Victim Rights

by Norah McClintock

  “This,” Kevin said. He jabbed the Saturday night column.

  Dooley peered at it. His name had been crossed out and Linelle’s name had been scrawled in above it.

  “Yeah.” He circled around Kevin.

  “I’m not finished talking to you yet,” Kevin said.

  Dooley’s instinct was to keep moving to the back of the store, to the small windowless closet that Kevin referred to as the staff room, and change into his red polo shirt with the name tag attached to it. But Kevin had leapfrogged in front of him.

  “Who authorized this change?” he demanded.

  “I told you two weeks ago that I needed next Saturday night off,” Dooley said. Next Saturday was the six-month anniversary of his first official date with Beth. He’d figured she’d like it if he remembered it and planned something special. But now, having spent all night trying—and failing—to get her on the phone, he wasn’t so sure.

  “Told me?” Kevin’s face had turned almost as red as his shirt. “You told me?”

  “Yeah. But you went ahead and scheduled me in anyway. Linelle offered to cover the shift for me.”

  “You need to get permission for that.”

  “Since when?”

  “Since when?” Kevin shook his head. “Even Linelle knows the drill, for crying out loud.” He waved the schedule in front of Dooley again. “What do you see next to your name in today’s box?” Then, before Dooley could answer, “My initials. Because Linelle—Linelle, Dooley—came to me, as per procedure, and got my approval for you to cover her shift for her today. And you know why? Because Linelle took the time to read the memo posted in the staff room.” Kevin shoved the other piece of paper in Dooley’s face. Dooley only had enough time to read the words “memo” and “scheduling” before Kevin whipped the paper away again and started reading aloud from it, the gist of it being that from now on, all shift changes had to be approved by a shift manager in advance and that no employee was permitted to work more than forty hours a week, a dodge, Dooley bet, to avoid having to pay overtime.

  Dooley made a note to talk to Linelle. Jesus, she never played by the rules. In fact, she considered it a point of pride to dodge as many rules as possible. If you couldn’t count on Linelle to ball up a memo and shoot baskets with it, who could you count on?

  “I didn’t see that,” he said, aware of how lame he sounded and resenting Kevin for making him feel that way.

  “Ignorance is no excuse.”

  Ignorance? Dooley felt like popping him one. A year ago, he probably would have. But now? Well, now he knew that, sure, it would make him feel pretty good and, sure, it would guarantee that he wouldn’t have to work next Saturday, but that would be because he’d been fired. So instead, he sucked it up and said, “It won’t happen again.”

  “It won’t happen, period,” Kevin said. “Policy is policy. You’re scheduled to work. You didn’t get the change approved. You’re just going to have to live with it.”

  “Or,” Dooley said, working to keep any sense of menace out of his voice, “you could approve the switch.”

  “What kind of precedent would that set?” Kevin said.

  Prick.

  “Maybe the precedent that every now and then you’re not such a tight-assed little bureaucrat.”

  Kevin stared at him, open-mouthed. Then he pulled himself up straight so that the top of his head reached Dooley’s shoulder.

  Up front, the electronic bell over the door sounded. For once, Kevin didn’t check to see if a potential shoplifter was entering the store.

  “I do not approve the switch,” he said. “You work the shift or you’re fired. You got that? And don’t even think about calling in sick. You’re here Saturday night or you’re through. It’s right here in the memo. No deviance from the policy will be tolerated. It’s signed by the Ops Manager. The Ops Manager, Dooley. And it applies to everyone. You mess with it, and Mr. Fielding won’t be able to bail you out.”

  Mr. Fielding, the area manager, had hired Dooley, even though—or maybe because—Dooley had been straight with him about his record. Whenever Mr. Fielding came into the store, he always stopped and chatted with Dooley. Kevin hovered around when that happened, trying to find out what Mr. Fielding was laughing at, probably worried, Dooley thought, that Dooley was telling stories about him.

  “You got me, Dooley?” Kevin said.

  One more kick from an already bullshit day.

  “Whatever,” Dooley said. Under his breath, he muttered, “Asshole.”

