Mimes

by Paul E. Cooley

  Contents

  Mimes

  About The Author

  Other Works By Paul E Cooley

  Copyright

  Bad mood. It was the only phrase that adequately described how Joseph felt. He'd been driving the delivery truck all day, been rear-ended by a mini-van of all things, and somehow managed to strain something in his neck.

  Although the mini-van had done no damage to the truck's elevated bumper, he knew the shift boss was going to give him shit for it. "What'd you do? Slam on the brakes too hard? Decide at the last second not to run a yellow light?" He could hear Harvey saying those words as the tooth-pick between his teeth rolled from one corner to the other, leaving his speech muddled and slurred.

  Harvey, or the idea of having to deal with Harvey, was another reason for the bad mood. But the traffic was the worst of it.

  After the altercation with the mini-van, which had been damned near totaled in the collision, Joseph had exchanged insurance information with the buxom MILF driver, but only after her sobbing accusations that the accident was his fault.

  My fault, he thought as he ground his teeth. He pressed down on the accelerator, moving another 5 feet before having to stomp on the brakes. Traffic. What the fuck were these people stopping for? Another goddamned accident?

  Joseph turned on the shitty am-only radio, and listened to the static buzz of a dead station. Harvey made sure all his trucks were "downgraded" to the barest possible radio/speaker combination. In Harvey's words, "music is for people that don't work. And you assholes work, dammit." Joseph loved Harvey.

  With the antenna removed, the delivery truck only managed to pick up two stations-- christian talk radio with someone always screaming about how Joseph was going to burn unless he gave all his money to a certain ministry, or the wail of accordion fueled Tejano. Joseph preferred the static.

  Occasional burps of conversation or rock from outlying stations made their way through the static. He always made it a game to try and guess the song if it was music. It passed the time; although he never really knew if he'd been right.

  "Fucking move," he said aloud in the cab, his eyes glaring at the sedan in front of the truck. As if the driver had heard him, the car's break lights winked out and it moved forward another ten feet. With a sigh, Joseph pressed on the pedal, leaving three feet between the truck and the car.

  He looked at his watch. 1220. Great. The meat was due at the Food Mart in ten minutes, and it was more than twenty minutes away without this bullshit traffic. The asshole butcher at the food mart would scream at the delivery foreman. The delivery foreman would scream at the schedulers. The schedulers would scream to the food mart manager. And then? Well, the manager would scream at Harvey.

  Joseph sighed again. The pack of Newports sitting on the passenger seat called to him. A smoke. That's what he needed. Just stick one between his lips, light up, and burn off the rage seething in his gut. But no, Harvey would fire him for smoking in the truck. Harvey threatened to fire drivers if he could smell their farts in the cab after a delivery run.

  And in 100 degree heat, who the fuck was going to drive with the windows open?

  Joseph had dreamed of shitting on the passenger seat. The day he was ready to quit, he'd eat five bean and beef burritos, heavy on the chili verde, and just smash out the most bowel bashing turd his gut could muster.

  Harvey, compulsive asshole that he was, would open the cab door the moment Joseph had finished his shift and take a deep deep breath. Joseph smiled, imagining Harvey's nose hairs wilting and singeing at the odiferous surprise. Maybe the stupid fuck would have a heart attack right there.

  But no last day in sight. Not now, anyway. Companies were getting rid of drivers all the time. So he had to behave himself and swallow the rage. Harvey was not a man to be crossed or made fun of. Not unless, of course, you wanted a pink slip.

  "If you're a fucking girl about this job, you'll get a damned pink slip. Only pussies get pink slips!" Harvey had screamed one day.

  Joseph ground his teeth and moved the truck another inch forward. The air conditioning did little to dispel the crushing heat, but it was enough to keep the cab's stagnation from killing him.

  He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and craned his neck. Over the top of the cars and SUVs, he saw people with their heads out their car windows. "Great. Accident. Rubber necking assholes." Joseph put his palm on the steering wheel and then stopped himself before he ground the horn. "Give me a fucking migraine," he whispered. His fingers clenched the wheel again, knuckles turning white.

