Ignorance is Theft

Chapter 14

Trent made the walk back to his apartment in a daze. Every loose slap of his feet on the pavement shook away any memory of his good mood. He couldn't admit that how badly he was conflicted over Erin's heartrending sobs, so he shut down his mind and thought of nothing. At least he tried.

By the time he turned onto his street, Trent was nearly running from the echo of those sobs. He hit the front door with a thud, and took the stairs to the basement two steps at a time. He slammed the door to his apartment shut behind him, staring at the sleeping shapes scattered around his room. No one budged an inch, except for Dave who was cooking happily on the stove.

Trent hurried toward the corner, needing to be around someone that wouldn't judge him on what happened in the parking lot. Or someone that didn't know.

“I can't believe you're awake.” Dave was in shock at the sight of him.

Trent took a moment to study what Dave was doing. The stove had never been used.

“I can't believe that works,” he tried to mock back, but his voice came out as a croak. “I went and got us some food, but you beat me to it.”

A pan on the stove held two eggs, sizzling and popping in grease left over from the bacon that sat on the counter next to Dave. The smell alone had Trent salivating, and he couldn't take his eyes off the boiling grease and the eggs hydroplaning on top of it.

“What?” Dave asked.

“I know I didn't have any of that.”

“Figured we could use some food. Got it at Bailey's yesterday, and hid it behind some crap in the fridge. We're almost outta alcohol, by the way.”

“S**t,” Trent said as he looked around for liquor, suddenly getting serious. That was a real problem, as opposed to the lack of food in his apartment. All he found was a six-pack of beer with just two bottles left. He took one.

“Well, how do we get more?” Dave asked. He was eager to fix the problem rather than sit and cuss about it.

Trent slammed the bottle cap against the counter and watched it flutter behind the microwave. “We just gotta run over to Bailey's. It may be difficult with Bailey passed out on the floor, though.” He nodded to the man with his head stuck in the microwave at their feet. Neither of them had given the fat man a second look, even though they had to step over him to reach the stove.

Dave smiled to himself over the pan of eggs at the unwavering gaze Trent shot at the bacon. “Get yourself some bacon, man. You look hungry enough to eat that bottle. Eggs'll be up in a few minutes.”

Trent had ate his fill of the food from Charlie's, but he couldn't pass up the opportunity to eat something that wasn't cooked in a fryer. He grabbed the top two slices of bacon before the words left Dave's mouth. Trent closed his eyes as the bacon crackled over his tongue.

Dave watched the kid shove two more pieces into his mouth and wondered what everyone normally ate. He could see months going by with nothing but junk food and whatever was bleeding grease through the paper bag on the counter. And they called this the height of civilization.

“Well, when ya wanna get to Bailey's for more alcohol? I could use somethin' to drink while I'm cookin', and beer ain't gonna cut it. We ain't gotta wait for him to wake up do we?” He almost felt bad as Trent's eyes inched open at the interruption of his eating.

“We gotta find a way in. We locked the door when we left yesterday.” Trent shrugged, perfectly content to sit around and eat bacon until the fat storekeeper came out of his coma.

The bum looked at the guy passed out on the floor a few feet away. “Not a problem. Get us a joint or somethin' to smoke and I'll shut this s**t off.”

Trent shrugged in acceptance that the drifter knew how to pick locks. Either that, or he would pull off some masterful act of burglary and teleport into the store. He actually wanted to see Dave in action. The old man surely knew a few tricks, and Trent wanted to pick them up.

“I'll be right back.” With that he ran into his room, and skidded to a stop on the threshold. As hectic as the living room was, his room was somehow peaceful without the people draped all over it. It was a lot dirtier after his acid trip, but it couldn't have been anything else. It felt like a sanctuary all the same. Unlike the dim living room with its flickering yellow bulb, his room was as bright as the sunlight streaming through his tiny window could make it.

Sandy was still lying on his bed. Her golden hair caught the sunlight, and somehow lit up the rest of her body. Very little of that body was hidden by the blanket that had half-fallen on the floor. His eyes goggled at her; this was the girl he had spent the night with. Lex might have had a chance with her, and that was a big might. Just how drunk had she been? He wondered how much trouble he was in when she woke up.

He crept across the room on his tiptoes to hold off waking her. Upon reaching his smoking mirror, he picked up the bag of weed and the pack of papers and replaced what he had in his pockets with it. He didn't need anything just to break in to Bailey's.

He turned to flee the room as quickly and quietly as possible, but couldn't help turning one last time to stare in admiration at the woman lying on his bed. He sucked a deep breath to snap out of the impulse to climb back in bed with her. The bedroom door closed quietly behind him.

Dave was smoking a cigarette and kicking at Bobby's foot. Bobby hated being woken up more than anything in the world, and was thus the only person to get woken up on a regular basis. The blond stoner responded every few seconds with a moan and a sleepy kick of his own, but he was too far gone in sleep to wake up and fight back.

“Ready?” Dave laughed at the look on Trent's face when he entered the room.

Trent nodded and followed the older man out the door. Upon exiting the building Trent froze; he was never ready for the sunlight. Even when he had just been out in it just moments before. He cursed loudly.

“Hell's wrong with you?” Dave's voice echoed around the gleaming street.

Trent felt his face relax, and realized he had been thinking about his earlier trip out of the building. And Erin. He was free of that, and a smile slid upward with the thought. He looked at Dave, but didn't say anything. He could feel the strange giddy sensation that had been with him most of the morning struggle to come back.

“Weirdo,” Dave started off across the street and down the block. Trent blinked wildly in the sunlight and followed along behind him, squinting, but smiling.

Trent ran through a complaint in his mind about how Dave didn't seem to be bothered in the least by how bright it was. The bum had all the luck. He wasn't even hungover.

Trent caught his companion at the door to Bailey's. The old bum fished around in his pocket and came out holding a tangled mass of keychains. There were two little trolls, countless logos, and even an undersized set of fuzzy handcuffs. Trent recognized it: They were Bailey's.

“What the--,” Trent huffed.

“What?” Dave asked in confusion as he pushed the door open.

Trent opened his mouth to say that even he could have stolen the key from Bailey. But embarrassingly all that came out was an indignant squawk.

Both of them heard the beeping that signaled the impending noise of an alarm system neither would have suspected Bailey of having. After an extremely brief glance they dashed in to the store. But the way they moved was completely opposite to the way the other moved.

Dave's every stride was controlled, guaranteed to carry him within arms reach of something he wanted. First the alcohol, then a few cartons of cigarettes, and a passing snag for a bag of chips with the final two fingers that weren't burdened by the armful of goods he accumulated in mere seconds.

Trent ran through the store in a blind panic. He grabbed some gummy bears, a container of sour cream, a twenty ounce of diet RC Cola, whatever his fingers could reach without fumbling it to the floor.

The alarm screamed through the store without warning, and Trent jumped a foot off the ground at the Banshee-worthy wail.

“S**T!” He couldn't hear his own scream as Dave disappeared out the front door. The sour cream splattered to the floor when his feet slipped on the slick tiles. He left it, following Dave out the door, and took off down the street in the opposite direction. They could do without sour cream, he figured.

Author's Note

this chapter has always seemed a little bland to me for some reason, definitely looking for some way to spice it up. Any and all ideas welcome. Thanks