by Andrew Post
As Merritt turned to ring up the little prick that should’ve been a mattress stain, he heard one of the boys whisper something about his gut – which, yes, did droop over his belt considerably and stuck out a little farther when he bent forward, like he was doing now to lean down to rummage in the till.
The kid had his hand out for Merritt to hand him the change, his grin sharp and insincere. This kid, Merritt could see it now, would grow up to be a real charmer – a wife-beater, a kid-slapper, a dog-kicker. And seeing the future asshole in this kid’s face, Merritt felt it deserving – like the five bucks had been given to him – to slap the change onto the counter, the dime and penny clacking together loud enough to make the boys all flinch. Even Skyler, which hurt Merritt to see.
“Dude, chill,” the kid said, sweeping the money off into his hand and stuffing it in his pocket. And as he started moving away, the tough guy said, “Maybe go on a diet and you won’t be so pissed at the world. It’s not our fault you’re fat.”
The boys laughed as they started toward the door – but not Skyler; he hung his head, walking after his friends, trying even harder now, it seemed, not to be noticed.
Merritt didn’t have much time to deliberate with himself whether he should or not, but he decided, yes, he would. “Skyler, you should find some nicer friends. Keep hanging around that guy, he’s going to get you in deep trouble one day.”
The boys, as one, stopped. Now their ire shifted inward, not at the overweight middle-aged cashier, but one of their own. The tough guy said, “You know him?”
“He lives across the street with his mom,” Skyler said. It did not read in his voice that he was trying to point out Merritt lived with his mother to give his friends something other than himself to dwell on, but that, naturally, became the situation.
“You live with your mom?” said the tough guy. “You’re like ninety.”
“I’m fifty-three.”
This was apparently quite funny to the boys. Except Skyler, who appeared to be wishing he could suddenly develop the superpower to teleport.
Cutting through their laughter, Merritt raised his voice and said, “Empty your pockets or I’m calling the police.” The booming demand was likely heard as far back as the meat department but right then, he didn’t much care.
With a laugh dying in his throat, the tough guy said, “What?”
“I saw you shoplifting. I was going to let it slide until you decided you needed to be a smart alec with me. Empty your pockets.” Merritt hadn’t seen any of them take anything. He wanted the tough guy’s wallet. The little shit didn’t look old enough to be driving, but maybe he’d have another form of ID on him. Something with his name on it. His address. Where he slept.
“I didn’t steal shit, fat-ass, and you know it.” The tough guy glanced at Skyler. “Tell this senile old dickhead he’s seeing things.”
Skyler looked at Merritt, pained, and Merritt looked at Skyler, trying to not let it show in his face how much he did not want Skyler to say something mean to him. They never spoke, and though only one was aware of it, they spent a lot of time together. Skyler was Merritt’s buddy. And with Merritt’s brother gone, his only.
Skyler swallowed and said, “He didn’t steal anything, Mr. Plains. I vouch for him.”
Merritt didn’t know Skyler knew his name. It almost brought tears to his eyes. Merritt said, “Okay, I believe you.”
“That’s right,” the tough guy said. “See you, fat bitch.”
“Leave the store now.” Merritt pointed in case they couldn’t find the exit themselves.
The boys turned to go.
Watching them leave, Merritt couldn’t help himself. “Skyler?”
His buddy turned to look back, a desperate look in his bright green eyes. Please don’t tell my parents about this, they said.
“You’re a good guy,” Merritt said. “Remember that. The world needs them around now more than ever.”
Skyler nodded and turned to catch up with his friends, nearly bumping into someone coming into the store – an older gentleman with a salt-and-pepper beard, sunglasses despite the late hour, and a vibrantly red tracksuit. “Sorry, sir.”
“My goodness, the manners. I do love small-town America.”
Skyler vanished into the night, the automatic doors whispering shut. Felix Eberhardt looked across at Merritt, grinning toothily behind his wraparound shades. “Merritt. You have a mustache now. I like it. Suits you.”
