c. 2024 Rod Ice
All rights reserved
(8-24)
Bronson Breeley was a big, burly fellow by any measure of manhood. Covered with military tattoos and battle scars. He walked the streets at Evergreen Estates with a reputation for misbehaving and carrying a surly disposition. No one wanted to cross his path, particularly after a DUI arrest caused him to lapse into unemployment and isolation. Something that didn’t keep him from driving, until a second encounter with the police made local authorities decide to impound his ratty, Chevrolet truck. He did odd jobs around the trailer enclave to keep himself able to pay the monthly lot rent, and afford bottom-shelf bourbon, while this order was in effect.
Residents called him BB when he was not around to protest. A nickname that some said was intended to stand for Big Bastard.
But on Saturday afternoon, a skinny, reclusive neighbor who lived directly behind Breeley’s singlewide abode was cutting the grass with a push-mower. Innocently, he made a turn around a propane tank that separated their yards. This maneuver caught the corner of a concrete block that supported the reservoir. A chunk went airborne after striking the motorized blade, and flew into a window which faced the back of his own, humble dwelling. He immediately began to tremble, as broken glass scattered on the ground.
Sloan Peck knew that he would be marked for retribution. But he tried valiantly to explain the error, as his pursuer appeared with a baseball bat, stripped to the waist like a pro wrestler. A fearsome character, about to dispense judgment in front of a live audience.
“GAWDAMM IT MODAFACKA! WHAT THE HELL ARE YA DOING OUT HERE? THAT DAMN NEAR TOOK MY HEAD OFF!”
Sloan neatly curled into a fetal position, though he was still standing. The youngish boy weighed no more than 100 pounds, even wearing cowboy boots and a hunting vest.
“Mr. Bee, just calm down for a minute, ‘kay? I didn’t mean to harm your trailer. Believe me, nobody wants to get on your bad side around here. I apologize...”
Bronson dropped the bat and jabbed with a clenched fist. His target’s head snapped backward violently. Spit and blood squirted from his mouth. He went limp and collapsed against the outside wall of his manufactured shack. Unfortunately, the sight of crimson trickling from his stubbly face did not satisfy the angry lug. He wanted more vengeance.
“DON’T YA PAY ATTENTION TA SHIT? JEEZAS! WHAT THE FRIG? I WAS TAKING A NAP BEFORE IT GOT TOO HOT IN MY HOUSE! THE A-CEE IS TOAST, I GOT NO MONEY TA FIX IT! THOSE DICKHEADS FINED ME A THOUSAND BUCKS FER DRIVING WITH NO LICENSE. THERE’S METHHEADS ‘ROUND HERE, KOOKY FREAKS DOIN’ ALL KINDS OF CRAP, AND THEY PICK ON MY ASS! IT DON’T MAKE NO SENSE! NONE AT ALL!”
He punched harder this time, while shifting his body weight into the hit. This sent his opponent crashing into a flower garden bordered with ornamental bricks.
Sloan lost consciousness as he rolled in the dirt.
“I apologize, Mr. Bee! I apologize...”
Noise from their confrontation echoed freely across the park, to the manager’s office, because they were not far from the maintenance garage where her command center was stationed. Fearing that a crime had been committed, she phoned the Sheriff’s Department.
“This is Dana Alvarez, 4133 Pine Trail Road, you guys gotta come quick! I think our Big Bastard just killed a dude! He’s el monstruo around here, a freaking beast! All I got to defend myself is a little pistola with one shot! That ain’t mierda for such a big bruto! I’m gonna hide in the bathroom!”
The wail of sirens approaching sent Bronson over an emotional cliff. It was late enough in the afternoon that he wanted to start drinking. Yet now, circumstances had interrupted his natural routine.
Before he could retreat inside, a bullhorn’s bark filled his ears.
“CITIZEN! DROP ON THE GROUND AND SPREAD YOUR ARMS AND LEGS! DO IT NOW!”
Bronson felt his stomach twist into a knot. Reflexively, he reached for the baseball bat.
“This jackass broke my gawdamm window! I was just gettin’ a little payback, okay? Simmer down, brudders!”
One of the deputies kicked at his leg, while another grabbed the crude weapon.
“ON THE GROUND! I WON’T SAY IT AGAIN! GET YOURSELF ON THE DAMN GROUND!”
Sloan had begun to regain consciousness, as the officers did their work. He sat upright in the bed of floral greenery, and coughed phlegm from his battered lungs.
“Mr. Bee is right, I messed up. It’s all my fault, ‘kay? Don’t put him in handcuffs. He was just reacting to my mistake...”
Deputy Krajik stood taller than his partner from the department. He was clean-cut and sharp in his uniform and duty belt.
“You’re a mess, kid! Don’t let this ape slide, he doesn’t deserve a break. How many times did he bust you in the chops?”
The scrawny resident rubbed his aching cheeks.
“It doesn’t matter. It really doesn’t!”
Bronson grinned widely at his hapless victim. He had not expected a tone of forgiveness.
“Listen ta the boy, he’s right ‘bout what happened! See my back window? It’s all broke! That coulda been my skull! Ya can’t blame me fer gettin’ riled up!”
Krajik pointed to the wooden bat as evidence.
“You were about to take a swing at me with this, just now. What was that game, citizen? Should I be vengeful with you, like you were with this poor soul?”
The beefy vigilante snorted and snickered. He pinched the fold of his square jaw.
“Okay sure, ya want ta throw hands? Fisticuffs, that’s it! Give me a flipping love tap, right on the chin, if that’s what yer jonesing fer! Do it hard, constable! Do it hard!”
The deputy spun on his heel like a major league pitcher, tossing a strike. He landed a blow with such force, that the arrogant provocateur bounced off his propane tank, and wobbled into a stand of sapling trees. He hung there with a glazed expression of surrender in his eyes.
Sloan could barely catch his breath. He turned red with embarrassment.
“Looks like the score is settled, ‘kay? Thank you, officers! Thank you so much!”
The lawman radioed back to headquarters with a report that amused his dispatcher.
“Looks like a false alarm. Nothing to see here, just a little bit of cleaning up some trash. I always seem to get the dirty work, it’s a curse! We’ll be returning to base now. Roger that! Over and out!”
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