Requiem

by Jim Moens

“You work tomorrow?”

  “Yeah... I come in at four.” Nick was looking back and forth across the parking lot.

  “You okay, bud?”

  “Yeah... looking for my ride,” Nick said.

  Suddenly, a pair of headlights approached at an alarming rate. A late model Toyota Corolla screeched to a stop next to the curb, mere inches from Doug and Nick.

  “Ah,” Nick said. “There we are.”

  The passenger side window slid down. “Sorry,” came a female voice. “I got caught up in some stuff.”

  Doug leaned down as Nick got in the car. The driver was a very attractive young woman with short brown hair and glasses.

  “Some stuff?” Nick said.

  “I fell asleep, okay?” she said to Nick. She nodded towards Doug. “Who's your buddy there?”

  “Oh yeah,” Nick said, “this here's Doug, master camera salesman.”

  “Hey, Doug,” she said.

  “And this is Rebecca. My limo driver.”

  Doug offered a broad wave. “Hiya,” he said.

  Rebecca offered a similar broad wave. She smiled, and Doug couldn't help but think that she looked familiar somehow.

  “Until tomorrow,” Nick said.

  “Yep, see ya,” Doug said. “and nice...” The car pulled away. “...to meet you, Rebecca.”

  Doug thought it amusing that his father was in the same place and the same position as when he had left six hours prior. Of course, a late night talk show was on at this point rather than Judge Judy.

  “Hey,” Doug said as he plopped down on the couch. The show’s host was talking with Kate Hudson about her latest romantic comedy.

  “Frankie's asleep,” Dale said. “She didn't have much homework. Got it all done, I think.”

  Doug nodded. “Where's mom?”

  “On the computer probably,” Dale said with a shrug.

  Doug nodded again. He looked at the fireplace mantle. The picture of Megan he had framed and given to his parents was still not there.

  “I'm going to visit your grandfather on Saturday,” Dale said.

  Doug didn't relish yet another visit to the state prison. “I work all weekend,” he said. This time it was actually true.

  “I see.” Dale didn't turn from the television.

  “Tell him hi from me, okay?” Doug said.

  “Yeah. I will.”

  “Mind if I crash here?” Doug said.

  Dale nodded. “The couch is yours.”

  Doug leaned back and watched Kate tell the host about a mildly amusing incident that took place during her recent trip to Cozumel. He thought about the extremely attractive Rebecca in the car and felt more than a little jealous of Nick. He thought about Daniel Schmidt, in prison until the day he died.

  He was out within minutes.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  1951

  One never called Desmond Schmidt “Grandpa”. The proper, and in fact, only acceptable honorific was Grandfather. Desmond dismissed anything else as too informal and below his station as the ruler of the Schmidt family empire, a business fiefdom he ruled as if he was medieval king; his crooked, wrinkled fingers in every nook and cranny of each of the family's companies. There was the quarry, of course, started by Desmond's own Grandfather. Desmond himself started a savings and loan just at the end of the depression. It stumbled along for a few years, but boomed upon the return of veterans from World War II, eager to start families and buy homes. Each successive generation was expected to add to the empire. Desmond's son David launched a hardware store, but that was more an offshoot of his desire to tinker around the house than anything else. The store did manage to be somewhat successful in spite of itself, thus making David at least a middling success in Desmond's eyes.

  Desmond stared across the dinner table at his Grandson. “So tell me, Dennis,” he said, stabbing his pork roast with his fork, “what did you accomplish today?”

  “Accomplish?” Dennis said, hurriedly chewing and swallowing.

  “Yes, boy... accomplish. Did you achieve anything today?”

  Dennis bristled at being called “boy”, given the presumed subtext of “lazy little bastard”. “I met a girl,” he offered.

  Helen, seated at the far end of the table, perked up at this bit of news. Her fondest wish, one frequently spoken of, was for her son to find a nice girl and settle down. “How delightful,” she said.

  Desmond leaned back and crossed his arms across his chest. “So you met a young lady, did you?” he said.

