Chapter Two: No Caffeine Past Noon

Glen’s cell phone ringed a pleasant “I Hope You Dance” by Lee Ann Womack at such an unpleasant time. He loved to wake up to it and believed that his alarm clock (which was connected to a country station) ringing. But when he looked, he saw 3:34am, and got the idea that it was his phone ringing. He stumbled a little to look at his Samsung phone display to see a number that was unknown to him. He imagined a contact of his was in some trouble, and he shook his head to that.

He dragged the phone symbol on his Android phone and said to the other end, “Yello?”

Nothing at the other end for a few seconds, and the typical hang-up alert that the Android would do followed.

He looked at the phone and said to himself, “Thanks for hanging-up, douche.”

He leaned over to the side table where stood the alarm clock, lamp, 5x8 framed photo and where his cell phone was, turned on the lamp and looked at that photo into the frame before putting his phone back on the table. It was a photo of him and that blonde-haired woman by the name of Sheila in summer clothes and with a beach behind them. She wore a straw hat with a bright smile on her face, and so did he while the both of them holding each other in their arms. It was a photo that defined a million good words. He leaned over to take the photo frame off the table and took a good look for himself.

“Why did you leave me?” He said.

He put the photo frame back on the table, shut off the lamp and fell back into bed.

 

Clint Black’s version of The Eagles’ Desperado at the second verse awoke Glen, this time, from his alarm clock. He quickly got out of bed but kept the music on while he went to his dresser to get his sweats on for his morning jog. That was quick, and what kept into his mind is that phone call in the middle of the night. He went back to his cell phone to take a look at the call logs. It was a 702 number that called him.

He turned down the radio and dialed that number for cursory, but a typical disconnected message had arrived at the other end with the female voice Glen found scary, but mostly annoying. He put the phone down and shook his head on how creepy that little situation was, getting a phone call in the middle of the night. It sure wasn’t the first time for him, as in his adult life he had received that awakening phone call a few times before. One previously was a hang-up, one from a concerned friend at a bad time of his life a couple years back, and one was from a family member just a year back needing to crash at his place. But, the thought of that had the creepy feeling for him. He didn’t think too much of it and grabbed the rest of his gear, turned the volume up on the radio to hear the male/female DJ duo and shut off the alarm altogether.

 

            He stepped outside with his IPod on the sports radio station while he began his stretching warm-up by his door. More info on the Rick Jones injury and it wasn’t good; he would be out for one month. Glen uttered a foul word at that info, and continued on while leaving the condo. The morning show hosts talked about the three-nothing victory by the Detroit Red Wings, his mind was working well with the exercise going. He chuckled at that, but began to think that the hang-up call was from that cop. His mind went to think that he may have used a gas station phone card to contact Glen. He remembered that a phone card can make a wall against the receiving end.

            Ten minutes later, Glen was running opposed to jogging. The idea of him taking a chance on giving him a little run for his money was on his mind. And he felt good or it. However, there was a couple of times where he looked behind his back when a car passed by. It wasn’t each and every car, but if it was something that sounded like a sedan and not a loud sound of a truck, he’d take a look.

            Shelby Township’s roads were major roads asking for a speed limit at 45 and even 50, with subdivisions and condos in each square that a major road surrounded. Most subdivisions and condos came with their own sidewalks. But the township was behind in some of the sidewalks by the major roads, and argumentatively, they were a little close to the road. And at times, there would be no sidewalk but a rocky shoulder. How could one lose weight when there is danger when walking, running or bike-riding when you have to deal with the danger of getting hit by a car, or even by a drunk driver whirling all over the road for that matter? That thought stopped Glen in his tracks. He bent down to take a breather and thought about Sheila. The good times with her was playing in his head at a fast rate of speed, all at random and going fast.

“Augh…shoot.” Glen said to himself while he slowly rose himself up.

A car passed by had beeped his horn, gave him a startle.

“What the hell!?” he said with disgust.

Just after that, he felt a raindrop.

He regarded that but thought that maybe that passing car succeeding in getting his attention maybe of hit a little puddle and got on him a little. However, the smell of rain had reached his nose, with further raindrops.

‘Better get back.’ He thought.

And the rain continued a little harsh on a cool day in the Michigan November.

 

            Glen won the argument with Barb and was able to get out to lunch a little early. He left Ropers and went down Schoenherr Road and made a Michigan left turn on one of the mile roads not far from his place of employment, the mile road system is something Metro Detroit has to offer. He pulled into one of the billion strip malls the County of Macomb and the city of Sterling Heights had to offer and walked towards Prekto Café.

