Man with the Blue Suede Shoes

Man with the Blue Suede Shoes
By
Raman Jalota

   This really sucks. She came in with me and hooked up with that bastard. What the hell does she think she’s doing? Damn it. I had asked her out. Sure … she had suggested that Bob and Joann join us at the bar. How could I refuse? I wanted her alone, all alone, no one else but her and me. But when she looked at me with those deep blue eyes … I lost all my thoughts ... all my plans. And now this shit.
He had come out of nowhere. She had put her arm around his waist and kissed him, barely introduced him to us and had walked in with him. It made it awkward for all of us, but we found a table and sat down.
    “Who is he?”
    Joann looked at Bob, who shrugged his shoulders, “I think she went to school with him or something. I think she had mentioned his name once. I think he has a boat and she said he may be coming here for the boat festival.”
    Bob added, “He is Chris or Chevy or something like that. He doesn’t have a boat but his brother does. I am sorry this turned out this way for you Kevin.”
    He patted my back. I just nodded my head and took a long drink of the vodka and squirt that I had started drinking since I had met Melissa. She came over after fifteen minutes or so and whispered something to Joann. She looked very excited and happy. Her eyes were the brightest blues I had ever seen.
    Leaving she said, “Bye all … It was so unexpected … see you all later.”
    Bob and Joann got up and walked to the dance floor. It was crowded as usual and the local band was too loud as usual and I was without a partner again as usual. I looked at the people dancing and then around the bar. Something caught my eye and I looked again. At the other end of the floor, Melissa was dancing with that man. Yes, she was still here. I took another sip of my drink and looked around the bar again. I saw a familiar face and waved. It was a girl who I had seen before in the bar, always with a flower in her hair. That was her style, I guess. She smiled at me. I got up and walked up to her.
    “I am Kevin, I have seen you around here before, haven’t I?”
    “I have seen you here. What happened to your friends?”
    “They are dancing.” I pointed towards the floor. “What are you drinking?”
    “Forget that ... do you wanna dance?”
    She got up and took my hand. I followed her to the dance floor. She moved well. She could bend down and move with the rhythm of the music. I tried to keep pace with her and the music and looked for Melissa on the floor. The music stopped and she took my hands in hers.
    “Let’s stay for another number, that was too short.”
    The band started a fast number, I couldn’t tell … a Santana copy maybe. It had a great beat and the dance floor was packed in seconds. The song had a hard edge that kept getting louder like a jungle beat. People were moving fast and hard, jumping and turning and clapping and screaming. It was almost chaotic.
    Then I saw it. Blue suede shoes. Among all the bodies on the floor, they stuck out because of their color. Blue suede shoes that were turning and jumping and moving with a purpose. The beat got louder and I saw a flash of steel. There were screams and someone fell on the floor. I thought I saw Melissa lying on the floor. Her dress covered in blood. Someone grabbed my hand and pulled me.
    “Run, someone’s been stabbed. Let’s get out of here.”
    I was only half conscious; the dancing, the vodka, the smoke, and everything else that had happened that evening had left me barely aware. I ran with the crowd.

…..

    The damn dog was barking again. Of all the cowpokes in Colorado I had the worst cowpoke neighbor. He had an ugly bulldog that barked day and night. He also drove a beat-up ford pickup truck that he parked in front of my house purposely. My home and lawn always looked so neat. Of course I took great care of them. His damn truck parked in front of my home always made me furious.
    I had confronted him once, “Why don’t you park your truck in your garage?”
    “I ain’t got no space in there?”
    “What do you have in there?”
    “None of your damn business.”
    “Then you better park it in front of your own home, not mine.”
    “I’ll damn well park it where I please. You don’t own the street, Jack.”
    “It’s Kevin.”
    “What’s Kevin?”
    “My name’s Kev … never mind.”
    He was right too. I saw his garage open one-day. He had sofas and refrigerators and mattresses in his garage. A regular cowpoke, that bastard.
    And his damn dog always used my lawn till I started spraying it with a spray that kept him away. And every night during summer, I had to sleep with my windows closed because of that damn dog. He was barking again today.
    Today was the day. I turned all the lights out and looked through my drapes. His truck was parked smack in front of my home again. His dog was running around his yard barking at nothing. I took the pork-chop out of the fridge and injected it with coolant. Lots of coolant. I opened my backdoor and walked to the edge of the fence. I could make out his dog several feet away. I threw the pork-chop into his yard, barely missing the dog. He barked once, noticed what it was and tore into it. It disappeared in no time. He looked around, hoping for more, then sat down licking his lips and stayed down. I stood at my fence staring in the darkness, trying to make out if he was breathing or not.
    There was a sudden movement around the back of the truck. I stared transfixed, unaware of how exposed I might be. Someone moved around the truck slowly. I could see something in his hand, it looked like a gun with a long nose. He moved on to the driveway. I crept out of my yard, mesmerized by what I was watching and not willing to miss any of this.
    He tried to lift the garage door, but it didn’t move. He opened the door in the fence and went around the side of the home to the back. He turned the backdoor knob and slipped in. He moved down and to the right, towards the master bedroom.
    The light was turned on in the bedroom.
    “Who the hell are you and what …”
    “This is it man. I have had enough of your dog and you. I am settling everything tonight.”
    “What have you done to my dog? Sport … where are you?”
    “Never mind the damn dog. It’s your turn.”
    He was standing up, looking around for something to use as a defense. He picked up the bedside lamp and threw it in one fast motion at the man with the gun. He ducked and the lamp crashed into the wall, plunging the bedroom back into darkness.
    He crouched down and moved towards him on all fours. The man stepped back sensing the movement on the floor till he could see the shadow of his victim creeping towards him. He pointed his gun at the shadow and started firing.
    There were three muffled gunshots. There was a loud scream and then the shadow stopped moving. I ran back into my backyard and watched through the gaps in the fence. He hurried out and turned around the truck, that’s when I caught a glimpse of the blue shoes that he was wearing. I held my breath and crept back inside.

