Advisory:
The following story contains strong language of a racial nature that may offend some readers. Please be aware said language is used for narrative purposes only and in no way is meant to demean, insult, or degrade any group or people. Neither the author of this story or the creator of The Boy Scouts ½ Universe condone the use of such language, or any "hate speech," in any real world circumstances.
The following story contains strong language of a racial nature that may offend some readers. Please be aware said language is used for narrative purposes only and in no way is meant to demean, insult, or degrade any group or people. Neither the author of this story or the creator of The Boy Scouts ½ Universe condone the use of such language, or any "hate speech," in any real world circumstances.
Perspectives II:
The Least You Could Do
by Jason Bertovich
(some portions based on Boy Scouts ½, part 12, by Matthew Atanian)
©2013 by Jason Bertovich and Matthew Atanian
Boy Scouts ½ created by Matthew Atanian
Perspectives created by Jason Bertovich
The Least You Could Do
by Jason Bertovich
(some portions based on Boy Scouts ½, part 12, by Matthew Atanian)
©2013 by Jason Bertovich and Matthew Atanian
Boy Scouts ½ created by Matthew Atanian
Perspectives created by Jason Bertovich
Jason Bertovich stood at the sales-counter inside the Electronics Boutique at the Holyoke Mall slumped facedown on the counter with his arms dangling over the edge. He was currently the only person in the store, aside from his boss Evadne, who was in the back storeroom/office, taking care of her managerial responsibilities, such as weekly revenue reports, payroll, and employee scheduling.
The emptiness of the store, combined with the still-morning hour, was probably contributing to the feeling of sluggish listlessness that Jason was currently feeling. It was also possible that the previous night’s consumption of an entire six-pack of Rolling Rock, and the resultant hangover, might also have contributed to that feeling. Jason did not drink, as the phrase went, like a champion. He didn’t even drink like a bronze medalist. He drank like how the goalie of the United Arab Emirates National Men’s Hockey Team usually performed – poorly.
Being hung over was survivable. Being bored was tolerable. Being both was insufferable. Jason, from his facedown position, sighed, forced himself to lift his head, and took another visual sweep of the store to see if there was anything productive he could be doing or, at least, if there was something interesting to occupy his attention.
Productive tasks came up negative. Things of interest, however - now those were present. They were represented by the sound of a woman’s frantic scream. Jason’s ears perked a little and he raised his head a little more. A moment later, the probable source of the scream, a young woman in her apparent twenties, came wearily stumbling into the store.
She was blonde, her hair a frazzled mess of knots and tangles along with a small twig and a few leaves stuck in there for good measure. Dark streaks of mascara had run down her cheeks, which were stained with dirt and several small scratches. Her clothing didn’t appear to have fared much better. One sleeve of her blouse was a shredded mess, frayed edges dangling where the rest had been torn away. Several buttons in the front were missing, revealing part of her bra and her, Jason mentally noted, ample cleavage. Her skirt and nylons were likewise torn and shredded in places, with the areas of exposed flesh revealing more grime and scratches. Finally, her shoes were completely missing, leaving only mud-stained nylon-covered feet which were shuffling frantically toward the counter.
She collapsed onto the counter’s edge and, looking Jason desperately in the eyes, gasped “Help me.” She then slowly slid out of view, apparently fainting and collapsing to the floor in front of the counter. Jason arched a single eyebrow in confused interest.
A moment later, there was a guttural hiss, and Jason’s other eyebrow joined its sibling in conveying surprise at this new development. Looking out at the mall’s concourses, Jason spotted exactly why the young lady had been frantically running toward his store, or rather what she had been running from. A lanky figure was rapidly heading toward the store, using a hunched-over shuffling gallop.
As the figure got closer, Jason was able to make out more details of who, or maybe more appropriately, what this… …thing was. It might have been human, maybe, once. Whether it had been a man or a woman was indeterminable. It was half-desiccated, and the tattered remains of its clothing were so caked in mud and bloody gore that they gave no clues to the thing’s gender.
Its face was even worse. The skin was pasty grey and resembled poorly aged leather, taut and cracked. Its lips were completely gone, leaving only a permanent garish grin of yellow cracked teeth, which snapped and clacked between the growls and hisses the thing made. Its eyes were mostly sunk into the recesses of the skull, or rather its eye was, because it appeared only have one, which was yellowed, bloodshot, and currently focused directly in front of Jason and the sales counter.
The thing growled again and appeared to be more interested in the passed-out woman than purchasing software. As it stumbled its way across the store’s entrance and crossed the fifteen or so feet of carpeting to reach his goal, Jason mock-coughed. “Ahem.”
The thing stopped, looked up from its target, and focused its one sickly eye square on Jason. It hissed angrily and gurgled something indecipherable. Jason smirked. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave the store,” he said as he reached under the counter and lifted a SPAS 12 pistol-grip shotgun into view.
With a loud explosion, the shotgun discharged, and the thing was sent launching backward like a ragdoll on a catapult. Jason pumped the shotgun, ejecting the spent shell with a satisfying ka-schunk-chunk.
The thing laid flat on its back, limbs splayed out and twitching slightly, a large hole in its chest oozing fluids of assorted colors onto the carpet. The thing gurgled weakly and then stopped moving. Jason walked out from behind the counter and looked down at the woman on the floor, who had now regained conscience, most likely awakened by the loud blast.
Jason held out his hand and she hesitantly took it. “Thank you,” She stammered, looking back to the fallen thing that had pursued her before returning her gaze back to Jason. “You saved my life.”
Jason was about to reply, when the creature suddenly sat back up, screaming angrily at the pair. The woman instinctively clung to Jason in shock, and Jason instinctively pulled her tighter toward him. He aimed the shotgun with his right hand and fired again, reducing the thing’s head to a fine red mist, leaving behind a neck-stump that spurted blood twice before the torso fell backward, finally still for good.
With his left arm still wrapped around the woman’s waist, Jason pumped the shotgun with his right arm, ejecting another smoking shell onto the carpet. “Sorry,” he murmured coolly toward the headless thing, “no returns.”
He then pulled the woman closer and looked deep into her eyes. He stroked her face gently and with a smirk he said, “Hail to the king, baby,” before giving her a deep kiss on the lips.
“Excuse me?” A middle-aged woman in a floral print dress asked.
Jason snapped alert and blinked a few times. His mind had drifted again. He forced a smile and returned his attention to the customer standing front of him. “I’m sorry, I said that we can’t accept this return,” Jason said, pointing briefly to the objects in her hand.
“But I have the receipt,” she protested.
Jason nodded. “Yes, but you see, having the receipt is not really relevant to this situation.”
“But I was told if I had the receipt, I could return a game purchase for a refund,” the woman asserted.
Again, Jason nodded. He briefly glanced toward the back storeroom door and considered retrieving Evadne, but decided to carry on and see if treating the customer like a rational human being might actually lead somewhere productive. “Well, Ma’am, that’s not exactly the only thing necessary to complete a return for a refund. In order for us to accept a returned product for a refund, not only would the customer need to have the receipt, but they would also need to return the merchandise in a sellable condition, which means that the customer also needs to have all the original packaging, manuals, and disks or cartridges.
“And that’s the first issue here, Ma’am. See, the computer game you’re returning today is not only missing the original box, but the manual is a photocopy of poor quality, and the diskettes are obvious copies with hand-written labels.
“The second issue is that these copied diskettes are for a game only playable on the Commodore 64, a machine we have not sold software for as long as I have been employed here. Which makes me believe that this game was purchased longer than fifteen days ago, which is the number of days our standard return policy covers.”
The woman started to speak again, but Jason continued, “Now, it is true that there are exceptions to this policy. For example, during the holidays, the policy changes so that any purchases made during the holiday season may be returned up to the fifteenth on January, but again that policy still dictates that the merchandise be returned in the conditions I previously mentioned. Now I see, by looking at this receipt, that this Commodore 64 game was indeed purchased during the holiday season. Unfortunately, this was during the holiday season in 1986.
“Finally, the last issue we have here is even if we allowed a customer to return a purchase made eleven years prior, and even if we accepted copied disks and photocopied manuals in place of the originals, this receipt still wouldn’t be acceptable.”
The woman cocked her head. “Why?”
“Because this receipt is for FuncoLand. This is Electronics Boutique,” Jason answered.
“They’re not the same place?”
“No. I don’t even think there’s a FuncoLand in this town, though there might have been in 1986. I’ve only lived here a couple years,” Jason explained.
“You’re not FuncoLand?” She asked, confused.
“We’re Electronics Boutique,” Jason reconfirmed.
The woman took this all in and seemed to mull it over for a moment. She then looked at her worn and aged piece of paper in her hand and then to Jason. “I have a receipt.”
Jason closed his eyes. There was that familiar dull throb forming in his temples. He opened them and looked at the woman. She was standing there, holding the receipt like it was Charlie’s Golden Ticket, as if that scrap of eleven year old paper was some sort of magic talisman. Jason was feeling a very familiar urge to fuck with this customer.
But somewhere in that stormy mental sea of personal outrage, the familiar voices of Fenny, John, and Evadne came floating along like a beam of light from a lighthouse. Jason thought back to the previous day and the conversations he had with Fenny and John. He decided that if change was needed and if his attitude was one of the major obstacles in his life, then maybe he needed to rethink his attitude about the situation. She didn’t seem particularly malicious. She was old enough to be his mother. Jason began to get suspicions that she had been sent by another party hoping to pull a fast one on someone, using this poor woman’s sincerity and persistence as their tool.
Jason also realized that the longer he talked to this woman, the more likely the situation was going to aggravate him greatly. Now was probably the time to let someone else handle it. Baby steps. “I’ll go get the manager, ma’am.”
Jason opened the back storeroom door and poked his head inside. On the other side, Evadne sat at a small desk, furiously scribbling into a binder. She looked up from her writing gave a quizzical look. “What’s up?”
“Boss, just for my own curiosity’s sake, you’re not intentionally sending people into the store to test me, are you?” Jason inquired.
“No,” Evadne said slowly. She then narrowed her eyes before continuing, “Why?”
“Just checking, Boss,” Jason replied. “I think you better step on out here. I got a customer with a receipt who wants to do a return.”
“Nothing wrong with that,” Evadne answered, confused.
“From 1986,” Jason stated.
“Ah. Okay, I’ll be out in a second. Should I be prepared for customer rage?” Evadne asked, giving Jason a scrutinizing gaze.
“No,” Jason answered flatly.
“Really?” Evadne said, surprised.
“Yeah, boss, really,” Jason stated quietly and then closed the door.
As soon as the door closed behind him, Jason let out a depressed sigh. Jason’s ego was still stinging from the conversation he and Evadne had yesterday. He knew that he had brought this type of scrutiny upon himself, but he couldn’t help but feel a touch insulted by the insinuation that he couldn’t deal with anyone without enraging them, his natural smart-assed personality aside.
He checked his watch and frowned.
Only seven more hours to go until close.
Elsewhere, a 16 year-old girl by the name of Nicole Porter was also spending her Sunday morning working. Nicole’s work was purely voluntary, as opposed to her older sister Sarah’s work, which was not.
Sarah Porter had left a few hours prior to fulfill some requested weekend overtime at her office in preparation for a new filing and database system going in the following week. Sarah, the sole guardian of her two sisters, was grateful for any opportunity to earn extra money, so she rarely complained when upper management asked her to come in on weekends or stay late.
That left Nicole and her twin sister, Kirstin, with their two bedroom apartment to themselves for most of the day. They were both in the large yet cramped central room of the apartment. The room was divided in two by a large counter. One half was used as a “living room,” and the other half served as the kitchen and dining area.
Nicole was sitting on the beat up old sofa in the living room, working out her weekly profits on her lucky abacus. She could have gotten the job done much quicker with an electronic calculator, but she found something oddly satisfying about moving the little wooden beads around.
She finished doing another set of calculations, scribbled down the numbers in her black, leather-bound ledger, and then set down her pencil. She then yawned and stretched out her arms while simultaneously cracking her knuckles. She frowned as she examined her work area. Scattered across the coffee table in front of the sofa were piles of documents, manila folders, receipts, and a vast number of hand-written notes, either stapled or paper-clipped to the prior items. To the side of the couch were two large document boxes, the contents of which were ready to blow of the sides of each. This was the treasure hoard of information that one teenaged woman had managed to amass in her short time on this Earth.
While the abacus was satisfying to use in calculating the final numbers, it did naught for helping her actually keep track of and organize her most valuable asset – information. Current business deals, new business deals, old business deals, failed business deals, potential business deals, paper assets, liquid assets, cold hard cash, debts owed, debts paid, debts overdue to be paid, I.O.U.’s, I.O.Me’s, savings accounts, checking accounts, credit accounts, secret accounts, secret secret accounts, contacts, contacts of contacts, and most important of all, contacts’ drycleaners.
Mountains of information that she had accumulated, and while Nicole prided herself on her memory, even she had to admit that it was becoming too
much to keep track of where everything was in her head.
But what to do? What she really needed was a personal secretary, but Nicole quickly dismissed that idea. As far as the rest of the world was concerned, she was just a sixteen year old girl, which meant most professional persons would dismiss a job offering in her empire as some sort of childish game, an attitude that really caused Nicole to bristle angrily. There was also the matter of having to actually pay for someone to be her secretary, which meant diverting profits from her favorite asset - herself. There was the final matter that, if anyone actually came forward to take the job, Nicole was so hands on in her business that, frankly, she didn’t trust anyone enough to do the job of helping her manage her affairs as competently as she could do it herself.
Her mind played briefly with the idea of how wonderful it would be to clone herself - then she’d have the perfect secretary. That thought quickly grew worrisome, because she knew that she herself would never settle on being someone else’s secretary, and that made her imaginary clone a potentially dangerous rival, ready to pounce and take over Nicole’s empire as her own. Nicole mentally filed that thought in her brain under “B” for Bad Ideas.
No, what she needed was some way to help her organize and protect all her valuable information herself. Those were the demands of the immediate future. As for the not-so-immediate future, Nicole mused that it may be time to start grooming a protégé, a fresh mind that she could train in her ways. One who eager to learn, even more eager to take orders, and didn’t demand an exorbitant salary that all those Harvard and Yale grads seemed to expect.
Nicole picked up her abacus again and slid a few beads back and forth. She smiled slightly to herself. Yes, she mused, a protégé to mold in her image. If she couldn’t clone herself, then she could do the next best thing. Nicole could teach her well, but not well enough so as to ever pose a real threat to her. Nicole’s smile widened slightly. She’d start the search tomorrow. There were already one or two potential candidates in her mind.
Nicole’s twin sister, Kirstin, was in the kitchen. She has finished cleaning the breakfast dishes a short while ago, and was currently sighing as she finished an inspection of their presently meager food supplies.
Nicole heard the sighing and looked up. She put down the abacus and looked over to her sister. “Something wrong, sis?”
Kirstin closed the refrigerator and looked back to her sister. “Not really. I’m just at a loss at what to cook for tonight.”
“Well, sis, don’t go to any trouble. It’s just you and me, tonight.” Nicole then noticed Kirstin’s eyes shifted uneasily down to her shoes. The poor girl really had no poker face and Nicole decided to call her bluff, “Or is it?”
Kirstin looked up back at her sister. “What do you mean?” Kirstin asked, not really nervously, but certainly not casually either. That clinched it for Nicole. Time to lay her cards on the table.
Nicole got up from the couch and joined her sister in the kitchen. “Well, I know you like to keep the place clean, but you went all out yesterday. You’ve invited someone over, haven’t you?”
Kirstin could only quietly nod.
Nicole pressed on. “It’s that Boy Scout, um, Aaron, isn’t it?”
Kirstin shifted again, just ever so slightly, but immediately giving herself away to her eagle-eyed sister. “It’s a group of Boy Scouts, yes,” Kirstin answered.
Nicole grinned. “Aaron’s one of the them, though. Come on, sis, you can tell me.” Nicole then gave Kirstin a wink. “You like him, don’t you?”
Kirstin smiled politely. “I like all of them. They’re nice people.”
“Come off it, sis. That’s not what I meant. You like everyone. You’d be kind to a mugger as he made off with your purse. Aaron’s something more, isn’t he,” Nicole stated rather than asked.
Kirstin again shifted her gaze downward, trying to hide her obvious blushing. “I… I suppose.”
Nicole’s smile widened. Her sister was smitten. This development had potential. “You wanted to cook something to knock his socks off, didn’t you?” Nicole waited as Kirstin finally began to nod an affirmative.
Nicole tapped her chin and pursed her lips. “Well, Aaron and Kirstin. He’s a nice kid, I suppose. I wonder,” Nicole mused, “maybe I should go for one of them. That Matt guy seems desperate if he’s chasing Sarah. After all, she’s made it clear she doesn’t want anything to do with him.”
And like a switch, Kirstin’s features suddenly shifted from girlish bashfulness, reverting back to her normal calm matronly appearance. “No. He’s four years older than us,” she stated matter-of-factly. “Besides, give him and Sarah some time. I think things will work out.”
Nicole blinked in surprise. “You’re up to something there, aren’t you?” Nicole then chuckled. “Good luck. You’ll need it with Sarah’s stubbornness. Though, it may do her some good.” She then shrugged her shoulders. “I guess I’ll settle for one of the others.”
Kirstin could only smile slightly. She replied, without a hint of malice, “None of them would last a week as your boyfriend. Your tastes are too expensive, and you’d suck their wallets dry faster than they can notice.”
Nicole could only laugh at that. “Ha! You’re always so right about these things.” She then plopped herself back onto the couch and began fiddling with her abacus, while deciding to switch conversation topics. “Now, this Matty Hayes is an enigma.”
Kirstin blinked a few times, confused by the sudden change in topics. “What?”
Nicole slid another bead with her finger, eyeing her piles of scattered documents. “Nothing, nothing. She’s a nice girl, but something doesn’t quite add up about her.” She then mused about the addition of Matty Hayes into their lives as well as that of Matt Atanian before asking her next question. “She in on your plans to get Matt and Sarah together?”
Kirstin again shifted slightly. “In a way,” Kirstin answered in a calm, measured voice.
Nicole narrowed her gaze slightly. “Now, now, sis,” Nicole chided. “It’s not like you to keep secrets.” Nicole then lightened her tone, “Matty is definitely a mystery, and one I think I’ll enjoy solving.”
Nicole set her abacus on the coffee table, then leapt up from the couch, and clapped her hands purposefully. “But not now. Now, we have to get you supplies for the feast you’re cooking for tonight.”
Kirstin, again, blinked in surprise. “What?”
Nicole grabbed her handbag from its resting place by the couch and took out her wallet. Inside was the paper bounty of her enterprises. “We’re taking a trip to the grocery store.” She then took another look at her funds and decided to go with an impulse. “In fact, let’s take a trip to the mall first.” Clones or protégés not withstanding, Nicole definitely still needed a new file cabinet and some other organizational materials.
Kirstin beamed happily at the development. “Nicole, thank you!”
Nicole patted her sister’s shoulder. “And just for you, sis, I’ll charge no interest the first month, and then only five percent.”
Kirstin’s smile never faded. “That’s very generous of you, Nicole,” Kirstin said, again without a hint of sarcasm or bitterness, as she grabbed the bus schedule sitting on the table near the front door.
For Nicole, it was.
“Still can’t believe all those games only equaled twelve bucks in credit,” an annoyed customer stated bitterly as Jason handed him his change and his receipt for the new Playstation game he had purchased. Sitting on the counter was a large cardboard box loaded with fifty-some dusty cartridges from an era long gone.
Jason glanced at the box and then back to the annoyed customer. “Yeah, I can’t understand why Colecovision carts don’t fetch a better return. Fat cats, man, that’s how they get ya,” Jason said solemnly.
The annoyed customer narrowed his eyes and snatched the receipt from Jason’s hand. “Smartass,” he grumbled gruffly and walked away.
Jason sighed a little, partly from relief that Evadne had stepped out for her lunch break and didn’t witness this little exchange, and partly from annoyance at the fact that he so badly wanted to say so much more.
Really, there should be a law that if you spend more than thirty minutes complaining about the cash value of anything older than ten years and not classified as a valuable antique, then anyone witnessing said complaining should be able to legally mock you, mercilessly.
Honestly, Jason only accepted the trade-ins in order to shut the guy up. Technically, there was no trade-in value for Colecovision games in the store’s computer. He ended up using the minimal value for old eight-bit Nintendo cartridges and hoped the customer would either accept that or, more preferably, walk away. The customer accepted the whopping twenty-five cents per cartridge, but still felt the need to share his displeasure at that most heinous injustice.
Great, what is the store supposed to do with not one, not two, but six copies of ‘Smurfs’ for the Colecovision? Oh, ‘Loopline’ AND ‘Mousetrap?’ Well, I might as well have held him at gunpoint the way we stole these from him. ‘General Custer’s Revenge?’ The hell?! Jason thought, annoyed. Jason lifted the dusty box off the counter and dropped it on the floor behind the register. He’d let Evadne figure out what to do with ‘em. Maybe they could use them to build an addition onto the store. Or at least a small fort.
Two young men entered the store. Each appeared to be in their mid teens, and one was wearing a red baseball cap that appeared to be older and more experienced than either one of the boys. The teens appeared to be engrossed in conversation as they crossed the store’s threshold, which Jason couldn’t help but overhear.
“I’m just saying that the likelihood of us really all getting permission just seems pretty unlikely,” the first teen said.
“You’re seriously going to look this gift horse in the mouth? Why can’t you ever just enjoy things as they are?” the teen in the red cap asked, annoyed.
“If coincidences like that didn’t constantly keep happening to us, I might. I get the feeling if we just roll over and accept them, then they’ll never stop,” the first teen countered.
The teen in the red cap could only roll his eyes and shake his head sadly. “Look if you want to turn down the invite, be my guest, but I for one am going to enjoy the rather pleasant coincidence.”
“I didn’t say I was going to turn down the invite, but you gotta wonder if this is happening rather quickly and conveniently. I mean, we just meet Kirstin and we let her in on our,” the boy paused, looked around, noticed Jason, and then resumed, “special club, and instead of running for the hills, she invites for us all over for Magic? Oh and she just happens to be the younger sister of the girl Matt happened to fall head over heels in love with at Camp, and she wants to help bring them together despite all evidence that said sister wouldn’t give Matt the time of day if he were on fire.”
Red Cap listened to this and blinked dumbly at the mangled expression. He then turned to Jason and spoke, “Two packs of Weatherlight and a pack of Mirage, please.”
Jason nodded politely and turned around to retrieve the requested packs of the cards from the locked case behind him where they stored all the shrink-wrapped games, easily shopliftable accessories, and trading cards.
“Which brings me to my next point. Why are we even at the mall today?” the first teen asked, annoyed.
“To buy more Magic cards, obviously,” Red Cap answered, handing several bills to Jason.
“But we were just here yesterday. Why didn’t we just buy our cards then?” the first teen asked.
“Because yesterday, we were here with everyone. If we would’ve bought them yesterday, then they would know what kind of new surprises we might have thrown at them tonight. Now, we have the element of surprise,” Red Cap explained.
“And you invited me along, why?”
Red Cap rolled his eyes, again. “I thought you’d appreciate the chance to get an edge on everyone else. Considering your current losing streak, I’d think you’d want any advantage you could get,” Red Cap answered.
The first teen bristled a little. “Okay, fine. But why the mall? Wouldn’t it have made more sense to hit Card and Comic, instead? Seems like quite a bit of extra work to come all the way to Holyoke for a small tactical advantage.”
Red Cap smiled, as if he had anticipated the question. “Yes, but since they’re pushing the new Tempest cards hard, they’re not replenishing their stock of the Mirage block as quickly. And considering the deck idea I’m toying with requires cards from that block, this seemed to be right destination.” Red Cap then tore into his first pack of cards, shuffled through them, and smiled devilishly. He then held up a particularly nasty rare card. “A strategy that seems to have paid off quite handsomely already.”