  “She's a beauty,” Dennis said. He looked towards David. “And her papa... that what she calls him, 'papa'... he's going to see about work at the quarry. You still need a couple men, right?”

  “I do,” David said. “And exactly who are these people?”

  “They're new in town,” Dennis said.

  “Really?” David said.

  Desmond let out a long sigh. “So your father should just hire this man, someone no one around here knows... just so you can date some pretty girl? Do I understand you right?”

  “No,” Dennis said, “That's not it at all. I'm sure he's a good man. He just... he needs work.”

  “Where are these people from, Dennis?”

  “I'm not exactly sure,” Dennis said. “Ayala said something about Romania.”

  “Romanians,” Desmond said. He shot a look to David. “Gypsies. They're damn gypsies.”

  Dennis suddenly felt his backbone stiffen a bit. “I bet he'd show up for work, unlike some people.”

  Desmond slowly rose and leaned in toward Dennis. “Your Uncle Dean is simple. He's slow. And he's family. Understood, boy?”

  Dennis nodded silently, his little rebellion quelled after mere seconds. Dean was Desmond's son, a product of his second marriage to a much younger woman. Only seven years Dennis' senior and known by all around town as an unrepentant drunk.

  “Desmond--” Helen said.

  “Be quiet, Helen,” Desmond interrupted. “This is a business conversation.”

  David's eyes narrowed at his father, but he stayed silent. Desmond sat back down and surveyed the table.

  “Time to finish dinner,” Desmond announced.

  The dining room fell silent, save for the clatter of forks against plates. The rest of the meal passed with no conversation.

  CHAPTER SIX

  The store's management meetings were held each Wednesday at 10am. Doug arrived at the store at 9am, so he had an hour to check price changes and restocks in his department. He generally felt quite out of place at these meetings, but as he was in charge of the electronics department, he had no choice but to go.

  His phone began to vibrate as he entered the store. He fished it out of his pocket and looked at the display. It was the school. Of course.

  “Doug Schmidt,” he answered as he stepped back out the door.

  “Mr. Schmidt,” came the reply, “this is Richard Webster. I'm the principal of Franklin Elementary.”

  Richard Webster always introduced himself as if they had never spoken, even though he and Doug had talked any number of times before.

  “Good morning, Mr. Webster,” Doug said. “What can I do for you?”

  “I'm afraid we had a little problem with Francesca today,” Webster said.

  “A little problem?”

  “Yes. Are you able to stop by the school and discuss it with me?”

  “Sure. I can be there in a few minutes.”

  Doug sighed. Price changes and restocks would have to wait.

  Frankie was seated on a wooden chair just outside Principal Webster's office. She smiled when she saw Doug, then just as quickly looked away.

  “Hey,” Doug said.

  “Hi, Dad.”

  Doug sat down next to her. He made a mental note that he should take her for a haircut on Saturday.

  “What's going on?” Doug said.

  “Ashleigh is a jerk,” Frankie muttered.

  “Ashleigh? In your class?”

  Frankie nodded.

  “What h
appened?”

  “She threw a snake at me.”

  “A... snake?” Doug pictured it, for just a moment, as being a real snake. He just as quickly realized that probably wasn't the case.

  “Yeah. A snake.”

  “Why did she do that?”

  “To be mean. To make me cry.”

  “Did you cry?”

  Frankie fell silent.

  “It's okay if you cried.”

  Frankie nodded. Doug sensed there was more to the story, otherwise they wouldn't be sitting outside the principal's office at 9:15am.

  “Anything else?” Doug said.

  “I threw my backpack at her. Then I pushed her desk over.”

  “With her in it?”

  Frankie nodded.

  Doug shifted closer to Frankie. “Why did you do that?”

  “I was mad. I was tired of them making me cry every day.”

  The two of them sat in silence for a moment.

  “I thought of another Xen the Warrior story,” Doug said. “You want to hear it?”

  Frankie nodded and looked up at Doug.

