“Okay, fine.” I took a deep breath, then I inched a little closer.
“All the way over here,” he instructed.
He stepped away from the cold drink case, and I took his spot. As I rested one hand against the frame, I felt something. There was a rhythm. A soft vibration. Almost, but not quite, like a whisper. Jerry smiled and gestured for me to get closer. I leaned my head into the case, past the frame, then I closed my eyes, and held my breath…
“Jack! What are you doing here?!”
...and quickly pulled it back out.
That voice was coming from behind the front counter. It was Calvin, shouting at me with a deranged smile. I closed the drink case door and started towards the front of the store while Jerry yelled after me, “You heard it, though, right?”
I decided to ignore him for now, at least until I had a chance to talk to Calvin and get his side of the story. He came around the counter and met me halfway, but his smell reached me several seconds before he did.
Something was off about the guy, more so than normal. He was sweating profusely, with pit stains the size of dinner plates ringing his arms and sleeves. As he walked over, he ran a hand through wet hair, leaving it sticking straight up. He came to a stop in front of me and wiped the sweaty palm onto his pants. From this close, it was hard to ignore the fact that he smelled like an elementary school cafeteria on sloppy-joe day, but I put on a polite face and tried anyway.
“Hey Calvin, Jerry says you fired Devon?”
He clicked his tongue and rolled his eyes, then said, “I didn’t fire him. I let him go. And now he doesn’t work here anymore.”
“Oh. Well, I can see why Jerry was confused.”
“It’s okay!” he said eagerly, showing off a giant grin. “Now we can find somebody better! Now we can bring in some good American help, someone who will actually learn how to do the job properly. Someone we can trust around the cash register.”
That was a lot to unpack all at once, and the only response I could come up with was, “I’m pretty sure Devon was American.”
He snapped back with a shrill, angry voice, like a teacher who just caught his students running an illegal dice game, “Jack, you’re being naive!”
“I’m just saying, I saw his stuff and—”
“This is what they do! They fake their documents. They act just like us. But they can never really blend in, can they? It’s not just about the language, although that’s a dead giveaway. He wasn’t one of us.”
“Are you feeling okay? You need me to take over the safe for you?”
“No!” he screamed, his lips peeled back in a grimace. “You’ve already got too much time. I’m just as hard of a worker as you are, and to imply that I can’t keep up… you know what that is? That’s a slap in my face! I have years of experience doing this, and you’re not going to stand there and tell me I need help. You’re just a kid!”
I gave him a couple seconds to catch his breath. “Hey, I’m sorry.” I wasn’t actually sorry, of course, but a fake apology can go a long way in defusing a hot situation. He relaxed, and his frown disappeared, so I kept going, “I didn’t mean to imply anything. I’ve never really had any help like yours around here before.”
He sneered and laughed, “Yeah, I can see that.”
“I know we both had a crazy morning, and I wanted to see—” I caught myself before ending that sentence. I was going to say “—if you needed any help,” but I didn’t want to set him off again. “—if you could show me a few things. Clearly you know this industry better than I do.”
It worked. He was absolutely giddy. “Of course! I’m glad to hear you’re finally coming around. Actually, there’s a very important lesson I want to teach you. See, the real reason I called Jeremy in today was so I could have a talk with him. And it’s great that you’re here, because I think you should be the one to do it.”
“To do what, exactly?”
“It’s time for us to show him the door.”
“I don’t follow—”
“Jeremy is a cancer on this place. He’s lazy and irresponsible, and worst of all, he’s attracting the worst kinds of people. That attack this morning made it clear. He’s going to be the death of us.”
I looked back at where Jerry was standing with his head inside the drink case, then turned to Calvin and said, “I don’t think that was necessarily his fault.”
“Maybe it was and maybe it wasn’t, but I’ve got a business to run, and I can’t take any chances when it comes to safety. He’s got to go, and it has to be now.”
