So this is a short story i've been working on for awhile. Enjoy The man in the white wingedtip shoes. \tThe highway stretched off into the night. It was the spring of '76, and I was young and stupid . There was nothing left for me back home; daddy had beaten my brothers and me for as long as I can remember. My two older brothers, John and Aaron, had left home as soon as they could (Aaron faked his aged and got into the air force, John just up' an left one day when he was 15. I hadn't spoken to him in years). The Mississippi swelled from April showers to form a tremendous column, as if to wash away those turbulent days and nights. \tI was just a stupid kid who had fled his small town in Alabama in order to achieve what all stupid kids desired: money, drugs, excitement, and sex. I had traveled some 300 miles; down back country roads, two lane blacktop lined with deep red clay, and ancient roads of dirt and gravel. I had traveled with only a worn pair of sneakers and the clothes on my back, wanting nothing more then to start a new life somewhere far away from all those memories. \t I found very little trouble finding odd jobs here and there on the road to provide me with needed sustenance. I would buss tables here, work as a short order cook there, work a field when I could find one to be worked. But I just couldn't understand why people thought I should just take a bus to California. The whole damn world was rushing for no good reason, why should I? \t It was late one evenin' when I found myself walkin down long stretch of country highway, headin downtowards Biloxi where my brother Aaron was stationed at Keesler. I had just smoked the last of my pack and I itched for a smoke. It was on this cool Mississippi night I saw a stranger ridin up the highway in a fire red pickup with enough chrome to make the archangel Gabriel himself bow his head. The pickup slowed to a leisurely crawl next to me as the stranger furiously cranked the window down and a layer of stale cigarette smoke billowed out of the cab like Lucifer himself had opened up the gates of hell. He spoke with a strong southern twang in his voice, but without the genteelness of Rhett Butler. It cut like a punch-drunk hillbilly pullin out his knife at a card game and it got under your skin like little shards of glass. "where y'goin'?" the man stared me down, his breath thick with booze and sulfur and I felt my gut turn like striped out gears. "Shit buddy, jus' bout wherever you can take me. The man opened the door making it swung with a slight crack and I climbed inside. Part of me was afraid of taking a chance, but the other part of me was anxious to get out west. I was probably making a deal with the devil, takin this ride, but I was young and stupid. I looked round the cab and tried to get a good hold of my surroundings. the seats were upholstered in soft tweed and the lumicenst dial of the AM radio glowed softly as Willy nelson crooned slowly out of the speakers. "Crazy....Crazy for being so, lonely" I turned and took a good look at the man who had decided to join me for the night. He looked to be a mean sonbitch, but only if ya looked at 'em with the right set of eyes. He wore fresh polished white winged tip shoes, tight newly laundered Levi Strauss jeans, and a red and black buttoned up shirt with a pack of Marlboro's in the front pocket. He had thin lips and a thin face and he let his lips curl into an expression that'd take the paint off'a brick shithouse. His eyes were two empty stones, cast in lapis; cold without the slightest hint of empathy. His hair was a serpentine color black, cut into a mullet and slicked back with enough oil to qualify him to join OPEC. The man reached behind the steering wheel and slid the car into drive as the Ford lunged forward and I now became powerless to escape. The man in the white winged tip shoes glanced over at me, lookin like a fella who'd snorted a bit too much cocaine. In my nervous desperation which was creepin' over my body like a fever I ran my finger across my stubble, combing my whiskers the best I could. Travelin men such as myself often have a sixth sense when it comes to a bad situation, and the man in the white winged tip shoes gave me a funny feeling I couldn't quiet place. That dime of pot in my pocket burned hot against my leg as a dreary feelin washed over my body. Id've give anything for a smoke. The man darted over to me and began to mumble "Reach under the seat'n fetch me that bottle". Feelin underneath the bench seat of the ford, sure enough my fingers found the contours of a square bottle, and pulling it free I then saw I had I retrieved a bottle of rotgut whiskey. I kicked the bottle back, takin a mouthful of that awful, awful stuff. I just needed something to take my mind off the situation at hand, but that damn whisky fought every inch down my throat. "Goddammed draft dodging pussy, can't even handle a man's drink." I did my best to muster up the command to my voice "Hey man, let's uh, let's just get somethin to chase this with, alright? Here, go'head pull on over and i'll buy us a coke" The man sat quietly as I tried to read the lines of his face. His expression was enough to set you off; empty and blank without the slightest hint of empathy. His two blue eyes glowed from the reflection of the moon coming off that black top and he left me with a cold feeling in my gut. He looked like a mountain lion staring down a wounded doe. I squeezed out a shit eating smile and then popped the door open and calmly walked through the glass doors of the roadside store. On one hand I could bolt out the backdoor and leave this weird fucker, and never have to deal with'em again. But on the other hand I hadn't gotten a ride in four days in these backwoods of Mississippi. Every blister on my foot ached as I thought about hoofing it all the way down to Biloxi and my shoes were wearing thin from all the walkin I had done. I took a deep breath, and then wagered on the man in the white winged tip shoes. I came out shortly with a bottle of coke for us and he quickly drove off, flingin gravel and rocks all