See How He Runs

He leaned that massive body of his up against a light pole on the boardwalk just the ocean side of the concessions stand at the public beach. He checked his watch. Almost ten pm. They were pulling the metal awning down over the counter. Closing time. Another day at the beach for some, but for these few workers, serving cokes and salted pretzels, hot dogs and drawing soft serve ice cream all day long, they would likely find their escape anywhere else tonight. “See ya,” he called out to the black kid passing by. He shoved the Ipod buds back into his ears. Luther Vandross. So smooth. So silky. Another big man that died too early. Gave Riley the goose flesh. Riley checked his watch again. Almost ten fifteen. The concession stand was dark and quiet. He pulled the buds out and he could hear five or six kinds of music colliding in the clear of night. Some raucous laughter erupted, glass broke somewhere, and conversations competed in the mix of the distance. There could have been twenty or thirty places along Ocean Boulevard competing for the night beach dollars of April tourists and those with no other place to go. He would wait until ten thirty. Not a minute longer. This is what they were talking about. This could lead to trouble. It could not be tolerated any longer. He assured them he could change the behavior, one way or another. He began his methodical scan in all directions, the check list flashing through his mind one more time, as it always did. Security cameras? Yes. At the concession stand, vectors left and right and over the parking lot. He stood safely out of the zone. The area seemed deserted, the sounds all mixing and drifting in from a safe distance, riding a dozen different scents of blackened and Cajun cooking. He was an odd sight, nonetheless, this hulking flat-topped ruddy Scotsman with I pod ear buds that made him look like a caricature of sorts. Since his head was even big for his body, it was a toss-up as to which piece did not belong. “Fucking jerk off,” he grumbled, yanking the ear buds out and giving up on the Luther elixir. Then, he spotted a bouncing shadow gaining size from down the darkened boardwalk that led through the saw grass from the sandy beach. He tapped the wooden rail with an index finger. Another look at his watch. Ten-thirty-two. A slender dark-skinned man in leather sandals wearing baggy dark blue shorts and a white tank top that said Old Navy across the front pulled to a halt along side him. “You are late, Ahmed.” Riley’s said flatly. “A few minutes,” the slender man shrugged. He was mid-twenties, had a high-pitched Middle Eastern accent. He looked straight ahead, and then scanned, as did Riley once again. For nearly two minutes they said nothing. Then it was Riley. “Greenland in the winter. Hudson Bay in the summer. No spring. Thirty-Thirty-Five. Zero.” He spoke slowly and very clearly. “Repeating… Greenland in the winter. Hudson Bay in the summer. No spring, Thirty-Thirty Five. Zero.” Riley turned to face the man. “Repeat back.” The man did so, in much higher pitch, but as succinct, and without hesitation. They waited, then, in silence for two minutes before the man repeated the phrase. Perfectly. “You are not to be late again, Ahmed. Do you understand? Not a minute, not a second. Do you understand?” Riley pulled out a white letter size envelope from beneath his shirt and handed it to Ahmed, who quickly shoved it into one of the oversize pockets of his baggy shorts. “American education makes you mushy, Ahmed. They teach you how to be soft, how to be, what, a marshmallow. So here you are growing up to be an unaccountable marshmallow. Disgusting. And remember how we must deal with things like this.” “As they say,” he shrugged, his very white teeth gleamed in the dull light shining down. “It is no big deal.” With a glimpse of fear he knew could be very real, he turned to retrace his path down the boardwalk. . Riley knew what he had to do. What was the sense in talking about it? Riley walked a few steps behind him at the same pace until they were out of the range of the light beam, then took three huge steps to reach for Ahmed and wrapped one of his massive arms around his neck, pulling him up and back until he was off his feet. Ahmed gasped and fought this snare but could only move his legs for a few moments before deciding to remain still with fear. “You messed up the fucking message a bit last time, Ahmed. We are sure it was you. 100% fucking certain. And you know that is not allowed, don’t you, shithead.” Ahmed’s eyes began bulging as he sensed an evil tone creep into Riley’s eager voice. He began to say something to protest when Riley slipped his free arm down around one of the man’s wrists. He freed Ahmed’s neck but quickly joined both his hands on Ahmed’s wrist and began a slow twisting motion. Ahmed sunk to his knees and looked up at Riley with complete surrender. “Please, please, stop, please!” Ahmed cried out, aware he could not, should not be heard at all costs. “We must be exact. We must be precise. I know you were trained by that idiot Khomef, but that’s no excuse. Even Khomef would know better.” Riley looked down and considered his helpless prey. He now had Ahmed’s arm locked straight and angled up. “Like this!” Riley growled, moving his hands up Ahmed’s forearm and with a single motion brought his knee up and the forearm down until they both heard the hideous crack. Ahmed screamed in pain as Riley flung him to the boardwalk and quickly walked away into the darkness. “Don’t screw up again. That’s the other message. I’m sure you won’t forget that one either.” Ahmed’s breath came in spasms while he lay doubled over. His hand shook as he tried to reach to shield the injury. He screamed again when the hand ran across the jagged edge of bone protruding through his skin. The second screamed ripped through the star speckled clear night sky like a bad dream. Riley beeped the remote to open the car. He hadn’t meant to break the skin with the bone. Sometimes, it just happened.