“Okay,” I said. “Counterpoint: He’s still fixing the drink case. And we just lost Devon. And you and I are both pretty far into overtime for the week. What’s the rush?”
Calvin gave me his Calvin-Ambrosest creepy smile, took tiny steps until he was center stage in my personal space, then set a clammy, moist hand on my shoulder. “Jack,” he said in a loud whisper. “Let me explain something to you. Guys like Devon and Jerry—” (he couldn’t help but squeeze my shoulder as he said their names) “—they’re not like us. You know what I mean?”
“Not exactly.”
“We’re big picture guys. We actually care about the job. We understand what has to be done, and we do it. The drink case, the overtime, those are all small, secondary problems. They need to be addressed, yes, and they will be. In time. The terrorists, though—” (he squeezed again) “—That’s a big problem. And a good manager always handles the biggest problems first. Think of the gas station as a patient in the emergency room, and you and I are the doctors. You’re not going to splint a broken pinky when the patient is in cardiac arrest. A good doctor tends to the worst wounds first.”
I fake sneezed so I’d have an excuse to back up and get Calvin’s gross hand off of me. It was convincing enough that Jerry looked up from what he was doing and yelled out, “Godzilla!” before going back to work.
“You’ve got a point,” I said. “But a good firefighter always puts out the smallest fires first. Think about it.”
He made a face—one I’d never seen on a human before—then snarled, “A good mechanic fixes the engine before worrying about the paint scratches.”
Oh, are we doing this? Then let’s do this!
I retorted, “A smart cheetah always hunts the slowest gazelle.”
“A good bomber aims for the biggest targets!”
“And a good survivor shoots the closest zombie.”
He wasn’t about to out-metaphor me. I read way too much to let that happen. This was my game, and I already had a dozen others loaded up and ready when Jerry interrupted us.
“Hey Jack, I almost forgot to mention something. This cute chick came in earlier today and dropped off her resume.”
“Great,” I said. “I’ll let the owners know. Maybe she can take some of Devon’s shifts.”
“Yeah, or some of his.” He pointed a thumb at the sweating man. Calvin gasped, then laughed like a lunatic.
“I don’t think I’m going anywhere any time soon, Jeremy.”
Jerry smirked, turned to face him, and destroyed him in two words. “Okay, dude.”
Calvin’s pale face turned bright pink in no time flat. I braced myself, but instead of an explosion, Calvin’s head snapped towards the front door and his eyes grew wide like he’d just freebased a kilo of catnip. He screamed at someone I couldn’t see, “HEY! What are you doing out there?!”
I tried to get a look at who or what could have possibly pissed him off worse than Jerry, but there was nobody there. Calvin Ambrose charged towards the doors, flinging them open and yelling back at us, “You two stay here! I’ll take care of this!”
The blast of cold air filled the room as Calvin screamed and ran into the parking lot after his white whale. Once the door had closed behind him, Jerry said what we were both thinking. “That dude has lost his mind.”
I nodded. “I guess this is what Pops was worried about.”
Jerry went to the tool aisle while I walked behind the co
unter to clock in for the day. Next to the time clock, Calvin had posted a new handwritten sheet filled with “Important Rules for Every Employee to Remember!”
I did a quick scan of the list, and noticed that some of the “Rules” made a lot less sense than others. Some of them looked okay only at first glance. Some of them were pure nonsense. All of them were pointless.
“Smile or you will be written up.”
“No more birthdays.”
“Employees must wash all hands and feet inside the building at all times.”
“Nobody can be taller than the gas station has rooms. Don’t forget to count the rooms.”
“Do not believe the hobo. He is a liar and a killer.”
“There are only 40 eye combinations.”
“There will be consequences.”
“Remember: We all taste like pork.”
I’d read enough. Calvin had gone off the deep end.
