Houston
Henry Houston was almost home. He noticed the homeless man coming toward him and suddenly felt uncomfortable. He had been hanging around on the block for the past few days. At least, he seemed like a homeless man. But you never knew for sure. The guy could be a thief waiting for the right moment. Should’ve moved out of the city years ago, Henry thought. After taking retirement.
Henry quickened his pace a bit, but at eighty-two years of age and toting a bag from the supermarket, the bit wasn’t enough. The homeless fellow caught up with him.
“Hey, Pop. Would you be Mr. Houston by any chance? My old biology teacher?”
Henry didn’t answer but kept going. The man walked by his side.
“Did you hear what I said, Pop? I’m Alex. Alex Mercer. Jefferson High. C’mon, man. You taught biology there twenty-five years if you taught a day.”
“Never heard of ya,” Henry said.
The man shook his head. “I think you have, Mr. Houston. You failed me. Then I had to repeat a year with you. Biology two years with the same fucking teach!”
Henry didn’t speak or stop walking.
“Remember saying I’d never amount to anything Mr. Houston? Remember, Pop? Well, I did. I’m something today.”
Henry looked more intently at the younger man. “What did you amount to?” he rasped. “What are you today?”
“I’ll tell you, Mr. Houston. But first I want to give my old teacher a gift. Something for a sizzling July day.”
Blood spurted in several directions and the feeble retired teacher dropped his paper bag of groceries as the former student rammed the ice pick up Henry’s nose. Staring into unblinking eyes, the stranger whispered sharply: “I’ve become a killer, Mr. Houston. That’s what I amounted to.”