Chop Shop

by Andrew Post

  “It’s only meat.”

  “Exactly. Now, if you start to feel light-headed again: say something. Don’t be a tough guy. Tell me, got it?”

  “Okay, Frank.”

  “But you’re doing great, Bryce. Your cousin will probably live.”

  “Really?”

  “Probably. We still have to get the bullet out of his leg.” Frank checked Vasily’s pulse again. Weak but maintaining. “We’re not out of the weeds yet.”

  As Frank turned around to get a pair of tweezers from the cabinet, with his back to Bryce, he glanced up the hall again. No sign that anyone was in there. Closed door, dead quiet. Of course, with everything going on in this room Simone could’ve been screaming her head off and Bryce probably wouldn’t have noticed. Frank looked at how Bryce was staring down at his cousin. He was genuinely worried. His eyes were watering and with one hand keeping pressure on his wound, he stroked his cousin’s cheek with his other – until his hand started to slip off and Bryce began teetering on his feet. When Bryce collapsed, away came the rag and a gout of red erupted out of Vasily’s punctured scrotum and drew a sloppy line up the wall and across the ceiling.

  “Fuck.”

  The needle had torn out of Bryce’s arm when he fell. Frank got the bloody rag pressed onto the wound again and, nearly dislocating his shoulder, bent down to retrieve the needle off the floor. Flopping the plastic tube over his shoulder, he reached out with his left hand, right still on Vasily’s junk, and felt for a pulse. It was very slow and very weak.

  Frank glanced at the container on the side of the transfusion pump. Empty. Vasily’s heart had already sucked up every drop. Frank pulled the tube, draped over his shoulder, and caught the end with the needle. A bead of Bryce’s blood hung on its tip. Frank let go of Vasily’s wound long enough to slap his own forearm twice – and jam the needle in.

  Frank looked over his shoulder at Bryce lying slumped against the wall, spit bubbling on his lips and eyes looking in different directions. “Didn’t I tell you to say something?” He looked at the needle jammed in his own arm. “Well, I hope you were clean.”

  The container filled, the new blood was pushed into Vasily, and in a few seconds his pulse started to perk up a little, its tempo climbing with each soft thump against Frank’s fingers. Having to work against the clock of his own draining blood supply, Frank fed a pair of tweezers to the puckered hole into Vasily’s thigh, pushing deeper until he heard the muffled clink of metal touching metal.

  * * *

  Jolene sat in the funeral home office, holding the phone and listening to the muted puttering of it ringing, thinking that halfway across the country, in a familiar kitchen, a phone was ringing and her parents were looking at each other, debating who was going to answer it. Maybe they drew straws. Maybe like Amber and Jolene did sometimes, they played a quick game of rock paper scissors. Either way, it wasn’t until the tenth ring that Mom finally answered.

  “Hey, Mom, it’s Jo.”

  “I know. I saw the number on the little screen thing here. What do you want?”

  “Nothing, nothing. So, uh, how are you? How’s Dad? I heard you guys were getting some pretty serious rain out that way last week.”

  “What do you want, Jolene?”

  Jolene’s eyes moved to the pile of unpaid bills standing in a column on the desk. “So we recently hit kind of a snag here and I was wondering if—”

  “Last time you called to ask for money I told you no. Then you went behind my back and called your father at work. You should know an answer from one of us is an answer from both of us.”

  “I’m sorry, Mom. We were really in a fix and—”

  “I bet you were hoping your father answered, weren’t you? Sorry to disappoint, sweetheart.”

  “No, no. I love talking to you, Mom, I do. Sorry it’s been a little while, I’ve been super-busy, but I’ve been meaning to call.”

  “It’s been a little while since you needed money, too, I suppose. So you might as well start your sales pitch.”

  “Mom, I think we’re in a lot of trouble here.”

  Her mother sighed. “I know we’ve talked about this, but nobody asked you to move in with that girl.”

