Convent

by Sam Clemens

  Three

  Cosmo Hendricks did indeed have lunch at Copper Mine again on Saturday. He switched his order to a medium Leadville—pastrami, capicola, onions, tomato, lettuce, oil, salt and pepper—because he felt like something different. He sat down at one of the booths that lined the wall and waited for the moment of truth. There was an older couple eating at a table by the door, but otherwise the shop was empty.

  “Cosmo?” the woman behind the counter said, holding out his sandwich.

  He got up to receive it, and his heart picked up when he saw the size: large. Well, extra large; there were only three sizes on the menu—small, medium, and large—but the monstrosity she held in her hand must’ve been a manager’s special of some sort. It was an entire loaf of french bread, over two feet long.

  He took the sub with both hands and stared at the woman.

  “Don’t forget these,” she said, and set a soda cup, chocolate chunk cookie, and bag of potato chips in front of him.

  Cosmo kept staring. He looked over to the register guy and saw that he was ignoring them. “What’s going on around here?” Cosmo asked.

  The woman smiled and shrugged. “In what way do you mean?”

  Cosmo Hendricks leaned closer. He held the huge sandwich in front of him with both hands, like he was presenting a sword. “Don’t play dumb,” he said. His voice was firm but quiet. “You know exactly what I mean. You two keep giving me free shit and it’s getting confusing.”

  “Oh,” the woman said, looking at the sandwich. “Did you not order that?”

  “This isn’t even on the fucking menu!” Cosmo said, a bit too loud. He could feel the older couple looking at him, and he regained his composure. “Listen, I appreciate the charity but I don’t deserve it.”

  She frowned. “I’m sorry you feel that way.”

  “So spill. What’s the deal? You guys mistaking me for some movie star or something?”

  She stood silent.

  “Is he,” Cosmo leaned in and lowered his voice further, “like, hitting on me? The register guy?”

  The register guy appeared beside her. His eyebrows were raised. “Problem?” he said.

  Cosmo stood up. “Yeah, actually. What’s going on here, dude?”

  “In what way?” the man said, putting his hands out.

  “Oh, piss off.” Cosmo cradled the sandwich in his arms and began gathering the cookie, soda cup, and bag of chips. “This some weird shit, man? You running game here?”

  The man shrugged, and Cosmo Hendricks continued.

  “Fine,” he said. “Be a couple of weirdos. I can go to Jimmy John’s from now on.” He turned and stormed toward the door, as angrily as a man carrying a party sub—plus sides—can.

  “We get off work at six,” the register guy said from behind him.

  Cosmo stopped and pivoted to face them. The chips fell to the floor. “Fuck,” he said. “What’s that?”

  The man smiled. “We get off work, at six,” he repeated.

  “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Nothing. It means what it means.” The woman stood beside him with her arms crossed.

  Cosmo inhaled and looked at them. There was an odd calm to their expressions. It was as if they knew him from somewhere.

  “Hey,” he said to the girl, “how’d you know my name?”

  “It’s on your credit card,” she said, because of course it was.

  “They stonewalled you!” Laird said, standing by the indoor climbing wall that acted as the centerpiece of the sporting goods store. He was wearing a full climbing harness, and the showroom was abuzz with the Saturday crowd. “Man, I wish there was video,” he continued. “Break it down, go frame by frame, dissect what’s going on. We could crack those weirdoes, I swear. What were their faces like?”

  Cosmo stood next to him. “Like, calm. Really calm.”

  “Damn,” Laird said, craning his neck to look up the wall. “They’re up to something. Impressed with you, though, buddy. Getting all confrontational like that. You really threaten to take your business to Jimmy John’s?”

  “Yeah. You think I overreacted?” Cosmo threaded the climbing rope through his hands.

  “Definitely,” Laird said, snapping a carabiner onto his harness. “But it’s good to see some spunk out of you. And like my high school football coach used to say, I’d rather have you make a mistake being too aggressive than make one being too passive.”

  Laird approached the climbing wall and placed his hands on the first two holds, establishing himself for the trip up. Cosmo stepped back and began to belay as Laird moved upward, finding a foothold and advancing his hands above him.

