Chapter Ten

I helped Rosa clear up the food and decorations before her shift started. The book club meeting had been a success (by my standards, anyway—we had fun and nobody died). Still, I couldn’t help but feel like something was off. Ever since Travis's interruption, Rosa seemed noticeably less cheerful, and I couldn’t tell why. I’m probably overthinking things again, I reasoned.

I had just boxed up the last of the decorations when I heard the voice calling us from the doorway. “Yo nerds!” 

We both looked up to see Jerry wearing his hangover sunglasses, a grey hoodie, and a white t-shirt that read “My Name Is Jerry! (Fight me!)” in big, bold lettering. In one hand, he had a forty-ounce Styrofoam cup with a red straw poking out. In the other, he held a small greeting card with macaroni art glued to the front. Before we could form any response, he was already at the counter. He dropped the card in front of me and said, “Y’all. Sign this card I made for Leroy.”

“You made Leroy a card?” I asked with an unshakeable, overwhelming sense of déjà vu.

“That’s so sweet!” Rosa chimed in before picking it up and reading it out loud, “‘Hey Leroy. Sorry you got your arm ripped off by a giant tentacle monster.’ Oh look, he drew a picture of it and everything.”

“What can I say?” Jerry took a long swig of his drink, smacked his lips, then continued, “I’m a really caring kind of guy.”

“Hang on guys,” I said. “Do either of you get the feeling that we’ve done this already?”

“Nope,” Jerry retorted without even giving it any thought. But I was certain that I remembered this. I remembered it all going down almost exactly the same way. Almost. 

So what was different this time around? I refused to go and wash my hands in the bathroom after Travis left, which meant I didn’t talk to the bathroom cowboy… I didn’t get the warning that... Oh, shit!

“Excuse me,” said the generic man in the generic gray suit. He was standing next to Jerry, but looking down his generic nose at me.

“Okay,” I said.

“I’m looking for Jeremy Pascal.”

“Oh, are you now?” I asked, trying my damnedest to work out if this could be the same generic man from before. It had to be, right? How many people in this world were so ordinary? He was a one in a billion at best.

“That’s right,” he said in a nondescript voice. “I understand he works here.”

Jerry loudly fake-coughed the words “Casper Van Dien!” and I immediately flinched and put my hands in front of my face to catch the tennis ball. A moment later, I realized that this wasn’t a drill, and slowly lowered my hands and tried for an innocent smile.

The man ignored me. For now, Jerry had his full attention. He spoke with an implicit accusation behind every syllable. “That’s a nasty sounding cough you’ve got there.”

“Thanks,” Jerry said.

He and I stared at the man. The man stared at Jerry. Rosa cut her eyes between each of us, trying to figure out what was going on. Then, after a painfully long standoff, Jerry lifted the drink to his mouth and emptied it through the straw, swallowing loudly with each gulp until the annoying scratchy sound of an emptied drink took over the pregnant silence.

“Are you—” The man was cut off by the sound of Jerry loudly belching. Once he had finished, the man tried again. “Are you—” Jerry coughed again (for real this time), then he hiccupped. “Are you Jeremy Toulouse Pascal?”

“Nope,” said Jerry with all the confidence of a squirrel playing in traffic.

The man reached into his coat pocket and retrieved a photograph. He looked at it, then at Jerry, then back at it, and then he put it away. I didn’t see the photo, but it doesn’t take a genius to know he wasn’t staring at a Marmaduke comic.

“Can any of you tell me when Jeremy is expected to begin his next shift?”

Jerry shifted his eyes at me and answered, “I think that dude quit like a week ago.”

“Sorry,” the man said. “I didn’t catch your name.”

“Leroy,” said Jerry.

The man looked at Jerry’s shirt, then at Jerry’s face.

Jerry took it a step further, reaching over to the counter, picking up the card to Leroy, and making a big demonstrative act of reading it out loud before looking me in the eyes and saying, “Wow, Jack, thank you for this amazing card! So kind of you. And the artwork, nothing short of superbitude.”

The man rolled his eyes, turned around, and left the gas station. That… was way easier than I expected it to be.

The moment the door closed behind him, Rosa took a deep breath and demanded, “What was that all about?”

“It’s nothing!” Jerry answered unconvincingly. “But if anyone asks, my name is Leroy from now on.” He pulled off his shirt and hoodie and threw them both to the ground. Amazingly, he managed to do the whole action without displacing either his sunglasses or Styrofoam cup.

“Wow,” he exclaimed. “It sure is drafty in here!”

Rosa diverted her eyes. “I think I have an extra t-shirt somewhere in my car that you can borrow,” she offered.