  “Xen had defeated about a dozen Shadow Warriors,” Doug began, “And then she had to fight the Dragon Lord himself. They fought furiously, for what seemed like hours. Finally, the Dragon Lord says, 'I'm going to try a different strategy. I'm going to attack your mind.'”

  “Attack her mind?” Frankie said. “How does he do that?”

  “He casts a spell that brings up all these monsters to come at Xen. There's bunches of them, dragons, goblins, anything you can think of. Xen wants to run... I mean, there's no way she can defeat them all at once, right?”

  “Yeah... so what does she do?”

  “Nothing,” Doug said with a smile.

  “Nothing?”

  Doug nodded. “Yeah, remember? The Dragon Lord said he was going to attack Xen's mind. So Xen realized that none of those monsters were real. Maybe they seemed like it, but they weren't. The monsters seemed like they were going to attack, but she stood there and they would pass right through her.”

  “Cool.”

  “That's how she won that battle. She proved to the Dragon Lord that she wasn't afraid.”

  The door to the office opened and Principal Webster's head popped out.

  “Mr. Schmidt?”

  Doug looked.

  “Can we talk for a few minutes?” the principal said.

  Per Principal Webster, Frankie did throw her backpack at her classmate and she did push Ashleigh's desk but didn't quite manage to knock it over, apparently. And yes, it was a rubber snake.

  “So was Ashleigh hurt?” Doug asked.

  “No, not really,” Webster replied. “Just shook up. Francesca caused quite a ruckus, though.”

  Doug's eyes narrowed. “You said Frankie caused a ruckus? Really?”

  “Listen, Mr. Schmidt, I--”

  “No, no,” Doug said. “You listen. You listen to me this time. From my point of view, this girl who threw the rubber snake at my daughter caused the ruckus.”

  “Perhaps, but--”

  “No, not perhaps, she did. Period. Are Ashleigh's parents being called here? Are they?”

  Doug paused to give Principal Webster a chance to reply. None was forthcoming.

  “Listen,” Doug continued, “I’ll agree that Frankie overreacted. I know she’s emotional. I do everything I can to work with her on that. But it really doesn't help when she gets picked on and pushed around everyday.”

  “Perhaps she needs--”

  Doug held up a hand. “Don't even start that crap, okay? What she needs is an environment where she doesn't get bullied every day. So why don't you do your damn job and discipline these kids who hassle my daughter?”

  “I'm not sure I care for your tone, Mr. Schmidt.”

  “Don't talk to me like I'm one of your third-graders. Understood?”

  Principal Webster leaned back in his chair.

  “Here's the bottom line,” Doug said. “My daughter is very emotional. I know that. She's kind of a tomboy. I know that too. But understand that when I drop her off here everyday, I trust you to watch out for her, just as every other parent trusts you to watch out for their kid. So when I hear Frankie tell me about how she gets picked on everyday, I'm thinking you're not doing such a great job watching out for my daughter.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, really. So do your damn job. And if you don't, I might just have to go to the superintendent and raise holy hell.”

  Principal Webster stared daggers at Doug, yet said nothing.

  “Are we done here?” Doug said. “I have to get back to work.”

  “We're done,” Webster said quietly. “Thank you for coming.”

  Doug exited the office without saying a word. Frankie looked up at him expectantly.

  “Am I in trouble?” Frankie said.

  Doug shook his head. “No. Just don't... don't do that again, okay?”

  Frankie nodded.

  “Think about Xen,” Doug said. “Don't let them attack your mind.”

  “Okay,” Frankie said. “I won’t.”

  Doug spread his arms. “Give me a hug, okay? I have to get back to work.”

  Frankie gave Doug one of her trademark hugs, squeezing as hard as she possibly could. Doug was reminded that Frankie was actually quite strong for her size. Doug turned to the school secretary, a prim older woman seated behind a large desk.

  “She needs a pass, right?” Doug said to her.

  The secretary nodded. “I'll take care of her,” she said with a smile.

  “Thank you,” Doug said, then to Frankie, “Remember...” Doug tapped his forehead. Frankie nodded.

  “Like Xen,” Frankie said.

