With the exception of a couple bullet holes, a spider-webbed drink case door, and some soda and coffee pooled onto the floor, we got through relatively unscathed.
“Okay,” I turned to Calvin, “I think it’s over now.”
He was still on the ground, curled up in the fetal position (the ultimate defensive stance). He uncurled and screamed, “What the Jolly Rogers was that?!”
I made my way back towards the counter. “Just some bored townies giving us a hard time.”
“Why?!” He got to his feet, visibly shaking.
“Probably because they’re bored townies.”
“Lock the doors!” His voice was somewhere between normal and screeching, like he was undecided about how to react. I understood. People like Calvin Ambrose can go their entire lives without facing anything remotely as dangerous as this. The fact that he wasn’t crying was something to be commended. “We have to-we- call-we should…” Now he was choking on his words.
“Take a breath,” I said slowly. “It’s okay.”
“Jack! Lock the doors! We have to call the cops. We-Those were terrorists! We just got attacked by terrorists!”
“Nah, those were just idiots.” I spun the egg timer and reached for the store phone. “I’ll call Deputy O’Brien and let her know what happened.”
He sputtered, “Wha, wh-why? How are you so calm right now?!”
“They’re gone. I don’t think they’re coming back. I’ll get this cleaned up. You should make yourself another cup of coffee.”
“I don’t think I need it anymore.”
With that, he fell into the booth seat below the broken window.
Great. How the hell am I supposed to get rid of him now?
***
I tried everything I could think of to get him to leave, but after the drive-by, it was like he had grown roots. As far as traumatic events go, this wouldn’t have even broken into my top hundred, but poor Calvin remained on the precipice of hyperventilating. He had finally begun to calm down when another car came screeching into the parking lot, causing him to reflexively jump out of his seat and hide under the table.
Deputy O’Brien parked her cruiser sideways in front of the doors. Her lights were flashing, and her hand was resting on her holstered weapon when she walked into the building.
Her eyes landed on the man under the table first. She stayed close to the entrance and scanned the rest of the room before looking my way and asking, “You okay?”
“I’m fine.”
She walked towards me and pointed a thumb over her shoulder at the man crawling out from beneath the table. “What’s his deal?”
He answered for me, “My deal is that those thugs tried to kill us!”
She turned to face him as he approached us in a huff.
“Did you get a look at the people who did this?”
“No, but they’re already gone! You took your sweet time getting here, and now they got away!”
She nodded and said calmly, “I’ll have the crime lab come out and collect the bullet. Doesn’t look like they left any fingerprints behind. I’ll see about putting a unit on the building in case they come back.”
I know I’m famously bad at social interactions, but it sure seemed to me like Calvin was overreacting. He could have gotten the same message across in a calm speaking voice, yet he chose to yell at the top of his lungs, “That’s not good enough! We want those criminals charged for attempted murder!”
“We”? Why is he going plural?
“I understand,” O’Brian said.
“This is not okay! We demand to know what you’re going to do about this! Right, Jack?”
O’Brien looked at me and raised an eyebrow.
I wasn’t expecting to be put on the spot like this. “What? Oh, um, nah, it’s… I mean… It sounds like she’s got it under control.”
“No!” Calvin Ambrose barked. “This is unacceptable!”
She turned back to him. “What would you have me do?”
He reacted like she’d just spat acid in his face. His voice rose to shrill levels disfavored by dogs and humans alike. “How about you start by doing your job?! Why don’t you go out there and find the men who did this and put them in jail instead of just standing here, waiting for them to come back?!” He turned his attention to me again. I wished he hadn’t. “Back me up on this, Jack?”
“Oh. Um, I don’t really have anything to add.”
Calvin continued his tirade, “This sort of thing doesn’t happen all at once! You people sit back and let crime grow and grow until someone like me—” he pointed right at me “—or like Jack end up getting killed over it! And it’s not alright! Do you understand?”
