Bloodstained Quarters by Elwyn VJ Roth

Bloodstained Quarters by Elwyn VJ Roth

The door to the warehouse hung open, letting in harsh sunlight; drifting to cover up every shadow in the building and heating up the concrete from its usual soothing cold state. A sideways slot machine with a cracked screen flickered error messages erratically as it lay across the path to the entrance, creating an obstacle to leave. There was only one person inside the building, a teenager sat alone. He was surrounded by upright, working machines and quarters scattered around him. He held one bloodstained quarter in his hand, moving it around his deeply cut palm as if that would do anything except make the quarter dirtier and make his hand hurt more. It wasn’t a solution but he had no idea how to fix this.

The two brothers got out of the decrepit Mazda, both backseat doors slamming behind them. The driver’s window cranked open slowly, a calloused hand offering a roll of quarters, still sealed. One of the brothers, Mikey, snatched the coins from his dad’s hand, shoving them deep inside his jean pockets. The hand retreated.

“Jace, keys?” The dad asked, hand on the window crank and starting to roll the window closed before hearing an answer.

Jace didn’t look up, “I got ‘em. I know what I’m doing.”

“Make sure Mike doesn’t get into trouble,” was the last thing said before the car peeled away, kicking up dust at the brother’s faces.

Jace paced between rows of machines, looking for the ones they had been assigned to playtest. Their dad had given him a list of games, he had actually taken the effort to write out a list which Jace was pretty sure was a first for their dad. He hadn’t even known their dad was capable of the basic organizational skills of making a list, but apparently, work brought out new skills that grocery shopping or any other necessary outing for their family could not. Work was always prioritized to the point that their dad had incorporated some element of his work into every single time he was in charge of them. That hadn’t changed as they grew up; he just trusted them to handle it on their own now. Really, he just trusted Jace to handle it. This just went to show how important this was. Jace could not afford to mess this up, which meant that he would have to make sure Mikey didn’t fuck everything over. A tall order.

“Why are we still here?” Mikey whined, leaning against the machine nearest the locked door.

Jace sighed, “Don’t lean against the equipment, it’s worth more than you. And you would know why we were here if you had listened on the drive over here instead of just staring out the window the entire time.”

Mikey propped up his foot and back against the machine, leaning more, probably out of spite, the little bastard. “I know what dad said, I’m asking why we’re still here if you have the keys,” he said.

Jace’s hand moved towards his pocket, double-checking he still had the keys. Once reassured and confirming Mikey hadn’t taken them, he offered a “Don’t be difficult. We can leave when dad comes and picks us up, just get to work.”

The first time Jace had ever been asked to help out with the machines was before Mikey learned to talk, or what Jace would call “the peaceful times” whenever he was in front of his brother, just to make sure Mikey knew how much of a nuisance he could be. Mikey knew, there was no doubt about that. That was the only thing he managed to get through his thick skull. Mikey was annoying and Jace knew he was doing it on purpose.

The “peaceful times” were never as peaceful as he liked to pretend, they just were before he started and then promptly stopped fighting. It was before Jace learned how to stand up for himself, a lesson he forgot as soon as he realized Mikey was never going to learn.

When he was 6 years old, their mother had approached him in the kitchen. He knew that their dad wanted to take him to work and he was considering this idea with something akin to wonder. As a kid, he looked up to his dad, until the genuine admiration was beaten out of him. He admired his dad for too many years, and Mikey probably thought he still did.

“He takes work seriously, Jace,” his mom had said.

He probably had brushed it off with some phrase of excitement he couldn’t remember saying.

“Listen to me. He takes work more seriously than anything else. Your father is a forgiving man at home, he won’t be forgiving at his workplace. His employment is at stake if you don’t listen to him very carefully. I don’t want you to get in trouble,” she had placed both hands on his shoulders and squatted down to his eyeline to make sure the message had sunk in.

It hadn’t that time. He didn’t understand what she meant until after the first time he had majorly messed up. It took seeing the consequences to really understand the situation and he would never let Mikey learn the same way he had.

Jace glanced at the poorly handwritten list, squinting at the title of the first machine. Cod Catchers. At least a fish-themed one wouldn’t be the most annoying slot to deal with in the world. He combed through the aisles, finding it near the back. “Mikey!” He called out.

No response.

“Mikey! Get your ass back here!”

Perfect. Now he would have to go back through that labyrinth and get those quarters from Mikey. He shouldn’t have let Mikey grab them, not that he really did with how fast his younger brother had done so. He shouldn’t have let Mikey keep them, not when he didn’t understand why they needed to get this shit done. Mikey would never understand how important it was that they keep dad happy. He never had to take that role, never had to hear the grinding teeth and strained whisper voice that meant a lot of pain and tears were incoming. That was Jace’s job after all because Mikey would just goof off near the front instead of putting in the required effort.

