Shopping day

“WAKE UP! TIME TO DIE!”

    “I hate that alarm tone.”

    “I know, my sweet. I’ll change it later.”

    Alexi sat up, his legs creaking as he sat momentarily, waiting for the dizziness to stop. He turned off the cellphone alarm checking the time on his watch. 1:00 am. Plenty of time to get ready. Shower, shave, the usual waking up ritual. Looking out the window. It was Snowing, heavily, in April. Climate changed has screwed up everything.

 Rosa was awake now, her worried expression unmistakable as she proceeded to make a light breakfast. The aroma of coffee filled the tiny apartment as did the sounds of mock eggs frying in the pan. The couple married less than a year ate in silence. She was worried, as was Alexi; the difference being he couldn’t show it.

     “Alexi, please don’t do this.”

      He ignored her, pretending to read yesterday's paper. He felt her looking at him and sighed. “Rosa, I don’t have a choice.”

      “You do have a choice. Isn’t that what you’ve always said? In the world today those who say they don’t have a choice are cowards who refuse to admit responsibility?”

      “Fine. I do have a choice . . . and I’ve decided to do this.” Alexi stood grabbing his thick overcoat and scarf as he opened the door.

“Alexi, please don’t do this. Don’t leave me.”

“I’m sorry. I’ll be back soon. I promise.”

Rosa silently cried as the door lock clicked shut.

Chicago winters are either icy cold which chills even the most stalwart to the bone or were like tonight, a bearable temperature but never-ending snow. Under normal circumstances, what seemed like centuries ago, he used to love this five-block walk from his apartment to the El station. He had done this countless times in the company of friends and lovers. That was in a time of aimless youth when it was just a thing to do to waste away a day with idle banter, window shopping, lunch at a small diner, and exploring new neighborhoods.

Centuries ago. Now, this walk of shame was out of necessity. The day after their small, intimate wedding he lost his job due to downsizing. Now, jobless for the entire length of his marriage, Alexi felt useless. He felt pangs of endless guilt for the promise he had made Rosa of a life filled with happiness and joy and had failed to deliver.

On the train, lost in his thoughts he looked around and saw only four other people riding the elevated electric train above the streets of the city, everyone bundled against the cold. A tear rolled down his cheek, the realization that at this time of night only the poor, drug addicts, thieves, and the desperate rode these rails. In the past year, he had been three of those lowly class of human beings. Tonight he was desperate. The circle was now complete.

The train ride took a little under an hour until he got off at the sixth underground stop, as instructed. He felt in his pocket the last of the cash to his name. His savings in the past year had come to this. Walking up the stairwell to the downtown streets above he was certain he was being followed. Reaching into his other coat pocket he felt the derringer he’d kept hidden from Rosa all this time. She hated guns. He did too, but right now he was glad it was on hand.

The streets were deserted. Not even footprints in the snow. He started shaking but not of the cold. He took a turn, down a block then another turn, all the while glancing at window displays looking for a reflection of who may be following him. Taking the turn he boldly looked from whence he came. Yes, he was being followed. The cold sweat of fear rolled down his back. Quickly turning into an alley he hid behind a dumpster, gun in hand.

The man walked past without so much as a glance. The man glanced toward the alley . . . and Alexi pulled the trigger. The man staggered toward him and fell face down into the five-inch deep snow. Panic swept over him, visions of his entire life flashed before his eyes; murder, prison, the death penalty. His life meaning nothing. He ran a few feet and vomited what little he had eaten earlier. He fell to his knees and cried, the gun falling to the ground.

Time passed, he had no idea how much. Moving without thinking, he dragged the body behind the dumpster he had been hiding behind. He listened carefully but heard nothing; no sirens, no other foot traffic, no cars driving by. He had just made a deal with the devil for his crime, and he knew he’d pay. He rummaged through the coat and suit pockets. ID with a name he didn’t know, credit cards he dare not try to use, but two hundred dollars in cash. THAT he could use. Pocketing it quickly he hid the body the best he could and left.

A few blocks later he was underground again on Wacker Drive, which my friends and I used to call Emerald City because of the green neon lamps providing illumination. He passed several drunks passed out on the sidewalk, their pockets being gone through by fellow derelicts and drug addicts. Prostitutes, males, and females working their trade None particular choosy in who they positioned including himself.

He saw the guy he had agreed to meet, standing in the shadows. With murder and robbery on his hands, now he was afraid, afraid he was going to pay the literal and spiritual price for the crimes he committed and was about to commit. He could still turn back. He could forget this night ever happened. He could take Rosa out for am expensive dinner tomorrow night, but what good would that do? She’d only wonder where the money came from. He kept looking back from where he had come, and forward, to where he could go and seal his fate. He had come this far.

He followed the man into an alcove, the parcel Alexi had come to purchase under his arm. “Got the money?”

     “Yes, yes I do. Here.”

     “Not enough.”

     “Wha . . . what do you mean? We agreed on seventy dollars.”

     “Yeah, well, supply and demand, you know? I got the supply, and demand has gone up. Cost is an even hundred bucks now, and for that, I can only give you a fix for one day, maybe two if you stretch it.”

     “No. No! You cannot do this!”

     “Yeah, yeah I can. You don’t want the merch, I got other buyers.” The fence started to walk away.

     “Wait! Here! Another two hundred dollars. I swear it’s all I have.”

     “Well, for two hundred and seventy dollars my brother, I can get you fixed up for a week. Here you go. You ever need more, let me know. I’ll give a returning customer discount next time.”

     Alexi knew it was only a matter of time when his crimes would catch up to him. Murder, robbery, and now buying stolen goods. He started sniffling, crying silently. He looked about and stopped before reaching the alley where he had killed a man, the blood at the mouth of the alley now covered by the continuing snow.

      He looked at a familiar address, one he had seen before for a rooming house he was standing in front of. He felt violently ill again. The address was the address of the man he had killed. The man was going home; Alexi just happened to be going the same way; killed him for no reason except blatant stupidity and fear. Panic set in and he ran back to the train station. At the train platform, he bought a paper, something to read and get his mind off this horrible night.

     He was a block from home when a young man jumped out in from of him. Except for a flash of silver from the streetlight, Alexi didn’t see the knife dig itself into his stomach. As he lay there another young punk stood over him, both searching him. “Man, this guy’s got nothing else.”

     Opening the parcel he had dropped the first punk looked inside. Pulling his items out of the bag he muttered, “Man, we hit the motherload!”

     “Holy . . . how many rolls!?”

“This is a six-pack, double-ply toilet paper. Whoo, we making bank later today! Come on, let's go!”

     A slight breeze shifted the newspaper so, lying on his side, Alexi could read the headline:

April 19, 2020. CORONAVIRUS DEATH COUNT NOW AT 300.

Alexi closed his eyes after writing in the snow, 301.