"The Aisle" - Part Two (chapters 10 - 24)

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            As usual, Burt Hales had locked the small deadbolt on the inside of the door to the office cubicle, ready to start working on the books. Burt Hales was always working on the books. It didn’t matter whether he was actually doing any book keeping or not, he always told everyone that he was “working on the books,” and that they shouldn’t bother him unless it was an emergency. “The books were the heart of the operation,” he would say, as if Mariners Market was a multi-national enterprise, with extensive holdings representing a diverse range of products and services.3

              In fact, Mariners Market was barely holding on. It was going to close soon and he knew it. Once a thriving store, it was not prepared for the competition of giants like A & P, Shoprite, and Super Stop & Shop. A mere 10,000 square feet, with just enougfh room for the bare essentials of a standard grocery store, the once loyal pool of patrons who desired the more personalized, consistent service of a small operation had diminished in favor of the convenience and savings of the large commercial outfits. 4

            Located at the front of the store, to the right of register one, raised eight feet off the floor like a lookout tower was the office cubicle. The front office, technically, since there was another, much larger office area in the back of the store, where all the real paperwork took place. Basically a box, it measured 10 feet by 10 feet. It butted against the front wall of the store, leaving the other three sides free standing, with walls that extended four feet above the cubicle floor. Three steps led to an entry door on the front side. The lower section, below the cubicle floor, was enclosed with latched doors, and provided storage space for office supplies, surplus products, and a lot of dust. Burt Hales spent most of his time in this office station, affectionately dubbed “the throne.” From up there he could oversee the entire store, as well as denounce any undertakings that weren’t to his liking with his infamous fits, not so affectionately known as “Hale Storms.”         5

            He slumped into his chair, which creaked as the springs wearily compensating for his weight. He was overweight. He knew that, but it was way down on his list of concerns. Mariners Market would probably close by the end of June. At fifty seven years of age, after twenty some odd years as manager, he was about to be out of a job; out of a career, and he wasn’t ready financially or otherwise. He was in denial as to why, but his poor management style, lack of creativity, and virtually nonexistent ambition was a big part of this downward trend. He was a lousy manager, and even though his incompetence as a store supervisor was not evident to him, it was not lost on his employees; or more importantly, the big wigs at corporate. He was bitter about it. Outwardly bitter. Bitter that the store would close; bitter that he felt a failure; bitter that he would soon have to look for work when most guys at this stage in their careers would be retiring.6

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            Burt Hales was basically angry at the entire world for dealing him such a bad hand. He made no attempt to hide it; or worse, to control it. If Stan Tortle was considered rude and mean-spirited, then Burt Hales was someone to avoid at all costs. Hales mad Tortle look like an angel when it came to courtesy and kindness, and the lack thereof. Stan was rude, crude, and arrogant; where Hales was vulgar, conniving, and downright malicious. This was a bad combination of qualities. Throw in a little power, and you have truly unfortunate situation, with the potential to affect people’s lives in the most profound manner. 8

            It was Burt Hales that started calling Al “screwball,” making fun of his last name. Stan locked onto that one pretty fast, and used it liberally when speaking to Al. Everone maintained that Stan had been the one to coin the name, but it was actually Hales that started it. It had become accepted, almost like a pet name, or a nickname used for affection. But when Burt Hales used it, it was meant to deliver the most cutting and cruel expression of dislike. Hales rarely ever spoke to Albert, and when he did, it was only meant to criticize, scold, and threaten.  9

            Hales stared at the jumbled mess on his desk and groaned. He didn’t feel good. Having, again, a little too much to drink the night before, his head ached and his stomach was upset; he felt exhausted and out of control. Mother’s Day meant nothing to him. His parents were long gone, and his failing marriage had produced no children. This was just another day; only worse. He was angry that he had to come in to work on a Sunday; and a holiday no less, but the quarterly report was overdue, and it was no where near done. It was one of the jobs that the home office expected from their store supervisors, so he really had no choice. He had been late with the last two reports, ultimately thrown together at the last minute, and had been told by the powers that be, in no uncertain terms, that he had better get it together.10

            The random, depressing dialogue in his mind rambled relentlessly; distressing thoughts flying in and out. His head tilted back as he shut his eyes, seeking relief from the glaring fluorescent lights. Weariness took hold and he drifted towards sleep. A flash of images and a loud cracking sound jolted him into consciousness. His momentary confusion dissipated as he remembered where he was. He looked at the cubicle door and listened, thinking someone had knocked. He rubbed the drowsiness from his eyes, took the in house phone off the hook so he wouldn’t be bothered by anyone, and began to work on the report.  11

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Chapter 1113

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             Doobie was wiping down the checkout station, somewhat leisurely, clarifying his career aspirations for an uninterested customer when the first shot went off. The woman was indulgent, but barely. Doobie’s congeniality and self proclaimed cleverness made women think he was hitting on them; usually he was.15

            Doobie wasn’t his real name, but it was his accepted name at Mariners Market. It’s what everyone called him; what he told everyone to call him; and the name that was printed on his weekly paycheck – Doobie McCoy. Some people attributed the name, nickname or whatever, to his love of the classic rock band “The Doobie Brothers.” Some attributed it to his love of marijuana. His given name was Douglas McCoy. His friends called him Doogie; an affectionate form of Doug. Then came the infamous story of him smoking pot with the Doobie Bros.. He’d been going by Doobie for the past six years.16

            He was wiping the conveyor belt when the blast went off, causing both him and the customer to jump in surprise. His mind tried to identify the sound, and it took a moment before he realized what he thought he heard. It’s not the kind of sound you usually hear in a small grocery store; or a large one for that matter. Bottles breaking; boxes falling over; that was normal. But a booming explosion type sound? No, that was definitely a gun. A big one!17

            “Did you hear that?” he said to the customer; obvious rhetoric in his voice, as the sound was probably heard across the street. “Someone must have dropped a whole case of flood lamps,” he said through a foolish, nervous giggle; trying to make light. Not sure what next to say he blabbered “They’re gonna get a real ass chewin’!” The woman grabbed her bag and her keys, and hurried out the door, not at all interested in determining the origin of the sound.18

            Doobie looked around the deserted checkout area, hoping someone else would appear. He looked up at the office cubicle expecting to see the agitated face of Hales to emerge. Strangely, the store was dead silent. Spooky.19

            “Hello?” he said, to no one in particular, like he was calling to the occupants of a seemingly deserted house. He looked around again, not sure what he should do. “Damn, what the hell?” he thought. Cardinal rule number one of the cashier’s job was “never leave the register unattended,” but Doobie’s peaking curiosity got the better of him, and he was just about to go investigate when the phone by his register rang. It was Lila Prentiss, the deli manager.20

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            Matteel Gupta was working on one of the slicers in the deli department when the first shot went off. Matt, what he preferred to be called, reacted like anyone would have by jumping a couple of feet into the air. The sound was booming; reverberating over the shelves and off the ceiling. He had been so focused on the job at hand that the report startled him significantly; as if someone had snuck up behind him and yelled “BOO!”23

            “What the hell was that?” he asked the deli manager standing next to him.24

            “Hell if I know,” Lila responded, equally perplexed. “It sounded like a gun.”25

            “It sure did,” said Matt. “Should we check it out?”26

            She looked at him with a furrowed brow and upturned eyes, like he had just announced that he was running for president.27

