Bound by a Bullet

Patrick Michaels was never a "normal" sixteen-year-old boy by any means, though outwardly he always seemed to be. He was a quiet boy, but that didn't keep him from making a lot of friends. Very shy, though that did not keep girls from noticing him. There were five school teams at Page High, and he lettered first string in every one of them. And he was always one of the top students in his year. 1

What separated Pat from the rest of the kids his age? Perhaps it was how much he loved going to school. Maybe it was because he never got into trouble, while a few of his close friends had prior stints in juvenile hall. Some would argue that "it's just the result of good parenting." Yet, any kid who dressed-out with Pat in the locker rooms would've argued the contrary on account of his bruises. What made Pat different than every other kid his age was not that he liked school, playing sports and not getting into trouble. It was how much he hated to go home.2

It was late February in 1959, and the weather in San Antonio was in a hurried transition from cold to sticky. Pat hated this part of the year more than any other except summer vacation. The school's Football, Baseball, Golf, and Basketball seasons were over, and the Track & Field season would not begin for another month. Within that time, Pat had no excuse to give his father. He HAD to go home after school! If Pat's good reputation was the polar opposite of anyone's, it was Officer Joe Michaels'. 3

Officer Joe (as he preferred to be called) was not the popular straight-arrow like his son. He was a violent alcoholic, and a paranoid schizophrenic. Everyone who knew the man knew was a little unhinged, but very few of them--very few people outside of his family--knew he was actually Pat's father. Neither Pat nor Officer Joe cared to broadcast this fact. Aside from having nothing in common, they didn't even look alike. Pat took after his mother, Jeanne. He was short for his age, about 5'1". He had thick, wavy dark brown hair, blue eyes and a sparkling smile that he loved to show. Soaking wet, he couldn't have been more than 110 pounds. 4

Whatever good looks Officer Joe may have had as a young man had withered away long before his fifty-eighth birthday. He rarely smiled, which saved people from the sight of teeth stained yellow from dip and cigarettes. Standing at 6'4", he weighed about 270 pounds. Officer Joe was not a fat man, nor was he ever far out of shape, but he did have a prominent beer gut. Everywhere he went, he wore the same brown stetson low over his thick salt & pepper eyebrows, barely exposing his cold, dark brown eyes. He had gigantic shoulders, arms and a 55" chest. As a cop, he was always quick to use his hands, which were his most intimidating trait. They were massive! His wedding ring was more than large enough to fit a fifty-cent piece through. He walked with a very slight limp in his left leg from a wound he received in the line of duty. Though, like his son, Officer Joe was still a damn fast runner when he needed to be. 5

It was a time of suppression for Pat. At an age when a young man is first discovering his interest in girls, Pat had other duties to attend. After retiring from the force six months earlier, Officer Joe had taken a job as the manager of Caldwell's Meat-Market two miles away from their house. Page High let out at 3:30 every day, and when he had no extra curricular obligations, Pat was forced to work at the market with his father until it closed at 10:00 PM. 6

Caldwell's had a staff of less than 10 people. Of them, Pat was always stuck with the jobs nobody wanted: unloading the delivery trucks; stocking meat in the freezer; wrapping and stocking meat for display; making hundreds of little price tags; drawing up window ads and product displays; mopping floors; un-stopping the stopped-up toilet; and cleaning up the butcher block. And worst of all, what little payment Pat received for his services went straight into his father's beer-fund. 7

This day started out like any other typical day at the meat-market. As soon as school let out, Pat had to put his Track & Field trainers on and sprint the two mile trek to work.8

At this time, Officer Joe could always be seen waiting for Pat outside the market entrance, sporting a bloody apron that didn't hide his .44 magnum revolver. He stood there with an eye on his watch until Pat arrived. 9

"Toilet's stopped-up," said Officer Joe, lighting up a cigarette. "Hurry and put your school-books in my car, you've got a lotta stuff needs to get done. Go on now, boy!"10

"Yes, sir," Pat said out of breath, blotting his forehead with the tail of his shirt. "Any deliveries today?.." He immediately felt his father's eyes bore into him. "Sir," he added promptly. Officer Joe looked him up and down for a second, as if he were sizing him up.11

"No, not today. We gotta sell these hams here first, and I still gotta get all of the damn brat wursts stuffed. And don't you forget about all them frozen lamb-chops, either! You ain't even written the fuckin' displays or price tags for 'em yet. No slackin' now, Pat. Not today!..You hearin' me, boy?!" 12

"Yes, sir," Pat replied, wanting to kick himself for inviting the lecture his father was about to give.13

"Look at me!" Barked Officer Joe14

Pat obliged. Officer Joe raised the stetson on his brow. Towering over Pat, he bent down until their faces were just a few inches apart. As common an ordeal as this was for Pat, it never stopped intimidating him.15

