Desperation

The fog was heavy this evening. It rolled off the water and blanketed Jack’s coastal town in a cold haze. Jack, never the type of man to afford himself luxury when there was work to do, kept walking down the empty city street with a hood covering his face. He didn’t want to be there, but what choice did he have? Bringing life into this world wasn’t free, and the piper must always be paid. 

Onward he strode with the wind at his back and a shiver up his spine. He stalked the side roads and alleys just off Main Street, seeing only the shape of neon signs glowing through the mist. The storefronts and buildings were all chained and barred shut, with heavy padlocks securing them. Had Jack known a thing about locks or alarm systems, maybe that would have been his first choice, but no. Unfortunately, Jack didn’t have the skills it took to pull off a job like that. Hell, if Jack had any such skills, he wouldn’t need to be on the street tonight. He could get a comfortable job working in a heated shop and go home to his wife and newborn every night. He would lead a comfortable life away from cold mist and drafty alleyways. 

Jack heard the tell-tale sounds of high heels striking the concrete ahead, and his heart leaped. This was it. He adjusted his hood and shoved his hands into his sweater pockets. Turning down the alley where the footsteps were coming from, Jack squinted his eyes. Through the fog, a silhouette appeared, moving away from him. The shrouded figure belonged to a slender woman whose walk feigned a sense of confidence. What she was doing in this part of town at this time of night was anyone’s guess, but that was none of Jack’s concern. He needed whatever she had.

The woman turned, heading down an adjacent road, so he followed. Just as he turned the corner, however, he saw her silhouette fade into the fog. He furrowed his brow in confusion, but he had to keep up. Quickening his pace, Jack could see her silhouette fading in and out as she sped away from him. Luckily for Jack, he knew where the road led, so he took a shortcut. He sprinted between buildings and came out to the connecting street, but as he checked his surroundings, the woman had already gotten in front of him again. Despite his confusion, Jack continued his pursuit.

As he fell back into the rhythm of chasing his prey, Jack wondered if she had enough money on her to make the payoff worth the crime. This didn’t make him feel good about himself—chasing a woman in hopes of stealing everything she’s worth—but his wife and child were counting on him. The hospital bills were bleeding them dry, but with no job and no way to pay them off, the cost of survival was crushing debt. Even twenty dollars could mean the difference between another week of food… and a broken family. He couldn’t risk not taking what this woman had to pay off his debts. So Jack reached into his pocket and retrieved an old knife. It was his father’s folding knife; of course, Jack wasn’t going to use it, but the woman didn’t know that.

To Jack’s surprise, the woman slowed slightly, giving him enough headway to catch up to her. He saw her more clearly now that she wasn’t obscured so much by the fog. Her hair was dirty and matted, her gait was uncomfortable—as though she’d lived with poorly healed wounds for her entire life—and her coat looked nice from afar but was torn up and gross. Jack felt worse now. This woman had seen harder days than he had, but… that just means she knew how to handle hardship. Jack’s wife, his kid, they didn’t know how to handle the kind of life that this woman clearly did. Jack unfolded his father’s knife. 

As the blade clicked into place, his decision was made. Jack hardened himself. If he was to pull this off, he would need to dissociate from his emotions. That woman wasn’t a woman; she was a mark. But the moment Jack’s decision was written in stone, another silhouette formed out of the fog: that of an old man. The man was hunched over and wearing a long coat and a paperboy cap. He didn’t walk so much as he hobbled along. The woman’s focus was entirely on the old man, and Jack suddenly felt like a third wheel. He followed the two, matching pace as the woman beelined for the man, and the man hurried away from her. The woman’s high heel shoes were clicking against the ground swiftly now, and it was obvious to Jack that the woman had spent many years patrolling the streets in them. The old man was looking paranoid. His hips surely couldn’t keep up with this level of activity for long, and the woman was gaining on him. She held something in her hand as she ran, but Jack didn’t care. He couldn’t let this woman brutalize this man for a quick buck.

The woman gracefully kicked off her heels and broke out into a full sprint toward the old man, brandishing whatever she was holding. Jack panicked and followed suit, and ahead of them both, the old man was in a fit over the commotion behind him. The mist was cold, and gusts of coastal winds freezing his face certainly weren’t helping. A sudden draft popped off Jack’s hood, and the old man lost his paperboy cap. As Jack reached up to try securing it again, the old man mirrored his motion. In fact, his footsteps were in sync with the old man’s. And his arm swing. And every movement the old man made seemed to be the spitting image of Jack’s. He stopped in his tracks, as did the old man, but the woman did not.

From over his shoulder, Jack heard the patter of bare feet sprinting toward him, then a hand gripped his shoulder hard. He felt the sharp sensation of hooker nails digging into his clavicle as a woman thrust him face-first into a storefront’s security shutter. Behind him, a vaguely feminine voice says, “Don’t move a muscle, old man!” Jack’s stomach iced over when he heard the sound of a blade clicking into place. His heart leaped into his throat, but he didn't move an inch. “Pull out your wallet, slowly! Place it on the ground, then walk away.” It was a voice that Jack had never heard before, but he was damned if he didn’t know it. 

Jack was out of breath. His knees were shaking, and his ankles hurt from the running. For some reason, his lower back was all but thrown out, and his hips were screaming. He spoke, but his voice wasn’t his own. It was raspy and quiet. No words seemed to want to come out, so he had to strain to say anything. “I… I don’t have any money…”

“I’m not playing, old man! I will gut you like a pig!”

It was in that moment that Jack realized he must have dropped his own knife because there was nothing in his hands. He panicked again. He had nothing to offer this woman, and he had nothing to protect himself with. If he was going to make it back to his child, he had to think of a way out of this. Storefronts usually have cameras installed to keep an eye on the streets, so where was the nearest one? He looked up. The fog was thick. Too thick. He could barely see a thing, much less a camera mounted near a rooftop. And if he couldn’t see the camera, the camera probably couldn’t see him. 

“L-Listen…” Jack muttered, his voice still strained and raspy. “I have a family at home… I don’t have any money….” 

“Not my fucking problem! Turn out your pockets!” 

The woman had hardened herself. Jack knew what that was like, so he had an idea. Right now, the woman saw him as a mark. He needed her to see him as the human that he was. He needed her to look him in the eyes. 

“Please… let me turn around. I can’t move my—”

The woman dug her hooker nails into his clavicle again and shoved his face into the shutter again.

“I swear to fucking God, old man! I will fuck you up if you don’t—” Jack made a bold move. He knew the woman was just like him, too afraid to actually hurt anyone, so he took it upon himself to turn around and face her. Jack miscalculated, though. As he slipped out of her grip and turned toward her, his chest tightened. His breathing suddenly felt labored. It only took a moment for him to realize that the woman had just stabbed him, but when he looked down, he noticed that she had left the knife sticking out of his chest. It was his father’s knife. He looked at the woman’s face, but she was covering her mouth with both hands. Her eyes were wide, and her skin was pale. She lowered her hands just in time for his vision to go dark. Her voice sounded as though it was underwater when she said, “Daddy?”

Jack did whatever it took to support his family. It wasn’t until too late, however, that Jack realized he had exchanged petty cash for moral bankruptcy. After years of stealing to put food on the table, Jack’s real victim was his own child.