Chapter Seventeen
I knew I had a lot of repair work to do after the night of the carnival. I disappointed Rosa. I pissed off O’Brien. I let Jerry think I didn’t like him. And poor Guillermo was in the emergency room getting his jaw wired shut.
This is what I get for taking a night off.
At least I had a plan of action. I was going to fix the damage I caused, starting with Rosa. I scheduled our next book club meeting at New Pages. After our last book ended with all of the Napoleons killing one another Hunger Games style, I wanted to pick something a little less... brutal to digest. I found a well-reviewed novella about an astronaut who falls in love with a Moon woman. No way a book as boring as that could make things awkward.
This time, I volunteered to take care of snacks. I couldn’t think of any good food-based puns, but I figured it would be enough if I just baked my own cookies from scratch. I even found a rocket-ship shaped cookie cutter at the thrift store. I might have added too much or too little baking soda, though, because when I took them out of the oven, they were somewhat malformed.
Ah well, as long as they taste good, I thought. Until after I tried one. Then, I changed my motto to, Ah well, as long as they’re edible.
I got to New Pages an hour early so I could set up the decorations. I’d taken an old black blanket and sewed in hundreds of white string lights. As soon as I had it hung from the ceiling and plugged in, it looked remarkably similar to a beautiful night sky.
As I stood back, admiring my handiwork, Brother Riley shuffled up next to me. He took in the scene and said, “Very impressive, Jack.”
“Thanks.”
“She’s gonna love it. Super romantic.”
“Do what now?”
“Man, I miss being young and having the time and energy for these big, romantic gestures.”
“Hang on, you said that word again.”
“Huh?”
“Romantic. This isn’t supposed to be romantic. It’s… creative. Right?” The reality suddenly dawned on me. “Oh shit fuck tater tots. This is romantic, isn’t it?”
“I’m confused. Isn’t this supposed to be, like, a date?”
“No!”
“Really? Then why’d you pick the most romantic book we sell?”
“Oh fuck me, is this a romance book? I haven’t started it yet.”
He was trying hard not to laugh. “What about the young lady? Has she already started reading it?”
“No, her copy doesn’t arrive until tomorrow.”
“Well then how were you going to discuss it?”
“I figured we would just… you know… oh God.”
“What?”
“I suggested we read it together. At the same time. You know, share a book and then discuss it after each chapter. Is that… is that bad? I did bad here, didn’t I?”
He choked back his laughter long enough to say, “You’re accidentally flirting way better than most people do on purpose.” The door opened, and Brother Riley switched on salesman mode. “Hello and welcome to New Pages. Can I help you find your next read today?”
The man answered, “That won’t be necessary.”
Suddenly, my angst around the accidental date vanished, replaced by red hot annoyance. Somehow, he’d found me again.
“Doctor Halper,” I said.
“It’s Howard.”
“Whatever. Same thing.”
Howard walked past me and took a seat in one of the two chairs under the starry night sky. (Man! It really was romantic! How did I miss that?) He gestured for me to take the other. I knew I wasn’t going to get rid of him by asking nicely, so I decided to just go ahead and get it over with. I’ve powered through thousands of conversations. What’s one more?
I took my seat in the chair opposite him, but kept my crutch in my lap (you never know when you might need a surprise emergency weapon).
“I’m so glad to see you haven’t let your recent burdens overwhelm your extracurriculars.” He looked at the plate of rocket ship cookies and froze momentarily. He furrowed his brow, then asked with genuine concern, “Why on Earth would you make cookies shaped like penises?”
I was offended until I realized with horror… he was right. They do look like penises! Oh man, I was totally about to send all the wrong signals here.
“Stop making fun of my dick cookies! What are you doing here, anyway?”
“I came to offer my condolences on the loss of your friend, Mister Farmer. I heard what happened, truly gruesome details. Do the authorities have any idea what happened?”
“Not that it’s any of your business, but they’re going with ‘gang-related activity’ this time around.”
