Random Acts

by Franklin Horton

  She gave an animated wave and flashed a broad smile at Ben. “I’m here.”

  Ben smiled back. “I’m glad it worked out. I think you’ll enjoy working here.”

  An older lady walked from the back of the shop, dressed in shorts and a t-shirt, her hair pulled back in a ponytail. “Is this Amanda?”

  “Yes,” Amanda replied, walking to the lady and extending a hand.

  The lady took her hand and smiled warmly. It was a mother’s smile and for a moment it hurt Amanda’s heart to even look at it.

  “It’s so nice to meet you, Amanda. My name is Penny.”

  “Nice to meet you too,” Amanda replied. “I’m so excited to start.”

  “Well, as soon as we get this paperwork out of the way we can figure out your schedule,” Penny said.

  “Great. Let’s do it.”

  Penny led her back through the private area of the building to a neat office. There were several computers, as well as shelves of guide books and catalogs.

  “Take a seat,” Penny said, gesturing at a padded metal chair across from the desk.

  Amanda did so and Penny dropped into the desk chair. She pulled a generic job application form from a desk drawer and slid it across to Amanda, then placed a pen on top of it. “This is just a formality. I need an application on file with your basic information on it. I also need a copy of your identification.”

  “I have a driver’s license,” Amanda offered.

  “That’ll do,” Penny said.

  Amanda fished it out and slid it across the desk. While Amanda started on the application, Penny spun her chair to a combination printer and copy machine to make a copy of the license.

  “Virginia?” Penny asked. “Ben said you just moved here.”

  Amanda kept filling out the application, talking as she went. Dividing her focus made it easier to talk about the painful subject of why she moved. “It’s a little complicated. I grew up here but my parents divorced. I ended up going with my mother to Virginia. She passed away a few weeks ago and I’ve come to live with my dad.”

  “Oh sweetie, I’m sorry,” Penny said with genuine concern. She slid Amanda’s license back to her and Amanda tucked it into her purse.

  Amanda shrugged. “It’s still kind of a fresh wound. I didn’t mind coming here to North Carolina though. In some ways this feels more like home to me because I lived here when I was young. Most of what I miss about Virginia are my friends and, of course, my mom.”

  Amanda could feel tears beginning to let loose from her eyes. There was an onrush of emotion, of loss, at the mention of the love and community she left behind. Penny, both observant and maternal, changed the subject skillfully. She didn’t want to make Amanda uncomfortable.

  “You’ll find that not a lot changes in a small town,” Penny said. “You’ll probably get to school and find a lot of the same kids you remember from when you were a child.”

  “I’m sure we’ve all changed a lot since then.”

  “Even so, it’s a start,” Penny said. “You’ll also meet a lot of folks through the store.”

  “That’s what I’m hoping.”

  Penny helped Amanda finish the application and then slid the tax withholding form to her, explaining how to fill it out. Amanda started filling in the information, smiling as she heard Larry in her head ranting about taxation.

  “I don’t remember that form as being so funny,” Penny said, catching Amanda’s smile.

  “Just remembering something a friend of my dad’s said. He complains about taxes all the time. Says it’s the government stealing your money.”

  “Have you ever had a job with federal and state withholding before?”

  Amanda shook her head.

  “You’ll probably agree with him when you open your first check,” Penny said.

  When all the paperwork was out of the way, they started working on Amanda’s schedule. It was easy since she had no other commitments and could work anytime they needed her.

  “We have a rush in the morning, when people come in to rent bikes and board the shuttles,” Penny said. “It’s always hectic. A lot of people make reservations but some people just show up hoping to find space. Then it gets busy at the end of the day when people start trickling back in from the trails.”

  Amanda hoped she’d get to work with Ben. In fact, her fingers were crossed in her lap.

  “My husband Dwight and I usually cover the mornings. We’re both early-risers. Ben usually comes in around noon and works until we close. We have a few other folks who cover shifts a couple of days a week but most of them have other jobs too, so we’re always working around other schedules. What I’d like is to have you come in Tuesday through Saturday and work until closing. We’re open Sundays but I have a girl who does Sundays and it’s working well. You’d be working with Ben most days and he can train you.”

  Amanda beamed. “That sounds fine with me. I’ve been wanting to start riding my bike some in the morning so this would give me time for a ride before work.”

  “Mornings on the trails are beautiful,” Penny said. “The trails are less crowded.”

  “Is this temporary work or would I be able to continue into the school year?”

  “Well, as long as it works out and we’re a good match for each other, you could continue to get some hours during the school year. While the weather is still good in the fall, you could pick up some hours during the weekend or occasionally on a weekday. In the dead of winter we slow down a lot and I can’t promise you any hours then, but during riding season I can keep you busy.”

  “Sounds excellent. I’m excited,” Amanda said.

  “Now that we’ve got that crap out of the way, let’s take a tour of the shop.”

  “When do I start?”

  “How’s tomorrow?”

  “Fine,” Amanda said. “And thank you very much for the opportunity.”

  Penny showed Amanda around the shop. There was something comforting about Penny and it put Amanda at ease. She thought she would like this woman. At the end of the tour, Penny gave her a selection of t-shirts advertising the bike store.

