Before the Devil shows

Though Malcolm wasn’t exactly a country bumpkin, he hadn’t grown up in a big city either.

There weren’t any sprawling farms or dirt roads near him. But there also wasn’t shit else to do around town.

They had built a movie theater a couple years back. Was owned by Magic Johnson- he came out for the opening, it was a big deal.

But like all things in Oarlito, the theater eventually got run down.

Too many people starting fights. Sneaking in alcohol. Sneaking in friends.

It had gotten closed down, and eventually turned into a neighborhood superstore for people to steal from.

Malcolm hadn’t been a bumpkin, but his Gramma had been. And he had spent most of his childhood years being watched by her.

His mom and dad were usually out working. Which was weird, knowing they didnt have steady jobs for most of those years.

But you can’t live life looking through your rear view.

His Gramma had taught him most everything he needed, except how to piss. On account of her not having a dick and all.

But everything else was due credit for her.

She had been gone for 8 years, but there wasn’t a day that went by that he didnt think of her. Or something she had said. She was always chock-full of wisdom nuggets, like most people her age were.

Malcolm had just finished a shift stocking merchandise at the discount auto store. And that was after he had spent the morning stocking fruits and vegetables at the grocery store. The work wasn’t bad at either spot. Work was never the problem.

It was the people.

The people in Oarlito were off. Something about this place just ate at you.

He was only 22 years old, but had known for years that something wasn’t right with the people here. Everybody was so high strung and eager to distrust you. Or looking to get one over on you.

Whatever it was, these people weighed heavy on you. Before either of his jobs would open, Malcolm could stock for hours with no worries. Listening to some tunes, time would fly by.

But as soon as those doors would open, the atmosphere would shift. He didn't even need to check his phone to know what time it was.

Just feeling his shoulders shift as his back tightened was enough to know. He could smell the resentment of the people in the air.

Which is why Malcolm was so psyched to be off of work. He had worked both jobs 8 days straight and finally had a couple of days off.

He was going to meet up with some coworkers at a party in Orangewood, have a couple drinks.

And then head home to crash. At least for a day. Then, he’d figure out his next moves.

But for now, it was time to cut loose.

The party wasn’t too far. Most of his coworkers had already been there for a couple of hours. The party would definitely be cracking by the time he showed up. Just had to swing by a liquor store and pick up a couple sixers.

On his way to the liquor store, his mind kept drifting. Mostly to thoughts of his Gramma. Probably because it was almost the anniversary of her passing. But the smell of cigarettes and coffee drifted through the air on the warm night, and he couldn’t help but think of her.

Never show up to a host’s house empty handed.

Another gem from her. Even if he was going to drink both packs himself, at least the gesture would be appreciated.

He pulled in front of Mike’s Liquor store. It was Saturday night, just before Midnight, so it was dead as usual. Two cars up front, Mike’s beat up Tacoma being one of them. Malcolm was pulling his Corolla up next to the truck when he noticed the other car.

There was an old Cutlass purring quietly.

Fuck me, that car is clean as hell. I haven’t seen a Cutlass since Brian.

His Uncle Brian had a similar car when Malcolm was younger. Dark brown with a tan top, always clean. He could still smell the Black & Milds and the cherry air freshener.

That was before his uncle had gotten shot. And the car got sold off to a junkyard.

The car sitting in front of Mike’s Liquor was murdered out- all black paint, blacked out rims. Shit, the tint was so dark he didn’t even see his reflection when he walked past it on his way in.

Smells like Black & Milds. Weird.

Ting-ting ting ting

“Malcolm, you JUST getting out? You later than usual, my mans.”

“Ayyyyy Big Mike. Yeah, bout to grab a couple of sixers and meet up with some homies.”

“Thass wassup man. You know where to find ‘em.”

Malcolm walked to the back of the store, past the knock off candy and the slushie machine. He could walk this shit with his eyes closed, how often he’d been coming here. Mike always had KROCK playing.

…DREAM OF CALIFORNICATIONNNN…

Malcolm enjoyed the numbness in this routine- classic rock, exhaustion, liquor. It was cheaper than seeing a doctor for his anxiety, that was for sure.

Nothing a routine couldn't help.

Not to mention the options. By god, he had tried them all. To be honest, they all tasted like shit. But he wasn’t drinking them for the taste.

Ting-ting ting ting

As Malcolm was scanning the aisle, the air on his arms pricked up a bit. He could feel the room grow stale.

Fuck it man, just grab something and get to the party.

He grabbed two cases of Hanger 24 and headed to the front.

The day felt off as soon as he had woken up, but he figured that was just the normal tired-of-working-my-life-away feeling he got when he hadn’t had a day off in a bit.

