“You’ll drive people away with your new hours,” a regular says waiting at the door for me and I say “Nothing I could do. When a friend’s sick you got to see him,” and give him a free beer for his wait, for a few minutes think about what I think I’m about to do, call the soda distributor and say “Okay, no more lies. Tell me straight off whether you were told by Stovin’s not to help me in any way,” and he says “Where’d you get that? No.” And I say “Come on, George, straight off, no lying, yes or no?” and he says “Didn’t I just say it? No.” And I say “George, goddammit, straight off, no more lies, don’t be afraid I’ll tell anyone for I won’t, so yes or no, yes or no?” and he says “Okay. Yes, yes you’re not going to get a soda gun from my cousin or anyone in town, new or used, or anything to help you from anyone in the state from now on from what I can tell. So you better just give up on your place, sell the bar if you’re smart while you can still sell it, because you should’ve listened when you should’ve listened to them months ago. But no, you had to go make a perfect fool of yourself and risk the businesses of everyone who dealt with you and maybe your life, so goodbye already, will you? Goodbye and goodbye,” and hangs up.
I call a couple of bar supply places and give my name and the bar’s and say I want to order two soda guns. Both men I speak to say something like “We’re out of stock. It might take a week, might take a month, but when we get them in I’ll phone you.”
I ask the regular at the bar to call “for an unopened bottle of vodka or your choice, this bar supply place and say you’re Carl Frost of the Morning Dawn Pub — no, he’ll look it up and see there’s no bar name like that and know it’s a phony call.”
“I don’t want to make any phony call. I only want to drink and avoid walking down sewer holes.”
“For two bottles then. Here’s the number and this time say you’re Ivan Satty of the Hospital Balloon — that’s a real place and I know has no soda guns because I was just there today — and that you want two soda guns installed and all the service that goes with it.”
He calls and the man he speaks to takes down the Balloon’s address and says a salesman will be over by the end of the day to show him the different types of guns he can buy.
I get two bags of garbage from the basement, give the regular his two bottles and tell him to leave, lock up, cab to Stovin’s with the bags and walk past two men scrubbing and hosing down a Stovin’s garbage truck in the street and go in the building’s front door and put the bags on the floor next to the receptionist at the desk who’s the only person here and say “Jennifer if I can remember, yes? Or maybe she’s at lunch or quit.”
“What is it?”
“Then it is Jennifer?”
“Was when I arrived here. Who are you and what are these?” pointing to the bags. “Not that I can’t tell by the smell. Phoo. Worked here long enough to know that those two are days old, three at the least, so even if you’re a best friend of my boss and this is a private joke between you, march those things to the street. We’ll get infested here and I’ll get diseased.”
“I’m Shaney Fleet.”
“Glad to meet you, sweetie, but what’s your name supposed to mean to me?”
“You don’t remember our phonecalls a while ago? The great Shaney Fleet, the one who’s all the problems?”
“Oh you, excuse me,” and lifts the phone receiver, puts it back and says “What if I mentioned for your own benefit to also march right out of here? And you seem like a nice guy, so I’ll take care of your bags, no charge.”
“Tell Mr. Stovin senior I want to see him about these bags. They’re a present from me.”
“I know. You’re going to throw them around, smear up the walls, make a big scene. But no matter how much you’re hoping for it, you won’t be beaten up and tossed out for doing what you intend to, just collared by the police. So go, don’t make for yourself more trouble and also frighten my wits. You brought your bags in, I’ll give you a receipt for them if you want, but this is it for the day, okay?”
About twenty feet to the rear’s a glass-enclosed office with no one inside it before but now a big man walking back and forth, smoking a cigar, in a fancy dark suit, motioning hard to someone or people I can’t see to the right of the glass.
“That Stovin senior?”
She turns around, looks at the office, back at me. “Just tell me if you have a bomb or gun. You do, warn me so I can get up if you let me and walk out of here to faint. Because I promised my momma never to hang around when—”
“I don’t have weapons.”
“Didn’t think so, you don’t look the type. No, that’s not Stovin — Mr. senior or junior boy. Now scoot on out of here before whoever that is notices you.”
“Where’s senior then?”
“Not in today.”
“Who’s that then? The office door”—I stare at it—“says Mike Stovin senior.”
“Don’t make me press the buzzer. I have one under my foot. I press it three quick taps and the police will come in a flash. We’ve had trouble with disgruntled customers, which is why we have this summoning device. Hey! — ” because I moved her foot.
“You’ve no buzzer.” Man’s still motioning his hand to someone I can’t see. Maybe there’s a mirror there he’s for some reason practicing in front of. A speech or I don’t know what. He puffs on his cigar, takes it out and looks for a place to drop the ash, facing me for the first time. Looks like Stovin would look. Little bush mustache, big aviator glasses, tall and powerful as if he hauled garbage cans for years before he got smart to start his own firm and doing the things he does to make a mint and along with it, because he wasn’t working so hard anymore, gaining thirty to forty pounds. He sees me, drops the ash in an ashtray, fingers something on his desk and his voice comes over a speaker I can’t see but is somewhere near us.
“Who’s with you, Jenny?”
She shoves a pile of papers aside on her desk and says into the speaker that was underneath “He was just leaving, sir. Deliveryman got the wrong address.”
“Mr. Stovin? “I yell before she takes her hand off the switch.
He was already bent back up and about to motion to the person or mirror or people I can’t see when he leans over the desk and touches the switch and says “I’m not either of the Stovins, but what is it?”
“I’m Shaney Fleet, Mr. Stovin.”
“Who’s Shaney Fleet and stop addressing me as Mr. Stovin. Neither father or son would appreciate it.”
“You know who I am and who you are too. I brought a present for you. Garbage bags, mine, something you always wanted from me or used to, as I thought you’d like to see what goodies you missed.”
“We’ve plenty, so don’t need more presents of them, thanks. And whatever your purpose is here, even if I can tell it’s for mischief, would you please leave immediately or must I have Jenny phone the police?”
I grab a bag and run up to his office. He backs back scared. Two men appear behind the glass and a woman. Woman covers her face as if the garbage is coming through the glass at her. I throw it, bag breaks and garbage spatters over the glass, something hard in the bag cracks it and things run down the glass too. Liquid, ketchup, hamburger someone only half ate, and floor’s a mess.