Jace was half as tall as the slots the first time he saw them. He couldn’t even see the displays to note if they were working or not. Their dad had accounted for that; he brought the blue footstool with painted yellow ducks on it from the bathroom at home. He also had brought Jace a baseball cap with the company logo to wear, to make things more “official”. The cap was way too big for Jace’s head, even as tight as it could go. Their dad had confiscated it as soon as he determined it would just distract Jace.

“Tell me the rules again,” their dad said.

Jace glanced up at the metallic ceiling of the warehouse that seemed incomprehensibly far away as he tried to remember. He was not listening in the car, instead, tracing doodles into the scratchy seats of their dad’s new Mazda.

Their dad sighed, “You couldn’t have forgotten already. Listen this time Jace, we are at my workplace and I need you to take this seriously.”

Jace nodded.

“The rules are stay by me, don’t leave the warehouse, don’t get hurt, and don’t damage anything that you don’t own.”

Jace nodded again.

“The better you listen, the quicker we’ll get to leave. If you don’t give me a reason to be upset, we’ll get ice-cream on the way home,” their dad said.

Mikey was still leaning against the machine, arms crossed in front of his too-big hoodie that Jace knew for a fact used to be his. “Stop screaming, the echo is annoying,” Mikey said.

“I’m not screaming, I was calling for you,” Jace clenched his jaw. He stared at Mikey who stared back before holding out a hand. “Quarters. And stop leaning.”

Mikey shrugged.

“Give me the quarters.”

Mikey just glared.

“Dude, just give me the fucking quarters.”

“No,” Mikey said.

Jace crossed his arms, “I don’t care what you do, I’ll do this myself. Just give me the quarters.”

“I’ll give you the quarters if I can leave,” Mikey took the roll of quarters out of his pocket, holding it tauntingly.

There was no way in hell that was happening. This was not a negotiation and Jace would be in so much trouble if Mikey left. He would have to take the quarters for himself.

Jace lunged at Mikey’s hand, grabbing for the quarters.

Mikey sprung backward, pushing his full body against the machine.

The machine started to tip backward, past its balance point. It was going down.

Jace dove for it, despite knowing that it was too heavy for him to pick up. His hands ignored the quarters that Mikey dropped, instead reaching to cradle the machine’s screen. Hopefully, he could at least save that.

The glass shattered against his hand as it crashed into the stiff concrete. The quarters behind him rung as if they were 40 individual bells being struck as they bounced then rolled away.

Jace’s ears were ringing as he stared back at his dad in horror. The screaming had stopped as soon as that punch flew. And now it was quiet.

“You shouldn’t have made me take it this far,” his dad’s voice was hushed, a cold that stung more than the bruise forming on Jace’s jaw. This tone was dangerous, signaling that the anger was still there. At least with the yelling matches, those died down as soon as physical contact was made. The fact that his dad was still in the room and was still mad was not a good sign.

Jace had really fucked up this time. He hadn’t meant to, he just wanted to get a drink from the nearby gas station during his play-testing shift at the warehouse. It was so hot in that warehouse during the summer, especially with the door shut. He had locked up and everything when he left. But timing was not on his side and his dad had returned before he did.

“I can’t trust you anymore,” his dad said.

Jace looked down, nodding. Better to agree with his dad and try to fix this. He needed to prove that he was still the responsible one before they got back into that car and headed home. Because if he didn’t, Mikey would be the one in his place.

“Jace?” Mikey broke the silence that had fallen after the machine.

Jace stared at the machine, still plugged in but now instead of digital representations of fruits and dollar signs, the display was just showing a flashing red system error message. He glanced down at the chunks of glass embedded in his palm. The red of the display was brighter than the red of his hand. Maybe that meant the machine could still be saved.

“You’re bleeding,” Mikey said, swallowing after, “are you okay?”

Jace grabbed the keyring out of his pocket with his uninjured hand, “Get out.”

“I didn’t mean for it to fall,” Mikey said, his voice quiet.

Jace held the keys out to Mikey, “Get out.”

“I was being a dumbass. I’ll tell dad it’s my fault,” Mikey moved to take some glass out of his brother’s palm.

That couldn’t happen. That would mean Jace had failed at keeping Mikey out of trouble. Mikey had never really faced consequences for his actions and this wasn’t a great place to start. Hell, Mikey hadn’t even really seen what happened after their dad stopped yelling, when the metallic snap of his belt buckle was louder than his scolding voice.

Jace slapped Mikey’s hand away with the keys, “Don’t you fucking dare say anything to dad. You hear me? Are you listening now or are you going to ruin anything else?” He looked away from his palm to stare into Mikey’s rapidly blinking away teary eyes.

Mikey nodded, “I’ll shut up.”

“Good. Now get out and if you say a word about this to dad, I’ll kill you,” Jace held out the keys again.

Mikey took them and fled as quickly as he could. He left the warehouse door open.

* * * * THE END * * * *
Copyright Elwyn VJ Roth 2024