The Fourth Stall

by Chris Rylander

  “No, Dad,” I said.

  “Okay.” He sighed.

  I don’t know if he believed me.

  “I can help you with that after school,” I said.

  He thought it over. “Do you think you and some of your friends might want to come over and help clean it either today or tomorrow? I’ll pay them and then maybe afterward they can come inside and watch a movie and have snacks.”

  “Sure, I’ll ask them. They do love Mom’s cookies,” I said. Plus, we could always use more money; even if it was just like five or ten bucks. Five bucks would buy almost half a Chicago Dog at Wrigley Field.

  “Okay, good,” my dad said, and scanned the whole house from the ladder. “This is going to take a long time if I have to do it myself.”

  With that, he went back to scrubbing. My mom honked.

  I slowly turned and walked to the car.

  All morning customers were demanding cheaper prices because I had been so unavailable lately. And a few more came to me for loans to pay back gambling debts. Which was a problem because my funds were getting low. According to Vince, we don’t have enough money to give out any more loans. The whole ordeal was embarrassing; I never turn away customers—it’s against my business policy.

  The worst part was that my cash flow was drying up because more and more of the customers who I actually could help had to pay with favors. It wouldn’t be long before we would have to drain the Emergency Fund, and then eventually the Game Fund as well.

  At the end of recess I instructed Joe to deliver a message to Justin during a class they had together right before lunch. The message was a proposal for a meeting to discuss business. I thought it sounded pretty political. At the end of the note I said Justin could choose the time and place, but it had to be on school grounds and it had to be this week.

  Joe returned with only five minutes left in the lunch period. He handed me the note I’d given him earlier. I unfolded the crumpled piece of paper and looked at the bottom. Something had been written in blue ink. It was just four words: Tomorrow, four, the Shed.

  The Shed is this little shack next to the school’s track and football field. It’s where the janitor keeps all of the yard work stuff like the lawn mower and sprinklers and other junk like that. It’s also where all the kids who smoke gather during recess. The Shed is down the hill, across the football and baseball fields, and way out near the street, the chunk of school property farthest from the actual school building. It is a perfect place for kids to smoke because the recess supervisor on that side of the school hates walking, so she never really goes much past the first goalpost of the football field. They never get caught, and no one ever squeals on them, because squealing at our school gets you beat up. It’s a pretty universal rule and we all follow it whether we want to or not.

  I was already forming the second part of the plan. The Shed was actually a great place to have the meeting, because I could really use it to my advantage. All I needed was to get inside. It’s kept locked at all times, but like I said before, I’m in tight with the janitor, so I knew he’d lend me the key for a few days. The plan was coming together rather nicely. Almost too well. In my experience, things just don’t come this easily.

  After reading Justin’s response to my note, I looked up at Joe. He looked back, waiting for my reaction.

  “It’s on,” I said.

  He smiled.

  “Go find the bullies and tell them to meet me in my office during afternoon recess,” I said.

  All I had to do now was brief the bullies and pay a visit to the janitor and our plan would be underway. Tomorrow. Four. The Shed. We’d be ready. And Justin Johnston would never see it coming.

  Chapter 16

  I knew that something was wrong the moment I got home from school that day.

  As soon as I stepped through the door, my mom called out to me, “Christian, honey, you have a friend here in the kitchen.”

  I was immediately suspicious. All of my friends were at home; I had just parted ways with them a few minutes ago. Whoever was waiting for me in the kitchen, I had a feeling that it was not going to be someone I wanted to see.

  I walked down the hallway, turned the corner, and there he was. I didn’t know who he was at first, despite the fact that he looked kind of familiar. Or maybe deep down I really did know but just didn’t want to believe it.

  He sat at the kitchen table, looking like some kind of salesman. He wore a clean sweater and dress pants. But it was a bad disguise; you can’t hide Staples’s kind of menace from someone who knows what to look for. It would be like trying to disguise a lion by dressing it in a pink tutu. It’s still going to eat you no matter what it’s wearing.

