atom
watched her car until it vanished around the corner, and then recovered
awareness of his own circumstance: standing alone before a clothing boutique
that had long since closed. The street that was busy during the day slumbered after Friday rush hour. Half a block back was the Dedalus Bar and Restaurant,
distinguished by bright lights that splashed onto the pavement. His car was
parked a few blocks away on a residential street. While walking, he thought about the evening
with Helen and his frustrated effort to get a commitment. Then she sprang that
stalker stuff without giving him the chance to frame himself as part of
the solution. Nothing was going as he had hoped.
He turned
the corner onto the street and felt the full effect of night. House
fronts, lawns and cars were bland and colorless, and the air cool with the
exhalation of plants and grasses. His footsteps scraped the sidewalk as he
approached his Mercedes coupe. As he reached into his pocket something
wrapped around him and pushed him to the ground.
With the
imprint of asphalt on his cheek, he smelled oil, gasoline and worn rubber. A
considerable weight held him down as his arms were wrenched behind him. A
knee pinned the small of his back and his head took a hard punch. A voice
growled. “Head down.” His attacker grabbed his wallet and phone. Something
skittered across the pavement. “Count to a hundred. Don’t look up.”
The
pressure let up but he sensed the presence was waiting to smack him. He began
to count and cursed his helplessness. He turned on his side then sprang to a crouch to peek around a car. When he
stood up he was the only one on the street. “So much for going to the gym,” he
muttered, feeling ridiculous about wanting to protect Helen when a mugger could
so easily take him down.
He had no
phone to report the assault and no access to his car just a few feet away. He recalled the skittering sound and stooped to search the area and
covered the same ground again and again, growing self-conscious about how it
looked. Finally he found
the key fob under a bush and then ventured to the end of the block to search
for his cell and wallet.
With the
aid of GPS, he found the local police substation, a sedate affair with an open
counter and small bank of cubicles to one side. The sole attending officer listened
skeptically before posing a few questions. Atom answered that he didn’t see a
weapon and that he couldn’t describe his attacker. He admitted to drinking a
little. The
officer pointed to one of the cubicles and told him to use the computer to file
a report. He advised him to cancel his credit cards
and lock down his phone. “You were lucky.”
Atom drove home not feeling lucky at all.
Atom drove home not feeling lucky at all.
The characters and events in this story are fictitious and do not represent any living person or real event.
