September 25, 2009

The Mechanic

It was all old lady Hallod’s fault. If she hadn’t called the cops he wouldn’t be in this mess and he certainly wouldn’t have downed a six pack. What the hell did she know anyway. He slammed his fist into her front door and shouted her name.

“Open the hell up!”

“How dare you show up at my front door drunk and stupid.” He heard her say from the other side. Stupid?

“You. This is your fault.”

“If you don’t get away from my door I’m calling the cops.”

“Wouldn’t be a first you old hag.” He laughed.

“I called them for a very good reason. That child didn’t need to be in your home.”

“Why because I ride a bike. I work in a shop. Maybe you’d prefer I install walk in tubs for a living. Would that ease your mind.” He slurred.

“I don’t care what you do for a living Mr. Rouder. That child does not belong in your home.”

“That child is my daughter!” He shouted as he stumbled off her porch in anger. He was done talking to her. What he needed was a lawyer. He needed his little girl home where she belonged.