"Get it DONE! You hear me?! All of it!" He whispered sharply, his eyes wide and threatening.16

"Yes, sir. I will, don't worry." Said Pat, forcing himself to return his father's glare with a look of nonchalance.17

"I ain't the one's gotta worry if it don't get done." Said Officer Joe loudly, mocking the patronizing tone a mother might use with a three-year-old. "Now I want it all done today! You hear me?!.. TODAY!"18

Knowing his father's speech patterns by heart, Pat knew this was the end of his lecture (for now). "Yes, sir," he replied with well practiced enthusiasm. Making his way out to the car to drop of his school books, Officer Joe's words came just as Pat mouthed them.19

"Good boy. Get on it, now."20

Pat did as he was told. He un-stopped the chronically stoppable toilet, he drew up 5 elaborate displays for the hams along with 75 price tags for the lamb chops, then he stocked them, mopped the floors (twice in the butcher block), all this while avoiding his father's piercing glares as much as possible. Every once in a while, Officer Joe would shout out a new order like "PAT... Get on over here and wrap these cutlets!", or "PAT... Get on out to the shed & pick up a new lightbulb!" Pat obliged, as always.21

The hours came and went. Before long, all but the two Michaels employees had gone home. Pat was on his last job of the evening, cleaning the circular saw blade in the butcher block. Meanwhile his father was making his usual last minute security rounds before closing. The hams had sold pretty well, but the lamb-chops went almost untouched. Pat knew his Dad would attribute this fault to the amount of time it took his son to stock and tag them. He took a lot of time on that saw blade waiting for the storm to start. Yet, when it finally did, it caught him off guard.22

"Hey! OUCH!.." Officer Joe shouted from a distance. "Son of a BITCH! PAT!.. PAAAT!"23

Resigned to the beating it seemed he was in for, he made his way toward the door leading into the main market. As he was turning the knob, it slammed into his face. Through it sprinted a Mexican boy no bigger or older than himself. He was running so fast, he didn't have time to avoid colliding with the wash-tub Pat was using to clean the saw-blade. Hitting it at full speed, he tumbled over and dropped a book-bag filled with frozen lamb-chops. "Get 'im, Pat! That fuckin gut-eater's a THIEF! Don't let him get away!"24

In a second, Pat was on his feet ready to pounce on the kid. Unfortunately, this kid was quicker. Springing immediately back to his feet, he picked up his bag with the stolen chops along with the saw-blade that lay next to it. As Pat lunged at him, he leapt to the right and flung the blade like a frisbee right at his face. With hardly a moment to flinch, Pat felt a ringing pain rip through the center of his left ear. 25

As quickly as the thief had barreled through the door, he had exited into the dimly-lit alley out back. Pat was quick on his tail. A second or two after he entered the alley himself, Pat heard his father calling to him from the back door.26

"Pat, come on," he said in a calm, resolute voice. Get on in here, boy." Having drawn his pistol, he stood stock still at the doorway and aimed it right at the center of the fleeing silhouette's back.27

"Call the Police... And call this son of a bitch," BOOM, "an ambulance!"28

Pat stood frozen, gaping, as the young thief did a jack-knife in mid-air before hitting the pavement hard through a misty cloud of blood. He lay there crumpled, hardly ten feet from where he was standing. Where his left torso once was, a huge hole remained. Blood and intestines littered the ground. The two boys made eye contact as Pat reached for the bag sitting between them. Pat listened as the thief moaned something that sounded like "Mama," but the morbid gargle that issued from his lips drowned out any coherency. Pat fell to his knees and retched.29

After a few seconds he re-mastered control over his stomach and was once again on his feet looking into the poor young thief's pale face. The boy continued to try and say something, but no voice emerged. He was shaking uncontrollably, and in the limited light Pat could barely discern a pair of tear-streaks over his face.30

"Fuckin' spic made my Goddamn knee whiz-out on me again!" Said Officer Joe, as he limped slowly towards his son. Pat felt his father's massive right hand squeeze his left shoulder for balance. "Come on, boy, let's get the cops on the pho--What the?!.. What's this?! What's this blood, boy?!"31

"S-Saw-blade...threw it at me..." Pat replied, straining under the growing pressure of his father's grip on his shoulder. A horrible silence followed accompanied only by the thief's short and labored breaths. Pat realized for the first time that he, himself, was out of breath. And his heart was beating so hard in his chest it was actually painful. In a failed attempt to calm his voice, he added, "It was an accident. It's just a scratch, I'll be alright."32

For a second, there was more silence. Then a bright flash of light accompanied another BOOM, illuminating every crumpled contour of the boy in front of them as the top of his head was blasted off. 33