Dreamspinner Press Year Six Greatest Hits

by JD Ruskin

  “Let me do it, Grandfather.” She adjusted her thick black glasses and set to work, fingers flying over the keys.

  The man grumbled and turned his attention to Logan. His bald head gleamed in the fluorescent lighting. “How I help you?”

  “I’m here for Caleb Klass’s order.”

  The man traded a look with his granddaughter, and they began having a heated conversation in a language Logan couldn’t understand. He thought it might be Korean, but that could be his stomach talking. Korean barbecued pork was on the list of things he’d longed for in prison. That the list mostly consisted of food and liquor was a bit disconcerting.

  “Is there a problem?”

  The little guy straightened his shoulders. “Mister Klass good customer.” He pointed a finger at Logan. “He… e-mail order.”

  Logan looked at the girl, but she just covered her mouth with her hand. Her olive-black eyes held amusement and affection. After a moment she said, “You must be Logan. I’m Min.” Her voice was bright and cheery with no trace of her grandfather’s thick accent.

  He shook hands with Min, her strong grip in contrast with her delicate frame. She said something else to the man before grabbing a partially filled box. “I’ll go get the perishables, Grandfather.”

  The man waved her off. “I only give what Mister Klass order.”

  Logan looked at the box of oatmeal in his hand, finally understanding. “I can buy my own oatmeal.” Barely, but he hadn’t planned on sticking Caleb with the bill. He pulled a five-dollar bill from his wallet and tossed it on the counter.

  The man spent an insulting amount of time examining the money before he rang up the order and placed the box in a plastic bag. Who would use counterfeit money to buy oatmeal?

  Min reappeared, carrying the box. “I’m sorry about that.” She placed the now filled box on the counter. “Grandfather’s a bit protective of Caleb.” The glint in her eyes said Mr. Meng wasn’t the only one. “He’s a long time customer and he’s helping us set up a website.”

  “Not a problem,” Logan said, thinking there was probably a reason for the caution. The thought pissed him off. Some asshole must have tried to get Caleb to pay for his booze or cigarettes. It was no wonder if Klass was hiring ex-cons to help his nephew.

  Looking at the grocery bag, an idea occurred. “Can I borrow a marker?” He pried open the box of oatmeal and pulled out one of the brown packets. Maple, the preferred flavor for giants. After accepting the marker, he scribbled “in case of emergencies” on the packet and dropped it into the box. Min’s lips quirked as she took back the marker but she didn’t comment.

  When an uncomfortably familiar female voice called out his name, Logan stifled a groan, not wanting to turn and face the hundred and ten pounds of hairspray and cheap perfume heading for him. This day just keeps gettin’ better and better. As he turned, he schooled his expression, thinking neutral preferable to irritated when dealing with his supervisor, if he wanted to keep getting a paycheck. “What’s up?”

  “I had no idea you shopped here,” Ms. Foster said. “After the shift, I had a craving I just had to fulfill.” She tilted the plastic handbasket, drawing Logan’s eyes to the contents: a bag of limes, a jumbo-sized box of condoms, and a bottle of tequila so cheap even the college kids wouldn’t touch it. She tossed her too-red-to-be-natural hair over her shoulder and he felt a pang of sympathy for her boyfriend. He’d heard the man used to work at the warehouse. Logan hoped never to meet the guy, but not because he feared his reaction to his girlfriend’s obvious interest in another man. The guy had to know Foster slept with every man she could sink her claws into even if he wasn’t around to see her blatant flirting.

  Ms. Foster’s hand on his chest drew his thoughts back to her. “It must be fate us meeting here. I normally never settle for shopping at a place like this,” she said, her nose wrinkling in disgust.

  Logan heard Min mutter something that he guessed meant bitch in possibly Korean. He looked over his shoulder and mouthed the word “sorry,” feeling responsible for subjecting them to his supervisor. Min gave him a brief, sympathetic smile.

  A manicured hand on his chin had Logan turning back toward Ms. Foster. She gave an annoyed huff. “As I was saying, it must be fate that I stopped here today. How about we get out of here and toss back a few?” By the sour smell of her breath, she’d already started with beer.

