Page 16 of I Blame the Club

Mo

“Fucking gays.”

I pause, the sports magazine in my hands flipped open to the bodybuilding section. A snort sounds behind me, and I turn, finding the old shopkeeper watching his security feed with a shake of his head.

“Is something the matter?”

Bushy grey eyebrows frown at me, the wrinkles around his eyes deep and bitter.

“I was gonna take my baseball bat to the fella’ but it looks like the local boys took care of ‘em. Look.” He points to a grainy image on the monitor above the counter.

I frown, stepping towards the counter to peer at the screen. A group of guys have surrounded someone and are pummelling away.

“What the fuck?”

I look out the window and sure enough, a bunch of guys look like they are having the time of their life beating the shit out of some poor soul on the ground.

“Fella’ got out of his car wearing a shirt no man should be found dead in.” The shopkeeper chuckles, watching the carnage continue on-screen.

“Did you call the cops?” A quick scan of the security feed tells me its four to one.

“Hell, by the time the sheriff gets here, the gay man will be dead.” The old man grins, showing brittle and yellow teeth.

“So you’re just going to stand there and watch?"

“There ain't nothing wrong with letting the local boys do the Lord’s good work.” He makes the sign of the cross over his chest. I stare him down, feeling rage simmer beneath my skin as Jonathan's voice sweeps through me.

You don’t fight other people’s battles, Maurice. You only fight your own.

But at what cost?

Clenching my jaw, I reach into my pocket and throw a twenty on the counter, “I need to borrow your baseball bat."

“Son, if you ‘bout to join the boys, there’s no need to pay me. Hell, you can keep it for free.”

The shopkeeper pushes the cash back before walking over and grabbing a wooden bat from the storage closet. I leave the bill on the counter and snatch the bat out of his hands.

“Happy hunting!” The old man cheerfully calls after me as I walk out the door.

Taking a quick scan of the situation, I assess the group of men mercilessly kicking the victim on the pavement and the jacked-up pickup truck sitting empty. I make a snap decision and stalk towards the truck before lifting the bat over my shoulder. A glance to the left tells me the group hasn't noticed me yet so I go in for the kill.

One swing takes out the left headlight. Another swing finishes the right one.

My carefully contained anger starts to boil over as I keep swinging, the ever-present voice of my father taunting me with every window I smash.

Are you strong enough to take my place?

I'm just getting started on the windshield when I hear a shout behind me.

“Fuck, he’s hitting your truck!”

Turning, I lower the bat and watch the four men stagger towards me. I roll my shoulders and stand up to my full height, towering a good five inches over the tallest of them.

"What the fuck man?" The biggest one of them stumbles towards me, his greasy hair tickling the collar of his stained shirt, "We were just havin' some fun."

I tilt my head, watching him sway closer, "The fun is over. Pack up your runts and go home."

"There's no need to be bitchy about it." The drunk ambles closer, the confidence in his step starting to falter when he realizes the size difference between us.

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