He took a seat beneath a dim, flickering street light. The smell of exhaust and restaurants was strong, and the cool breeze on the warm night carried it for miles. Very few people stopped to drop money into his hand, and after a long two hours he receded into the alleyway. The darkness of the alley was accompanied by only a few streaks of light from passing cars. He walked over to the dumpster behind the Mexican Village restaurant and used a metal pole to pry it away from the building, exposing a trap door. He opened it and proceeded below the street.
Jackson Herer found this place when he was just a little kid, and used to come here when his parents were beating him or doing heroin. Throughout about 20 years, Jackson has filled and furnished the 18x18 room with all of his belongings. He dropped out of school when he was 14 and has never worked a day in his life. He laid down on the dirty, torn up mattress sitting on the ground. He took a couple hits off of a marijuana cigarette and passed out while eating a sub from Subway.
Anyone can tell by looking at Jackson that he is homeless, but he is lucky to be able to stay clean and healthy with shelter and running water. He has a long beard with a mix of light and dark grey hair. He wears a Detroit Tigers baseball hat on his head and a pair of cracked prescription glasses. He has few pants and even fewer shirts, they’re all old and torn up with a dirty color. His shoes are hardly being held together by super glue, he’ll have to find a new pair soon.
Jackson woke up the next day feeling refreshed. He took a cold shower, and put his dirty, old clothes on. He finished off the joint he had lit the night before, and set out to get some breakfast. He stopped by the local Denny’s and grabbed a few slices of french toast with bacon and sausage along with a tall glass of orange juice. After leaving, Jackson walked around the city for a few miles, enjoying the warm summer day. At the intersection of Brush Street and Madison Street he stumbled upon something unique. Sitting behind a bench was a Smith & Wesson .45. Jackson took it without thinking and headed back to his room. He was about half way home when he noticed someone following him, he took some quick turns and blended in with a crowd and lost the dark looking man.
Back at his room he tried to think of possible reasons someone would be following him. The only thing he could think of was the gun, so instead of leaving it at the room like he was planning, he took it with him. He went and sat in front of Mexican Village, hoping for some money. No money at all came in the four hours he sat there, it was at the end of that four hours though that the man from earlier that day came up to him.
“Are you Jackson?” The black man asked.
“Yes I am, what can I do for ya?”
“I think you have something of mine, and if you give it to me now you won’t have to die”
“Take it, I don’t want no trouble,” Jackson said as he sneaked the gun to the man. He quickly got up and went back to his room to be safe, but on his way the man gave him another visit. Coming at him with a knife, Jackson was stabbed. He was able to hold off the man and pull the knife out to stab the man in the chest, killing him. He took the knife and rubbed all his prints off and all the blood off and dropped it. He continued back to his room being sure not to leave a blood trail.
When he got back to his room he couldn’t believe what he had just done. He was nervous that the other black gang members would come after him. Jackson started to panic and pack his clothes and belongings in case he had to leave in a hurry. He stayed in his room knowing that he would be safe since no one would be able to find it, but he was wrong.
Shortly after laying down to go to sleep, Jackson heard the dumpster above the door being moved. He rushed to grab his things then took a knife from on top of his dresser. He placed himself right beside the ladder and waited. The man swung the door open and went down the ladder. Jackson took the knife and slit the man’s throat as he hopped onto the floor. “S***…” Jackson said while looking at the teenager that he had just killed. The kid didn’t have a weapon or anything, just a backpack full of notebooks and textbooks. He must have seen Jackson go down into the room, following him to see what’s down there.
Jackson wanted to get the hell out of there. He left and got onto a bus taking it as far as he could get away from there. He got just outside of the city and used the little money that he had to get a motel room. It wasn’t nice at all, there was mold and bugs everywhere. He woke up the next morning around 5am and called an uber to take him back to his room because all he wanted to do was die. He could hardly handle the fact that he killed someone and a kid. When he got back to his room there were two black men waiting outside Mexican Village, just waiting for him. Jackson Went into the alley and the men followed him. “We’ve been waiting for you, Mr. Herer,” one of the men said.
“I’m ready to be killed,” Jackson said feeling much regret. “I’ve done something I shouldn’t have.” He backed up to the wall and the two men pulled out their guns and unloaded a full clip each into Jackson.