by Saul, Jonas
“I know. This is the only way. Let me handle this.”
The cops step out, Alexia between them. As far as the living can see, it is only Kramer and Owen in the building now.
I watch as Owen steps behind his desk and plops down in his chair.
“This has been a horrible day. First, Alexia’s dad dies in the jump, our second at the chute school, and then his daughter gets arrested for double homicide. I feel like I’m in a state of shock.”
Kramer steps closer to his desk. “I know how this may be a lot to handle. I just wish we’d been here sooner. Then, maybe, we could’ve saved Mike.”
Owen grabs a pencil off his desk and starts tapping it on the paper calendar he has spread across the surface. “Are you really psychic?”
Kramer nods.
“Then you can see dead people?”
She nods again.
“And they can tell you secrets. Like what happened to them and how it happened and the police take that as gospel.”
“Yes. Where are you going with this?”
“Come on, I’ll take you out to the plane and show you the other chutes. Take one home with you. I’ll sign it out. Hand that to the police and show them how Alexia set it all up.”
Owen walks over to the large board on the wall and writes the name Kramer.
“The plane has chute six and seven. I’ll sign out lucky seven to you. Come over and sign here and I’ll help you load it into your trunk.”
Kramer walks over and takes the pencil out of Owen’s hand. She signs the board and follows him to the door.
I have to hurry to catch up, not remembering I’m dead. Instantly I’m there, right behind them. I feel different though. Something’s wrong.
“Kramer, can Owen hear me?”
She looks sideways at me and shakes her head.
“Okay, something’s wrong. He’s angry. I think Owen means to hurt you in that plane.”
She raises a hand and tries to brush me off.
There’s nothing more I can do. Even if I want to step in, how could I?
They reach the plane and enter the fuselage through the side door. Owen reaches out to lend a hand to Kramer. The inside is dark, but I can see just fine.
“It’s over here. Step in a little farther,” Owen says.
Someone else is here. I panic and shout for Kramer to look out. Before Kramer has a chance to respond to my warning, Owen has spun around and sucker punched Kramer off her feet. She hits the floor of the plane hard.
“Should’ve minded your own business, bitch.” Owen steps forward and flips switches in the cockpit. Lights turn on in the area where Kramer is on the floor. The engines sputter and start up. He steps back to address Kramer. “I did it for Alexia. Joanne said she’d tell her we slept together. Joanne told me she would ruin me. She went to Alexia’s dad and started blabbing, but he didn’t believe her.” Owen stepped over and slammed the plane’s door shut and then continued. “I had to make sure that Joanne had an accident after that. It bothered Mike, but he let it go. He just felt bad Joanne had died. Although, he wouldn’t let Alexia date me. He became a hurdle, the last one between me and Alexia. Offing him was a piece of cake. It was my idea to celebrate his birthday here. It was all so easy, and now you’re going to jump with chute number seven and no one could ever prove shit.” He leans down and brushes Kramer’s hair out of her face. “Once you’re dead, the police will have nothing to hold Alexia on. We’ll be home free. It’s over, bitch, it’s over.”
The other people in the plane, the ones I felt earlier, step out of the shadows; it’s the two officers who escorted Alexia out, not fifteen minutes ago. I watch all this in stunned silence.
“Owen Henkin, you’re under arrest for the murder of Joanne Stinson and Mike Hortenson. We have your full confession on tape.”
Owen turns to run, but then thinks better of it as the only door out of the plane is right beside one of the officers, who now has his gun out.
“Get down on the floor and place your hands on the top of your head.”
Owen complies. He’s cuffed and taken outside in under a minute. My daughter steps out of the shadows and walks to the cockpit, where she turns the plane off. Kramer sits up, her back against the wall of the fuselage, rubbing her cheek.
“Why?” Alexia asks Kramer. “Why did my dad still die? I exchanged his chute before the plane took off. I gave him mine. His was supposed to work, it was supposed to work.”
She breaks down in tears.
“I’m sorry,” Kramer offers. “Your dad’s chute was fine. The crazy thing is, he had a heart attack almost immediately after leaving the plane. He lost his ability to function properly and died before he hit the ground. It had nothing to do with Owen.”
Alexia looks up, her eyes awash with tears. “When the police approached me and said that Joanne had been in touch with you, and that they felt Owen had killed her, I couldn’t believe it at first. You helped set this trap for Owen. You all did a great job. Seeing my father killed wasn’t supposed to be a part of it.”
“I know, and I’m sorry. He’s here. He heard everything. He even tried to warn me about Owen. He’s a good man. I’m sorry for your loss.”
Alexia looked up, “Goodbye daddy. I’m sorry. I love you.”
The Numbers Game
An excerpt from The Numbers Game.
I never thought I’d be up on first degree murder charges. The proof is in the numbers. I know this. But they don’t.
I’m a vacuum cleaner salesman. I used to sell shoes, but now I sell Kirby’s. I run door to door and try to sell my G8 Kirby upright vacuums. The killing has nothing to do with me, but one of the people I had just done a presentation for was murdered minutes after I left their house. I’m innocent.