  Logan had always been a working drunk, putting in his hours at the construction site before heading out to get plastered. He’d placed five different alarm clocks around his apartment that were loud enough to drag his ass out of a drunken stupor. He’d always made it to work on time, even if it meant hacking his guts into a garbage bag before getting out of his truck. Just a few beers to relax after work, a shot or three to forget about the asshole foreman. Rinse and repeat until he stumbled home. He saved the weekends for the real hard stuff, waking on Sunday morning smelling of booze and sex with no memory of how he’d gotten home or who he’d fucked. He was damn lucky not to have gotten seriously hurt, or caught a disease from one of the nameless people he’d slept with while trashed. With all those turbulent memories tumbling through his brain at the first whiff of alcohol, a quiet voice in the back of his head still whispered to him. Tequila was rough stuff, but a couple of beers wouldn’t be so bad. A six-pack of Corona would go great with the limes. He’d worked hard. Didn’t he deserve to kick back and relax? He could just take the night off and then get back on the program tomorrow. He shook his head, stepping back until his body jammed against the counter. “I can’t do that.”

  “You better get those groceries home,” Min said, ignoring the scowl on Ms. Foster’s face. “It isn’t good for them to be out in this heat.”

  Ms. Foster shoved her basket on top of a pile of oranges and walked away, stepping around the falling produce. When Logan could breathe again, he opened his wallet and pulled out a business card, handing it to Min as he turned around. “You see me buying liquor, I want you to call this guy, John Dabb, and let him know.”

  She looked at his parole officer’s business card, her brows puckered. “Won’t you get in trouble?”

  “Yeah.” Logan grabbed the box. “But not as much trouble as I’ll cause if you don’t.” He left before she could comment.

  AS HE lumbered up the stairs with the groceries, Logan wished Caleb’s building had an elevator. He’d worked his own shift and half of another guy’s today. He shook his head and gave himself a mental note to start using the stairs at his third-floor apartment to avoid sounding like such a pussy in his own head.

  Caleb looked surprised when he opened the door, wearing another pair of obscenely tight sweatpants and a different Chicago Cubs T-shirt. The chilly air was enough to make his nipples as perky as a cheerleader during homecoming. “I wasn’t sure if you’d be back.” Caleb took the box from Logan and walked into the kitchen, setting it on the counter. “I went through half a dozen guys before Marco.”

  Logan did not need that image in his head as he avoided looking at Caleb’s ass. “The money’s good and the job’s not hard.”

  “Oh,” Caleb said, throwing up his hands. “I forgot last time.” Opening a breadbox, he pulled a twenty from a stack of bills in a bank envelope. Logan resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Caleb obviously had no common sense. Why don’t you hand over your wallet while you’re at it?

  Handing the money to Logan, he said, “This is for travel expenses for today and last time.”

  On Friday, Logan had been kicking himself for not remembering to get a receipt from the cab driver. He’d assumed Klass would make him track everything if he wanted to get reimbursed. “It didn’t cost me this much to get here,” he felt compelled to point out.

  Caleb flapped a hand as if this were an insignificant detail. “Consider it hazard pay.” Before Logan could ask him what he meant by that, Caleb handed him a folded note.

  After unfolding the paper, Logan said, “I didn’t realize instruction writing was genetic.”

/>   “Ha, ha. What do they do in your family? Devour villagers?”

  Logan smirked. “It’s not my fault you come from a family of midgets.” When Caleb scoffed, he added, “Sorry, I meant vertically challenged.” While Caleb grumbled about finding an axe, Logan read the note. In bold print, Caleb had written Panic Attack. Below the words was a list of instructions. 1. Don’t Freak Out. Looking up, Logan said, “I’m never going to live that down, am I?”

  “Nope.” Caleb started to unpack the box of groceries. “I’m thinking of putting it on a T-shirt.”

  Logan read the next instruction rather than stare at Caleb’s chest again. 2. Don’t try to help. He felt a pang of relief and a stab of guilt seeing the words. He’d seen new fish in the pen melt down when the reality of prison life beat them over the head their first night. Many of them yelled at the injustice, some even cried, and a few just got real quiet, retreating into themselves. The quiet ones rarely lasted long, either taking their own life or by pushing someone else into doing it for them. Shaking off the memory, he read the last instruction. 3. Close the door on your way out. “That’s it? I’m just supposed to walk out and leave? You don’t need me to call a doctor or nothing?”

