Face motioned for her to calm down. “One little dance, ma’am. That’s all we want.”
The bikers started to clap out a tempo. The short trucker danced.
After watching him for a few seconds, the bikers stopped clapping. The short trucker stopped dancing.
“Dude, you are one bad dancer,” said Face. He stepped aside. The short trucker exited. Sitting, he motioned for three beers.
“That was mean, guys,” Jenny said. “If you want to play mean, find some other restaurant.”
“We were only funnin’,” said Herron.
Jenny brought the beers. A moment later, Gardner, one of the regular drivers, walked in and started for the counter. In the booth, the bikers were amusing themselves. Gardner, big enough to make the comment, said, “You three are having fun, aren’t you?”
“You missed some,” said Face. “We had a dude just left gave us a concert. Didn’t sing bad. Couldn’t dance though. He was the worst dancer I ever saw.”
“He was a bad driver too,” said Gardner. “When he took off, he backed clear over your three bikes. Flat, you never saw flat.”
A Salesman’s Tale
by David Dean
A harrowing story of phantoms — and revenge...
They’re back. The woman and the girl. I keep pretending I haven’t noticed them, but I have. I certainly have.
They don’t seem to be looking for me, though I must be the reason they’ve returned. Why else do the dead come back but to haunt their killers?
So far, they appear dazed and lethargic. They just sit very still, facing the altar, as if gathering strength. They remind me of moths that have just crawled from their cocoons, weak and quivering, not quite recognizable until they’ve dried and spread their wings. Maybe that’s how they’ve gotten so close without me noticing, and more importantly, remembering. They’ve been taking shape and mass for so long that it’s been almost imperceptible.
To think that it was only a few weeks ago that I first noticed the woman at all! Even then I didn’t recognize her. She crept in unannounced.
Now, I can hardly keep my eyes off them. Each Sunday, as Barb and the kids and I enter the church, I look for them. They’re never there when we arrive. I always spot them later, already sitting amongst the other parishioners, as if they’d never left the church. I never see them enter. That wouldn’t be their way. This is far more unnerving. The woman knows I have to show up each Sunday. What excuse would I give Barb or the Monsignor? After all, I’m a family man. I’m not about to let the two of them disrupt my life just by occupying a pew! They tried once before and look where it got them!
I admit, I’m a little curious, too.
She was always demanding... in more ways than one, if you know what I mean. She wanted me to be part of her, and the girl’s, life. And I was... for a while. I was still in the sales department and spent a lot of time on the road and away from home. Naturally, I was not averse to a little feminine companionship. In fact, the city she lived in was one that my company did a lot of business in, so it was convenient. For both of us.
She was one of those recently divorced young mothers whose husband’s whereabouts are unknown. No child support, no family, no skills, and no future. I was a godsend. She was appreciative. The girl was quiet. I never made any promises!
I did not, however, tell her that I had a wife and kids two states away. She didn’t even know my real name. Each time I’d roll into town I’d make sure I tossed my wallet and wedding ring into my briefcase, which I’d leave in the car. I knew I was being eyed for promotion and I couldn’t afford a scandal. I had my sights on the main office.
I always made a point of showing up after dark and leaving before light. The neighbors never really saw me or my car. It was a different company car each week, in any case.
Everything was just fine. I liked the woman. The woman was crazy about me. The little girl was a problem. She was too quiet. She reminded me of her father, whom I never met. I seemed to find her around every corner. Never smiling, never speaking. She watched me a lot. I knew she didn’t like me. I even mentioned it to her mother a few times. She would always find a way to take my mind off the girl though, at least for a while. I took to thumping her when her mother wasn’t around. Not hard, just enough to make her stay clear. I knew the woman would find out, but what could she do?
Then I got the promotion. I would not be returning to that town on any regular basis. I decided to tell them. Why? I’m not sure. If I had just walked out, like any other time, and not come back, that would have been the end of it. They could never have traced me. They didn’t even know my name. The woman believed I worked for my company’s biggest rival! That was one of my little jokes.
Maybe I wanted to see how much I meant to the woman. A few tears shed on my behalf seemed appropriate. I also wanted a shot at the little girl. I had decided to make her the reason for my leaving. Something for her mother to mull over in my absence. It would have made for a neat wrap-up except for one thing. My timing was bad.
Instead of waiting till the next morning, when I was preparing to leave, to break the news, I told them the night before. I had looked forward to an evening of tearful pleas and enticing promises and that’s exactly what I got. I fell asleep, with a good meal in my belly, to the pleasing sounds of the woman lashing out at the daughter.
When I woke the next morning I found mother and daughter waiting for me at the kitchen table. They had my briefcase open and my driver’s license and company cards spread out before them. They sat side by side and looked at me. They had closed ranks. I knew this was the girl’s doing. She had been suspicious of me all along and after last night had decided to do something about it.
They both sat there without saying a word. They looked pale and dark around the eyes. They looked as if they had sat there all night waiting for me. Just like they do in church now. They never looked more like mother and daughter. I was afraid. They had power over me.
Looking into their eyes, I only took a moment to decide. Along with my papers and ID, they had brought in my samples. My samples are surgical instruments and a neatly wrapped package of them lay right inside the briefcase. I reached in, unwrapped them, and went to work.
That was many long years ago and I haven’t given it much thought since. They were dead. Now they’re back. But they’re weak. Just like before. Laughably weak. I’m not easily frightened.
The woman and child are sitting four rows directly in front of my family and me when suddenly the priest raises his voice and points at them. I don’t know what he’s saying as I’m a little distracted, understandably. I glance up just in time to see him single them out as if they’re an example or proof of his sermon. A number of people in the congregation turn to look at them. I’m not sure, but I think one or two glance in my direction also.
As if animated by the priest’s gesture, the woman begins to slowly, almost mechanically turn her head to the left. I know instantly that she is scanning the church for me. The effort seems to cost her dearly. Her skin is pale and has a sickly, feverish glow. Her head stops turning just short of looking over her shoulder. She gazes for a few moments into the pews on her left. Then, without turning her head or body any further, her eyes, or should I say eye, as I can only see the one, begins to shift further yet to the left. It reminds me of an animal that is too sick or wounded to move, trying to see its executioner walking up behind it. The eye travels with painstaking slowness to the outer corner of the socket and stops, straining. On her full lips is just the slightest smile. I shift a few inches to my right, nudging Austin over. He kicks me. At this moment I’m glad to be behind her.