  “I heard that.” Kevin scowled at Dooley. “Don’t mess with my schedule again.” He wheeled around and headed for the front counter.

  Dooley slammed into the “staff room,” changed into his shirt and stupid name tag, and went back into the store again, where he nearly collided with Alicia. She grinned when she saw him. Alicia was the only person Dooley knew who was always overjoyed to see him. He couldn’t help himself. He smiled.

  “How’s it going, Alicia?” He glanced behind her to her brother Warren. “Man, you looked wiped.” Warren’s round face looked wan, and his eyes, behind thick lenses, were glassy.

  “I haven’t been to bed yet. I worked last night, and then some guy called in sick this morning, so they asked me to stay. I did a double.”

  “Worked? You got a job?”

  “At the hospital. As a cleaner. A couple of evenings a week, nights on Fridays and Saturdays, plus filling in if they need someone last minute.”

  “A cleaner?” Dooley said.

  “It’s what they had. And it’s union. It pays nearly twice what you make here.”

  Dooley whistled.

  “You saving for a car or something?” he said.

  Warren turned to his sister. “Why don’t you go and look around, Leesh? I’ll be there as soon as I finish talking to Dooley.”

  “To Ryan,” Alicia said. She was one of the few people who called him by his given name. She said she liked it better than Dooley.

  “We got a new penguin movie in,” Dooley said. “This one’s a cartoon. Check it out, Alicia. It’s on the top shelf.”

  She beamed at him and headed for the kids’ section. Alicia was a year older than Warren. She had Down’s. Warren was protective of her. He watched her go. He also scanned the kids’ section to see if there was anyone there who might conceivably give her a hard time. There wasn’t. When she was safely out of earshot, he dropped his voice.

  “My mom sends her to this special camp every summer. Up until this year, she’s been able to get a grant to do it. But with all the cutbacks that have been going on ...” He shook his head. “I figure I should have enough by the end of June so that she can still go. It’s a whole month, Dooley. She loves it. She looks forward to it all year.”

  The first time Dooley had met Warren, a guy was getting ready to use him as a punching bag out behind the school. The second time, a couple of guys had stuffed him in his locker and were getting ready to lock him in. Warren just naturally invited that kind of attention—at least, he used to until kids at school saw how Dooley was with him. A year or more ago, Dooley would have been one of the guys whose mission was to make the Warrens of the world miserable. Now—well, Warren had forced him to shift the way he looked at things.

  “Then what?” Dooley said. “Once you pay for that, you going to take the summer off?”

  “Hell, no. Then I start saving up for a car.” Warren grinned despite his obvious fatigue. “Well, maybe not a car. There’s a computer I have my eye on ...” And off he went, getting all technical about something Dooley didn’t care about, until finally Alicia was back with two DVDs, one the new penguin movie Dooley had mentioned, the other a movie about a bunch of wild parrots that she had seen at least a dozen times already. Alicia always went for the animal stuff. She held them out to Dooley.

  “Come on up front,” he said.

  Kevin was behind the counter but not at a register. He was over to one side, his back to Dooley, hunched over his stupid schedule.

 
Dooley wanded the two DVDs, slipped them into a bag, and handed them to Alicia, who dug in her pocket for the money to pay for them. She always had exact change.

  Dooley waved the money aside.

  “These are on the house,” he said. “Because you’re our best customer.”

  She made a gentle whooping noise that told Dooley how thrilled she was. Kevin turned to look, and for a minute there, Dooley was afraid Alicia would tell him why she was so happy. Kevin scowled at her, annoyed at being distracted from his work. The smile vanished from Alicia’s face.

  “Why don’t you go to the store next door and get a Popsicle?” Warren said gently. “I’ll be right there, okay?”

  “Get a pink one,” Dooley said. “Pink is cherry. Cherry’s the best.”

  Alicia grinned at him.

  “She really likes you,” Warren said as he watched her go. He turned back to Dooley, his wallet out, thumbing some bills.

  “Save it, Warren.”

  “Won’t you get in trouble?” Warren said quietly, one eye on Kevin.

  “We get ten free rentals a week,” Dooley said. “We’re supposed to keep current. We’re supposed to have watched everything in the store. It’s all good.”