The feeling had grown stronger since he left work.

Malcolm walked to the front of the store, determined to kill a beer or three in the parking lot before he got to the party.

Anything to shake the feeling.

He turned the corner and headed towards the register when he realized the store had gotten quiet. The Chili Peppers had stopped singing about California.

And then he saw him.

A large man stood between the register and the entrance. He wore a black hoodie and dark denim pants, ironed to a crease that ran all the way down into his all black Nikes. His stubble was well past 5 o clock.

But it was the eyes that caught Malcolm’s attention.

They were… familiar. And it took him a moment to place them.

They were the same eyes he remembered looking into as a kid when he was learning how to make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Eyes that would always bring a smile to Gramma’s face, when he walked in.

Eyes that lost their sparkle after jail.

Eyes that Malcolm hadn’t seen since the pictures at his funeral.

And yet, here they were, staring back at him.

It was his Uncle Brian.

Malcolm almost dropped the beer, as his palms started to feel slick.

The man walked to the register, his eyes passing over Malcolm as he scanned the room.

“Ay man, hows it goin.”

“...getting by,” was all Malcolm could stutter out.

The man gave a half smile, a smile Malcolm had missed for many years. And yet… the smile was different. He remembered thinking about the smile for weeks, after he had heard his uncle died.

He had been murdered, shot down in the streets. The cops believed it had something to do with some prison beef, but they had never found the suspect.

Malcolm didn’t think they really cared.

Every year, on the anniversary of his Uncle’s passing, his family would meet at Gramma’s house and release yellow balloons for him, yellow being his mom’s favorite color. After Gramma had passed away, everybody stopped meeting up for the anniversary. But Malcolm still would release the balloons.

The balloons had notes scrawled on them, written from the family for Brian.

“Miss you, Unc”
“Everybody misses you out here Brian. Keep an eye on us.”
“Love you, dad”

And every year, the family watched the balloons float away to the same direction, regardless of where the wind was blowing. The family thought it was weird, joking that maybe heaven was just on the other side of the 10 freeway.

Over the years, Malcolm had started to have a different theory. These balloons weren’t finding their way to his uncle. No, these balloons were going elsewhere.

Malcolm believed the balloons were going towards the man who had killed his uncle.

The theory was stupid, he knew. But it didn’t stop him from hoping.

Hoping that these balloons found him. Something the cops couldn’t even do.

Hoping these balloons haunted him, were a harbinger that the man had grown to dread every year.

Malcolm had actually missed out on the family event the previous two years, too tied up trying to work himself into an early grave. But he had made it a point this year to send balloons out on the anniversary, late one night after work. And something got a hold of him, when it came time to sign the balloons.

I hope you get yours, mother fucker. Karma comes in heavy. Die slow.

He had watched the balloons drift away, his message never leaving him. Even after the balloons were long gone.

“Where you headed brother? A party?”

Malcolm snapped from his thoughts.

“I, uh, yeah. Im supposed to meet up with some friends, have a couple drinks. Nothing crazy.”

“You sure, big dogg? You see the time right?”

Malcolm glanced at the clock behind the register. 12:55

The fuck, how did it get so late?

“You know what they say. Always leave the party-”

“-before the devil shows,” Malcolm finished. “Yeah, I know.”

It was something his Gramma had always told him. When he was younger and had asked what it meant, his Gramma told him that “nothing good ever happens after midnight outside. After that hour, the devil is bound to come.”

“What about you? You, uh, you got a busy night?” Malcolm asked, not even sure he wanted to hear the answer.

“Yeah, I’ll be heading to a party soon, Just gotta take care of a couple things first. Maybe I’ll be seeing you around.”

“Yeah man. Maybe.”

“Just be careful, ol boy. These streets are crazy, always something going on. Gotta be careful… karma comes in heavy, you know?”

Malcolm left a sweaty twenty dollar bill on the counter, never looking away from the man.

“Yeah, you right. Who knows, I might just head home you know. Take it easy out there.”

The man grinned as Malcolm walked out, the scent of Black & Milds and cherry on him.

Malcolm threw the beer on top of the car and tried to unlock it, dropping his keys twice. He started the car, and jumped when he saw movement on the passenger side of his car from the corner of his eyes.

A yellow balloon was tied to the mirror. He rolled the window down and untied the balloon, letting it float away. He didn’t bother reading what was scribbled on it. He didn’t have to.

He knew his hand writing, and he knew what the balloon said.

As he left the parking lot, he forced himself to look in his rearview mirror towards the store, knowing he didn’t want to.

He saw a dark figure standing next to the Cutlass, holding a single yellow balloon.

His balloon.

Malcolm turned onto the street, heading home, his eyes glued to the road.