This is my story. Call it a diary. I won’t lock it. Besides, I don’t have a lock or anything metal in my prison cell. They don’t allow those things. So I will write my tale and let everyone know what I do and how I do it so they can see that I’m not a murderer. I can’t afford a lawyer from the money I make selling vacuums, but I’ve got legal aid, although that’s worth nothing. Maybe the Judge will read this.
It’s lights out so I’ll write in the dim glow I get from across the corridor. It’s a short story so I’ll be brief but there’s two things you need to know up front.
I only got caught because I had Mrs. Gavin’s shoes in my apartment, and someone saw my car in front of her home and wrote down my license plate number. That makes sense as I was there doing a demonstration.
I’m innocent. Remember that.
It’s important.
#
Tuesday morning. The sun is shining high already and there’s a slight breeze. I’m off to a great start today. I’ve hit twenty-two houses. Ten doors weren’t answered, and twelve were rejections. The rule is, for every one hundred doors, you get into two. That means by the time I hit fifty, I should get in one door. Once I get in and show them how good the Kirby is, they’ll want one for themselves. Although that’s not always true, because for every four demonstrations, I only sell one. To break it down, I need to hit two hundred doors to sell one vacuum on average.
See what I mean about the proof being in the numbers? I live by that. It allows me to finance myself properly, as selling vacuum cleaners is one hundred percent commission. If I want a raise, all I have to do is hit another fifty houses per day for a week and I’ll, on average, probably sell an extra vacuum per week. At four hundred dollars a hit in commission, selling three to five per week, I’d say I’m doing all right. I’m not rich, but these are just the numbers. I know the proof’s there and that’s how I get by, but in the end, they’re just numbers.
I’m on Maple Street. It’s still before lunch. Let’s see how many rejections I can get. You see, that’s the fun part. The more rejections I receive only means I’m closer to an open door. An open door is a potential sale. And, any open door is a chance for me to add a nice pair of shoes to my collection.
What pe
ople don’t know is that I collect shoes. Mostly ladies shoes. I don’t wear them. I’m not creepy. I just collect them. I have over two hundred pairs now from different cities in the States. Today I’m itching to add to that.
It’s like a calling. I need them. I have to have them.
The next house coming up is a Victorian. Very nice white trimming and a manicured lawn. I’m sure the owners could use a new Kirby and I could use a new pair of shoes as I mentioned a moment ago.
I ran up the walkway and rang their bell.
No answer.
I rang it again.
I heard footsteps approaching slowly. The door opened.
“Hello?” A woman in her fifties stood in the doorway (It can be said, this is Mrs. Gavin).
“Hi! My name is Trevor Ashton and we’re in the area today offering free carpet shampoos to you and your neighbors.” I thrust out a bottle of Carpet Fresh and held it high in my hand. This always made me feel like those girls on The Price Is Right waving their hands in front of the items people were to bid on. “There’s no obligation and for letting us clean your carpet you get a free bottle of Carpet Fresh. Doesn’t that sound great?”
The woman seemed stunned. She looked at me a moment longer, evaluating my smile and then shook her head. She started to close the door.
“Excuse me ma’am,” I said, reaching out and touching the door before it closed. “Is there a reason you wouldn’t like a free carpet shampoo? There’s nothing to buy and there’s no obligation. It’s completely free.” I said this last part with a I’m so excited I just can’t hide it flourish.
She looked at me and attempted a half smile. “I’m not feeling well. I’ve had hip surgery recently and I’m not up to company. But thank you anyway.”
She started to shut the door again.
“But ma’am, you’re the perfect candidate. Don’t you see?”
The door almost closed. It stopped at the frame. I waited. It opened again, almost defiantly.
“I already get my carpets cleaned by a company that does a great job. I pay them often to come and do it. They were here about two weeks ago so the carpets are fine. Thank you.”
“That’s perfect. I love a challenge. Do you realize how much they miss? The Kirby, in under five minutes, would show you how bad they’re doing.”
She looked me up and down, her face showing her displeasure at my intrusion. In the end, I told myself, if I lost her I’d run to the next house and try again. Eventually I’d get in somewhere. That’s a fact. It’s in the numbers.
“The carpet cleaners that do my home are very good, and they’re so cheap that I barely pay them a tip, and you want to know why?” She paused here like the drama queen I could tell she was. “Because my son owns the company.”
Okay, here’s a challenge. I just told her the company she uses sucks. It’s her son’s company. To her I’ve disrespected her family. I’ve got to talk fast and think faster.
“Let me ask you a question and then I’ll leave. Is that fair?”
She held the door firm. It looked like she was getting ready to slam it in my face. I didn’t wait for her to tell me to go ahead.