  Brake lights flashed and then the traffic began moving again. He hesitated, absolutely certain the sedan in front of him would just slam on its brakes again. When it got two lengths in front of him, Joseph finally touched the gas.

  The diesel engine growled and the truck jumped forward. "Finally," he whispered.

  Joseph blew out a sigh and then peered to his left. His brake foot jammed down. A car honked behind him. He barely noticed.

  Standing next to a streetlight, a thin man dressed in black pants and a horizontal black and white striped shirt stared at him. The man's face and arms were completely white, hands covered in black gloves. The mime smiled at him, black spots at the edge of his lips curling upwards.

  The mime leaned against the street lamp, the smile getting wider. Joseph blinked. The mime's eyes rolled back and he tumbled backward in an elegant somersault.

  The car behind him honked again. Joseph put his foot back on the gas and the truck roared as it moved forward. In the side-view mirror, he watched in fascination as the mime seemed to levitate off the ground to once more stand against the streetlamp. The mime waved at him, its eyes pitch black.

  Joseph threw his eyes forward just in time to see the red light. He stomped on the brakes, his heart pounding. He looked in the side-view mirror again. The mime was no longer staring back at him, but performing the lame assed stuck in a box routine. He laughed. Some redneck was bound to shoot that asshole before the day was out. Or worse, HPD would visit him.

  The light turned green. Joseph stomped on the gas again, heading for his drop-off. Harvey would never believe this. Joseph wondered if the other drivers would either.

  *****

  The beer was cold. Joseph rubbed the can across his forehead and sighed. The truck was back at the warehouse now, but that didn't mean his ride home had been cooler. His old piece of shit cavalier's air conditioner hadn't worked in months. By the time he'd made it home, the temperature had climbed to over a 100 and the humid air sliding through the open windows had only made the heat worse.

  The moment he'd made it into the apartment, he'd cranked the a/c, grabbed a Southern Star Stout from the fridge, and stripped off his shirt. He stared blankly at the television, inhaling the scent of his own sweat.

  A cold shower. A long cold shower, plenty of soap. "But after this beer," he muttered and popped the can. By the third sip, he felt a little better. He clicked on the TV and tuned into the game.

  The Astros were getting their asses kicked again. He finished the beer in three heavy gulps and rubbed the still-cold can against his forehead. He put it down and headed to the shower, the announcers still decrying the Senators beat-down.

  Water flowed from the faucet and he tested it with his hand. He turned up the heat just a tad until it was luke-cold, and then stepped into the shower.

  The water covered his skin and he let out a moan of pleasure. He slowly turned and put his neck directly beneath the shower head. A shiver crawled down his spine. He waited until his skin adjusted to the water, reached for the soap and began to lather.

  "What the fuck are you assholes talking about?" Harvey's voice rang in his memory.

  Joseph had been standing with Roberto, Alan, and Chris. When he'd parked the truck inside
the brightly lit warehouse, the other three had been waiting for their trucks to return from runs. Second shift was getting ready to start. It had taken a miracle, but once Joseph had left the Mime induced traffic, he'd managed to finish the rest of his run in record time.

  Harvey stood with his clipboard a few feet away. He'd managed to sneak up on them. Joseph turned toward his boss. "Was telling them about the mimes."

  "Nimes? What the fuck are you talking about?"

  Joseph turned his head slightly and rolled his eyes at the other three. They knew better than to snicker, but that didn't keep them from smiling.

  "MMMimes. You know, dudes who dress up in all black, paint their faces white, don't talk, and pretend they're trapped in a box or something?"

  "Oh," Harvey said. "What's that got to do with anything?"

  "There was one downtown, over by the old PG&E building. Bastard had traffic stopped. Was weirding people out."

  Harvey nodded. A slow predatory smile crept across his face. "Is that why Mr. Gibbons called me to tell me you were thirty minutes late with your delivery?"

  "Something like that."

  "Bullshit!" Harvey bellowed. "You better get your speed up, mimes or no mimes. I get another call from Gibbons and you're done. You understand me?" Harvey spun on his heel and headed to the office without waiting for a reply.

