Disclaimer: I’m ad-libbing from memory on one-shot stories that happened almost two years ago. If there’s errors, let me know and I’ll ammend them.

Disclaimer 2: This chronicle is for mature audiences only.

The Korean kid, or was he Chinese, or Vietnamese, whatever, the fucking kid was starting on the path to get his ass handed to him, Jake thought. This clerk was pointing at a sign: ‘It is illegal to sell alchohol to persons under 21.’ Jake wanted to take that finger and bend it in the opposite direction. He wondered if he would scream out in English, or in whatever language he babbled. “Come on, man, just ring me up, and we’ll call it a day.” Jake adjusted his ball cap, the others would be pissed if he didn’t score the booze.

“No can sell,” was the response in broken English, “so sorry.” The clerk started bagging the rest of the stuff for the party, pushing the beer off to the side of the counter.

Jake reached over the counter, “Listen, Motherfucker..”

The motion activated bell went off, “Why don’t I listen to you, Mr. Stiltner?” Jake let go of the clerk without even turning around, he already knew it was officer Brady. He rested his palms wide on the counter as the pig approached.

“Mr. Officer, thank you..,” the clerk stopped as the policeman raised his hand.

“No thanks needed here, I just saw Jake-here’s truck outside, thought I’d come in and say ‘howdy.’” He looked over the items in the counter, “you must of known I was coming, you picked out my favorite.”

Jake looked at the beer, and swung his head angrily towards the policeman. “That’s not..” The cop took his baton out and cracked it across Jake’s fingers. The young man pursed his lips in pain.

“So here’s what’s going to happen, son.” Brady reached into Jake’s pocket and pulled out the wad of cash the other guys had given him to get the beer, tossing it onto the counter. “You’re going to your party, and I’m going to take this,” picking up the beer, “and go have one of my own. Are we clear?”

Jake mumbled, “yeah, sure.”

“Then why don’t you just carry that case and put it in my car like a good boy, huh?” A look of defiance must have crossed Jake’s face, because Brady didn’t put away his baton. Instead, he waved it at the case of beer and then pointed it towards the squad car, “Listen, boy, it’s going to be one thing in the back of that car or another, the beer or you.” Jake grinded down on his teeth to keep from saying something. He picked up the beer.

later that night

He had been ridden about it all night long. ‘Way to go, Jake.’ ‘Oh, I can get my hands on as much beer as you can drink, yeah right.’ ‘Maybe we should’ve brought your Mom, Jake, she’d brought beer and blowjobs.’ ‘You didn’t bring any, so you shouldn’t get any.’ It didn’t help that Tommy had been able to get a few cases somehow. The more beer he drank, the more pissed he was getting. Fucking clerk, goddamn motherfucking slant-eyed clerk. His fists pumped into fists with the frustration.

It was Bobby who started the ball rolling. “Shit, guys, I got me the last one.” The small gang called out their disapproval. ‘Fucker.’ Bastard.’ ‘Got to be more here somewhere.’

Some of the people were leaving, Chris shouted, “Why don’t Jake get some more, make up for himself.”

Others called out their agreements, when Dave pointed out the obvious, “We ain’t got more money for more booze, Jake lost it all to that pig, Brady.”

That was it for Jake, enough of the jabs, enough of the cops, enough of damn clerks that don’t even speak the damn language. He stood up and threw his empty bottle into the trash can. The breaking got everyone’s attention. They turned to Jake, “I know where we can get some cash, get in the fucking truck.” The gang piled into the back of Jake’s ride, howling like a pack of dogs on the hunt.

Jake drove into town. His mom worked at the local Farmer’s credit union, she was always complaining about something. ‘Those boys at the Fast-Mart are taking their lives in their own hands. Don’t they know that camera don’t work, and they drop it off so late,’ she tsked at the state of the world as she heated up packaged dinners in the microwave.

The gang jumped out of the truck bed in front of the bank. Jake smiled as he stepped out from behind the driver’s seat. He had been right, and the look of fear on the chink clerk’s eyes was priceless. Jake wished he had a camera. The boy was quivering like a rabbit cornered by a pack of dogs slavering with drool. “Fuck him up, boys,” Jake called.

The clerk started to move left, Chris stopped him by throwing a bottle against the wall. Dave shattered another bottle as the clerk looked right. “Please, no, just leave me alone.” Jake felt that he could almost smell the boy’s fear. He threw the first punch, dropping his victim to the ground. It was all the others needed. The rest of the gang began shouting slurs as they punched and kicked the boy on the ground. Jake walked away from the beating and picked up the cash bag, smiling at his success. The guys would be talking about him for months to come.

He turned his attention back to the fray when he heard Bobby say, “Hold him up, I’m gonna cut him.” He saw his friend walking to the beaten boy with a broken bottle in his hand. The rest were looking at Bobby, watching, waiting to see what would happen. A few were cheering him on.

“Guys,” Jake spoke up, “I got the cash, let’s split it up, huh?” Beating the shit out of some fucking immigrant was all well and good, but killing him, there was no call for that.

“Yeah, yeah,” Bobby agreed, “just as soon as I see if this fucker’s insides are yellow too.” He raised the bottle, but was kept from following through by Jake.

“Come on, there’s no call.” He looked at Bobby, but could see his friend had moved beyond the point of reason. Jake threw a hard punch into Bobby’s mid-section.

“You take some gook side over us,” Bobby coughed, “you ain’t one of us no more.” Until now, the gang was confused, paused in their bloody revelry. They were unsure why the violence had stopped, why one of their number had done so. The statement clarified things, gave them permission to continue. They turned their eyes to Jake.

It started with a bottle thrown at the back of his head. Jake looked at his hand taken from his head, bloody from the wound. He remembered watching a special on sharks when he was just a kid, the looks on his friends’ faces was like the sharks after a bucket of chum was tossed in their midst.

He fought hard, but the blows landed steadily wearing him down. Kicks hit his ribs and he felt something break inside. Glancing over with a bloody swollen eye, he saw that the clerk was being ignored. Jake would have shaken his head, all this for about a hundred bucks, beer and some kid he didn’t even know.

Suddenly, the beating stopped. The whir of a siren was heard over the ringing in his head. Jake saw officer Brady walking over to him, reporting the situation over his walkie. “Boy, what the fuck you get yourself into this time?”

Jake coughed up blood as he sat upright, he looked around. There was blood like spilled blotches of red paint. His truck was beat up, the windshield busted, tires flattened, headlights smashed. He spat out some more blood, “Brady? ” he called.

The cop bent down to look Jake in the face, “Yeah, I got an ambulance coming.”

Jake shook his head, “No, can you hand me my hat?”