True Story: The Beat Down, Part 1

Categories: True Story

Thumbnail image for Thumbnail image for Thumbnail image for Thumbnail image for Thumbnail image for Thumbnail image for Thumbnail image for truestorypic.jpg
Jack Grisham

[Editor's Note: Jack Grisham is an author, hypnotherapist, T.S.O.L. front man and all-around troublemaker. His weekly column,True Story, may or may not be factual, with characters who may or may not be real.]

"You don't know what I deal with--the fucking human waste that I wade through every night. I can't sleep. It's fucking killing me, Laura."

"Oh, fuck you--it's always you. What about us; what about your fucking son? He used to be proud of you, and now I hear him laugh when he tells his friends what you do."

He buttoned his shirt--dark blue over a white tee and a protective vest. He checked his service revolver and picked up his keys.

"Maybe you should think about living somewhere else until you get a grip on your head. You need to see somebody, Frank; I don't know who, but I'm done."

He took her comment like he attempted to take the world: as though it couldn't hurt him if he ignored it--brushed it off his back and left it where it lay. But the stench of the world followed him, and her comment rode him rough to the car, a black­and­white sitting in the driveway, waiting to begin its night.

His first call was a 415, which rolled into a domestic­ violence beef--a couple of tweakers had gotten into it over nothing, as far as he could tell, a woman crying about some girl named something who'd taken something and fucked her old man. Jesus. He looked the "old man" over: He had more fingers than teeth, and the scars on his face outnumbered the cars on a highway--he was a walking disease. Frank had tuned the woman out as she complained.

His attention was drawn to a small child in dirty clothes--a young boy too old to be sucking his thumb standing near the wall, bouncing his head off the plaster.

"Are you listening, man?"

"Yeah, I'm listening," Frank said. "Here's the deal: If you tell me he hit you, he goes with me. But I'm looking at those scratches on his neck, and he says you grabbed him, so you both go--and the boy," Frank nodded toward the child, "he goes to CPS. So what'd you wanna do?"

Sponsor Content

Now Trending

Upcoming Events

From the Vault