Be Mine by Rick Mofina Page A

where he was likely to go with Amy on a given
night, at a given time. Like on Friday nights, around nine-thirty. It was Big
Duke’s Diner. They’d sit in their booth by the big front window. Amy usually
got a shake and Kyle got the works, a cheeseburger, fries, and cherry cola.
    Bleeder would park where the lot lights barely got through the
branches of the stand of creaking trees. But he could see them. One night
Bleeder watched Kyle leave the booth to go to the restroom. But he’d lost sight
of him and he grew anxious.
    Kyle’s face appeared at his door.
    “Bleeder, what’re you doing sitting here all alone in the dark?”
    “Finishing my rings.” Bleeder nodded to the dash. He always arrived
early and ordered something to eat while he watched them.
    Kyle placed his hands on the car’s frame and leaned in to Bleeder.
    “Amy saw you.”
    “So?”
    “Says you’re being creepy. Spying on us. She doesn’t like it.”
    “It’s a small town and I’m just sitting here minding my own
business.”
    Kyle’s hands moved lower. Bleeder saw Kyle’s big football ring.
    “Yeah, well, get over her. She was just fooling around with you to
get at me. Got it?”
    “I got it. She never meant it when she told me you were an asshole?”
    Kyle laughed.
    “That’s a good one. A real good one. I sure had it coming. And, man,
I’m sorry if me and Rowley were a little rough on you,” Kyle slipped his hands
in his jeans. Laughed some more. “You know, I like you. See, it’s good we can
joke. Let bygones be bygones. Be men about this, right?”
    “Right.”
    Kyle’s big right hand shot into the car for Bleeder to accept as a
peace offering. “No hard feelings. We understand each other?” Kyle was all
charm.
    Bleeder looked at Kyle’s hand, debating whether to shake it.
Deciding to take it, he shifted his body to raise his hand. Kyle’s arm vanished
to return in a blur, his fist and ring smashing like a steel piston against
Bleeder’s left temple.
    Lightning flashed before Bleeder’s eyes and a million volts charged
through his brain. He nearly passed out, the punch resurrecting every measure
of pain from his previous beating. Kyle grabbed Bleeder by the hair, then
leaned into his ear and hissed, “Stay away from us, shithead. Got it?”
    Kyle took Bleeder’s onion rings, then rejoined Amy.
    Bleeder gripped the steering wheel. Breathing evenly, he held on
with both hands until his vision cleared. As he sat blinking at the night,
everything moved in slow motion. Kyle’s Camaro rumbled by him. Kyle was eating
and raising Bleeder’s rings like the victor’s trophy. Amy was grinning
pitifully at Bleeder, then gave him a mocking finger-wiggling wave.
    Alone that night in his room, Bleeder put his bandage back on to
hide the fresh bruise, telling his mother the next morning that his head had
started to hurt again.
    Now, a lifetime later, as he sat in the bar rubbing his temples at
those painful memories, Bleeder assured himself that he had learned from his
mistakes.
    “Hey, pal,” the bartender said.
    Bleeder shook himself from his thoughts. He’d been staring blankly
at the basketball game on TV.
    “I’d like to switch it to the news, if you don’t mind,” the
bartender said.
    “Go ahead.”
    “Closing time in fifteen, you good with your beer? Hardly touched
it.”
    “Yeah, thanks.”
    “Need a cab?”
    “I’m fine.”
    “Sure?”
    “Put the news on.”
    A five-car pileup with a tour bus near the San Mateo Bridge
was the top local story, followed by a building contract scandal at City Hall,
then the next story was an update on Hooper’s case.
    “The murder of San Francisco Homicide Detective Clifford Hooper
remains steeped in mystery, but according to a report in the San Francisco
Star , the SFPD Management Control Squad, which investigates internal police
affairs, has indicated an interest in the case, along with the Office of
Citizens’ Complaints... .”
    Bleeder smiled.
    Almost immediately after