  “Total ass, Coach Sourbraun,” Laird said behind him as ascended the massive indoor wall. “But he did win a state title. No thanks to me.”

  “Dudes!” came a yell from across the floor. Taylor hurried toward Cosmo with terror on his face. “I told you,” he said, “no climbing during open hours.”

  “I’m showing them how it’s done,” Laird yelled from above, still gaining elevation. “The people need to be inspired.”

  Cosmo looked at Taylor and held the rope tight. “Nobody uses this damn thing,” he said. “It just sits here.”

  “Yeah but you’re on the clock.”

  “Would you rather have us go stand in bait and tackle and pretend to work?” Cosmo asked.

  Taylor huffed. “I’d rather have you actually work, dude. I’m a manager; my ass is on the line here.”

  From above them, they heard a panting. Laird began to quote the Rolling Stones. “I saw. Her. Today. At the reception!” he yelled, loud enough for the whole store to hear. “A glass of wine. In her haaaaaand.”

  Taylor looked at Cosmo, who focused on belaying for his friend.

  “I knew. She was gonna meet. Her connection!” Laird belted, and without warning, released his hold on the wall. Cosmo held the rope tight, and Laird, suspended in midair, made eye contact with Taylor. “At her feet. Was a—let me down, Coz. Let me down—footloose man!”

  Cosmo carefully let out rope, and Laird repelled back down to them.

  Taylor rolled his eyes. “Laird, keep it down, ma—”

  “YOU CAN’T ALWAYS GET WHAT YOU WANT!” Laird yelled, four feet from Taylor. His feet hit the ground and he kept on. “YOU CAN’T ALWAYS GET—”

  “Yeah yeah man, okay!” Taylor said. He made a shushing motion. “Now clam it, there’s customers.”

  “BUT IF YOU TRY SOMETIMES, YOU JUST MIND FIND.” Laird stared at Cosmo and waited.

  Cosmo Hendricks exhaled. “You just might find,” he said reluctantly.

  “YOU GET WHAT YOU NEEEEEEEEEEED!” Laird’s spittle flew directly into Taylor’s long, pulled-back hair.

  “Jesus, dude!” the manager said, displaying a rare frown. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

  “Much,” Laird said.

  Taylor put his hands on his hips, holding the frown to make his consternation clear. “Give me one reason I shouldn’t fire you right now.”

  Laird unhooked the carabiner from his harness and thought. “You…need me?” he said hopefully.

  “Try again.”

  “Comic relief.”

  Taylor shook his head.

  “Because you’d have to fill out paperwork and try to show cause and it’d be a huge pain in the ass,” Cosmo said. “And kind of embarrassing to explain that you fired a guy for singing Stones lyrics at you.”

  Laird pointed at Cosmo. “That. That one. Plus,” he said, “it’s a classic tune. Firing someone for that has to be illegal.”

  “It’s not,” Taylor said. He rubbed his temples. “Dudes, just stay off the climbing wall when we’re open, okay?”

  “For sure,” Cosmo said. “We will. Sorry.”

  “And Laird.” The manager shot him a look. “I want you to clean the loading dock.”

  Now Laird put his hands on his hips. “Need I remind you, Taylor, of the immortal words of Mick Jagger? You can’t always get—”
<
br />   Taylor lunged at Laird. Laird yelped and made a break toward the camping section, and Taylor gave chase while a handful of customers watched. They disappeared from view, and Cosmo heard a crash, followed by a scream of pain. An unassuming family of four looked toward the noise, confused.

  “Sorry,” Cosmo said in their direction. “Sorry.”

  At 6 p.m., Cosmo Hendricks walked past Copper Mine Subs. His own shift had finished at five, and he hadn’t committed to anything. Hadn’t told Laird what the guy had said about getting off work at six. Wasn’t even sure what he was planning, or why he was there, but the man’s demeanor had intrigued him. Cosmo had nothing but a vibe to work off, but the vibe piqued his curiosity, so after work he stopped by the Horse for a warm, flat Coors Light, then hoofed it back to Copper Mine.