            “You can check it out if you want, but I think we should call Hales.”28

            Matt was not anxious to investigate by himself, but it was clear that Mrs. Prentiss would not be his backup.29

            “Suppose someone is hurt?” Matt asked.30

            “All the more reason to notify him.”31

            Matt looked out over the deli counter in the direction of the noise. He looked back at Lila Prentiss, urging her with his eyes. “What’s the big deal?” he said. “Okay, that sound wasn’t good, but I can’t imagine there’s any danger.” Matt registered her disbelief. “What, you think there is danger?”32

            Lila turned to her right and grabbed the phone on the wall. She dialed the extension for the front office cubicle. Busy!33

            Then she dialed the extension for front cashier station one. Two rings and Doobie picked up. Doobie tried to convince Mrs. Prentiss that it was a flood lamp falling in aisle six. “Fourth one this week,” he said.34

            “That was no flood lamp,” she said, and told Doobie to ask Mr. Hales to look into it.35

            Doobie objected; said he would rather shove bamboo shoots under his finger nails. Couldn’t she just find Stan and tell him? Doobie was not anxious to confront Hales this morning. He watched him come in; he didn’t look happy. Still, he had a perfectly respectable reason to make contact with the big man, and Doobie had certainly not caused the alarming sound. 36

            Doobie was the only full time cashier at Mariners. There were two others, both part time, but when it came to the checkout counter, Doobie was the man. He was an outgoing person, social person; good with people he claimed. It was a great job. Simple work, once you knew the codes. Sometimes monotonous, and sometimes engaging, it was a high profile job, and that, Doobie liked. The best part of the job though, was the chain of command that he followed. While some employees had to deal with Stan, and some even with Hales, his immediate supervisor was Estelle.37

            At the end of a shift all the receipts were tallied and delivered directly to Estelle. Estelle was the primary branch book keeper; the only book keeper for the past 24 years. Short, and a little pudgy, Estelle was like everyone’s mom, and Estelle loved Doobie. The fact that he was more like her grandson, than her son, allowed for an even more tolerant manner from Estelle. Even though Doobie rarely did anything considered wrong, he could certainly do no wrong in the eyes of Estelle. So, Doobie had a high profile job, with protection. Not a bad setup.38

            Doobie came out from the register station and walked over to the front of the office cubicle. Just the thought of speaking with Hales put knots in his stomach, and he wasn’t his confident, boisterous self. He stepped up on the first step to the cubicle door; high enough to knock on it, but not enough to see over the top. He shook his head, took a deep breath, and knocked ever so lightly.39

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            Beth wasn’t sure what had happened. It felt like she was coming out of anesthesia; when you’re not sure where, or even who you are. She was lying on her back on a hard floor. Bright fluorescent lights flickered, or seemed to flicker, and buzzed with a steady high pitched ring. “Is this a dream?” she thought. No, it was too vivid for a dream, and she never felt pain in any of her dreams. 45

            She tried to sit up; pain shot through her like a bolt of lightning. She wanted to scream; tried to scream; felt herself scream, but no sound came out of her mouth. Her vocal cords seemed paralyzed. She rose up enough to prop herself on one elbow. The back of her head was throbbing, although not as badly as her leg; her thigh, more accurately. She looked at it for what seemed like forever as she registered the extent of the injury. A nice size chunk had been scooped out of the side of her upper left thigh. About eight inches long, and an inch deep, it was a scary thing to look at. Strangely, it didn’t seem to be bleeding very much. The edges of the gouge and the surrounding fabric of her jeans were burnt and crusty. The wound hardly seemed to be bleeding at all. She wondered where all the blood on the floor came from, but made the connection quickly as she rubbed the sore spot on the back of her head. She had a nice gash, still oozing through the clumped matted hair. It wasn’t pouring blood, but it was flowing. She looked down at the pool of blood on the floor.46

            “How long had she been lying there?’ she wondered. “What the hell was going on?” She started to place where she was; started to remember what she was doing there. Then she heard the voices. The voices became clearer as the ringing in her ears died down. 47

            “Ok… one… no…, two people were talking very excitedly; one louder than the other. Beth looked at the hole in the shelf wall where an explosion seemed to have come from. The light shifted back and forth; it was clear that there were people in the next aisle over. What had happened was still not clear, but whoever was over there was either the cure, or the cause. There may even be other injured people who needed help. Beth needed to know what was going on. Her voice seemed to work again, and although she desperately needed help herself, something kept her from calling out. 48

            She shifted her body and got her right leg tucked under enough to turn sideways and push towards the shelves. She managed to move enough so that she could reach the bottom shelf. Grabbing onto the raised molding, she pulled with her hand as she pushed with her feet against the floor. It felt like she weighed a ton, and then suddenly realized with alarm that her legs were numb. “Paralyzed!” It was a sick, frightening thought, and the extreme pang of anxiety caused panic; she kicked frantically. 49

            The sound of falling packages startled her. She realized that her right foot had kicked items off the shelf on the other side of the aisle. She felt relief knowing that her legs were not paralyzed; at least not both legs. Her right leg seemed fine, but her left leg was as useless as road kill, and did, to a large degree, resemble the mutilated remains of a carcass on the highway. She gazed at the wound in her leg, amazed by the grotesque, almost unrealistic appearance of torn flesh. Oh God; and bone; She could see some of the bone. “Why wasn’t it bleeding more?” she wondered. She knocked the packages away with her good leg, causing a small stack to fall. The noise created a lull in the voices one aisle over. Beth held still; the voices resumed after a seemingly interminable moment of silence. 50

            She again pulled on the shelf. The rubber sole of the sneaker on her right foot gripped the smooth linoleum floor, and she inched over. When she had moved far enough, she reached up and grabbed the edge of one of the upper shelves. As she tried to pull herself up her left leg dragged on the floor, causing another jolt of pain. She wanted to scream, but bit her lip and kept silent. She didn’t know why; if there ever was a time to cry out, this was it. But the strange pattern and ominous tone of the conversation in the next aisle troubled her. The bizarre circumstances not withstanding, something was not right. Actually, something seemed very wrong.51

            The blinding sting from her leg subsided a little. She looked at the horrid injury. It was like something you’d see in a war movie. The  pain was getting worse; starting  to throb. There was still no measurable bleeding, which made the image even more surreal. She had to cover the wound; bandage it somehow. If nothing else, she needed to protect it and prevent touching it again. Any more of that searing pain, and she would faint for sure. She looked up and down the aisle; no health products. Then she remembered where she was, and realized that she was surrounded by bandaging material. She grabbed a package of the large sanitary briefs for men. “Oversized diapers for incontinent geezers,” Beth thought. 52

