The older cop puts the bag down and begins to search through Aida’s trunk. Then, he lifts up the spare tire and pulls out another Ziploc bag. “It’s heroin,” he says. All of the onlookers are astonished. They look further and find a small automatic handgun. “I’ve seen enough. Let’s finish this at the precinct.”
The cops push Aida into the back of the cop car. Nobody can believe what they’ve just seen. Aida, a drug-using, gun-toting criminal. Who knew? Today I feel a whole lot safer going home to my overpriced condo in the city. The suburbs have all sorts of unexpected criminals lurking around. Even frail old ladies. At least in the city you know who the criminals are. I don’t need them being sneaky and offering me peanut brittle and shit, not knowing they have a .22 tucked into their girdle. No thanks.
* * *
Aida’s walk on the wild side got me up nice and early this morning. I couldn’t sleep much anyway. Especially after I put together the pieces of what her arrest actually accomplished. There’s no way she didn’t get fired when Hunter saw that public display. And that means there’s an immediate opening for the manager position. I arrive nice and early, showing my commitment to STD. The job is all mine. I’m running too far ahead of schedule. I don’t want to give off the impression that I’m an eager ass-kisser. And the lack of sleep has me sort of bleary-eyed. A double espresso in my hazelnut latte should give me that jolt. Can’t have Hunter seeing me yawning like crazy. My positive mood gets sideswiped a little bit when I look above the coffee shop and see my picture hovering over the building. It’s one of our billboards. Mental constipation. Yep, that’s me. I don’t let it bother me too much. But I duck inside the coffee shop before I’m recognized, as if I’m a celebrity. Maybe I should invest in some sunglasses.
Usually I’m antsy when waiting in line, but I’m always rushing to get someplace. Being early kinda relieves that stress from your life. Also, my career is now on the upswing, and I’m within grasp of my promotion. The biggest stress in my life has been stabilized. I’m even contemplating getting a chocolate-chip muffin, but I better not. Once I get this promotion I’m getting new work clothes, and I want to look nice and trim when giving presentations and shit. Plus, I might get chocolate-chip stains on my bow tie. And I only have three of them.
I hear a familiar voice behind me as I look at the muffin display: “Spare change? Spare change?” It can’t be. “Don’t be cruel. Don’t be . . . don’t be, baby. Spare change?” I turn around, and Robbie’s there harassing the coffee-shop patrons. I turn right back around, hoping he doesn’t see me. I order my coffee, hurry up, and pay for it. Then, I turn around trying to go undetected out of the door.
“Kevin!” Robbie says. I try my best deaf-person impression and keep walking. “Kevin, you can’t stop to talk to an old friend?”
I stop dead in my tracks, so hard I think I almost blew out both of my ACLs. “Friend? We’re not fucking friends.” I continue to walk out of the door.
“Wait up,” Robbie says, as he grabs a half-eaten sandwich off an empty table and runs after me. “Hold up.”
“Leave me alone. I gotta get to work.” I continue walking down the street as he follows behind me.
“What did I do to you?” he says.
“Snuck around and cheated with my fiancée. Let’s begin with that.”
“She was your girlfriend. And she never was your fiancée, technically.”
I glare back at him. He steps back a little bit as I approach him. “I proposed. She said yes.”
“Okay, a technicality, then. I’ll give you that one. But there’s nothing I can do about that now. How about a truce?”
“You can’t call a truce. I hate you. Don’t you understand? I don’t want you to do anything. My life is a hundred times more awesome now. I’m happy. I’m almost at the place you’re at.” Then, I keep walking. I can’t let him make me late on my big day.
He gives chase and gets in front of me. “What did you mean by that?” he says.
“By what?”
“Get to where I’m at. You want this?” He points to the tattered clothes he’s wearing.
“It is my suit. So I kinda do want that back,” I say.
“You’ll get it back. But this is the life you want?” he says as he holds up his half-eaten trash sandwich. “I wipe my ass with the newspaper want ads, man. If I’m even lucky enough to wipe my ass at all.”
