The Bijoux

There was no stopping once it started, the inertia of their actions tapping into an unseen energy source, the velocity slowly ratcheting up as he felt two hands becoming four, this pair of muggers dancing around him.

"Hey faggit...you late" they taunted, sealing that deal.

Grabbing at his shirt it ripped open as if made of paper, now jerking him across that alleyway, that pair of madmen fed in a frenzy on such easy prey, each blow aimed for effect, any response from Jack solely defensive and finally ineffectual, knocked to the ground and pounded with feet choreographed to a rhythm he couldn't hear.

"Nooo, no....stop!" he pleaded, knowing this had to play out.

Jack had turned toward the door, slamming it shut as he did every night after leaving Chester back in the booth, those two hours always speeding by quickly, turning toward Main Street thru that side street to hop his bike for that long ride back home.

There was never anyone who took notice of him slipping through that doorway, the stillness of the alleyway lulling him into another zone, free of the cacophony of those films, the hollow echoes of canned dialog punctuated by gunfire and squealing wheels, the creaking of canisters pried open for that next reel to be unspooled, inane lullabies and ditties hummed tunelessly by Chester under his thick breath.

That dog never paid him any mind, intent on his explorations, digging deep thru those bags of trash but as often as not long gone by the time he exited, so Jack named had him "Dougie", but the most engagement were their wary stares whenever they passed in the half light of that alleyway.

"Give it up, pup", those boys clearly just in it for one thing.

The envelope that Mr. Kimmel had palmed him earlier had been in his back pocket, luckily he wasn't carrying a wallet or wearing a watch, so in frustration that beating went on longer than it might have, his own keys not opening that back door so he was frisked again, his pants slipping down over his hips in the process as they pawed thru every pocket.

"So you don't wanna play with the Big Boys, punk!!??"

That last kick landed squarely on his shoulder, his last memory of that fight as he rolled over onto his back, unconscious.