            Glen walked in, ordered a Sprite from the pop fountain behind the counter and found himself a stool. The Café was half-way busy with two overweight females running the counter, and a petite tan-skinned brunette wiping down tables nearby. The café also had a couple of arm chairs and even a couch for those who like to sit and read. Not bad for anyone who wishes to hangout. Glen could guess that the resale value of the café would be good, due to the marble counter sans the food display and even the tables too.  He looked out the window to see a brand-new Hyundai Sonata park next to his car. Out came a large overweight man taller than Glen with a neatly trimmed beard with handlebars. He wore glasses and carried a suitcase with him. He regarded Glen as Glen did the same.

            He entered and approached the counter to get himself a cup of coffee. Then he walked to Glen’s stand-up table and found himself the seat across, “Glen.”

“Ed.”

“Boy, it is a crappy day today.”

Glen looked outside, “not so much as it was earlier. I got caught in the rain while jogging.”

“And pretty soon, it will snow. It’s going to be a depressing Michigan winter.”

“Isn’t it always?” Glen asked.

Ed smiled, “No, not exactly, at least for us anyway.” That was followed by a horrendous laughter by him.

Glen didn’t reply.

Ed moved his coffee around and blasted his suitcase onto the small table, nearly knocking down Glen’s sprite during the process.

“Whoa, watch yourself Ed.” He said while catching his Sprite.

Ed stopped, “Oh… shoot, Glen, didn’t see that.”

“Yes, watch where you swing it.”

He opened the briefcase and handed Glen a white security envelope.

Glen looked inside to see a money order to him by Barrington Enterprises. The memo along with the check was for ‘Tic-Tac-Cash.’

He didn’t look at Ed, but asked, “What happen about my asking in cash.”

“It’s a money order, not a personal check. It’s just as good.”

He looked over, “True, but I don’t need that kind of paper trail. Uncle Sam will see that, especially, in this kind of business that I’ve invested in.”

“There are other ways, and besides, since Obama is president, he’s making it a little harder for us.”

Glen looked up, “We’re blaming the president now?”

“Do you pay attention to politics?”

“I don’t personally believe that the president himself can make my life crappy. The Bush years were bad, but I can’t say he himself made it bad. Besides, we were dumb enough to vote him in office twice.”

“We didn’t the first time.” Ed said and he then took a sip of his coffee, then, “a piece of advice, you should keep an eye on politics. Yes, when Election Day showed up, the TV and Radio was bombarded with ads. But really, you need to keep an eye on that, a president can make it harder on you, and even with your illegal enterprise.

“Don’t say that out loud.” Glen shook his head while drinking his Sprite.

“Why not coffee?”

After Glen was done, “No caffeine past noon, need the rest.”

“Hmm… that’s a good idea.”

“It’s a good idea, can we get down to business. I don’t have a lot of time.”

Ed shrugged, “well, despite Obama being president again, people are in despite need of loan shark. That’s especially how people are getting poorer and poorer.” That followed by a chuckle.

“You make me feel bad in investing in the loan shark business; I see that the money order is in cash. My name is still out of it, right?”

“Right…” Ed dropped the smile, “but why so?”

“I think you know why.”

“Well, dumb question. But hey, have you found yourself a girl?”

Glen took another sip of the Sprite, and looked away, “not yet.”

He looked to the window, “You know Glen, and it has been over a year.”

Glen looked back, “I know. Your job isn’t to worry about my past, you worry about the investment.”

Ed smiled, “You know me, the Loan Shark.”

 

            Four hours later and with an easy lunch break, Glen left work and headed to one of the many Harbor Drug Stores that have set-up shop in the Southeastern Michigan area, and beyond that all across the United States. He had to drive a little more out of the way, going into the Sterling Heights on Ryan Road by a mile road. He found himself a spot and parked. Harbor Drug was a typical American drug store, some were 24 hours, but since the lords of Harbor Drugs discovered that this store wasn’t by any serious major roads in Detroit, this one wasn’t. Besides legal drugs, it was also a place where one could even do some grocery shopping. Glen also knew that behind the back door, the sale of Vicodin to any addicts was going down. But Glen didn’t need that.