The first teen looked at Red Cap, dumbfounded, and found himself utterly speechless.
“Sounds pretty well thought out to me,” Jason commented, grinning.
The first teen looked to Jason, surprised at the interjection. “But, but… That’s… I mean….” He then looked back to the smiling Red Cap. Finally he sagged his shoulders slightly and turned back toward Jason. “Two packs of Mirage, a pack of Alliances, and a pack of Tempest, please.”
As Jason was handing the requested packs to the first teen, a man dressed in the distinctive brown and khaki uniform of the United Parcel Service crossed the threshold, pushing a wheeled cart loaded with what appeared to be three or four large cardboard packing boxes. He finished the transaction and then turned his attention to deliveryman, who held out an electronic signature device and wore an expectant look.
Jason took the device and gave the deliveryman a confused look, “What’s this?”
“Delivery,” the deliveryman answered.
“Yes, I can see that. I mean, normally we don’t get shipments on Sundays,” Jason said, still confused.
“Yeah, and normally, I’d be drinking a beer and watching football today. It ain’t been a normal weekend,” the deliveryman groused.
“Ah. This connected to the mysterious fleet issues, yesterday?” Jason asked.
“Oh, you heard about that, huh? Yeah, the shi… er… stuff hit the fan royally yesterday and as such, the powers that be in the head office called us all in today to make up for yesterday’s cluster…um… issues,” the delivery man said with a tired sigh.
Jason nodded in understanding and then scribbled his illegible signature with the electronic pen. He then helped the deliveryman unload the boxes off the cart. As he set down the last boxes, he turned to the deliveryman who was checking his device. “So does this mean that the shipment we were expecting yesterday is amongst these packages?”
The deliveryman gave a half-hearted shrug. “No idea. I still got fourteen deliveries to make in this mall, today.” He then wheeled his cart out of the store, presumably back to his truck to load more packages for delivery.
Jason shrugged his shoulders and proceeded to examine the boxes. As he did, Evadne returned from her lunch break. She saw the small stack of large boxes and looked to Jason. “Shipment? Today?”
Jason was currently writing down shipment tracking orders down on a small clipboard and spoke as he wrote. “UPS got their drivers working today to make up for yesterday’s debacle. I was just about to check the tracking numbers against our incoming delivery schedule in the computer.”
“Hey, great. Maybe we got that game that was supposed to come in yesterday and we can get a jump start on calling the people who kept their pre-orders,” Evadne said with a smile.
Jason nodded. “We’ll know in a minute.” Jason then took his clipboard over the computer and pulled up the shipment receiving menu. He saw the list of boxes currently on route to the store and checked them against the tracking numbers he had written down. A moment later, he frowned. “Dammit.”
Evadne’s ears perked at the expletive. “Problem?”
Jason sighed. “We’ve got five boxes currently on route to be delivered. One of these boxes will supposedly contain seventy-eight copies of ECWCWWF EXTREME THUNDEROUS ATTITUDE II. We just received four boxes. Care to guess which box was not amongst them?”
“Dammit,” Evadne swore.
“Exactly,” Jason confirmed.
“That seems pretty convenient, y’know,” one of the Magic buying teens commented. The other, the red capped one, grimaced.
“Excuse me?” Jason and Evadne both asked.
“Well, first off, UPS makes a Sunday delivery which is highly unlikely. Then the one item you were supposed to get yesterday just happens to be still missing. I mean, what are the odds…”
He was interrupted when his companion smacked him in the back of the head with his distinctive hat. “Shut up, Bill!” He then grabbed the boy, now identified as “Bill”, by the back of the collar and began to drag him out the store. He turned to the stunned Evadne and Jason, “Don’t mind him, folks. We’ll be on our way.”
“Come on, Mike!” the teen protested, “You’re seriously gonna tell me you don’t see the unlikeliness of any of this happening? I mean…”
“Bill, the only thing that’s going to be unlikely is me ever inviting you to come with me to the mall again…” Mike, the boy with red cap, interrupted as he continued to drag his companion away.
Evadne and Jason could both only blink dumbly at this entire exchange. “Jason, is it just me, or are the customers getting stranger?
Jason snickered a little. “Can it be both?”
Evadne looked at Jason with a serious expression and then finally cracked a giggle. “Okay, I walked into that one, so I won’t fire you,” Evadne said with a sly grin. She then looked over the still unopened boxes. “I still need to do the schedule for next week. Did you want help with this?”
Jason shook his head and began printing out the invoices into order to check in the order. “Nah, I got things out here. Take care of that and then I’ll take lunch when you finish up.”
“Sounds like a plan, thanks,” Evadne said with a smile and then made her way to the back storeroom and office.
The pages finished printing, and Jason tore the sheets off the printer. He then clipped them to his clipboard and brought the first box back behind the counter so he could unpack, check the invoice, and place any items in the locked cabinets if necessary.
He sliced the tape on the first box and proceeded with his task. As he did, he noticed two people enter the store. He looked them over to evaluate his greeting strategy.
The first was a rather large gentleman. He did not give much care to his appearance, judging by his outfit. He wore dusty work boots that were caked with dried mud - at least Jason hoped it was mud. His jeans were streaked with dirt, frayed, patched, and held up with a belt that had a buckle proudly displaying a love of the band Lynyrd Skynyrd. He wore a T-shirt that likewise proudly displayed the confederate flag with the words “Fuck Y’all” emblazoned on it. On top of the shirt, he wore an equally worn red flannel shirt, that like the t-shirt underneath, was missing the sleeves as they had been cut off. Jason was sure the missing sleeves had been removed so the man’s many tattoos could be displayed unobstructed. His head was a mass of dark stubble, scraggly black hair, and crowned with a blue trucker’s hat that let everyone know that he was a Ford truck man.
The second was a young woman who appeared to be in her late teens or early twenties, if he had to guess based purely on her appearance. She was dressed rather smartly, wearing dark, slightly flared pants that matched her black sports jacket and dark red top nicely. She appeared to be few inches shorter than Jason, and her skin was a pale cream color. Her hair was a light auburn and draped the sides of her face, coming down to her chin, except for her bangs, which came to rest slightly above her thin eyebrows.
As each crossed the store’s threshold, they headed for different sections. The man walked toward the rapidly shrinking Super Nintendo section, while the girl headed toward the computer software section. Now, we could, as a narrative explanation, give logical reasons based on retail experience as to whom Jason decided to greet first, but let’s dispense with pretense and just say that Jason decided to go help the person who looked nicer, and more importantly, didn’t look like a scraggly hillbilly. You are welcome to your personal judgments about that.
Jason left the counter and approached the girl. She was studying a series of boxes in the “productivity” section, also known as the “not games, so almost no one ever purchases items from here” section. She carried an air of confidence as she ran her finger from box to box, stopping after a few moments to take one from the shelf. She pulled out a slim pair of reading glasses from her jacket’s inner pocket and began looking over the back of the package.
“Hello, welcome to Electronics Boutique. Is there anything we can help you with today?” Jason greeted.
The girl paused her reading and slowly turned her head toward Jason. She slid her spectacles down her nose and focused her green, slightly narrow eyes on him, as if sizing him up. “I’m good, thanks.”
Jason nodded. “Okay. Well, if you need anything or have any questions, please let us know,” Jason responded. For some reason, which Jason could not understand, Gary Wright’s Dream Weaver started playing over the mall’s PA system. Even more strangely, the music from the PA system seemed louder and clearer than usual.
She pushed her glasses back up the bridge of her nose and returned her attention to the box. “I’ll be sure to do that,” she said, half-interested, and then returned the box back to the area of the shelf where she had removed it. She then ran her finger to the next set of boxes on the shelf.
Jason nodded slightly. He recognized the “please don’t bother me, store clerk, when I need you, I’ll get you” tone that shoppers who knew what they were looking for sometimes gave. At least she was courteous enough to keep the store’s order intact, so he was willing to not take offense at it. Well, that, and she was a pretty girl.
“Hey, boy! Get yer ass over here. I wanna buy somethin’,” came the bellow of the other customer from across the store. The girl jerked her head up slightly and looked in the direction of the commotion. Jason could only sigh and made his way to him. As he made his way across the store, he noticed that the music had inexplicably stopped. Jason screwed his finger into his ear and then slapped his ear a couple times to make sure he hadn’t suddenly gone deaf.
Jason straightened himself a bit and approached the man. “Welcome to Electronics Boutique. How may I help you today?”
“You kin fitch me one of them Big Bad Buck & Bass games,” the man said, pointing to the game box displayed on the shelf.
Jason nodded. He took the empty box off the shelf and took it with him behind the counter. Jason the opened the third drawer from the top and pulled out a plastic zipper lock baggie that contained the box’s original contents - the game cartridge and instruction manual.
The man had walked to the counter and studied Jason as he did this. His face screwed up in irritation. “Hey boy, I want a new copy of that Buck and Bass,” he barked.
“I am getting you a new copy, sir. This is the only copy the store has. We removed the cartridge and book so we could display the box,” Jason explained, sliding the cartridge into the box.
“You think I’m stupid, don’t you, boy. If it’s been opened, it ain’t new. You best be knocking off a few bucks,” the man stated, annoyed.
Jason closed his eyes and took a breath as he closed the box. He then looked at the man standing across the counter from him. “Sir, with respect, this is a new game. It’s never been played, and it’s the store policy to not offer discounts on new merchandise.”
“Boy,” the man started. Jason felt his teeth beginning to clench every time the man used that term to address him. “If you think I’m gonna pay full price for something that’s been opened, you must be soft in the head. Now, either fitch me a new copy, or give me a discount, but whichever you do, you best be quick about it.”
Jason set the game down on the counter. He looked the man straight in the eyes. “Sir,” he said, the term of respect struggling its way past his lips, “there are no other copies to ‘fitch.’ This is the only copy. This will probably be the only copy we will ever receive seeing as, Super Nintendo games are going the way of POGS. We’re not going to discount new merchandise without adequate reason. If this does not meet with your satisfaction, then you are welcome to not purchase the game here and try elsewhere instead.”
The guy screwed his face slightly at hearing this. Jason stayed still, feeling the situation out. He avoiding shifted his eyes toward the back room door, not wanting to give the man the idea to demand to see the manager.
The guy reluctantly reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. He threw down a pair of twenty dollar bills. Jason slowly took them off the counter. “That’ll be thirty-two forty-seven after tax,” Jason said, scanning the game with the bar code scanner.
The guy snorted. “Yeah, yeah. Bad enough the faggot liberals and Jew lawyers in Boston make us pay through the nose already, but then I have to shell out even more so you flinty bastards can sell me something, a used something no less, that some slanty-eyed Jap made. Not that I expect much from people whose mascots are a greasy wop and a nigger ape.”
Jason froze mid-way through placing the game into a bag. He looked at the man and could only blink in stunned shock. Of all the directions that the conversation could have turned, he hadn’t expected it to be that one.
It was at this moment that Jason found himself facing a moral dilemma. The smart part of his brain told him to get this guy out the store as quickly as possible. The other, more primal, part was not about to let those comments just go without some sort of rebuttal. Jason wasn’t about to call himself a morally upright pillar of the community or a beacon of civility in a increasingly crass world, but he also wasn’t flinging racial slurs about like so much verbal garbage, and he liked to believe that others shouldn’t either.
Jason slid the game in the bag quickly, counted out the change, and placed it on the counter. “Your change comes to seven fifty-three. Your receipt is in the bag. Have a nice day,” Jason stated flatly. The smart part of his brain looked to the primal part and smiled as if to say how proud of him he was. The primal part grinned evilly and flipped the switch to Jason’s mouth. As the man grabbed the bag and began to walk away, Jason couldn't help but to add under his breath, “and please try not to burn any crosses on your way to the parking lot.”
Either Jason hadn't been quiet with his comment as he had thought, or the one apparent good feature of this man was excellent hearing. The man stopped, whipped his head toward Jason, and narrowed his gaze into an infuriated glare. “What the fuck did you say, you little cocksucker!?”
The smart part of Jason’s brain could only look at the primal part with quiet resignation, knowing the die had now been cast. Well, this wasn’t going to end well, so he might as well at least help Jason get some clever shots in while he was still capable of delivering them.
“I’m sorry, I was saying ‘arrivederci, stronzo’, but my greasy wop mouth sometimes mumbles and it sound like I’m accusing someone of being a racist piece of human garbage. Maybe I should use another language that’s clearer to understand? Kusokurae, bakayarou? Stom ta Jora? Fick dich ins Knie du Arschloch? No? I thought for sure you’d have heard that one once or twice, but then again those white hoods do make it hard to hear. How about English? You. Are. An. Asshole. Clearer?” Jason replied.
“I’m gonna have yer ass, you little smart-mouthed faggot!” the man growled.
“Well, at least someone involved in this conversation is smart,” came the reply to that remark from across the room. Jason and the man both turned their attention to the source of comment. It was the girl. In her left hand she held a software box, and her right hand was firmly planted in her pants pocket. She then looked to Jason with her piercing green eyes and smiled slightly. “Excuse me, I think the issue you two are having is one of translation. See, you’re speaking human, and that doesn’t translate well into the dialect of Ignorant Jackass Redneck that he speaks. I’m not particularly
fluent in Ignorant Jackass Redneck myself, but I think he’s trying to inform you that he has a small penis and is the product of rampantly unchecked inbreeding.”
Jason probably did the least smart thing he could do at that moment. He snickered, loudly.
The man’s face contorted into a crimson mask of murderous rage. He turned his body away from Jason and the counter and toward the girl. “You fuckin’ cunt! I don’t take no shit from some bitch, specially some ginger mick lookin’ bitch,” he growled as he started moving toward her.
Amazingly, she made no move to back away or stand down. Her fiercely superior expression showed no cracks. “And there’s women and the Irish. Congrats, you officially win at racial slur bingo.”
She may not have given the appearance of being afraid for her safety, but that didn’t mean Jason was going to stand by and let this guy have the opportunity to try a hand at hurting her. As soon as the man started toward the girl, Jason moved quickly from behind the counter to intercept him. Jason grabbed the man’s shoulder and yanked hard, forcing him to turn around.
“Back off, Jackass! What, you gonna beat up a girl, tough guy?” Jason sternly asked.
The man answered Jason’s question by making a profound point with his balled up fist, which connected with Jason’s nose with brutal force. Jason’s nose responded with the snapping of cartilage and the gushing of blood. The rest of Jason responded by flailing backwards into spinning magazine rack display, causing both him and it to go crashing to the floor.
The man whipped his body around to make another point with the girl. However, the girl decided to retort with a small canister of mace, which she had produced from her pocket with her right hand.
Mace sprayed directly into his eyes, inflaming them and causing the man to clutch at them in agony. With the man standing flatfooted and clutching his eyes, the girl swung her leg back and proceeded to bury it between the man’s legs with the force of a NFL caliber punter.
The man proceeded to squeal in horrific pain. His hands unclasped his burning eyes and instinctively clenched down on his rapidly swelling testicles. The man sank to his knees, whimpering slightly. The girl responded to this by spraying mace once more in his bloodshot, puffy, unprotected eyes, causing another scream of enraged agony.
“What is going on here?!” Evadne shouted, rushing from the back room after hearing the loud crash of Jason and the magazine rack hitting the floor, along with the cries of agony from the man. She then noticed Jason stumbling from his fallen position, revealing his bloody mess of a face. She looked over to the other guy on the floor, alternating between cursing and whimpering while clutching both his eyes and groin. “Security! We need security!” Evadne then shouted.
The man forced himself up and stumbled drunkenly out into the mall, knocking over people who crossed into his path. He fled deeper into the mall before security decided to answer Evadne’s calls for help. Jason slowly tried to steady himself, blood oozing from his nose and onto his shirt, the floor, and several scattered magazines.
Evadne ran over to help him up. Jason instinctively jerked back when she touched his arm, thinking the man was about to take another swing at him.
“Jason, it’s okay, it me,” Evadne tried to say calmly.
Jason looked to her and shook his head a few times, trying to clear away the pain induced fog. Evadne finally got a good look at Jason’s face and winced. Besides the blood, his nose was now obviously crooked from being broken.
“Good lord, Jason! What the hell happened? Why is your face bleeding and why is there now another man fleeing from the store?!” Evadne asked worriedly.
Jason looked to where the man had fled, then glanced over to the girl, and finally back to Evadne. On one hand, Jason felt perfectly justified in calling the racist dickhole exactly what he was. On the other hand, in the course of this insulting in the name of justice, he had broken about every conduct code in the employee handbook.
Justifiable or not, corporate headquarters was probably not going to look favorably on both verbal and physical altercations between the sales staff and the customers. Considering that most likely his employee record - at least if his conversation with Evadne was any indication - was probably not a shining example of customer service, he might have just sold his last video game in Holyoke Mall. Oh, how to spin this one?
“It’s not his fault,” the girl said. Both Evadne and Jason immediately turned their heads toward her.
“Huh?” Jason slurred.
“Hmm?” Evadne murmured, eyebrow arched in query.
The girl looked at Jason, smiled slightly, and then back to the still waiting Evadne. “This is my fault. Your salesperson was providing service to the man who fled, during the course of which, the man made several vulgar racial slurs. I know it wasn’t the smartest thing to do, but I decided to speak up and voice my own opinion of this man and his ‘views.’ Of course, he didn’t seem to take kindly to those opinions, and he decided to up the hostilities from verbal to physical.”
“I see,” Evadne said slowly, glancing at Jason for the moment.
“Well, this young man decided to intervene on my behalf and tried to prevent the situation from escalating. Unfortunately, I think my opinions might have already escalated the situation beyond the point of peaceful resolution, because when your employee tried to prevent the man from approaching me menacingly, he decided instead to physically assault this fine young man.
“It’s actually a good thing he decided to intervene when he did. Once I realized that the man meant to do me harm, I never would’ve had enough time to retrieve my mace and protect myself, if not for the actions of your employee,” the girl explained calmly.
“I see,” Evadne said very slowly. She then turned to Jason and slightly narrowed her eyes. “Is there anything to this recollection of events you want to add?”
Jason blinked dumbly. He honestly had not expected the girl to speak on his behalf, and now found himself unsure what to say. “Um…”
The girl interrupted again, “I assure you, Ms.…” She then paused, hanging on the “miz” sound, hoping for Evadne to fill in the blank.
“Johnson,” Evadne answered, grasping what the girl wanted.
“Johnson, thank you. As I was saying, I assure you, Ms. Johnson, that I understand how this may look but honestly, your employee did nothing to escalate the situation or provoke the man. I was actually quite impressed with how much restraint he showed in dealing the situation before this unpleasantness occurred. He really should be commended,” the girl finished.
“Commended, hmm? Yes, I see,” Evadne said slowly, eying the girl. She then returned her gaze back to the still shaky Jason. “Jason, I think you should probably go get yourself cleaned up. I also think you should get yourself to an emergency room. I don’t like the look of that nose.”
“What about the store?” Jason asked.
“I can handle the store for the rest of the day. You should take care of that as soon as possible,” Evadne said, concern seeming to replace earlier suspicion.
“Okay,” Jason said quietly, and he made his way toward the back store room. After several minutes, in which he had washed the still fresh and slightly dried blood off his face and neck and proceeded to cram several wads of tissue paper into his horrifically painful nasal passage to prevent further blood from escaping, he returned to the store front.
Evadne was returning the crashed display rack back to its original upright position. She was now wearing a pair rubber gloves from the store’s first aid kit that was kept under the counter. She then set about sorting the scattered magazines on the floor into piles of those that were stained with his blood and those that were still sellable.
“Do you need any help?” Jason asked.
Evadne looked up and almost snickered upon seeing the wads up Jason’s nose. “No, I’m good. Like I said, just take care of yourself, okay.”
“Okay, boss,” Jason said quietly.
Evadne smiled and then her expression went ambiguous, as if thinking about something but unsure if to bring it up. She finally spoke again. “Jason, did everything really happen as the girl described?”
Jason tensed slightly. “Well, it kinda… Um, I mean…”
Evadne then shook her head and gave Jason a warm smile, which caused him to stop talking. “Okay, I understand now,” Evadne said knowingly. She then placed her hand on Jason’s shoulder. “Why don’t you take tomorrow off. You’ve been in every day for more than the last week.”
Jason frowned slightly. “Boss, look, I don’t mind staying or working tomorrow. I really…”
Evadne squeezed Jason’s shoulder, “Look, it’s okay, okay? Just take a day off and when you come back in on Tuesday, it’ll all be fine.”
Jason looked at Evadne, still frowning. “Can I really come back in on Tuesday?”
Evadne was taken aback by the question. She studied Jason for a moment and then laughed lightly. “Yes, Jason, you’ll still have a place here on Tuesday. That girl's story was the biggest fish tale I ever heard, but there was enough truth to it for me to get the gist. And, while you could have kept quiet, you were willing to be honest when I asked. So no worries, okay?”
Jason felt his shoulders sag a little, tension easing a little. “Who’ll you call in to cover?”
“I think I’ll call in Steve. I’ll tell him you’re sick,” Evadne said with a slight grin.
“My god, I actually contracted a case of ‘Got-punched-in-the-face-itis’,” Jason said, amazed.
Evadne snickered. “Just please make sure it’s not a chronic condition, okay?”
“Don’t worry, I think I just got my immunity. Hopefully, I won’t be contracting it again any time soon.”
“That’s a good idea,” Evadne said with a nod. She then picked up a stack of bloodstained magazines and brought them over to the counter. “By the way, you might want to track down that girl and hire her as your publicity agent.”
“Huh?”
“Well, considering the way she was building you up while you were in the back getting cleaned up, I’d suspect she’d have you promoted to district manager by the end of the week and CEO by next month,” Evadne said as she scanned out the magazines to be destroyed.
“Really? She did that?” Jason asked, surprised.
“She also bought enough productivity software to start at least two businesses. Frankly, after putting us in the black for the day, I’d happily believe her if she told me you had slain some sort of runaway dragon loose in the mall and could leap tall buildings in a single bound,” Evadne said with a smile.
Jason could only nod dumbly. A moment later he said his goodbyes and left the store, walking into the mall, toward the exit near where he parked.
As he turned a corner and the store went out of view, Jason heard a forced cough from behind him. Jason turned around and saw the girl standing there. In her hand was a rather large bag from his store, filled with software packages. She was no longer wearing her reading glasses, but was still eying him with her vibrant green eyes.
“Lunch,” she said.
“Huh?” Jason asked dumbly.
“Lunch. Me, owed. You, treat,” she said matter-of-factly.
“What?” Jason asked, still confused.
The girl smiled slightly. “I just heard you use five languages less that twenty minutes ago, so I’m pretty sure you understand me, unless you got hit even harder then I thought. You’re about to offer to buy me lunch.”
“I thought I was about to go get my nose looked at by a doctor,” Jason said, unsure how to read this situation.
“Oh, I think you should definitely do that,” the girl agreed. “However, you seemed pretty insistent on buying me lunch to ease my distress at the ugly scene that happened this afternoon. You really must take care of that as soon as we finish, though.”
“I did?”
“You did,” the girl affirmed confidently.
Jason blinked a few times. After a few more moments had passed, he nodded in understanding. “Um… food court okay?”
The girl’s smile broadened. “That’ll do just fine.”
Jason found himself sitting across the girl, watching her as she casually sipped a medium cappuccino from her cup, which bore the logo of Nancy’s Coffee Cafe. Stacked on her tray, in front of her, were the empty containers and wrappers that once represented a grilled chicken salad, a medium fries, and an ice cream sundae, all purchased from different vendors in the mall’s food court. In front of Jason rested a half-empty cup of Sprite, which was all he could purchase with the paper money he had left after treating his dining companion.
The girl sipped her cappuccino some more and set the cup down. “Ahhhhhh. That hit the spot.”