            She tore at the plastic wrapping, and the soft, crinkly protective garment sprung out. She thought it would be a good idea to actually wear them; she had probably soiled herself already, but the wound was too low on her thigh. Bent forward as far as she could without causing too much pain, she flipped one of the leg holes over the shoe of her left foot. She carefully twisted and pulled, slowly working the material up over the horrible gouge in her leg. It hurt as the garment slid over the damaged area, but she got it in place, with the elastic bands gripping above and below the injury. She grabbed another package of the briefs, in the smaller size, again tearing it open and releasing the compacted material. She stretched one apart and pulled it over her head, fitting it in place like a ski cap. It wasn’t your typical bandaging job, but it would do. She felt a little relief, and could almost pretend that her injuries were not so bad. She leaned back against the shelf to rest for a moment, looking at her leg to admire her handiwork. “Christ, she looked like hell,” she thought. “Actually, she must look totally ridiculous. “I hope I don’t see anyone I know,” she though, almost laughing at the absurdity.  53

            Feeling more confident now, she twisted around and grabbed at one of the upper shelves. With tremendous effort, Beth maneuvered so she could support herself on her right knee. She pushed her body up, dragging her bad leg like a piece of meat. Desperately, she twisted and pulled, finally pulling herself to the third shelf. With soft grunts and whimpers, she got close enough to the hole to look through, her face just a couple of feet from the jagged, somewhat round opening. The hole looked larger up close; the splintered edges still letting off slight wisps of smoke. 54

            The angle wasn’t great, and the distance from the hole narrowed her visible area, but she was clearly able to see someone; not entirely, but from the waist down. She couldn’t tell who it was; the legs shifted around, bringing the person in and out of view. The voices were audible, but not clear enough to make out what was being said. Beth did not understand what was happening, and why this person was just standing there talking when it seemed an explosion had just occurred. Frustrated, she rearranged herself so that she could get her head and shoulders between the shelves, and get her face closer to the hole. When she looked again, now less than a foot away, she could see more. She saw the bottom half of a tall, robust person, standing in front of a smaller man. The smaller man was Stan Tortle. She knew him only from seeing him over the years she had been coming to the market. She tended to avoid him. “A rather unpleasant fellow who was never much help,” she recalled. The bodies moved in and out of her limited line of sight, with Tortle’s movements becoming more animated. “What was going on?” she wondered. “What the heck is Mr. Tortle doing?” Beth was totally confused, but the gist of the smaller man’s behavior became clearer, as the man standing opposite him raised a large gun, and pointed it right at him55

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            Albert glared at Stan, who had jumped up in fright when the shotgun went off. Al was running out of the little patience he had, and was pretty sure Stan would blatantly test what was left. Al swung the gun forward again, pointing it right at his supervisor. Stan was bent forward slightly; his hands were out in front of him as if he were trying to protect himself, or ward something off. Al smiled at the idea of Stan fending off a point blank, 12 gauge shotgun blast with his bare hands. The image made him chuckle out loud. Stan screwed up his face, confused by Al’s snickering. 58

“What the fuck is wrong with you, freak?” Stan yelled. “Have you lost your fuckin’ mind?” It was typical of Stan to act so foolishly bold while standing in front of a loaded shotgun; especially one whose owner was a bit out of sorts.59

“”You fuckin’ ass,” Stan bark, looking at the damaged shelving and then back at Al. “Screw-ball? Hell-oh? Anyone home?” he said, knocking on his head like it was a door.60

Al was calm, straight forward, and dead serious. “Ok, Tortle, I’ll ask you again. Where’s Hales?”61

Sadly, the one time Stan really needed to have control in a situation, he totally lost control of himself. With his hands on his hips, he launched into a barrage of insults, swearing, course language, and name-calling. Al couldn’t really hear a word Stan said. He had a mental block against the oppressors of the world, and right now, Stan could be the president of that club. “Whata’ya gonna do Screwball, put holes in all the shelves? Don’t worry, you keep firin’ that thing off and Hales’ll find you.” Stan stood there, hands on hips. Again, there was an awkward silence as both men stared each other down. Al was getting anxious, and Stan’s pompous, condescending manner was not helping things. In a last effort to deal with this most ill-mannered person, Al gestured using the gun as a pointer. “Stan, you are probably the most arrogant, rude, mean spirited…” Stan cut him off.62

“Shut up you dumb ass screwball,” Stan shouted. “I don’t know what you think you’re tryin’ to prove here, you dumb-shit.” His barrage of verbal abuse flowed with no pause as he started to step towards Al. “But if you think you’re gonna get a raise, or extra pay, you’re a bigger fool than I thought.” Stan was firing belligerent insults at Al in rapid succession as he slowly stepped forward. Not sure what he was expecting; maybe Stan thought he would intimidate Al, but in the middle of a seemingly endless stream of insults and demands, Albert squeezed the trigger and sent the full blast of the shotgun directly into Stan’s chest. Stan did not see it coming, and probably to his good fortune, didn’t feel anything either. Hit from about six feet, the blast was so powerful that it picked Stan up and hurled his body a good fifteen feet where it landed on the hard floor. He tumbled and slid another ten feet or so before it settled and slumped into a mangle, lifeless corpse. Al stood motionless as blood seeped out from under Stan’s body, slowly forming a dark, red pool on the floor63

“You just don’t know when to shut up, do you?” he said. Shaking his head in disgust, he looked to the side at the smashed shelves. For a fleeting moment he thought he saw something. A shadow; or a glimpse of something; or someone. He froze; alarmed slightly by the thought that someone saw what he had just done. Hales maybe? It would be typical of Hales to hide from sight at a time like this. Maybe it was a customer. Matt would be at the deli today, and he was the only other stock person. He stood motionless, staring at the hole in the shelf; waiting for another glimpse of whatever he thought he had seen. Nothing! No motion, no shifts in the light, no sounds other than the hum of the fluorescent lights. The whole store, including Stan Tortle, was dead silent.64

He looked at the contorted body of his former supervisor. There was no going back; he hadn’t been quite sure of what he would do once he reached the store, but Stan helped him along with that. He walked over to lifeless body which was in a kneeling position, face down, and tilted. Stan’s arms protruded to the right side, out from underneath, crossed in an awkward fashion. Al looked down at the body; he kicked it hard, causing it to slump to the side somewhat. He could see the wound in the middle of his chest. It extended up towards his face and had ripped off a large chunk of his neck as well. It was gruesome, and the sight made Al recoil. He was mad at Stan. Not for being such a bully; not for being such a pompous, arrogant ass, but mad for forcing him to do this. Albert had never hurt anyone in his entire life; never hit anyone; never even insulted anyone verbally. It upset him to think that his first real act of aggression towards another person could be so extreme. “See what you did?” he yelled at the limp body. “See what you made me do?” he said, a little softer, now revealing a hint of regret.        65

Albert decided that someone was in the next aisle; he would have to find out. He understood his path. He had no choice; didn’t need to make a choice; he would follow his destiny. He would confront Hales, and somehow, he knew that he was not going to leave the market until he had; no matter what. Albert casually walked around Stan and headed for aisle eight.66

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            Lila Prentiss was a down to earth woman, who was just hitting her stride in life. She lost her husband to cancer when he was just twenty five, raised her two boys on her own, put them both through college, and had become a grandmother at the tender age of forty two.       She had been working at Mariners Market for eighteen years; promoted to deli manager after ten. It brought more regular hours, more prestige, and more money. The security of her job at the market was a blessing. At the age of forty five, with her kids grown and out of the house, things were really going her way, and Lila Prentiss was in no rush to change anything. Unfortunately, she was about to be reminded just how unpredictable life could be.69

