Heatwave

"Heatwave"
By
W. P. Gerace

Another day of blazing heat inflicted upon the desert on this mid-afternoon day in downtown Phoenix. Jax Stonewall was grateful he was in the comfortable air conditioning of his apartment, reclining in his plush beige recliner. Sipping on his tall glass of iced tea, he gazed into the street below his complex as a cluster of homeless people gathered around the towering oak tree in front of the building's three-story structure. Jax quickly became annoyed that he was paying nearly two thousand dollars a month for this place, which was not worth two hundred. The contempt for these people slowly began to build as he was ready to have them all arrested and put them where they belonged in jail.

Working all his life as a third-grade school teacher, he finally retired last year, gave up his comfortable home in North Phoenix, and downsized. Never married, no children, not even a girlfriend in the picture, Jax had no one to leave his money to, so he figured he would rent one of these fancy apartments three miles away. Bell Suites was supposed to be one of the finest complexes in the area, complete with monthly pool parties, cocktail hours, five pools, and a private bar the works. Still, it was a sliver of that. The pool parties hardly occurred, if ever; cocktail hours were twice the whole year he had been here, the pools were lime green and worse off than the polluted ocean, and the only thing that seemed worth it was the private bar. A man who enjoyed a good stiff drink, he found himself down in the bar's quaint atmosphere talking to the bartender Willy daily. Seeing those homeless people festering and taking over the area irritated everything he believed in. He worked nearly 30-plus years to get to a life of comfortability and enjoy the so-called Golden Years. They were down there with god-awful tents, dirty faces, and animals running amuck.

Outside of the eyesore of those homeless vagrants, the area was a relatively lovely section of town. Belltown Drive was an elongated street between the North Mountains with their reddish-brown peaks; these lavish homes with massive lush green lawns and spiraling driveways were nestled on each side of the circling road. At the far end of the road, right before you crossed over to North Phoenix Edge, otherwise known as the beginning of the hood, though not as bad as most parts, was Bell Suites with its tall white stucco buildings, a line of massive trees all surrounded by the community’s black steel gate. Sure, the gate kept those people from wandering in, and the complex had security. However, seeing them out there just festering and taking over the place was more than Jaxs could bear.

"This is pure horseshit! I am putting a stop to this now! "Grabbing his black slippers and putting his drink on the coffee table, keys in hand, Jax decided to address the problem head-on.

Just as he exited his apartment, he could hear his father's stern military voice resonate in his head. Show them whose boss son. Those homeless people are the enemy. You know what we do with enemies, son. Grab the piece. No bullets, just enough to scare them off. Opening the top drawer of the white almond bureau, one of the few things he had from his parent's home on Twelfth Avenue, there laid the gold gun case. Locked in for security reasons, he grabbed the key from the secret hiding space in the back of the drawer. The gun, a .36 revolver, still maintained its pristine shine. It was not touched once since his father retired from the Phoenix police nearly forty years ago. Never touching the gun, himself, Jax began to tremble as he felt the tip of the brown handle, anxious he might set it off and shoot himself in the foot or, worse yet, in the stomach. His father's demanding voice kept saying to take it and stop fearing your own shadow. You talk a good game, son, but never act. Jax wanted to tell his father to shut up. That was so far from the truth. Giving in, he quickly grabbed the gun, emptied the bullets the way he remembered his father showing him, and went down the steps.
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The front lobby of the complex was in dire need of a makeover. It did not resemble anything Jaxs saw on the Bell Suites website, or maybe that is what the lobby looked like once upon a time. The floors were a dingy linoleum that was in extreme need of a mop and glow; there were these lofty green plants, one on each side that was withered and had seen better days; on the right-hand side were the mailboxes, their tiny tannish exteriors dug into the dark oak paneling. Standing there with her overloaded mail bag was Clara, the mail lady, her silver hair matted up and drenched with sweat as it trickled down her fair skin. Seeing a woman well into her sixties like Clara, not much younger than Jax, having to work so hard infuriated him even more. Grabbing the back of his gun, he pushed it deep into the back pocket of his jeans. He was for sure going to show these beggars a thing or two.

"Hey there, Jaxs. How is it going, my friend? "Clara asked her tone always so cheery and welcoming. Jaxs felt she, too, did not have the best life, recently losing her husband of thirty years from brain cancer, a son who died a month ago from a drug overdose, and a daughter who never talked to her. Despite all this, Clara trucked on and spoke in that bright, cheery tone like nothing was happening.

"Same shit Clara. Another frigging day in this heat. How are you faring with it, gal? "Jaxs asked.

"Ah, you know me, honey. Just trucking. God is good, and I woke up today and am alive. Praise Jesus. "Banging her chest, her blue shirt saturated from the massive amount of sweat.