“I’m glad to see you’re satisfied,” Jason said, still unsure what he was doing here.
“Well, I heard that new cookie stand upstairs has the best chocolate chip cookies,” she said with a grin, eying Jason’s reaction before continuing, “but I really should leave room for what I am sure will be a fantastic dinner prepared by my most wonderful sister.”
“And who would your sister be? More importantly, who are you?” Jason asked. “I just watched you eat an entire meal and I still have no idea what your name is. I usually like to have at least that much first, before treating a girl to lunch.”
The girl smiled again, enjoying the air of mystery she had unintentionally generated. “Well, my sister is Kirstin, which would make me Nicole. Nicole Porter,” the girl answered, extending her slim hand out to shake.
Jason took the hand and gave it a few shakes. “Nice to make your acquaintance Miss Nicole Nicole Porter.” Jason immediately regretted making the most overused joke in existence.
Nicole frowned slightly. “I still have mace left,” she said bluntly.
“So noted,” Jason said. He then took a sip from his cup. “I’m Jason. Jason Bertovich, but if you want, you can call me Jay or even Jase, if you really prefer.”
“Jay sounds fine. Well, it’s nice to meet you, Mr. Bertovich,” Nicole said.
“Please, my father is Mr. Bertov…”
“Still have mace,” Nicole warned.
“Right,” Jason said, admonished. An awkward silence rolled over the table. Jason shrugged slightly. “Okay, so now I know who, but I’m still kinda hazy on the why.”
“Why what?”
“Um… everything? Why did you tell my boss that it was your fault? I mean, it’s not like you had anything to gain by it. Hell, why’d you say what you did to the guy? He could’ve seriously hurt you if he had tried,” Jason asked.
“Okay, just for the record, please note that I’m currently very much unhurt and you currently have half a box of tissues crammed up an apparent broken nose,” Nicole stated, amused.
“I’m serious. If you would’ve stay quiet, most likely he would’ve decked me anyway and then left. Why did you feel the need to speak out?” Jason asked seriously.
“Why’d you?” Nicole asked back.
Jason was taken aback slightly by the question. “Um… why? I guess because he was an asshole,” Jason answered.
“Oh really? Was that all?” Nicole pressed.
“What do you mean?” Jason asked, confused.
“Sorry, just an observation I’ve made. When racial slurs get bandied about, most people tend to just lower their heads, ignore it, and hope it goes away. However, if one hits close to home, people tend to react, more specifically, they tend to fight back. Now, knowing that confrontations with customers are not a taught business practice at most retailers, I’m going to guess a specific button got pushed. So which was it? Gay? Black? Jewish? Italian?”
Jason’s eyebrows went up in surprise. “Italian, actually. My grandmother. Came over after World War Two as a war bride” he confessed. He went silent for a moment then looked back at her studying him. “But, that wasn’t the only reason, y’know? There was just something about that asshole that seemed to hit the nerve. Guess my mouth overpowered my professional common sense.” He went quiet again for a second and took another slow sip of his drink. After he set his cup down, he asked, “Hey, why did you guess gay first and not even mention Japanese?”
Nicole snickered and shook her head. “Easy there, Jay. Nothing insinuated, I promise.”
“Okay, fine. But still, why didn’t you guess Japanese?” Jason asked, curious.
“Are you part Japanese?” Nicole asked.
“No,” Jason answered.
“Shame. It’d be something we’d have in common,” Nicole said with a nonchalant shrug.
Jason’s eyebrows perked again. He then looked into her green eyes again and noticed the soft, slightly almond-esque shape that they were. He nodded slowly, “I see.”
Nicole smiled again, though her smile seemed more ambivalent than before. “Grandmother. She also came over as a war bride after the war,” she admitted.
“Strange coincidence, no?” Jason commented.
“Maybe. I don’t tend to put much stock in coincidence. Coincidence tends to be just another word for unexpected opportunity,” Nicole said, picking up her rapidly cooling coffee.
“Opportunity for what?” Jason asked, curious about the unusual remark.
“If I knew, then it wouldn’t be unexpected, no?” Nicole answered cryptically.
Jason nodded dumbly and finished his drink. Hearing the tell-tale slurping sounds that indicated he had reached the bottom, he took the lid off the cup, tilted his head back, and drank the last few drops. When he brought his head back down and set the cup down, he was startled to realize that Nicole had managed to clone herself. Standing next to her was an identical copy.
No, wait, not identical, but incredibly close. The clone’s hair was slightly longer, and her dress style was much more casual, versus the stylish and smart outfit that Nicole was wearing, which in turn made the clone almost seem… younger? The clone appeared to be engaged in conversation with Nicole, but was also eyeing him strangely. Jason supposed he didn't blame her. He must be quite a sight at the moment.
“Nicole, there you are. I’ve was waiting upstairs for almost forty minutes,” the clone stated, exasperated.
Nicole checked the underside of her wrist and looked at the delicate-looking watch resting there. “Oh? Geez, I’m sorry, sis. I kinda lost track of the time,” Nicole apologized.
“It’s okay, Nicole. We should get going soon, if we’re going to get to the Big Y and back home before everyone arrives. Did you get everything you needed?”
Nicole shook her head slightly. “Almost. I managed to find the software I needed, but I still need to make a quick stop at the office supply store.”
The clone nodded. Then looked over to Jason. One of her eyebrows went up slightly with unavoidable curiosity and then looked back over to Nicole. “Nicole?”
Nicole tilted her head slightly in confusion. “Yes? Oh!” she said in understanding. She then gestured toward Jason. “Kirstin, this is Jason. He works at the Electronics Boutique and he,” she paused for a moment, “assisted me today. Jason, this is my twin sister, Kirstin.”
“Hello,” Kirstin greeted politely.
“Hi,” Jason said, returning the greeting but feeling a bit self conscious.
Kirstin then tilted her head slightly. “Jason, I hope you won’t find this rude, but you appear to have a broken nose.”
“Sis,” Nicole interjected, “Jason and I are just wrapping up things here. Why don’t you head toward the bus stop at the front and I’ll catch up in a minute, kay?”
Kirstin gave her sister a slightly scrutinizing look, then nodded politely. “Okay. Please don’t be too long.” She then turned to Jason, ‘It was nice meeting you, Jason.”
“Likewise,” Jason responded.
Kirstin then headed toward the food court exit.
“Sorry, but it looks like I need to get going,” Nicole apologized.
“Sounds like you two have plans for the evening,” Jason commented.
“Mainly her, actually. She invited some friends of hers over for the evening. As for me, I have a lot of work ahead of me,” Nicole said, briefly lifting the bag of software to show Jason. “On top of that, I still have a history paper due tomorrow, so I should really get back and finish that.”
“Heh, I know the feeling. I got a paper due Tuesday, myself,” Jason said with a bemused chuckle. A thought then crossed his mind. He studied Nicole for a moment while considering how her twin looked younger, and gave the thought a voice. “Which school?”
“Springfield Central High,” Nicole answered as she began to gather her trash onto her tray.
Jason’s expression perked in surprise for a moment upon hearing the suspected but unhoped for answer and then quickly went neutral. “Ah.” High school…
Nicole, for her part, didn’t seem to notice. She stood up and grabbed her tray. “It’s been, um, interesting. Thank you for lunch, Mr. Jason Bertovich.”
“Well, it was the least I could do, Miss Nicole Porter. Likewise, it most certainly has been interesting. I hope to see you in the store again sometime,” Jason said.
Nicole smiled and nodded. She then stood there for a moment, appearing to be stuck in thought. After a few moments of this, she set the tray back down. She reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out a small notepad and pen. She flipped the cover back and quickly jotted something on the page. After she finished, she stared at whatever it was she wrote for a few seconds, as if contemplating something. Finally, she tore the page, folded it twice and set it on the table. She then picked up her tray. “See you around, Jay. Don’t forget to get that nose looked at.” Having said that, she turned, and began walking away.
Jason picked up the folded piece of paper and held it up. “What’s this?” he called out to her as she walked toward the trashcans.
She turned around, grinned, and said, “The least you could do.” Then she continued on her way.
Jason waited a moment, staring at the folded paper in his hand. Finally, he unfolded it and studied it. He blinked a few times and then reread it a dozen times. It read:
The emptiness of the store, combined with the still-morning hour, was probably contributing to the feeling of sluggish listlessness that Jason was currently feeling. It was also possible that the previous night’s consumption of an entire six-pack of Rolling Rock, and the resultant hangover, might also have contributed to that feeling. Jason did not drink, as the phrase went, like a champion. He didn’t even drink like a bronze medalist. He drank like how the goalie of the United Arab Emirates National Men’s Hockey Team usually performed – poorly.
Being hung over was survivable. Being bored was tolerable. Being both was insufferable. Jason, from his facedown position, sighed, forced himself to lift his head, and took another visual sweep of the store to see if there was anything productive he could be doing or, at least, if there was something interesting to occupy his attention.
Productive tasks came up negative. Things of interest, however - now those were present. They were represented by the sound of a woman’s frantic scream. Jason’s ears perked a little and he raised his head a little more. A moment later, the probable source of the scream, a young woman in her apparent twenties, came wearily stumbling into the store.
She was blonde, her hair a frazzled mess of knots and tangles along with a small twig and a few leaves stuck in there for good measure. Dark streaks of mascara had run down her cheeks, which were stained with dirt and several small scratches. Her clothing didn’t appear to have fared much better. One sleeve of her blouse was a shredded mess, frayed edges dangling where the rest had been torn away. Several buttons in the front were missing, revealing part of her bra and her, Jason mentally noted, ample cleavage. Her skirt and nylons were likewise torn and shredded in places, with the areas of exposed flesh revealing more grime and scratches. Finally, her shoes were completely missing, leaving only mud-stained nylon-covered feet which were shuffling frantically toward the counter.
She collapsed onto the counter’s edge and, looking Jason desperately in the eyes, gasped “Help me.” She then slowly slid out of view, apparently fainting and collapsing to the floor in front of the counter. Jason arched a single eyebrow in confused interest.
A moment later, there was a guttural hiss, and Jason’s other eyebrow joined its sibling in conveying surprise at this new development. Looking out at the mall’s concourses, Jason spotted exactly why the young lady had been frantically running toward his store, or rather what she had been running from. A lanky figure was rapidly heading toward the store, using a hunched-over shuffling gallop.
As the figure got closer, Jason was able to make out more details of who, or maybe more appropriately, what this… …thing was. It might have been human, maybe, once. Whether it had been a man or a woman was indeterminable. It was half-desiccated, and the tattered remains of its clothing were so caked in mud and bloody gore that they gave no clues to the thing’s gender.
Its face was even worse. The skin was pasty grey and resembled poorly aged leather, taut and cracked. Its lips were completely gone, leaving only a permanent garish grin of yellow cracked teeth, which snapped and clacked between the growls and hisses the thing made. Its eyes were mostly sunk into the recesses of the skull, or rather its eye was, because it appeared only have one, which was yellowed, bloodshot, and currently focused directly in front of Jason and the sales counter.
The thing growled again and appeared to be more interested in the passed-out woman than purchasing software. As it stumbled its way across the store’s entrance and crossed the fifteen or so feet of carpeting to reach his goal, Jason mock-coughed. “Ahem.”
The thing stopped, looked up from its target, and focused its one sickly eye square on Jason. It hissed angrily and gurgled something indecipherable. Jason smirked. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave the store,” he said as he reached under the counter and lifted a SPAS 12 pistol-grip shotgun into view.
With a loud explosion, the shotgun discharged, and the thing was sent launching backward like a ragdoll on a catapult. Jason pumped the shotgun, ejecting the spent shell with a satisfying ka-schunk-chunk.
The thing laid flat on its back, limbs splayed out and twitching slightly, a large hole in its chest oozing fluids of assorted colors onto the carpet. The thing gurgled weakly and then stopped moving. Jason walked out from behind the counter and looked down at the woman on the floor, who had now regained conscience, most likely awakened by the loud blast.
Jason held out his hand and she hesitantly took it. “Thank you,” She stammered, looking back to the fallen thing that had pursued her before returning her gaze back to Jason. “You saved my life.”
Jason was about to reply, when the creature suddenly sat back up, screaming angrily at the pair. The woman instinctively clung to Jason in shock, and Jason instinctively pulled her tighter toward him. He aimed the shotgun with his right hand and fired again, reducing the thing’s head to a fine red mist, leaving behind a neck-stump that spurted blood twice before the torso fell backward, finally still for good.
With his left arm still wrapped around the woman’s waist, Jason pumped the shotgun with his right arm, ejecting another smoking shell onto the carpet. “Sorry,” he murmured coolly toward the headless thing, “no returns.”
He then pulled the woman closer and looked deep into her eyes. He stroked her face gently and with a smirk he said, “Hail to the king, baby,” before giving her a deep kiss on the lips.
“Excuse me?” A middle-aged woman in a floral print dress asked.
Jason snapped alert and blinked a few times. His mind had drifted again. He forced a smile and returned his attention to the customer standing front of him. “I’m sorry, I said that we can’t accept this return,” Jason said, pointing briefly to the objects in her hand.
“But I have the receipt,” she protested.
Jason nodded. “Yes, but you see, having the receipt is not really relevant to this situation.”
“But I was told if I had the receipt, I could return a game purchase for a refund,” the woman asserted.
Again, Jason nodded. He briefly glanced toward the back storeroom door and considered retrieving Evadne, but decided to carry on and see if treating the customer like a rational human being might actually lead somewhere productive. “Well, Ma’am, that’s not exactly the only thing necessary to complete a return for a refund. In order for us to accept a returned product for a refund, not only would the customer need to have the receipt, but they would also need to return the merchandise in a sellable condition, which means that the customer also needs to have all the original packaging, manuals, and disks or cartridges.
“And that’s the first issue here, Ma’am. See, the computer game you’re returning today is not only missing the original box, but the manual is a photocopy of poor quality, and the diskettes are obvious copies with hand-written labels.
“The second issue is that these copied diskettes are for a game only playable on the Commodore 64, a machine we have not sold software for as long as I have been employed here. Which makes me believe that this game was purchased longer than fifteen days ago, which is the number of days our standard return policy covers.”
The woman started to speak again, but Jason continued, “Now, it is true that there are exceptions to this policy. For example, during the holidays, the policy changes so that any purchases made during the holiday season may be returned up to the fifteenth on January, but again that policy still dictates that the merchandise be returned in the conditions I previously mentioned. Now I see, by looking at this receipt, that this Commodore 64 game was indeed purchased during the holiday season. Unfortunately, this was during the holiday season in 1986.
“Finally, the last issue we have here is even if we allowed a customer to return a purchase made eleven years prior, and even if we accepted copied disks and photocopied manuals in place of the originals, this receipt still wouldn’t be acceptable.”
The woman cocked her head. “Why?”
“Because this receipt is for FuncoLand. This is Electronics Boutique,” Jason answered.
“They’re not the same place?”
“No. I don’t even think there’s a FuncoLand in this town, though there might have been in 1986. I’ve only lived here a couple years,” Jason explained.
“You’re not FuncoLand?” She asked, confused.
“We’re Electronics Boutique,” Jason reconfirmed.
The woman took this all in and seemed to mull it over for a moment. She then looked at her worn and aged piece of paper in her hand and then to Jason. “I have a receipt.”
Jason closed his eyes. There was that familiar dull throb forming in his temples. He opened them and looked at the woman. She was standing there, holding the receipt like it was Charlie’s Golden Ticket, as if that scrap of eleven year old paper was some sort of magic talisman. Jason was feeling a very familiar urge to fuck with this customer.
But somewhere in that stormy mental sea of personal outrage, the familiar voices of Fenny, John, and Evadne came floating along like a beam of light from a lighthouse. Jason thought back to the previous day and the conversations he had with Fenny and John. He decided that if change was needed and if his attitude was one of the major obstacles in his life, then maybe he needed to rethink his attitude about the situation. She didn’t seem particularly malicious. She was old enough to be his mother. Jason began to get suspicions that she had been sent by another party hoping to pull a fast one on someone, using this poor woman’s sincerity and persistence as their tool.
Jason also realized that the longer he talked to this woman, the more likely the situation was going to aggravate him greatly. Now was probably the time to let someone else handle it. Baby steps. “I’ll go get the manager, ma’am.”
Jason opened the back storeroom door and poked his head inside. On the other side, Evadne sat at a small desk, furiously scribbling into a binder. She looked up from her writing gave a quizzical look. “What’s up?”
“Boss, just for my own curiosity’s sake, you’re not intentionally sending people into the store to test me, are you?” Jason inquired.
“No,” Evadne said slowly. She then narrowed her eyes before continuing, “Why?”
“Just checking, Boss,” Jason replied. “I think you better step on out here. I got a customer with a receipt who wants to do a return.”
“Nothing wrong with that,” Evadne answered, confused.
“From 1986,” Jason stated.
“Ah. Okay, I’ll be out in a second. Should I be prepared for customer rage?” Evadne asked, giving Jason a scrutinizing gaze.
“No,” Jason answered flatly.
“Really?” Evadne said, surprised.
“Yeah, boss, really,” Jason stated quietly and then closed the door.
As soon as the door closed behind him, Jason let out a depressed sigh. Jason’s ego was still stinging from the conversation he and Evadne had yesterday. He knew that he had brought this type of scrutiny upon himself, but he couldn’t help but feel a touch insulted by the insinuation that he couldn’t deal with anyone without enraging them, his natural smart-assed personality aside.
He checked his watch and frowned.
Only seven more hours to go until close.
Elsewhere, a 16 year-old girl by the name of Nicole Porter was also spending her Sunday morning working. Nicole’s work was purely voluntary, as opposed to her older sister Sarah’s work, which was not.
Sarah Porter had left a few hours prior to fulfill some requested weekend overtime at her office in preparation for a new filing and database system going in the following week. Sarah, the sole guardian of her two sisters, was grateful for any opportunity to earn extra money, so she rarely complained when upper management asked her to come in on weekends or stay late.
That left Nicole and her twin sister, Kirstin, with their two bedroom apartment to themselves for most of the day. They were both in the large yet cramped central room of the apartment. The room was divided in two by a large counter. One half was used as a “living room,” and the other half served as the kitchen and dining area.
Nicole was sitting on the beat up old sofa in the living room, working out her weekly profits on her lucky abacus. She could have gotten the job done much quicker with an electronic calculator, but she found something oddly satisfying about moving the little wooden beads around.
She finished doing another set of calculations, scribbled down the numbers in her black, leather-bound ledger, and then set down her pencil. She then yawned and stretched out her arms while simultaneously cracking her knuckles. She frowned as she examined her work area. Scattered across the coffee table in front of the sofa were piles of documents, manila folders, receipts, and a vast number of hand-written notes, either stapled or paper-clipped to the prior items. To the side of the couch were two large document boxes, the contents of which were ready to blow of the sides of each. This was the treasure hoard of information that one teenaged woman had managed to amass in her short time on this Earth.
While the abacus was satisfying to use in calculating the final numbers, it did naught for helping her actually keep track of and organize her most valuable asset – information. Current business deals, new business deals, old business deals, failed business deals, potential business deals, paper assets, liquid assets, cold hard cash, debts owed, debts paid, debts overdue to be paid, I.O.U.’s, I.O.Me’s, savings accounts, checking accounts, credit accounts, secret accounts, secret secret accounts, contacts, contacts of contacts, and most important of all, contacts’ drycleaners.
Mountains of information that she had accumulated, and while Nicole prided herself on her memory, even she had to admit that it was becoming too
much to keep track of where everything was in her head.
But what to do? What she really needed was a personal secretary, but Nicole quickly dismissed that idea. As far as the rest of the world was concerned, she was just a sixteen year old girl, which meant most professional persons would dismiss a job offering in her empire as some sort of childish game, an attitude that really caused Nicole to bristle angrily. There was also the matter of having to actually pay for someone to be her secretary, which meant diverting profits from her favorite asset - herself. There was the final matter that, if anyone actually came forward to take the job, Nicole was so hands on in her business that, frankly, she didn’t trust anyone enough to do the job of helping her manage her affairs as competently as she could do it herself.
Her mind played briefly with the idea of how wonderful it would be to clone herself - then she’d have the perfect secretary. That thought quickly grew worrisome, because she knew that she herself would never settle on being someone else’s secretary, and that made her imaginary clone a potentially dangerous rival, ready to pounce and take over Nicole’s empire as her own. Nicole mentally filed that thought in her brain under “B” for Bad Ideas.
No, what she needed was some way to help her organize and protect all her valuable information herself. Those were the demands of the immediate future. As for the not-so-immediate future, Nicole mused that it may be time to start grooming a protégé, a fresh mind that she could train in her ways. One who eager to learn, even more eager to take orders, and didn’t demand an exorbitant salary that all those Harvard and Yale grads seemed to expect.
Nicole picked up her abacus again and slid a few beads back and forth. She smiled slightly to herself. Yes, she mused, a protégé to mold in her image. If she couldn’t clone herself, then she could do the next best thing. Nicole could teach her well, but not well enough so as to ever pose a real threat to her. Nicole’s smile widened slightly. She’d start the search tomorrow. There were already one or two potential candidates in her mind.
Nicole’s twin sister, Kirstin, was in the kitchen. She has finished cleaning the breakfast dishes a short while ago, and was currently sighing as she finished an inspection of their presently meager food supplies.
Nicole heard the sighing and looked up. She put down the abacus and looked over to her sister. “Something wrong, sis?”
Kirstin closed the refrigerator and looked back to her sister. “Not really. I’m just at a loss at what to cook for tonight.”
“Well, sis, don’t go to any trouble. It’s just you and me, tonight.” Nicole then noticed Kirstin’s eyes shifted uneasily down to her shoes. The poor girl really had no poker face and Nicole decided to call her bluff, “Or is it?”
Kirstin looked up back at her sister. “What do you mean?” Kirstin asked, not really nervously, but certainly not casually either. That clinched it for Nicole. Time to lay her cards on the table.
Nicole got up from the couch and joined her sister in the kitchen. “Well, I know you like to keep the place clean, but you went all out yesterday. You’ve invited someone over, haven’t you?”
Kirstin could only quietly nod.
Nicole pressed on. “It’s that Boy Scout, um, Aaron, isn’t it?”
Kirstin shifted again, just ever so slightly, but immediately giving herself away to her eagle-eyed sister. “It’s a group of Boy Scouts, yes,” Kirstin answered.
Nicole grinned. “Aaron’s one of the them, though. Come on, sis, you can tell me.” Nicole then gave Kirstin a wink. “You like him, don’t you?”
Kirstin smiled politely. “I like all of them. They’re nice people.”
“Come off it, sis. That’s not what I meant. You like everyone. You’d be kind to a mugger as he made off with your purse. Aaron’s something more, isn’t he,” Nicole stated rather than asked.
Kirstin again shifted her gaze downward, trying to hide her obvious blushing. “I… I suppose.”
Nicole’s smile widened. Her sister was smitten. This development had potential. “You wanted to cook something to knock his socks off, didn’t you?” Nicole waited as Kirstin finally began to nod an affirmative.
Nicole tapped her chin and pursed her lips. “Well, Aaron and Kirstin. He’s a nice kid, I suppose. I wonder,” Nicole mused, “maybe I should go for one of them. That Matt guy seems desperate if he’s chasing Sarah. After all, she’s made it clear she doesn’t want anything to do with him.”
And like a switch, Kirstin’s features suddenly shifted from girlish bashfulness, reverting back to her normal calm matronly appearance. “No. He’s four years older than us,” she stated matter-of-factly. “Besides, give him and Sarah some time. I think things will work out.”
Nicole blinked in surprise. “You’re up to something there, aren’t you?” Nicole then chuckled. “Good luck. You’ll need it with Sarah’s stubbornness. Though, it may do her some good.” She then shrugged her shoulders. “I guess I’ll settle for one of the others.”