  "Asshole," Chris whispered and spat on the concrete floor.

  "True dat," Roberto nodded.

  "So you got these clowns stopping traffic? They pan-handling?"

  Joseph shrugged. "Dunno, Alan. Didn't see 'em taking any cash."

  "Fucktard theatre rejects."

  "Yeah, man," Roberto said as he slapped Chris on the shoulder. "Lowest form and all that."

  "Anyway, watch for 'em. You'll see what I'm talking about. Creepy shit."

  The others had laughed, but Chris didn't. Joseph knew the man had a thing about clowns. He wondered if Chris would just run the fuckers over if he saw them.

  Joseph rubbed shampoo into his hair. Water pattered against his tired shoulders. Who knew driving a truck all day could put such an ache in a man?

  He closed his eyes and let the water flush his hair. The sound of the laboring truck engine still rumbled in his ears. He often went to sleep with the noise rattling around in his brain long after his shift had ended.

  His fingers found the faucet and shut off the water. The pipes squeaked and groaned. Joseph smiled. One day the recession would end and he'd find another gig. Something that paid better. "And with less of an asshole for a boss," he muttered.

  As he stepped out of the shower, towel in hand, he heard the phone. He rolled his eyes. His cell phone ringing with Beethoven's 9th. "Fuck," he whispered. "You can wait, asshole."

  Joseph toweled off, making sure to catch the droplets on his back. With Houston's high humidity, it was impossible to get truly dry. He often left the house feeling like he hadn't dried off at all.

  He stumbled naked into what passed for the living room. His phone dinged at him. Joseph studied the screen. A text from Harvey.

  "Need you to work another shift. Tonight. Call me right back."

  Overtime, Joseph thought. The announcers on the tv were lambasting the Astros for their pathetic performance. It was only the fifth inning and already they were down by six.

  Harvey wanted him. No, needed him. He dialed the office number and waited.

  "Gillian deliveries," a sweet, falsetto voice said. "How may I help you?"

  "It's Joseph."

  "Where the fuck are you? Why the fuck didn't you answer the phone?" Harvey screamed.

  Joseph sighed, knowing it would drive Harvey over the bend. "What's up, boss?"

  "Your fucking friend Roberto. He never made his deliveries. Drove out, came back half an hour later, and left without saying a fucking word."

  "You're kidding."

  "The hell I am. He's fucking fired, Joseph. Fucking fired. And you will be too if you don't get your ass in here to take his shift!"

  He picked up the can of beer and upturned the last dregs into his mouth. He swallowed as close to the phone as he could. "Okay, Harv. I'll be there."

  "Good. If you handle this right, I'll give you more shifts. Otherwise, I'll can your ass." The call ended with a beep.

  Joseph dropped the phone on the couch and scratched at his crotch. Another six or seven hours in yet another sweltering cab. He'd have to reload his water bottles. Guess I should have done laundry after all, he thought. He walked back into the bathroom, and toweled off once more before he dressed in his soiled, sweat-laden uniform.

  *****

  With the windows rolled all the way down, Joseph could hear the distant sounds of thunder. The rain hadn't shown up yet and there was no guarantee it would. For weeks now, the sky rumbled at night but shed not a drop of water. "The 100 Years Drought" the news idiots were calling it. Joseph didn't know about that, but he was glad he didn't own a house with a yard.

  He'd just stopped at Henderson's and offloaded twenty cases of dry goods. Twenty. Fucking. Cases. Even with the sun no longer in the sky, the concrete radiated heat in waves, and the blacktop outside of Hendersons' Market had still been hot enough to fry an egg.

  His neck and back were screaming again. He looked at the clock on his cell phone. He'd have to wait another three hours before downing a few more anti-inflammatories. Or...

  "Fuck it," he said aloud. Downtown Houston was already turning into a ghost-town. The further away from the revitalized area and midtown he drove, the fewer and fewer cars and people. Some nights, the place looked like it was completely deserted.

  He turned on the hazards and pulled the truck over to the far right lane. One-way streets at least afforded plenty of room for any other drivers to get past him.

