Page 1 of Right Up His Alley

I’m not a criminal, but you wouldn’t believe it by the fleet of Travis County police officers surrounding my building like I just kicked off a citywide manhunt. There’s a gun pointing at my chest. The metal glistens in the rising morning sun, waking me up faster than any large cup of coffee ever could.

I wish I could say this is the first time I’ve started my day off like this.

Unfortunately, it’s not.

But I’m most definitely not a criminal.

“Mr. Jiménez, step away from the front door, and slowly walk to the car with your hands up,” a loud, boisterous voice booms in a megaphone.

The elderly couple from the bakery next door peek their heads out, wondering what commotion is taking place. When their eyes land on me, their lips turn up in a sad smile, pity lingering in their expressions. They’ve seen this before.

“Mr. Jiménez!” the male cop barks again.

My cheeks flame red with equal amounts of embarrassment and anger. This is what I get for being a productive member of society and going to work.

With my hands raised above my head, I walk away from the front door to my building and straight toward the cops…

…who burst out in laughter the moment they see me because I look less like a dangerous suspect breaking and entering and more like a guy checking in for his regularly scheduled misunderstanding. My hands instantly drop back down to my side, and I murmur a curse under my breath.

“What was that, Jiménez?” Officer Hansley laughs, and a few officers I’ve never seen before follow suit. They must be his new trainees. Why the fuck he thought I’d be their guinea pig is beyond me, but I’ve somehow become the rookies’ first test.

“Mrs. Barnes again?” I sigh, shoving my hands into my jeans pocket. My pants sag, reminding me I’m in desperate need of an updated wardrobe. Except wardrobes require money, and I’m in short supply of that these days.

Thanks to the building looming behind me.

“Who else?” He shrugs. “And it’s a slow morning. Thought I’d bring the new recruits out to demonstrate what we would do for an actual break-in.”

I incline my head toward a redheaded officer. “Seems a bit extreme. Is he holding a real gun?”

“Yeah.” Officer Hansley must see the horror that flashes across my face. “The safety’s on, though. Right?” He directs that question to the redheaded recruit.

“Affirmative.” The redheaded recruit nods, though his eyes drift to the safety with trepidation.

“See? No harm, no foul.” Officer Hansley slaps the gun-holding recruit on his back. He grimaces but quickly schools his features into amusement. There definitely was harm done, which was nearly giving me a heart attack and disturbing my peace, which he obviously finds comical. I don’t say these things though because I just want them gone.

“That Mrs. Barnes don’t like you one bit, kid,” Officer Hansley says, rather unhelpfully.

The thing is, Mrs. Barnes is actually a lovely woman, one I often help with closing her antique shop at night. Just like the items she sells, Mrs. Barnes is old, well past her prime. Her daughter has been trying to get the woman to retire for ages now, but she claims, if she retires, she’ll only die that much quicker. Not sure that is solid logic, but Mrs. Barnes seems to believe it is.

Unfortunately, her tenacious attitude constantly puts me in this predicament. She likes to think of herself as the plaza guard, which would be fine if it wasn’t for her forgetfulness. Mrs. Barnes is a creature of habit and was used to seeing my father open up his business—the family bowling alley—every day until his death a year ago. Although Mrs. Barnes mostly knows who I am, she doesn’t remember that I took over running the alley.

Hence the almost monthly police calls.

It’s like she knows I don’t belong in the alley. That I’m an imposter trying to fill the shoes of a man who put everything he had into the alley. This place was my father’s dream, one I feel compelled to keep going even after his death. My father instilled in me the values of hard work and never giving up, which is the exact reason I’m here, to keep part of my father alive. For me, sure, but mainly for my mother, who lost her soulmate of sixty years. It’s the least I can do after everything they’ve done for me growing up.

“Not to be rude, but do you think you all could leave now?” Sweat prickles on the back of my neck. It’s an unusually hot morning in Pflugerville, and escaping into the bowling alley’s AC—though shitty—is appealing.

A few of the unnamed recruits meander back to their police car, fighting over the seating situation. Officer Hansley gives me a curt nod. “Thanks for letting my guys practice on ya, Ezra. Really appreciate it.”

I don’t say I had no choice in the matter because I doubt he’ll care, so I simply nod. “Always happy to help,” I deadpan. I’m never happy to help, and I hope they don’t come back for practice anymore.

“See you soon, Mr. Jiménez.” With that, the last of the cops scrambles into their cars, easing the tension I’m holding in my shoulders. They drive off the lot, lights flashing every which way. I’m finally left alone, but now I’m ten minutes late for opening.

Not like Spare Time sees a lot of customers these days, so opening late wouldn’t make a difference either way. I’m lucky if I see a few families a day. People stopped coming around shortly after my father died last year.

We were closed for over a month as a bereavement period, during which we buried my father, consulted with lawyers about appealing lapsed life insurance policies, and discussed what to do with the alley. My mother didn’t want to let it go, and honestly, I didn’t either, even if I don’t want to be the one running it. Losing this place would feel like losing my father and her husband all over again.

As the only son, the responsibility falls on my shoulders.