LJ Idol Chapter 3: Smile
Flash and I exchange a smile and a handshake. I pay Jimmy for my meal and leave. The rest of the bar's patrons watch me go. It was Flash that made them uncomfortable, but they are glad to see me leave.
I plunge my hands into my coat pockets as I walk down the dimly lit streets. I find myself thinking about the photograph of Jason. There was something wrong with it. I wish I had it with me so that I could take another look. But, I can still run it through my mind.
I imagine Jason at the pier, leaning back on a wooden railing. His friend is taking the picture, asking him to smile for the camera. I find myself wondering who his friend is. If Jason is from Omaha, where did he find the ocean?
The background in the picture looked familiar. I wonder if the picture was taken somewhere in California. Maybe it is a vacation picture? Who was he on vacation with? A girlfriend? I can't put my finger on it. I need to go home and take another look at the photograph.
Photographs make up a large part of my business. But, I don't have many of myself. No one positions me up against a backdrop and asks me to smile. It is more likely for me to be thrown up against a wall and told to stand still and don't move.
It is too bad, really. I have a rather nice smile. I've been told that I have a disarming smile. I don't think that is entirely accurate, though. I mean, I've never smiled at someone and had them put their gun away.
My mind starts to wander while I plod through the streets. I find myself counting the number of times I've been roughed up and threatened. I try to remember my attitude and expression at the time.
I see a man walking down the street toward me. It is late, and it is just the two of us. But, it is not uncommon. He certainly isn't the first person I've encountered since leaving Jimmy's. I move to one side of the sidewalk to let him pass.
He moves to intercept me.
I move to the other side, and he moves as well.
I don't need this. I've got too much on my mind. I turn at the alley and decide to go around. He follows me. Any hope I have that he is simply a coincidental meanderer is shattered when he says, "Hey bub. C'mere."
Maybe it is because of my current train of thought, but I turn and can't help but smile. I stoop a bit, my hands still deep in my pockets. I wonder if it makes me look smaller.
"Give me your wallet," the stranger orders.
I walk up to him nice and slowly and ask, "Why?"
He pulls a knife out of his pocket. A switchblade. Very old school mugger, this guy is. By the time the blade is free of its sheath my fist is in his face. The blow sends sparks of pain through my arm to my elbow, but it doesn't rattle him enough to make him drop the knife. I hop to my right and his knife thrust goes by me.
I drive my right elbow into his left temple and follow that up with a knee to his face. I realize that I am still smiling.
I realize that it is a lot more fun to be on the winning side of a fist fight.
I kneel down and retrieve his knife. I hold it to his throat and ask him for his wallet. He knows why.
The rest of my walk home is uneventful. I've forgotten what was bothering me and it isn't until morning that I think to inspect Jason's photograph again. It isn't until morning that I realize what is wrong with the smiling blonde man on the pier.
I plunge my hands into my coat pockets as I walk down the dimly lit streets. I find myself thinking about the photograph of Jason. There was something wrong with it. I wish I had it with me so that I could take another look. But, I can still run it through my mind.
I imagine Jason at the pier, leaning back on a wooden railing. His friend is taking the picture, asking him to smile for the camera. I find myself wondering who his friend is. If Jason is from Omaha, where did he find the ocean?
The background in the picture looked familiar. I wonder if the picture was taken somewhere in California. Maybe it is a vacation picture? Who was he on vacation with? A girlfriend? I can't put my finger on it. I need to go home and take another look at the photograph.
Photographs make up a large part of my business. But, I don't have many of myself. No one positions me up against a backdrop and asks me to smile. It is more likely for me to be thrown up against a wall and told to stand still and don't move.
It is too bad, really. I have a rather nice smile. I've been told that I have a disarming smile. I don't think that is entirely accurate, though. I mean, I've never smiled at someone and had them put their gun away.
My mind starts to wander while I plod through the streets. I find myself counting the number of times I've been roughed up and threatened. I try to remember my attitude and expression at the time.
I see a man walking down the street toward me. It is late, and it is just the two of us. But, it is not uncommon. He certainly isn't the first person I've encountered since leaving Jimmy's. I move to one side of the sidewalk to let him pass.
He moves to intercept me.
I move to the other side, and he moves as well.
I don't need this. I've got too much on my mind. I turn at the alley and decide to go around. He follows me. Any hope I have that he is simply a coincidental meanderer is shattered when he says, "Hey bub. C'mere."
Maybe it is because of my current train of thought, but I turn and can't help but smile. I stoop a bit, my hands still deep in my pockets. I wonder if it makes me look smaller.
"Give me your wallet," the stranger orders.
I walk up to him nice and slowly and ask, "Why?"
He pulls a knife out of his pocket. A switchblade. Very old school mugger, this guy is. By the time the blade is free of its sheath my fist is in his face. The blow sends sparks of pain through my arm to my elbow, but it doesn't rattle him enough to make him drop the knife. I hop to my right and his knife thrust goes by me.
I drive my right elbow into his left temple and follow that up with a knee to his face. I realize that I am still smiling.
I realize that it is a lot more fun to be on the winning side of a fist fight.
I kneel down and retrieve his knife. I hold it to his throat and ask him for his wallet. He knows why.
The rest of my walk home is uneventful. I've forgotten what was bothering me and it isn't until morning that I think to inspect Jason's photograph again. It isn't until morning that I realize what is wrong with the smiling blonde man on the pier.