Despite the car troubles and the difficult Janowski situation, Tschida arrived at the VFW an hour early. He’d thought he might review his law studies while he waited, without the bother of watching the time, but the usually nearly-empty establishment was weirdly crowded; the small parking lot was packed. A sign on the dented metal front door read “Fourth Fridays – 50 cent hot dogs and hamburgers every Friday in July!” He groaned; cheap food would bring a Northeastern County crowd faster than an 80’s hairband reunion.
He prowled into the VFW and found an empty table in a darkened corner beneath one of the flatscreens. The usual elderly men were scattered throughout, along with people of various ages, indulging in the macro brews and grilled food. He propped his foot on one of the empty chairs and pulled another against his, lest anyone at a full table decide to nab an extra for their friends.
He unlocked his phone and occasionally glanced at another flatscreen at the opposite end of the main room, just above the juke box and right between the bar and the door to the game room. The televisions here always had subtitles, so he could read the current sports speculation even in a place this loud. Keeping up with sports helped him converse with the men at Badger Vale.
At one point, the sportscast cut to a commercial, a fluttering American flag splashing across the screen. Tschida gritted his teeth, but couldn’t pull his gaze back to his studies. Could he not get away from the Janowskis today?
“Northeastern County is a big county full of small towns, and that means small-town values. We are small town America, the heartbeat of our beautiful country,” the subtitles read as an eagle flew over a mountain. “Our parents lived here, our grandparents, and great-grandparents. Our unique county is built on a foundation of Christian values and hard work.” The image shifted to an old photograph of ash-covered coal miners, grim-faced and emaciated, eyes too large for their faces, as if their fate was something others should aspire to.
A tanned face with a square jaw, short blonde hair and piercing blue eyes appeared in a blue gray suit. Butch Janowski was a slightly wrinkled version of Ian, though a shorter and with a stockier build. The backdrop had changed to a thin-blue-line flag.
“My great-grandfather was a coal miner, and so was his father,” said Charles “Butch” Janowski. “I’ve carried these Northeastern County values into my work on the streets of Anthracite City in my job as a police officer for the last twenty years. I’ve spent ten as Chief of Police, reducing crime by fifty percent. I’ve been in your communities, hearing your concerns, because we’re neighbors.
“I hear you when you say you don’t want drugs and lawlessness. Under my rule, the department and I have fought for law and order the American way! While my opponent has a college degree she’s an out-of-touch former defense attorney.”
Images of broken windows, ambulance crews carrying body bags, tattooed people smoking cigarettes, and women wearing short skirts montaged across the screen. Tschida was reasonably certain these were scenes taken from movies and not from the streets of Northeastern County; there were palm trees in the background of the shot with women wearing short skirts.
“I say no!” Butch reappeared, aiming his gun at the camera now. “As sheriff, I plan to pledge to abide by the same ethics I have as Chief of Police. I plan to prosecute drug crimes, including the gateway drug, marijuana, to the fullest extent of the law, and make our county inhospitable to big city criminals who want to run our streets. I say our streets belong to our families and small-town American values. Give me a shot!” He fired the gun and a jagged-edged bubble popped from the muzzle. It was filled with an American flag and the text “Janowski for Sheriff!”
Tschida rubbed his forehead between his brows and glared into space. It was bad enough he and Nick dared not drive a mile over the speed limit in Anthracite City. The last thing anyone needed was for Janowski to have power on a county level.
***
Luca opened the metal door to the VFW, a fog of cigar smoke pouring out. The dimply-lit establishment with its cracked plaster walls was packed with tired and frustrated faces after a long work week. Like Luca, this was probably their night to relax. But why were so many here, especially people near his own age, when there were places like Mango Moe’s and Club Hallucination? Surely there were more exciting establishments than this little bar that smelled of stale drink, cheap cologne, and cigars?
A few of the older men eyed Luca with distrust, even though he’d been there a few times before. But some of the younger people eyed him, too. He squirmed, wishing he were home. He didn’t like when his presence made others uncomfortable. He pushed away thoughts of cutting his hair and changing it to its natural dark brown.