  Apparently, though, his clothes and smile had been enough to fool my mom into letting him into our kitchen. It probably didn’t help that my mom is the kind of person who calls everyone sweetie or dear. She thinks everyone who uses polite words and a smile is a “nice young man.” If my mom wasn’t such a great cook, I’d say she’s nuts.

  Other than his neat and clean appearance, Staples was a monster. He was huger than huge, like the human version of a grizzly bear crossed with that shark from Jaws and a giant troll. And despite his dress clothes and smiling face, he still looked mean enough to eat little kittens and puppies like they were fruit snacks. His eyes bragged of inhuman intelligence. They were sharp, as if just a glance could gash your cheek like a razor blade. He was definitely still a teenager, but in the right lighting he could have easily passed for twenty-two. He had a shaved head with dark stubble for hair just starting to grow back. He also had the beginnings of a beard, every bit as prickly, dark, and menacing as his hair. His eyebrows were bushy and his jaw was square like a pro athlete on steroids. He smelled like cheap cologne. And if death and destruction had an odor, he would have smelled like that, too.

  Something told me the smile on Staples’s face was not there to make me feel better. And it didn’t. A plate of Oreo cookies sat in front of him and he slowly brought one to his mouth and took a bite. I swear I heard the Oreo scream faintly as his teeth sank in.

  I was still trying to convince myself that this was really happening, that Staples was really sitting at my kitchen table, when my mom came over and poured him a glass of milk. She smiled at me and winked. She clearly didn’t know who she was dealing with. How could she? Staples probably did look like a nice guy to someone as trusting as my mom, someone who’d never heard any of the stories.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Barrett,” Staples said in a deep but polite voice.

  My mouth opened, but no words came out. I tried to close it, but nothing happened. I thought my jaw was broken. I began to wonder if I’d ever be able to talk again. I panicked.

  “Do you want some milk, Christian?” my mom asked.

  “No . . . no thanks,” I said, relieved that my jaw and voice were working again.

  “Okay, I’ll give you and your friend some privacy, then.” She left the kitchen.

  I wanted to yell out for her to stay, but I didn’t. This was between Staples and me, not my mom. I couldn’t drag her into this.

  “So we finally meet. I’ve been looking forward to this, Christian.” Staples smiled. It was the sort of smile that a hyena might give a rotting zebra carcass.

  He had also used my real name. Nobody but my family did that.

  “Please, have a seat,” he said, motioning to a chair across from him.

  I sat down and tried to look calm. I was everything but calm. I was even afraid for my mom right now. I didn’t think she could defend herself from this monster sitting in our kitchen.

  Staples’s smile grew wider. “It’s really hot in here,” he said, pulling at his sweater. “Do you mind?”

  Without waiting for a response, he took off the sweater. He wore a simple white T-shirt underneath that revealed a pair of thick arms covered in tattoos. His arms were so muscular that his veins looked as if they were trying to escape his body. They wriggled like worms in rain with every moveme
nt of his hand. His tattoos covered his arms like second sleeves. One of them read “The Creek” in Old English–style lettering. But the others were all so bunched together that I couldn’t even make them out.

  “Do you know who I am?” he asked, and then took a drink of milk. It would have been much more fitting had it been a glass of blood.

  I nodded but said nothing.

  “What’s the matter, cat got your tongue?” He had a small milk mustache.

  I just looked at him.

  He laughed. It was evil. But it also sounded easy, as if he laughed a lot.

  “So you’re going to sit there and act all tough, right? That’s not a bad strategy. It might even work on some of the little wusses at your school. But I can see right through it, Christian.” He gave me a stare that almost melted my bones. I half expected to turn into jelly and slide right off the chair onto the floor, forming a small pile of cowardly goo. But I just shrugged. That only made him laugh more. I thought I saw an Oreo cookie flinch as he reached out to grab another one off of the plate.