“Yes, I want to metaphorically wipe my ass with the want ads. It’s like you’re telling the whole system of employment to kiss your ass . . . or wipe it, rather.”
“I sleep with rats and roaches,” he says.
“Well, of course I’m not talking about that part. All the other stuff. Not the ‘fishing through the trash for food and sleep with pests’ part.”
Robbie looks at me with true disgust in his eyes. “You have a condo.”
“Can’t afford it,” I reply.
“You have a job,” he says.
“Don’t like it.”
He throws up his hands. He’s not understanding me. I think of a way I can break it down for him. “I always see you with a smile on your face. You never take no for an answer. You do your own thing. That’s what I want. I want to be free and happy like you.”
“Listen, I’m always smiling because there’s not a time when I don’t want something. Nobody’s gonna give something to an angry housing-challenged man. Your problem is that you’re never satisfied with what you have. Always focusing on things you don’t got. Always want extra shit. Your shit isn’t fancy enough. Your TV isn’t big enough. Your apartment doesn’t have enough room. This person makes more than me. This person has a nicer car than me. It’s all dumb. Comparing yourself to others. Just be happy, you bitch. You piss me the fuck off. You only have ten pairs of shoes. You only have three sinks to piss in,” he says.
“See, sink pissing. I want that freedom,” I say. Robbie throws his half-eaten sandwich at me. Then, he storms off into the alley. I stand there, stunned, and then walk away. I look back, not believing he talked to me that way, and see him come back to pick up the sandwich off the sidewalk and return to his alley refuge.
* * *
I’m still shook-up from my Robbie encounter as I pull into the parking lot. The nerve of him to get mad at me after all the shit he’s done. And on top of that, I thought I was giving him compliments. I kinda smell like bruschetta from that sandwich he hit me with, and it’s making me nauseated. I pull into a spot and try to gather my bearings while I still have some time before work starts. My phone rings. I take a look at the number, and I don’t recognize it. I don’t know what I am thinking, but I answer it. It’s probably a bill collector, and I’ve been ducking them long enough. My new success has given me just enough bravado to tell them to fuck off and not to cower like ho who’s come up short to her pimp.
“Hello,” I say. I wait for the delay and recorded message in which the bill collector asks to speak to me, as I would usually deny my own identity. It’s not a bill collector. It’s a woman from a job I applied to. She says they’ve reviewed my resume and would like to set up a phone interview with me. I typically hate those, but I’m game for anything. I’m on a good-luck streak. As I look for a pen in my car’s center console, so I can take some notes, Jake shows up right next to my window.
“How was your drive in?” he says. I motion to him that I’m on the phone. He grabs the phone out of my hand and hangs it up. “I’m talking to you. Don’t be rude.”
“What the fuck? That could’ve been my ticket out of here.”
“It probably was going to be another failed interview,” he says, as he sticks his head inside my car. “How’s your morning going?”
“Okay, had this weird thing with Robbie—”
“Yeah, whatever, that’s good,” he cuts me off.
“You missed it. I tried to call you last night, ’cuz this was bigger than a text message. But Aida got arrested when we were leaving last night,” I say.
“Get the fuck out of here! Aida?�
�� he says, laughing.
“Yeah, it was crazy. All these cops came rolling up. Must’ve been a SWAT team or some sting-operation-type shit.”
“Must’ve,” he says. “What’d she do?”
“They caught her with drugs and a gun. Who knows what else was in that station wagon.”
“That’s some shit. From Golden Girls to Scarface,” he says.
I shake my head.
He bursts into laughter so hard it’s not long before his face turns red.
“What?” I say.
He says, while still laughing, “You really believed all that? That old lady getting caught with a brick of heroin?”
“Wait . . . that was you?” Jake nods. “How did you? Why did you?”
He stops laughing and takes on a serious tone. “We had to get rid of Aida. And I needed to show you this could be done either with you or without you.”
“What?”
“You doing your own thing with Mike,” he says.