            Glen entered with the greeting of heat and the song “Kings for a Day” by XTC playing on satellite radio. He thought to himself that chances were good that the same setup of music playing in the speakers of Ropers were also the same as Harbor. There were two young women playing cashiers beyond the desk, both white, and one supported a gothic look with purple hair. Glen looked at that and smiled a little on thinking about how his boss, the king Mr. Tom Floyd would want Glen and Barb to push the policy of employees appearing ‘out-of-touch.’ Barb would push that rule, but only to male employees. Glen, however, didn’t push the rule. Both of his bosses never really told him to do so minus a memo. A child of the millennium such as Glen would be more lenient of the rule.

            He walked down the magazine article and saw a short and skinny male with brown spiked hair setting up the display to look better. Then he noticed Glen and smiled.

“Jimbo.” Glen mentioned.

“Hey, I’m about to be done. I just wanted to get this done real quick.” He said while standing up.

“Well, get it done real quick, so I can give you the ride home.”

“Sure, I hate taking the bus.” Jimbo said.

“Well, punch out and get back to me.”

“Oh yeah, Adams is improving, we’re ranked pretty good on HockeyScores.”

“Keep that between us.” Glen said in near silence.

“Oh…um…yes, sorry.”

“Just punch out and get on back.”

Jimbo walked quickly away and headed to the employees only area of the store. Glen just waited there, staring at the various magazines on display. He spotted a country music magazine and began to look through it.

“Jim!” said a male voice beyond a couple of aisles.

Glen regarded that and looked around.

He then saw a tall young male who appeared freckly, he had blond hair with a little red to it which gave Glen the reminder of Leave it To Beaver. He wore the Harbor Drugs vest with a Korn T-Shirt under it and baggy blue jeans.

“Where’s Jim?” he asked Glen.

He saw the Harbor Drug nametag on him, listing him as Todd Rucker, manager.

“He’s punching out right now, just waiting for him to give him a ride.”

“Oh, the whole freezer fridge looks like shit. I’m gonna punch that faggot.” Todd said with silence but with that rude tone that Glen could tell.

“Hmm, little bit of advice about the retail business, don’t show emotion to employee issues out in public, you can get a little hostile in the employees area, but not too much.” Glen said with a smile.

Todd looked at the magazine he was reading and said, “Country?”

Glen looked up, “Yes, I like country music.”

“Country music is gay.” He said.

Glen smiled, “Well, half the nation disagrees with you, Todd.”

“Country is for gay redneck faggots.” He said with his sinister silence, and a sneer with it.

Glen had known Todd for nearly ten years, ever since he was in his late teens. He was known to say the word gay quite a lot of times. Glen, in his life, had only a few whole days being around Todd without his parents or any authority figure that he would respect. Without them around, he was a very insulting and could be intimidating. But at times with his insults, he had his patented sinister silence.

“Hmm, I’d like to see you go to a redneck bar and say that to a bunch of drunken hillbillies.”

Todd dawned closer to Glen, with a threatening tone, “You know what?”

Glen looked back, “You a little too close to me Todd, and I’m a paying customer.”

He backed away quickly, “Ehhuu… you got me wrong. I’m not gay.”

That confused Glen, “What are you saying?”

“You just said you’d pay to do me.”

Glen had heard that insult before and how often Todd would try to make it appear different, he looked at him funny, “Todd, have you been doing some of the drugs that you are selling by the back door here?”

Todd was about to go on with the next insult, but Jim had appeared in the aisle and Glen saw him notice it, he raised his hands up, “Hey, all the ice cream in the freezer looks like shit.”
Jim got on the defensive, “I took care of it.”

“No you didn’t, faggot. You’re not leaving yet. Now, go fix it.”

“No, I did, honestly.” He said while becoming intimidated by Todd.

“Fix it, faggot.” Todd said with a ruthless tone.

Glen was on his way to intervene, but a customer came around the corner and asked for help.

Todd went from being on his way to ripping his younger half-brother’s throat out, to happily assisting a customer on where some kitchenware is located.

“You okay?” Glen asked to a looking down Jim.

He looked up, “Oh… yeah. Um… I did take care of that.”

“Let me buy this magazine and we’ll get outta here.”

The two began the walk to the cashier’s desk.

“Did Todd call you a fag for reading that country magazine?”

“He called me gay, and you shouldn’t say that around here, just like him.”

“My mom runs this place basically. I got to keep my job even though I had a 12-dollar over ring. And does your mom run Ropers?”

“She’s in the corporate office in Troy, but besides that, she really doesn’t run it.”

