96. In the Storm

The guy who is always in the wrong place at the wrong time.
That would be me.

That's been the only consistent given in my entire life.

My parents just weren't the child-raising type, to the point where they didn't even name me themselves. Even worse, my father was never home, but out spending every last cent of ours on booze and half-hearted merriment for himself. My mother had gone crazy far before I was born. Mentally unfit for work, I heard. They thought they could talk about these things in front of me because I was just a kid, and kids didn't know better, but when your folks don't know shit about raising you, you teach yourself a thing or two.

But no matter what I learned in life, I knew from the very beginning that my existence was a damn mistake.

It got worse after my father died. After that, there was no place for me, not anywhere.

That night, I ran away from home. Clad in pinstripes from my head down to my ankles and with a Tommy gun by my side, I turned my back on the first from my list of "places where Baso doesn't belong".

That list quickly grew longer, and my heart grew colder along with it.

That's when things got a little too fucked up. Not only was I in another wrong place, but everyone and everything I saw there were screwed up even worse than I am.

And that strangest place, the only one I'd set foot in more than once, still sits on its ass on the corner of a street, clear as day for all the world to see.

~~

Take my word for it, when you're running away from home, you can bet your ass it's gonna be raining the second you set foot outside. Really. It's bound to happen.

My guess why this is could have something to do with my theory that rain is really just the piss of the powers that be. Being the all-powerful sadistic jackasses they are, they want you to know that they're not satisfied with just killing your dad and screwing with your mom's head, so they take a piss on you to get the last laugh. Just to make sure you know at all times who's the boss.

But now that I think about it, I guess another good reason to let it rain would be to hide the fact that you're crying.

Yup, there I was, bawling like a baby. I'm not happy to admit it, but the tears were falling full force no matter how you slice it. Then I heard a noise from around the street corner I was headed towards, and I frantically wiped at all my tears. I even threw my head up to the sky to make it seem as if I'd just gotten my face wet on accident. Pop used to say, "When in doubt, glare", and so I did, and rounded the corner to face whatever awaited me.

It was a chick.

To be honest, she was kind of cute, looking around with a completely lost expression on her face. She wasn't wearing a hood, so the rain was soaking her striped turtleneck and cargo pants. All of a sudden, she turned to face me, which caused me to back off. I guess I must have been staring. I started to leave, when a dull pain struck the back of my head, and down I went.

There were some shuffling noises, a loud scraping sound, and I could only watch from my spot on the wet concrete as she ran away. But just before she left my sight, she looked back with a worried expression...

And then I noticed the wallet in her hands.

That was all the hesitation I needed. In just one bound, I was on my feet and closing in on her. She caught wise to my recovery and started to flee, but she should know there's nothing worse than starting a new life without any cash. When I was just a half step behind her, I yanked at the hem of her turtleneck, and then we were down. But I guess it's alright, it was the second time that day for me.

The bad news is, the girl thief landed right on top of me. In my lap.

She jerked away and held out my wallet at arm's length for me to take back. Her eyes were clenched shut, and if it were brighter outside, I'd assume she was blushing. Finally, she spoke. Her voice was surprisingly level and mellow, with some sort of English accent mixed in.

"I'm really very sorry about all this! Truly! I...I don't suppose you'd know what life on the street is like, but it's rough all the same! So just...take it! Take it back! It won't happen again!"

She trembled, from the cold or her humiliation, who could say. I gratefully accepted my wallet.

"Thanks." Was all I could think of saying, to which she cryptically replied,

"Not at all. See you soon."
~~

Without another word, the girl walked off, leaving me alone once again. With nowhere to go and nothing left to care about, I just stood my ground and took in my surroundings.

The rusted street sign told me that I was at the corner of Dunham & Dunham. Lined with secondhand shops so neglected and mistreated, the likes of which I'd never seen before now, I couldn't imagine this area of town had even a single patron, dirt poor or otherwise. Across the street lay an abandoned hat shop with a fizzing neon sign and a giant awning. In this downpour, it seemed the best place to be if caught in a downpour.

No sooner had I taken a step when, out of nowhere, a sleek black sports car peeled out in front of me, rounded the corner on practically two wheels, and disappeared past the shop. This spooked me more than I care to admit, and I ducked inside the store.

The interior was warmer than expected of a vacated building. The carpet and wallpaper were still well intact, a preeminent mix of creams and deep reds, and a bouquet of roses that smelled old but otherwise appeared to be fresh sat on a low coffee table to my right. From behind the mahogany counter I spotted a flight of stairs, complete with opulent gilded handrail. My curiosity got the best of me and I went up.

The second floor was far more drab than the first one. It was simply a hallway of countless doors, and the whole thing was finished all in black. The absence of a single light in the entire building didn't add to the hospitable charm.

At the very end of the hallway and to the left, one of the doors looked different. For one thing, it was silver, and a good deal smaller than most doors are made. But what shocked me the most about it was the fancy-ass doorknob. Honestly, with all the scrollwork and indecipherable initials on the damn thing you could feed a developing nation. It even felt weird in my hand, all lumpy and cold. I half expected it to take a vice-like grip to open, but the knob turned smoothly with a satisfying click. I bent over until I was on my knees, and then I was in.

But it was impossible for me to have expected what awaited me on this side of the door.

~~