  “Did your parents enjoy the decorating that we did this weekend?” he asked. It seemed as if he was having the time of his life.

  “Yeah, the red paint went well with our white house. Thanks,” I managed to say as casually as I could.

  He just laughed again.

  “Did you like what we did to your Collector last week?” I asked, interrupting his laughter. I’d heard enough of it already.

  He looked at me and his eyes turned black.

  “You are a dead man, Christian,” he said.

  “Yeah, you’ve said that a few times now. Why am I still here, then? I know it was you who tried to run me over, and I still outran you. On my bike, no less,” I said. I wished I would stop talking. I was only digging my grave even deeper.

  Staples slammed his fist onto the table. The milk glass rattled and spun and almost tipped over before settling. An Oreo cookie flopped off the plate. We both looked at it and then he snatched it up and ate it in one bite.

  After swallowing, he scoffed.

  “Christian, Christian. I always did like to play with my food before eating it. I want to watch as your business crumbles right out from under you. I’ll be there laughing as you cry because you’ve lost everything. Mark my words; you’ll be left with no money, no employees, no business, and no friends. Then you’ll realize how much you had and how much you’ve lost. And then, only then, after I’ve enjoyed your suffering for a while, will I finally destroy you,” he said, leaning forward.

  His eyes seemed to vibrate. His mouth twitched into a smile. Then he rubbed the corner of his left eye and sat back in his chair again.

  “You really think you’ll be able to do all that?” I asked, letting a grin sneak up to my lips.

  Staples grinned back. His confidence was making me nervous. And you know how I feel about being nervous. What did he know that I didn’t? What tricks were up his sleeve?

  “I guess you’ll just have to wait and find out,” he finally said.

  “Will I? Maybe just the opposite is happening. Maybe I’m taking you down, Staples.”

  He smirked.

  “Oh, Christian. You’ve got guts—I’ll give you that. You know, I could use a guy with your combination of brains and guts. I suppose I could hold off on destroying your life if you’d like to come and work for me instead? I think we could really help a lot of kids and make a lot of money if we joined forces, don’t you think? Plus, that way, you’d get to live.” He gave me a big smile.

  I wondered if his offer was a trick or if he really wanted to work with me. Either way I’d refuse. I didn’t like the sort of business he ran. Plus, he seemed a little too psychotic to be a good boss.

  “No thanks,” I said as calmly as I could.

  “It’s too bad you have to be so stubborn,” he said. “I guess we’re back to me destroying you, then. You’re going to have paid dearly by the time I’m finished, too. You’ll be wishing that you had never been born. That’s a promise. And I don’t break promises.”

  A long silence followed. It seemed like he was waiting for me to crack. Every once in a while he would snatch another cookie off of the plate and put it in his mouth. He always chewed slowly and quietly with his mouth closed. And his almost black eyes never left my face. Didn’t this guy ever blink? After almost a few minutes he spoke again.

  “It’s too bad it had to be like this, Christian. You seem pretty smart. You remind me a lot of myself when I was in grade school.”

  “That’s too bad,” I said.

  He laughed. He laughed for almost a minute while I just sat there.

  “See? You’re a funny guy, Christian. It’s hard not to like you.” As he said it, his fist closed around an Oreo he had been holding. It pulverized into a clumpy mess of cream filling and black crumbs.

  I wanted him to stop using my real name. I kept looking at his facial hair. He had a beard and tattoos. How did I get involved in a war against this guy? How did I stand a chance?

  “Well, I best be off now,” Staples said. “My dog needs to be fed. Hey, did you know that pit bulls eat just about anything you feed them? Cool, huh?”