The approached with a line of four customers in queue.

“Damn , I was hoping we can get out of here quickly.” Jim said.

“Why so?” Glen asked, while noticing that only one girl is playing cashier.

“Because, my mom doesn’t know I’m leaving. And I want it that way.”

“Why?” Glen asked with a smile on his face.

He looked around real quick, then said to Glen in silence, “Because, I hate the idea that she demands public display of affection, right in front of the customers. And when I don’t she chases me and yanks me towards her, it’s embarrassing.”

He looked away with the smile, “Just tell her no.”

“That doesn’t work.”

“Does she do this to Todd?”

With a delay, “No… and I hate that.”

“It’s probably because Todd is a ruthless guy, and you allow things to happen to you. You allow yourself to be the victim.”

“No, I don’t. I try to push her off. But I’m short and my mom is 6 feet tall, so is Todd.” Jimbo still with his silence.

“Even so, you should put your foot down, even if they are bigger.” Glen with a normal voice

“It’s easy for you to say, you get your ass kicked, you have a cousin who belongs in a motorcycle gang backing you up. I wish I had the Sons of Anarchy in my back pocket.”

Glen saw the woman in front of him turn her head slightly to them.

He leaned over to Jim, “Keep that down.”

Todd had approached the cashier’s desk to notice that he would be required. He walked to the other cash register and with a pleasant voice this time, “I can help whose next.”

The woman in front of Glen had walked to Todd. However, Jim and Glen decided to stay in the line leading to the gothic female, in which the line moved up one. However, the next person in line was having trouble getting out her cash in her purse.

Then the typical announcement tone had interrupted the Backstreet Boys “Bye Bye Bye” on the radio of Harbor Drugs.

“Would Colleen Warnock please come to the cashier’s desk. I repeat, Colleen Warnock, to the cashier’s desk. Issue number 2.” said Todd through the speakers.

“Oh… Jesus.” Jimbo said.

The woman in Todd’s line was done, and with the smile intact, he waved the two over.

Glen and Jim approached, with Jim looking around and encouraging Glen to hurry up. He regarded that while he tossed the country music magazine on the display and looked at Todd and the variety of cigarettes behind him, handing out a ten dollar bill.

“The magazine for the alternative lifestyle.” Todd insulting Glen in a gentle way.

“You know, your sister loved country and even was a DJ for a country station.” Glen said.

Todd gazed at him while making the cash transaction very slowly.

“Todd, c’mon. I want to get outta here quick.”

He looked to Jim with the smile on his face.

“Todd!” Jimbo keeping the silence.

“So,” said a female voice behind them, “you weren’t going to leave without kissing me goodbye?”

Jim slowly turned to see his mother, a six-foot tall woman who could qualify as an older railway model, the wrinkles on her face were noticeable but weren’t so bad. She had a bright smile with lipstick on, wearing a red button-down blouse under the doctor smock, and on her Harbor Drugs namesake it said: Colleen Warnock, Head Pharmacist. She was holding a paper medication bag.

Jim looked down, Todd began to chuckle and with on looking customers and fellow employees, the twenty-three year old was embarrassed again.

“And you also forgot your medication, too.”

Glen looked to Todd, “may I have my change, please?”

While so, Jim walked slowly towards his mother who opened her arms with the medication bag being held with her right hand.

Todd was attempting to get change out of the drawer while keeping an eye on Jim about to be humiliated. Glen thought of saying something, but he thought that Jim should put his foot down. It looked like Jim wasn’t going to do that.

Jim got within range of her hugging proximity and she just could wait to wrap her arms around him, but she held on his head and kissed him numerous times around his face. The sound of the Backstreet Boys and numerous kissing sounds had filled Glen ears.

“Todd, my $2.59 please?” Glen asked.

He looked over to him and slowly handed him the money.

She squeezed Jim with her hug, while he was attempting to push himself off, “I love you, James.”

James didn’t reply.

“Do you love me, James?”

“Um, Mrs. Warnock, I have a meeting after I take Jim home. I was wondering if you could let him go.” Glen said.

A paid customer had passed by, one could tell he wasn’t trying to look at what was going on as he made his way out.

“Not until he says he loves me.”

“I do have a meeting, and I’m being nice to give him a ride.”

“Okay, Jim, you get to go away this time.” She said.

He let him go but gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. He turned to Glen and Todd and his mouth and cheeks were filled with red lipstick.