“That would be most excellent. Thank you!”

“I’ll be right back.”

As she left, Jerry took her place behind the counter and grabbed a pack of Marlboros from the cigarette case on the wall. That’s when I noticed the fresh tattoo. He’d gone forward with his plan to cover the bullet wound on his back. He chose a flower, petals emerging from the round lump of scar tissue—a huge step up from his first choice of Dick-Butt. 

“Wowww.” The voice came from the man standing by the spinning rack of locally-sourced pork rinds. His words were loud and slow, soaked in southern charm like a discount Colonel Sanders. “The things that pass for acceptable behavior around here are pitiable. I must say, I am absolutely speechless.”

“Really?” snapped Jerry without even bothering to turn around and see who he was talking to. “I too am overwhelmed with speechlessness. No words. Simply none. Words fail me. God. Where are the words?” 

I pretended not to hear the man, focusing on the elephant in the room. 

“Is there something you need to tell me?” I asked.

Jerry pocketed his pack of smokes and turned to me with a deadpan Terminator expression. His answer sounded like he wasn’t quite sure. “Nooo…”

“Do you have any idea why that guy is looking for you?”

Jerry leaned against the cigarette case and put his hand to his chin like he was trying to think, but I sensed that he already knew the answer. He just didn’t want to tell me. And sadly, he didn’t get the chance, because the man by the pork rinds decided whatever he had to say was more important.

“A little advice: If you have time to lean, you have time to clean.”

I turned in my seat and gave the man the attention he was so passive-aggressively asking for. At a glance, I could see that he wasn’t a regular. Judging from his attire and generally healthy outward appearance, he wasn’t a local either. He was somewhere in his sixties and dapper enough to have just stepped out of a sweet tea commercial. Brown hair freshly cut and combed. White sport coat and khaki pants. Heavy in that “rich older man” way. (Not fat, though. No, poor people are fat.)

“Can I help you with something?” I asked, hoping he would say “No” and leave the store forever.

He took his time before responding. First, he inspected the pork rinds, pulled off a bag labeled “extreme-caliente ranch,” flipped it over, and returned it to the display. Then, he slowly swaggered up to the counter, speaking in that overstated southern drawl, “I don’t usually do this part of the job myself, but I’m not above getting my hands dirty from time to time, and after everything I heard about this place, I had to come down here and see it for myself. I must say, the stories did not do it justice. It’s so much worse than I expected.” He timed his spiel to finish just as he reached us.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “Who are you?”

He extended his hand, a business card resting between his middle and index fingers. “The name is Howard. Doctor Frances Howard, and I’m the one who will be buying it.”

I took the card from his fingers, but the only thing written on it was “Frances M. Howard—Doctor, Businessman, Visionary” with a telephone number underneath. This might have been the least efficient way anyone had ever introduced themselves to me, and I was honestly impressed by how much I already disliked him. I gave the card to Jerry to throw away and asked, “Buying what?”

“This gas station! Take a look at your surroundings. What do you see? All I see is potential. Untapped potential.”

He sounded serious. I was happy to set the record straight. “Well thanks for the compliment, but I’m fairly certain the owners are not inclined to sell.”

“Well that’s where you’re wrong, son. You see, we’ve been in negotiations ever since the latest reopening.”

Jerry and I looked at one another. Even with the sunglasses on, I understood what that face meant.

This Doctor Howard guy looked too rich to be the normal kind of crazy. Which meant he was something else. I prodded him along. “What do you mean?”

“Come now, surely you’ve noticed the structural adjustments? Improvements in the way things are running now? The additional full-timers. The trend towards fixed schedules. Just a few suggestions by yours truly. I’m so happy Pops and Mammaw were receptive to my advice. The transition in ownership will be much easier this way.”

“Is this a joke?” I asked. “Because Mammaw and Pops haven’t said anything about this, and we talk a lot.”

“They wanted to keep it hush-hush, but I thought it was high time I came by and introduced myself. You must be Jack, right? I’ve heard an awful lot about you. And I guess that would make this half-naked gentleman here—”

“Leroy,” Jerry interjected.

“Okay then, Leroy. Let me ask you this: Is there any good reason you’re not following the dress code?”

“You’re right, Doc, I’m super sorry. I really shouldn’t be wearing these sunglasses indoors like this, but ya see, I just had eye surgery following a horrible ocular injury I sustained whilst pushing a small child out of the way of a speeding bus. The surgeons told me not to use my lookin’ balls for anything boring.”

“I was referring to the fact that you are exposing your bare chest.”