As much as Merritt wanted to run over and give Felix a big bear hug, he resisted. “Felix? What are you doing here?”
“I was in the neighborhood. Got a minute?”
“Um, yeah. I’ll go get punched out and—”
“Super. Meet me out back.”
Moving as quickly as he could without breaking out into a full run, Merritt punched out, cut through the dairy section walk-in, and pushed his way out into the alley behind the store, finding Felix’s Escalade parked there and Felix seated on the picnic table that’d been provided for the store’s smokers, elbows on his knees, his hands loosely clasped together as if in noncommittal prayer. Merritt didn’t know what to do with his own hands, or how to stand and not look awkward. He was worried, to the point he already felt his throat tightening up and tears readying themselves in the corners of his eyes. He was sure Felix had driven all the way from Chicago to the town of Otter Lake, Wisconsin, unannounced to break bad news to him, that Felix would no longer require Merritt’s services, that after tonight Merritt would have nothing to help him let off steam, a prison cell inevitable. Hell, the cracks were already starting to show. Not ten minutes ago, he’d tried forcing Skyler’s friend to give him his address so Merritt could drive over there, break in while the little shit was asleep, and put a knife in him.
He could tell Felix was gathering his thoughts. Not wanting to interrupt because Felix might not be nice about it when he fired him, Merritt stood there and studied his boss. He looked so different. He envied Felix’s weight loss, but not how wiry he’d become, and how he seemed unable to sit still for long, one knee always bouncing. He watched his boss study the traffic of Route 10 in the distant gloom. Through his sunglasses, Merritt imagined Felix only saw the organized streams of headlights and taillights like lightning bugs that’d been taught to fly in formation.
“Looks like you lost some weight,” Merritt said.
“And it’d appear that you found it.” Felix sighed. “That was mean. I take that back.”
“It’s okay.” Sadly, it was most likely true. There’d been many long sleepless nights waiting for Felix to email and just as many midnight snacks.
Unable to hold his question in anymore, Merritt said, “So,” with his hands clasped behind his back, rocking on the balls of his feet, doing his best Mr. Casual, “what brings you to Wisconsin?”
“On my way out to the Twin Cities.”
“For that job?”
“That’d be the one.”
“Was there a problem?”
“Just doing a supply run.” Felix’s tone said drop it.
And Merritt managed to, for a second. “If it’s okay I ask, who ended up on that?”
Felix hesitated. “Brenda.”
Merritt’s heart blacked over. “I see.”
Felix turned around to look at the door, held open a crack by a dented can of green beans. “Mind shutting that the rest of the way?”
“Sure thing.” Merritt nudged the can free with his toe and the door closed, the bolt shooting home, locked. He’d walk around the building to go back in through the front when they were done here. He wouldn’t mind. Felix says jump, you say how high.
Felix said, “Let me start off by saying I’m sorry about passing you over on the Minneapolis job, Merritt.”
“It’s all right, I understand.”
“I know it’s been a while since I’ve thrown anything
your way. And you always put in good, solid work, so don’t think that change was because of you, all right? This one’s on me.”
“It’s really okay. Things worked out differently. Happens.”
“If only I had twenty of you,” Felix said. “Would you mind sitting over here where I can see you? Having to keep turning my head to look at you, my neck gets mad at me.”
Merritt promptly moved to sit at the picnic table, which took some doing. He was afraid he might lose his balance, plop down on the bench too hard, and make the picnic table into a catapult and launch skin-and-bones Felix up onto the grocery store’s roof. But, with a silent congratulations to himself, Merritt got himself slotted into the table without mishap, though the wood did creak under him some. He straightened his posture and folded his thick hands before him like the overeager teacher’s pet awaiting the start of the day’s lesson.
Felix said, “You free this coming weekend?”