  “I know, but—”

  “Nobody asked you to try and help her. If the business – her family’s business – is going under, you should just cut ties with her and start over somewhere else. Let her drive it into the ground herself. They say being a mortician is one of the most reliable jobs you can ever hope to have and I’m sure, somewhere else, they’re hiring. Think of where you are now as just you gaining experience for a place that’ll treat you better, a stepping stone.”

  “But it isn’t just Amber’s business, Mom, it’s mine too. We’re partners. I can’t just flake on her. I owe her.”

  “One misstep in college she helped you with does not mean you owe her your entire life,” her mom said. “She did a nice thing for you by driving you to the hospital. But I think it’s kind of hurtful that you forget you lived with us for almost a year after that. Who paid for the ER visit? Who drove you to your meetings so you could…figure things out, Jolene? It wasn’t Amber. It was your father and I. But it’s us who’s getting the short end of the stick, even after all that. All she did was drive you to the hospital. She didn’t even visit you when you were in there. But your father and I never left your side.”

  “I know, Mom, and I really appreciate what you and Daddy did for me—”

  “Don’t do that. That may’ve worked when you were six, but don’t do it now.”

  “I didn’t mean to, Mom. I just…I just miss you guys. Mom? Are you there?”

  A long hesitation. “I want to bring something to your attention, Jolene. You may say you and this girl are partners now but any other time you call – when it’s not to beg for money – it’s you crying about how she’s not pulling her weight or spending all the money on booze and going out and everything else. You hitched your wagon to the wrong horse and I don’t know when you’ll learn that. That girl is—”

  “Mom, stop. She’s my friend.”

  “Let me finish, Jolene. Until you learn she is not really your friend and you don’t actually owe her anything, I don’t think there’s anything more we can do. I’m sorry to do this, honey, but we really can’t afford to give you anything more without your father taking on more hours and then he, technically, won’t be retired anymore and he’ll lose his benefits. So, I’m sorry, but it’s sink-or-swim time, baby. But I really hope you figure this out. I love you, Jo-Jo. Goodbye.”

  “Mom? Mom. Fuck.” Jolene had a nice quiet meltdown.

  In her bedroom, lifting the lid on her jewelry box, Jolene felt a spike of shame rise in her heart as she looked at her grandmother’s necklaces and earrings.

  They’d pawned things before. A few of the old things Amber’s parents had left behind because they couldn’t take them to Hawaii without the shipping costing an arm and a leg.

  They didn’t have a TV anymore because that was currently hanging on the wall among the many others at the Pawn America across town.

  Jolene’s fingers were coiling around the three gold necklaces – one of which her grandmother had worn the day of her wedding – and was about to make herself pick them up to take across town to join her TV, when across the house, she heard the doorbell.

  She closed the lid on the jewelry box, wiped her eyes, and padded on bare feet up the hall. The house was divided between the living quarters and what the customers would see. Connecting them was the display room with all of the sample caskets and their hardware option boards, fabric swatches and pillows a client could try out to see if, when dead, they’d enjoy resting on that particular model for the rest of eternity. Jolene passed through the display room and into the reception area, going around the check-in counter to check the CCTV giving her the view of the front steps and the garage doo
r around back.

  And at her front door, in grainy black and white, Jolene saw Cornelius standing with a dozen roses and the ever-present trilby sitting cocked on his tiny, misshapen head.

  She pulled open the door. “Go away.”

  Cornelius smiled. “Hello, Miss Morris. Lovely day, isn’t it? Warm but not too warm.”

  “What’s with the flowers?”

  “Oh, these are for you. A dozen red roses. When I saw them, I immediately thought of—”

  “Shove them up your ass. Answer’s still no, weirdo.”

  She could’ve just closed the door in his face, but sometimes, like today, trying to see him struggling, yet again, to convince her to let him in could be mildly entertaining. So she remained leaning on the doorjamb, letting him dig a hole for himself.