Kirstin could only smile slightly. She replied, without a hint of malice, “None of them would last a week as your boyfriend. Your tastes are too expensive, and you’d suck their wallets dry faster than they can notice.”
Nicole could only laugh at that. “Ha! You’re always so right about these things.” She then plopped herself back onto the couch and began fiddling with her abacus, while deciding to switch conversation topics. “Now, this Matty Hayes is an enigma.”
Kirstin blinked a few times, confused by the sudden change in topics. “What?”
Nicole slid another bead with her finger, eyeing her piles of scattered documents. “Nothing, nothing. She’s a nice girl, but something doesn’t quite add up about her.” She then mused about the addition of Matty Hayes into their lives as well as that of Matt Atanian before asking her next question. “She in on your plans to get Matt and Sarah together?”
Kirstin again shifted slightly. “In a way,” Kirstin answered in a calm, measured voice.
Nicole narrowed her gaze slightly. “Now, now, sis,” Nicole chided. “It’s not like you to keep secrets.” Nicole then lightened her tone, “Matty is definitely a mystery, and one I think I’ll enjoy solving.”
Nicole set her abacus on the coffee table, then leapt up from the couch, and clapped her hands purposefully. “But not now. Now, we have to get you supplies for the feast you’re cooking for tonight.”
Kirstin, again, blinked in surprise. “What?”
Nicole grabbed her handbag from its resting place by the couch and took out her wallet. Inside was the paper bounty of her enterprises. “We’re taking a trip to the grocery store.” She then took another look at her funds and decided to go with an impulse. “In fact, let’s take a trip to the mall first.” Clones or protégés not withstanding, Nicole definitely still needed a new file cabinet and some other organizational materials.
Kirstin beamed happily at the development. “Nicole, thank you!”
Nicole patted her sister’s shoulder. “And just for you, sis, I’ll charge no interest the first month, and then only five percent.”
Kirstin’s smile never faded. “That’s very generous of you, Nicole,” Kirstin said, again without a hint of sarcasm or bitterness, as she grabbed the bus schedule sitting on the table near the front door.
For Nicole, it was.
“Still can’t believe all those games only equaled twelve bucks in credit,” an annoyed customer stated bitterly as Jason handed him his change and his receipt for the new Playstation game he had purchased. Sitting on the counter was a large cardboard box loaded with fifty-some dusty cartridges from an era long gone.
Jason glanced at the box and then back to the annoyed customer. “Yeah, I can’t understand why Colecovision carts don’t fetch a better return. Fat cats, man, that’s how they get ya,” Jason said solemnly.
The annoyed customer narrowed his eyes and snatched the receipt from Jason’s hand. “Smartass,” he grumbled gruffly and walked away.
Jason sighed a little, partly from relief that Evadne had stepped out for her lunch break and didn’t witness this little exchange, and partly from annoyance at the fact that he so badly wanted to say so much more.
Really, there should be a law that if you spend more than thirty minutes complaining about the cash value of anything older than ten years and not classified as a valuable antique, then anyone witnessing said complaining should be able to legally mock you, mercilessly.
Honestly, Jason only accepted the trade-ins in order to shut the guy up. Technically, there was no trade-in value for Colecovision games in the store’s computer. He ended up using the minimal value for old eight-bit Nintendo cartridges and hoped the customer would either accept that or, more preferably, walk away. The customer accepted the whopping twenty-five cents per cartridge, but still felt the need to share his displeasure at that most heinous injustice.
Great, what is the store supposed to do with not one, not two, but six copies of ‘Smurfs’ for the Colecovision? Oh, ‘Loopline’ AND ‘Mousetrap?’ Well, I might as well have held him at gunpoint the way we stole these from him. ‘General Custer’s Revenge?’ The hell?! Jason thought, annoyed. Jason lifted the dusty box off the counter and dropped it on the floor behind the register. He’d let Evadne figure out what to do with ‘em. Maybe they could use them to build an addition onto the store. Or at least a small fort.
Two young men entered the store. Each appeared to be in their mid teens, and one was wearing a red baseball cap that appeared to be older and more experienced than either one of the boys. The teens appeared to be engrossed in conversation as they crossed the store’s threshold, which Jason couldn’t help but overhear.
“I’m just saying that the likelihood of us really all getting permission just seems pretty unlikely,” the first teen said.
“You’re seriously going to look this gift horse in the mouth? Why can’t you ever just enjoy things as they are?” the teen in the red cap asked, annoyed.
“If coincidences like that didn’t constantly keep happening to us, I might. I get the feeling if we just roll over and accept them, then they’ll never stop,” the first teen countered.
The teen in the red cap could only roll his eyes and shake his head sadly. “Look if you want to turn down the invite, be my guest, but I for one am going to enjoy the rather pleasant coincidence.”
“I didn’t say I was going to turn down the invite, but you gotta wonder if this is happening rather quickly and conveniently. I mean, we just meet Kirstin and we let her in on our,” the boy paused, looked around, noticed Jason, and then resumed, “special club, and instead of running for the hills, she invites for us all over for Magic? Oh and she just happens to be the younger sister of the girl Matt happened to fall head over heels in love with at Camp, and she wants to help bring them together despite all evidence that said sister wouldn’t give Matt the time of day if he were on fire.”
Red Cap listened to this and blinked dumbly at the mangled expression. He then turned to Jason and spoke, “Two packs of Weatherlight and a pack of Mirage, please.”
Jason nodded politely and turned around to retrieve the requested packs of the cards from the locked case behind him where they stored all the shrink-wrapped games, easily shopliftable accessories, and trading cards.
“Which brings me to my next point. Why are we even at the mall today?” the first teen asked, annoyed.
“To buy more Magic cards, obviously,” Red Cap answered, handing several bills to Jason.
“But we were just here yesterday. Why didn’t we just buy our cards then?” the first teen asked.
“Because yesterday, we were here with everyone. If we would’ve bought them yesterday, then they would know what kind of new surprises we might have thrown at them tonight. Now, we have the element of surprise,” Red Cap explained.
“And you invited me along, why?”
Red Cap rolled his eyes, again. “I thought you’d appreciate the chance to get an edge on everyone else. Considering your current losing streak, I’d think you’d want any advantage you could get,” Red Cap answered.
The first teen bristled a little. “Okay, fine. But why the mall? Wouldn’t it have made more sense to hit Card and Comic, instead? Seems like quite a bit of extra work to come all the way to Holyoke for a small tactical advantage.”
Red Cap smiled, as if he had anticipated the question. “Yes, but since they’re pushing the new Tempest cards hard, they’re not replenishing their stock of the Mirage block as quickly. And considering the deck idea I’m toying with requires cards from that block, this seemed to be right destination.” Red Cap then tore into his first pack of cards, shuffled through them, and smiled devilishly. He then held up a particularly nasty rare card. “A strategy that seems to have paid off quite handsomely already.”
The first teen looked at Red Cap, dumbfounded, and found himself utterly speechless.
“Sounds pretty well thought out to me,” Jason commented, grinning.
The first teen looked to Jason, surprised at the interjection. “But, but… That’s… I mean….” He then looked back to the smiling Red Cap. Finally he sagged his shoulders slightly and turned back toward Jason. “Two packs of Mirage, a pack of Alliances, and a pack of Tempest, please.”
As Jason was handing the requested packs to the first teen, a man dressed in the distinctive brown and khaki uniform of the United Parcel Service crossed the threshold, pushing a wheeled cart loaded with what appeared to be three or four large cardboard packing boxes. He finished the transaction and then turned his attention to deliveryman, who held out an electronic signature device and wore an expectant look.
Jason took the device and gave the deliveryman a confused look, “What’s this?”
“Delivery,” the deliveryman answered.
“Yes, I can see that. I mean, normally we don’t get shipments on Sundays,” Jason said, still confused.
“Yeah, and normally, I’d be drinking a beer and watching football today. It ain’t been a normal weekend,” the deliveryman groused.
“Ah. This connected to the mysterious fleet issues, yesterday?” Jason asked.
“Oh, you heard about that, huh? Yeah, the shi… er… stuff hit the fan royally yesterday and as such, the powers that be in the head office called us all in today to make up for yesterday’s cluster…um… issues,” the delivery man said with a tired sigh.
Jason nodded in understanding and then scribbled his illegible signature with the electronic pen. He then helped the deliveryman unload the boxes off the cart. As he set down the last boxes, he turned to the deliveryman who was checking his device. “So does this mean that the shipment we were expecting yesterday is amongst these packages?”
The deliveryman gave a half-hearted shrug. “No idea. I still got fourteen deliveries to make in this mall, today.” He then wheeled his cart out of the store, presumably back to his truck to load more packages for delivery.
Jason shrugged his shoulders and proceeded to examine the boxes. As he did, Evadne returned from her lunch break. She saw the small stack of large boxes and looked to Jason. “Shipment? Today?”
Jason was currently writing down shipment tracking orders down on a small clipboard and spoke as he wrote. “UPS got their drivers working today to make up for yesterday’s debacle. I was just about to check the tracking numbers against our incoming delivery schedule in the computer.”
“Hey, great. Maybe we got that game that was supposed to come in yesterday and we can get a jump start on calling the people who kept their pre-orders,” Evadne said with a smile.
Jason nodded. “We’ll know in a minute.” Jason then took his clipboard over the computer and pulled up the shipment receiving menu. He saw the list of boxes currently on route to the store and checked them against the tracking numbers he had written down. A moment later, he frowned. “Dammit.”
Evadne’s ears perked at the expletive. “Problem?”
Jason sighed. “We’ve got five boxes currently on route to be delivered. One of these boxes will supposedly contain seventy-eight copies of ECWCWWF EXTREME THUNDEROUS ATTITUDE II. We just received four boxes. Care to guess which box was not amongst them?”
“Dammit,” Evadne swore.
“Exactly,” Jason confirmed.
“That seems pretty convenient, y’know,” one of the Magic buying teens commented. The other, the red capped one, grimaced.
“Excuse me?” Jason and Evadne both asked.
“Well, first off, UPS makes a Sunday delivery which is highly unlikely. Then the one item you were supposed to get yesterday just happens to be still missing. I mean, what are the odds…”
He was interrupted when his companion smacked him in the back of the head with his distinctive hat. “Shut up, Bill!” He then grabbed the boy, now identified as “Bill”, by the back of the collar and began to drag him out the store. He turned to the stunned Evadne and Jason, “Don’t mind him, folks. We’ll be on our way.”
“Come on, Mike!” the teen protested, “You’re seriously gonna tell me you don’t see the unlikeliness of any of this happening? I mean…”
“Bill, the only thing that’s going to be unlikely is me ever inviting you to come with me to the mall again…” Mike, the boy with red cap, interrupted as he continued to drag his companion away.
Evadne and Jason could both only blink dumbly at this entire exchange. “Jason, is it just me, or are the customers getting stranger?
Jason snickered a little. “Can it be both?”
Evadne looked at Jason with a serious expression and then finally cracked a giggle. “Okay, I walked into that one, so I won’t fire you,” Evadne said with a sly grin. She then looked over the still unopened boxes. “I still need to do the schedule for next week. Did you want help with this?”
Jason shook his head and began printing out the invoices into order to check in the order. “Nah, I got things out here. Take care of that and then I’ll take lunch when you finish up.”
“Sounds like a plan, thanks,” Evadne said with a smile and then made her way to the back storeroom and office.
The pages finished printing, and Jason tore the sheets off the printer. He then clipped them to his clipboard and brought the first box back behind the counter so he could unpack, check the invoice, and place any items in the locked cabinets if necessary.
He sliced the tape on the first box and proceeded with his task. As he did, he noticed two people enter the store. He looked them over to evaluate his greeting strategy.
The first was a rather large gentleman. He did not give much care to his appearance, judging by his outfit. He wore dusty work boots that were caked with dried mud - at least Jason hoped it was mud. His jeans were streaked with dirt, frayed, patched, and held up with a belt that had a buckle proudly displaying a love of the band Lynyrd Skynyrd. He wore a T-shirt that likewise proudly displayed the confederate flag with the words “Fuck Y’all” emblazoned on it. On top of the shirt, he wore an equally worn red flannel shirt, that like the t-shirt underneath, was missing the sleeves as they had been cut off. Jason was sure the missing sleeves had been removed so the man’s many tattoos could be displayed unobstructed. His head was a mass of dark stubble, scraggly black hair, and crowned with a blue trucker’s hat that let everyone know that he was a Ford truck man.
The second was a young woman who appeared to be in her late teens or early twenties, if he had to guess based purely on her appearance. She was dressed rather smartly, wearing dark, slightly flared pants that matched her black sports jacket and dark red top nicely. She appeared to be few inches shorter than Jason, and her skin was a pale cream color. Her hair was a light auburn and draped the sides of her face, coming down to her chin, except for her bangs, which came to rest slightly above her thin eyebrows.
As each crossed the store’s threshold, they headed for different sections. The man walked toward the rapidly shrinking Super Nintendo section, while the girl headed toward the computer software section. Now, we could, as a narrative explanation, give logical reasons based on retail experience as to whom Jason decided to greet first, but let’s dispense with pretense and just say that Jason decided to go help the person who looked nicer, and more importantly, didn’t look like a scraggly hillbilly. You are welcome to your personal judgments about that.
Jason left the counter and approached the girl. She was studying a series of boxes in the “productivity” section, also known as the “not games, so almost no one ever purchases items from here” section. She carried an air of confidence as she ran her finger from box to box, stopping after a few moments to take one from the shelf. She pulled out a slim pair of reading glasses from her jacket’s inner pocket and began looking over the back of the package.
“Hello, welcome to Electronics Boutique. Is there anything we can help you with today?” Jason greeted.
The girl paused her reading and slowly turned her head toward Jason. She slid her spectacles down her nose and focused her green, slightly narrow eyes on him, as if sizing him up. “I’m good, thanks.”
Jason nodded. “Okay. Well, if you need anything or have any questions, please let us know,” Jason responded. For some reason, which Jason could not understand, Gary Wright’s Dream Weaver started playing over the mall’s PA system. Even more strangely, the music from the PA system seemed louder and clearer than usual.
She pushed her glasses back up the bridge of her nose and returned her attention to the box. “I’ll be sure to do that,” she said, half-interested, and then returned the box back to the area of the shelf where she had removed it. She then ran her finger to the next set of boxes on the shelf.
Jason nodded slightly. He recognized the “please don’t bother me, store clerk, when I need you, I’ll get you” tone that shoppers who knew what they were looking for sometimes gave. At least she was courteous enough to keep the store’s order intact, so he was willing to not take offense at it. Well, that, and she was a pretty girl.
“Hey, boy! Get yer ass over here. I wanna buy somethin’,” came the bellow of the other customer from across the store. The girl jerked her head up slightly and looked in the direction of the commotion. Jason could only sigh and made his way to him. As he made his way across the store, he noticed that the music had inexplicably stopped. Jason screwed his finger into his ear and then slapped his ear a couple times to make sure he hadn’t suddenly gone deaf.
Jason straightened himself a bit and approached the man. “Welcome to Electronics Boutique. How may I help you today?”
“You kin fitch me one of them Big Bad Buck & Bass games,” the man said, pointing to the game box displayed on the shelf.
Jason nodded. He took the empty box off the shelf and took it with him behind the counter. Jason the opened the third drawer from the top and pulled out a plastic zipper lock baggie that contained the box’s original contents - the game cartridge and instruction manual.
The man had walked to the counter and studied Jason as he did this. His face screwed up in irritation. “Hey boy, I want a new copy of that Buck and Bass,” he barked.
“I am getting you a new copy, sir. This is the only copy the store has. We removed the cartridge and book so we could display the box,” Jason explained, sliding the cartridge into the box.
“You think I’m stupid, don’t you, boy. If it’s been opened, it ain’t new. You best be knocking off a few bucks,” the man stated, annoyed.
Jason closed his eyes and took a breath as he closed the box. He then looked at the man standing across the counter from him. “Sir, with respect, this is a new game. It’s never been played, and it’s the store policy to not offer discounts on new merchandise.”
“Boy,” the man started. Jason felt his teeth beginning to clench every time the man used that term to address him. “If you think I’m gonna pay full price for something that’s been opened, you must be soft in the head. Now, either fitch me a new copy, or give me a discount, but whichever you do, you best be quick about it.”
Jason set the game down on the counter. He looked the man straight in the eyes. “Sir,” he said, the term of respect struggling its way past his lips, “there are no other copies to ‘fitch.’ This is the only copy. This will probably be the only copy we will ever receive seeing as, Super Nintendo games are going the way of POGS. We’re not going to discount new merchandise without adequate reason. If this does not meet with your satisfaction, then you are welcome to not purchase the game here and try elsewhere instead.”
The guy screwed his face slightly at hearing this. Jason stayed still, feeling the situation out. He avoiding shifted his eyes toward the back room door, not wanting to give the man the idea to demand to see the manager.
The guy reluctantly reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. He threw down a pair of twenty dollar bills. Jason slowly took them off the counter. “That’ll be thirty-two forty-seven after tax,” Jason said, scanning the game with the bar code scanner.
The guy snorted. “Yeah, yeah. Bad enough the faggot liberals and Jew lawyers in Boston make us pay through the nose already, but then I have to shell out even more so you flinty bastards can sell me something, a used something no less, that some slanty-eyed Jap made. Not that I expect much from people whose mascots are a greasy wop and a nigger ape.”
Jason froze mid-way through placing the game into a bag. He looked at the man and could only blink in stunned shock. Of all the directions that the conversation could have turned, he hadn’t expected it to be that one.
It was at this moment that Jason found himself facing a moral dilemma. The smart part of his brain told him to get this guy out the store as quickly as possible. The other, more primal, part was not about to let those comments just go without some sort of rebuttal. Jason wasn’t about to call himself a morally upright pillar of the community or a beacon of civility in a increasingly crass world, but he also wasn’t flinging racial slurs about like so much verbal garbage, and he liked to believe that others shouldn’t either.
Jason slid the game in the bag quickly, counted out the change, and placed it on the counter. “Your change comes to seven fifty-three. Your receipt is in the bag. Have a nice day,” Jason stated flatly. The smart part of his brain looked to the primal part and smiled as if to say how proud of him he was. The primal part grinned evilly and flipped the switch to Jason’s mouth. As the man grabbed the bag and began to walk away, Jason couldn't help but to add under his breath, “and please try not to burn any crosses on your way to the parking lot.”
Either Jason hadn't been quiet with his comment as he had thought, or the one apparent good feature of this man was excellent hearing. The man stopped, whipped his head toward Jason, and narrowed his gaze into an infuriated glare. “What the fuck did you say, you little cocksucker!?”
The smart part of Jason’s brain could only look at the primal part with quiet resignation, knowing the die had now been cast. Well, this wasn’t going to end well, so he might as well at least help Jason get some clever shots in while he was still capable of delivering them.
“I’m sorry, I was saying ‘arrivederci, stronzo’, but my greasy wop mouth sometimes mumbles and it sound like I’m accusing someone of being a racist piece of human garbage. Maybe I should use another language that’s clearer to understand? Kusokurae, bakayarou? Stom ta Jora? Fick dich ins Knie du Arschloch? No? I thought for sure you’d have heard that one once or twice, but then again those white hoods do make it hard to hear. How about English? You. Are. An. Asshole. Clearer?” Jason replied.
“I’m gonna have yer ass, you little smart-mouthed faggot!” the man growled.
“Well, at least someone involved in this conversation is smart,” came the reply to that remark from across the room. Jason and the man both turned their attention to the source of comment. It was the girl. In her left hand she held a software box, and her right hand was firmly planted in her pants pocket. She then looked to Jason with her piercing green eyes and smiled slightly. “Excuse me, I think the issue you two are having is one of translation. See, you’re speaking human, and that doesn’t translate well into the dialect of Ignorant Jackass Redneck that he speaks. I’m not particularly
fluent in Ignorant Jackass Redneck myself, but I think he’s trying to inform you that he has a small penis and is the product of rampantly unchecked inbreeding.”
Jason probably did the least smart thing he could do at that moment. He snickered, loudly.
The man’s face contorted into a crimson mask of murderous rage. He turned his body away from Jason and the counter and toward the girl. “You fuckin’ cunt! I don’t take no shit from some bitch, specially some ginger mick lookin’ bitch,” he growled as he started moving toward her.
Amazingly, she made no move to back away or stand down. Her fiercely superior expression showed no cracks. “And there’s women and the Irish. Congrats, you officially win at racial slur bingo.”
She may not have given the appearance of being afraid for her safety, but that didn’t mean Jason was going to stand by and let this guy have the opportunity to try a hand at hurting her. As soon as the man started toward the girl, Jason moved quickly from behind the counter to intercept him. Jason grabbed the man’s shoulder and yanked hard, forcing him to turn around.
“Back off, Jackass! What, you gonna beat up a girl, tough guy?” Jason sternly asked.
The man answered Jason’s question by making a profound point with his balled up fist, which connected with Jason’s nose with brutal force. Jason’s nose responded with the snapping of cartilage and the gushing of blood. The rest of Jason responded by flailing backwards into spinning magazine rack display, causing both him and it to go crashing to the floor.
The man whipped his body around to make another point with the girl. However, the girl decided to retort with a small canister of mace, which she had produced from her pocket with her right hand.
Mace sprayed directly into his eyes, inflaming them and causing the man to clutch at them in agony. With the man standing flatfooted and clutching his eyes, the girl swung her leg back and proceeded to bury it between the man’s legs with the force of a NFL caliber punter.
The man proceeded to squeal in horrific pain. His hands unclasped his burning eyes and instinctively clenched down on his rapidly swelling testicles. The man sank to his knees, whimpering slightly. The girl responded to this by spraying mace once more in his bloodshot, puffy, unprotected eyes, causing another scream of enraged agony.
“What is going on here?!” Evadne shouted, rushing from the back room after hearing the loud crash of Jason and the magazine rack hitting the floor, along with the cries of agony from the man. She then noticed Jason stumbling from his fallen position, revealing his bloody mess of a face. She looked over to the other guy on the floor, alternating between cursing and whimpering while clutching both his eyes and groin. “Security! We need security!” Evadne then shouted.
The man forced himself up and stumbled drunkenly out into the mall, knocking over people who crossed into his path. He fled deeper into the mall before security decided to answer Evadne’s calls for help. Jason slowly tried to steady himself, blood oozing from his nose and onto his shirt, the floor, and several scattered magazines.
Evadne ran over to help him up. Jason instinctively jerked back when she touched his arm, thinking the man was about to take another swing at him.
“Jason, it’s okay, it me,” Evadne tried to say calmly.
Jason looked to her and shook his head a few times, trying to clear away the pain induced fog. Evadne finally got a good look at Jason’s face and winced. Besides the blood, his nose was now obviously crooked from being broken.
“Good lord, Jason! What the hell happened? Why is your face bleeding and why is there now another man fleeing from the store?!” Evadne asked worriedly.
Jason looked to where the man had fled, then glanced over to the girl, and finally back to Evadne. On one hand, Jason felt perfectly justified in calling the racist dickhole exactly what he was. On the other hand, in the course of this insulting in the name of justice, he had broken about every conduct code in the employee handbook.
Justifiable or not, corporate headquarters was probably not going to look favorably on both verbal and physical altercations between the sales staff and the customers. Considering that most likely his employee record - at least if his conversation with Evadne was any indication - was probably not a shining example of customer service, he might have just sold his last video game in Holyoke Mall. Oh, how to spin this one?
“It’s not his fault,” the girl said. Both Evadne and Jason immediately turned their heads toward her.
“Huh?” Jason slurred.
“Hmm?” Evadne murmured, eyebrow arched in query.