As he huffed and puffed, O’Brien began to respond, “The men who did this—”
But Calvin wasn’t quite out of steam yet. He pointed a finger in the air and yelled, “These punks don’t have any respect! Not for the law! Not for themselves! And sure as heck not for us. I’m terrified. Jack is terrified. Look at him! We can’t work if we don’t feel safe. Tell her, Jack! Don’t be afraid to say how you really feel.”
DUDE. STOP DRAGGING ME INTO THIS.
At long last, he stopped talking. He bent over and put his hands on his knees to catch his breath while O’Brien eyed him coolly, somehow keeping a straight face. When he finally pulled himself together and stood up erect again, she said, “I understand your frustration.”
“I sincerely doubt that,” he snapped. Then he turned his back on her (a brave move) and returned to his booth seat.
O’Brien left him to fume and walked over to join me. When she reached the counter, she rolled her eyes and stuck out her tongue. I smiled and nodded in solidarity. Yeah. That guy’s a real turd. Then she put on her serious face and asked, “Did you see anything?”
“Afraid not.” I wanted to be more helpful, but I’d already told her everything I knew over the phone. If Calvin weren’t throwing such a huge fit, I probably wouldn’t have even bothered her. She was scheduled to come by after my shift ended anyway, and I hated to make her waste a trip over something so trivial.
“Any clue why they’d take a shot at you?”
“I don’t pretend to know why people in this town do anything, but if I had to guess, I’d say it was probably an accident.” I thought for a second, then added, “Unless…”
I let that word linger. She didn’t push it. She already knew.
Unless they were here for Jerry.
***
The deputy took a look at the bullet holes and determined it was probably a round from a hunting rifle. That limited our suspect list down to almost every single person in this town. She told us to stay put (like we needed that direction) while she went outside to inspect the tire tracks and bullet casings.
I took the opportunity to sweep up broken glass, my first time using a broom since becoming crutch-bound (it was exactly as difficult as you would expect). Halfway through, Calvin walked over with a handful of paper towels and knelt down to wipe up the spilt coffee.
I stopped to tell him, “You know you don’t have to do that, right?”
“No biggie. It’s my mess; I should be the one to clean it.”
“Don’t worry about it. I need stuff to do anyway.”
Oh crap. Why did I say that?
He stood up straight with the wad of soaked paper towels in his hand and dirty coffee dripping through his fingers. “If you need stuff to do, I’ve been working on a honey-do list to get this place back in tippie-top shape. First, we need to talk about the weathering on the windows. Second, the pest problem is getting—”
“—Hey, Calvin.” He stopped and gave me a blank stare. “Sorry to interrupt, but I think your ear is bleeding.”
There was a trail of blood running from inside his left ear all the way down his neck. He reached up with his free hand, tapped the liquid, and looked at the red on his fingertips.
“Oh bother!” he exclaimed. “I must have gotten hit. I’m telling you now, they
aren’t going to stop until we’re all dead.”
Without giving it a moment’s thought, he pressed the dirty, wet, coffee-soaked paper towels against his ear. As he wiped at the blood, coffee squeezed out of the towels onto the side of his head, running down his neck and staining his nice dress shirt. I waited for him to realize his goof, but he acted like this was his intention all along.
“Are you feeling okay?” I asked.
With blood and coffee smeared against his chin and a glazed-over smile on his face, he answered, “Better now that it’s just the two of us.”
This was a grown man. I shouldn’t have to tell him, but I did anyway. “You, uh, missed a spot.”
The smile vanished. “I know how to clean up a mess, Jack. I’ve been doing this since you were in grade school.” He was getting testy, so I backed off and pretended I couldn’t see him steadily bleeding all over the place.
“I really do appreciate the help, but you’re off the clock. Why don’t you go enjoy the rest of your day before your shift starts?”
He tossed the soiled paper towels into the trash bin and said, “You’re right. I shouldn’t be doing this ‘off the clock.’ I may as well get my day started early.”