Todd was giggling a little while Glen asked, “Do we have any wipes here?”

“Baby wipes are on special.” Todd said while continuing his laugh.

 

“God damn, I hate my family.” Said Jimbo as sat shotgun in Glen’s Ford Focus.

“Don’t say anything like that.” Glen said.

“But what the fuck? Why does my family do everything in the world to humiliate me?” Jimbo asked in frustration.

“Probably because you let it happen. Now, we are heading to that bar, behave yourself.”

“Your brother’s bar?”

“He doesn’t own it. He’s really my cousin.”

The two were driving on Northbound Gratiot and bypassing the sign saying Mt. Clemens city limit.

            And after a couple more minutes of driving, the blue Ford Focus pulled into a bar just outside of the downtown area. A bar that appeared to be built some years ago, known as Joel’s Bar. It had its bunch of Harley bikes backed up in front and a few cars. The two exited and Jimbo kept an eye on the Harley’s. This was definitely a biker bar, a real biker bar. Glen wondered on why the bikes would be out especially as Michigan was in November, one will soon see the snow. But he could admire their spirit.

            The bar had no windows and the two walked to the bar door and entered. Just like most bars, it didn’t have the extreme lighting. The bar did offer Michigan’s Keno and as well as a few card playing arcade machines, something not around these days. The three billiards tables were being used by men wearing leather vests and surely had the muscles. One could see that they were a part of a motorcycle club. The bar of course, had a bar with many bikers sitting up front, watching TV.

 There were a couple of booths one could sit at, and there was a couple sitting at one of them, citizens (or non-bikers in accordance to any motorcycle club). Besides them two and both Glen (wearing a dress shirt and dress pants) and Jimbo (wearing a typical Harbor Drugs shirt and blue jeans), the rest were bikers, or just the two female bartenders who wore leather and appeared bangable for Jimbo’s eye.

            Jimbo kept his eye on the blond bartender, as she looked back with a frown. A tall biker built male turned his head and poured a deadly stare to Jimbo.

“What the hell are you lookin’ at?” he said.

Jimbo looked away and pretended that he didn’t hear it.

“He’s with me.” Glen said as he stopped and looked towards him.

“That maybe, but I don’t like this little bitch lookin’ at my wife.” He said to Glen.

Glen gave a kind elbow to Jimbo’s arm, “don’t look at his wife.”

“Got any advice on that New Jersey/Carolina game coming up? I makin’ a bet with this fucker in Armada.”

“The New Jersey’s number one goaltender’s injured; the second guy didn’t do so well in the minors. I’d bet on Carolina.”

“Alright, If I lose, I’m gonna kick this little fucker’s ass for starin’ at my wife.” He said with a smile.

He followed with a drunken chuckle and awaited Jimbo’s response, who felt very uncomfortable.

“You won’t have to.” Glen said.

The two walked to the bar’s end and approached the employees only door while Glen waved to the female Jimbo was looking at.

            The kitchen was typical for each bar or restaurant, minus the industrial dishwasher. Two older females were by the grill cooking and the two noticed Glen and Jimbo.

“Who’s that, Glen?” asked one of the females with a heavy European accent.

Glen smiled, “That’s Jimbo. How’s the bar going?”

“It’s going g-g-g-great.” said the other female who also had an accent.

“What nationality are you two?”

“We’re Macedonian.” said one of the females.

The two approached the light brown industrial door and Glen knocked.

The door opened slightly to see a man in his fifties, grizzly beard, graying hair and wearing glasses. It had a strong physique nevertheless as he wore a leather vest and a thermal long-tee under it. One could say he could easily fit the role as a bad guy in a typical B-movie.

“What the hell do you want?” he asked with a smile on his face.

“It’s me Glen, can you grant me access?”

“What the hell does a Ropers employee and a Harbor Drugs employee need to seek the man for?”

“Well, the Ropers employee helped on a little investment to add more to the bar.”

“Yeah, that’s right.” Then he eyed Jimbo, “what about him?”

“Oh, he’s an undercover cop. He’ll be busting a cap in all of our asses once he gains access.”

He opened the door wide open, but blocked it, “You ratting us out?”

“Yep, I’m going on the Witness Protection Program.”

“Where the fuck are you gonna go, Sweden?”

“No, their sending me to Iran.”

“You’d be safer over there if you did rat us out, motherfucker. Come on in, bring the cop too.”

“Is Rudy in?”