The girl looked at Jason, smiled slightly, and then back to the still waiting Evadne. “This is my fault. Your salesperson was providing service to the man who fled, during the course of which, the man made several vulgar racial slurs. I know it wasn’t the smartest thing to do, but I decided to speak up and voice my own opinion of this man and his ‘views.’ Of course, he didn’t seem to take kindly to those opinions, and he decided to up the hostilities from verbal to physical.”
“I see,” Evadne said slowly, glancing at Jason for the moment.
“Well, this young man decided to intervene on my behalf and tried to prevent the situation from escalating. Unfortunately, I think my opinions might have already escalated the situation beyond the point of peaceful resolution, because when your employee tried to prevent the man from approaching me menacingly, he decided instead to physically assault this fine young man.
“It’s actually a good thing he decided to intervene when he did. Once I realized that the man meant to do me harm, I never would’ve had enough time to retrieve my mace and protect myself, if not for the actions of your employee,” the girl explained calmly.
“I see,” Evadne said very slowly. She then turned to Jason and slightly narrowed her eyes. “Is there anything to this recollection of events you want to add?”
Jason blinked dumbly. He honestly had not expected the girl to speak on his behalf, and now found himself unsure what to say. “Um…”
The girl interrupted again, “I assure you, Ms.…” She then paused, hanging on the “miz” sound, hoping for Evadne to fill in the blank.
“Johnson,” Evadne answered, grasping what the girl wanted.
“Johnson, thank you. As I was saying, I assure you, Ms. Johnson, that I understand how this may look but honestly, your employee did nothing to escalate the situation or provoke the man. I was actually quite impressed with how much restraint he showed in dealing the situation before this unpleasantness occurred. He really should be commended,” the girl finished.
“Commended, hmm? Yes, I see,” Evadne said slowly, eying the girl. She then returned her gaze back to the still shaky Jason. “Jason, I think you should probably go get yourself cleaned up. I also think you should get yourself to an emergency room. I don’t like the look of that nose.”
“What about the store?” Jason asked.
“I can handle the store for the rest of the day. You should take care of that as soon as possible,” Evadne said, concern seeming to replace earlier suspicion.
“Okay,” Jason said quietly, and he made his way toward the back store room. After several minutes, in which he had washed the still fresh and slightly dried blood off his face and neck and proceeded to cram several wads of tissue paper into his horrifically painful nasal passage to prevent further blood from escaping, he returned to the store front.
Evadne was returning the crashed display rack back to its original upright position. She was now wearing a pair rubber gloves from the store’s first aid kit that was kept under the counter. She then set about sorting the scattered magazines on the floor into piles of those that were stained with his blood and those that were still sellable.
“Do you need any help?” Jason asked.
Evadne looked up and almost snickered upon seeing the wads up Jason’s nose. “No, I’m good. Like I said, just take care of yourself, okay.”
“Okay, boss,” Jason said quietly.
Evadne smiled and then her expression went ambiguous, as if thinking about something but unsure if to bring it up. She finally spoke again. “Jason, did everything really happen as the girl described?”
Jason tensed slightly. “Well, it kinda… Um, I mean…”
Evadne then shook her head and gave Jason a warm smile, which caused him to stop talking. “Okay, I understand now,” Evadne said knowingly. She then placed her hand on Jason’s shoulder. “Why don’t you take tomorrow off. You’ve been in every day for more than the last week.”
Jason frowned slightly. “Boss, look, I don’t mind staying or working tomorrow. I really…”
Evadne squeezed Jason’s shoulder, “Look, it’s okay, okay? Just take a day off and when you come back in on Tuesday, it’ll all be fine.”
Jason looked at Evadne, still frowning. “Can I really come back in on Tuesday?”
Evadne was taken aback by the question. She studied Jason for a moment and then laughed lightly. “Yes, Jason, you’ll still have a place here on Tuesday. That girl's story was the biggest fish tale I ever heard, but there was enough truth to it for me to get the gist. And, while you could have kept quiet, you were willing to be honest when I asked. So no worries, okay?”
Jason felt his shoulders sag a little, tension easing a little. “Who’ll you call in to cover?”
“I think I’ll call in Steve. I’ll tell him you’re sick,” Evadne said with a slight grin.
“My god, I actually contracted a case of ‘Got-punched-in-the-face-itis’,” Jason said, amazed.
Evadne snickered. “Just please make sure it’s not a chronic condition, okay?”
“Don’t worry, I think I just got my immunity. Hopefully, I won’t be contracting it again any time soon.”
“That’s a good idea,” Evadne said with a nod. She then picked up a stack of bloodstained magazines and brought them over to the counter. “By the way, you might want to track down that girl and hire her as your publicity agent.”
“Huh?”
“Well, considering the way she was building you up while you were in the back getting cleaned up, I’d suspect she’d have you promoted to district manager by the end of the week and CEO by next month,” Evadne said as she scanned out the magazines to be destroyed.
“Really? She did that?” Jason asked, surprised.
“She also bought enough productivity software to start at least two businesses. Frankly, after putting us in the black for the day, I’d happily believe her if she told me you had slain some sort of runaway dragon loose in the mall and could leap tall buildings in a single bound,” Evadne said with a smile.
Jason could only nod dumbly. A moment later he said his goodbyes and left the store, walking into the mall, toward the exit near where he parked.
As he turned a corner and the store went out of view, Jason heard a forced cough from behind him. Jason turned around and saw the girl standing there. In her hand was a rather large bag from his store, filled with software packages. She was no longer wearing her reading glasses, but was still eying him with her vibrant green eyes.
“Lunch,” she said.
“Huh?” Jason asked dumbly.
“Lunch. Me, owed. You, treat,” she said matter-of-factly.
“What?” Jason asked, still confused.
The girl smiled slightly. “I just heard you use five languages less that twenty minutes ago, so I’m pretty sure you understand me, unless you got hit even harder then I thought. You’re about to offer to buy me lunch.”
“I thought I was about to go get my nose looked at by a doctor,” Jason said, unsure how to read this situation.
“Oh, I think you should definitely do that,” the girl agreed. “However, you seemed pretty insistent on buying me lunch to ease my distress at the ugly scene that happened this afternoon. You really must take care of that as soon as we finish, though.”
“I did?”
“You did,” the girl affirmed confidently.
Jason blinked a few times. After a few more moments had passed, he nodded in understanding. “Um… food court okay?”
The girl’s smile broadened. “That’ll do just fine.”
Jason found himself sitting across the girl, watching her as she casually sipped a medium cappuccino from her cup, which bore the logo of Nancy’s Coffee Cafe. Stacked on her tray, in front of her, were the empty containers and wrappers that once represented a grilled chicken salad, a medium fries, and an ice cream sundae, all purchased from different vendors in the mall’s food court. In front of Jason rested a half-empty cup of Sprite, which was all he could purchase with the paper money he had left after treating his dining companion.
The girl sipped her cappuccino some more and set the cup down. “Ahhhhhh. That hit the spot.”
“I’m glad to see you’re satisfied,” Jason said, still unsure what he was doing here.
“Well, I heard that new cookie stand upstairs has the best chocolate chip cookies,” she said with a grin, eying Jason’s reaction before continuing, “but I really should leave room for what I am sure will be a fantastic dinner prepared by my most wonderful sister.”
“And who would your sister be? More importantly, who are you?” Jason asked. “I just watched you eat an entire meal and I still have no idea what your name is. I usually like to have at least that much first, before treating a girl to lunch.”
The girl smiled again, enjoying the air of mystery she had unintentionally generated. “Well, my sister is Kirstin, which would make me Nicole. Nicole Porter,” the girl answered, extending her slim hand out to shake.
Jason took the hand and gave it a few shakes. “Nice to make your acquaintance Miss Nicole Nicole Porter.” Jason immediately regretted making the most overused joke in existence.
Nicole frowned slightly. “I still have mace left,” she said bluntly.
“So noted,” Jason said. He then took a sip from his cup. “I’m Jason. Jason Bertovich, but if you want, you can call me Jay or even Jase, if you really prefer.”
“Jay sounds fine. Well, it’s nice to meet you, Mr. Bertovich,” Nicole said.
“Please, my father is Mr. Bertov…”
“Still have mace,” Nicole warned.
“Right,” Jason said, admonished. An awkward silence rolled over the table. Jason shrugged slightly. “Okay, so now I know who, but I’m still kinda hazy on the why.”
“Why what?”
“Um… everything? Why did you tell my boss that it was your fault? I mean, it’s not like you had anything to gain by it. Hell, why’d you say what you did to the guy? He could’ve seriously hurt you if he had tried,” Jason asked.
“Okay, just for the record, please note that I’m currently very much unhurt and you currently have half a box of tissues crammed up an apparent broken nose,” Nicole stated, amused.
“I’m serious. If you would’ve stay quiet, most likely he would’ve decked me anyway and then left. Why did you feel the need to speak out?” Jason asked seriously.
“Why’d you?” Nicole asked back.
Jason was taken aback slightly by the question. “Um… why? I guess because he was an asshole,” Jason answered.
“Oh really? Was that all?” Nicole pressed.
“What do you mean?” Jason asked, confused.
“Sorry, just an observation I’ve made. When racial slurs get bandied about, most people tend to just lower their heads, ignore it, and hope it goes away. However, if one hits close to home, people tend to react, more specifically, they tend to fight back. Now, knowing that confrontations with customers are not a taught business practice at most retailers, I’m going to guess a specific button got pushed. So which was it? Gay? Black? Jewish? Italian?”
Jason’s eyebrows went up in surprise. “Italian, actually. My grandmother. Came over after World War Two as a war bride” he confessed. He went silent for a moment then looked back at her studying him. “But, that wasn’t the only reason, y’know? There was just something about that asshole that seemed to hit the nerve. Guess my mouth overpowered my professional common sense.” He went quiet again for a second and took another slow sip of his drink. After he set his cup down, he asked, “Hey, why did you guess gay first and not even mention Japanese?”
Nicole snickered and shook her head. “Easy there, Jay. Nothing insinuated, I promise.”
“Okay, fine. But still, why didn’t you guess Japanese?” Jason asked, curious.
“Are you part Japanese?” Nicole asked.
“No,” Jason answered.
“Shame. It’d be something we’d have in common,” Nicole said with a nonchalant shrug.
Jason’s eyebrows perked again. He then looked into her green eyes again and noticed the soft, slightly almond-esque shape that they were. He nodded slowly, “I see.”
Nicole smiled again, though her smile seemed more ambivalent than before. “Grandmother. She also came over as a war bride after the war,” she admitted.
“Strange coincidence, no?” Jason commented.
“Maybe. I don’t tend to put much stock in coincidence. Coincidence tends to be just another word for unexpected opportunity,” Nicole said, picking up her rapidly cooling coffee.
“Opportunity for what?” Jason asked, curious about the unusual remark.
“If I knew, then it wouldn’t be unexpected, no?” Nicole answered cryptically.
Jason nodded dumbly and finished his drink. Hearing the tell-tale slurping sounds that indicated he had reached the bottom, he took the lid off the cup, tilted his head back, and drank the last few drops. When he brought his head back down and set the cup down, he was startled to realize that Nicole had managed to clone herself. Standing next to her was an identical copy.
No, wait, not identical, but incredibly close. The clone’s hair was slightly longer, and her dress style was much more casual, versus the stylish and smart outfit that Nicole was wearing, which in turn made the clone almost seem… younger? The clone appeared to be engaged in conversation with Nicole, but was also eyeing him strangely. Jason supposed he didn't blame her. He must be quite a sight at the moment.
“Nicole, there you are. I’ve was waiting upstairs for almost forty minutes,” the clone stated, exasperated.
Nicole checked the underside of her wrist and looked at the delicate-looking watch resting there. “Oh? Geez, I’m sorry, sis. I kinda lost track of the time,” Nicole apologized.
“It’s okay, Nicole. We should get going soon, if we’re going to get to the Big Y and back home before everyone arrives. Did you get everything you needed?”
Nicole shook her head slightly. “Almost. I managed to find the software I needed, but I still need to make a quick stop at the office supply store.”
The clone nodded. Then looked over to Jason. One of her eyebrows went up slightly with unavoidable curiosity and then looked back over to Nicole. “Nicole?”
Nicole tilted her head slightly in confusion. “Yes? Oh!” she said in understanding. She then gestured toward Jason. “Kirstin, this is Jason. He works at the Electronics Boutique and he,” she paused for a moment, “assisted me today. Jason, this is my twin sister, Kirstin.”
“Hello,” Kirstin greeted politely.
“Hi,” Jason said, returning the greeting but feeling a bit self conscious.
Kirstin then tilted her head slightly. “Jason, I hope you won’t find this rude, but you appear to have a broken nose.”
“Sis,” Nicole interjected, “Jason and I are just wrapping up things here. Why don’t you head toward the bus stop at the front and I’ll catch up in a minute, kay?”
Kirstin gave her sister a slightly scrutinizing look, then nodded politely. “Okay. Please don’t be too long.” She then turned to Jason, ‘It was nice meeting you, Jason.”
“Likewise,” Jason responded.
Kirstin then headed toward the food court exit.
“Sorry, but it looks like I need to get going,” Nicole apologized.
“Sounds like you two have plans for the evening,” Jason commented.
“Mainly her, actually. She invited some friends of hers over for the evening. As for me, I have a lot of work ahead of me,” Nicole said, briefly lifting the bag of software to show Jason. “On top of that, I still have a history paper due tomorrow, so I should really get back and finish that.”
“Heh, I know the feeling. I got a paper due Tuesday, myself,” Jason said with a bemused chuckle. A thought then crossed his mind. He studied Nicole for a moment while considering how her twin looked younger, and gave the thought a voice. “Which school?”
“Springfield Central High,” Nicole answered as she began to gather her trash onto her tray.
Jason’s expression perked in surprise for a moment upon hearing the suspected but unhoped for answer and then quickly went neutral. “Ah.” High school…
Nicole, for her part, didn’t seem to notice. She stood up and grabbed her tray. “It’s been, um, interesting. Thank you for lunch, Mr. Jason Bertovich.”
“Well, it was the least I could do, Miss Nicole Porter. Likewise, it most certainly has been interesting. I hope to see you in the store again sometime,” Jason said.
Nicole smiled and nodded. She then stood there for a moment, appearing to be stuck in thought. After a few moments of this, she set the tray back down. She reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out a small notepad and pen. She flipped the cover back and quickly jotted something on the page. After she finished, she stared at whatever it was she wrote for a few seconds, as if contemplating something. Finally, she tore the page, folded it twice and set it on the table. She then picked up her tray. “See you around, Jay. Don’t forget to get that nose looked at.” Having said that, she turned, and began walking away.
Jason picked up the folded piece of paper and held it up. “What’s this?” he called out to her as she walked toward the trashcans.
She turned around, grinned, and said, “The least you could do.” Then she continued on her way.
Jason waited a moment, staring at the folded paper in his hand. Finally, he unfolded it and studied it. He blinked a few times and then reread it a dozen times. It read:
You Owe Me One Dinner
413-555-3621
–Nicole
413-555-3621
–Nicole
Jason looked back to where she had walked to, but she was already gone, her empty tray now resting on top of the trashcans. He looked back at the note, unsure what to do next.
He was still busy studying the note when he was broken from his concentration by John Hoelscher. John was wearing his Filene’s nametag and standing at Jason’s table, staring down at him.
“John! Hi! Oh, hey! Sit down, sit down!” Jason said, surprised.
John took a seat across from Jason and continued to stare at him. Jason noticed the awkward stare and asked in an annoyed tone, “What?”
“Jason, what the hell happened to you?”
Jason looked at the note again. “Something wonderful. I think? Maybe?”
John arched a very confused eyebrow. “Something-wonderful-you-think-maybe appears to have broken your nose.”
“Oh? Oh… that,” Jason said, half-interested.
“Yeah. That,” John responded, still staring at Jason’s crooked nose.
“I got punched in the face,” Jason answered.
John sat there in stunned silence for a few moments. He then snapped his fingers a few times in Jason’s still-distracted face. “Explain. Explain now.
Explain in detail,” John demanded.
Which Jason then did.
The afternoon passed into early evening. Nicole sat at her computer, typing furiously, absorbed in her project. She had installed the organizational and financial software that she had purchased and was currently digitally cataloguing several file folders worth of information, not all of it necessarily financial in nature. For this reason she had been adamant about finding software with a strong data encryption feature.
She had been at it non-stop since returning with Kirstin from their shopping trip. Well, almost non-stop. Actually, the first thing she had done when she had returned to their apartment was make a quick phone call, although she would not elaborate to whom when Kirstin asked.
She then went to work, interrupted a short time later when the doorbell rang with the delivery of her brand-new file cabinet. Kirstin still couldn’t believe that the office supply store agreed to deliver it on a Sunday. Nicole could only give a cat-like grin and directed the delivery men to their bedroom, where they placed the fireproof, burglarproof, practically-everything-proof cabinet in the corner of their room near her desk. As the men left, Nicole casually supplied them with a gratuity that took both men by surprise, not only by its existence but also its size.
Since then Nicole had been hard at work, trying to get her empire in order and safely secured from potential prying eyes. Kirstin, for the most part, appeared to be absorbed in her own project - mainly learning to make possibly the most delicious-smelling Italian dish ever known to man. Nicole stopped typing, sniffed the air again, and felt her stomach growl in anticipation. She hoped that one of the Boy Scout Laws was “Prompt”, because she was ready to take a break and enjoy the fruits of Kirstin’s culinary labor.
“Nicole, phone,” came the voice of Sarah Porter, who had returned home a few hours ago. Nicole stood up, stretched her arms and legs, and finally departed her and Kirstin’s room.
In the living room, Sarah stood holding the cordless phone. She was clad in a pair of blue jeans and a red flannel shirt. As soon as Nicole took the phone out of Sarah’s hand, Sarah grabbed her coat and purse and headed for the front door, but then stopped and began conversing with Kirstin.
Nicole put the receiver to her ear. “Hello?”
“Mees Port-arr?” a thickly accented, slightly gravely voice asked, rolling the “r” sound slightly.
Nicole smiled. She had been waiting for this call since she arrived home earlier. “Ah, Alejandro.”
“Lady Charry Blossom’s ord-arr is reedy for peek-up,” the voice stated.
“Excellent. I’ll be over shortly to pick it up for her. Thank you.”
“Vary good, Mees Port-arr,” the voice responded before the line disconnected.
Nicole set the phone back into its charger cradle. Sarah appeared to wrapping up a conversation with Kirstin and was now walking out the door. Kirstin had returned to stirring the large pot of pasta on the stovetop.
Hunger would have to take a backseat. New priorities had emerged. Nicole grabbed her own jacket and purse and called out to her sister, “Hey, sis, I need to step out for an hour or so. Make sure these Scouts do their daily good deed and leave me some dinner for when I get back, ‘kay?”
Kirstin smiled and nodded. “I’ll set yours aside and leave it in the oven to keep warm.”
“Thanks, sis. Don’t forget the garlic bread,” Nicole said as she opened the front door.
“Wouldn’t dream of forgetting it, sister,” Kirstin said warmly. She then returned to her pot as Nicole closed the door behind her.
Outside Holyoke Hospital, two men were exiting the building. One was wearing a mass of padded bandages across the bridge of his nose and glaring angrily at the small batch of papers in his hands. The sky was gray and overcast. Rain was threatening to fall at any moment.
“Two hundred bucks for an emergency room visit?! And that doesn’t even cover the x-ray and the friggin’ bandages they used,” Jason grumbled to John. He then held the papers up to John’s face, “Look at this! They charged me seven bucks for the two Tylenol they gave me after they straightened it!”
“Yeah, I know. It blows. At least you’re still on your folks’ insurance, so it could’ve been worse. And now your nose is straighter,” John reminded him, trying to cheer his friend up.
Jason crumpled the bill and shoved it into his pocket. “So much for that import Evangelion art book I was saving up for. After the out of pocket costs, I’m flat broke until payday. Why did I listen to you two and come here?”
“Because Evadne was right. Dude, your nose was broken and you were about to go home even after Evadne said you should get it looked at. Honestly, what were you thinking there? It’s not like you could’ve fixed it yourself,” John answered as the pair walked to the parking lot.
“Maybe I could’ve,” Jason grumbled. Jason looked to John, who was giving him a disbelieving look. “Okay, so maybe not,” Jason sheepishly admitted.
“Exactly,” John reaffirmed. “Hey, if money’s gonna be tight for a few days, I can float you a loan.”
Jason dismissed the notion with a hand wave. “Nah, I’ll be fine. I’ll have my folks wire me some cash tomorrow. You wanna do me a real favor, buy me dinner.”
John grinned. “I’m not the one who broke your nose, Jay.”
Jason smirked. “No, but your sound and reasonable advice still cost me over two hundred bucks today,” Jason reasoned.
“Well, then shouldn’t Evadne be buying you dinner? She’s the one who told you to go to the emergency room first,” John countered.
“But Evadne is not here. You are. Ergo, last in, first out, ipso facto you buy me dinner,” Jason counter-countered.
John blinked a few times, confused by the sudden influx of Latin, and then shrugged. “Fine. What does his broken nose-ness wish to ingest this evening? Lobsters stuffed with veal? Beluga caviar, perhaps.”
“Just get me a good burger or four and all is forgiven,” Jason answered.
The pair reached their cars. John nodded and grinned. “I know a place. We’ll take my car, I’ll bring you back later for yours.” John then got in his car and started the ignition.
Jason nodded and got in the passenger side. John’s black Mitsubishi then pulled out of the Holyoke Hospital parking lot for burger destinations unknown.
The bell above the door rang softly as Nicole opened the door that led into La Lavandería en los Acres. She look around and saw it empty save for the proprietor standing at the counter. He was a burly gentleman of apparently Hispanic ancestry. His skin was like finely aged leather, though showing obvious creases of age. His dark hair was liberally speckled with white, save for his luxurious mustache, which was thick and black. His well-muscled frame, barely contained by his oxford dress shirt, along with the obvious fact that one of his eyes was covered by a leather eye-patch, gave him the appearance of a dreaded pirate on casual Friday.
Nicole looked at the man.
The man, in turn, nodded slightly.
Nicole then casually flipped the drycleaner’s Open/Closed sign to the Closed position and then confidently walked to the counter.
“Alejandro,” Nicole greeted in a calm, businesslike manner.
“Mees Port-arr,” The man greeted in return.
“What do you have for her?” Nicole asked, again without emotion.
Without a word, Alejandro reached under the counter and quickly slid a large yellow envelope across the counter to her. Nicole regarded the envelope for a moment. She picked up the envelope and regarded its lack of weight and then looked up at the man, arching a curious eyebrow. “Pretty light.”
The man rubbed his hands nervously. Nicole’s stare seemed to unnerve the large man. “Tat was all tere was to be found.”
Nicole finally broke the stare and returned her attention to the envelope. She lifted the unglued flap and examined the contents. There were a few documents. Nicole quickly shuffled through and glanced over the pages. After she made one pass through, she calmly slid them back into the envelope. She then returned to attention to the man. “There is not a lot here...”
The man seemed nervous at this proclamation. “Please, Mees Port-arr! I would nev-arr waste your Meestress’ time...”
Nicole held up her hand to silence the stammering man who quickly stopped when Nicole did. “All I was saying was that while there isn’t a lot here, my Mistress should be pleased with this packet.”
“Reelly, Mees Port-arr?” Alejandro asked, surprised.
“Very much so. The fact, that there may not be a lot here is, in itself, very telling. I think she will find this to be adequate,” Nicole stated, which brought a smile to the face of the man. She then continued, “For now.”
The smile quickly vanished. Nicole tisked lightly and patted the man’s large calloused hand. “Now, now. My Mistress has always seen your value, Alejandro. No need for dramatics.”
The man shook his head sadly. “Please, Mees Port-arr, I mean her no disrespeck. I am and always weel be grateful for Lady Charry Blossom’s interventions during the revolution. I surely would’ve ended up lined up at the wall if not for harr. If she had not taken advantage of the mysterious illness tat befell the guerrillas and helped me escape before they stormed the capitol, I would not be here. I am forevarr in harr debt.”
