Q

Q

He stared down at his dirty old shoes.  Along the insoles the black fabric had separated from the white rubber soles, and his off-white socks could clearly be seen.  On the other side a similar phenomenon was occuring, and he picked at the lose strands of cloth.  The heel of the left shoe had worn out completely so that he no longer walked on the sole of the shoe at all, but a gaping hole exposed his socks in yet another place.  

For the last two hours he'd been sitting here on the concrete.  Waiting for news about what happened.  The kids at school told him Q had shot a guy last night.  He didn't want to believe it.  They had been friends and Q was violent at best, but even for him it was a strech.  Or at least thats what he told himself.  

After school he had decided he was going back to the old hang outs.  He was going to find out if it was true.  For two hours he had walked all over the city.  All the faces were different now.  He didn't recognize anyone.  Not even the squatters in Santa Monica.  They were all new people.  He didn't like them either.  This new breed was meaner, and darker then his friends.  When he had been younger there had been some kind of community, some kind of common goal or at least a sense of decency.  Now they all stabbed eachother in the back.  No one could be trusted.  He guessed thats why he believed it.  Q had always been a little loose.  In this new environment could he have been pushed that far?

The sun was beginning to fade.  Soon this street would be full of night time bar hoppers instead of daytime shoppers.  There was no point in staying here.  No one he knew was coming.

"Why do you wear shoes like that?  Only posers wear shoes like that."

What was with this guy?  Alex had only just met him and he was already being a pain in the ass.  In the backyard of a rundown house in West Covina a bunch of drunk lost degenerates tried to drink themselves to enjoyment.  Inside the house worse things went on, but no body mentioned that.  

"Fuck off, man."

Alex had had enough of this guy.

"You're going to tell me to fuck off?"  He staggered a little.  "Fuck you.  Who are you?  I will kill you here!"

With that from inside his blue jumpsuit he pulled out a black semi-automatic 9mm pistol.  He cooly pointed it at Alex.  Alex had never seen such a thing, and was completely confused on how to react.  He felt that this was a grossly over the top way to act.

"What are you doing?  You're going to shoot me?  Who carries a gun anyway?"

Most likely the man was more inhebriated then he appeared, but this stopped him in his tracks and he had to think for a moment.

"I'm Q, and I carry a gun."

With that he put the pistol away, turned around, walked to the back fence and urinated, completely forgetting about the incedent.

Alex thought, "Who does carry a gun?"  

Q was the only person Alex knew who owned a gun, but he wasn't the only one to carry a weapon constantly.  Alex knew a guy who had sewn a special pocket inside all of his jackets and coats so he could always carry a crow bar with him.  Was this any different?  

Later, Q shared a space bag, a box of whine without the box, with Alex.  He called it a "bury the hatchet" bag.  Q would explain that he had recently bought the pistol.  He claimed that he needed it because he needed something to tip the scales in his favor sometimes.  Alex could understand that.  It was the same reason a person might carry a knife.  Alex assumed that Q was a coward, and that by owning the gun he was able to pick fights he could always walk away from.  

As Alex looked back on that night a thought flashed into his mind.  Was the gun really a protection, a type of insurance?  Or was it really that Q had wanted to take things to far?  Had he been looking for someone to kill?  

As time had progressed a game had developed between the two.  With increasing frequency they would pick fights with whoever they could.  But this wasn't that strange,  Alex had already been doing that himself anyway.  The strange part was how Q enjoyed the power he had in those moments.  How he relished in being above his victim.  Alex felt a pang of embarassment and self hatred as he realized that he had felt the same way, and this was why the two had gotten along so well.  Alex began to see where the pistol fit in.  

Q had always described himself as at war with the world.  Alex knew that the shooting had been ment to be his final act.  That Q had been looking for the right moment to kill.  He had been waiting for a moment to go out in a final battle.  He wanted to die this way, fighting, not in any other way.  He wanted to die as he had wanted to live, with the full feeling of power one has with the ability to take life.  And in that moment Alex's mind went numb.  He fought against the thought that was coming next.  He knew that he wanted the same thing, and it frightened him and disgusted him that he could see himself doing the same thing as Q.  He too longed to have the god-like power over life.