  Something was off with these people, but off in a benign way. Not in a lure-you-in-and-chop-you-to-pieces kind of way. More of an invite-you-to-play-Magic-the-Gathering way. It was weird, but curiously weird, and by this point, Cosmo was generally bored with his day-to-day life, so he figured he’d at least peek down this odd little bunny path.

  He did three passes in front of the building. The third time, he saw the shift was changing—some unfamiliar people came to work the night stint, clad in the same branded black shirts as the day crew. Then, they emerged from the shop—the man and the woman. He with his buzz cut, her with her tight brown curls. It occurred to Cosmo that he’d probably had over a hundred transactions with them, but he didn’t know their names.

  Cosmo made himself visible. He walked slowly, trying not to be obvious and certainly failing; aiming for nonchalance is a surefire way to achieve awkwardness. Hands in pockets, he ambled in front of the store and glanced in their direction. They saw him—both of them, at the same time—and stopped dead.

  Instinctively, Cosmo looked away. Then he looked back. He was still wearing his REI employee vest.

  The woman stood stone-faced, but the man gave a gentle nod. Cosmo nodded back. The guy made another head movement then, a motion to follow, and he and the woman disappeared down the alley next to the store.

  Cosmo Hendricks followed and found them standing by a dumpster in the rear parking lot.

  Four

  “You came,” the woman said. Her eyes were wide, her face ripe with wonder. They were alone in the lot. Overgrown tree limbs shaded the area, and the subtle sound of cars passing on the frontage road crept through the foliage.

  He tapped his foot and darted his eyes between the two of them. “So what’s this about?” he asked. “I don’t have a lot of time.”

  “Patience,” the man said. “Isn’t that what it’s all about?”

  Cosmo shook his head. “Stop, dude. I appreciate the free shit but, like, what do you want? If it’s anything illegal, I’m out.” He checked his phone. “I got a thing in like twenty minutes.” The thing was eating an entire frozen pizza alone on his couch.

  The man stuck out his ample palm. He spoke to Cosmo like a friend. “First,” the man said, “you need to confirm. You need to say it.”

  Cosmo paused. “What?”

  “That you’re him,” the woman said.

  “Him?”

  “Him,” the man nodded.

  A bird landed on the dumpster and hopped about, looking for scraps. Cosmo watched it, then looked back. “Am I fucking him?” he said.

  “Yes,” the woman said, the word dripping with reverence.

  “Him,” he said. “Sure, yeah, I’m Cosmo.”

  They both exhaled and looked at each other.

  “What?” Cosmo said.

  The man shook his head, his face lit up in a dumb toothy grin. “It means we can begin. It means you’re the one who was promised.”

  Cosmo’s face went blank. Abruptly, he was having trouble breathing. “Pardon?” he choked.

  “Yes,” the woman said, “the one who was promised.”

  The wind picked up, rustling the tree limbs above them. Cosmo coughed and put his hands out in front of him. The world was tilting now, kickstarted by those last few words. “Is this some weird sex shit?” he asked. “Like those people in the news? It’s a no from me. I gotta go.” Cosmo pivoted away.

  The man moved to stop him, and Cosmo saw that he was swift for a person of his size. In a second, he was blocking the alleyway. “No, God, no. I’m sorry,” the man said, his voice contrite. “Please give us another minute. I apologize for not doing this sooner. My name is Roy Daniel, and this is my partner, Retha.”

  The woman smiled and held her hand out. “Retha Madison. Charmed.”

  Gingerly, Cosmo shook their hands.

  “This is probably confusing for you,” the man said, “but it will make sense soon. You’re so much more powerful than you know, sir.”

  “Sir,” Cosmo said.

  “We believe,” the man continued, putting his hand on his chest, “strongly, that you’re the one who was promised.”

  Cosmo put his hands in his pockets and shifted his weight. His head was foggy; it felt vaguely like a dream. “Help me out here, if you don’t mind, Roy: what, exactly, was the promise?”

  Retha stepped forward. “Salvation,” she said. “To lead us out of the darkness.” She delivered the words matter-of-factly, like reading census statistics.