Nicole again patted the man’s hand and smiled. “She appreciates your loyalty and service, Alejandro. She also appreciates your skills and, as you know, she always rewards skill and competence above everything else.”
“Si, Mees Port-arr,” Alejandro answered quietly.
“Good. I’m sure your skills will come in most handy for her next task,” Nicole said brightly. She then pulled a neatly folded piece of yellow legal pad paper from her jacket pocket and slid it across the counter.
Alejandro picked up the paper and unfolded it slowly. After a few moments of absorbing its contents, he refolded it and set it in the ashtray that had been sitting in the counter. He opened the nearby packet of matches, pulled one off, struck it, and lit the paper aflame, leaving only ashes a few moments later.
“Tis, it weel not be easy,” Alejandro said after a few moments of awkward silence. “May take some time.”
“Patience is one of my Mistress’ many virtues. As is,” Nicole started, reaching into her jacket pocket again and producing a small, plain, sealed envelope, “generosity.” She then tossed the envelope on the counter. “Though I don’t think you need reminded that her usual rules apply,” Nicole said with a stern glare.
The man nodded nervously. “Si, si. Tose days are long behind me.”
“She’ll be glad to hear that.”
Nicole then took the large envelope she had been given and carefully stuffed it into her bag. She turned to leave when the man spoke again. “Wait, Mees Port-arr.”
Nicole turned back and regarded the man. He was rubbing his hands nervously again, as if unsure of what he wanted to do next. “Yes, Alejandro?”
“You are Lady Charry Blossom’s closest colleague, no?”
Nicole took the question in and appeared to give it some thought. “I have served her a long time, now, yes. I don’t know if she truly regards anyone as a colleague.”
“Have you ev-arr met harr? I mean, face to face?” Alejandro asked nervously.
Nicole could only smile. “Do you think she would allow me to say so if I had?”
Alejandro blinked a few time and then gave a sheepish grin. “Si, si. I understand. Goodnight, Mees Port-arr. Please geeve my kindest regards to your Meestress.”
“Goodnight, Generalissimo. Until our Mistress calls for us to meet again,” Nicole said with a smile and then departed.
Nicole got off of the bus and began walking back towards the apartment when the rumble of thunder echoed across the sky. Nicole looked up and realized that the already dark early evening sky was darker. She quickened her pace in hopes of outrunning the approaching rain. A few minutes later those hopes were dashed.
The cold Autumn rain splashed down on her scalp and face, causing small rivulets of water to run down her cheeks. Luckily, her bag, combined with her jacket, had kept her valuable prize relatively dry. Still, she doubled her pace from a brisk walk to a light jog, in hopes of avoiding catching her death out in this wet mess.
Spying an awning above the door of a nearby business, Nicole decided to stop, catch her breath, and see if the rain would ease up. She sat down on the concrete steps. The rain continued to patter down on her makeshift shelter’s roof. Nicole opened her jacket a little to check on her bag that she had stuffed under there when the rain began to fall in earnest. The envelope still appeared to be dry.
It was at that moment that Nicole felt like she was being watched. There was a slight tingling in her spine, like she could feel the weight of someone’s gaze upon her.
“Meow?” said a small voice.
Nicole whipped her head around in surprise. Sitting calmly on the other end of the covered entryway was a small white cat with a shaggy cap of messy black fur on its crown. It wasn’t quite a kitten, but it was so small that it couldn’t possibly be an adult either. Its fur looked to be drenched and Nicole guessed that the cat had the same idea as her when it came to seeking shelter from the rain.
“Hey there… um, fella?” Nicole started. After a moment of uncertainty, she decided to go with male pronouns as she was not ready to start exploring some strange cat’s backside to determine gender. Also, there was something about this cat that just screamed “boy”, even if Nicole couldn’t place what that something was.
“Hey there, little guy. You look pretty soaked,” Nicole said.
“Meow,” the cat said in agreement. The cat stood up from its seated position and confidently moved toward Nicole.
“Oh? You’re pretty brave to be trusting me. How do you know I won’t snatch you up and eat you?” Nicole asked, her tone very businesslike.
The cat paused mid-step and looked up at Nicole. He now appeared unsure what to do. He sat back down on his hindquarters and spoke again, “Meow.”
Nicole arched an eyebrow. “Oh, you think I have a trustworthy face, eh? Well, don’t let that fool you. I can be more vicious and tenacious than any mean ol’ dog, let me tell you.”
“Meow?”
Nicole took a closer look at her conversation partner. “No collar. Hmm. Do you belong to someone, or are you a fellow independent spirit out making your own way in this world?”
“Meow,” the cat answered, licked his paw a few times and began grooming himself.
Nicole nodded in approval. She then listened to the air for a moment. The rain didn’t appear to be stopping, but it had lightened a touch. She could get home without getting too soaked. She brushed off her lap, tucked her bag under her jacket again, and stood up. “I have enjoyed our time together, but I must be on my way. I bid you good night and good luck, Mr. Cat.”
Nicole then continued her journey home. The rain drops fell steadily on her hair. A few minutes later, she felt that creeping sensation of being watched crawl up her spine again. She stopped walking.
In the damp darkness she could hear the rain falling, but she also could hear a small shuffling step on the wet pavement. She turned around and looked down.
There, standing proudly on the sidewalk, was the cat. “Meow,” he said.
“And where do you think you’re going? You shouldn’t follow strangers, you know. I told you, I might just snatch you up and eat you. Maybe I
have a giant pot at home just for cooking up fresh cat stew, hmm?” Nicole scolded.
The cat gave her a dubious look in response to that.
Nicole found herself chuckling. This day had been just full of surprises so far, so what was one more? She looked over her shoulder, a little further down the street, and could see the familiar landmarks of her apartment building. She then looked down at the cat. She sighed slightly and shrugged her shoulders. It was an impulse, but her last impulse had created some interesting results, so why not do it again? She finally spoke to the cat, who had taken to once again grooming himself while she debated with herself on what to do. “Okay, come on,” she said. “But no promises, kay? And don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Nicole motioned for the cat to follow her, which he did the moment she began walking again.
They covered the remaining distance rapidly and they soon reached the Porters’ apartment. The pair quickly moved up the steps to the porch. Standing outside the door, Nicole put her hand on the doorknob and looked down at the cat. “Let me do the talking,” Nicole said with a wry grin. For a moment, Nicole could swear the cat was nodding in agreement, but she dismissed that thought as ridiculous.
Nicole opened the door and stepped inside. In the apartment, four of the Boy Scouts, the boys named Mike, Billy, Kenny, and of course, Aaron, were standing in the kitchen area with her sister, Kirstin.
Nicole hung up her jacket and ran her hands through her damp hair. She then turned to Kirstin. “I know this sounds cliché, but it followed me home. Can I keep it?”
A moment later, the cat walked in and greeted everyone with a meow.
The falling rain was making a pitter-patter sound on the roof of White Hut, the restaurant that John had brought Jason to. Wood shavings were spread around the floor near the counter where several customers sat and ate. Jason and John, having little luck finding an unoccupied seat at the counter, and there being no other tables, stood at an overflow area with few other customers. Three busy employees rushed back and forth behind the counter preparing and bringing up orders.
John took another bite of his cheeseburger, condiments dripping a little from the other side when he squeezed it in his hands. John chewed a bit, looked at Jason, and arched a knowing eyebrow. “See, told you.”
Jason took bite of his own. He was now on his third burger. He nodded in acknowledgement. “Okay, okay, you were right. This place is good, even if it doesn’t look like much on the outside. How’d you find this place? I didn’t think you spent much time in West Springfield.”
“How else? Fenny,” John answered.
“Damn, is there any place or anything in this area that girl doesn’t know? She’s better than friggin’ Frommers,” Jason commented. He took another bite. As he bit down a few cheese coated fries fell out of the other side onto his tray. Jason lifted the bun off his half-finished burger and added a few more fries to replace the ones that fell.
“That’s still weird, Jay,” John commented on Jason’s habit of putting fries on his burger.
Jason shrugged and took another bite. “Take the boy out of ‘Burgh, yadda, yadda, yadda n’at.” He then put his burger down and took another pull from his can of Sprite. “Really, you always comment about me putting fries on my sandwiches, but you go on and on about how much you miss Skyline Four-ways…”
“There’s nothing wrong with chili on top of spaghetti,” John countered.
“And there ain’t nothing wrong with fries on sandwiches. Yinz embrace your local fare and I’ll embrace mine,” Jason stated with his over-exaggerated western Pennsylvanian accent he would throw out from time to time when he was feeling homesick. Jason then checked his watch. John noticed the gesture. “What time’s kickoff?”
“Eight p.m. We’re still good.Colts stink anyway. Don’t think the Stillers will have any trouble tonight,” Jason said with a smile. “By the way, what was the final score of the Oilers and Bungles… er… Bengals game this afternoon?” I saw they had the game highlights on the waiting room TV while I was getting my nose fixed.”
“Fuck you, Bertovich,” John grumbled.
“That bad, eh?”
“Thirty to seven, guess who was the seven,” John sulked.
“Ouch. That makes what, four losses in a row?”
“Five. Again, I say fuck you, Bertovich.”
“Guess you’ll be really mad when the Stillers make it six in a row next Sunday?” Jason verbally jabbed.
“Thrice I say unto you, fuck you, Bertovich,” John grumbled.
“Hey, at least Dillon looks like the real deal,” Jason consoled.
“Seems a lot realer a deal than Kordell. You think he’s a legit QB?” John asked Jason.
Jason took a bite and thought the question over between chews. “Cowher seems to think so. Guess that’s all that really matters. Do I think he’ll get them one for the thumb? That, I dunno.”
“One for the thumb,” John mumbled, “I’d at least like for us to win one for any finger, preferably the middle one, so it would stop you Steeler fans from calling us ‘Bungles.’”
“Yeah, but the last time they won, I was like two years old. Not like I got to enjoy it. Frankly, after O’Donnell screwed the pooch two years ago, I think I might never see them win one again,” Jason countered. “And then top it off with Lemieux retiring last summer and the Pens slow start this year, I think I might start swearing off sports. It’s getting too depressing,” Jason mused.
John mock-gasped. “My god, I think that guy punched you harder than we thought. You’re delusional!”
“Eat your food, Hoelscher,” Jason deadpanned.
“Gladly,” John chirped, and took another bite of his burger.
A moment later, two women came in from the rain. They quickly scanned the room and, and upon seeing a couple getting up to leave made their way toward the empty seats at the counter. Jason figured that he and John were almost done eating anyway, so it was probably better to let them have the seats. He’d chalk it up as his good deed for the day.
It was then that Jason recognized one of the women. She was wearing a green jacket, but little could cover her curves in the slightly clinging black dress she wore. It was the woman with the Victoria’s Secret bag from the exploding mall directory sign. He then looked at her dining companion, who appeared to be a different woman from her shopping companion. Jason gave John a couple quick nudges with his elbow. “Look who just came in.”
John gave a quick glance toward the counter and then returned his attention to Jason. “Ah, her,” John said flatly, remembering his own embarrassing run-in with her the day prior.
“You know what I think?” Jason asked.
“What?”
Jason took another glance back and then smirked at John smart-assedly. “I think you owe Fenny a big apology for calling shenanigans on her.”
John arched a confused eyebrow, quickly whipped his head back in the direction of the now seated women, stole another glance, and then returned his attention towards Jason. “You think?”
“She’s dressed to the nines - tight dress, lipstick, nylons, certainly dressed to impress. Other lady is playing it cool. Flannel shirt and jeans. It’s obvious one is playing the role of ‘the guy’ and the other of ‘the girl.’”
John narrowed his gaze. “I think you’re reading waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay too much into that.”
Jason responded by smirking harder and more smart-assedly. “I know better than to question Fenny’s authority on the subject.”
“Just because Fenny’s an expert doesn’t make you one, too. I thought that much should be obvious by the evidence of the bandages that adorn your nasal appendage because of some high school girl you met,” John countered and then popped a fry in his mouth with flourish.
“Care to share what that little comment means?” Jason asked, now slightly irked.
“Just seems like you’re borrowing trouble, that’s all. At least if this first encounter is any indication,” John mused between cramming more fries into his mouth.
“That’s a little funny, coming from you, he who told me to embrace changes just yesterday,” Jason reminded.
“Embracing change is one thing, embracing a high school girl is another. Like I said, borrowing trouble.”
“Jesus, John, I think she’s interesting. I’m not planning on running away with her. I haven’t even decided if I should follow up on her note. IF I do decided to pursue it, I’m smart enough to know better than cross certain boundaries. Jeez, what do you think of me?” Jason asked exasperated, trying not to raise his voice.
“I’m not accusing you of anything. I’m just saying that in one encounter so far, you’ve walked away with a broken nose. That might be a sign, is all,” John reasoned.
“John, that guy was going to punch me whether she was there or not. Frankly, she saved my ass and my job with her creative self-defense and her creative, um, memory,” Jason argued.
“Look, I’m not trying to tell you what to do or that it’s a mistake. I’m just trying to give you a different perspective on it and from where I’m standing, pursuing it could lead to some problems later. I just wanted you to think about that so you can decide for yourself if they’re problems you want to have,” John explained.
Jason slumped his shoulders a little. “Yeah, I know. It feels weird, y’know. We’re only a couple years out of high school ourselves, but suddenly it feels forbidden. Honestly, if she hadn’t told me she was in High School, I would’ve never guessed it by the way she dressed and carried herself. I mean, what if she’s a senior? Is that old enough to not matter?”
“What if she’s a freshman?” John hypothesized.
“Good point,” Jason sadly conceded.
John took a sip of his own can of Coke. He then popped the last bit of his burger into his mouth and chewed it thoughtfully. “Seems to me that you got some things to think about and decisions to make.”
Jason nodded and finished off his own burger. “Any new advice?”
“My advice would be to get advice from people better at giving advice,” John said with a sheepish grin.
Jason chuckled lightly and smiled. “Hey, you’re not doing too bad so far.”
“That still remains to be seen, my friend,” John said a little worriedly. The pair headed toward the door to leave.
Much later that evening, after their guests had left, Nicole found herself sitting at her desk again, the only light in the room coming from her small desk lamp. Nicole heard her twin sister moan lightly, roll over in her bed, and then return to her light snoring. Nicole smiled. Her sister had quite the day. Nicole felt this was the beginning of something big for Kirstin and couldn’t help but feel excited at her sisters’ new adventure.
Meanwhile, on the top of Nicole’s own bed, near the footboard, her new companion was curled up into a tiny ball of fur and sleeping soundly. Nicole smiled and returned her attention to the yellow legal pad laying atop her desk. On it was a checklist of items she would need to acquire for her furry friend, whom she had decided to name Neko-chan. That would mean another trip to the mall after school.
And with that thought, her attention was brought back to the other item lying on her desk, a large yellow envelope, and more importantly its contents.
Nicole set down her pencil on the legal pad and picked up the envelope. She removed the documents inside and started to examine them more closely than she had when she first acquired them.
After she finished, she set them down again. Nicole had no reason to doubt Alejandro’s word. He was quite good at this sort of thing, so if he said that this was all the information he could find, she was pretty sure it was the truth. More importantly, she trusted him enough to believe if this was all he
could find, then that was all there was to find.
No police records or juvenile delinquency records. No liens, fines, or glaring financial red flags. Barely any records at all. Just a few school transcripts, some apartment lease info, an incredibly sparse credit report, and some notes about known associates.
She looked over the transcripts for a third time. Nothing stood out there. Solid B student in high school, seemed to be picking up his game in college, but nothing shocking or unusual aside from some unrelated curiosities. Really now, who takes four years of Latin these days?
The only thing that even sparked the briefest of interest had nothing to do with the subject being researched, but rather one of his associates. One of the names listed was circled in dark red with several question marks scrawled next to it. Alejandro had a flair for the dramatic, that was sure. Whoever this “Fenny Lin” was, she, or maybe he, had piqued Alejandro’s interest, but it didn’t seem relevant to the matter at hand - at least not yet. Nicole decided to keep a mental note of it just in case it did become relevant.
Nicole sighed. When it was all said and done, what she held here was the profile of an incredibly average, some might even say boring, person. Boring and average. So not Nicole’s cup of tea. Nope.
And not very smart either. After all, who goes and picks a fight with a guy literally twice his size. Who goes around having his mouth write checks his butt couldn’t clearly cash? I mean, just cause some big guy threatens a girl, who in their right mind would leap their defense when all logic indicates a beating is forthcoming. Someone not very smart, that’s who. Not very smart at all, even if it was a little brave. Still stupid… and brave.
What was she doing? This guy was so not worth her attention. Why was she expending valuable resources like Alejandro on this average, boring, stupid, brave, handsome…
Nicole shook her head in disbelief and lightly smacked her cheeks. Handsome? Where did that come from?! Not hardly. He had ears that stuck out too far. Barely an upper lip to speak of and, from what she had seen of his teeth, the lower ones were crooked enough to put an addition on any orthodontist’s house. And what about that unkempt mess of reddish brown hair that just kept flopping in front of his glasses and his murky hazel eyes that seemed to show genuine interest in her…
She tossed the documents onto her desk in frustration, cursing her mental lapses. This was a mistake. The last thing she needed right now was to be distracted by frivolous things like infatuation. Let Kirstin explore that realm for the both of them. Hell, Sarah could join her. God and Nicole both knew that Sarah could use some frivolous romance in her life, even if Sarah couldn’t admit it.
She had more important things to focus on now. There were protégés to select, new opportunities to explore, and important data to catalogue. She should not be wasting mental energy and important resources on some… guy! Some average, boring, stupid, brave, handsome, genuine…
Nicole closed her eyes and sighed. Oh hell. She had a feeling this was not the smart thing to do. She knew that she was only going to regret this, but then again, what was one more impulse in a day full of “what’s one more impulse?”
Nicole opened her desk drawer and pulled out a manila folder. She stuffed the documents inside and with a red sharpie wrote on the front “Jason Bertovich – ‘JAY’”. Nicole stared at it for a moment and then added underneath “warrants further study”. Nicole took the folder, quietly padded to her new file cabinet, careful not to awaken the sleeping Kirstin, and slipped the folder inside. She locked the cabinet, returned the key to under the false bottom of her top desk drawer that once held her black ledger, which was also now locked securely in the cabinet, and then shut the light off. In the darkness, she slipped between her covers and closed her eyes. A moment later, she felt a furry lump curl up at her back and begin purring softly.
One more impulse… She thought and then drifted off to sleep.
“And that’s all she wrote from Three Rivers Stadium in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. The Steelers hold on to edge the still winless Colts, twenty-four to twenty-two. For ESPN’s Sunday Night Football, I’m…” Jason silenced the television with the off button on his remote.
Jason shook his head in disbelief at the sloppy football he just witnessed, and despite the positive outcome, he didn’t feel the life affirmation that a Steelers victory usually produced. He was beginning to strongly consider his earlier threat and give up sports, if only to save him this kind of tension.
At least he tried to rationalize to himself that the tension he was feeling was merely a byproduct of sub-par Steelers football and not from his encounter earlier today.
Damn John. Damn John and damn his valid points. Jason sighed and looked at the scrap of paper lying on his coffee table. Jason picked it up and studied it again:
He was still busy studying the note when he was broken from his concentration by John Hoelscher. John was wearing his Filene’s nametag and standing at Jason’s table, staring down at him.
“John! Hi! Oh, hey! Sit down, sit down!” Jason said, surprised.
John took a seat across from Jason and continued to stare at him. Jason noticed the awkward stare and asked in an annoyed tone, “What?”
“Jason, what the hell happened to you?”
Jason looked at the note again. “Something wonderful. I think? Maybe?”
John arched a very confused eyebrow. “Something-wonderful-you-think-maybe appears to have broken your nose.”
“Oh? Oh… that,” Jason said, half-interested.
“Yeah. That,” John responded, still staring at Jason’s crooked nose.
“I got punched in the face,” Jason answered.
John sat there in stunned silence for a few moments. He then snapped his fingers a few times in Jason’s still-distracted face. “Explain. Explain now.
Explain in detail,” John demanded.
Which Jason then did.
The afternoon passed into early evening. Nicole sat at her computer, typing furiously, absorbed in her project. She had installed the organizational and financial software that she had purchased and was currently digitally cataloguing several file folders worth of information, not all of it necessarily financial in nature. For this reason she had been adamant about finding software with a strong data encryption feature.
She had been at it non-stop since returning with Kirstin from their shopping trip. Well, almost non-stop. Actually, the first thing she had done when she had returned to their apartment was make a quick phone call, although she would not elaborate to whom when Kirstin asked.
She then went to work, interrupted a short time later when the doorbell rang with the delivery of her brand-new file cabinet. Kirstin still couldn’t believe that the office supply store agreed to deliver it on a Sunday. Nicole could only give a cat-like grin and directed the delivery men to their bedroom, where they placed the fireproof, burglarproof, practically-everything-proof cabinet in the corner of their room near her desk. As the men left, Nicole casually supplied them with a gratuity that took both men by surprise, not only by its existence but also its size.
Since then Nicole had been hard at work, trying to get her empire in order and safely secured from potential prying eyes. Kirstin, for the most part, appeared to be absorbed in her own project - mainly learning to make possibly the most delicious-smelling Italian dish ever known to man. Nicole stopped typing, sniffed the air again, and felt her stomach growl in anticipation. She hoped that one of the Boy Scout Laws was “Prompt”, because she was ready to take a break and enjoy the fruits of Kirstin’s culinary labor.
“Nicole, phone,” came the voice of Sarah Porter, who had returned home a few hours ago. Nicole stood up, stretched her arms and legs, and finally departed her and Kirstin’s room.
In the living room, Sarah stood holding the cordless phone. She was clad in a pair of blue jeans and a red flannel shirt. As soon as Nicole took the phone out of Sarah’s hand, Sarah grabbed her coat and purse and headed for the front door, but then stopped and began conversing with Kirstin.
Nicole put the receiver to her ear. “Hello?”
“Mees Port-arr?” a thickly accented, slightly gravely voice asked, rolling the “r” sound slightly.
Nicole smiled. She had been waiting for this call since she arrived home earlier. “Ah, Alejandro.”
“Lady Charry Blossom’s ord-arr is reedy for peek-up,” the voice stated.
“Excellent. I’ll be over shortly to pick it up for her. Thank you.”
“Vary good, Mees Port-arr,” the voice responded before the line disconnected.
Nicole set the phone back into its charger cradle. Sarah appeared to wrapping up a conversation with Kirstin and was now walking out the door. Kirstin had returned to stirring the large pot of pasta on the stovetop.
Hunger would have to take a backseat. New priorities had emerged. Nicole grabbed her own jacket and purse and called out to her sister, “Hey, sis, I need to step out for an hour or so. Make sure these Scouts do their daily good deed and leave me some dinner for when I get back, ‘kay?”
Kirstin smiled and nodded. “I’ll set yours aside and leave it in the oven to keep warm.”
“Thanks, sis. Don’t forget the garlic bread,” Nicole said as she opened the front door.
“Wouldn’t dream of forgetting it, sister,” Kirstin said warmly. She then returned to her pot as Nicole closed the door behind her.
Outside Holyoke Hospital, two men were exiting the building. One was wearing a mass of padded bandages across the bridge of his nose and glaring angrily at the small batch of papers in his hands. The sky was gray and overcast. Rain was threatening to fall at any moment.
“Two hundred bucks for an emergency room visit?! And that doesn’t even cover the x-ray and the friggin’ bandages they used,” Jason grumbled to John. He then held the papers up to John’s face, “Look at this! They charged me seven bucks for the two Tylenol they gave me after they straightened it!”
“Yeah, I know. It blows. At least you’re still on your folks’ insurance, so it could’ve been worse. And now your nose is straighter,” John reminded him, trying to cheer his friend up.