Several women squeezed closer to their boyfriends as another woman in a short red skirt sashayed to the jukebox. The jukebox didn’t have anything newer than 1989; the trio had checked when they’d first come to this place in June.
This was their first time here on a Friday, as Luca was nearly always working that night, but still, Luca had assumed it would be the three or four elderly regulars, who reminisced about their pasts. He bet a lot of the people here were doing the same as Luca and his friends – drinking cheaply while also not being veterans.
He lingered alongside the front door, his heart racing. Large crowds meant a larger change to bump into someone. That tended to annoy some people, even more so when they were drunk. Where were Nick and Tschida?
It was the brunette in the red skirt perusing the jukebox’s dated selection who drew ire before Luca did. A woman wearing green windbreaker with a smiling orange tiger on the back stomped toward her, grabbed her by a hank of curled locks as she was in the middle of making a selection.
Luca stopped breathing. He should do something to help the woman, who’d only been trying to choose a song. A lean man with a shaved head and a wife-beater hurried after the woman in the tiger jacket. He grabbed her shoulder. “Sherry, calm down!”
She shoved him away and shook the woman in the red skirt. “You were looking at this slut. I saw you looking at her.” She shoved the other woman, an easy target in her stiletto heels, to the floor, grip tight on the glossy curls.
Luca winced in sympathy; he’d been grabbed by his own hair too many times, mostly in high school.
It was like everyone here had this bottled up anger, just waiting for the slightest excuse to release it. Luca shook with rage; why make others miserable just because you are?
A tall man in a brown blazer joined the fray. Luca couldn’t hear what was being said, but he man in the blazer spoke angrily to Sherry. Shaved Head pressed his palm into his chest, pushing away.
“Don’t talk that way to my girl!” Shaved Head shouted.
The brunette on the floor sobbed as the two men began to shove each other. Things like this usually happened at other bars, especially the packed nightclubs. But not the VFW!
“Hey, take that outside!” Saul the bartender shouted, as he rushed to patrons with a plastic cup of beer in each hand. “I don’t want none of that in here.” Why couldn’t he just tell them to flat out stop?
Sherry hauled the woman to her feet, which slipped on the sticky brown tiles, and steered her into the game room, which housed two pool tables and a dartboard.
Luca walked forward without thinking. If no one else was going to intervene, he had to. Standing by was just as bad as doing nothing. Where would he have been if Nick and Tschida had stood by all those times? He darted around metal chairs, holding occupants that looked on or resumed their conversations as if the woman in the skirt’s plight was none of their business.
Luca narrowly avoided thrusting pool sticks as people continued their games, probably not wanting to be involved or ruin their evenings with someone else’s drama. If people would stop ignoring this, maybe it would stop happening. I wish I could do more. I wish I were stronger. I’m weak, but I’m not going to stand by!
For a short and slender man like Luca, this was tantamount to a suicide mission. The woman in the tiger jacket had easily shrugged off a big, muscular guy, who looked like he lifted weights, if his arms were any indication.
He thought back to Captain Celeste, the eponymous hero of a show he’d watched with Jessica – a tiny magical girl who didn’t back down from fights despite her size. She didn’t need super strength or imposing height to win, like most of the heroes on television at the time. As a child, he’d loved her for that. But this was real Anthracite City, where might made right, at least among those who didn’t have various political friends to call upon.
Luca clenched his jaw and shoved open the door to find the skirt-wearing woman weeping, her once artfully-curled hair matted around her cheeks. Mascara and eyeliner bled down her scratched face.
“Why did you come here dressed like a ho?” Sherry insisted, as she held the other woman against a dumpster. “Want all the men to look at you? You think you’re better than us?”
“It was just a date night,” the skirt-clad woman protested. “We haven’t been on a date in a while. That’s all…”
“No one wants a skanky-ass whore.” Sherry raked her long nails along her captive’s cheek.
Both of these women were taller than Luca’s 5’ 6.” Although, maybe not the curly-haired one with high heels.
Luca squared his shoulders and summoned his voice. “Let her go!”
“What?” Sherry whirled to face him, not releasing her victim. “You came here with two boyfriends, slut?” She pulled the other woman from the dumpster then slammed her back into it again. “Got the big guy and this candy ass.”