  “That’s as much of a uniform as you get around here,” Penny said. “Just wear it with whatever pants or shorts you want. Everything is casual around here.”

  Amanda thanked everyone again before she left. She could barely contain her enthusiasm. Out front she held one of the t-shirts up in front of her and draped it across her body like she was wearing it. She took great pains to compose a selfie that captured the logo on the shirt and the shop’s sign. When everything finally aligned correctly, she took the pic. She posted it to her social media account.

  #mynewlife #mynewjob #nomoresawdust #mtnbikelife #westernNC #rentabikefromthisgirl

  33

  Victor spent the night in the recliner in Stanley’s living room. As tired as he was when he finally went to sleep, he couldn't make himself climb into that miserable troll Stanley's crisply-made bed. He stayed up late that night watching videos on social media and found the return to his old routine comforting. It made him forget about his predicament. He may even have laughed a couple of times at ridiculous fail videos.

  God, he loved watching those.

  He hadn’t been able to completely forget about his predicament though. He understood he was going to have to do something better with Stanley's body. He didn't know the man well enough to know what kind of network of friends he had, but he assumed he might have some buddies somewhere. Maybe some old Navy guys like him. Maybe some other old dudes in jumpsuits who stopped by to suck down a Budweiser in a lawn chair. That seemed like a Stanley kind of thing, sitting on the porch with another old curmudgeon, cursing what their country had become.

  If he did indeed have a circle of friends, they might get concerned when they couldn't find him and couldn’t reach him by phone. From his experience with his own mother he was aware that old people liked to check on each other just to make sure their friends were still alive.

  In some w
ays it didn't do him any good to get rid of Stanley's body. If they even suspected the guy was missing, Victor would be the only suspect. If they did find the body, there was enough evidence there to nail him for it. Just before their death match, Victor had been covered in the hair Stanley had shorn from his head. There were probably thousands of hair fibers on the frozen old man.

  Should he try to burn the body?

  Even if he was successful in getting rid of any trace evidence, the police still knew Stanley had been the one who bailed Victor out of jail. They would come looking for him, and when they couldn't find him, he would become their primary suspect in the murder.

  He needed to get out of this house. He needed to get out of this town. It was the only way to buy himself some time. He caught a glimpse of himself in a mirror at one point last night and was shocked by what he looked like with no hair. He was nearly unrecognizable from the person he had been. Anyone who knew him before, in his old pre-murderer life, would immediately describe him by his long bushy hair and beard. They would mention the streaks of color that made him stand out from the crowd.

  His clothes had dried and he’d never been so happy to get dressed in his life. Being naked in Stanley's house had been very uncomfortable. Getting his own clothes back on was almost a step toward normalcy in his currently upside-down life.

  With his own clothes and shoes back on, Victor decided to start at one end of the house and work his way to the other. He had no idea where he was going to go from there but he needed to make sure there were no resources left behind he might be able to use on the journey. It was just like in some of the games he played. He would toss the house, steal anything of use, and leave town in Stanley’s little clown truck.

  Stanley's wallet was on the countertop with his truck keys. Victor started there and took the paper money and plastic. There was only one credit card and a debit card. At his own home, Victor's mother kept money in a cookie jar on the kitchen counter so Victor went there next. He looked in the cookie jar as well as the flour and sugar canisters. The cookie jar paid off and Victor found seventy-eight dollars there.

  There was a door in the kitchen that led to a basement. The basement door was fastened with the security chain and locked from the kitchen side. Victor unlocked the door to reveal a set of crude wooden steps that disappeared into the dark abyss of the basement. He slid a meaty palm along the wall and found a light switch. When he flicked it, a bare bulb glowed at the bottom of the steps.

  He started down and the steps popped and cracked beneath his feet. The basement was the same size as the small ranch house. While the upstairs was immaculately neat, the basement was where Stanley allowed clutter to exist in his home. There was cast-off furniture, some of it covered in old sheets. Other pieces of old furniture were stacked and gathering dust. Stanley was from the generation that never threw anything away because they’d known poverty and deprivation. They lived in fear there would be a day when they had to pull out all of those old things and begin using them again.

  There were cardboard boxes stacked on pallets to keep them dry if the basement flooded. The contents were scrawled on the outside in magic marker. From the vintage logos displayed on some boxes, it was obvious they had been there for decades. When you got as old as Stanley a twenty year old box was not all that old. For Victor, it was most of the span of his entire life.

  In a corner was a vintage weightlifting bench and barbell with the cast-iron weights coated in rust. There was a furnace along one wall and copper lines leading to an oil tank. Along another wall there was a section of well-built shelving, neatly packed with camping and outdoor gear.

  Not only did Victor not own any camping gear, he didn't even know anything about it. He’d remembered his dad saying they needed to go camping sometime but he died before they ever got to. After his father’s death, Victor had asked his mother about going and she’d scoffed at the idea.

  “Sleep in the dirt like a fucking hobo? You can forget it.”

