The Purple Hyacinth by Ashley Schroeder Carlos It had been a long day. I couldn’t believe that I had let Brutus talk me into helping him with his rooftop garden for the whole afternoon! I really needed a drink, but once Brutus heard where I was going, he decided to tag along too. I love the guy, but sometimes I need a break from the constant pop culture fun facts and gardening tips. I started trying to let him down gently, but one look at his face and I couldn’t say no. I don’t understand how a guy who looks so intimidating can have the most pitiful and heart wrenching puppy dog eyes in the world. So, there we were sitting at the bar, Brutus sipping on his kitty cocktail (which I still found hilarious that that was his first choice of drink whenever we went out) and me on my beer. A whole day of gardening had been way too relaxing, and I needed something exciting to get my blood pressure up. I live for the thrill of fighting! I had specifically chosen this bar because I could always get a rise out of someone here. That’s probably why Brutus insisted on coming along. He really didn’t enjoy the fact that I was in a fist fight just about every other day. He hated it when I got hurt, so he was always trying to tag along to keep me from aggravating other people. When I did start a fight, though, he would always make me see Margaret afterwards to make sure I was ok. Ugh, Margaret! That witch is going to be the death of me! Margaret, or Maggie as Brutus calls her, is a 70-something year old woman that lives two floors down in Brutus' nice apartment building. She was a nurse in the army a long time ago, so I guess that makes her qualified to fix me up, but that didn’t mean I was happy about seeing her. That old crone was always bugging me about being “stupid” and “reckless” and “always getting Brutus into dangerous situations.” Puh-lease! As bad as it sounds, no one wanted to come anywhere near my best friend if they could help it. Even though he was a klutz and a big softy, you wouldn’t be able to tell that by looking at him. The man was as big as a linebacker, and the big black beard he was always sporting tended to make him look even tougher. I was just about to slip away to go annoy some nasty looking man with a scar on his face, when I noticed something weird. Three guys at one of the high tables kept glancing over at Brutus. That wasn’t the weird part. A lot of people tend to stare at Brutus with nervous looks on their faces Page 79
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