Free Hair-Trigger by Trevor Clark

turned, going down, he caught a glancing blow near the eye. Vince punched him while the larger man put the boots to him. He yelled for help as he tried to fight back, before pulling up his legs and covering himself on the ground.
    â€œGet my money, fucker!” Vince shouted at him.
    Frank kicked him in the kidneys. “We’ll be back.”
    Lying there, O’Hara half-heard them walking away. Then the sound of car doors slamming, a motor turning over. As he struggled to his knees, he was aware of blood on the pavement.

9
    J ack Lofton, drinking a 946–ML bottle of Schlitz from a paper bag, caught a bus from the St. Clair station to a stop near Derek Rowe’s apartment building. It was twilight as he crossed the intersection. After being buzzed in, he passed a shelf of discarded advertising under the mailboxes, then climbed the steps and opened a second door to the first floor hallway.
    Although he wasn’t drunk, not yet anyway, he found himself veering towards the wall. Straightening his course, he turned right at the corner and headed towards the staircase.
    Rowe was drying his hair with a towel when he answered the door in his trousers and undershirt. There was a pair of ratty looking slippers on his feet. Lofton followed him inside and sat down on the sofa as Rowe went into the bathroom. Crossing his legs, he pulled his bag from the bottle and took a drink. Hank Williams or some other prehistoric country music was playing. “You going out?”
    â€œMaybe.” Rowe walked into his bedroom. “Why, you want to go somewhere for a drink?”
    â€œNo, I’m going to see Marva.” Lofton put his beer on the coffee table and took off his jacket. He glanced at the magazines in the shelving unit to the right of the doorway, and thought about getting up to see if there was anything decent, but was too lazy.
    Rowe was tucking in a navy blue turtleneck as he walked into the kitchen. When he came out, he had a beer in his hand. “So, how’s that going?”
    â€œAll right. She might be a bit flaky, but she’s got the bitchingest body—well, yeah, you’ve seen it, haven’t you. I’m usually not that attracted to black women. I mean when I see them in skin magazines I don’t usually pay that much attention because they’re so dark you can’t really see the details. Even if they’re totally fucking naked you think maybe they should undress some more.” Lofton took another drink. He wanted to talk her up but didn’t feel like sounding sentimental if his doubts were valid. “At first I thought she was as dumb as a bag of hammers, but she’s pretty fuckin’ sharp, actually.”
    â€œYeah?”
    â€œYou better get used to seeing her around.”
    â€œIt sounds serious.”
    â€œMaybe. . . . She’s got some fucked up friends, though.” He reached over and slapped his jacket, feeling for his smokes. “This guy, this old boyfriend or something, was calling at four in the morning until I got on the phone and told him to fuck off. He’s supposed to be some fucking gangster or something.”
    â€œThat doesn’t sound good.”
    â€œI don’t expect he’ll be back.” Lofton took a drag and clicked his lighter shut. “Another friend of hers—I think she’s a welfare mother or hooker or something—her kids were just taken away by Children’s Aid. The fact is, is that she knows they’re fucked up. She’s even religious, for fuck’s sake. We had sex and talked until the sun was coming up. It was nice.”
    â€œGood thing we invited her out, then.” Rowe took a drink and pulled one slipper back on. “You know Robert? You’ve met him. Works with me in the store.”
    â€œYeah.”
    â€œApparently he got beaten up pretty bad. Wasn’t at work for a couple of days.”
    â€œWhat happened?”
    â€œHis girlfriend phoned Tuesday