  “You don’t have to do this, Dooley. I can pay—”

  “I know you can, Warren. I want to do it, okay? So why don’t you forget about it? Go home and get some sleep.”

  Warren had that same pop-eyed look on his face that appeared whenever Dooley did something to surprise him, usually something nice. Dooley didn’t know what to make of that look. He couldn’t figure out what Warren expected from him—obviously nothing like this, even though what Dooley had done was such a small thing.

  “See you, huh?” Warren said.

  “Not if I see you first,” Dooley said.

  Every chance Dooley got—every time Kevin went into the back room or when he took his break—Dooley tried Beth again. Her cell rang through to voicemail every time. He didn’t bother leaving a message. He’d left a couple the night before. She’d never got back to him.

  Tuesday afternoon, Dooley was at work again, after calling Beth’s cell first thing in the morning, all through lunch, and about a million times between the time he left school and the time he stepped out of the staff room, name tag pinned to his chest, and slipped behind the counter to take over the cash from Rashid, who had a master’s degree in chemical engineering and was earning the same lousy wage as Dooley. He called a couple more times when Kevin wasn’t looking. In fact, he had just slammed down the phone—still no answer—when a customer about his own age stepped up to the cash. The guy had straight white teeth, hair that fell just so, and was wearing immaculate jeans and a pair of sharp-looking sunglasses hooked on the neck of his form-fitting T-shirt. Nevin.

  Dooley looked down for his selection but, big surprise, Nevin’s hands were empty.

  “Can I help you with something?” Dooley said. It was what he was supposed to say. With regular customers who were friendly, he put real feeling into it. With jerks that treated him and every other video store clerk as if they’d been lobotomized, he didn’t even try to hide his boredom. With guys like Nevin, guys who had too much money and the ego to go along with it, he kept it monotone, the message: Whatever.

  “Hey, Dooley,” Nevin said, nice and perky. He and Dooley each knew who the other was, but they had never spoken. Dooley preferred it that way.

  Dooley stared at him.

  “How’s Beth?” Nevin said, a real needle to his tone, so that Dooley had to fight the urge to grab him by the throat and throttle him. “You talked to her lately? Or maybe she isn’t answering her phone.” His eyes were sharp on Dooley, and he smiled. “If I were her, I wouldn’t, not after what happened.”

  Dooley couldn’t help it—interest flickered in his eyes.

  Nevin looked across the counter, waiting for Dooley to ask him what he meant. Dooley felt like kicking the perfect teeth right out of his head.

  “What are you talking about, Nevin?”

  Nevin shook his head, as if he felt sorry for Dooley.

  “She didn’t tell you, huh?”

  “Told me what?”

  “About Parker.”

  Parker, whose daddy made a killing during the dot-com craze. “What about him?”

  “He was on the trip with us. We stayed over an extra day at his place. He threw one hell of a party.”

  “Yeah. So?”

  “She tell you what happened at the party?”

  Dooley stared at him, conveying the message: You’re wasting my time.

  Nevin sighed. “She didn’t, did she?” Dooley didn’t answer. “I have to say, I’m disappointed in Beth,” Nevin said. “She’s always going on about integrity and telling the truth, am I right? And there she is, crying over Parker, and she hasn’t even had the decency to tell you.”

  Beth had been crying over this Parker guy?

  “A girl I know saw them go upstairs together,” Nevin continued, shaking his head like a disapproving father. “I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this—” Dooley doubted that—“but they were holding hands.”

  Beth had been holding hands with a guy, and the worst possible kind of guy at that—a dot-fucking-com heir.

  “Parker’s one of those guys, he’s got girls dropping to their knees in front of him all the time, you know what I mean?” –Nevin said.

  Dooley was trying to slow down his breathing, one of the so-called coping techniques they’d taught in group.

  “She’s not the first one he’s left crying,” Nevin said. “He screws some girl, she thinks she’s got it made, and the next thing you know, she’s invisible to him. But does that stop the next one from thinking she’s going to be the one?” He shook his head again. “I never thought Beth would be one of those girls, but I guess you never know.”

