Angel On My Back

         He was still there at noon waiting for me, as I crossed Main and headed for Larry and his vending cart a block or so up.  I could sense his electric eyes following my hurried movements, but I didn’t dare turn to catch his gaze.  Alaco City was teeming with no-good vermin and vagrants who’d ask you for some change and then slice you if you handed over a greenback instead.  True, this type rarely came out in day and almost never did any real harm to folk such as myself, but I wanted no contact with them in the least.
         I saw him for the first time just this morning.  The eight o’clock had dropped me off three minutes early, so as I strolled into the office, my head was up and my smile affixed.  Until I saw him, that is. 
         His body was covered with an oversized trench coat- the type P.I.’s or kleptomaniacs might own- and he was crouching against my building like a woman squatting down to piss.  His head was uncovered and his hair was gone.  A bald bum on my building.
         As I approached, he sprang to his feet and began to dash down the sidewalk.  And then, as if I had just called his mother a dirty whore, he stopped abruptly and turned around.
         His eyes were alive.  In fact, I can’t remember what the rest of his face looked like, for his eyes were dancing as bright circles in my vision.  I blinked and turned my head, and he was gone.
         I saw him every time I looked out my window this morning, as well.  His hands would be buried inside that giant coat, and he’d be staring up at my window whenever I glanced out.  Strange, I admit, but not scary enough to derail my appetite.
         “Usual, Zip?”
         “Yeah, Larry, sure thing.” I kept a cautious eye on the sidewalk and another on the man doling heaps of sauerkraut on my eight-inch foot long.  You never could be too sure in Alaco City.
         “Hey, you okay there, Zip?  Don’cha wanna wait for this here dog?”
         “What? Oh-” I felt the metallic taste of blood on my lip and smiled.  “Starving, Larry.  Thanks.”
         There was no sign of my homeless stalker as I made my way through the growing traffic along Main.  All I saw were faces- dumb, blind, mute expressions on blank canvases.  We were all doing what needed to be done to keep our monotonous lives from falling apart.  Hot dogs at noon.
         Suddenly, I choked.  A rather large part of the bun had slid down my throat and wouldn’t budge.  My hands flew up to my neck as I doubled over, and I was vaguely aware of two mustard drops landing solidly on my necktie.  I tried to hack out the dry crust and breathe at the same time, but my nasal cavity was choking itself on the sauerkraut.  This was it.  Reigning Alaco City Executive of the Year would be stamped out by an evil weiner.  I dropped to my knees.
         “Whoa, breathe, Zip.” A hard slap landed firmly on my back, and I choked again.  Instead of projecting outwards onto the sidewalk, the bun slid down my throat and I began to gulp large breaths of air into my lungs.  The sauerkraut was still stinging my nose, but I didn’t mind.
         My heavy-handed benefactor helped me to my feet, and although the shock of pre-mature death had not quite worn off, I recognized him immediately.  And stepped back.
         “Who are you?” I demanded.  “You’ve been watching me.”
         His eyes lit up, yet not with the blinding intensity of before.  I could make out his features now- ordinary, pleasant, calm.  Nothing jumped out at me screaming Villain or Murderer.  But those eyes...
         “You can call me Joe,” he said slowly, watching the faces part around us.  “I just arrived here today.”
         “So what do you want? Twenty? Fifty?”  I reached for my billfold, but he stopped me quickly with his chuckle.
         “Oh, no, Zip.  I didn’t come for money.” And his eyes-blue, now green- sparkled.  “I’m here for you.”
         “No, no, no, no, no.  I don’t have time to stand here and get intimidated by some psycho bum.  Thank you.  Excuse me.”  I brushed past him and merged into the crowd.  He fell in behind me.
         “You don’t understand, Zip.  I’m not going to hurt you,” he continued as I marched up the sidewalk.  He placed a hand on my shoulder.  “I’m an angel.”
         That did it.  I stopped and turned furiously towards the hatless Inspector Gadget.  “Look, you goddam' prick,” I hissed, “if you don’t fuck off-”
         And again, this time without flashing his eyes, he disappeared.  I stared stupidly around me for a moment, but he was gone.  As I headed into my office, still shaking slightly, I was vaguely aware that the mustard drops were no longer soiling my tie.