Merritt struggled to remember what day it was – at the grocery store, every day except the one before Thanksgiving was pretty much identical – but he remembered today was Wednesday because he’d had egg salad for lunch. “Mom has a checkup Friday at three but after that my schedule couldn’t be more open,” Merritt supplied good-naturedly. He cleared his throat, not liking his drippy overenthusiasm. “But I’ll have to check to make sure.”
“How is Sheila?”
“Good, good.”
“I always liked her. Bawdy lass, ain’t she?”
“She’s something.” A crank that’s aging about as pleasantly as jar of mayo maybe.
“She like that birthday present I sent her?”
Merritt nodded. “Keeps it in her nightstand.”
“Good. Home security is important. Especially with the only son she’s got around still traveling so often. There’s bad people everywhere.”
“I don’t think she knows how to even load it.” Merritt chuckled.
Surprising Merritt, Felix didn’t laugh. “Then maybe you should take her to the range sometime and teach her. She’s your mother. You only get one. Not a day goes by I don’t wish mine had known how to fire a gun.”
“Okay. Sorry.”
Felix turned his sunglasses up toward the stars. “Oh, Sheila. Lovely, lovely Sheila. In a different life, Merritt, you and I might’ve been having this conversation as father and son.”
“I would’ve liked that,” Merritt said. He wanted to gush and say he’d wished that was the case all the time, that he’d had dreams where that was the case, but he kept it cool, Mr. Casual limiting himself to only add, “That would’ve been really nice.”
“I think so too.” Felix knocked twice on the weather-beaten picnic table. “So, what do you say we get down to business, big guy?”
“I say absolutely.”
“Splendid. First things first. The fuck’s going on between you and Brenda?”
Ripped from imagining Felix as his father to thinking about the Houston disaster two years back, Merritt might’ve taken too long formulating a response. “Last time she and I worked together we…. We had a bit of a disagreement.”
“Over?”
“I know it’s rude to answer a question with a question,” Merritt said, “but what did she say happened?”
“That’s the thing. She won’t tell me. Couple of mimes, you two assholes.” Felix pulled a flask from his tracksuit’s pocket and took a swig and put it away. “So I figured I’d ask you next time I saw you and politely insist you share with me what went down,” he said, his breath hitting Merritt sweet and slightly metallic.
Some dietary health drink heavy with iron, Merritt figured. Either way, it wasn’t his place to ask what Felix was drinking. Mostly because if he did ask, Felix would probably take that as Merritt wanting some and wouldn’t accept no for an answer, being the generous sort that he was. Besides, if it had booze in it, that’d make things twice as uncomfortable because Merritt didn’t drink anymore. Not since Houston.
“So,” Felix said, “we’re playing pickle in the middle and you two decided I’m the goddamn pickle? That it?”
“It’s just—”
Felix raised a hand. Merritt shut up.
“It’s a private matter. I see that now. I’ll just assume mistakes were made by both sides and the truth of the matter likely lies somewhere in the middle. Consider my question withdrawn. All I want to know is – and bear in mind this isn’t meant to be any slight against you, big guy – do you hold a grudge against her?”
Merritt started to open his mouth, but Felix said, “If so, I’m not saying that’s a bad thing. Shit, I’m no better. Harbor a number of my own. Dust them off every now and then, look at my collection of unresolved shit I got against certain people, and dream about how I might do something should I ever get the free time and opportunity. Keeps a man spry. As we fellas get up there in years, we tend to start letting shit go, burying hatchets. Even the ones that’re still sharp, which is a shame. I say that if you got a hatchet that won’t say buried, that’s a good sign. Of vigor. Of virility.” He shook his fists. “You still got it, you know what I mean? Where it counts. Inner lion’s still roaring. If a man doesn’t feel like he’d like to kill at least one person, what’s he got? Which brings me to my next question. Do you got something against Brenda you’d like put to bed?”
Merritt thought about it. “I wouldn’t say it’s a grudge necessarily, but….” He thought about it again. “But I suppose that’s the only word for it really.”