  “Trust me, it’s better that way. It’ll be over quicker if I don’t have someone around to see it. And there isn’t much a paramedic can do other than drug me up and tell me to stop breathing like a pregnant lady in labor.” His gaze grew distant and his voice sounded distracted. “It won’t kill me. It just feels that way.” He turned toward the fridge, placing a few items inside before returning to the box.

  Logan didn’t like the idea of leaving him alone, but he didn’t argue. He didn’t have any experience with this sort of thing. “Can I ask what the panic attack is like?”

  Caleb was quiet long enough to make Logan think he wouldn’t answer before he spoke. “It’s like walking through a haunted house. You know some college student in a cheap costume is going to jump out and try to scare you.” He shook his head. “You know it isn’t real and that you’re not in any danger. But when that arm reaches out and grabs you, your body reacts. You flinch away from the touch, your breathing quickens, and your heart races. You can’t stop it. No amount of logic or reason can stop it.”

  Logan froze. He knew that feeling. When a seemingly uncontrollable urge took over and made him crave booze that he knew he shouldn’t drink. He hated that feeling, the absolute helplessness it evoked. He cleared his throat. “I’m supposed to ask you about the radiator.”

  Something flashed and then disappeared in an instant on Caleb’s face, something Logan couldn’t identify. His voice sounded wooden when he spoke again. “What’s the penalty for not telling you?”

  “He didn’t mention nothing. Just said to ask.”

  “I swear he gets off on making me look like a freak.”

  “Then blow him off. You don’t need him to get mail or groceries delivered. Why let him bully you?” He didn’t like being Klass’s weapon of choice, but he disliked Caleb passively letting it happen even more.

  “I wouldn’t have my business if he hadn’t lent me the startup money.” Caleb said the words grudgingly, his bitterness palpable. “I owe him and he takes full advantage of it in the name of curing me of my little problem.” He shook his head. “I don’t know why I’m telling you these things.”

  Logan wasn’t sure why either, but he didn’t want the conversation to end. “I don’t know anything about your uncle, but he acts like he’s worried about you. Like maybe he wants to help you and don’t know how.”

  When Caleb spoke again, he turned away, facing the stove as if he didn’t want Logan to see his face. “Two winters ago the radiator broke.” His words were clear and methodical like he’d recited them many times before. “I knew I needed to contact the apartment manager to get it fixed. Even on a Saturday, they would’ve sent someone what with the weather being so cold. All I had to do was p-pick up the ph-phone.”

  Caleb paused, taking a slow, deep breath. When he continued, his voice showed no sign of distress, but his shoulders trembled. “I started to call, but then my brain started What If-ing. What if they try to make me leave the apartment or evict me? What if the maintenance guy can’t fix it? What if I go crazy while he’s here? Or I freak the guy out so he rushes the job and the radiator ends up exploding and burning down the apartment complex? I got more and more upset until all I could do was crawl under the covers and bury my head like a little kid afraid of the boogeyman.”

  The idea of agoraphobia being potentially deadly wasn’t something Logan had considered. What if there was a fire? Would Caleb refuse to leave his apartment? Moving around the island, Logan brought his hand to Caleb’s shoulder and rested it there, noticing how red and puckered the skin above his too-tight T-shirt collar looked. There was no flinch, no nervous reaction, just a softly exhaled breath before Caleb continued. “I don’t remember anything else before waking up in the hospital four days later. My uncle told me that I was clutching the phone and mumbling need help over and over when he found me. I figure I calmed enough to realize I needed help just in time for the hypothermia to completely muddle my brain and make it impossible.” Seeming to shake the dark thoughts off easily, Caleb asked, “Are you hungry?”

  Logan’s stomach answered for him while he was still brooding over what Caleb had told him.

  Caleb chuckled and began pulling more items from the box of groceries. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

  Logan walked back to the other side of the island. “I can get something on the way home.” He didn’t sound convincing even to himself. He was so sick of eating fast food he was actually missing prison slop.