  Doug hurried down the hall... if he rushed, he might just make the meeting at Hester's. He heard the rapid clack-clack-clack of heels behind him.

  “Mr. Schmidt?”

  Doug turned around to see, of all people, Rebecca from the night before.

  “Uh... hi?” he said. Doug thought that she looked great, no mean feat under the school’s harsh, fluorescent lighting.

  “I saw you come in,” she said. “I was going to say hello, but then you started talking to your daughter. I didn't want to butt in.”

  “I thought maybe you looked familiar when I saw you last night,” Doug said. “You work here, I take it?”

  “Yes,” she said. “I'm the librarian.”

  “Very cool,” Doug said. “I'm sure you see a lot of my daughter then.” Frankie loved escaping into a good book. She was especially a fan of fantasy and adventure stories.

  “Yes. She's one of my best customers,” she said.

  Doug nodded.

  “Listen, I didn't mean to be nosy,” Rebecca continued, “but I heard a little of what you were saying earlier.”

  “To the principal?”

  “Well, not that I disagree with you there, but I meant to your daughter. The story you told.”

  “Oh, that,” Doug said. “Yeah, I found that telling her these stories kinda helps the lessons sink in better. Beats a lecture, I guess.”

  “You have a lot of these stories, then?”

  “Oh, I've made up quite a few,” Doug said. “But listen, I have to get back to work. Meeting time. Catch you later?”

  “Sure,” Rebecca said. “Take care.”

  “You too.”

  Damn, Doug thought as he walked away. That Nick is one lucky guy.

  Doug entered the conference room. The meeting had already been going on for a good ten minutes.

  “Sorry, everybody.” he said. “Got called away to my daughter's school.” Doug took a seat next to Bill. “What did I miss?”

  “Next time, try to be on time for these meetings.”

  Doug looked up and saw an unfamiliar man standing by the whiteboard on the wall, marker in hand, poised to make another note. The man was tall, fit, and extremely well-groomed, with not a hair out of place. Were he not in the Hester's regulation royal blue polo, h
e'd pass for an up and coming young executive straight out of the latest issue of GQ magazine.

  “Okay?” the man continued.

  “Sure,” Doug said with a curt nod.

  Doug peered at the man's name tag. “Brian” was his name.

  “So,” Brian said, “to get back on track, we need to improve store operations and profitability. And how do we do this?”

  “By using top-notch hair care products?” Bill muttered under his breath. Doug heard him and barely suppressed a chuckle.

  “The single biggest expense for almost any business is labor,” Brian continued. “So job one is to get labor costs under control.”

  Doug looked across the table at Shirley Patton. Shirley oversaw all clothing departments in the store. In her mid-fifties, she had been with Hester's since she was a teen.

  “You mean cut hours,” Shirley said.

  “If that's what's necessary,” Brian said, “but I do imagine that will be the case, yes.”

  “We're stretched pretty tight as it is,” Shirley said. “I barely have time to get all my merchandising done and work with my team and help customers.”

  “I'm sure you'll find a way to become more productive with the time you have,” Brian said to Shirley. Then, to the others, “We all will. We have to.”

  Shirley sighed and crossed her arms across her chest. She looked at Doug and slowly shook her head.

  The meeting ended after a painfully slow thirty-five minutes. Brian gave them several mandates, cutting labor costs being only one of them.

  “I am really not in the mood to deal with some yuppie douchenoozle,” Bill said as he and Doug entered the stockroom.

  “Who the hell is that guy?” Doug said.

  “Our new store manager, apparently,” Bill replied.

  “Yeah, I got that,” Doug said. “What happened to Leland? He was our manager last night. Did he get fired? Quit?”

  Bill shrugged. “No one knows,” he said.

  “Hey,” Doug said, “sorry I didn't call you last night, by the way. Buy you a beer after work, make it up to you?”

  “Sure,” Bill said, “O'Brien's? Sixish?”

  “See you then.”

  “So I ran into Rebecca today,” Doug said to Nick. It was just after 4pm and Nick was about to start his first solo shift in the electronics department.