A quick story I spewed out of my brain drainage:
Rubio walked into the
sparsely crowded high school gymnasium enveloped by sounds of a basketball game.
His snapshot mind memorized fresh faces and body postures of parents and casual
observers along with all-age cell phone obsessed non-observers sprinkled along the
bleachers and across all four corners of the gym before focusing on the teams
at play. The home team wore darkened green uniforms with black lettering,
matching their school’s heavily present color scheme, while the away team
adorned blue uniforms with yellow lettering.
With
every immediate individual accounted for, Rubio re-analyzed all of the
entrances and exits, checking for any he may have overlooked in relation to the
outer perimeter’s schematics, but every way leading in and out of the building
synced with his previous exterior exploration. For now, Rubio could enjoy the
game.
Both
teams were fundamentally flawed but heavily competitive. The home team
distributed the ball evenly, displaying good teamwork. The blue team looked
full of individual talent. During a steal, Rubio singled out one of the home
team’s players; a young man familiar to his ideas. The young man looked like
Rubio’s son – slender but not lanky, sporting crisply cut black hair, and
wandering eyes of wonder; heavily thinking, always two steps ahead. He had good eyes for distribution, he played
his role well. He wasn’t good enough yet for the varsity team, but by his
senior year, he’d be a critical team member – good in assists, better on
defense.
Rubio
cheered his son on. “Do your best!” he exclaimed over the crowd. It turned some
heads but that was okay. He was proud of his son and would cheer him to the
very end. Besides, his real rewarding gift was his brain. He was in the top ten
percent of his class, slightly geeky, but capably social when necessary.
The
team’s basketball rotation wound up in his son’s hands. He drove into the
paint, psyching out his defender with a pump fake so he could bounce pass it
underneath to the forward for a successful score. “Excellent!” Rubio joyfully
exclaimed aloud.
What
was wrong with all of the nonsense-obsessed technological ostriches with their
heads buried in a tiny computer screen? Life’s spontaneous excitements passed
them by; they should be paying attention to his son.
Rubio
thoroughly imagined the consequences of sticking someone’s head in between the
flexing beams underneath the bleachers. He wondered how much force it would
take to kill someone. Would it merely break a neck, or with proper imposing
force, could it decapitate a person? Surely, it wouldn’t be a surgical slice,
probably a grisly scene of stretched, torn flesh and outwardly piercing bone
shards.
The grim scenario replayed itself in Rubio’s mind, gently
easing him back into the surprising thrill of the junior varsity’s basketball
game. As the play intensified during the closing minutes of the spirited
contest, Rubio’s purpose entered the gym. Being the figurehead of a school’s
administration, every principal’s voluntary appearance at school functions was
definitely mandatory. Luke Walters was a town native with out of town secrets
that buried him deep within bad peoples’ pockets and deeper into their
business, qualifying him as, what Rubio’s client noted, a loose end. That was
more than what Rubio wanted to know. All he needed was a name and a face. The
rest came naturally.
Walters paraded around the gymnasium, shaking hands,
playing nice; buying trust. After finishing his public rounds, Walters left the
gym. Rubio would have to follow him, abandoning his son. The natal compassion
that would never materialize, the trophies which he hoped would decorate the
hallways – melted down by cumbersome reality. During his senior year, Rubio
hoped to take his son to Oaxaca to meet the rest of his family, maybe even take
him to the annual reunion of his old platoon. However, as instantly as his son
was born, his existence was erased. Rubio had never been married. He didn’t
know of any possibly conceived offspring anywhere in the world, and he had
traveled extensively. Fatherhood was momentary disguise, killing was how he
made his living, and for a moment, Rubio felt good about accomplishing
something besides another murder. The fun part was gone, the stalking was over.
It was time to kill.
