Play Rough, Fight Dirty—Chapter 2: All This and a Pair of Pants

Mon   25 Aug 2008   10:09 by Kevin McGehee [Fiction] [Play Rough, Fight Dirty] Completed Fri   7 Nov 2008   21:46

When I rode my bike up to the old former Clearwater Drug and Discount Market, there was a crew working on putting up a new sign at the corner of the parking lot, and several trucks parked in the lot itself. The front door was propped open and I could see some men working around a couple of checkstands while others were taking stuff out of boxes and putting them on store shelves. A hand-lettered sign in the window said “Accepting Applications Inside.“ I rode on by and around the back of the bowling alley next door, where I chained my bike up to a telephone pole before walking back to the drug store. I didn’t know anybody that I’d seen at the store, and maybe having a cop for a dad made me more suspicious than I needed to be. Inside, I found Uncle Phil behind a counter at one side of the store, busy talking with somebody about something having to do with “point of sale” and “inventory control.“ I stood close enough for him to notice me once he finished explaining whatever it was he was explaining, and waited. “If you don’t hate doing it there’s something wrong with you,“ he told the other man with a smile, “but if you don’t do it every time you turn around, you’ll be out of business before you know what’s happening. Hi there, Wiley. You want to apply for a job, don’t you?“ » Read more "Play Rough, Fight Dirty—Chapter 2: All This and a Pair of Pants"

Play Rough, Fight Dirty—Chapter 1: The Suitcase and the Compost Box

Sat   16 Aug 2008   11:00 by Kevin McGehee [Fiction] [Play Rough, Fight Dirty] Completed Fri   7 Nov 2008   21:46

The car drove slowly up the street, and Bob’s dad suddenly became silent and watchful. So did Bob—yet as the car came closer both turned their eyes away from the street and glanced at each other. Bob’s dad resumed telling his story about a friend of his and trying to get a used motorcycle running, but I could tell he was on full alert until the car passed by, reached the end of the street, and turned left. Toward Main Street. Caleb Scruggins paused a moment as he looked at the now-vacant intersection, then went back to his story, telling his son and his son’s two friends—all of us sitting on the Scruggins’ front steps—about bad gas clogging an engine and how you shouldn’t leave old gas to sit for a long time. Billy Ironwood waited for Caleb to finish the story, then looked directly at him and asked, “Who was that?“ “I don’t know,“ replied the unshaven man. “This ain’t no pass-through street, and that wasn’t a Darrow County plate on that car.“ “Looked like cops,“ said Bob, with a glance at me. » Read more "Play Rough, Fight Dirty—Chapter 1: The Suitcase and the Compost Box"

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