Intercepted Wishes
Mike Sutton
Copyright 2012 Mike Sutton
ISBN 9781311517579
*****
Also by the author
Intercepted Wishes
The square was empty, as most sane people were home enjoying their air-conditioning. The sun was beginning to set, a welcome relief baking the city. Brian made the most of the quiet by dipping his aching tootsies into the bath-like water of the fountain's pool. Three weeks of triple-digit temperatures, not counting the heat index - what-ever the "heat-index" meant. The people who kept track of those things claimed it was a record. So what? All it really meant was, three full weeks of unbearable heat.
All that on top of five weeks spent working the fryer. Five weeks worth of punishment for getting caught necking in the freezer with Emily Jenkins, the boss' niece. Emily, though the cutest girl on his shift, wasn't worth a torturous five weeks of sweating over boiling oil as he performed the ritual of the flaming hot potato sticks. She wasn't worth that. And she definitely wasn't worth the dose of mono that he took home and raised up as his very own. Mom always said that that was what happened when you made out with a public toilet. She actually meant toilet with her little saying too.
Mom was a bit off.
Brian waded into the fountain in the middle of the square, one of the few pleasures he still had in his life, and a simple one at that. He liked running his toes over the small square tiles that formed a picture of a naked fish-lady. A mermaid, he thought it was called. She had some nice cans, even if she was was being a total tease and wrapping those tatas up in her arm. What she didn't have was a vajay. The Vajay was a important part on a lady. Maybe the most important. Definitely the most important. This was the closest he had gotten to a girl since Emily Jenkins, and who knew what he was going to catch from her.
The clear water seemed to have been drawn for a bath, but it felt cooler than the air, and that was a relief. If only he hadn't been wearing his uniform, he would have dropped in. But he needed his uniform clean and dry for his shift tomorrow. Clean, dry and smelling of vegetable oil. Brian could never quite get away from that smell, no matter how he scrubbed himself. When he sneezed, oil exploded from his nose.
There had to be an easier way to get along in life.
Brian made the most of the quiet and solitude. Before he scurried back to his rat-hole and went to sleep, where he would dream about alarms and orders coming over the loud-speaker until the sun came up and he rode the bus back to work, where he lived out his nightmares in excruciating detail. Brian kicked the water, trying to vent some of his frustration.
Beneath the ripples that formed around his ankles, shone the glitter of gold. Well, not gold. But coin still. Pennies, Nickels, Dimes and Quarters littered the basin. The floor of the fountain sparkled with the scattered castings of Yellowbeard's lost treasure fleet. Not money anymore though, but other people's wishes, where they had thrown their money chasing an impossible dream.
What was the point of the wishing well? A donation to luck and fate? A bribe to the Gods that drive the universe? Does it really matter how much you toss? Will a quarter buy you any more than a penny? Or is it the act of sacrifice that really counts?
Brian dipped in his hand and came away with a dull penny. 1977, the date read. How long had it bee sitting down there waiting for someone to pick it up? Brian looked over his shoulder and scanned the square. Still empty. He scooped up more coins and stuffed them into a fold in his shirt.
The wishes were his now.
Brian giggled as he skipped across the rest of the square, and laughed the last mile back to his building. Brian dumped his treasure on his cluttered counter and giggled again. Shower first, and when he sluiced and scraped away the day's triple layer sandwich of grease, sweat and smoke, he would then be able to examine his loot!
He was excited to count out the donations that the suckers had given him. $7.26. Twenty-one pennies. Twenty-two nickels. Thirty-two dimes. And seven quarters. That was more than he made in an hour of working for Ron! Brian laughed out loud! What to do with it? $7.26 wasn't a lot of money, not by a long shot. He might be able to get drunk on a pint of rotgut, but that seemed to be a wasteful way to invest his windfall.
He sorted the take into separate stack, pennies, nickels and so forth. Then he arranged them by date. What to do with this small fortune? In the end, he went with getting drunk using the most expensive bottle of wine that $7.26 would fetch at Fred's bottle emporium down on the corner. Get drunk, then call in sick and revel in his $7.26 hangover! A masterful plan!
And so it went. Brian got wild and out of control, things broke and he awoke curled up in a ball under the kitchen sink. He crawled out onto the kitchen floor. His hangover... Brian reached for his head as he stood up, bracing against the first blast of nausea. Something was wrong. His head was clear as ever. No pulsating headache. His stomach was sedate. It even growled, demanding his immediate attention. Feed me.
What the hell? That much wine should have laid him low for the rest of the morning and then well into the afternoon. Wine always left him hung over – even a single glass – always! He couldn't even call in sick! Boss Jenkins would know in a heartbeat that he was lying and that would mean getting stuck cleaning out the dumpster too. All that left was getting dressed after breakfast and hopping the bus back to work.
The weather was perfect! Sunny, the sky was clear blue and cloudless, with a slight breeze to keep you from getting too warm. Just the right weather to hit the beach. The heatwave must have broken at last, and Brian was going to spend the day indoors. What great luck.
"Brian, come into my office please!" Boss Jenkins said as Brian punched in. Brian froze in place and began to sweat. That pattern of words, coming from those lips, was never a good combination. Brian did as he was told, and sat down in the chair in front of his boss' desk.
"Yes sir?" He asked, wondering what he had been caught doing this time. He ran through the last couple weeks and came up empty. OK, so he didn't empty the fryer last night, but it wasn't his turn and he was tired after 16 hours on the job. And there was that customer he had flipped off, the old lady, but she hadn't been looking and he had thought that he hadn't gotten caught by the camera. Had he?
"Ah good. I've wanted to talk to you. Do you like working here?" Oh, a trick question. Nobody liked working there. The job, hours and pay all sucked. The work was repetitive and there was almost no room for advancement. Even after five years of relatively loyal service, his pay was capped. But a job was a job.