over the storefront. The man in the white winged tip shows lit up an unaffiliated Marlboro and then preceded to take a swig from the bottle rotgut. Roy Orbison sang softly from the speakers and he knocked back a chug of the coke before thrusting the bottle of whiskey into my hands. I had no hesitation about takin a swig of that god awful rotgut even as It washed over my body like I'd just gotten sucker punched by Joe Fraser. I did my best to hide my whiskey face, and preceded to chase it down with a mouthful of tobacco flavored coke. We rode down that Mississippi highway, drinking in silence as we seemed to go further and further into darkness. "I close my eyes\then I drift away\into the magic night\I softly say\A silent prayer\like dreamers do\then I fall asleep and see\my dreams of you" Seconds rolled into minutes as the ford hummed along the desolate highway. As we drank the whisky by the glow of the dash, I caught the eye of the man in the white winged tip shoes staring me down, his jaw clinched as his tendons strained gripping the wheel. His eyes pierced me, and I felt like I just took a cold drink of water. "You know what, yer really starting to piss me off," he growled from beneath grinding teeth. "It wouldn't take much for me, take you out somewhere and stab you in the gut. Fella such as yourself, they might not even know yer gone. ". "In dreams\I walk\with you. In dreams\I talk\to you" And here the situation changed gears on me. Something snapped inside the man and now I would bare the brunt of his anger. "Whoa whoa whoa, hang on man. Now what's wrong? we was having a good time brother. Let's just keep on drinkin our whiskey." "You wormy peice of shit, let me tell you what I thinks a good time. I was in Korea, back in 56. I fuckin picked my teeth with worthless piece of shit drifters like you". His eyes met mine and they pierced me as he pulled something out of his pocket. "You know what this is? This is rib off the first piece of shit i zero'd. Him'n his buddy, walkin down this pathway when they waltzed right past where we was camped. Pulled out my BAR, and caught'em right between his eyes. Blew open his skull and sprayed his brains all over his buddy. Fuckin Gook nearly shit his pants, screaming like a little worthless bitch. I put one in his gut, but the little shit bastard was still alive, so I sat his buddy up an went and made him watch me cut out his rib. He screamed his little gook head off, scared little bitch, so i took his buddies rib, and gorged out his eye with it. I always keep it in my pocket, case i'd ever need to kill some pussyshit son of a bitch. I've been savin it for just such an occasion." His knuckles were white with tension. I felt the lump in my throat grow three sizes bigger. "well why dont you pull over to a store and i'll get us some more cocola an we'll finish off that bottle and listen som' music and have us a good time" "Well why don't you pull over to a store and I'll get us some more coke an we'll finish off that bottle and listen som' music and have us a good time" "alright boy, but if you think about runinn, I'll be right behind you. I wont hesitate for a goddamned second to fucking gut you like the spineless piece of shit you are. One less lowlife cock sucking drifter in this shithole of a world of ours." I feigned a smile as I tried to regain some composure. I reached for the handle as he pulled into the lot of a little store tucked off the highway. I opened the door then climbed out of the truck putting both feet firm on the gravel parking lot as I tried to maintain. Pushing open the glass doors of the stores, I looked around real quick to check for any other customers then quickly shut them and clicked the small lock. I could see the Cashier looking nervous, probably thought I was there to rob him. I walked up to him and put both hands flat out on the counter "I can't leave this place till that motherfucker out there goes". The man behind the counter was withered with old age, his arms stained with faded Navy tattoos. His hair was white and looked as if he'd tried to comb it back, but failed miserably. "Good Goddamn son, look like you've seen a ghost. Whatsa'matter with ya?" "Its...its That crazy son of a bitch... out there...he..he wants my head" The man peered over the counter from behind racks of cigarettes and rolling papers and said "What'd you do, fuck his wife?" "Nah man, he's just a loose screw or somethin. Guy aint right in his head man. " "Stop yer cursin son, this is a family establishment. Now you say that man out there wants to hurt you, well I'ma be dammed if some hot blooded sombitch gonna run things in my store. I'll keep the door locked till he leaves then you gotta go and don't you ever come back here bringing trouble to my store, you understand?" I nodded quickly, and right on cue the man in the white winged tip shoes exited his truck and walked to the door, yanking on them roughly like a madman. You could see the rage explodes in his eyes when he figured out what had happened, and he began to stalk back and forth like a tiger. The man behind the counter grasped the burl wood handle of a pump-action shotgun. His eyes darted between me and the man as he let his finger trace over the trigger slowly. I swallowed hard and grit my teeth, afraid of the showdown transpiring before my very eyes. The man in the white winged tip shoes stared us down, with a look that would shatter glass. His face was calm, but his eyes made you feel his furry. The cashier walked from behind the register, the shotgun in hand as he stared the man down. The air in the store turned thick, when all of a sudden the man in the wingtip shoes up and left, leaving a trail of burnt rubber and dust. A weight lifted off my chest and I reached into my pocket and took it the last of my money I had saved from busing tables in Anniston, and I bought a new pack of Parliaments. Stepping outside the store I pulled a smoke from the pack and lit one up as I watch the sunrise over the tree line. I turned my back to it and looked out west, I had never wanted a smoke so bad in my entire life.