“What?!” Jerry yelled. “You’re telling me I’m not wearing a shirt?!” He put his hands over his nipples and bellowed at full volume, “Damn my eyes! I had no idea I left home today without all of my clothes on! Why wouldn’t anyone tell me?!” He reached toward the dirty magazine rack, grabbed one without looking, and pushed it into the doctor’s hands. “Here! As a token of my sincere apologetitude, please accept this porno.”

Howard looked at the magazine, then at me, like he expected I would come to his rescue. All I could do was shrug. But the doctor kept his cool. He folded the pornographic magazine in half, gently rested it under his arm like a newspaper, and said, “I feel like there are going to be some big changes once I take over. Normally I like to hire a local manager to oversee my properties. But I’ve got a feeling I’m going to be a little more hands on with this one.”

Rosa walked quickly past the doctor, joined us behind the counter, and handed a pink t-shirt to Jerry.

“Here you go. It might be a little small on you, but it’s the only one I could find.” When she noticed the man on the other side of the counter, she smiled politely and said, “Hello! Are you finding everything okay?”

“Hello, young lady. Do you work here, too?”

“Yes,” she responded.

“Yes, sir,” he corrected.

The smile evaporated from her face. She swallowed whatever it was she wanted to say and replaced it with a professional, “Yes, sir.”

He turned his eyes to me and said, “Now, I only see one cash register. So why are there three employees behind the counter? I’ll tell you this: You can expect some big changes once the sale goes through. Big changes. You three might want to get used to the idea of actually working.”

Rosa stared at him with big, confused eyes—the way a deer stares at an oncoming meteor—and uttered one word. “What?”

“In the meantime,” he said, “I think the three of you need to step back and take a good, long, hard look in the mirror and ask yourselves, ‘Am I really doing the best job I can?’”

“Yeah?” Jerry responded. “Well, I think you need to step back and take a good, long, hard gorilla dick and use it to go fuck yourself.”

The doctor gave us an ominous smile, turned, and walked away. As soon as the door closed behind him, Rosa asked again, “What?”

I tried to comfort her. “That poor confused old man thinks he’s going to buy the gas station.”

Jerry laughed and said “What a dummy.”

I waited for him to squeeze into Rosa’s extra small pink shirt before saying, “You do know that an erect gorilla penis is only two inches long, right?”

He made a face like he’d just bitten into an electric lemon. “No. NO! Why would anyone know that? Why do you know that?! Ugh.” He shivered, then went outside for a smoke, tossing over his shoulder a sarcastic, "Thanks for the forbidden knowledge, Jack."

Rosa gathered up the discarded clothing items and put them into the "Jerry box" under the counter (formerly the lost-and-found). She kept quiet as she packed up the decorations. I hadn’t seen her this upset since the last time I tried to fire her. Howard must have really gotten into her head.

"Don't worry,” I said, hoping to reassure her. “The owners would never sell this place."

She removed her beret and smiled nervously. 

"Really?"

"Yeah. Trust me. I have no doubt in my mind. I'll bet you anything we've seen the last of that guy."

I didn’t want Rosa to know how little faith I had in my own assurances, so I waited until she took the box of decorations to her car before I called the owners. I only had about twenty seconds (a little more if Jerry distracted her). I needed to keep the conversation short and my words efficient. 

Mammaw was the one to pick up. “Ahoy-hoy?”

“Hi, Mammaw. It’s me.”

“What’s wrong? Are the talking birds back?”

“No, but let’s put a pin in that conversation, because I’d love for you to elaborate later.”

“Well then, what is it? You only ever call when there’s a problem.”

“Do you know a man named Frances Howard?”

She let out a loud noise somewhere between a moan and a sigh, a visceral response like she’d just banged her funny bone. I couldn’t tell what it meant, but it sure as hell wasn’t the ‘no’ I was hoping for.

“Did that Nimrod contact you?”

“In person, actually.”

“That scheming little sneaksby has been harassing us for the better part of a year. We’ve told him over and over to leave us alone, but he keeps trying to buy the gas station.”

“But you’re not going to sell it, right?”

“How can you even ask that? I’ll die before I let that cock-headed ninnyhammer get his mitts on my deeds.” (Mammaw’s curse game was truly next-level.) “Listen, Jack, if that fopdoodle of a man ever comes back into our store, you have my permission to punch him right in the testicles.”

“Thanks. I won’t.”

I could hear Pops yelling in the background, “Is that Jack? Gimme here.” Now he was full volume and hollering into the receiver, “Jack! Listen, that prick Howard ain’t worth the corn it would take to burn the calories to form the thoughts to worry about.”

“Okay.”