Jason crumpled the bill and shoved it into his pocket. “So much for that import Evangelion art book I was saving up for. After the out of pocket costs, I’m flat broke until payday. Why did I listen to you two and come here?”
“Because Evadne was right. Dude, your nose was broken and you were about to go home even after Evadne said you should get it looked at. Honestly, what were you thinking there? It’s not like you could’ve fixed it yourself,” John answered as the pair walked to the parking lot.
“Maybe I could’ve,” Jason grumbled. Jason looked to John, who was giving him a disbelieving look. “Okay, so maybe not,” Jason sheepishly admitted.
“Exactly,” John reaffirmed. “Hey, if money’s gonna be tight for a few days, I can float you a loan.”
Jason dismissed the notion with a hand wave. “Nah, I’ll be fine. I’ll have my folks wire me some cash tomorrow. You wanna do me a real favor, buy me dinner.”
John grinned. “I’m not the one who broke your nose, Jay.”
Jason smirked. “No, but your sound and reasonable advice still cost me over two hundred bucks today,” Jason reasoned.
“Well, then shouldn’t Evadne be buying you dinner? She’s the one who told you to go to the emergency room first,” John countered.
“But Evadne is not here. You are. Ergo, last in, first out, ipso facto you buy me dinner,” Jason counter-countered.
John blinked a few times, confused by the sudden influx of Latin, and then shrugged. “Fine. What does his broken nose-ness wish to ingest this evening? Lobsters stuffed with veal? Beluga caviar, perhaps.”
“Just get me a good burger or four and all is forgiven,” Jason answered.
The pair reached their cars. John nodded and grinned. “I know a place. We’ll take my car, I’ll bring you back later for yours.” John then got in his car and started the ignition.
Jason nodded and got in the passenger side. John’s black Mitsubishi then pulled out of the Holyoke Hospital parking lot for burger destinations unknown.
The bell above the door rang softly as Nicole opened the door that led into La Lavandería en los Acres. She look around and saw it empty save for the proprietor standing at the counter. He was a burly gentleman of apparently Hispanic ancestry. His skin was like finely aged leather, though showing obvious creases of age. His dark hair was liberally speckled with white, save for his luxurious mustache, which was thick and black. His well-muscled frame, barely contained by his oxford dress shirt, along with the obvious fact that one of his eyes was covered by a leather eye-patch, gave him the appearance of a dreaded pirate on casual Friday.
Nicole looked at the man.
The man, in turn, nodded slightly.
Nicole then casually flipped the drycleaner’s Open/Closed sign to the Closed position and then confidently walked to the counter.
“Alejandro,” Nicole greeted in a calm, businesslike manner.
“Mees Port-arr,” The man greeted in return.
“What do you have for her?” Nicole asked, again without emotion.
Without a word, Alejandro reached under the counter and quickly slid a large yellow envelope across the counter to her. Nicole regarded the envelope for a moment. She picked up the envelope and regarded its lack of weight and then looked up at the man, arching a curious eyebrow. “Pretty light.”
The man rubbed his hands nervously. Nicole’s stare seemed to unnerve the large man. “Tat was all tere was to be found.”
Nicole finally broke the stare and returned her attention to the envelope. She lifted the unglued flap and examined the contents. There were a few documents. Nicole quickly shuffled through and glanced over the pages. After she made one pass through, she calmly slid them back into the envelope. She then returned to attention to the man. “There is not a lot here...”
The man seemed nervous at this proclamation. “Please, Mees Port-arr! I would nev-arr waste your Meestress’ time...”
Nicole held up her hand to silence the stammering man who quickly stopped when Nicole did. “All I was saying was that while there isn’t a lot here, my Mistress should be pleased with this packet.”
“Reelly, Mees Port-arr?” Alejandro asked, surprised.
“Very much so. The fact, that there may not be a lot here is, in itself, very telling. I think she will find this to be adequate,” Nicole stated, which brought a smile to the face of the man. She then continued, “For now.”
The smile quickly vanished. Nicole tisked lightly and patted the man’s large calloused hand. “Now, now. My Mistress has always seen your value, Alejandro. No need for dramatics.”
The man shook his head sadly. “Please, Mees Port-arr, I mean her no disrespeck. I am and always weel be grateful for Lady Charry Blossom’s interventions during the revolution. I surely would’ve ended up lined up at the wall if not for harr. If she had not taken advantage of the mysterious illness tat befell the guerrillas and helped me escape before they stormed the capitol, I would not be here. I am forevarr in harr debt.”
Nicole again patted the man’s hand and smiled. “She appreciates your loyalty and service, Alejandro. She also appreciates your skills and, as you know, she always rewards skill and competence above everything else.”
“Si, Mees Port-arr,” Alejandro answered quietly.
“Good. I’m sure your skills will come in most handy for her next task,” Nicole said brightly. She then pulled a neatly folded piece of yellow legal pad paper from her jacket pocket and slid it across the counter.
Alejandro picked up the paper and unfolded it slowly. After a few moments of absorbing its contents, he refolded it and set it in the ashtray that had been sitting in the counter. He opened the nearby packet of matches, pulled one off, struck it, and lit the paper aflame, leaving only ashes a few moments later.
“Tis, it weel not be easy,” Alejandro said after a few moments of awkward silence. “May take some time.”
“Patience is one of my Mistress’ many virtues. As is,” Nicole started, reaching into her jacket pocket again and producing a small, plain, sealed envelope, “generosity.” She then tossed the envelope on the counter. “Though I don’t think you need reminded that her usual rules apply,” Nicole said with a stern glare.
The man nodded nervously. “Si, si. Tose days are long behind me.”
“She’ll be glad to hear that.”
Nicole then took the large envelope she had been given and carefully stuffed it into her bag. She turned to leave when the man spoke again. “Wait, Mees Port-arr.”
Nicole turned back and regarded the man. He was rubbing his hands nervously again, as if unsure of what he wanted to do next. “Yes, Alejandro?”
“You are Lady Charry Blossom’s closest colleague, no?”
Nicole took the question in and appeared to give it some thought. “I have served her a long time, now, yes. I don’t know if she truly regards anyone as a colleague.”
“Have you ev-arr met harr? I mean, face to face?” Alejandro asked nervously.
Nicole could only smile. “Do you think she would allow me to say so if I had?”
Alejandro blinked a few time and then gave a sheepish grin. “Si, si. I understand. Goodnight, Mees Port-arr. Please geeve my kindest regards to your Meestress.”
“Goodnight, Generalissimo. Until our Mistress calls for us to meet again,” Nicole said with a smile and then departed.
Nicole got off of the bus and began walking back towards the apartment when the rumble of thunder echoed across the sky. Nicole looked up and realized that the already dark early evening sky was darker. She quickened her pace in hopes of outrunning the approaching rain. A few minutes later those hopes were dashed.
The cold Autumn rain splashed down on her scalp and face, causing small rivulets of water to run down her cheeks. Luckily, her bag, combined with her jacket, had kept her valuable prize relatively dry. Still, she doubled her pace from a brisk walk to a light jog, in hopes of avoiding catching her death out in this wet mess.
Spying an awning above the door of a nearby business, Nicole decided to stop, catch her breath, and see if the rain would ease up. She sat down on the concrete steps. The rain continued to patter down on her makeshift shelter’s roof. Nicole opened her jacket a little to check on her bag that she had stuffed under there when the rain began to fall in earnest. The envelope still appeared to be dry.
It was at that moment that Nicole felt like she was being watched. There was a slight tingling in her spine, like she could feel the weight of someone’s gaze upon her.
“Meow?” said a small voice.
Nicole whipped her head around in surprise. Sitting calmly on the other end of the covered entryway was a small white cat with a shaggy cap of messy black fur on its crown. It wasn’t quite a kitten, but it was so small that it couldn’t possibly be an adult either. Its fur looked to be drenched and Nicole guessed that the cat had the same idea as her when it came to seeking shelter from the rain.
“Hey there… um, fella?” Nicole started. After a moment of uncertainty, she decided to go with male pronouns as she was not ready to start exploring some strange cat’s backside to determine gender. Also, there was something about this cat that just screamed “boy”, even if Nicole couldn’t place what that something was.
“Hey there, little guy. You look pretty soaked,” Nicole said.
“Meow,” the cat said in agreement. The cat stood up from its seated position and confidently moved toward Nicole.
“Oh? You’re pretty brave to be trusting me. How do you know I won’t snatch you up and eat you?” Nicole asked, her tone very businesslike.
The cat paused mid-step and looked up at Nicole. He now appeared unsure what to do. He sat back down on his hindquarters and spoke again, “Meow.”
Nicole arched an eyebrow. “Oh, you think I have a trustworthy face, eh? Well, don’t let that fool you. I can be more vicious and tenacious than any mean ol’ dog, let me tell you.”
“Meow?”
Nicole took a closer look at her conversation partner. “No collar. Hmm. Do you belong to someone, or are you a fellow independent spirit out making your own way in this world?”
“Meow,” the cat answered, licked his paw a few times and began grooming himself.
Nicole nodded in approval. She then listened to the air for a moment. The rain didn’t appear to be stopping, but it had lightened a touch. She could get home without getting too soaked. She brushed off her lap, tucked her bag under her jacket again, and stood up. “I have enjoyed our time together, but I must be on my way. I bid you good night and good luck, Mr. Cat.”
Nicole then continued her journey home. The rain drops fell steadily on her hair. A few minutes later, she felt that creeping sensation of being watched crawl up her spine again. She stopped walking.
In the damp darkness she could hear the rain falling, but she also could hear a small shuffling step on the wet pavement. She turned around and looked down.
There, standing proudly on the sidewalk, was the cat. “Meow,” he said.
“And where do you think you’re going? You shouldn’t follow strangers, you know. I told you, I might just snatch you up and eat you. Maybe I
have a giant pot at home just for cooking up fresh cat stew, hmm?” Nicole scolded.
The cat gave her a dubious look in response to that.
Nicole found herself chuckling. This day had been just full of surprises so far, so what was one more? She looked over her shoulder, a little further down the street, and could see the familiar landmarks of her apartment building. She then looked down at the cat. She sighed slightly and shrugged her shoulders. It was an impulse, but her last impulse had created some interesting results, so why not do it again? She finally spoke to the cat, who had taken to once again grooming himself while she debated with herself on what to do. “Okay, come on,” she said. “But no promises, kay? And don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Nicole motioned for the cat to follow her, which he did the moment she began walking again.
They covered the remaining distance rapidly and they soon reached the Porters’ apartment. The pair quickly moved up the steps to the porch. Standing outside the door, Nicole put her hand on the doorknob and looked down at the cat. “Let me do the talking,” Nicole said with a wry grin. For a moment, Nicole could swear the cat was nodding in agreement, but she dismissed that thought as ridiculous.
Nicole opened the door and stepped inside. In the apartment, four of the Boy Scouts, the boys named Mike, Billy, Kenny, and of course, Aaron, were standing in the kitchen area with her sister, Kirstin.
Nicole hung up her jacket and ran her hands through her damp hair. She then turned to Kirstin. “I know this sounds cliché, but it followed me home. Can I keep it?”
A moment later, the cat walked in and greeted everyone with a meow.
The falling rain was making a pitter-patter sound on the roof of White Hut, the restaurant that John had brought Jason to. Wood shavings were spread around the floor near the counter where several customers sat and ate. Jason and John, having little luck finding an unoccupied seat at the counter, and there being no other tables, stood at an overflow area with few other customers. Three busy employees rushed back and forth behind the counter preparing and bringing up orders.
John took another bite of his cheeseburger, condiments dripping a little from the other side when he squeezed it in his hands. John chewed a bit, looked at Jason, and arched a knowing eyebrow. “See, told you.”
Jason took bite of his own. He was now on his third burger. He nodded in acknowledgement. “Okay, okay, you were right. This place is good, even if it doesn’t look like much on the outside. How’d you find this place? I didn’t think you spent much time in West Springfield.”
“How else? Fenny,” John answered.
“Damn, is there any place or anything in this area that girl doesn’t know? She’s better than friggin’ Frommers,” Jason commented. He took another bite. As he bit down a few cheese coated fries fell out of the other side onto his tray. Jason lifted the bun off his half-finished burger and added a few more fries to replace the ones that fell.
“That’s still weird, Jay,” John commented on Jason’s habit of putting fries on his burger.
Jason shrugged and took another bite. “Take the boy out of ‘Burgh, yadda, yadda, yadda n’at.” He then put his burger down and took another pull from his can of Sprite. “Really, you always comment about me putting fries on my sandwiches, but you go on and on about how much you miss Skyline Four-ways…”
“There’s nothing wrong with chili on top of spaghetti,” John countered.
“And there ain’t nothing wrong with fries on sandwiches. Yinz embrace your local fare and I’ll embrace mine,” Jason stated with his over-exaggerated western Pennsylvanian accent he would throw out from time to time when he was feeling homesick. Jason then checked his watch. John noticed the gesture. “What time’s kickoff?”
“Eight p.m. We’re still good.Colts stink anyway. Don’t think the Stillers will have any trouble tonight,” Jason said with a smile. “By the way, what was the final score of the Oilers and Bungles… er… Bengals game this afternoon?” I saw they had the game highlights on the waiting room TV while I was getting my nose fixed.”
“Fuck you, Bertovich,” John grumbled.
“That bad, eh?”
“Thirty to seven, guess who was the seven,” John sulked.
“Ouch. That makes what, four losses in a row?”
“Five. Again, I say fuck you, Bertovich.”
“Guess you’ll be really mad when the Stillers make it six in a row next Sunday?” Jason verbally jabbed.
“Thrice I say unto you, fuck you, Bertovich,” John grumbled.
“Hey, at least Dillon looks like the real deal,” Jason consoled.
“Seems a lot realer a deal than Kordell. You think he’s a legit QB?” John asked Jason.
Jason took a bite and thought the question over between chews. “Cowher seems to think so. Guess that’s all that really matters. Do I think he’ll get them one for the thumb? That, I dunno.”
“One for the thumb,” John mumbled, “I’d at least like for us to win one for any finger, preferably the middle one, so it would stop you Steeler fans from calling us ‘Bungles.’”
“Yeah, but the last time they won, I was like two years old. Not like I got to enjoy it. Frankly, after O’Donnell screwed the pooch two years ago, I think I might never see them win one again,” Jason countered. “And then top it off with Lemieux retiring last summer and the Pens slow start this year, I think I might start swearing off sports. It’s getting too depressing,” Jason mused.
John mock-gasped. “My god, I think that guy punched you harder than we thought. You’re delusional!”
“Eat your food, Hoelscher,” Jason deadpanned.
“Gladly,” John chirped, and took another bite of his burger.
A moment later, two women came in from the rain. They quickly scanned the room and, and upon seeing a couple getting up to leave made their way toward the empty seats at the counter. Jason figured that he and John were almost done eating anyway, so it was probably better to let them have the seats. He’d chalk it up as his good deed for the day.
It was then that Jason recognized one of the women. She was wearing a green jacket, but little could cover her curves in the slightly clinging black dress she wore. It was the woman with the Victoria’s Secret bag from the exploding mall directory sign. He then looked at her dining companion, who appeared to be a different woman from her shopping companion. Jason gave John a couple quick nudges with his elbow. “Look who just came in.”
John gave a quick glance toward the counter and then returned his attention to Jason. “Ah, her,” John said flatly, remembering his own embarrassing run-in with her the day prior.
“You know what I think?” Jason asked.
“What?”
Jason took another glance back and then smirked at John smart-assedly. “I think you owe Fenny a big apology for calling shenanigans on her.”
John arched a confused eyebrow, quickly whipped his head back in the direction of the now seated women, stole another glance, and then returned his attention towards Jason. “You think?”
“She’s dressed to the nines - tight dress, lipstick, nylons, certainly dressed to impress. Other lady is playing it cool. Flannel shirt and jeans. It’s obvious one is playing the role of ‘the guy’ and the other of ‘the girl.’”
John narrowed his gaze. “I think you’re reading waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay too much into that.”
Jason responded by smirking harder and more smart-assedly. “I know better than to question Fenny’s authority on the subject.”
“Just because Fenny’s an expert doesn’t make you one, too. I thought that much should be obvious by the evidence of the bandages that adorn your nasal appendage because of some high school girl you met,” John countered and then popped a fry in his mouth with flourish.
“Care to share what that little comment means?” Jason asked, now slightly irked.
“Just seems like you’re borrowing trouble, that’s all. At least if this first encounter is any indication,” John mused between cramming more fries into his mouth.
“That’s a little funny, coming from you, he who told me to embrace changes just yesterday,” Jason reminded.
“Embracing change is one thing, embracing a high school girl is another. Like I said, borrowing trouble.”
“Jesus, John, I think she’s interesting. I’m not planning on running away with her. I haven’t even decided if I should follow up on her note. IF I do decided to pursue it, I’m smart enough to know better than cross certain boundaries. Jeez, what do you think of me?” Jason asked exasperated, trying not to raise his voice.
“I’m not accusing you of anything. I’m just saying that in one encounter so far, you’ve walked away with a broken nose. That might be a sign, is all,” John reasoned.
“John, that guy was going to punch me whether she was there or not. Frankly, she saved my ass and my job with her creative self-defense and her creative, um, memory,” Jason argued.
“Look, I’m not trying to tell you what to do or that it’s a mistake. I’m just trying to give you a different perspective on it and from where I’m standing, pursuing it could lead to some problems later. I just wanted you to think about that so you can decide for yourself if they’re problems you want to have,” John explained.
Jason slumped his shoulders a little. “Yeah, I know. It feels weird, y’know. We’re only a couple years out of high school ourselves, but suddenly it feels forbidden. Honestly, if she hadn’t told me she was in High School, I would’ve never guessed it by the way she dressed and carried herself. I mean, what if she’s a senior? Is that old enough to not matter?”
“What if she’s a freshman?” John hypothesized.
“Good point,” Jason sadly conceded.
John took a sip of his own can of Coke. He then popped the last bit of his burger into his mouth and chewed it thoughtfully. “Seems to me that you got some things to think about and decisions to make.”
Jason nodded and finished off his own burger. “Any new advice?”
“My advice would be to get advice from people better at giving advice,” John said with a sheepish grin.
Jason chuckled lightly and smiled. “Hey, you’re not doing too bad so far.”
“That still remains to be seen, my friend,” John said a little worriedly. The pair headed toward the door to leave.
Much later that evening, after their guests had left, Nicole found herself sitting at her desk again, the only light in the room coming from her small desk lamp. Nicole heard her twin sister moan lightly, roll over in her bed, and then return to her light snoring. Nicole smiled. Her sister had quite the day. Nicole felt this was the beginning of something big for Kirstin and couldn’t help but feel excited at her sisters’ new adventure.
Meanwhile, on the top of Nicole’s own bed, near the footboard, her new companion was curled up into a tiny ball of fur and sleeping soundly. Nicole smiled and returned her attention to the yellow legal pad laying atop her desk. On it was a checklist of items she would need to acquire for her furry friend, whom she had decided to name Neko-chan. That would mean another trip to the mall after school.
And with that thought, her attention was brought back to the other item lying on her desk, a large yellow envelope, and more importantly its contents.
Nicole set down her pencil on the legal pad and picked up the envelope. She removed the documents inside and started to examine them more closely than she had when she first acquired them.
After she finished, she set them down again. Nicole had no reason to doubt Alejandro’s word. He was quite good at this sort of thing, so if he said that this was all the information he could find, she was pretty sure it was the truth. More importantly, she trusted him enough to believe if this was all he
could find, then that was all there was to find.
No police records or juvenile delinquency records. No liens, fines, or glaring financial red flags. Barely any records at all. Just a few school transcripts, some apartment lease info, an incredibly sparse credit report, and some notes about known associates.
She looked over the transcripts for a third time. Nothing stood out there. Solid B student in high school, seemed to be picking up his game in college, but nothing shocking or unusual aside from some unrelated curiosities. Really now, who takes four years of Latin these days?
The only thing that even sparked the briefest of interest had nothing to do with the subject being researched, but rather one of his associates. One of the names listed was circled in dark red with several question marks scrawled next to it. Alejandro had a flair for the dramatic, that was sure. Whoever this “Fenny Lin” was, she, or maybe he, had piqued Alejandro’s interest, but it didn’t seem relevant to the matter at hand - at least not yet. Nicole decided to keep a mental note of it just in case it did become relevant.
Nicole sighed. When it was all said and done, what she held here was the profile of an incredibly average, some might even say boring, person. Boring and average. So not Nicole’s cup of tea. Nope.
And not very smart either. After all, who goes and picks a fight with a guy literally twice his size. Who goes around having his mouth write checks his butt couldn’t clearly cash? I mean, just cause some big guy threatens a girl, who in their right mind would leap their defense when all logic indicates a beating is forthcoming. Someone not very smart, that’s who. Not very smart at all, even if it was a little brave. Still stupid… and brave.
What was she doing? This guy was so not worth her attention. Why was she expending valuable resources like Alejandro on this average, boring, stupid, brave, handsome…
Nicole shook her head in disbelief and lightly smacked her cheeks. Handsome? Where did that come from?! Not hardly. He had ears that stuck out too far. Barely an upper lip to speak of and, from what she had seen of his teeth, the lower ones were crooked enough to put an addition on any orthodontist’s house. And what about that unkempt mess of reddish brown hair that just kept flopping in front of his glasses and his murky hazel eyes that seemed to show genuine interest in her…
She tossed the documents onto her desk in frustration, cursing her mental lapses. This was a mistake. The last thing she needed right now was to be distracted by frivolous things like infatuation. Let Kirstin explore that realm for the both of them. Hell, Sarah could join her. God and Nicole both knew that Sarah could use some frivolous romance in her life, even if Sarah couldn’t admit it.
She had more important things to focus on now. There were protégés to select, new opportunities to explore, and important data to catalogue. She should not be wasting mental energy and important resources on some… guy! Some average, boring, stupid, brave, handsome, genuine…
Nicole closed her eyes and sighed. Oh hell. She had a feeling this was not the smart thing to do. She knew that she was only going to regret this, but then again, what was one more impulse in a day full of “what’s one more impulse?”
Nicole opened her desk drawer and pulled out a manila folder. She stuffed the documents inside and with a red sharpie wrote on the front “Jason Bertovich – ‘JAY’”. Nicole stared at it for a moment and then added underneath “warrants further study”. Nicole took the folder, quietly padded to her new file cabinet, careful not to awaken the sleeping Kirstin, and slipped the folder inside. She locked the cabinet, returned the key to under the false bottom of her top desk drawer that once held her black ledger, which was also now locked securely in the cabinet, and then shut the light off. In the darkness, she slipped between her covers and closed her eyes. A moment later, she felt a furry lump curl up at her back and begin purring softly.
One more impulse… She thought and then drifted off to sleep.
“And that’s all she wrote from Three Rivers Stadium in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. The Steelers hold on to edge the still winless Colts, twenty-four to twenty-two. For ESPN’s Sunday Night Football, I’m…” Jason silenced the television with the off button on his remote.
Jason shook his head in disbelief at the sloppy football he just witnessed, and despite the positive outcome, he didn’t feel the life affirmation that a Steelers victory usually produced. He was beginning to strongly consider his earlier threat and give up sports, if only to save him this kind of tension.
At least he tried to rationalize to himself that the tension he was feeling was merely a byproduct of sub-par Steelers football and not from his encounter earlier today.
Damn John. Damn John and damn his valid points. Jason sighed and looked at the scrap of paper lying on his coffee table. Jason picked it up and studied it again:
You Owe Me One Dinner
413-555-3621
–Nicole
413-555-3621
–Nicole
What was this? Was this her asking him out? Was it literally what it said - a request to pay her back for saving him both physically and professionally? Then there was the whole matter of exactly how old was this girl? All she said was that she was a student at Springfield Central High. How old was she? Eighteen? Fourteen? Geez, he was bad enough at reading situations like this as it was without adding an age dimension to the whole thing. John was right. He was borrowing trouble if he decided to explore this further.