“He’s in.”

The two entered the office with no windows. The manager’s desk was just a large oak table and no one was sitting behind it. Instead, there were four men sitting at a round table, playing cards and betting with money. All four were bikers, two younger males with clean faces but long hair, and the two older males were bearded, and one wearing a bandana and the other was balding with a mullet. The walls were white with some yellow gaining due to the smoking. And a smoke cloud had reached above the table. Along so with the wall were framed pictures of bikers and Harleys. Also included were mug shots of a few outlaws. The sight of that made Jimbo uncomfortable.

“Hey guys, Glen says he’s ratting us out, and this little guy is an undercover police officer.” said the man who let them in.

All four patrons at the table stopped what they were doing and three of the four poured deadly stares, while the young guy with long brown hair in a ponytail got up to approach Glen, “How the hell are ya?”

“Look, that undercover cop is getting’ fuckin’ nervous.” said the balding biker with a smile on his face.

They laughed while Jimbo appeared more nervous. Glen regarded that but he connected with the biker and the two hugged.

“Yeah, Mr. undercover looks like he’s about to shit himself.” said the older biker.

“Guys, he’s not an undercover cop. I was just bullshitting.” Glen said, now letting go.

The two older bikers regarded Glen, with the balding man saying, “Heh, you can’t tell nowadays. I fuckin’ intimidated a cop so badly, he fucking pissed himself. Without that gun and taser, they’ll pussies.”

Added the other young guy, “Yeah, when I got thrown in Jackson for two, the fucking cop was some midget, swear to God, the little fucker wasn’t even five feet tall. Talkin’ all this shit. I told that guy, drop your gun and uncuff me, fuckin’ fight me like a man. Shit,” he then pointed to Jimbo, “I bet this guy could fuck up his shit.”

The bandana man added, “Yeah, it’s easy to talk a lot of shit when you got a gun and a taser.”

Glen and other younger man approached the table and found seats, Glen waved Jimbo over, “get over here Jimbo.”

He didn’t, and just stood there being nervous.

“Jimbo, they’re just joking. C’mon down.”

Jimbo found a seat by Glen and walked slowly to it.

“Jimbo, this is Rudy, my brother… really, he’s my cousin. But we’re like brothers.” Glen said while pointing to the man that he hugged.

He saw the two sitting next to each other, a long-haired biker with muscles comparing to a man working in Human Resources, wearing a dress shirt and pants and posing blond hair with a skinny body.

“Jesus Christ, Jimmy, sit the fuck down, we ain’t gonna bite. What the fuck!?” said the other young biker.

Jimbo regarded him and sat down, “Sorry, I just find it interesting how Glen became a HR guy for a department store, and his brother or cousin became an outlaw biker.”

There was a pause at first, and Jimbo became uncomfortable again when he thought that he may of offended somebody.

Instead there was laughter among the bikers.

“Yeah, Rudy, what the fuck happened?” said the bandana man.

“His mom was a nasty-strict Mormon. He played victim all the way until his dad died.” Rudy said.

“Mormon? Those crazy fuckers that come by door-to-door?” said the balding man.

“Hey, don’t ask. Some of our family is Mormon. My mom ran away from them and then she had me. When she died, I had to move in with his family, it sucked. His Mom is a nasty strict Mormon.”

The bandana man asked Glen, “You’re not Mormon, are you?”

Glen smiled while shaking his head.

 

            A half-hour of time had passed by while the bikers and Glen were playing poker and gambling their earnings away to the lucky winner, in which the bandana man was winning. Booze and cigarettes ran rapid on the table with Jimbo just observing and seeing that smoking in the bar in Michigan was against the law, as told as his mother. But, he however wouldn’t say otherwise. He was around outlaws and not brave to say anything. Besides, he couldn’t care less if they broke a law that was seriously immoral to him and he pulled out his own smokes.

“Glen, thanks for stopping by the store and letting me get cigs.”

“Sure,” Glen said without looking at him, “you know anything about poker, I’m getting my ass kicked, and I want to win my money back from A.B. here.”

The bandana man laughed, “You ain’t gonna beat me motherfucker. I came third place in 2000.”

“Las Vegas, just like Rudy.” Glen mentioned.

“Only I was in Billiards. 2^nd place in the 2007 pool tournament, y’all saw me in ESPN.”

“Yeah, you had a tuxedo on, you should been in the biker gear.” said the balding man.