I took out the picture from Karl’s house and compared the handwriting on the back to Calvin’s. Sadly, no match (if only it were that easy). Next, I tore the list off the wall, crumpled it up, and tossed it into the trash where it belonged. Then I joined Jerry next to the drink case. He had a hammer and screwdriver in either hand, with the door opened as far as it would swing.
“I guess this job brings out the crazy in some people,” he said matter-of-factly.
“Speaking of which, what exactly are you doing right now?”
He raised his tools to the door hinges. “Oh, this? I’m removing the drink case door so I can figure out where that mysterious voice is coming from.”
It was probably one of the least worst answers he could have given, and as long as he wasn’t building another bomb, I was ready to consider it a win.
“You know,” he said. “with Calvin going nuts and all, you think the owners might be willing to bump Van up to full time when she gets back?”
I didn’t know how to respond. Should I point out the obvious?
“I don’t think she’s going to want to come back to the gas station.”
“Of course she is,” he said with a laugh. “Where else is she going to work?”
Does he know something I don’t?
The front door slammed open and Calvin staggered back inside, screaming, “Jack! I need an ambulance!”
I raced back to the front as fast as my crutches would let me. As soon as I made it to the end of the aisle, I could see why he was screaming, and for once I didn’t think he was overreacting. There was a trail of blood from the front door to the counter where he was crouched over, hugging his wet, red arm tightly against his chest.
I grabbed the store phone, twisted on the egg-timer, put a dollar in the register, and started to dial O’Brien’s number. Halfway through punching in the digits, Calvin reached across the counter and slammed a bloodied hand on top of the switch hook, ending the call before it started. We locked eyes, and he smiled with his jaw opened wide.
I lowered the receiver and asked, “What happened?”
He whispered like it was a naughty secret. “It was that gosh dang hobo!”
“Does he have a knife or something?”
“He bit me! That son of a gun bit me like a wild animal!”
Jerry calmly walked up behind him, asking “Why would anyone bite a wild animal?”
I looked at Jerry, then pointed at the front door. “Do you mind?”
He cracked his knuckles, turned, and walked right outside, announcing as he went, “I’m gonna go kick this guy in the uterus.”
I yelled after him, “I meant, do you mind locking the doors?!” But it was too late, he was already gone.
Calvin was pooling blood all over the counter, but he wouldn’t let his hand off the telephone hook. “That hobo bit me down to the bone! What the H-E-double hockey sticks is wrong with the people in this town?”
I tried to pry his death grip open, but he wouldn’t budge.
“Okay, Calvin, stay calm. Is there any particular reason you aren’t letting me call for help?”
“Jack! Listen.” His eyes were visibly dilated now. “Can you-Can you do me a favor-Can we call someone other than that—” He darted his tongue out and back in like a snake tasting the air. “—one girl?”
“You mean O’Brien? Why?”
He wobbled for a second, but didn’t go down. “Look, I get it. I… I know... you’re stuck with her because she’s new so she has to give you rides and whatnot until she earns her wings, but this… this is a real emergency. So, you know.”
“Sorry, I don’t follow.”
“Come on, Jack. This is a little above her pay grade. Do you think we can request they send out a white guy instead?”
Wowww.
“It’s not a Burger King. They don’t do special requests. And O’Brien’s the best deputy they have.”
“It’s a simple question. They can say no if they want, but it’s worth asking.”
“Is it, though?”
His eyes shot open wide like an owl’s, like he suddenly realized that he’d actually said those words out loud instead of just thinking them. But rather than backtrack, he dug in his heels.
“Hey!” he hollered defensively. “Let’s get one thing perfectly clear. I am not a racist! Okay? I watched every episode of Fresh Prince! I used to babysit black kids! I don’t have a racist bone in my body! I’m just stating a scientific fact. A white guy is going to understand us better.”
I ignored the urge to roll me eyes.
