Club Night
Robby
was late and broke. Jean would be waiting at the club, Robby just
knew she was there early and blaming him for waiting in the rain. The
rain fell just hard enough to get you wet but not enough to seek
shelter. A summer rain, the moon was full and gave the alley light.
The kind of rain that happened when the sun was shining, the kind the
old folks back in the country called "the Devil beating his
wife."
The
music from the club bounced off the brick walls in the maze of
alleys, Robby ran them like a prize rat, his shoes splashed in the
filthy puddles. Shoes like he had never worn at home, home, that
place would never be home again, he was at home, the city was home.
In his city home he wore shoes for how they looked not for how they
held up in the mud. The pointy toes reminded him of his father's
cowboy boots, boots that Robby had shined every Saturday afternoon
for years.
The
music from the club was nearing, more distinct, less echos. Robby was
nearing the scene he would soon be having on the street with Jean.
The moment approached when he would have to tell her he didn't have
enough money to get them in much less enough to buy drinks. His pace
slowed, the rain stayed the same.
Robby
turned another corner, nearly there, this alley, a turn and then a
straight shot to the club. The moon's glow, the music and his
internal compass guided him. Next to a dumpster stood a man facing
the damp brick wall, adding more wetness. The urine stench in the
alley wasn't going to get any worse for one more and the rain was
sure not going to wash it away. The bricks were saturated, the alley
got more use than the facilities in the club. The man wore a white
jacket and in the moonlight it almost glowed in its whiteness. Robby
saw the man was unsteady, unaware, alone.
The
moon glinted on Robby's knife. The rain fell in the alley. The music
seemed to soften as Robby began to hear his own heartbeat. Robby's
shoe splashed in the filthy puddle of rain water and beer scented
urine. The man stood there swaying, white jacket glowing. Robby
struck, lower back, twice, three times in rapid forceful blows. The
knife in his hand dripped black in the moonlight as the man fell
wordlessly to the pavement. A moment to find the wallet, a moment to
pull out the cash and another to throw the empty wallet into the
dumpster.
Robby
wiped his hands on the wet, white jacket. The white glow of the
jacket dimmed from the stains. Blood, urine, alley water. Robby
pushed the dumpster over the body. In the dark it wouldn't be seen,
in the rain no blood pools would be noticed, in the alley no odors
would betray.
"Hey
Jean, been waiting long?" Robby handed the doorman a bill and he
let the couple into the club. The music covered the sound of Robby's
beating heart.