"Yes sir. Most of the time, it's fine."
"Good, good to hear. About why I called you in here. We'd like to train you as assistant manager. We like your stuff, and think you would be good in the roll." Brian almost swallowed his tongue. Old man Jenkins stared at him as if they had never met. "Well, are you interested?"
"Um, yes sir. What would I need to do?"
"You? Nothing. Just sign these forms, we've already filled out the paperwork. As of today you'll be making $10.00 an hour. In six months of hard work, if you pass the tests, you'll be making $12. Welcome to the big time!" Boss Jenkins offered his hand, and Brian shook it. He felt dizzy and his heart was racing. "Anyhow, we'll get you off the fry station and out front at the registers." With the Manager's manual in hand, Brian went to his new post.
Working the registers was a vast improvement over the fryer. Sure, you had to deal with the customers up front, but that was easy enough. And the machines did everything for you. All you needed to do was select the pictures of what the customer wanted, enter in the money they gave you and bling! The register kicked out their change. Hell
, you didn't even have to talk to the prep-crew. The machine did all that for you too.
All you had to do was remember to smile and welcome each customer.
"You're cute!" A pretty young woman said as she sidled up the the counter. She was smiling broadly and admiring him openly, looking him up and down. Fiona snickered. She was one to laugh, she had the all the grace of a drunken warthog. he had even told her so when she dumped him. Jealousy there.
"Tttthanks!" Brian said. "What'll you have."
"Two number fives. A seven. And an extra order of fries." He rung her order up and gave her the total. "Oh, and I forgot one thing!" Brian shrugged. She was pretty, she could afford to be a little flaky.
"What else can I help you with?" He asked in his most customer-friendly and ingratiating voice.
She smiled at him. A devilishly coy smile. "Your phone number." Fiona sputtered. Brian grinned at her.
"Sure thing!" He said as he transcribed his numbers onto her receipt. "Will that be all."
"All for now!" The girl said, with one last grin as she walked away with her order. He hadn't even thought of asking her for her name. Well, he would find that out soon enough he supposed. Assuming that this wasn't a joke. No, he was on a roll today!
God, what a strange day. Good. But strange.
After his third and final stop he came across a man on the street who was standing next to a box full of little puppy dogs. "Here, take this!" The man said, handing Brian a puppy from the box. No questions asked, the man just dropped the dog in his hand. He felt a little indignant, the man should have asked first. He was about to refuse, his apartment was too small and pets were forbidden. But Brian remembered that he had always wanted a dog. Brian tucked the squirmy little animal under his arm and he smiled. The puppy was just so cute. Why not? He was a manager now! Maybe he should start looking for a new apartment! Something in a building that wasn't at the corner of Crack and Hooker. A place where the windows weren't nailed shut and covered with bars.
Brian could hear the phone ringing from the stairs. Shitty, thin walls. He moved the new apartment further up his list. It was still ringing when he opened the door and set the puppy on the floor. He picked up the hand-set and said hello. His mother's voice came over the phone. "Good news baby! Your grandmother doesn't have cancer!"
"Mom? Is that you?" It sounded like his mother, but Nanna had died of a heart attack after he dropped out of high school. His mother laid his Nanna's death at his feet. Her only grandchild, a failure in life!
"Yeah! It's me baby! Isn't that wonderful?"
"Momma, Nanna is dead. She's been dead for seven years. Of course she doesn't have cancer. Are you OK mom?"
"Of course I'm OK baby! Nanna doesn't have Cancer! Didn't you hear me?"
"I heard you. That's good news?"
"Of course it's good news you silly boy! I only heard today. I wanted to tell you as soon as I knew, but you weren't home! And you hate it when I call you at work! I just wanted to let you know! Love you baby! Good bye!" She hung up the phone and left him standing there in stunned silence.
With nothing else to do, Brian sat down and played with his new puppy.
The phone rang again. Brian looked at it. Maybe it was his mother again with more of the crazy. Or maybe it was the pretty girl from earlier on. He smiled and picked up the handset. “Hello?” It wasn't his mother, or the pretty girl. It was Emily.
“They shot uncle Rick!” She said with a sob.
“They? Who? What?”
“Uncle Rick, he was at the counter and somebody just walked up, pulled out a gun and shot him seven times. He's dead!” Boss Jenkins was dead. Shot clean dead. Brian felt like he had been kicked in the stomach. He had never liked Boss Jenkins before today, but he had never wanted him dead. Maybe the unwilling host of a nasty fungal skin infection, but not dead. Emily was crying on the other end. Brian said nothing. What could he say?
What the hell was going on? Really. What the hell? His thoughts were interrupted by a loud knock at the door. The knock came again. His door, he was sure of it. Sometimes it was hard to tell here.
Three big, burly, hairy, men were standing in the shadowy hallway. They all looked like they were cosplaying as the Biker from the Village People, creepy Pedo-stache and all. The man in front was sucking on a thick cigar and blowing puffs of smoke into Brian's face. His spiked cod-piece was thrust out as far as it would go. The black cloud of a Carolina-rolled stogie poured though the now open doorway. He blew Brian a kiss.
"What do you want?" Brian asked as he waved away the smoke with a cough. This wasn't going to help his asthma!
The big man smiled and took a step forward. "We're here because we heard that you were all about having a good time." Cigar said with a wink, as he pushed his way through the door and grabbed Brian's chin. "Come on boys, turn the music on and let's have some fun!" The door closed behind them. Brian was tied and gagged before he could scream.
One night that he would never-ever-ever-ever forget, no matter how he tried, and a further three days later before he stopped walking funny and Brian was back at work. Bewildered and ashamed and very sore. Eighty-one coins spent. It was too late to take any of them back.