FJ, of course, was never involved in any gangs, but it was such a big, inconspicuous rug for them to sweep details under. But these weren’t the details Howard wanted to hear. He wanted me to tell him the gruesome truth. He wanted me to tell him what I wish O’Brien had never told me. The fifteen nails holding him to the wall were driven in before he died, and not with a nail gun. They were hammered in the old-fashioned way. Whoever did this to FJ did it as punishment. He couldn’t keep his mouth shut, so they took it away from him.
Once he knew he wasn’t getting anything more out of me, Howard crossed his legs and muttered, “Well, it’s a crying shame. But your friend’s story reminds me of another one I heard about, not too long ago.”
“You can consider your condolences offered. Was there something else you needed?”
“Come on, Jack. You’re in a bookstore. You like to write. You like to share stories. May I share this one with you?”
“Is it long?”
He chuckled, “Not at all. However, it is another scary story. I know you weren’t impressed by my last one, but I think this will be more to your liking.” I gave him a handwave, and he continued, “There once was a young man named John. If memory serves, he was from a small town not far from here. John had a good life. A job he enjoyed, a loving wife, a beautiful home, and a child on the way. Everything a man your age could hope for. Except, John had a strange fear. One that consumed him from a very young age. See, John was utterly terrified of garbage disposals. He hated the sound. He hated the thought. He had nightmares about them. I’m sure you can imagine.”
“Sure.”
“But John’s wife wasn’t sympathetic to his plight. She couldn’t understand why he refused to see things rationally. A garbage disposal would make their lives easier. A garbage disposal is no more dangerous than a knife, or an ice pick, or a hammer. One day, while John was away on business, his wife hired a handyman to install a garbage disposal. After all, she was the one who did all of their housework, why shouldn’t she be the one to decide what tools were necessary? How’s my story so far?”
“Seems a little old-fashioned with the outdated gender roles. I mean, the wife doesn’t even get a name? What’s that about?”
He continued, unfazed. “When John discovered his wife’s ploy, he was furious! He couldn’t stand being in the same house as one of those dangerous contraptions. They fought and argued, and it ended with poor John spending the night on the couch. When he dreamed, he dreamed of that garbage disposal, grinding everything that went into the dark void, chewing up meat and bone and sinew.” Howard started making the sound with his teeth - “Chnchnchnchn!”
He stopped, laughed to himself, and said, “It’s only a story, Jack.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“To John, though, it was more than he could handle. He woke up that night to a loud sound, coming from the front of his house. He got off the couch and went to investigate. That’s when he saw the man in the mask. You see, a burglar had broken into his home. John tried to stop him, to defend himself and his family, but the man had a gun, and BANG! John was killed deader than a doornail.” He grinned. “The end.”
I waited for him to continue. He didn’t.
“What? What? What was the point of that?”
“Isn’t it obvious? The point is this, Jack: It’s never the thing you’re expecting that gets you.” He leaned forward in his seat. I gripped my crutch tightly. “I know you’ve been busy. Have you had a chance to reregister your articles of incorporation with the updated statement of ownership?”
“What?”
“Oh, and don’t forget. Sales taxes are due. You know you have to pay them every month, right? State and county. Have you already filed?”
“What?”
“I just want to make sure you’re on top of your responsibilities. The IRS can and will impose fines. They got Capone. They can get you.”
“Thanks for the heads up. I’ll call an accountant first thing—”
“Have you already spoken to the bank about extending a line of credit? You’re going to need a lot of liquid capital to cover quarterlies, workers comp, lawyer fees, unemployment insurance. You do realize that it all falls on you now, right?”
“I figured I could just pay for all that out of profits.”
He let out a nasty laugh. “‘Profits’? You won’t be seeing any profits for quite some time, if ever. You inherited more than just the business. You also get everything attached. Including, by my count, at least four pending lawsuits. Have you carved out some time to sit for depositions yet?”
“Maybe. What’s a deposition?”