            The second blast rang out with no warning causing her once again to spring into the air, in a somewhat spasmodic manner. “This is bad,” She gave Matt a downright serious look that said “Get Hales…something bad is happening… and, I told you so,” all at the same time. “I’m calling the police,” she said as she pushed through the swinging doors that led to the rear storage area and business office. The in house intercom was not much use at this point. Lila needed to get an outside line.70

            Any doubts that Matt might have had that the situation was serious disappeared with the diminishing reverberation of gunshot. He now read Mrs. Prentiss’s expression loud and clear. As Lila pushed through the doors to the storage area, Matt went around the end of the deli counter, bringing him to the end of aisle three; no one there. He wasn’t sure exactly where the commotion was coming from, but it was clearly down near the other side of the store. He slowly walked back in front of the deli counter, and slowly looked down aisle four; still, nothing. He passed over to aisle five, but stopped with a jolt as he rounded the corner. The sight of someone near the middle of the aisle, moving quickly towards him made him stager to a halt. The moment passed quickly, and his eyes met those of Doobie McCoy, who also jerked to an abrupt stop; apparently equally surprised to see Matt. The two clerks looked questioningly at each other for a beat, then Doobie gestured, palms up in front as if asking “what the heck’s going on?” Matt responded likewise, but with shoulders hunched, and head shaking, as if to say “Heck if I know.” Matt walked down the aisle as Doobie approached him. “What’s going on here?” Doobie half whispered. 71

            “Something pretty funky,” Matt answered back, looking back and forth, up and down the aisle. “Mrs. Prentiss is calling the police. 72

            “Have you seen Stan?” Doobie asked. 73

            “Nope! No idea where he is. Did you talk to Hales?”74

            “I Tried to. He was in the throne. Didn’t want to be disturbed.”75

            “What?” Matt asked, incredulous at the thought that even Hales would react so negligent in a situation like this. “Shouldn’t we get him?” he said, looking at Doobie with a scrunched up face. “I can’t imagine he didn’t hear the first gunshot. There’s no way he missed that second blast. Come on. Let’s see what’s going on.”76

            Matt headed back down aisle five, with Doobie close behind. They got to the end and were about to walk into the rear aisle, when they saw Al coming out of aisle seven. Matt stopped, and ducked back into aisle five, almost knocking Doobie over as he abruptly stopped short. He looked at Doobie, curiosity and confusion on his face. After a good ten seconds he peered back around the corner, just as Albert disappeared down aisle eight. 77

            “It’s Albert,” Matt said to Doobie. “I … I think he had a gun.” Doobie looked at Matt with upturned eyes that said, “yeah, right!”78

            “I’m not kidding. Al had a gun. I think he was the one who just fired a gun.”79

            “Where’d he go?” asked Doobie.80

            “He just went down aisle eight,” Matt said, looking back around the corner; then back at Doobie; then back around the corner again, waiting to see if Al would reappear. After about twenty seconds of waiting, he waved Doobie on with him as he slowly, cautiously walked around the corner, past aisle six, and into the beginning of aisle seven. They both stopped short. The body slumped on the floor partway down, with a lot of blood everywhere, shook their reality. Both boys were dumbstruck as the pieces started to fall together, and they spontaneously made the connection between the loud gun shot, and the image that they were now seeing. They approached the creepily inert body of Satan Tortle. “This could have been a heart attack victim,” the thought crossing Matt’s mind fleetingly. They got closer, walked around the pool of dark, red blood, and tentatively looked at the mutilated flesh on Stan’s neck. They were bewildered by the unrealistic scene, and were still unclear as to what was happening here; and more importantly, why. Several scenarios, all of a somewhat gruesome, if not unsettling nature, flashed through his mind, causing an involuntary shudder.81

            Matt walked up closer to the body, as close as he could without stepping in the blood, and bent down to look closer. It was pretty nasty; what the shotgun did. The body was contorted, and there was a lot of blood all over; soaking the clothes, arms, face…blood all over the ground.82

            “My God,” Matt realized, saying it out loud, “it’s Stan!” Matt had only seen a dead person once before; and never in this horrid state. He had been to two funerals in his life; one with an open casket, and the other with no casket. A fellow college mate who had died in a plane crash; they never retrieved the body. With no body to retrieve, the family members had a funeral with a symbolic memorial stone, so there wasn’t even an actual body there. The open casket was for a distant uncle. Now that guy looked great! There was nothing horrific about it. This was different, and the stark display of a mutilated body made him feel sick. His palm shot up to cover his mouth as his cheeks puffed out from the pressure of a dry heave. 83

            Doobie had his hands on Matt’s shoulders, and was leaning over him, trying to get a closer look at the carcass, but still using Matt as a protective shield. 84

            “Holy shit,” Doobie said, yelling a whisper. It was weird, but at that moment, for a brief, fleeting moment, he understood… understood, and all but approved. It was indeed a bizarre sensation, for although no one really liked Stan; although Stan was an arrogant, callous, and uncaring individual, it didn’t mean he had to suffer a fate like this. 85

            It took a few moments before they both became aware of the hole in the shelf on their left. The extreme sight of a dead body was a far stronger visual draw than some spilled boxes and a hole in the wall. It wasn’t really such an outlandish, weird sight at all, but what really drew the attention of the two fellows was that some one, grunting, whimpering, and making generally frantic movements was trying desperately to shove their body onto  the shelf unit. 86

Doobie grabbed the back of Matt’s smock, pulling him to his feet and back down the aisle. They didn’t speak; they didn’t need to speak; confusion, alarm, dismay, and plain old fear kept their thoughts busy. They both realized what was happening now. It was shocking; it was heinous; they both knew full well that they could possibly end up like Stan; and that, they didn’t need to discuss.87

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      Burt Hales almost fell over backwards when the second blast went off. He was still agitated by being disturbed by the stupid clerk Doobie McCoy, and was concentrating on being mad. “Don’t disturb me when I’m working on the books,” he told everyone; it was an edict you had better well subscribe to. He was just starting to come out of the slightly sluggish state of near sleep when the boom shook the walls of the tiny cubicle. In an instant, it occurred to him what he had been awakened by, just a few minutes earlier. He jumped to his feet, staggering some, as his attempt to gain balance was undermined by the lack of support from the springs in the desk chair. By the time he was standing, and steady enough to survey the store area, the sound was gone; the eerie, almost silent atmosphere of the store was not what he expected. The only thing that would have indicated business, other than usual, was the wispy, cloudy haze from the ignited gun powder, and the invisible odor that went along with it. His volatile disposition was feeling some serious irritation, and this was bad for his health; bad for everyone’s health, actually. Without really knowing what had happened, or was happening, he started to get angry. Really angry, and he was about to erupt into what the store employees called a “Hale storm.” Burt Hales was about to let off steam in an unpleasant manner, and someone was going to get burned.91