But maybe it was trouble worth borrowing? His own mother told him that she had first met his father when she was still in high school and he was a college student. There was a five year difference in their own ages. Were times really that different? Did he really want to emulate his parents? What if he was just the passing fancy of someone too young to know better? What if he was too young to know better?
Why was it that society wouldn’t bat an eye at a thirty year old dating a twenty-five year old, but suddenly it becomes taboo if one party crosses the wrong side of that magic line at eighteen? Why was it that suddenly judgment became better and decisions became more valid when someone reached voting age?
Frustrated, he tossed the paper scrap back on the table and turned off the lights. He flopped down on the futon he had laid out between the television stand and his coffee table. He rolled onto his back and then proceeded to stare at the ceiling in the darkness.
After doing this for fifteen minutes with sleep failing to come, he sat up and sighed. He ran his fingers through his hair, flopped back down again, rolling onto his stomach, and burying his face into his pillow. Sleep proceeded to flip a middle finger in his direction and then ran off to get a double espresso, leaving Jason to lie there pondering his lot in life.
After fourteen position changes, twelve pillow rotations, various experiments with blanket layer amounts, and two trips to the bathroom, Jason waved the little white flag and gave up trying to sleep. He got up off the floor and sat back on the sofa again, turning on the reading lamp that sat on the end table as he did so. He picked up the paper scrap again and stared at it, hoping it would magically give him some clarity.
It didn’t.
Jason was realizing that John was right about something else. He needed to get advice from people better at giving advice. He needed to ask someone who knew their way around the minefields of the heart. Someone who had heard it all, seen it all, and probably lived it all as well. Someone not afraid to give honest, if not brutal, answers.
Frankly, what he needed was divine intervention.
What he needed was a Goddess.
As luck would have it, he knew where to find a bouncy one.
But maybe it was trouble worth borrowing? His own mother told him that she had first met his father when she was still in high school and he was a college student. There was a five year difference in their own ages. Were times really that different? Did he really want to emulate his parents? What if he was just the passing fancy of someone too young to know better? What if he was too young to know better?
Why was it that society wouldn’t bat an eye at a thirty year old dating a twenty-five year old, but suddenly it becomes taboo if one party crosses the wrong side of that magic line at eighteen? Why was it that suddenly judgment became better and decisions became more valid when someone reached voting age?
Frustrated, he tossed the paper scrap back on the table and turned off the lights. He flopped down on the futon he had laid out between the television stand and his coffee table. He rolled onto his back and then proceeded to stare at the ceiling in the darkness.
After doing this for fifteen minutes with sleep failing to come, he sat up and sighed. He ran his fingers through his hair, flopped back down again, rolling onto his stomach, and burying his face into his pillow. Sleep proceeded to flip a middle finger in his direction and then ran off to get a double espresso, leaving Jason to lie there pondering his lot in life.
After fourteen position changes, twelve pillow rotations, various experiments with blanket layer amounts, and two trips to the bathroom, Jason waved the little white flag and gave up trying to sleep. He got up off the floor and sat back on the sofa again, turning on the reading lamp that sat on the end table as he did so. He picked up the paper scrap again and stared at it, hoping it would magically give him some clarity.
It didn’t.
Jason was realizing that John was right about something else. He needed to get advice from people better at giving advice. He needed to ask someone who knew their way around the minefields of the heart. Someone who had heard it all, seen it all, and probably lived it all as well. Someone not afraid to give honest, if not brutal, answers.
Frankly, what he needed was divine intervention.
What he needed was a Goddess.
As luck would have it, he knew where to find a bouncy one.
The Least the Author Could Do:
Notes from the Food Court
Notes from the Food Court
Hello again, and welcome to the second installment of the rebooted Perspectives. When I originally decided to do this reboot project, this chapter was one that I particularly wanted to redo.
I probably had a much higher opinion of this chapter when I originally conceived and created it, but as time has passed, I look back on it and cringe. It feels rushed, contrived, and very Mary Sue-ish. I think I was running on the adrenaline rush of having penned part one that I immediate rushed into part 2 before Matt even had a chance to read the first one. I probably should’ve waited and reflected on what it really meant to have these new characters in this world and what it would mean to more directly link them to the main story.
In any case, the original story was only some two thousand words. This version is about seventeen thousand. Length, however, is not the only difference. This version greatly expands original scenes, adds entirely new scenes, and most importantly adds an entirely new perspective to the series – that of Nicole’s. Nicole was always one of my favorite characters in the Boy Scouts ½ Universe, which was one reason why I wanted to use her in the Perspectives series. At the time, I felt she was being underutilized while Kirstin and Sarah were getting major spotlights.
Later stories in the main series did rectify this a lot, but one thing I really wanted to do with this remake was give her a definitive voice and a definitive spotlight to shine in. While I don’t plan to pull back the curtain completely on some of Nicole’s mysterious wheelings and dealings, I did want t give the audience a bit of a bigger peek behind said curtain when it comes to Nicole’s activities and her life in general, especially when she’s away from Kirstin and Sarah.
Keen readers who may have read Of Possible Alternatives and its rather epic author’s notes, may remember me stating regret about the age difference between the Jason and Nicole characters and if I had a chance to ret-con said age difference, I would have.
Yeah, about that… You may have noticed, I had a chance to do just that with this reboot and I ended up leaving that particular plot point unchanged. After giving it a lot of thought before finally putting pen to paper (or fingers to keyboard), I decided that ultimately, this situation provides for some very interesting potential conflicts, both internal and external. Ultimately, I decided to embrace that opportunity and thus put my energy in making it an interesting part of the story as opposed to a potentially uncomfortable one.
I’m very pleased with the opportunity to blend this story more in line with the events of Part 12 of the Main Series. That was something else I really wanted to focus more on with the reboot, especially since that was the original premise of Perspectives in the first place. Unfortunately, we’ve hit the gap in stories in the Main Series because after Part 12 the next story in the main series will not take place for some three months. So while the focus of Perspectives will mostly shift to events completely unrelated to the stories in the Main Series, I think there are still opportunities to peek in on what was happening in the Main Series in late fall of 1997.
Okay, some nuts and bolts stuff:
All the football talk is era accurate. Those with the desire to do research will see that said scores, records, and players are all appropriate to the time period and, in fact, the scores actually date the story to a specific weekend in October 1997. For the sake of preserving some mystery, I won’t state which weekend it is. This can safely be made the source of mystery and suspense as it has no impact on the story all.
Yes, in real life, John is a Bengals fan and I am a Steelers (Stillers) fan. Over the course of our fifteen year friendship, we’ve managed to goad, mock, and generally ball-bust each other mercilessly about the each other’s preferred football fandom. It felt like a fun idea to incorporate more elements of me and John’s real friendship into the lives of Character John and Jason.
Yinz, Stillers, N’at: Yep, that’s some genuine Pittsburghese/Western Pennsylvanianese right there N’at. I only tend to turn it on when I’m either A.) trying to screw with out-of-towners, B.) when I’m playing tourist out of town, or C.) for the sheer unadulterated hell of it. The only real Pittsburghese I tend to use pretty regularly is the phrase “N’at”. It’s a mangled version of “and that.” Proper usage is always at the end of a sentence or after a noun.
e.g. – Me and my friends N’at (and that) went Dahntahn (Downtown) and then to the Sahthside (Southside) but it was full of jagoffs (Jerks) N’at (and that). We should of gone to the Stillers (Steelers) game with Yinz (you) guys N’at (and that).
French Fries and Four-ways: A sandwich served “Pittsburgh-style” is with French Fries and Coleslaw on top of the other fillings but still sandwiched between the bread. The most famous of the Pittsburgh-style sandwiches are the ‘almost famous’ sandwiches served at Primanti Brothers (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Primanti_Brothers). I personally loathe coleslaw, but I do enjoy piling on the extra carbs on my sandwiches and burgers. For me a perfect burger is Provolone and sautéed mushrooms or American cheese, fries cooked in peanut oil, and Barbecue sauce.
A four-way is in reference to one of John’s favorite culinary treats, that of Skyline Chili – a Chili-centric restaurant chain based in the Cincinnati area (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Skyline_Chili). A Three-way is Spaghetti topped with Chili and Shredded Cheese. A Four-way is the same with either beans or Onions added. A Five-way has both Onions and Beans. You can also add Oyster Crackers. I’ve had it a couple times when visiting Cincinnati/Dayton. It was okay, but it didn’t particularly strike my fancy as anything fantastic. To each their own. Give me Eat ‘n Park (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Eat_%27n_Park), any day.
The Mall-Walking Dead: No doubt, there is a HMD sitting on Kenny’s shelf titled this and it no doubt features the Perspectives cast holed up inside Holyoke Mall as the hordes of the undead snack on, well, everyone else. I actually started such a story as a Perspectives Halloween tale, but other projects came up, so it ended up never being finished. It was fun to bring that idea back from the dead (pun intended.)
Of course, aside from being fun and awesome to write, said Zombie daydream sequence was another shout-out to my hometown of Pittsburgh, the self-proclaimed Zombie Capital of the World. Two of the most influential zombie films, Night of the Living Dead and Dawn of the Dead were both filmed here and we’ve had a soft place in our hearts for those shambling stiffs ever since.
Jason’s dialogue during that sequence is a rather ham-fisted (or is it just plain hammy) tribute to the Patron Saint of Retail and Violence – Bruce Campbell, most specifically his Evil Dead/Army of Darkness character, Ash Williams. Groovy.
Racial Slur Bingo: Again, I would like to take a moment to apologize to anyone who was offended by torrent of racial slurs uttered by the as of yet unnamed scraggly redneck character in this story. While, I think it served a narrative purpose, I can understand that such language is upsetting to some people for any number of reasons.
This scene is based, abet very loosely, off an encounter I once had while working retail. The slur in question was anti-Semitic in nature (which struck me as unusual at the time as I am not Jewish, though I am not sure if the person making the slur at the time was in a completely sober state of mind). In any case, it was an ugly, but thankfully short incident, in what was a rather lengthy retail experience.
Finally, once again I would like to give many, many, MANY thanks to my wonderfully honest and eagle-eyed editor, who also happens to be my wife, Sarah. Thanks also go out to Matt for giving the first draft a read through and helping me clean up some factual errors about his corner of Western Massachusetts. Really, I must come out there and experience it all for myself, if for no other reason that to attach some proper visuals to the stories in my head.
I probably had a much higher opinion of this chapter when I originally conceived and created it, but as time has passed, I look back on it and cringe. It feels rushed, contrived, and very Mary Sue-ish. I think I was running on the adrenaline rush of having penned part one that I immediate rushed into part 2 before Matt even had a chance to read the first one. I probably should’ve waited and reflected on what it really meant to have these new characters in this world and what it would mean to more directly link them to the main story.
In any case, the original story was only some two thousand words. This version is about seventeen thousand. Length, however, is not the only difference. This version greatly expands original scenes, adds entirely new scenes, and most importantly adds an entirely new perspective to the series – that of Nicole’s. Nicole was always one of my favorite characters in the Boy Scouts ½ Universe, which was one reason why I wanted to use her in the Perspectives series. At the time, I felt she was being underutilized while Kirstin and Sarah were getting major spotlights.
Later stories in the main series did rectify this a lot, but one thing I really wanted to do with this remake was give her a definitive voice and a definitive spotlight to shine in. While I don’t plan to pull back the curtain completely on some of Nicole’s mysterious wheelings and dealings, I did want t give the audience a bit of a bigger peek behind said curtain when it comes to Nicole’s activities and her life in general, especially when she’s away from Kirstin and Sarah.
Keen readers who may have read Of Possible Alternatives and its rather epic author’s notes, may remember me stating regret about the age difference between the Jason and Nicole characters and if I had a chance to ret-con said age difference, I would have.
Yeah, about that… You may have noticed, I had a chance to do just that with this reboot and I ended up leaving that particular plot point unchanged. After giving it a lot of thought before finally putting pen to paper (or fingers to keyboard), I decided that ultimately, this situation provides for some very interesting potential conflicts, both internal and external. Ultimately, I decided to embrace that opportunity and thus put my energy in making it an interesting part of the story as opposed to a potentially uncomfortable one.
I’m very pleased with the opportunity to blend this story more in line with the events of Part 12 of the Main Series. That was something else I really wanted to focus more on with the reboot, especially since that was the original premise of Perspectives in the first place. Unfortunately, we’ve hit the gap in stories in the Main Series because after Part 12 the next story in the main series will not take place for some three months. So while the focus of Perspectives will mostly shift to events completely unrelated to the stories in the Main Series, I think there are still opportunities to peek in on what was happening in the Main Series in late fall of 1997.
Okay, some nuts and bolts stuff:
All the football talk is era accurate. Those with the desire to do research will see that said scores, records, and players are all appropriate to the time period and, in fact, the scores actually date the story to a specific weekend in October 1997. For the sake of preserving some mystery, I won’t state which weekend it is. This can safely be made the source of mystery and suspense as it has no impact on the story all.
Yes, in real life, John is a Bengals fan and I am a Steelers (Stillers) fan. Over the course of our fifteen year friendship, we’ve managed to goad, mock, and generally ball-bust each other mercilessly about the each other’s preferred football fandom. It felt like a fun idea to incorporate more elements of me and John’s real friendship into the lives of Character John and Jason.
Yinz, Stillers, N’at: Yep, that’s some genuine Pittsburghese/Western Pennsylvanianese right there N’at. I only tend to turn it on when I’m either A.) trying to screw with out-of-towners, B.) when I’m playing tourist out of town, or C.) for the sheer unadulterated hell of it. The only real Pittsburghese I tend to use pretty regularly is the phrase “N’at”. It’s a mangled version of “and that.” Proper usage is always at the end of a sentence or after a noun.
e.g. – Me and my friends N’at (and that) went Dahntahn (Downtown) and then to the Sahthside (Southside) but it was full of jagoffs (Jerks) N’at (and that). We should of gone to the Stillers (Steelers) game with Yinz (you) guys N’at (and that).
French Fries and Four-ways: A sandwich served “Pittsburgh-style” is with French Fries and Coleslaw on top of the other fillings but still sandwiched between the bread. The most famous of the Pittsburgh-style sandwiches are the ‘almost famous’ sandwiches served at Primanti Brothers (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Primanti_Brothers). I personally loathe coleslaw, but I do enjoy piling on the extra carbs on my sandwiches and burgers. For me a perfect burger is Provolone and sautéed mushrooms or American cheese, fries cooked in peanut oil, and Barbecue sauce.
A four-way is in reference to one of John’s favorite culinary treats, that of Skyline Chili – a Chili-centric restaurant chain based in the Cincinnati area (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Skyline_Chili). A Three-way is Spaghetti topped with Chili and Shredded Cheese. A Four-way is the same with either beans or Onions added. A Five-way has both Onions and Beans. You can also add Oyster Crackers. I’ve had it a couple times when visiting Cincinnati/Dayton. It was okay, but it didn’t particularly strike my fancy as anything fantastic. To each their own. Give me Eat ‘n Park (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Eat_%27n_Park), any day.
The Mall-Walking Dead: No doubt, there is a HMD sitting on Kenny’s shelf titled this and it no doubt features the Perspectives cast holed up inside Holyoke Mall as the hordes of the undead snack on, well, everyone else. I actually started such a story as a Perspectives Halloween tale, but other projects came up, so it ended up never being finished. It was fun to bring that idea back from the dead (pun intended.)
Of course, aside from being fun and awesome to write, said Zombie daydream sequence was another shout-out to my hometown of Pittsburgh, the self-proclaimed Zombie Capital of the World. Two of the most influential zombie films, Night of the Living Dead and Dawn of the Dead were both filmed here and we’ve had a soft place in our hearts for those shambling stiffs ever since.
Jason’s dialogue during that sequence is a rather ham-fisted (or is it just plain hammy) tribute to the Patron Saint of Retail and Violence – Bruce Campbell, most specifically his Evil Dead/Army of Darkness character, Ash Williams. Groovy.
Racial Slur Bingo: Again, I would like to take a moment to apologize to anyone who was offended by torrent of racial slurs uttered by the as of yet unnamed scraggly redneck character in this story. While, I think it served a narrative purpose, I can understand that such language is upsetting to some people for any number of reasons.
This scene is based, abet very loosely, off an encounter I once had while working retail. The slur in question was anti-Semitic in nature (which struck me as unusual at the time as I am not Jewish, though I am not sure if the person making the slur at the time was in a completely sober state of mind). In any case, it was an ugly, but thankfully short incident, in what was a rather lengthy retail experience.
Finally, once again I would like to give many, many, MANY thanks to my wonderfully honest and eagle-eyed editor, who also happens to be my wife, Sarah. Thanks also go out to Matt for giving the first draft a read through and helping me clean up some factual errors about his corner of Western Massachusetts. Really, I must come out there and experience it all for myself, if for no other reason that to attach some proper visuals to the stories in my head.
Soundtracks from The Food Court – Vol. II:
Below is a selection of Music that was either featured in, reflects the tone of, or helped inspired several scenes in this new story.
1. “Another Day at EB” – Carnival (The Pillows)
(http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-hctUo_cGOU)
2. “I have a receipt…” – Sore Wa Himitsu Desu (Slayers Next Sound Bible II)
3. “Sunday Morning at the Porters” – Nanami (El-Hazard 2 OST)
4. “Customer Service” – You Could Be Her (Jonathan Coulton)
(http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SRaW7NGGQfs)
5. “Mall PA?” - Dream Weaver (Gary Wright)
(http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jPWNsGFXCZk)
6. “Me, Owed. You, Treat.” – I Heard Ramona Sing [Instrumental] (Frank Black)
(http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eOvLK6l4pPw)
7. “When Nicole Met Neko…” – Take Me With You When You Go (Jack White)
(http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AajLJo-XOrI)
8. “Warrants Further Study” – Fascination (La Roux)
(http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ky46lqReUzk)
9. “Cryptic Notes, Bad Football, and Other Reasons for Insomnia” - Around My Head (Cage the Elephant)
(http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y9_ltHvhW-Q)
1. “Another Day at EB” – Carnival (The Pillows)
(http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-hctUo_cGOU)
2. “I have a receipt…” – Sore Wa Himitsu Desu (Slayers Next Sound Bible II)
3. “Sunday Morning at the Porters” – Nanami (El-Hazard 2 OST)
4. “Customer Service” – You Could Be Her (Jonathan Coulton)
(http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SRaW7NGGQfs)
5. “Mall PA?” - Dream Weaver (Gary Wright)
(http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jPWNsGFXCZk)
6. “Me, Owed. You, Treat.” – I Heard Ramona Sing [Instrumental] (Frank Black)
(http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eOvLK6l4pPw)
7. “When Nicole Met Neko…” – Take Me With You When You Go (Jack White)
(http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AajLJo-XOrI)
8. “Warrants Further Study” – Fascination (La Roux)
(http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ky46lqReUzk)
9. “Cryptic Notes, Bad Football, and Other Reasons for Insomnia” - Around My Head (Cage the Elephant)
(http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y9_ltHvhW-Q)
Matt's Notes & Disclaimers
So, my turn for some notes yet again, eh? Well, first I'll get the disclaimery bits out the way. Jason did mention the homage to the Evil Dead movies. Also, while nothing quite as direct as in the last story which featured the character of Ryoga, mention has to be made of Takahashi Rumiko's Ranma ½. None of the point-of-view characters were aware of it, but there were at least two characters in this story suffering the effects of Jusenkyo curses, after all. (Well, more then two... but only two appearing in their cursed forms!)
The Boy Scouts ½ Universe makes no claim of ownership to any of the music linked to in the Youtube links above, nor are we responsible should any of the links become inactive. (However, if any of them do become inactive, and a reader knows of a link to another Youtube video presenting the same music, notification of this will allow us to update links accordingly.)
Notes!
The UPS man... I did give Jason some notes on this story, as he mentioned. But one thing I decided to leave alone was the UPS man. You see, there have been UPS men in past Boy Scouts ½ stories... And for some reason, I had always assumed it to be one magical UPS man who just went everywhere. And, in fact, the identity of this UPS man was revealed in Mark Abert's Troop 180 Chronicles as one of the other Assistant Scoutmasters of that Troop. The UPS man in this story seemed rather more unhappy in his job, and very out of line with the character from the Troop 180 Chronicles story. Well... I suppose in a realistic world, there has to be more then one UPS man. So this was a different one. All other UPS men are Steve Bilodeau... but in exchange for being so ubiquitous all other times, he always gets his Sundays off!
Custer's Revenge? Really? Really, Jason?
Frommers: to save people the trouble of Googling it (like I had to) they seem to be a series of travel guides or something.
Now for a more touchy (and serious) note... Yeah... Jason was right to put that advisory at the beginning of the story. And heck, I even expanded upon it a bit. Wow... Not that that particular character was a perfect gentleman in the original version of Perspectives... but, wow. I have to admit that my first instinct was to reject that and ask Jason to give me a softer version of that scene! But... well... I just hope readers understand context, and that such language was in this story for a reason. And that none of the "good" characters, or the real Jason (or the real me, for that matter) would ever use such words, ourselves. (Well, I suppose one could argue that real Jason just did, in the writing of this story... Shut up! And remember that "context" thing I mentioned!)
Man, this Perspectives reboot... On the website's blog, I recently referred to Jason as a magnificently verbose bastard. Given the degree to which he is expanding upon his works, I worry what he has planned for Perspectives V! We may need to construct a second internet with which to hold it.
I feel like I should have more words of wisdom here... But it is late! (Or rather, very early.) I tire, and wish to sleep. So until next time!
The Boy Scouts ½ Universe makes no claim of ownership to any of the music linked to in the Youtube links above, nor are we responsible should any of the links become inactive. (However, if any of them do become inactive, and a reader knows of a link to another Youtube video presenting the same music, notification of this will allow us to update links accordingly.)
Notes!
The UPS man... I did give Jason some notes on this story, as he mentioned. But one thing I decided to leave alone was the UPS man. You see, there have been UPS men in past Boy Scouts ½ stories... And for some reason, I had always assumed it to be one magical UPS man who just went everywhere. And, in fact, the identity of this UPS man was revealed in Mark Abert's Troop 180 Chronicles as one of the other Assistant Scoutmasters of that Troop. The UPS man in this story seemed rather more unhappy in his job, and very out of line with the character from the Troop 180 Chronicles story. Well... I suppose in a realistic world, there has to be more then one UPS man. So this was a different one. All other UPS men are Steve Bilodeau... but in exchange for being so ubiquitous all other times, he always gets his Sundays off!
Custer's Revenge? Really? Really, Jason?
Frommers: to save people the trouble of Googling it (like I had to) they seem to be a series of travel guides or something.
Now for a more touchy (and serious) note... Yeah... Jason was right to put that advisory at the beginning of the story. And heck, I even expanded upon it a bit. Wow... Not that that particular character was a perfect gentleman in the original version of Perspectives... but, wow. I have to admit that my first instinct was to reject that and ask Jason to give me a softer version of that scene! But... well... I just hope readers understand context, and that such language was in this story for a reason. And that none of the "good" characters, or the real Jason (or the real me, for that matter) would ever use such words, ourselves. (Well, I suppose one could argue that real Jason just did, in the writing of this story... Shut up! And remember that "context" thing I mentioned!)
Man, this Perspectives reboot... On the website's blog, I recently referred to Jason as a magnificently verbose bastard. Given the degree to which he is expanding upon his works, I worry what he has planned for Perspectives V! We may need to construct a second internet with which to hold it.
I feel like I should have more words of wisdom here... But it is late! (Or rather, very early.) I tire, and wish to sleep. So until next time!