  He swiveled off the cap of the water bottle and did the same to the bottle of pills. He shook out two and popped them into his mouth. Water flowed. The pills caught in his throat for a second before finally making their way down. He coughed, replaced the caps and sighed.

  Four more deliveries tonight. Fucking Harvey hadn't mentioned that Roberto had been scheduled for a double. A goddamned double on top of a shift he'd already finished. It was nearly two in the morning and he still had to make it back to the warehouse to pick up the next load.

  His last reload, he'd heard Harvey bitching about Chris too. The other trucker hadn't returned from his shift and his cell phone went to voice mail. Harvey had already put a call in to HPD to see if they'd spotted the truck.

  "He better be dead!" Harvey had screamed. "Because if he's not, I'll kill him myself! Run off with my truck? MY TRUCK?"

  Joseph closed his eyes. As he'd made his rounds, he'd been looking for Chris' truck. He hadn't seen it yet, but his current route didn't overlap Chris'. But the next leg would.

  "Another three hours," he muttered and opened his eyes. He popped the hazards button and put the truck in first. The gears ground. Goddamned Harvey and his bullshit maintenance. He probably wouldn't fix this one until the clutch failed. "As long as it doesn't fail tonight," Joseph muttered.

  The truck growled and chuffed as it sped up to 25 mph. He breezed through three lights without seeing another car or another person. When he finally caught a yellow, he slowed the truck and stopped at the line.

  A flicker of movement caught his eye and he looked to the left. A figure stood beneath an acetylene streetlight. The garish yellow glow reflected off white skin face paint. It was another mime.

  The black clad figure was dressed exactly as the one he'd seen that afternoon--black bowler hat, black shirt with white stripes, and black pants. It didn't move and its eyes were closed. The mime's face-paint was immaculate except for a single smudge at the right corner of its mouth.

  He caught a green glow from the corner of his eye and turned to the light. It was time to go. He put the truck in first, gears grinding, and started to pull forward. He took one last look to the left. The mime was staring at him, its white-gloved hand raised. It waved wi
th a predatory smile.

  Joseph shivered and gunned the truck through the intersection.

  He turned on the radio and listened to the buzzing static. Warehouse. Had to get to the warehouse. As much as he hated the place, the idea of bright lights and locked doors felt like heaven. Even listening to Harvey's hoarse shouts and threats would be welcome. Anything to get him off these dark, deserted streets.

  The truck groaned as he made a right turn. The metallic crash of the dolly rolling around in the back made him jump. He cursed. Damned trucks were falling apart.

  As he went through the next light, he saw a figure walking the sidewalk. There were no streetlights, but he made out the all-too familiar shirt. "Jesus," he wheezed. As the truck crept by the figure, it turned toward him and raised a hand. Its face was white, eyes black in the lack of light. Joseph pushed down on the pedal.

  He slammed the lock on the driver-side door as he stopped at the next traffic light. With trepidation, he swiveled his eyes to the other door. The small silver cylinder jutted upwards. Shivering with adrenaline, he reached across the cab and pushed the button down. Breathing a sigh of relief he turned back to the light.

  The door handle rattled on the driver side. Joseph yelped and looked into the face of a mime. Its grin was malevolent. The door rattled again.

  "What the fuck do you want?" Joseph yelled.

  The mime stepped back from the truck, its face grinning up at him. Long, sharp, yellowed canines protruded from its mouth. The thing's smile widened and a black tongue slithered out.

  Joseph screamed and threw the truck into gear, his foot stomping on the pedal. The truck jerked through the intersection. He didn't dare look in the rearview mirror. He blew through two stop lights completely unaware of the flashes from the cameras mounted on them.

  *****

  Harvey spat out a toothpick. "The fuck you mean you quit?"

  Joseph stood in Harvey's immaculate office. The walls were bright white and made him feel as though he was being interrogated.

  "I mean I quit. I'm not going back out there."

  "Bullshit," Harvey said. He rose from his chair and placed his hands on the cherry-wood desk. "You are going to load up, and get your ass back out there," he growled.