      He grabbed at the handle on the small half door, fumbling with the deadbolt. The door had a standard knob, but wear and tear over the years made it loose and ineffective; so, Hales usually used the deadbolt to keep the door shut; and to keep people out. He got the door open and slipped down the few short steps, which made him more pissed off. A moment of complete indecision held him still; he looked back and forth. He had a good idea where the shot had come from. He wasn’t running, however Burt Hales had a very, shall we say, determined gait as he headed down aisle two which was right in front of the cubicle stairs. He was overly agitated at this point, and he was considering firing the first person he saw. He didn’t know what had caused this alarming sound, and he didn’t really care. He was pissed off that he had a situation to deal with. That he was the one that had to deal with it. He grumbled as he walked, “no wonder this place is going down the tubes… it’s run by a bunch of losers.” The realization of what he just said, and the associated irony were completely lost on himself. 92

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      Through the hole in the shelf Beth could see the two men in the other aisle. She saw them talking; arguing. It wasn’t what they were arguing about that concerned Beth, but rather the tone of the conversation.97

      She heard both men yell, then it was just a few fleeting moments before the gun went off. The larger man raised the gun barrel up into position. He shook it a few times, obviously very angry…98

… Beth instinctively brought her arm up in front of her face; she wanted to protect her eyes; then,99

      … then he fired the gun. 100

      Beth wasn’t sure what she had expected to happen, but the gun shot took her by surprise. Really loud, and really bright, the blast was overpowering, then gone in a second… one really, big sound…; then relative quiet. 101

      The reverberation died down; Beth knew what had happened. She knew that the taller man had just shot Stan Tortle; Beth was pretty sure that the blast hit Stan right in the chest. She looked back through the hole; watched as the shooter stood motionless – the gun poised in firing position. The end of the barrel was waist high, and small wisps of smoke drifting out of the tip. The sudden lull in motion was disconcerting. Beth leaned in a little more; slowly leaned in closer to the hole; moved in closer and lower, and then she could see the top half of the man holding the gun.102

      “Albert Newball!” she whispered to herself. She saw his face clearly. He was one of the stock boys in the market; one of the nicer ones. He was one of the oldest employees. She had seen him in the market for a number of years now; “at least ten,” Beth figured. “A very nice lad,” she thought. 103

      What had happened here? What had happened that a nice man like Albert Newball would do something like this? She gazed at the motionless figure through the hole. He suddenly turned his head and looked right at the hole in the shelf; the hole that Beth was just about sticking her nose through. Beth realized that Albert was about to look right at her, so, she pulled her head back and away; then she abruptly stopped, and held motionless. A motionless pause that seemed to last a lot longer than it probably was                                                                                    ; it was broken when Al stepped forward towards the body of Stan Tortle. She still didn’t move. She heard noises through the thin paneling of the shelving. Some grumbling, which sounded like Al; and then some thudding sounds that Beth didn’t quite get. 104

      But then, she distinctly heard Al step over the body and walk down the aisle. Beth looked down at her leg, at the Depends Briefs for Men that she was wearing, and then started to feel alarmed. Albert had seen her and he was coming over into her aisle. 105

   106

      Without really considering any of her options, Beth started to push and wiggle herself to get into the shelf unit. Basic instinct took over and she did the only thing a rational person might do in this situation. Hide!107

      She crawled deep into the shelf unit where the hole was. It was only a few feet deep; she had to wiggle and twist; it hurt, but she managed to squeeze in against the wall. This was her hiding spot. “Very lame,” she thought. She reached out to the floor and grabbed a package of the depends. Then she grabbed a couple more packages, and sort of arranged them in front of her in a haphazard fashion. This would have to do. She was probably out of time anyway. Beth scrunched her body as best she could, and hunkered down, 108

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      Matt and Doobie were standing at the end of aisle seven now. Canned goods were stacked evenly and filled the shelves. At the end of the aisle was a free standing rack which held a variety of items; manager’s specials marked way down as part of the Mother’s Day sales event. Matt was bent forward slightly, hands on the edge of the shelf, peering over the display in a skulking manner. Doobie was standing directly behind him, He had his hands on Matt’s shoulders, and was craning to see over Matt and around the corner; like he was trying to catch a glimpse of a movie star over the people crowded in front. Matt suddenly jerked upright, just as Doobie was leaning in for a better angle. Doobie’s jaw was pounded by the top of Matt’s head. Lucky for Doobie, his tongue was not sticking out. The clanking sound of lower teeth hitting upper teeth was loud and vibrant, indicating more than sufficient power to easily cut through the soft tip of a tongue. They both stumbled back a little; Matt reaching behind to grab at something, as Doobie clutched at Matt’s shoulders, stifling the urge to groan out loud. They steadied themselves against the wall of cans. Matt brought his finger to his mouth, indicating that Doobie shouldn’t speak. He had seen the slightest image of a person coming out of aisle seven, and with the sound of the footsteps that accompanied this person, it was clear that they would appear in a second or so. That’s when he Jerked back, clocking Doobie in the jaw, and so on. A few moments of silent listening, and he slowly leaned to his right, and cautiously peered around the corner. His timing was good. Matt was able to see Albert Newball’s back as he walked away from them, and turned to head down aisle eight. He looked back at Doobie, his seriously furrowed brow suggesting fear and awe at the same time. Matt slowly looked back around the corner to make sure the coast was clear; then he tapped Doobie on the chest with the back of his left hand, and waved for him to follow as he stepped out into the rear aisle, and towards aisle eight. 111

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      Hales was an apathetic man, and never really moved quickly for anyone, but at the moment, the adrenaline pumping through his veins hastened his step. Shuffling sounds, mixed in with the ambient noise circulating through the market, drew his attention and he was headed in the direction of aisle ten. He was feeling overly agitated and was thinking of firing the first person he saw. “No wonder this place is going down the tubes,” he thought to himself, “its run by a bunch of losers,” the irony lost on him.116

      He was walking more rapidly now. He stopped abruptly at the end of aisle seven, staring at the crumpled body on the floor. He walked cautiously towards the body that was crouching face down in a distorted way. Blood had pooled up around the person, who was obviously dead, or at least that was Hales’s immediate assumption. He put his hands on his hips and shook his head in disgust. The situation, reeking of danger, affected him in a strange way; creating anger and annoyance, instead of fear and concern. 117

     “God Damn it, Tortle,” he grumbled to himself. He kicked the side of Stan’s body; not hard, but with enough effort to elicit some reaction or sound from a person who was alive and conscious. Nothing! Stan was most likely dead, and sadly, all that went through Hales’s mind was that he was being disturbed; inconvenienced; disturbed and agitated, and he was not coping well. He bent down to get a closer look, a sudden wave of sympathy mixing into the flutter of emotions he was feeling. He was angry but confused. He had never seen a dead person in this state before. He had seen plenty of corpses; all in caskets at funerals; nicely dressed and looking peaceful and serene. This was very different. This corpse had violence all around it; the image was almost unbelievable; surreal and grotesque. Many, many thoughts circulated through his mind, as he crouched, staring at the lifeless body of Stan Tortle. It presented a new perspective for Hales, and it could have been just the thing to help him break through to a deeper understanding; a deeper, and more humble appreciation of life; of the world, and how his existence is tied together with all the other people he comes in contact with. In the right circumstances, an image like that of Stan Tortle can change a person’s life, but Hales was quickly distracted by the sounds coming from the next aisle. He paused; held still, trying to identify the voices and the circumstances. He heard shouting…conversing… footsteps and shuffling. He heard packages falling and more shouting. Then there was a bizarre, extended moment of silence. He wasn’t sure how long it lasted; or just how long he was sitting there; but suddenly the whole atmosphere changed. It wasn’t just the silence that provoked it, or the idea that someone had just been killed; it was the sudden deafening report of a gun; a big gun; a shotgun most likely, and whoever fired hat gun was in the next aisle. Burt Hales stood up. His right foot had moved into the perimeter of the blood pool, and his sudden pressure to stand caused his foot to slip. He waved wildly, legs doing a crazy tap dance and his body went around an entire 360 degrees by the time he was standing still. He waited; motionless; assessing his balance. He was a tyrant in a small microcosm. The smallest domain a soul could have. Himself!118