“Come on, let her back to her date.” Luca took a hesitant step forward. “She’s here with her boyfriend same as you.”
The woman with the long curls gave him a grateful look, even though she trembled. Luca was trembling just as much.
“If you don’t let her go, I’m gonna call the cops.” Luca really didn’t want to do that, not after what had happened with Don so long ago. But Sherry didn’t need to know he was bluffing. He could call Nick’s or Tschida’s phone and pretend he was speaking with the police. But if they were too far away…
“N-no! Don’t do that!” the woman in the skirt pleaded. “Don’t get them involved. My grandmother’s already on their crap list. She…the poodle…”
“I’m so sorry!” Luca said quickly. That elderly woman had been so upset when Officer Biff shot her beloved pet. A photo of her weeping face had been plastered across the front page of the local paper, but the article itself had been filled with accusations that the woman didn’t have the dog licensed, and thus she was asking for it to be shot.
If he called the cops, they might arrest both of these women, especially the one in the skirt, and maybe coerce them into doing awful things. There’d been a story about that last year, too. Not to mention, the cops, like many here, probably weren’t fond of guys with long purple hair. Ian Janowski sure hadn’t been.
“Go ahead. Call the cops,” Sherry said. “My uncle’s on the force.”
Didn’t that just figure?
Sherry yanked the other woman’s head down and planted a knee in her face. The woman in the mini-skirt didn’t fight back, only sobbed. Luca had never fought back when he’d been the victim either; he’d had Nick and Tschida, who brought the muscle and intimidation factor. Even before them, he’d just kept quiet and hoped his presence didn’t draw anyone’s ire.
Luca hurled himself at Sherry, knocking her off balance. The woman in the mini-skirt was pulled along by Sherry’s grip on her hair, right to the cracked pavement littered with broken glass.
“What do you think you’re doing, pretty boy?” Demanded Shaved Head from the mouth of the alley. He’d probably just seen Luca knock the two to the ground. He’d really hoped Sherry would have finally let go of the other woman.
“Come to look at this slut more, Jay?” Sherry demanded, shoving at Luca’s shoulder. Her clothing had protected her from the glass. “She wants you to look at her.”
The tall, tan-skinned man in the blazer arrived right behind Jay. “Tina, you okay?”
“I’m f-fine,” Tina said, her curls still knotted in Sherry’s white-knuckled grip. A few small cuts bled from her forearms.
Sherry sat up, scowling at all of them. “I keep telling you, ponytail boy, go ahead and call the cops. I want you to call them. They’ll lock up this little whore for prostitution.” She ended that sentence by kicking Tina in the ribs.
Tina bit her bottom lip and the man in the blazer lunged forward, only for Jay to step in his way and punch him right in the gut.
Luca would be damned if he’d see another Don Anders incident. He sprang into action, grabbing the back of Tina’s windbreaker, trying to haul her away. Sadly, Jay Sherry’s lead and gave Luca a sharp kick in the shoulder. Luca went right down, skinning his elbow on the pavement.
“Who said you could touch my girl?” Jay demanded, grabbing Luca by the hair. Was this a thing with this couple? Hair-pulling and kicking?
The man in the blazer coughed and panted, righting himself. “Get off him!”
Jay landed another blow on the other man, this time in the teeth. “Defending the sissy boy now?”
Blazer shook his head in disgust. “Man, this is stupid. All because you two had a problem with what my girl is wearing.”
Jay reached into his pocket, pulled out a metal lighter, and flipped the top off. “Maybe you wanna date him instead of your skanky girl here.” He scoffed at Luca. “Let me help a brother out. You’d have it easier if you looked like less of a girl.” He flicked the lighter, decorated with a Cheshire cat face, and brought the flame close to Luca’s precious waves.
Suddenly, Jay gasped and staggered back, releasing Luca. A stony-faced Tschida held him tight in a headlock.
Nick lifted Sherry from the pavement around the ribs, ignoring the kicks she aimed at his shins and elbows to the stomach; he didn’t even flinch.
They’re so awesome! I wish, I wish so badly I could do more, that I could really protect people.
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