Kenny Pt. 1

    Kenny had been to the 'pen' one time and he sure as hell didn't want to go back.  The day he'd walked out of Walla Walla, a free man, all of twenty-one years old, he knew that he was a changed man.  Some thirteen years later, that way of thinking was about to change.

 As a kid Kenny had committed dozens criminal acts, mostly kid stuff, and mostley misdemeanors, and he’d only got caught once. 

    This he chalked up to stupidity.  He was only seventeen.  He and his buddy, Dwayne went into 7-Eleven for some smokes, and while inside the store, Kenny got thirsty for a case of Bud Light. With only a five dollar bill in his pocket, and not being old enough to actually purchase a case of beer, Kenny grabbed the beer from the cooler, and casually walked out the front door.  The young lady working behind the counter screamed for him to stop, but instead of stopping, Kenny just turned, flicked open his Zippo lighter, lit a cigarette and flashed the most evil, psychotic smile he could muster.  Kenny and Dwayne, both laughing, walked directly to the car.  Kenny tossed the beer in the back seat and began to hop in the drivers seat when the clerk came running out of the store.

    “Stop!“ the lady clerk said from just outside the convenience store door, once again, her voice tinted the color of fear.  She was probably somewhere in her thirty, twenty pounds over weight.  Her face was puffy from too much booze over a short life.

     Kenny stopped, slowly shut the door to the car, noticing for the first time that the clerk was holding a gun.

     Dwayne, stuttering, said, "Kenny let's get the hell out of here."

    “I called the cops,“ she said, her hands, the gun, shaking fiercely.

    “Is that right?” Kenny said, calm considering the store clerk was pointing a large hand cannon at him. “Why did you go and do that?”

    The question seemed to confuse the woman.

    “I mean, we just wanted some beer and smokes,” Kenny said, inching closer and closer toward the clerk.  “Is that such a crime?"

    “Stop, please,” the clerk weakly pled.

    “Haven’t you and some friends ever been thirsty on a Thursday night?  I’d bet your life that you have.”      

    Kenny had got within ten feet of the scared 7-Eleven clerk when a sudden explosion and the most intense pain that he'd ever experienced shot through his body.  He fell to the ground, his left leg a bloody mess.  A puddle of blood grew larger and darker underneath his faded jeans.

    To this day, Kenny still can't figure out why his only thought at the time was what a lucky son of a bitch he was to be alive.  Especially considering how scared the convenience store clerk was when she shot him.  Had she been steadier and whole lot less scared, she probably would have got a larger piece of him than just his leg.  The paramedics might have been hosing up chunks of his half blown head off of the parking lot concrete.

    “The fuck you shoot me for?” Kenny screamed at the clerk, but she didn’t say anything, shock setting in.

    Not only was the first and last time Kenny had been caught committing a crime, but it was the only time he’d been shot.

    Kenny had intended it to keep it that way on both counts.

    Yet, here he was, in the midst of a completely idiotic, and most likely, impossible crime.