      He had lost the appreciation of his employees; if he ever even had it to start. Their confidence was gone. Motivation was zip. They showed little regard for his managerial skills, and in fact, resented him. It was the classic case of an individual taking his life for granted. A wonderful life; a life with endless possibilities.119

      A strange thought popped into his head. He thought about this business book he had read recently. It wasn’t a business book as such, but more of an inspirational, self help type of thing. Anyway, one of the primary strategies was the old notion of “when you are agitated, count to ten before you do anything.” There were variations of this technique, but Burt liked to keep things simple. “Count to ten,” was what he had to do to de-stress. But today, right now; right this very moment, he didn’t give a shit about diplomacy; he was pissed off!120

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      When Matt and Doobie turned the corner into aisle eight, Albert Newball was half way down. He just stood there, very still; glancing back and forth, right to left. Something happened and Al became alarmed. He jumped into an aggressive stance; He wasn’t sure from what direction the most threatening danger was coming from. He spun around quickly, keeping the gun at hip level, pointing it forward; like a gunslinger. From the bottom of the shelf unit came some sounds of struggle, and a little yelling and rustling of packages. Beth had become frightened and she thought that Al was going to shoot someone else. Her arm was sticking out from the bottom shelf, waving back and forth, trying to get Al’s attention. Al was startled in turn, and pointed the gun barrel down at the offending appendage. It looked bad; bad for whoever’s arm was waving like a big flag that said “shoot me, shoot me.”124

      Doobie yelled at Al, hoping the distraction would buy time, somehow, for something. He wasn’t sure if ‘Screwball’ was going to shoot anyone else; or, if he was just going to shoot everyone else. 125

      Al got nervous and looked around quickly – first behind him; then front; then behind again, all in a second and a half. Doobie tried to break the intensity. He spoke slowly and calmly, “Al…, come on Al, what are you doing?”126

      “Where’s Hales Doobie?” Al asked softly.127

      “He’s not here today,” Doobie lied.128

      “Bullshit,” Al said, louder now. “I saw his car in the lot.”129

      “Oh, okay… ok. I guess he just got here then. Al, listen, put down the gun,” Doobie said, a light, pleading tone in his voice.130

      Al continued to glance around, the frantic jerky movements of his head resembling a hedgehog checking for safety as he leaves his hole. Doobie wanted to get Al’s attention; to break him out of his trance.131

      “Al!” he shouted. It did the trick. A little too well.132

      Al twisted his upper body and looked straight at Doobie, who had started walking down the aisle towards him. The sudden movement alarmed him, thinking that Doobie was coming at him; he shifted the gun up, trying to aim. Doobie raised his arms up to stop; to defend; or to prevent Al from doing anything harsh, like shooting him with a gun. Everything was happening so fast. He could see what was happening, but he couldn’t do anything about it. And, it looked pretty much like Al was going to shoot. 133

      Matt could think of nothing else to do other than yell out as well. He shouted… “Hey!”… twice, and moved forward next to Doobie. Matt’s plan, obviously well intentioned, had a disastrous effect. Al reacted to the sudden activity. His body tensed, and as he crouched slightly with a shudder, he shifted the gun barrel up and a little to the left. The movement stopped; the gun was held steadily, pointed directly at Matt’s chest, and time seemed to stand still as Albert pulled the trigger. 134

      Matt stood frozen. Directed right at his chest, the blast would have done major and irreparable damage; but the gun just made a sickening click as the heavy hammer hit against spent shells. Matt had such an intense rush of adrenaline that he almost fainted. It’s the kind of thing that changes your life. He realized his good fortune, as Doobie grabbed his arm, trying to pull him back out of the aisle. Matt was in mild shock; He wanted to stop Al, but he also wanted to run like hell. Doobie voted for the latter, and pulled frantically on Matt’ shirt sleeve. Having just had a near death experience, Matt’s feet were still glued to the floor.                                                                                          135

      “Man…, let’s get out of here,” Doobie said out of the side of his mouth, in a whisper shouting sort of way. He was trying to stay calm, but he was pretty sure that things were not going to turn out well here. He tugged harder on Matt’s sleeve. This time Matt’s feet came loose and both boys turned to run.136

      With what seemed like well trained movements, Albert flipped a lever on top of the barrel, and with a small shake of his wrist, broke the gun apart at the chambers. The momentum allowed the gun to automatically eject the two spent shells. With confidence, he took two new shells from the pocket of his jacket, and slipped them into the waiting, open chambers. He again flicked his wrist, snapping the barrel into place with the stock. Al didn’t need to think much about what he was going to do. He looked ahead. Doobie was rounding the corner at the end of the aisle, and Matt was just behind him. They were both moving pretty fast. The loading movements brought the gun to a level position. Al didn’t really aim, but just fired from the hip. The tremendous report of the gun cut through the relevant quiet in the store. Albert was surprised by the kickback. He had not steadied himself properly, and the shock threw him back onto his butt in the middle of the aisle. Matt got the worst of it though. The hail of gunshot hit him in the upper left part of his back, just as he was starting to run around the end of the shelving. If Albert had taken just a second longer to consider and aim, Matt would have been gone. The blast picked him up, and threw him forward into a display case of frozen seafood. His seriously damaged body fell sideways into the case liked a side of beef. His head hit the side of the unit, and he lay still. Doobie screamed as he heard the gun go off, and as he quickened his pace slightly he saw Matt through the corner of his eye, fly up into the air like he was tossed. Doobie’s heightened sense of alarm compelled him to keep running; his fear overtaking the concern he had for his fellow worker. He stopped part way into aisle nine, just around the corner, back pressed against a stack of laundry detergent, arms spread to the sides for balance, and he tried to catch his breath. He was pretty shook up; never in his short life had he ever been fired at with a gun. Then he remembered seeing Matt fly through the air. “Shit. Shit. Shit,” Doobie said out loud. “What the hell is going on here!”137

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      Albert winced from the pain that radiated up through his buttocks into his lower back. He had landed hard, right on his tailbone, and the smooth linoleum flooring which covered the concrete slab underneath, provided no cushion. The jolt of pain made him twist and turn as he tried to shift his weight. He was looking back and forth; trying to maneuver and get up, all without putting the gun down. He shifted sideways, and that’s when he saw Beth hiding in the lower shelf unit.141