“He had to go.”
“I’m the one who tells you who needs to go. Don’t ever let that shit happen again,” he says. His eyes darken. “Are we solid on that?”
I don’t respond initially, because I’m taken aback. I’ve never seen him this way.
“Are we solid on that?” he repeats.
“Yes, we’re cool. My bad,” I say.
“We gotta work together, or else this shit won’t work. Or that could be you who ends up with drugs and guns in your car.” He pauses for a second. Then, starts to laugh. I nervously join along with his chuckles. “I’m just fucking with you,” he says.
“What do you think about getting rid of Fray?”
“I told you, I’m not going anywhere near Fray. Him getting fired will not go over well. You know this. I’m not trying to disagree with you. But when that day of reckoning comes, I don’t want him to think anything bad about us. Plus, if he got fired, that day of reckoning would come quicker than expected. He’ll show up the next day with bombs and all type of homemade rifles and shit. Picking us off in the parking lot with poison-tipped arrows. Nope. No way.”
“Okay . . . okay, you got that. I’ll let you veto that. But seriously, I need you to show up at this address tonight at ten.”
“No problem.” I look at the piece of paper he gives me. “Where the fuck is this?”
He has already walked away and doesn’t hear me.
* * *
Jake’s impromptu meeting plus encountering Robbie move me from being early today to right on time. I’m still not too sure about Jake. He must be in one of his moods. But as soon as I get to my seat, I was told Hunter had ordered all of the employees to go through a complete battery of drug-and-psychological testing, claiming it’s because of all the recent terminations. Supposedly they want to be able to recognize if there are any more bad apples or potential head cases at STD, which does make sense. Some crazy shit has gone down in the last month. But everyone has problems. This shit has got to be against the law. They’re attacking our civil rights. I’m surprised I’m the only one thinking this is unjust. Everyone else goes along with whatever they’re told. Old Kevin would’ve brought this up to management or threatened to sue. But I can’t do that now. I have too much at risk. Plus, my congressman has started to send back my letters unopened. I guess that’s why it’s old Kevin, and now I’m stepping right in line to take a piss into a cup.
I’m a bit nervous. I don’t know exactly what they’re going to have in store for us or what these tests consist of. I hope I don’t have to give blood too. I hate needles. Are they going to ask for sperm? I’m definitely drawing the line at sperm. Maybe a hernia check too, like a sports physical. I’m getting out of this line. No, I’m not. I need this job and this promotion. They can do whatever they want with me. They can probe me like they picked me up in their UFO, for all I care. Just give me the fucking promotion.
What will they find out about my co-workers with all of these tests? Hopefully it’ll weed some of these people out. What about me? Will these psychological tests find that I subconsciously have the mindset of a serial killer? I definitely won’t get the promotion then. Maybe I can skew my answers to seem like the perfect employee. They can probably tell I’m doing that, and I’ll end up worse off than telling the truth. That’s it. I’ll tell the truth. Whatever happens, happens.
* * *
My deep thought is disrupted by an instant-message window popping up on my computer screen. Okay, it wasn’t a deep thought, but more of a daydream session involving me hiring my mom to decorate my new condo. She hasn’t been over yet, because it’s an embarrassing place to look at. And she won’t decorate for free. She has been beating “no freebies, even for family” into my head since I was a child. That daydream ends with the message flashing. It’s Jake telling me to meet him in the bathroom. And it’s soon followed up with another message asserting the urgency: “now.”
I go into the bathroom hoping two things: I don’t get photographed in an awkward position again, and I don’t have to take a look at the hideous calling card from the Booger Bandit. Too late. He’s struck again. I don’t know why, but that’s the first thing I looked for. Turns out it wasn’t Creepy Bathroom Chuck after all. But on the bright side, Jake isn’t holding a camera.
“Took you long enough,” he says.
“I had to finish what I was doing.”
“Daydreaming?” I stopped wondering how he knew shit like that a long time ago.
“C’mon, I’m busy,” I say. “What is it now?”