“What?”
“It’s okay. I’m salaried.”
I called after him as he headed towards the time clock, “No, don’t do that! I’ve got this under control. Besides, Devon will be here in a little while.”
Calvin laughed as he punched in his employee code. He spun his head in my direction, splattering blood against the gas station wall. “Devon needs more training. He still doesn’t know how to operate the register properly. Someone needs to stick around to hold his hand and show him the ropes, because this sink-or-swim mentality you guys have around here isn’t working. A good company invests in its employees. An inch of effort early on is worth a mile of—”
I stopped listening. I’d already lost the battle. Calvin Ambrose was coming to work early whether I liked it or not. This meant we’d be working side by side until Devon arrived. It also meant I wouldn’t be getting any more reading done, which—in my opinion—meant the terrorists had already won.
I let Calvin drone on while I finished sweeping and moved to straightening the display of gnomes. Several had toppled over onto the ground during the shoot-out, even though the display wasn’t anywhere near the bullet’s path. I assured myself there was probably a perfectly good reason and didn’t give it too much thought.
I had tuned out Calvin’s nasally voice up to this point, but my subconscious picked up on a phrase that immediately summoned my attention back to his monologuing. “Blablabla, blablabla… there’s really no reason why you can’t leave and go home early today.”
I looked back at him. “What did you say?”
He was standing at the cash register. In a rather blatant display of presumption, he was already counting down my till for me, pausing long enough to say, “You’re already twenty hours into overtime for the week, and unlike me, you aren’t salaried. Let me take on some of the burden so you can go home and get some sleep. I know you must be tired, right?”
O’Brien walked back inside as I answered, “Exhausted.”
“Then it’s settled. I’ll watch the store until you get back tonight. Enjoy the rest of your day!”
O’Brien gave me a what-is-he-talking-about look, raised an eyebrow, and asked, “What is he talking about?”
“Hey, would you mind if—”
She finished my thought, “You need another ride, huh?”
“Well, only if you're not busy.”
She cut her eyes towards Calvin and answered, “Of course. I’m not doing anything important at the moment.”
***
We stayed at the gas station long enough for her backup to arrive. Calvin refused to say another word to her, which was perfectly fine by all three of us. Once the new officer started writing up Calvin’s statement, we took off.
We were only a minute into the car ride, but I felt like we were both holding our breath. She was never one to start a conversation, and I could never think of anything to say. This was how most of our interactions went. Both of us completely silent, me wondering if I was supposed to say something. Or if she hated me. Or if she had any opinion about me at all. Arnold—the deputy who had her job before her—was a bit of an asshole, but at least I knew exactly where I stood with him. I probably could have kept up our mutual silence forever, but today felt wrong. After putting up with Calvin’s unapologetic outburst, the least she deserved was a thank you.
I worked up the nerve to speak first. “Hey, thanks again for driving me. I don’t know if I’ve ever really told you, but I do appreciate everything you do.”
She was quick to reply. “Don’t mention it.”
We sat quietly for another minute. I spent the time reviewing what was just said to make sure I hadn’t accidentally embarrassed myself. The analysis came back clean. But then I started to overthink it.
She never says “You’re welcome.” But that makes sense. I’m not welcome to her favors. They’re an obligation, and she doesn’t want me to keep reminding her. Hence, “Don’t mention it.” She doesn’t like me, and that’s okay. She doesn’t want to make small talk. I’m just a job, and not a very fun one, so I should probably keep my mouth shut.
“Something on your mind?” she asked.
It was unexpected, and I didn’t have any better response than, “Huh?”
“You look like you’re about to put down Old Yeller.”
“No, I was just thinking about…” I tried to think up a good lie, something that sounded better than ‘how bad I am at talking to you.’ The best I could come up with was “...time-turners.”
A few seconds passed before she said, “What?”