…..

   A drunken, drug addict who chased women; is that who the Republican Party wants after all they said about some of the other presidents? Brainless assholes. They couldn’t find a single republican with an IQ over seventy and chose the son of a former brain-dead president. And James plays their game. He hasn’t even been able to believe that he was elected governor of a backward state. He couldn’t last two weeks in a gas station as a janitor let alone make complex decisions about changing money. When elected he was reported to have snorted cocaine and joked, “Our state motto should be – Inbreed we must.”
   And what about the American public? They were whores of the lowest type. Following James Wilson like excrement sticking to a dog’s behind. He had collected more money than anyone else; obviously he was easy to buy – the bills will come due when he got elected. I saw him on TV again today, evading questions in his half-slurred speech and people cheering his idiocy. I can’t live in a country like this. If this is the caliber of politicians that the public supports, I will have to think seriously about moving out of this country. God damned idiots!
   I turned off the TV and logged on to the Internet. For the heck of it, I typed a search for ‘sub machine gun.’ There were eight-thousand-four-hundred and sixty-four matches and I found out in no time that the brand name ‘Heckler & Koch’ was very popular and had several websites describing the 9mm K&H sub-machine guns and some that had details of the difference between a semi-automatic and a fully automatic sub-machine gun. It was obvious to me that with a few steel cutting tools even I could convert a semi to a fully automatic. Why would I need an automatic anyway? The models 31, 51 and 91 all seemed to be worthy of a bank robber, or a killer.
   Finding one was a lot harder. There were some sites that gave phone numbers and addresses but almost no one was willing to talk about selling an HK 31 or an Uzi or a Galil. I had learned a lot in a very short time. The Uzi and the Galil were both very bulky and hard to conceal, the HK 51 seemed to be ideal – not too large and yet very powerful.

…..

   The bearded guy looked at me and turned his eyes down. He motioned me to come near and whispered, “Don’t say that out loud.”
   I looked around the Exhibit hall. Several hundred gun dealers were selling all kinds of guns. If I couldn’t find it here, where then?
I whispered back, “But I am really looking for an HK51 or 31.”
   “Tell you what, you got six g’s?”
   “I am not gonna pay that much. How about 3?”
   “Come back after 5.00 P. M.   I’ll make some phone calls for you. No guarantees though.”
   “Great, I am James … James Kelly.”
   “Just call me Max.”

…..

   He must have been waiting for me. Soon as I walked into the hall, he waved and came to the front, “Hi there buddy. Let’s go smoke a cigarette.”
   I followed him to the parking lot. He led me to an old Chevy and unlocked the trunk. Wrapped in some blankets were two guns. He handed me one.
   “There’s a HK 31.”
   I held it in my hands, it felt light and powerful. He held up another one.
   “Here’s an Uzi.”
   “What’s the difference?”
   “Personal preference. Some people prefer the action of the Uzi, they say it’s more stable than the H&K. Others swear by H&K, they say there’s none better. Which one do you like the feel of?”
     I tried them both, “I like the HK 31. How much you asking for it?”
   “I had to get it from another dealer. It’s five thousand for you.”
   “I can’t pay more than three.”
   “If it was from my stock, I would give it to you, buddy. I had to get it from someone else. I am doing you a big favor.”
   “Five thousand is too much. Besides I don’t have that kind of money.”
   He reached his hand to take it back, “Well if you can’t come up with more than three, I can’t do business with you, buddy.”
   “I can give you thirty-five hundred.”
   “Thirty-seven and it’s yours.”

…..

   I felt the spare magazines in my pockets as I climbed out of the third story window and out on to the roof of the garage. It was dark and the library building across the street was well lit, throwing angled shadows on the garage roof. I kept in the shadows and walked to the edge. There were two limousines parked at the entrance and several cars at the curb. I wondered if that was a good distance to hit the target.
   I looked around, trying to get used to the brightness in front and darkness behind. I had popped another fresh stick of gum in my mouth when I heard noises. I stood up and stared. A group of people was coming out of the building and photographers were taking pictures. And then I could see James Wilson. He was walking out slowly and stiffly, smiling uncomfortably at the photographers.
   What was the thing to remember? Oh yes, keep it low and spray in an arch. I moved the safety to off and started firing. I couldn’t tell if I was having any success. I stopped after the first magazine was empty. As I replaced it I heard footsteps behind me. I crawled away from the ledge. There was another man on the ledge holding an H&K 31 also. He moved purposely to the edge and started firing. I looked across the street. Wilson looked directly at me and pointed. The blue suite worn by Wilson suddenly had red spots on it. He screamed and slowly fell backward.
   I ran my arm through the gun strap and hurried towards the window, got into the corridor and down the steps to the backdoor. I stepped outside and ran towards my car. So far so good, no one had spotted me. They were probably running towards the front of the building or may be waiting for the cops. I jammed my keys in the ignition and glanced up. The shooter with his gun across his shoulder came running out of the backdoor. I saw the familiar blue shoes and smiled.

The End    2445 words

Copyright © 2004 Raman Jalota. All rights reserved. No part of this electronic publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the written permission of the author.

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