“I have a team of well-educated, high-priced lawyers to take care of this sort of thing, and they struggle. Do you think you can show them a thing or two?”
“Look, Doc—”
“Your insurance is set to renew or expire in a couple months. Do you have a plan in place for when they inevitably increase your premium? You need coverage. Your building is, statistically speaking, a deathtrap. Is that why you tried to fire the Mexican girl so many times? Now that the owners are out of the picture, you could fire her all by yourself. But if you don’t, every bad thing that happens to her from here on out will be your fault. The buck stops here. Are you ready for that?”
“I…” I couldn’t find the end of that sentence. -hate you? -understand? -want to cry?
“I’ll get right to the point,” he said, although I had my doubts. “If you mess up, the gas station will be seized and auctioned. I’m the only one willing to buy it. I’ll get it for pennies on the dollar. But then again, I’m sure you’re on top of everything, right?”
“You’re a real turd. You know that?”
“And Nero fiddles while Rome burns. Well, I’ll leave you to your little ‘club.’ Have fun today, and whatever you do, don’t worry about the future.”
He stood up, took out his ridiculously swollen wallet, and retrieved another business card which he dropped into my lap. This was just like the one he gave me at the funeral, only now the number written on the back was much smaller.
As soon as he left the bookstore, I got to work tearing down the decorations. Unfortunately, he’d taken up more of my time than I’d anticipated. I was only part of the way through pulling down the night sky when Rosa walked up behind me.
“Hey, Jack! You need some help setting up?”
“Oh. No. Hey! Rosa. What? This isn’t mine! I didn’t make this. It was already here when I got here!”
“What are you doing to it?”
“I was… cold.” I grabbed it tightly and yanked the final corner free, then draped the lighted blanket around my shoulders. There was enough slack for it to touch the ground. I pulled the sheet around me like a wizard’s cloak and fell into my seat.
Rosa laughed nervously and sat down in the other chair.
Brother Riley walked up with two cat-shaped mugs of bad coffee, handed one to each of us, then winked at me in a clear and obvious manner before retreating to the back room.
Rosa blew on her steaming cup and said, “So… What’s this book about, anyway?”
The book was on the coffee table between us. I quickly dumped the entirety of my coffee on top of it.
“Oops,” I said. “Looks like I destroyed it.”
She jumped to her feet and sprang into action, handing me her mug and saying, “No, no, it’s okay. It’s just on the cover. We can still save it. Where are the paper towels?”
I quickly dumped the rest of her coffee onto the book. “Ah, Jeez, butterfingers. Now it’s definitely ruined.”
She stared at me for a few seconds in total disbelief. Then she opened her mouth as if to say something, but the words got caught in her throat. She closed her mouth, then looked down at the plate of cookies. “Are those for us?”
I grabbed the plate before she could get a good look at the phallic creations and tossed it as hard as I could across the room. The plate shattered against a shelf of books, glass and cookie debris rained down all over.
It took me a few long seconds to work up the nerve to look her in the eyes again. When I did, her lips were pursed, her arms were crossed, and she was tapping her foot a million times a minute.
“Sorry,” I said. “I thought I saw a… you know…”
“No. I don’t know. You thought you saw a what?”
“A cookie… monster?”
“Jack, you’re acting like a lunatic.”
“I know.”
“If there’s something you want to tell me, just get it over with.”
“I have a girlfriend, you know.”
She reacted like someone had just hit her in the face with a water balloon, a mixture of anger, confusion, and embarrassment. “What? I mean, good. I’m happy for you. When did—”
“We’ve been together for like fifteen years. It’s pretty serious. You wouldn’t know her though. She lives far away. It’s complicated.”
Rosa slowly began her retreat, taking small steps away but keeping her eyes on the crazy person. “Is everything okay?” she asked slowly.
“I don’t think we should be doing this book club anymore. You know? I just don’t have time for it right now. I’m so busy with work.”
“Uh huh. Anything else?”
I took a breath, steadied myself, closed my eyes, and answered.
“You’re fired.”