  That was the end of that. As a result, Victor had never been camping in his entire life. He recognized some of the basic gear but there were other things he didn’t. He saw a sleeping bag and pulled one off the shelf, thinking it might come in handy when he hit the road. He tossed it toward the base of the stairs, starting a pile of things he wanted to take with him.

  On another shelf he found a long cylindrical pouch. He didn’t recognize it, but the label said it was a three-man tent. That was another thing that might come in handy so Victor put it in the pile along with a rolled up foam mattress. He found a plastic tote and dug through it. As best he could tell, it was full of assorted small camping gear.

  He dumped the tote out on the workbench so he could sort through it. He found a cooking set, a box of plastic utensils, and a canteen. There was a hank of rope, a folded canvas tarp, and a pouch of spare tent stakes. These tent stakes looked like foot-long nails, made of solid steel with sharp faceted points ground onto them. He decided to take the entire tote with him rather than sort through it now. If he dug through it later and found things he didn't need he could just throw them away. He was in the process of putting everything back in the tote when he heard the front door open.

  Victor froze in terror. He had not heard a car drive up and had no plan for what to do. The front door groaned as it opened fully, then he heard steps in the entryway as someone came into the house. The storm door swung shut behind whomever had come in. They were right above him now, taking small tentative steps into the house. Victor reached into the camping tote and retrieved one of the sharpened steep tent stakes. He went to the base of the steps and tried to ascend them quietly. It was impossible. Each of the hastily built steps cracked and popped beneath his weight.

  "Stanley?" came his mother's shrill voice.

  The sound of her voice fully dialed up his terror. She was the worst possible person who could come by. Even the appearance of the police would not raise such fear in his heart.

  Hadn’t he texted her? Hadn’t he tried to keep her from coming to the house? What was she doing here?

  "Stanley?" she repeated. "Where are you?"

  Victor considered not answering but it would be pointless. He couldn’t escape the door-less basement and his mother would not go away without knowing what was going on. He could think of nothing else to do.

  "Mother? Is that you?"

  His mother came toward the kitchen, toward the basement door, and he rushed to the top to meet her. He concealed the tent stake behind his back, shoving it into his waistband. He was at the very top of the steps, his body blocking the entrance to the basement, when she came around the corner.

  "Victor? What are you doing in the basement?"

  She stood in front of him, a look of disdain, of dismissal. He was not who she was looking for. Yet again, she assessed his worth and found him lacking. He was nothing but an obligation to her, an anchor.

  "Stanley has me cleaning the basement, Mom."

  He felt uncomfortable standing a few steps lower than her. She already made him feel small enough without towering over him. He climbed the rest of the way into the kitchen. He tried to be casual, looking around, hoping there was nothing out of order that would give away what had taken place there.

  "Stanley? Are you down there?" she called into the basement.

  Victor’s mind raced for an answer. "He's gone. He went into town. He wants me to do some landscaping so he had to go pick up some stuff. Mulch. That kind of thing."

  His mother stared at him. "Bullshit. Stanley and I go to bingo at the fire hall on the same damn day at the same damn time every damn week."

  "He said he texted you that we needed some time. For you to not come over."

  "Yeah, well I didn't think it meant we weren’t going to bingo. We always go to bingo."

  "I'm pretty sure he meant the bingo too," he said nervously. "I'm pretty sure he did."

  His mother continued to stare at him, stare into him. He'd never been able to lie to her. He could feel
himself crumbling, the sweat gushing from his pores like water pouring through a cloth bag. Any moment he would start trembling with anxiety. Any moment he would start crying. Such was the effect she had on him.

  "Where is Stanley?" she repeated, stepping closer to him.

  "I told you. He…he went into town."

  Clara whipped her cell phone from her pocket, unlocked the screen, and hit a button.

  “What are you doing, Mother?”

  She didn’t reply.

  “Who are you calling, Mother?”

  "Stanley. We'll settle this."

  Victor panicked, feeling his world start to fly apart. He felt like the last child on a Merry Go Round spinning too fast. He was trying to hold on but his fingers were slipping. When they did, he would fly loose and who knew where he would land?

  Then, in his back pocket, Stanley's phone began ringing. Victor stared into his mother's eyes. He watched her go through a range of emotions. There was surprise, then shock. There was rage, then comprehension. Finally, there was fear. Genuine fear. For the first time ever, she was the one afraid.

  She looked down and ended the call. She was nervous and her fingers were fumbling as she tried to do something else.

  "What are you doing? Who you calling now, Mother?"

  Most of the people his mother called were dialed from shortcuts on the screen. She was not using those shortcuts. She was trying to bring up the keypad now, trying to dial a number she never dialed before. Victor saw that the first digit was a nine. It had to be the beginning of 9-1-1. He couldn't let her do that.

  "Put down the phone,” Victor said with a surreal calm.

  His mother backed away from him. She was still trying to dial but kept hitting the wrong numbers. She had to back up and clear them and try again. Victor could not allow her to finish. He yanked the tent stake from his back pocket and moved toward his mother. She heard him coming and panicked, dropping the phone. On the floor, Victor could see the digits displayed on the phone.

  911.

  She dropped the phone before she could send the call. She would not get the opportunity to pick it up and try again. Victor was on her.