An Evening in the Park

A Story by Rik Redus

The meek may very well inherit the Earth...by force.

An Evening in the Park

by Rik Redus

A cool easterly breeze was blowing across the bay and into Travis Martin’s late model sedan, which was parked directly facing the water. He sat behind the steering wheel staring out at the off shore oil rigs that were strangely illuminated by the spectacular summer sunset in the sky behind him. An earlier speed boating event had churned up the green water and left the stench of rotting algee and dead fish in the air. Both the foul smell and the roar of powerfull boat engines were carried by the wind far inland.

Travis grabbed a bag of fast food and a can of soda off of a briefcase lying on the passenger side seat. He stared at the briefcase for a moment before stepping out of the vehicle. He locked the car door but made sure to leave the window down a few inches. Travis often came to this park after work but only recently started eating dinner here. He began walking toward a nearby fishing pier. A red cargo van with black tinted windows was parked between Travis and the pier. It was facing away from the water and he could hear the thumping of loud music coming from inside. As he passed the front of the van, the side door suddenly opened unleashing the strong smell of marijuana and the sound of several men laughing. Travis, slightly startled, turned and made eye contact with a man that was laughing as he emerged from the van. The heavy set man, who appeared just as startled, stopped laughing and starred menacingly at Travis, who instinctively turned his head away and kept walking.

"Yeah, you better just keep on going," said the man. Travis felt the slight adreniline rush of sudden panic and began walking faster. He was not surprised by the remark; after all, he was a short middle-aged man with glasses and usually dressed in business casual attire when in public. He took small steps when he walked and had a slight limp due to a bad hip. He often encounterd threatening looks and the occasional instigating remark. Afterwards Travis would often dwell on what he should have said or done and would promise himself not to be so timid in the future. The promise was always broken.

As Travis approached the steps of the pier, he heard shouting behind him but it was muffled by the wind. Not wanting to provoke them in anyway, he kept his gaze forward as he made his way up the steps and started walking towards the wooden bench at the end of the long T-shaped pier.

An unkempt looking elderly man wearing a white cowboy hat leaned against the railing at the piers end. The bright new looking hat was an odd exsesory for dark, oil stainned, and torn overalls tucked into black rubber boots. The elderly man held an old fishing pole in one hand and a beer in the other. A large blue ice chest with a small tackle box resting on top lay at the man's feet.. Travis sat down and began eating some of the French fries that had fallen to the bottom of the paper bag. Sometimes he would throw a French fry in the air, which would instantly attract a cloud of sea gulls from seemingly nowhere and yet everywhere. Not everyone likes sea gulls so he only did it if nobody was around.

"Catching anything?" Travis asked loudly.

"Just a buzz," the man said as he held up his beer, which was wrapped in an greasy paper bag.

"That’s better than a cold," replied Travis. The man smiled slightly then lowered his beer and turned back towards the water. Travis though the exchange sounded rehearsed and imagined the same words had been spoken countless times by other people over the years.

The cheeseburger Travis pulled from the bag was much flatter than the one advertised on the drive-through menu. He had tried several restaurants in the past few weeks, but still had not found one to his liking. He wondered what his family was eating at that moment and what they were discussing at the table. He missed his children. Sorrow overwhelmed him but slowly a feeling of utter hate began filling his heart. These feelings of rage were new to Travis and had only recently begun to affect his normally rational train of thought. The feeling passed and was quickly dismissed.

One by one the strategically placed lampposts that lined the pier began coming to life. Travis, who was half finished with his cheeseburger, stared down at the now illuminated graffiti on the wooden bench and wondered why people with such poor spelling skills would want to advertise it. The nearby fisherman swatted a mosquito on his forearm and then flicked its bloody carcass into the wind. He then set the fishing pole and his beer down and retrieved a can of bug repellent from his tackle box and began applying a generous coat on himself. When he was done he looked over towards Travis and held out the can. Travis quickly set his food down and wiped his hands on his khaki pants before standing up and walking over to the fisherman.