“Let’s say you just went to the doctor and he told you that your cholesterol was off the charts. Arteries were clogging and he requires you to be hospitalized. He tells you to go home to pack your things and report back to the hospital by mid-afternoon. He also tells you to eat nothing until your return. Especially don’t eat any fast food like greasy burgers because it could be what kills you.” I use my hands a lot when I talk so I dropped the bottle of Carpet Fresh on her door step and emphasized my next point about hunger. “Now, you haven’t eaten all morning. Your nerves were jangling because you were worried about what your doctor was going to tell you. As you walk out the front doors of his clinic—”
“Are you going anywhere with this? I have to get off my hip. Please hurry.”
“Yes, ma’am, almost done. As you walk out the front doors of his clinic you see a beautiful diner across the street. You step a little forward and can smell whatever it is they’re cooking. The sign out front says, All you can eat bacon==> FREE! You know the trick. Buy some eggs and get all the bacon you want. Your stomach turns and winces with the smell. You’re going to be hospitalized that afternoon. This is your last chance to splurge, to dazzle yourself with the second love of your life: bacon.”
“Is there a question in there somewhere?”
I continued as if she hadn’t interrupted. “Even though it’s free and you know it’s not good for you, would you still go and eat that bacon? Even though it could kill you. The parallel is, even though they clean your carpet for basically free, after the damage I show you they’re doing to your home, would you still have them over, son or not?”
I waited. Sometimes direct questions like this get a slammed door in the face. Other times you’ve intrigued them enough to take the bait and let you in to see what you’re made of. This was that case.
The woman stepped back, a smug look on her face. It seemed she liked the fire in my pitch. “Okay, you win. Get your Kirby and let’s see what happens, but I promise you, I won’t be buying one. Just do the carpet and show me the results. We’ll go from there. I’ll leave the door open because I have to go sit down now.”
She limped away from the open door. I turned and ran down Maple Street to my Pontiac, drove to the front of her house and retrieved the boxed vacuum from the trunk. After carrying it to her door I stepped in, closed the door behind me and quietly locked it. I always locked the doors for our protection. You never know what psychos might walk in while I’m doing a presentation.
I took my shoes off and placed them neatly beside a beautiful pair of red Jimmy Choos. They sat up so pretty, with a small heel and a lovely strap with little diamonds on it. Wow, the woman had class. These were also the shoes that got me charged with murder even though I didn’t do it. Mrs. Gavin had less than two hours before she would be bludgeoned to death with a rolling pin and a meat tenderizer.
Although I couldn’t know that at the time.
#
I entered her main living room and got the Kirby out of the box and then went about setting everything up. The display model, or as we call it, our partner, has an added piece that the customer’s models don’t have. It’s a little circular window on the right by the air intake. It has small clasps to undo the top. I opened it and placed one of my hundred black cloths in it so we could see what was in her carpet.
“What are you doing? It was just vacuumed yesterday.”
“I have to vacuum the carpet first to make sure there’s no grit or sand in it otherwise when I’m shampooing I could cut the fibers of your carpet. My goal is to clean the carpet, not damage it.” I said this with my best car salesmen smile. “After I’ve gone over it a little and nothing comes up then we can go right to shampooing. How does that sound?”
She nodded and used her right hand to say carry on.
What they don’t understand is that I’m a Master Closer. Nobody gets it. No one understands me. I’m not a traditional salesman. I’m a Master Closer. Everything I do is to close the sale. Getting in the door is step one. Show the dirt is step two. Step three and four get convoluted, because in each house it’s different, but eventually I get the shoes. Then I leave.
No one denies me the shoes. Ever.
I began vacuuming. Mrs. Gavin sat in the middle of her couch watching, her eyes brimming with suspicion.
The black cloth filled with dirt immediately. I stopped, unclipped the lid and laid it out flat in the corner of her carpet. I placed a new one in the glass, clipped it in place and started vacuuming again. I repeated this process ten times and then stopped and looked at her.
Mrs. Gavin’s eyes were wide. “That’s a lot of dirt,” was all she could say.
I nodded. “Yeah, sorry about that. When did you say this carpet was vacuumed last?”
“Yesterday.” She was in a daze, stunned.
“And when was it cl
eaned by your son’s company?”
“A few weeks ago.”
“Let me ask you one more question. What kind of a vacuum do you own?”
She looked at me. This is where the sale turns my way. Crucial moment. Time stopper. Egg popper. Head cracker, kill her and stack her. Here we go.
“Electrolux. I use an Electrolux, why?”
“That’s why you have all this dirt.”
I turned away and flipped the Kirby on. After a moment, I stopped to change the black cloth again.
“I don’t understand,” she said. “What’s wrong with my vacuum?”
I turned to her. “You see this unit. It’s an upright. No suction lost in hoses. The mouth where all the dirt comes in is right beside the powerful engine. The filter is in front of the engine. Not a single micro fiber gets near the Kirby’s engine. In the Electrolux, the engine isn’t filtered properly, so performance is jeopardized, and it’s not an upright. You have a long hose. Think of it like this: a fire will destroy a home better than ten men outside trying to blow it down.”