  “I see you’re still a tough customer,” he said with a giggle. “You’re sticking to your guns, that’s good, I like that, an easy sale is no challenge for the salesman. It doesn’t feel like a true victory then.” The snaggletooth grin plastered on his face didn’t budge. Setting the flowers on the porch railing, he adjusted his black silk tie and straightened the lapel of his suit, the color of butter. “Do you like my new suit? I received it in the mail, special order, just this morning. In Japan they call suits like these, roughly translated, ‘bossman suits’ because wearing them they’re meant to instill an air of—”

  “You can put it in a new package but you still look like the same sick fuck to me.”

  His smile still wouldn’t come loose. “All right then. Well, if I may steal a moment of your time, Miss Morris, I will begin detailing the latest draft of my proposition to you – I think I might finally get through and have you see my side of things.”

  “I seriously doubt that.”

  “Well, if I may, after I say my piece I’ll be on my merry way to let you consider what I’ve said.”

  Jolene said nothing.

  “I take your silence as a stoic yes. Ahem.”

  As he began his rap, Jolene considered that, if nothing else, she was glad to see someone other than her in this world was being routinely denied simple happiness – though she didn’t feel so bad Cornelius wasn’t getting what he wanted. But, end goals aside, it was comforting to know she wasn’t alone in the uphill battle. It made her feel even worse about herself, in a way, too. Here he was, chasing after this dream of his without any sign of giving up. This – and only this – is what he wanted and he’d try again and again to obtain it. As he spoke, she stared at his round pink face, his oddly tiny teeth. She’d missed most of what he’d said.

  “—and so, in conclusion, you’ll never know I was here.” Cornelius counted on his fingers. “I will be quiet, I will be quick, I will treat whomever you appoint to me with absolute respect, and mostly importantly I will be immeasurably discreet. No one else need ever know of this exchange and what wonderfulness you have permitted this humble man standing before you to experience. So, today, with that said, my offer is one thousand dollars, cash on the barrelhead, right now. What do you say, Miss Morris? Do we have ourselves a deal or do we have ourselves a deal?”

  “Fuck off,” Jolene said and slammed the door in his face.

  She would pawn her grandmother’s jewelry and everything she owned before she’d allow that to happen. And, of course, she could’ve always called the cops on him. But there was something nice about having such stark abhorrence arrive on your doorstep and you get to be the thing to keep it at bay. Jolene didn’t feel good about the way her life was going, nor did she really feel that proud of much she’d accomplished in her thirty-two years on this planet, but getting to tell Cornelius to go away once a week, if nothing else, felt like something she had done and done well each and every time.

  She had barely sat down in the kitchen when the doorbell rang again. Normally Cornelius only required one tell-off to get the hint. When she ripped open the front door she had a few choice words ready in the chamber – but faltered, seeing it was the handsome EMT with his ambulance parked in the driveway.

  “Hey,” he said. “Got two for you in the bus. Sign here?”

  She scribbled her signature. “I’ll meet you around back.”

  She stepped out into the garage, where the heat felt bottled and worse than in the house, then she side-stepped around the hearse and hit the garage door button and listened to it judder and squeak as it struggled to hoist the overhead door – everything in her life was a little broken, it seemed. They backed the ambulance up and the two EMTs carted in the bodies, one then the other, in their black body bags. Without even being asked, they volunteered to slot each body into a refrigerator drawer in the workroom. She thanked them and she stood in the driveway, watching them go. The ambulance barely cleared the driveway when another large vehicle turned in, a white panel van with Rent-a-Center’s logo on the side.

  She met them at the truck before they had even gotten out. “We still have one more month. I called and asked for an extension.”

  One burly mover checked his tablet and said, “Says here today’s the day, ma’am.”

  “Maybe you can just take some of it? We need the couches in the entryway for our clients. The room will be completely empty otherwise.”

  “It looks like it’s not just the couches.”

  “Come on, guys. Could you call your boss?”

  “Sorry, ma’am. Today’s the day.”

  “Yeah, you said that.”

  “Could you please let us in so we can get started?” asked the second man with the hand-dolly ready.

