Chapter 16
641 Words
Chapter 16
‘OKAY, EVERYONE. THANKS for joining us tonight at our local “Quit Smoking America” meeting. It’s great to see you all here, dedicated to kicking your habit for good, even at this late hour,’ said the bubbly group leader. Ryan switched his attention from her and looked around the circle, studying the group of smoking addicts. There looked to be a few excellent candidates, but he would only know once he heard their story.
The first few addicts trotted out the standard lines—started smoking in high school, want to get healthy, save money; the usual crap. Nothing even mildly interesting about any of them.
Then suddenly, he knew. As soon as number five in the group started talking and Ryan heard the ugly, obnoxious loudmouth moaning and complaining, he knew that he was the one. The guy went on and on about how much he loved smoking, how the big tobacco companies had got him hooked, it wasn’t his fault, blah, blah, blah. And how his b***h of a wife and her snot-nosed kids were constantly at him to stop smoking, and that he had to go to meetings, or she would kick him out on the street. And then where would he be? On welfare, with no job and no prospects. He reckoned that Philip Morris and the Marlboro Man had a lot to answer for, claiming no accountability for the part that he himself had played in his addiction.
The man’s complaining outburst caused some discord in the group. The leader tried to get things back on track, but the guy kept going on and on, drowning her out. His vocal outburst got louder and louder as he revelled in the complaints from the group. He boasted about chain-smoking two packs a day and stealing money from his wife’s housekeeping money to feed his habit, then babbled on about smoking expensive cigars with his friends around his big Texas smoker barbecue. Ryan said nothing; he was calm on the outside but boiling on the inside.
Finally, the meeting broke up in a r****e, with everyone feeling that one person had hijacked the whole thing and accomplished nothing. Ryan followed The Smoker out of the building and into an old beat-up Datsun. Ryan jumped on his Harley and started it up, then gave the car a few seconds to pull out and followed at a distance. Just a few miles later, the Datsun pulled off the main road into a side street and Ryan followed, noting the streets as he went.
As his target pulled into a driveway in the suburbs, Ryan came to a stop a block away, killed the engine, jumped lightly off his bike and made his way quietly down the street. Oblivious to the danger, The Smoker got out of his car and walked up the path to his house. Ryan stopped behind a large sycamore tree, sheltered from view, and watched the scene spread out before him, illuminated by the wash of light from the streetlamps.
The man fumbled around in his pocket and then cursed aloud and banged urgently on the front door until the bright porch light came on and a woman, presumably his long-suffering wife, answered the door in her nightgown.
‘Jesus Christ, what the hell are you doing?’ she cried out in frustration. ‘You’ll wake the kids! Where are your damn keys?’
‘Shut up, woman! I forgot them, obviously,’ he responded in a curt tone and then disappeared into the house, brushing roughly past the woman, leaving her standing in the doorway, fuming.
Sorely tempted to follow the guy into the house immediately and teach him a goddamn lesson, Ryan instead held his resolve and waited so he could do it properly. The build-up, the planning, and the waiting would make the ultimate act so much sweeter.
It was time to write to Leonard and plan The Smoker’s final barbecue.
- Writer