Smiling, Jaxs kept walking. He had an agenda and did not want to alarm his friend and mail lady.

Going out into the blazing inferno down the narrow walkway to the community of the homeless, Jaxs was determined to set these folks straight. If the careless approach of Bell Suites management wouldn't address this impending problem, he would. Someone must take this community back. Clustering around in their tents, huddling in groups, hiding their drug paraphernalia, Jaxs, who ran the Anti-Drug Program for the 3rd-5th grades for most of his career at North Mountain Elementary School, was aware of their game.

"Alright, folks, it is time for you all to disburse. I mean now!! "Jaxs hollered to the group of homeless people.

Not paying heed to one thing, he said, they continued to assemble in their little community underneath their sheets used as roofs hanging along the branches of the trees above. Fury stemmed inside him as if he were some boxer about to beat the living crap out of his opponent. They just sat there, not moving, rustling about their little makeshift homes. A woman with emaciated sunburned cheeks and straggly blonde hair practically bumped into him, knocking him onto the concrete. Not even bothering to say excuse me or apologize for her behavior, Jaxs could not believe the audacity of these people. It was like they were entitled.

Just last week, he recalled the scene at Murry's Steaks. Murry's Steaks was one of the finest places to get meat, and they always strived to keep their place sparkling clean. They, too, have been hit by the impending takeover of the homeless criminals. A man in a wrinkled dark jacket with the potent harsh vinegar scent of urine filled the premises. His nails, darker than any tar pit he had seen, dug into the plastic containers with fresh seafood salad and shoveled it down his unkempt face. Bill Murry, the owner, a towering, muscular man who worked out his face lobster red as he witnessed the incident, came yelling for the man to leave before he called the police. Judging from his youthfulness underneath the dirt and grim, the man, who could be no more than thirty, pulled a knife out and told him he better back off if he knew what was good for him. Taking three huge containers of the salad, the fellow darted into the parking lot, never to be seen again.

Playing that over in his mind, Jaxs knew he was right in what must be done. If he did not take a stand, the community would slowly be swallowed up by these vagrants. He pulled out his pistol, swirling about in the air, threatening to shoot and make a citizen's arrest of anyone refusing to leave the premises. Jaxs could not believe the words he was using. He had no idea where they were coming from, but it was indeed how he felt. Screaming and scattering about, the band of homeless that claimed this area suddenly disbursed down Belltown Drive as the beaming oppressive rays of the Desert sun beat down upon their straggling bodies.

"That's right, get the hell out of here. Get a damn job and do something! That is right! Get! "Vindicated Jaxs felt so good about what he did whether management or anyone else liked it.

"Mr. Stonewall, what are you doing? This is against community rules. We have a no-violence policy here at Bell Suites. "Low and behold, the fearless property manager Andrea Lords, with her blotchy makeup and wild strawberry blonde hair, appeared speaking in her mousy southern accent.

"Ms. Lords, I see you decided to leave your hiding spot. How nice of you. "Jaxs was no stranger to confrontation and sarcasm; he had confronted many useless administrators in his nearly thirty-plus career.

"Sir, I must ask you to put that gun away. Do you at least have a right to carry it? Forget I asked; I don't want to know. Please put that away before I take further action. "Before Jaxs could respond, she wobbled off in her tight blue skirt.

Shaking his head, he wondered if a girl like her was even in a relationship or married. She was so timid, afraid of her own shadow. No man wants a woman like that. How did she even get a job like this? Jaxs wondered if she was barely thirty if that, and had no experience as far as he was concerned.

"You are a terrible man! An evil man! "Yelling in his face, an older gentleman with ruddy wrinkled cheeks stinking of booze and whisky stood before him.

"Sir, it's best you leave before you get hurt. You and your friends have no business here. "Jaxs said, holding onto his pistol.

"Sir, you are the one about to get hurt. You have no bullets in that gun. Using your father's gun when you don't even know how to use the damn thing to scare innocent children and women. You were a teacher you should know better. I have seen people like you before in my time. You hide behind a fake presence of doing good, but deep down, you are eviler than the worst serial killer. "The man's eyes narrowed as he came closer to Jaxs.

"I'm warning you, man, step back. This pistol is loaded, and I am not afraid to use it. "Grabbing the tip of the gun, hoping the old geezer would go somewhere.

Grabbing Jax's other hand, the man takes his long, curly nail painted with deep red nail polish and scratches his palm. The wound was not deep but enough to release a trickle of blood. Jaxs could feel his hand burn like the man poured some acid into his flesh. He even swore he could hear his flesh sizzle for a moment, reminding him of the sound bacon makes in a pan. That is ridiculous, though Jaxs thought it was just the heat playing games with his head.