“Okay, sure, whatever. Why don’t you let me call for help, and then we can—”
“You gotta learn something, Jack. You can’t be afraid of offending people. Guys like us can’t even walk down the street these days without hurting someone’s feelings. You can’t… you can’t let them win.”
The blood had spread to the edge of the counter and was beginning to drip onto the floor, but he wouldn’t let go of the phone.
“Calvin, you should probably stop talking.”
“What kind of a name is ‘O’Brien’ for one of them anyway? Who do you think she married to get that name? Probably a green card marriage, huh? Typical. Micks are always cutting corners.”
“Wow, dude.”
“See? I’m not racist. I hate everyone equally! I’m just saying-I’m… I’m just… Is it hot in here? Or—”
With that, Calvin released the phone and passed out on the floor in a puddle of his own blood.
***
The ambulance transported Calvin Ambrose to the emergency room to get stitches, a rabies shot, and a tetanus booster while O’Brien stayed behind to take our statements. Once again, I wasn’t much help. The only thing I witnessed out of the ordinary was Calvin Ambrose’s uglier side coming up for air.
Jerry reported that there were no signs of hobos or hobo-like activity when he went to check outside, and loudly opined that Calvin had probably bitten himself.
I called and let the owners know what happened. Pops listened to my retelling and offered the simple condolence of, “That’s too bad,” before asking if I could cover the rest of Calvin's shift before mine started that night.
Chapter Seven
The doctors advised Calvin to take at least a couple of days off from work to let his arm fully heal. Unlike me, he was the kind of guy who listened to doctors’ advice. We shuffled around a few shifts, and even tried calling Devon to get him rehired, but he never answered our calls. Curiously, he didn’t leave a forwarding address, and he never came to pick up his last paycheck, either.
The owners let me know they’d be going through the applications to hire a fresh batch of “new meat” soon (their words), but in the meantime, I’d be picking up a lot of slack. Sunday was meant to be my first day off in two weeks, but after everything that had happened, days off were starting to look like a thing of the past.
But hey, at least Calvin isn’t going to get any overtime!
I spent the hour before my Sunday shift pantsless in my living room, trying to find a way to scratch
the relentless itch below my cast. I’d never had a cast before, and I was warned that these things would be “uncomfortable” from time to time, but words couldn’t prepare me for just how bad it could be.
I had almost gotten used to life with my broken leg. My first day back from the hospital after surgery, I took a seam-ripper to the right legs of my four favorite pairs of jeans so I could still wear them over the cast. The crutch bruises under my armpits had mostly numbed over by now, and I’d perfected the art of putting on underwear every day with a wire hanger. Even the pain wasn’t too much to manage; I’d already been living with a certain degree of physical suffering ever since my brain forgot how to fall asleep years ago.
But the itching... well, there’s only so much a man can take.
I used a fork and scratched it out until I was sure I’d do some real damage if I didn’t stop, then tried my best to completely ignore it. I learned that itching, like so many other things, grows stronger the more attention it gets. (Go ahead and take a moment to appreciate the fact that you’re not itchy right now. Just don’t think about it too hard.)
O’Brien honked twice outside right as I finished safety pinning my jeans over the cast. It was time to start another work day, and I was thankful. Anything to take my mind off the itching was a welcome distraction.
With nothing to compare it to, I had no idea that the feeling in my leg wasn’t normal.
***
Jerry wasn’t behind the counter when I walked inside. For a split second, I thought he might have quit without notice, but then I heard him tinkering with something by the cold drink case and breathed a sigh of relief. When I saw what he was up to, I wondered if my relief had been a bit premature.
He volunteered to cover my overnight shift. I thought that was suspicious at first, but now I could see that it had something to do with the way he was hyper-obsessing over this… whatever it was.
He had connected another roll of copper wiring to the door frame, with one cable attached to the dismantled corpse of an old Walkman from the lost and found box. There was a paper sign dangling from the grid of wires that read, “Case closed! (for repairs).”
Tales From the Gas Station 2 Page 7