  She smiled, he smiled, and Cosmo Hendricks took a step back toward the alley. He got dizzy then. “Fuck,” he said. The couple frowned.

  “Fuck,” Cosmo repeated, and began to feel overwhelmed. His head spun. “Gotta go,” he said, and slipped past Roy’s beefy body, down the alley.

  Five

  Sunday morning, Laird was locked in a heated conversation with a thick, bald coworker named Jordan next to the kayak stand.

  “Just a week,” Laird said, clasping his hands together. There was contention in the air.

  Jordan crossed his arms and looked down at Laird. The size difference was startling. “That’s what you said last week.”

  “Mmm, not sure about that. I think last week I said I needed two weeks. Which means we’re right on schedule.”

  “You have three days,” Jordan said.

  “A week is seven days, Jordan.”

  Jordan shoved him hard, sending Laird off balance. “Three days,” he repeated, and went back to work in women’s apparel.

  Laird watched the big man walk away. He straightened his collar and considered his predicament. Jordan was right—a week ago, Laird had said he’d have the money within seven days, but things had gotten complicated. Laird had hoped he could talk his way past the brute and buy a little more time. That was the thing about under-the-table gambling debt—there were no hard invoices or due dates, so a fast talker with a dash of charm could generally stall until his funds came in. But despite all outward appearances, Jordan seemed to be getting smarter, and Laird’s usual tricks weren’t working. Plus, Laird wasn’t even sure when his funds would come in; he loved placing bets and had made one too many losers in a row, and now he was in a hole that his paltry paycheck wouldn’t cover.

  He played with the kayaks leaned against the wall, gently moving them a few inches one way, then moving them a few inches back. A classic time-wasting tactic to run out the clock on the showroom floor—it looked like you were doing something, but you really weren’t. This is what his life had come to, Laird realized—dwindling his days away pretending to do work in a sporting goods store—and the thought gave him anxiety, but not as much as the thought of all the money he owed Jordan. Did bookies still break fingers? Was that still a thing?

  He jostled the kayaks and forced himself to think happier thoughts. Namely, the thing with Cosmo. For Laird’s money, whatever was going on was probably a giant misunderstanding—these things usually were—but in the meantime he was having fun speculating; ruminating on the Copper Mine quandary gave him something to do, and there were few things Laird enjoyed more than egging on his gangly friend. In this case, it was easy, because Cosmo really seemed wound up. The guy always worried too much.
<
br />   Yes, Laird thought again, absently moving a paddle from one end of the display to the other, probably nothing more than a simple misunderstanding. But how much fun could it be if there was actually something going on?

  Cosmo appeared then, and slapped his friend on the back. “Jordan’s over there complaining about something you did,” he said, pointing to Women’s Outerwear.

  Laird nodded. “Typical.”

  “Managed to piss off the biggest guy in the store?”

  Laird waved his hand dismissively. “He’s just bitchy today. Jordan and I have a good relationship.”

  “Then what’s he on about?”

  Laird sighed and sat down on a faux-rock display stand. “I bet on the Nuggets game.”

  Cosmo looked at him. “Again.”

  “I had it on good authority they would cover.”

  “You don’t have money to be throwing around like that.”

  “I know. That’s why I’m trying to win some. It’s a vicious cycle, Coz.” Laird produced a pack of Marlboro Reds and a lighter.

  “Dude!” Cosmo yelled.

  Laird removed a cigarette from the pack and placed it between his lips. “Calm down,” he said, forming the words around the cigarette filter. He lit it and produced a small plume of off-white smoke. “It’s well ventilated. No one shops for kayaks before noon. You know that.”

  Cosmo conceded that he was right. He watched Laird awkwardly inhale the first drag. “Since when do you smoke?” he asked.

  Upon exhaling, Laird coughed aggressively. “It helps me think like a gambler,” he choked out. His eyes watered. “Now, what’s the safest bet in town? I’m strapped here. Really need a sure thing.”

  “I talked to those people from Copper Mine again.”

  Laird stopped and shifted the cigarette to his other hand. “When? Since yesterday?”

  “Yeah,” Cosmo said. “I, uh, went by there after work.”