"You are marked, man. Tomorrow, this time, you will be beating to a different drum. You shall regret your actions, young man. Trust me, you will wish you were dead after tomorrow. Now, I shall leave your precious property. "Smiling, the man bowed and walked down the road following the others.

"What the hell do you know, old man? I am not afraid of you, you know! I am not! "Jaxs hollered, taking his pistol and tucking it back into his back pocket.

Walking back into the cool confines of the lobby, Clara was still there putting the last of the mail in the slots, her wide-rimmed glasses about to slide off her face. Turning towards Jax, she must have seen the commotion as well. He could tell by her glaring eyes she was not pleased with his behavior, Mrs. Christianity herself. Jaxs shook his head and went up the stairs instead of the elevator. He needed to get some tension out of him, and walking would do him good.
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A heavy knock woke Jaxs right up out of his sleep. He must have fallen asleep on the couch after watching a round of scary movies. He could hear some vampire movie playing on his Smart TV as some girl begged for her life. The Vampire, a tall, thin, haired man with blue eyes, laughed and dug his big teeth into the girl's neck. The banging continued. It was that idiot, Ms. Lords. Screaming and carrying on like some crazy woman, he could not imagine what she wanted at this hour. It had to be like 4 in the morning. It was still dark outside.

"I am coming. Give me a minute, please, Jesus! "Jaxs got up from the couch, ensuring he was proper before opening the door.

"Hi there, Mr. Stonewall. I have here an eviction notice for you! You must vacate the premises and now! "Her usually passive fair-skinned face was all contorted as if some being took over her previous calm demeanor.

"Now, Ms. Lords, I know you are upset about the gun. I know I got a little carried away-"Not even allowing him to finish his sentence, she tore right into him as if he were some vagrant.

"Now listen here, sir. What are you talking about? But we have not received a damn rental payment from you in three months! We have patiently waited and even offered to work with you and make a payment plan, but you have yet to respond to our requests! This is a business, not some charity place! "Screaming and yelling as if she had her brain friend from the heat, Jaxs was lost as he paid his rent six months at a time.

"I do not know what you are talking about, lady, but I paid you all $12,000 three months ago. I have the canceled check showing you cashed it and the damn receipt. Jaxs Stonewall pays his bills, ma'am. "Jaxs could not believe what he was hearing here.

"Show me the canceled check and a receipt, please. "

"Fine. I will. I will bring it to you in the morning. "

"No, I want it now, you crook. Get it now, or you will be out on your ass. "

"Fine. Give me a minute. I ain't no bum or loaf, unlike those vagrants you let stay outside this friggen place. "Jaxs yelled as he walked across the room.

"Mr. Stonewall, I don't know what you are talking about, sir. We do not have vagrants gathering here. Bell Suites is an established community of fine citizens. You used to be one of those fine citizens until you stopped paying rent, which we cannot have. "Ms. Lords said, her obese body wrapped tightly in her hot pink suit. Jaxs did not realize how heavy she indeed was.

Searching around in his chestnut desktop drawer, he knew this was where he kept his checkbook receipts and bills. Everything at the top was empty. There was nothing there but some paper clips and pencils. Going through the remaining drawers on both sides where he kept his books on history, world events, and even some old yearbooks, everything was gone, wiped out as if nothing was here. The back wall with all his family photos, certificates, and other memories he had hanging was also gone. Bending down on the bare wooden floor, nothing was there but dust and wires.

"Hmm, we have a problem here, Mr. Stonewall. Can you not find what you are looking for? "Lords stood above him like some Amazon woman. She closely resembled one of those manly guards in a women's detention center. Her once soft chestnut eyes were now rigid rivers of darkness.

"Just give me a minute. I know I have receipts. I just now I do. "For the first time in Jax's life, he felt like he was losing it as if his reality had suddenly been a big fake.

"Time is up, Mr. Stonewall. Heinz, let us show our friend here the door. "

Heinze, the community guard, appeared with all three hundred pounds of him. Arms like tree barks and muscles that were the results of many tedious visits to the gym, this young man, with his cold stare, was not one you want to mess with. He had seen Heinze in action just a few times when some folks got out of hand here. Fortunately, it was few and far between.

"Let's go, Mr. Stonewall. You heard what Ms. Lord said. "He spoke in this almost robotic monotone voice that made Jaxs wonder if the dude was some programmed Android.

An idea came to Jaxs just as he was about to give in to these creeps. Indeed, he must have moved his checkbook and receipts to his briefcase in the back closet. They could come with him if he could kindly ask to check there. He was sure that was where it was. Sometimes, he puts things there, too. He was never this absent-minded.

"Hey guys, I thought of another place I might have put it. My briefcase is in my bedroom. Can I check there? "Jaxs asked, hoping the two would be compassionate enough when he went to the back bedroom.