  What the hell was going on? What was Nevin telling him?

  “Parker’s no gentleman, either,” Nevin continued. He was enjoying himself. “He’s one of those guys who puts out the details. Everyone at school knows everything there is to know about Beth, if you get my drift.”

  That pretty much sealed it. Dooley’s hands flew out. He caught a handful of Nevin’s T-shirt up near the collar and started to drag him across the counter. Nevin let out a yell. His sunglasses clattered to the floor.

  The electronic bell above the door bonged. Out of the corner of his eye, Dooley saw a customer, a woman, swing into the store and grind to a halt, staring at him.

  “Hey, Jesus, Dooley, what are you doing?” Kevin said, running up the Action / Adventure aisle to the counter. “You want the cops in here?”

  Dooley had pulled his arm back and was getting ready to hit Nevin, who was struggling to break free. He was strong, too. It took everything Dooley had to maintain his grip.

  “Dooley, let him go or, swear to God, I’ll call the cops.” Kevin’s voice was shaking, like he was terrified what that might lead to. But Dooley had to give him credit. He didn’t back down. He reached for the phone on the counter.

  Dooley, still holding the front of Nevin’s T-shirt with both hands, pulled him in close so that he could smell the fear on him. Then he flung him backward as hard as he could. Nevin fell on his ass with a splat, taking a bin of previously-viewed with him.

  Kevin scowled at Dooley, before spinning around, grabbing Nevin by one arm, and helping him to his feet.

  Nevin brushed himself off. His face was white.

  “You think you’re something special,” he said. “But I guess Beth doesn’t think so, huh?” He looked down at his shirtfront. “My sunglasses.”

  They were on the floor beside Dooley. Nevin started for them. Dooley brought one foot down and ground them into pieces.

  “It looks like they got broken,” he said.

  “Fucking animal.” Nevin strode out of the store. Dooley watched him climb into his midnight-blue Jag and roar away.

  The woman, who had been staring at Dooley, was still rooted to the spot where s
he had stopped. She seemed uncertain about what to do. Kevin smiled at her.

  “Just a misunderstanding,” he said. “I’m sorry for any inconvenience. Your rental is on the house today.”

  The woman looked at him. “I was going to do the three-pack.”

  “On the house,” Kevin assured her.

  The woman headed for the new-release display that ringed the inside of the store.

  Kevin turned to Dooley.

  “What the hell do you think you were doing? What if that guy calls the cops on you?”

  “He won’t.” Dooley was willing to put a week’s wages on it. Hell, a month’s wages. Nevin had come in with the sole purpose of sticking it to Dooley. The fact that Dooley reacted the way he had was proof positive that he’d succeeded.

  “You better pray he doesn’t, because assault is a criminal charge, and you get a criminal charge while you’re on shift and right in front of another customer, for God’s sake, and you’re out of here just like that, no ifs, ands, or buts.” Dooley just stared at him. He was going to have a much bigger problem than being unemployed if Nevin went to the cops. They could lock him up again for that—if there was anything left of him after his uncle got through with him. “Goddammit, Dooley, what is that lady going to think? That we hire thugs here? I mean, for all she knows, the guy was a customer.”

  “I gotta go,” Dooley said. He lifted up the trap to come out from behind the counter.

  “Go? Go where? You have four more hours on your shift.”

  “I have a personal emergency.”

  “Rashid isn’t back from his meal break. I’m alone in the store, Dooley.”

  Dooley was still breathing hard, still high on the adrenalin rush he’d got from the look of panic in Nevin’s eyes. He didn’t give a fuck about his job. He didn’t—

  Jesus.

  Act in haste, repent in leisure. How often had he heard that from his uncle? Actions have consequences—that one had been repeated over and over in group. Take a deep breath and think it through—this one from Dr. Calvin, who had a soft voice and a slow, relaxed way of talking. When your eyes are blinded by a red rage, you may think you don’t care what happens next. But you’ll think differently when you’re seeing straight again and you find you’re boxed into a corner by your own rashness. You can cut down on a lot of regret by taking a few seconds to think things through ahead of time.