“That twat-wit’s been trying to butter up me and Mammaw, but I know a snake in the grass when I see it. Last week he told us to name our price. I guess ‘cause I forgot to tell him ‘no’ again, he thinks that means ‘yes.’ Don’t you pay him no mind, you hear?”

I breathed a sigh of relief. “Okay, thanks for clearing that up. He was persistent.”

“Pests usually are.”

“Okay, well thanks. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Hold up a sec.” His voice was suddenly softer. Friendly, even. “Before you go, we have another matter to discuss.”

“Yeah?”

“We approved your time-off request.”

“My what?”

“You asked for Wednesday night off.”

“I did?”

“It’s been on the calendar for weeks. Wednesday, February fourteenth: It says ‘Jack off all night.’ You don’t ask us for much, son. The least we can do is give you a chance to enjoy life while you still got it. There’s some dark days ahead, and I know you know it. Ain’t no point in wasting all the time you got left.”

I was utterly confused until I remembered who I was talking to. The owners always seemed to know things they shouldn’t. Like Tom said, ain’t no point looking for rhyme or reason. 

“I didn’t actually request that night off. Did I?”

Pops’s voice was uncharacteristically plaintive. “When I met Mammaw, I was a young man. Much like yourself. And I was stuck in a dead-end job with a miserable boss. Much like yourself. Thing is, back then I didn’t know how much more there was to life. But Mammaw, she changed that. She showed me there’s a whole world outside of my own head. I can only imagine how I’d have turned out without her around.” This was only the second time I’d heard him sound so serious, and it was terrifying. “You weren’t supposed to end up like this, son. But fate is cruel and unfair.”

Rosa walked back into the store, looked my way, then proceeded to wander the grocery aisles, fronting the merchandise and collecting out-of-place gnomes. She must have read the look on my face and decided to give me some privacy.

“Why are you telling me this?”

“I need you to understand something. You’ve got a whole life ahead of you, and it may be short, and it may be ugly, but it ain’t right to let that perfectly good future go to waste when some ain’t even got that. Don’t you think you’ve mourned enough?”

“What?”

“I said ‘Take the night off.’ We’ll plug a few part-timers in. It’ll be fine. Try and have some fun. But, uh, you can still come in and work the mid-shift, right?”

“I guess so.”

“Great.”

In true Pops fashion, he hung up without saying goodbye.

When Rosa joined me behind the counter a moment later, she showed remarkable restraint by not asking any questions other than, “Everything good?”

“Yeah.”

“Good.”

Truth be told, I was in a fog. What was Pops trying to tell me, anyway? I picked up my crutch and started for the booth table. I’m not wasting time. O’Brien would be here any second to pick me up. I get out of my own head plenty. Until then, I could get a little more reading done... Or, I could spend the extra minute or two in the moment. Talking to a friend.

I stopped and turned around. “Hey, Rosa?”

“Yeah?”

“It turns out, I do have this Wednesday evening off. If you still wanted to go—”

The door opened and Jerry walked inside, loudly announcing, “I don’t know about you guys, but now I can’t stop thinking about gorilla dicks.” When neither of us said anything, he slowly removed his sunglasses, looked at me, then at Rosa. He must have sensed something was going on from our awkward expressions, because the next thing he said was, “What were you guys just talking about? I can sense something is going on from the awkward expressions.”

“Rosa asked if I wanted to go to the carnival on Wednesday.”

“Oh really?” Jerry put a finger to his cheek and made that face he makes when he’s pretending to think, then said, “You know what? That sounds like fun. I’d love to go.”

The door opened behind him. O’Brien joined us, nodded to the others, and said to me, “You ready?”

Before I could answer, Jerry blurted out, “O’Brien should totally come with!”

“Come with you where?”

“Wednesday. We’re all going to the carnival together.”

“This Wednesday?” she asked. “You mean Valentine’s Day?”

Oh, that’s right. Wednesday is Valentine’s Day, isn’t it? Wait a second… Was Rosa asking me out on a date? Does she think that I was asking her out?

O’Brien interrupted my thoughts before they had the chance to consume me. “You sure that’s such a good idea, Tripod? There’s still at least one psychopath out there who wants to kill you.”

“It’ll be fun,” Jerry replied. “Carnival’s staying open late for Sweetheart’s Night. I can get us in for free and show you all which games aren’t rigged and what food is safe to eat. We can all meet up here at eight and ride together in the cop car. What do you say?”

O’Brien laughed. “Why not? I don’t have anything better to do with my night off then babysit a bunch of kids my own age.”

Jerry clapped his hands. “Alright! Jack? Rosa?”

We looked at each other and both stumbled through a version of “Sure. I guess.”

“Cool beans,” he said. “I call shotgun!”