         The next time I saw Joe was not until three days later.  I was sitting in my pre-owned XJ8, bargaining rapidly with the heavily-lipsticked girl outside.  She was winning.  I didn’t see Joe until he opened my passenger door and climbed in next to me.
         The girl ran off, ass wiggling under a red skin-tight skirt, and I shook my head angrily at my uninvited visitor.  “What the hell are you doing?  Get out...Joe.”
         “Zip, Zip, Zip.” He looked into my angry face and shook his head as if implying punishment was near.  “Don’t you know her house is the way to hell, going down to the chambers of death?  A snare, Zip, a snare.”
         I stared in disbelief at the figure beside me.  He did not have an imposing frame, although the coat made him appear stockier.  I could take him easily, even at my age.  This must be a game, I thought.  He’s playing a game, and he won’t leave until I join in.
         “I should call the cops on you,” I finally spoke.  “What you’re doing is illegal.”
         “And this?” He waved a hand at the street corners.  “This...”
         “Is perfectly normal for a forty-five year old bachelor living in this God-forsaken city,” I finished with emphasis on the normal.  I began to drive away, and Joe sat silently as if knowing I would not throw him out of the vehicle.  I was playing his game.
         “So how’d you get to Alaco,” I asked.  “They got a tram line up there?”
         Joe smiled.  “No, I flew.”
         “Of course.  How pedestrian of me.”  I turned onto Main.  “And you know me from where, exactly?”
         Just then, the empty gas light flashed warning, and its audible alarm sounded.  Without hesitation, Angel Joe reached over and spread his fingers toward the gauge.  He kept them there for only a second before pulling away, and I watched in fascination as the LCD screen registered a full tank.
         Now I was definitely playing his game.
         “So you got yourself magic fingers, huh?  Too bad they can’t pour fuel out of ‘em.” I pulled sharply into a dimly lit service station.  “Stay here.”
         Joe simply shrugged and crossed his arms over his chest.
         Two minutes later, I slammed the car door behind me in disgust.  “Never was out of gas,” I told the silent man.  “Damn circuits must be acting up.”
         Joe smiled again and flashed his bright eyes into my own.
         “Oh, c’mon, where’d you go?  We weren’t done talking!” I yelled to the empty seat beside me.  “You can’t keep doing that.”
         I don’t believe in angels, anyway, I told myself. 
         But I didn’t even believe me.

         The following evening, I was as far away from Alaco City as I could manage, with four empty Heinekens sitting desolately on the bar beside me.  Four bottles of tears.
         “Wine is a mocker, strong drink raging,” the bottle spoke in a soft tone.  I whirled the wrong way on my stool and wondered if anyone else had heard the bottle speak.  I was the only one there.
         “Zip,” the sad voice continued, “you’re slipping away.”
         I spun back around to find Joe sitting on the stool next to me, hands clasped together as if in prayer.  His head shone brightly in the dim light.
         “Whuh the hell, man?  Leave me alone.” I dismissed him as best I could with a shaking hand.  “Don’t care what you think...don’t need no doctor.”
         “No, mocker, Zip.  You’re drinking too much.”
         What was with this freak?  Could I do nothing without him showing up and judging me?  Hell, I’m the Executive of the Year.  Just cause a guy saves your life, you gotta carry him around piggyback for the next ten years?
         I looked over at the angel and began to plead.  “Joe, I don’t want you around me anymore.  You’re...uh...” I frowned as he waited patiently for my vocabulary to arrive.  “...damn annoying,” I finished.  “I don’t care what you think.  Just leave me the fuck alone.”
         And I stared back at the four empty bottles in front of me.
         “Okay, Zip.  If that’s what you really want."  He began to dissolve into the bar stool.  "It's your choice."

         It never was my choice.  I couldn’t stop some desperate schmuck from stalking me.  I couldn’t prevent him from hiring some drugged-up driver to ram into my drunken body and propel my torso thirty feet away from my own legs.  I was playing the game, for Chris’sakes.          
         I never saw Joe again.  Now, every time I wheel across Main for an eight-inch foot long, I keep my eyes open for anyone suspicious.  Any angels that might be lurking in dark corners, wearing jackets large enough to hide their wings.
         And I never mind the occasional greenback.  Those coins just always seem to slip from my pockets.