  Caleb pulled out a grill pan from a bottom cabinet and set the burner to medium. “It’s no bother and this way you can report you saw me eat.” He pulled a loaf of crusty Italian bread from the box and began slicing it. The fresh-baked aroma had been torturing Logan since he’d retrieved the order. His stomach gave another gurgling grumble. Last night’s dinner had consisted of stale crackers, peanut butter, and water. At least in prison, he got a carton of milk. God, I’m pathetic. Realizing what Caleb had said, Logan replied, “He don’t ask for specifics, just wants to know if you’re okay.”

  Opening a jar of red roasted peppers with more force than necessary, Caleb said, “Marco said he wasn’t allowed to tell me.” He pulled out two peppers and placed them on a cutting board with a splat. He started chopping them with enough force to make Logan concerned for his fingers.

  Hoping to distract the man from his thoughts, Logan asked, “Was Marco an ex-con like me?”

  Caleb froze, the knife poised over the peppers.

  Logan blinked. “Your uncle didn’t tell you? What the hell was the guy thinking?”

  Caleb shook his head, his green eyes wide. “But he did call me right after you left.”

  The sudden anger this answer evoked was almost overwhelming, and Logan couldn’t stop himself from saying, “That ain’t good enough. He should have told you I had a record. For all he knew, I could’ve forced you to say everything was okay.”

  Seeing Caleb’s distressed face, Logan willed the anger from his voice and asked, “Why would he pick me of all people?” Why trust me with you? was his unspoken thought. Klass had to know what a vulnerable position his nephew was in, or he was a complete moron. A guy too afraid to call a maintenance worker wouldn’t be likely to call the cops either.

  Caleb’s cheeks flushed, and he ducked his head. He started assembling the sandwiches, layering the bread with slices of ham, some sort of white cheese, and the peppers. “I can guess why,” he said, sneaking a peek at Logan before lowering his head again, “but you probably don’t want to know.”

  “Tell me.”

  He lowered his long gold lashes. “Um… I told you my uncle has a twisted sense of humor.” Turning his back to Logan, he placed the sandwiches on the grill. He then grabbed a cast-iron skillet and placed it on top of them for some reason before he spoke again. �
��Well, I have a type and… you’re pretty much it.”

  Logan raised his eyebrows. “So you and Marco….”

  Caleb spun around. “No,” he said, holding out his hands. “Marco is married and even if he hadn’t been, I wouldn’t have been interested.” He grabbed a sponge from the sink and wiped the cutting board before putting it away. He then went to work on the counter, keeping his eyes cast down as if the cleaning needed his full attention.

  Ignoring the alarm sirens hammering Logan’s skull, he asked, “Why not?”

  Caleb didn’t say anything at first, turning back toward the stove. He flipped over the sandwiches and replaced the skillet. “Marco’s a good guy—even if he has the annoying view I should be more obedient toward my uncle.” He shrugged. “It’s not something I’ve done… or wanted to do since I stopped going out.”

  After moving around the island, Logan pulled on Caleb’s arm, encouraging him to turn back around. “I know the feeling,” he said, keeping his voice low and serious. “Guys named Spike and Bubba were just dying to date me in the pen.” When Caleb’s eyes widened and his mouth dropped open, Logan couldn’t maintain the façade. He laughed, and then laughed harder when Caleb swatted his arm in indignation.

  “Let’s eat, Romeo.” Removing a set of plates from the cabinet, Caleb directed Logan to sit on a stool in front of the island while he placed the sandwiches on plates and added a handful of tortilla chips.

  As Logan bit into his sandwich, he lifted his eyebrows in surprise. “Oh, man, that’s good.” The saltiness of the ham and cheese mixed with the smoky tang of the peppers blended perfectly.

  Caleb smiled. “I’m glad you like it.” He handed Logan a bottle of water from the fridge. “Marco was too chicken to eat the crazy gringo’s cooking.”

  “He’s an idiot,” Logan said around a mouthful of sandwich. “I should be paying you for this.”

  Caleb concentrated on his own sandwich, a hint of a blush touching his cheeks. They finished the meal in companionable silence. After clearing away the dishes, Caleb flipped over the box, causing the oatmeal packet to plop to the floor. He bent over to retrieve it, and Logan bit his tongue to keep from groaning. Logan watched Caleb break into laughter when he read the package. It seemed to light his entire face. He hoped he would see that light again.