"Time is up. We have been more than patient with you, Mr. Stonewall. Out now!! Heinz, get him! "Lords pointed her long pink nails in Jax's direction.

"Let's go, Mr. Stonewall. You must get out now! "Heinz's blonde face suddenly was a bright crimson as if he had a significant sunburn.

"I cannot believe you guys are doing this! I pay my rent and six months at a time, and I know have receipts somewhere to prove-"That was the last Jaxs recalled saying as Heinze barreled one fist into his face, knocking him clear on the ground.
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Waking up in front of his apartment building, Jaxs could not believe what was happening in a matter of hours. Worse yet, he was with the rest of the homeless people. They were waddling around in a daze as if under some trance. Making it worse, the sun's intense rays beat down on this late summer day, the perspiration on his face trickling down his skin. Rubbing his jaw, still sore from Heinz's knock-out punch, his teeth felt as if they were a bit on the wobbly side. Dried blood caked his hands.

"Hey, man, do you have anything for me to eat or some money? "A scrawny middle-aged man with a grey beard and unkempt hair passed by, the stench of urine filling the air with his presence.

"Man, I have nothing for you here. If you know what's good, you will go somewhere. "Jaxs asserted, reaching in the back for his gun, forgetting it probably was left behind in the apartment.

"Man, look, I don't want no trouble. I was asking for food or money no need to be an asshole. I will leave you alone, brother. "Shuffling along the pavement, the fellow did not even have a decent pair of shoes. His filthy feet and toes poked through the tops of what once might have been a decent pair of sneakers at some point.

Realizing that it was a close call, Jaxs knew he had to get out of there. He could easily find another place to stay. After all, he was good for it. His stomach grumbled, a sure sign he needed to eat and soon. As the powerful sun beat down upon him, each passing second made him weaker and more tired. That lightheadedness turned into a full-blown bout of shakes. His sugar was low, and he had not taken his morning Diabetic medications.

Reaching into his pockets, he could find nothing more than some lint. His wallet with his ID, his Debit card, and cash were gone. Had Heinz and that shitty Property Manager clean him out. Fury festered inside him as the thought of being taken over by some corporate pigs and robbed blind brought vengeance to the forefront of his thoughts. He could not get up, though he was too weak, too tired, and now he was suddenly dehydrated.

The sun peaked over the middle of the sky. It was like gazing at a yellow shining star that radiated heat like an oven. His lips cracked with dryness. Not able to swallow, his throat was dryer than the desert. Rapidly, the shakiness increased, and his hands trembled as if he had a bad case of Parkinson's.

Walking up the sidewalk was the man from yesterday. This time, he did not look so rugged or dirty. In fact, he was dressed much like Jaxs used to be. In a nice pair of denim shorts and a crisp blue shirt, his eyes were a shiny bluish-green brushed neat and cut nice, his hair was a wavy blonde. A complete makeover from the horrible-looking individual from yesterday. But he knew it was him. He had the same ruddy cheeks and a clear bottle of whiskey in his left hand.

"Ah, friend, and here you are. Hmm, I told you you would regret your actions. "The man smiled, his teeth now sparkling white.

"What the fuck did you do? Are you a witch or something? Give me my fucking life back, you bastard. Or you will regret it. I promise it. "Jaxs threatened weakly as his voice wobbled from weakness.

"My friend, you are no longer a threat to anyone. Oh, by the way, I love how you decorate your apartment. It is so lovely. Get used to this heat because where you are going, this isn’t nothing. "Laughing, the old man spat on his face and walked off.

Jaxs tried to jump up and grab the man's legs, but he was way too quick for his diminished strength. The sun's blistering rays were showering every inch of Jax's skin. He watched in horror as his once radiant tan skin turned a lobster red. A tiny white blister popped all over the place, reminding him of some teenager having a significant breakout, though this was far worse. The intense heat drove into him, beating him relentlessly with no mercy.

Trying to breathe and survive desperately, hoping to get help somewhere, was cut short as the same group of people he looked down upon surrounded him. Cowering over him, blocking all the sunlight, their faces staring at him as he gasped for breath; it was as if they were feeding off him. There was the man who asked him for money a few minutes ago, his eyes a pitch-black dark all their eyes were like this. Their eyes reminded Jaxs of looking at oil spilling across the ocean. Opening their mouths, they breathed in the oxygen he could feel slowly as they pulled from him, draining everything he had. His cries were nothing more than whimpers as he slowly faded away. Clawing on the grass beside him, the dirt running through his fingers, he could feel the darkness surrounding him, cutting him off from the land of the living and reality. The last Jaxs could hear the boisterous laughter of the homeless.