“Time-turners. From ‘Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban.’ They’re basically plot breakers. Rowling introduced a completely O.P. time-travel device, but then the students never use it again, even when there’s a literal war played out in ‘Deathly Hallows.’ If you have a time machine, why not just go back to before the war starts? Why didn’t they just go Terminator on baby Voldemort?”
“And this is where your mind goes?”
“Sometimes.”
“Hmmm...”
We went back to sitting in silence. I didn’t have to obsessively review the conversation this time. I knew she thought I was an idiot. But still, at least we were talking, and if we were going to be talking, there was one more thing I wanted to get off my chest.
“I’m sorry about what happened back there.”
“What do you mean?”
“Calvin was way out of line. I think he was just freaked out because he’s never been in a situation like that before and didn’t know how to react. I would be willing to bet he’s led a sheltered life.”
“Don’t do that.”
“What?”
She took her eyes off the road for just a moment to look at me and say, “Don’t make excuses for shitty people. Because they’re going to keep on being shitty, then you’ll have to keep on making excuses.” She returned her gaze straight ahead. “Some people are assholes. I know how it works. You didn’t do anything wrong. Don’t hitch your wagon to an asshole.”
Don’t hitch your wagon to an asshole. Words to live by, for sure.
“Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it.”
She turned the car onto a completely deserted Main Street. It was more reminiscent of a post-apocalyptic wasteland than normal. I stared out at the mounds of dirty snow piled up on the empty storefronts and sidewalks. Some of the businesses had newly-made “Closed” signs posted on their doors and windows. Outside of the post office, a pathetic three-foot tall snowman silently begged to be put out of its misery.
I assumed our conversation had ended, so it took me by surprise when she kept talking, “Everybody’s freaking out over a little snow. Back in Brooklyn, people actually knew how to drive in bad weather. I always looked forw
ard to winter. Because whenever it started snowing, crime rates would take a dive, and I’d have fewer crazies to deal with. Of course, suicide rates would always go up, too, but that was someone else’s department.”
This was the most she’d ever opened up to me, and something about having already embarrassed myself took a lot of the pressure off.
“So,” I asked, “what happens when it snows during a full moon?”
She cracked a smile. “Oh, they cancel each other out. That’s just basic math.”
“Of course.”
Her tone turned more serious. “I wouldn’t count on the weather to keep you safe, though. I got a feeling Middleton isn’t one to take a snow day.”
“Oh, that reminds me. He called the store.”
“Who did?”
“Spencer Middleton.”
“Okay.” She flicked on her blinker and eased onto the brakes, even though we weren’t anywhere close to our next turn.
“Are we stopping?”
“Yep,” she said incredibly calmly.
“Why?”
“I’ve got to pull into one of these parking spots so I can yell at you.”
“What?”
She parked the cruiser in front of a small diner with a “closed for snow shits” sign posted in the window. She very calmly put the car in park, turned to me, then ripped me a new asshole.
“HAVE YOU LOST YOUR GODDAMN MIND?! DO YOU WANT TO DIE?! BECAUSE I CAN TAKE CARE OF THAT RIGHT NOW AND SAVE US ALL A LOT OF TROUBLE! WHAT THE HELL DID I TELL YOU?!”
I may have screamed a little, but only because that was the scariest thing I’d seen all week. She continued to tear into me for another minute straight, letting me know in graphic detail exactly what would happen to me if I neglected to inform her immediately about any more Spencer-related news.
“Okay!” I said once she was finally done, “I’m sorry!”
She studied my face while I waited for my heartbeat to return to normal. She must have decided that I was telling the truth, because when she spoke again, her voice was back to being perfectly (terrifyingly) calm.
“Good, but ‘sorry’ doesn’t keep you alive.” She went from zero to a hundred and back to zero in no time, and I decided then and there that I would rather let Spencer kill me than unleash O’Brien’s wrath again. “Now, tell me exactly what he said.”
Tales From the Gas Station 2 Page 4