  Jolene sighed and waved her hand toward the house. “Go ahead. Front door’s unlocked.” She remained in the front yard, which was looking pretty overgrown, she noticed. She couldn’t remember the last time she mowed. The Hawthorne Funeral Home sign looked faded from the sun, two of the letters missing. Shithead kids. She watched the movers step in through the front door, close it behind them, kind of hoping they would just take the whole goddamn place, foundation and all. With nothing left, she’d have no choice but to start over. But no, there were always specks left to sweep together with her hands, enough to keep her there.

  She turned, seeing Amber coming up the street with a skip in her step. She had her earbuds in, swinging her arms as she walked, occasionally taking a slurp from the green straw of her Starbucks cup, sunglasses on, a smile on her face.

  “What’s shaking, bacon?” Amber said. “Why are you standing out in the yard?”

  Jolene thumbed over her shoulder at the Rent-a-Center van. “We’re getting repoed. That’s what’s shaking.”

  Amber tore her earbuds out. “But I thought you called.”

  “I did.”

  “I thought we got an extension.”

  “I thought so too. But it looks like they changed their mind.”

  “What are they taking? Not our beds, I hope. Were those rented?”

  “Yep. Same as all of the entryway furniture for the clients to sit on, the entertainment center, the coffee table, everything but your dad’s desk in the office and our kitchen dining set.” Crossing her arms, Jolene watched the front door to see what would come rolling out of their home first. It was one of their beds, the mattress, stripped of its sheet.

  “Why did we rent everything anyway?” Amber said.

  “It was your idea! You said you didn’t want any ugly cheap furniture. So we rented the nice stuff. Now, it’s leaving on a truck.”

  Amber slurped her Frappuccino. “Say, do we still have the sleeping bags in the basement?”

  “I think so.”

  “Okay, well, at least there’s that.”

  “At least there’s that,” Jolene echoed flatly.

  Amber leaned in close to Jolene’s ear. “When we get a minute, I got something I want to talk over with you.”

  Jolene faced Amber, but kept her arms crossed. “This better be good.”
<
br />   “It is, yeah.”

  Jolene raised a hand to block the sun from her eyes. “Well? Don’t leave me in suspense.”

  “Not out here. Once they’re gone, we’ll talk.”

  “This isn’t some fucking scheme Slug dreamed up, is it?”

  “It involves him but no, it wasn’t his idea.”

  “What is it?”

  “All I can say is this: I think we’re gonna be okay.”

  “That doesn’t answer my question, Amber.”

  “I know. But trust me, we’re gonna be okay. All it will take is for you to keep a very open mind.”

  “I don’t like the sound of that at all,” Jolene said.

  “Could you fucking try? I’m trying to get us out of this, Jo.”

  Jolene watched the two men negotiate a second mattress through their front door. “Okay, I’ll try to keep an open mind.”

  Chapter Three

  Once Vasily had been pulled back from death’s door and Frank had gotten him wrapped in a thick diaper of bandages, gauze, and tape, the ex-doctor tore off his latex gloves, gave one peek up the hall to his bedroom door – the shadows had stopped moving around inside, maybe Simone was lying down – and stepped into the living room, where Bryce sat slumped deep into the couch with blood on his clothes and new freckles of it dry on his face, staring at the TV that wasn’t currently on, his handgun on the cushion beside him.

  “When I woke up you were working on him,” Bryce murmured, slow-blinking toward the TV, “and you were giving him your blood. I thought you said the wrong blood could kill him.”

  “I’m O-negative,” Frank said. “Universal donor.”

  “Oh. That’s cool.” Bryce cleared his throat, tried to sit up, couldn’t. “I will kill them,” he murmured. “It was his dad’s funeral today and they couldn’t even put shit aside for one day and let him have that. Fucking animals, all of them.”

  Frank stepped into the kitchen, got a beer from the fridge, used the corner of his counter to snap off the cap, and collapsed into his easy chair. “Get out. You can pick him up tomorrow.”