“Get Dontrelle to go to the file vault in twenty minutes,” he says.
“Why?” Jake folds his arms. “Never mind. Okay, twenty minutes.”
“Make sure he’s there. Do whatever you have to do,” he says as he walks out of the bathroom.
I follow him shortly after. I’m getting used to this now. I know I’m setting Dontrelle up, but why the file room? Nobody ever wants to go to the file room. It’s dusty. Spiders and silverfish everywhere. I make Eddie go in there for me. I have no problem with getting rid of Dontrelle after that bullshit he pulled during the job interview. He never did mention it. Just played it off like he was upset at me.
I look at my clock, and it’s time. I conjured up a story in my head of Hunter needing me to get him a file, but I told him I was in a training class. And in response Hunter told me to ask Dontrelle to get it. I probably didn’t have to get that elaborate, since he should still be suffering from the guilt of backstabbing me.
He really doesn’t want to go. Even scowls at me from his cubicle, but he gets up and goes over to the file room. I hide in an empty cubicle right near the room, so he can’t see me.
Dontrelle walks into the room and sees Handicapped Erica. She’s standing around, looking confused, with her special carpel tunnel gloves on. She recently got upgraded to two gloves.
“Excuse me, can you open this file cabinet for me?” she asks Dontrelle.
“Why?” he says.
“I can’t grip it with these on.” She shows him her gloved hands.
He opens up the cabinet.
She looks down at the files. Then back at him. “Can you look for a file for Francis Mayweather?”
“Are you fucking serious?” he says as he gets increasingly irritated. He finds the file and hands it to her. It’s surprisingly large.
“Boy, it’s pretty dusty in here,” she says, trying to make small talk.
He ice grills her.
“Would you be able to bring this file to my desk? I can’t carry that. Sorry.”
“What the fuck, lady? What’s wrong with you?”
“You are the file clerk, aren’t you?” she says.
“Bitch, I ain’t no fucking file clerk.” I’ve seen this look on his face before. It’s usually followed by him snapping. He knocks the file cabinet over as he storms out. The cabinet lands on her leg and pins her to the ground, as she screams for help. It takes a while before a few employees come to lift it off her. I don’t want
him to see me, so I go back to my desk.
Her wails subside after a while. The ambulance eventually comes, and they put her on a gurney. As she’s wheeled out of the office, she gives her account of the events to the police. And they put Dontrelle in custody.
Hunter then walks over to Eddie and asks him to clean out Dontrelle’s desk. I guess Hunter’s getting tired of snooping around other people’s shit. Or could it be that Eddie is his new BFF? It’s probably only a coincidence. I don’t see Eddie do any investigating of Dontrelle’s stuff like Hunter normally does. But Eddie does come back and ask me why Dontrelle had a screen saver of an old white man, and if it is a distant relative of his.
“Nope, that was to remind him that the white man is always watching him,” I say.
I don’t feel bad Dontrelle is gone. I don’t know why I waited this long. It’s probably because we were once friends. But that ended when he flung a chair at me and cost me a job. I was going to have to exact my revenge on him one way or another. Jake just did it for me. I have to thank him for that.
* * *
I’m not able to gauge where I stand with Hunter. Does he like me? Does he detest me? I know he couldn’t stand me early on, but I think I’m making headway in regards to our relationship. I always see him talking to Chloe, but he never comes by my desk. And he rarely looks my way, even if I make a disturbance such as accidentally knock over Barbara’s coffee in the kitchen. He doesn’t even do a double take.
I stayed up for the past three nights thinking of ways to increase our interactions and get more face time with him. I was going to ask Jake, but I knew his answer would involve asking Hunter to go to the strip club with me. Even Christians love titties, he’d probably say. The only solution I came up with was walking into Hunter’s office and striking up a conversation, just like I used to do with Floyd. But he’s very different from my now-fugitive former boss. Hunter’s not approachable at all. I find myself yearning for him to give me a ridiculous nickname, as Floyd used to.
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