  With that, Staples got up, finished his milk, and walked past me into the living room. I heard the front door open and close a few seconds later. He left me there with a half-empty plate of Oreos and a bunch of questions rattling around in my head like popcorn. Did he know about our plan? It seemed unlikely, but then again the timing of his visit was pretty suspicious. I really hated the thought that he might know more than I did. I had a bad feeling about the whole thing. But I’d find out tomorrow. If my plan worked, it would deal him a blow that he wasn’t expecting.

  My mom came back into the kitchen.

  “Oh, your friend left. He seemed like such a nice young man,” she said.

  I rolled my eyes and reached for the plate of Oreos. If only she knew.

  I spent that evening balancing out my Books for the new business we’d taken in that day. That was normally Vince’s job, but I hadn’t talked to Vince much that day. I guessed we were still a little mad at each other, though I still had no idea why he would be mad at me. I also hadn’t really been able to stop thinking about Vince’s answer to my question about our Funds at the lake cabin.

  Plus, I was really starting to panic about the Cubs game. It would make me feel better to do a Funds check. To actually hold and see and count that kind of cash makes it feel more real. Usually whenever I’m worried about money for some reason or another, simply doing a Funds check makes me feel better, reminding me that it’s still there, that all we worked for still exists and that a trip to a Cubs World Series game is actually possible.

  Once my parents were asleep, I retrieved all of our Funds from the hiding spot in my room and began counting and verifying against the amounts I had in my Books.

  It was near the end of counting that I realized something was off. A few days before at the lake Vince had said we had $5,962 all totaled. And that’s what my Books worked out to as well. But once I added the Game and Emergency Funds along with what my books said we had in Tom Petty cash back at my office, we were short a few hundred bucks and change.

  The Game Fund and Emergency Fund matched my Books. So that meant that the discrepancy was somewhere in the Tom Petty cash. The Tom Petty cash was basically all of our daily operations money. We heard some businessmen in this movie call some extra money “petty cash” once, so we decided to steal that name. Tom Petty is actually some musician my dad listens to sometimes, and we decided just plain “petty cash” is too boring. It’s like Vince sometimes says, “Why call a spade a spade when you can call it whatever you want?” Our Tom Petty cash was any money we used to make loans to kids, spend on business-related materials, pay employee salaries, etc. It’s all the money we have and use that doesn’t go into the Game or Emergency Funds.

  This had to be an error with my Books. We’d been paying out so much lately, and with all this Staples commotion it
’d be pretty easy to miss something, right? To forget to write something down? It had to be, because otherwise it meant someone was stealing cash from us. It certainly could have been Brady, given how many times we had left him alone in the office to watch Fred. But then again, the cashbox is hidden in the bathroom trash can and the only other two people who know where it is are Vince and Joe. And Vince and I are the only ones with a key to the box itself.

  This is the reason I usually left the Books to Vince, to avoid headaches like this. I was going to have to figure this out tomorrow. Hopefully this was just a case of some bad bookkeeping on my part. But my brain kept wandering back to Vince’s weird response to my question at the cabin. I chose to keep ignoring it.

  Chapter 17

  I called Vince before school that morning and told him to meet me at the office as soon as he could. I had no problem getting up early since I could barely sleep at all that night. Turns out, it’s not as easy as it sounds just to assume something is a simple mistake and not a major problem.

  I counted the Tom Petty cash before he got there and confirmed that we were short some money. When Vince finally arrived, I explained what I’d discovered the night before. He listened calmly the entire time and kept his eyes on the tile floor. When I finished, he nodded.

  “So the two Funds worked out, though, right?” he asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, then I think everything is okay. I mean, we’ve been dishing out money left and right. My Books work out okay with your count from last night and this morning, so I bet you just forgot to write something down or messed up on the numbers somewhere in your Books.”

  I nodded. I was relieved to hear him say that but also surprised he wrote it off as a mistake so easily. How can he be so sure it wasn’t his Books that were wrong?

  “I guess,” I said. “But can’t we double-check your Books against mine, just to be sure? To see exactly where the mistake is? I’ll feel better.”