      Beth had watched him land, and it looked like it hurt. She didn’t know what to do; her anxiousness was amplified by the ringing in her ears, so she lay still, watching this large man shifting around, trying to get up. As he moved, he turned fully to the side and looked right at Beth. Their eyes met; the sudden mental connection that followed the visual contact sent a blast of adrenaline through Beth’s body. She was frozen; couldn’t move; she didn’t want to move anyway; wasn’t even sure if she would be able to stand. Al seemed to be locked in a stupor as well, and they could have had an entire conversation in the approximately ten seconds that they stared at each other. Al started to shift about again, his eyes still trained on Beth, as if asking “what are you doing in there?”142

      Beth’s return gaze delivered concerns of her own. “Are you going to kill me?” her eyes asked. With soft, painful grunts, Al got himself into a crouching position. He looked back at Beth, crammed into the lower shelf, and she wasn’t positive, but it looked like he smiled. In all the years Beth had been coming to Mariners Market, she could count on one hand the number of times that she had spoken to Albert Newball; their exchanges consisting of just the few words needed to help her locate a product, or determine the status of an item to be replenished. He was a quiet individual, Beth sensed. Quiet, self-effacing and gentle, and Beth could not imagine that this large, awkward man was capable of hurting anyone; although it was clear that he was presently in a mood to do more than that. 143

Chapter 22 144

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      Burt Hales danced to an abrupt stop as gun went off in the next aisle. “What the fuck is going on here?” he thought. “Hey,” he shouted, “who’s there?” He waited for a response.147

      Albert, who had managed to get himself into a crouching position, was pulled into the present when he heard the voice of the store manager. He looked back at Beth, still motionless in the shelf unit, then back down the aisle, expecting to see his nemesis at any moment. He quickly stood; a clear sense of aggression in his stance.  148

      “Wait…,” Beth said. “Albert, wait,” she said, louder. The use of his name drew his attention to the small woman cowering in the shelving. The fact that she knew his name surprised him. He didn’t think anyone knew his name, aside from his co-workers and superiors; and they only referred to him by his nickname. Al was acting on instinct now. Every part of his body was alert, tensed, poised for action. His body moved slightly, not sure what his mind wanted it to do. He started to walk away; down the aisle. Beth reached out without thinking and grabbed onto the bottom of his pants leg.    149

      “Albert, please… don’t!” She wanted to stop him. She needed to stop him. “He was the victim here,” she thought, although not entirely sure why. But then, in a split seconds time, she saw and understood his lifetime of hurt. He jumped in surprise as Beth yanked on his pants; the gun, pointing down towards the offending person. He didn’t fire. It wasn’t this woman he was concerned about. In an uncanny moment of timing, the person he did care about, the person he was here to see rounded the corner into aisle eight. Burt Hales marched down the aisle towards Albert with no hesitancy.     150

      With equal lack of hesitation, Al leveled the gun and pulled the trigger. The sound was deafening, and it stopped Burt Hales dead in his tracks. Hales spun around, like he was dancing, arms spread out for balance; then, as if he lost his balance on a sheet of ice, his leg slipped out from under him. He landed with a thud on the hard tile floor. Rolling onto his back, he bucked a little as if trying to get up. He was clearly in shock, and understandably so.  151

      Al had delivered the full impact of the gun shot right at Hales’s left knee. The discharge hit him square in the knee cap, and in an instant, severed the lower part of his leg from the upper part. It was like a magic trick; now you see it, now you don’t. The bottom half of Hales’s leg just blew away, and landed behind him about fifteen feet. All that remained was a bloody, mutilated stump, with exposed bone, ligaments, and shreds of flesh. Hales looked that the crudely severed limb; he tried to hold it, to steady it; to look at it. His scream was squelched by his panic. He trembled as his eyes rolled back into his head, then he fell back, striking his head on the cold, hard floor. 152

      Suddenly, everything was still again. The steady hum from the lights cut through the foggy silence; the thick odor of sulfur and spent gun shells lay heavy like a blanket. The intensity of the moment was overwhelming. Beth realized she was still holding on to the cuffs of Al’s pants. He was looking down at her now; not in a menacing way, but more with exhaustion. He breathed deeply; heavily. Resigned to what was transpiring. His was indeed a serious calling! Rarely do people in life fulfill destiny such as this. Rarely do people have the chance to play such an important role; to affect people’s lives in such a dramatic way. Albert remained motionless. He looked at the man on the floor in front of him. This person; this tyrannical, self proclaimed, superior human being, was lying on the floor, comatose with shock. “He had it coming,” Albert thought. This man needed to learn a lot more about people and life. Albert was proud that he was the one to teach him. 153

      He looked down at Beth again, not sure he even knew who she was. How did she know his name? Why did she know his name; and why was she trying to speak to him. Couldn’t she tell that he was not quite in a reasonable state of mind? 154

      “Albert” She spoke quietly, softly, and soothingly. “Albert… why are you doing this?” it was rhetorical, and somehow, in spite of the incredible circumstances, and the incredible pain, she was able to speak with a calm, soothing tone. “You can stop now Albert. Stop now and everything will be okay.”155

      Al looked over at Burt Hales, lying motionless. 156

      No, he couldn’t stop now. There was no stopping, and there was no turning back. He pulled his leg away from Beth’s grip, and walked over to where Hales was lying. It was a mess. Blood was splattered everywhere; a large pool of the dark, red liquid collecting at the base of his new stump; packages were scattered about. This was indeed a nasty scene, and Albert knew that it was going to get just a tad bit nastier. He walked right up to hales, lowered the barrel of the shotgun, and pressed it right into the middle of his chest.157

      “No!” Beth screamed. She didn’t really care about the fate of Burt Hales. She didn’t know Burt Hales, and she didn’t think that anyone deserved to die like that, but she felt something for Albert. Ironically, she thought of him as a kind person; he was a sincere person; he was innocent. In the truest form of irony, Beth thought that Albert was really harmless. The extreme circumstances were an anomaly when it came to Albert Newball. He was basically innocuous, but he had been pushed way too far, and for far too long. He didn’t want to hurt anyone really. Stan deserved what he got. He was an arrogant ass and everyone felt that way. He was one of those people who you feel like you would like to kill; but don’t, because that is not what civilized people do! Albert looked back at Beth, who was watching him. He didn’t know her, and she didn’t really know him either; but they knew a lot about each other just the same. They led completely different lives; in completely different worlds, but at the same time they shared many of the qualities of people who live with others; those who keep to themselves, maintaining consideration and respect for others; and, who expect, or at least hope that others will have the same consideration for them. 158

      He looked down at the immobile body on the floor. It was pretty clear that he was going to shoot again. He moved the gun barrel down, placing it right against Hales’ right knee cap, and fired.       159

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      Doobie was in a highly alert state of mind. The adrenaline pumping through his body caused him to shiver. He had no idea what to do; whether to go back to help Matt; go find Hales; or just to start screaming for help. He was scared now. Very scared. Almost to the point of panic, and it was all he could to avoid peeing in his pants. 164

      He screamed out involuntarily when he heard the gun fire as he stood against the shelf of various products. He didn’t take a breath for what seemed like forever, but after about five seconds he started to take short, quick, shallow breaths. He swallowed a couple of times, his mouth kind of dry from the intense and abrupt fear that gripped him. He waited. Silent and motionless. Nothing seemed to be happening, and many scenarios flew through his mind in a matter of seconds. He was pushed up against the shelves, trying to become part of the shelf, as if he would just disappear into the products if he pushed hard enough. Relaxing just a little in the respite, he looked back and forth down the aisle a couple of times, his breath starting to slow some.165