“It was a requirement. You think I liked wearing that? Fuck, I could never get a real job with a dress code.” He then looked at Glen, “I’m surprised that he could do it.”

Jimbo was surprised that at least two of the bikers did something menial at once.

“Oh, boy, I wasted a lot of time, Rudy.” Glen said while smoking a cigarette, Jimbo started with his.

“He smokes?” said A.B., the bandana man.

Glen looked over, “Yes, he does. His mom gets pissed off when he does. Won’t let him buy cigs at his store.”

“What the fuck? How old are you?” asked Rudy.

He looked over, “Twenty-three.”

“Man, you have a fuckin’ red, white and blue right to fuckin’ buy cigarettes, you’re over eighteen.”

“Yeah, what the fuck? Does your mom run the place?” the balding man asked.

“She’s the head pharmacist for the store.” Jimbo said.

“She’s probably selling vicodin and shit, you should say to her, ‘hey mom, you sell vicodin, that’s bullshit. I should be able to buy cigs here, besides, I’m legal.’”

“She does sell vicodin.” Glen said.

“And she says he can’t smoke?” Rudy asked.

“Yes, I don’t think it’s really trying to be a hypocrite, it’s more like people not seeing her son smoke or buy cigarettes. It embarrasses her. And really, it’s not her who sells them, it’s his older half-brother who does it sometimes by the back door, he happens to be one of the store managers.”

“Fuck that, hey little man, you need to say: ‘fuck you mom. It’s my god-damn right to smoke, I’ll do that shit outside while I’m my break, you selling pills, why the fuck can’t I smoke?’” A.B. said.

Jimbo nodded, “you’re right.”

“Your god damn right I’m right.”

“Anywho, I needed to talk to you before I quit playing.” Glen said.

“You fuckin’ pussy.” said the balding man, followed by laughter among all patrons of the table, minus Jimbo.

“You want to discuss this privately or public?”

“Public’s good. Got a little resistance problem.”

“With how little you gamble, I’m surprised you have one. It is one of your associates?”

“No, my associates including the one next to me are fine; I offer them a good opportunity. Tommy complains a lot, but otherwise, it’s all good.”

“That motherfucker?” A.B. asked.

“Yes, but anywho, it’s more like an authority figure.”

“Cop?” Rudy said while spreading his hand of cards.

“Yes.”

“What city?” while he threw some money in the pot in the middle of the table.

Glen took a smoke and said, “Saint Clair Whores.”

“Oh yes, St. Clair Whores. I imagine they are getting bored of chasing black people out of the town. That’s what they do best.”

“And raiding houses.” Jimbo said.

Everyone stopped after Jimbo spoke and looked at him funny.

“Actually, I did hear something about a house being raided down there in the shores.” said the young biker.

“Were they black?” A.B. asked.

“Well… no. It’s actually some guy my half-brother deals with.”

“The half-brother who actually does the sales in vicodin,” Glen said, ”Anywho, not serious. I just beat him on the New York vs. Detroit game, the hockey game. He lost and got a little threatening.”

“So, he’s making bets?”

“Seems like it. I think he’s working with someone. I could tell he had a nervous stammer on him.”

Rudy dropped his cards, “Four of a kind, who runs St. Clair Shores.”

The balding man and A.B. dropped their cards with A.B. shaking his head saying, “lost this round.”

“Me too…” said the young biker, and then said, “do you guys know?”

Glen dropped his cards and shook his head, Rudy saw this.

“Know what?” A.B. asked.

“Who runs St. Clair Shores?” Glen asked while Rudy chuckled and took the cash in the pot.

The balding man was thinking while A.B. sarcastically said, “the fuckin’ mayor? Some guy with money?”

“I think what he means is which gang or mob.” The balding man said.

“Oh, didn’t know what you were getting at.” He said while signaling for Glen to shuffle and deal the cards, it was his turn.

“This is my last one, gentlemen.” Glen mentioned.

“It’s European, I know the Grosse Pointes and Saint Clair Shores got a heavy European influence.” said the balding man.

“Albanians?”

“Aren’t the middle eastern?” Rudy asked.

“No, Albania is by Italy.” Glen said, while noticing he has a good hand.

“Forgive me, Glen. I didn’t pay attention in school most of the time, but I still got the diploma, throwing it away two hours after I got it in the mail.”

“Not only Albanians, It’s Chaldean and I also heard of some Bosnians there.” The balding man added.