“She thinks you’re a bag of shit, Merritt. Her words.”
“She said that?” Merritt felt his blood shoot to his head and hands.
“That she did. Direct quote. Yep, she thinks you’re not even close to a professional, you don’t stick to the plan and when you do, you still turn in sloppy work. You off people who don’t need to be offed and you seem to have an obsessive need to always leave numerous loose ends. She’s stunned you’re not in prison yet. Her words. Also, you’re most likely a rapist and a kid-toucher to boot. Said she caught a vibe. Unquote. Again, her words.”
“Well, if I could share my side of what happened in Houston, we—”
“Don’t let that make you feel you need to tell me,” Felix said. “You want to keep that under your hat, that’s fine. Everybody got paid, client reported no problems with the service provided, so whatever snafu arose down there in Houston you two must’ve put your heads together and figured it out. I’m just telling you what she told me so everybody can be on the same page when it comes to, you know, in what regard everybody holds one another.”
It was hard to tell where Felix was looking exactly with his sunglasses on, but Merritt looked down and saw his fists were still balled white-knuckle and loosened them. “Do you agree with her?”
“On how Brenda feels about you? Course not.”
“I hope you told her that. Corrected her.”
“You know, I thought about it but you know how she is. Stubborn as all hell, that one. I mean, how could she not bet? She’s a fucking broad. They’re all like that.” Felix paused, grinning crookedly. “Can’t live with them, can’t kill them unless you know a guy. O.J. found that one out the hard way. I mean, he’s still walking around and all but you get my point. Think of the legal fees. That poor man’s wallet. Good god.”
Merritt said nothing.
Felix stargazed a moment. Drawing a breath like he’d forgotten to keep taking them, he said, “I want you to tell me if I’m out of line on this, big guy, but do you think there may’ve been any validity to what Brenda said?” He pinched the air. “Maybe just a teensy bit?”
“None,” Merritt said. “No, absolutely not, I don’t think a single thing she said about me and how I work is true.”
“Okay, okay. I know we’re outside but let’s remember our inside voices.”
Merritt stayed loud. “Why would you ask me that
? Do you think there might be some truth to what she said?”
“I mean….” Felix started. “All right, let me say this. You display competency in your work, no doubt about it. That’s where it comes out with you – the real you, my guy. But when it comes to this day-to-day shit, like here where you hold down a nine-to-five to keep the IRS looking the other way, I don’t want those doubts you might have in yourself doing this work here to bleed over when you’re doing work for me. Understand?”
“I got employee of the month three times this year.” Merritt thumbed over his shoulder. “I can show you the board in the break room.”
“That’s all right, I believe you. But what I mean is: if someone were to say something like what Brenda said about you and your level of professionalism, while you were doing your other job, this job here, I don’t want that to chip away at your self-esteem. You know, put shit in your head and screw things up with you here, which would then let those compounded frustrations spill over into the other side of things, the jobs you do for me. Picking up what I’m putting down, big guy?”
Merritt wasn’t really but decided his best response should be: “I look at what I do for you as my real job. It’s all I care about.”
Felix sighed. “I know it is, but I think you’re missing my point.”
“I just punch a clock here for the reason you said, to have something down on paper for taxes,” Merritt went on. “I turn in good work doing jobs for you. You said so yourself.” He stopped himself short of whining, “And you can never, ever take that back.”
“Yes, we’re in total agreement on all that, we are,” Felix said. “Don’t shoot the messenger, all right?”
“Couldn’t if I wanted to. I don’t bring my guns here.”
Over his sunglasses, Felix’s eyebrows knitted.
“That was a joke,” Merritt said.
Felix threw back his head and laughed his rough, hacking laugh, but Merritt could tell it wasn’t genuine. Despite that, Merritt smiled as well, glad for the break in tension even if it was sort of phony. He was still confused, a little worried, and wished they would just stop talking about this stuff now.