      His sense of concentration was sharply disrupted, again screaming out involuntarily, as another blast from the gun sounded out in the small market. This was too much for him to take, and he turned and dashed down the aisle towards the front of the store. He wasn’t sure what he would do when he got there, but he sure wasn’t going to just stand around and wait for that lunatic Albert to murder him. 166

      He rounded the corner of the aisle, and through the plate glass windows in the front of the store, he could see the flashing red and white lights of a police car. At least one. He stopped for no particular reason. His fear was still affecting his decision making, so he was pretty much acting on impulse. He decided that the best thing to do would be to get out of the store; let the police handle it from here. He still didn’t know where Al was, but the middle of the aisle was not going to offer much of a hiding place, so he decided to get out of there. He raced around the corner, towards the registers, but got a jolt as a man pointing a gun was standing on the other side of the bank of registers.167

      “Stop there,” a patrolman yelled. “Put your hands over your head and lie on the floor.” The police officer stood spread eagle, in the familiar stance, ready to take a shot if needed. Doobie skidded to a halt, his hands shooting up over his head.168

      “Whoa, whoa,” he said in a shouting whisper. “It’s not me… don’t shoot, don’t shoot.”169

      “Get down on the floor,” the officer yelled again, “and I won’t have to. Do it, now!”170

      Doobie complied immediately. “The guy’s in aisle eight… I think. He’s got a gun… a shotgun or something.” Doobie was flat on his stomach, arms spread out wide. He was looking forward as the policeman approached him cautiously. Two more police officers were behind him moving though the register aisles.171

      The officer came right up to him, the gun still pointing with clear readiness.172

      “Who are we talking about here?” the cop asked. 173

      “It’s one of the stock boys. Albert Newball. I didn’t see him come in, but all of a sudden there was gunshot. I went to check out what was going on, and that’s when he shot Matt.” Doobie was talking fast, rapid breathing punctuating his sentences, creating staggered fragments. “I think he’s still there.”174

      “Who are you,” the officer asked.175

      “Doobie McCoy. I work here.”176

      “Where’s the manager?”177

      “I don’t know. He was in the office before the shooting started. I don’t know if he’s still there.”178

      The officer looked over at his partners. They indicated that they were heading over to the aisles. 179

      “Please,” Doobie asked, “can I get up?”180

      ”Yes, but do it slow… and keep your hands above your head. I’m not playin’ games here.”181

      “Doobie rose to his knees and tried to stand. His strict adherence to the officers demand that he keep his hands up prevented him from using them for support. He shifted, and the awkwardly stood, not sure of what would happen next. 182

      “Keep your hands up now,” the officer said as he holstered his weapon. He walked up close to Doobie, spun hum around, and made a quick search of his body, checking for any weapons. 183

      “You saw this guy… the other employee… fire the weapon?”184

      “Actually,” Doobie confessed, a puzzled tone peppering his voice. “I didn’t see him shoot… I saw him holding the gun… I mean he pointed the gun at me… and tried to shoot… I mean he did shoot… but the gun was empty… then I saw him start to load it… then as we were running…well, Matt got shot… in the back I think… but I was ahead of him … I just kept running... I didn’t know what to do… I was scared, you know?” Doobie was blabbering.185

      “Ok,” the officer said, reassured that Doobie was not the person they wanted, “you go outside and wait on the other side of the patrol cars. Give the officer waiting outside your name and then wait. Do not leave the parking lot, do you hear me?”186

      “Yes sir… yes sir, I won’t,” he said. At that, he took off out the front door of the store.187

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      Albert released the chamber from the stock of the shotgun, and loaded two new shells into the chambers. He snapped the chamber shut with one shake of his right hand, and then supported the barrel with his left. He let out a long, loud sigh. 193

      “Ya know,” he said, almost casually, “some people just don’t know how to behave.” He looked down at Beth, who was part way out of the shelf, and chuckled, pleased with the irony of his statement. His face hardened, and his tone became angry. “And it’s people like you,” he said, using the gun barrel as a pointer, “that make the world an impossible place to live in.” He poked the end of the barrel against Hales’s chest. Hales was unconscious, lying motionless 194

      “Not so tough now, are you... you big fat shit?”   195

      Beth was lying on her side halfway out of the shelf unit. She felt bad for Albert. This sad, misguided individual, who only wanted to get along with the world. 196

      “You don’t deserve to be on this earth,” Albert said, stepping forward, slowly placing the gun barrel against Hales’s forehead.197

      Beth spoke evenly, but urgently. “Albert, don’t. It won’t help you to kill him. He’s still alive right now. You’re not a murderer Albert, and you can get help… there are people who will help you… it’s not too late. But, if you kill him you’ll completely ruin your life. You’ll ruin your life, and you’ll be just like him Albert. You don’t want that.”198

      Al nodded, lips clenched in mental anguish. “He doesn’t deserve to live,” he said, still looking down at the disfigured body of his boss. “It doesn’t really matter what happens to me now; there’s not really anything left for me. But he needs to be stopped.” He was calm, and he was rational, and there was sadness in his voice. She wasn’t sure, but Beth thought Al was crying. “What the hell is it to you, anyway,” he said suddenly, loudly, in an aggressive tone. “Why the hell do you care about me?”199

      Beth was startled by the sudden shift in tone, but she tried not to show any fear. 200

      “Because you’re a good soul. You’ve been treated badly and you deserve better, but people will not be as kind… they won’t be as forgiving if you just murder that man in cold blood, Albert.” He turned his face towards her; looked right at her. He slowly lifted the barrel; turned and started walking over towards her. 201

      “You think you understand the world so well?” he said, bitterness in his tone. “You have too much faith in people.” He had walked over and was standing two feet away, gun pointing down to the ground in front of her. “Maybe I shouldn’t be here either. Maybe I’m as cruel and mean as that asshole there,” he said, flipping his head back as a pointer. He flipped the gun around and put the tip of the barrel up against his throat. “Maybe I should kill myself as well,” he taunted, as if delivering a dare. Beth remained silent. He suddenly flipped the gun barrel back down towards her. “and, take everyone else along with me.”202

      “Stop! Hold it right there! Put your gun down, now!” Two police officers were standing at the end of the aisle, their guns raised and pointed directly at him.203

      “Sir, put the gun down. Lie down on the floor or we will be forced to shoot.”204

      Al was startled by the sudden appearance of the police. His body remained still, but his head shifted back and forth between Hales, Beth, and the police officers. He wasn’t finished yet. He didn’t know what to do; all he knew was that he had not finished what he had come here to do. His gun was still pointed towards the ground when he looked down at Beth and their eyes met again. A lifetime of hurt; a lifetime of sadness; and, a lifetime of resentment showed in his expression. He slowly tilted the gun up towards Beth as his shook his head slightly. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I’m really so, so sorry,” he repeated as the gun barrel stopped moving, pointing directly at Beth. She was speechless. She had nothing more to say, and she couldn’t move or do anything to defend herself. “I didn’t mean for this to happen… not this way. I just wanted to be treated fairly. To be treated with respect and kindness. Is that too much to ask?”205