“These fucking Europeans need to leave. The fucking economy sucks, get out!” A.B. said.

“They ain’t leaving because they can get money from people who are dumb enough to bet and lose to them.”

“But don’t they do just Tree Hockey and Horse Racing with the gambling?” Rudy asked.

Jimbo wondered, “Tree Hockey, what’s that?”

“It’s what Rudy calls basketball.”

Jimbo chuckled with a shake of his head.

“Well, maybe that cop knows more about other sports?” A.B. asked.

“I don’t know. I wouldn’t call the Albanians and Bosnians gangs, more like a mob. They ain’t trying to kill people, they rough a few people up here and there, but they just want money.” the balding man said.

“Do you think they may leave the country, since our economy is bad? I hear even the Mexicans are floating back south, I can tell by how they don’t apply at my restaurant anymore.”

“You’d think.”

“My advice, the cop is a fuckin’ punk. And I got a shit hand.” Rudy dropped his cards.

All four did while Glen had a full house, “Looks like I win the last hand.” As he saw no one had better.

“Lucky fucker!” A.B. said.

Glen reached over to the pot with a smile on his face and said, “I’ll take this, thank you.”

“You may want to watch out for that cop though, in case your wrong about him working with the Albanians, he’ll probably try some shit.”

“Are the cops dirty?” Glen asked.

“Hear a few stories, but they just really trying to keep the city whiter than white. The fucking chief buys a shitload of Cuban Cigars.” The balding man said.

“I might need proof of that if it escalates.” Glen said while tossing the winnings into his pocket.

 

            Lee Ann Womack’s “I Hope You Dance” had filled the dark bedroom once again and Glen woke up. His disorientation spun his mind in circles as the chorus coming from his phone made his ears. After which, he looked towards the phone with a shake of his head. He grabbed it off of the side table and saw a number he wasn’t familiar with.

He answered it with, “Are you fucking kidding me?”

Next, he heard a sound awfully similar to a walkie-talkie finishing up, then a click.

            Glen sat up and looked at his Android phone, and shut it off. He realized that likely it’s a cop. Could have been Juby? Likely. However, he thought that Juby is likely working with somebody who also is a cop. But shutting off the phone will prevent Juby from calling, unless he happened to be within the condo complex. Glen doubted that, but he was open to that possibility, along with the thought that he could call Rudy for protection.

            Beyond that, he lay back in bed and looked at the clock, seeing that it was a little before four in the morning.

“You dickhead…” Glen said in silence.

 

He continued to lay there as time progressed. It was one of those times where Glen’s mind had reeled at a fast rate of speed. He began to think of something during his high school years that ended in bad terms and thought of what would happen if he went in a different direction with it. A relationship with his second girlfriend, when her older brother had an issue with him getting on top of her.  He also dove into the thought about the time Rudy graduated school. He was encouraged to walk down the hall with his cap and gown, but Rudy refused, even with the invisible threat that he would not receive his diploma if he did not walk the line.

            And Glen refused as well two years later, citing an indifference towards his mother for shoveling the Mormon faith down his throat over all those years. He was glad that he was able to leave the house and go to Eastern Michigan University’s School Of Business, much opposed to Brigham Young University. His mother said earlier the previous night by Rudy, was and still is a nasty-strict Mormon. Glen’s father passed away peacefully when he was 13 years old. He and his mom went to bed one night, and the next morning when he was getting ready for another day of hell in middle school, he heard his mom screaming his father’s name and to wake up. That he never did. The death of his father got him badly within the first six months, but Rudy (whose mother died two years previous in a car accident) moved on rather quickly after.

            After Glen finally moved on, the question of losing his faith in Mormonism was finally answered, he lost faith period. For the next two years after was a constant struggle for his mom to push the Mormon values down his throat, along with his entrance into East Detroit High School not being a good one.

            He thought of all the details of those two years for minutes on end. Into he snapped himself into reality and looked at the clock. It was a little before five. He rolled himself out of bed, turned on the lamp and headed to his dresser. He was going to make an early jog. He scrolled through his clothes and found the right hoodie he wanted to use, an Acrocrombie & Fitch hoodie. He found a generic pair of pants and pulled them out of his dresser, along with that was a folded manila card that fell on the floor.

            Glen stopped himself and put his clothes on the bed. He bent down and picked up the card. On the front of it, it shows Shelia Rucker, ‘A beloved fiancée.’ In between those two lines was a circular photo of Sheila, smiling.