"Thank you," Travis said after struggling to swallow a mouthful of food. "I forgot how bad they are this time of year," He grabbed the can and began to spray his arms and neck.

"You can always count on the mosquitoes biting, even if the fish ain’t," the old timer replied. Travis chuckled as he handed the can back to the man who put it back in the tackle box and grabbed another beer from the cooler.

"Even though there are millions of mosquitoes in the world, I take some comfort in knowing that when I leave this park there are a few less." The fisherman said as he stood back up and grabbed his fishing pole. Travis smiled and nodded at the man gratefully before going back to the bench to finish his meal. The seagulls were now hoovering dangerously close to his dinner. They wasted no time preying on unattended food.

All traces of the sun were now gone and even the lights on the offshore rigs had been activated. As Travis stared out across the water, he wondered if the distant lights were automatic or if someone actually flipped on a switch. He looked back over his shoulder and noticed the onset of darkness had cleared out some of the vehicles in the parking lot. The van was still there, although it had moved closer to his car and was now facing towards the water, which put the side door suspiciously close to his own vehicle.

Gazing with squinted eyes for a few moments Travis did not see any sign of the men that had taunted him earlier; however, he did notice a man and woman were now walking hand in hand down the pier in his direction. He remembered when he and his wife would do the same thing. That was long ago and the magic had long since died in his marriage.

Travis scooped up his trash and shoved it into the bag, which he crumpled up and deposited in the 55-gallon drum that was chained to the railing next to him. He grabbed his soda and got off the bench just in case the couple wanted to sit down there. He walked over to the railing opposite the side of the old fisherman and stared out into the darkness.

He really did not want to leave the park. His new home was a small kitchenette at a less than reputable motel. The place smelled like roach poison and mold and his neighbors never seemed to sleep. Recently someone broke into his car and took his wallet, which he had unwisely left in the console. He did not lose much money but the only photos he had of his children were in the wallet. He was crushed and it was then that he first experienced the feelings of rage and revenge.

Travis had been living in the kitchenette nearly a month now, returning home only to get items he absolutely needed or to pick up his kids on weekends for a movie or an afternoon at the mall. His oldest, Kelly, was well into her teens and never went with him. She did not take the separation well and spent most of her time with her friends. David, who was seven and Lisa, now four, were always happy to see their daddy and Travis hoped it would stay that way indefinitely. Travis drew a deep breath and slowly turned to leave. He smiled at the couple now sitting on the bench and started down the wooden planks.

"Good luck and thanks again for the bug spray," he shouted to the fisherman who just turned briefly and nodded. As Travis stepped off of the pier and began to cross the parking lot he heard the van door suddenly slam shut. He approached on the driver side of the van so he could not see the side with the sliding door thus did not know if someone was getting out or climbing back in the van. The large van obscured the view of his vehicle which added to his uneasyness.

His pace slowed as his pulse quickened. He eased past the van and saw nobody on the other side and then quickly made his way over to his car. As he got inside and shut the door he noticed his briefcase was now gone. Without hesitation he started the car and drove up the steep park exit to the main street, which was about twenty feet above sea level. As he stopped at the intersection to check traffic, a thunderous blast shook the entire park. The disorienting concussion set off several car alarms.

Travis could see what was left of the van in his rear view mirror. The roof was now bulging upward and the side door was now lying an astonishing distance from the burning vehicle. All of the tinted glass was shattered and thick black smoke belowed from the now open windows. Travis made a sudden right turn and quickly drove away turning on the nearest residential street. He began to put as much distance between the park and himself as possible.

He was amazed at the power of the home-made explosives and that the briefcase trigger had actually worked. It failed several times when tested on camera flashbulbs. He was also thankful the bomb did not detonate while he or anyone else not involved was near the van. He assumed that anyone who broke into a vehicle would leave the vicinity immediately. Travis really did not expect to be this calm afterwards. A fake ID, a disguise, a computer in a public library, and the Internet were all he needed to learn how to build a device that would focus all his rage toward a deserving target. He drove for several minutes then smiled taking comfort in knowing that even though there were still millions of thieves in the world, there were now a few less since he had left the park.