A Hole in the Universe - Mary McGarry Morris [37]
“Well, anyway.” Gordon stood by the door. “I’ve got to go work now.”
“My friend works here. Thurman Dominguez. He hates it, but his grandmother, she said if he quits, that’s it, he’s out. And nobody else wants him.”
“That’s too bad. He’s so young.” Gordon wasn’t surprised. The boy smoldered with anger.
“Not that young. Sixteen, I think. ’Least that’s what he says. His mother moved to New York just to get away from him. Nice mother, huh?”
“I better go in.” He started to open the door.
“That old bitch still work here?”
“Which one?”
“The one with the things.” She poked two fingers into her nostrils. “The tubes.”
“Yes, June. She’s still here.”
“Fucking bitch. She, like, kicked me out for life.” Jada shaded her eyes to peer through the glass. “I don’t see her.”
“She’s probably out back. Well, I better get inside and get started.”
“Hey!” she called before he could leave. “Do me a favor, will ya?”
“What?”
“Will you let me know when the bitch dies? Because of her I gotta go all the way down the Shop and Save every time I need friggin’ milk or something.”
“Well, just tell me, then. I can get it for you. I live right across the street.”
“Yeah, I know.” Her ropy mouth quivered with a faint smile. “You know JumJum?”
“No. I don’t.”
“He’s there, too.” She grinned. “At the Fort. You probably heard of him, though, huh?”
“Yes, I did hear that name,” he said stiffly. “Just the other day, as a matter of fact.” He looked at his watch. “You better get going or you’re going to be late.”
“What’d you hear about him?” She watched him closely.
“Well, what you just said. That he was there.”
“He offed somebody, too.” She looked around and leaned closer. “He blew this guy’s brains out all over his girlfriend’s brand-new Celica. But that’s not why. He’s there for something else. Dealing, but that’s not the real reason.”
“I better go.”
“Yeah, well, see ya.” She held out her hand and shook his, her grip hard as a man’s.
“You better check your pockets, see what’s missing,” Serena called when he came inside.
“What do you mean?”
“You know who she is, don’t you?”
“She’s my neighbor. She lives across the street.”
“The Fossums aren’t neighbors!” Serena scoffed. “They don’t move in or anything. They, like, infest the place and then you can’t get rid of ’em.”
Gordon had never worked so hard as in these last few days. According to the women, each new bout of sobriety forced Neil Dubbin to even higher, steeper peaks of ambition, so vast was his trail of broken promises. His pledge to turn the Market into a first-rate business had few believers in his family, but at least his creditors were extending him three more months of their patience. To Gordon had fallen the verminous task of tearing out the rotting cabinets to make way for new storage. Neil tried to help in between the violent headaches that drove him, nauseated and squinting, to his sour room, where darkness was his only antidote, other than alcohol. He had just reemerged and now sat on an overturned crate, shoulders hunched, wincing with every hammer strike. Again, Gordon offered to stop.
“No, keep going. Please. I need you to do this. It’s too important,” he insisted. Neil’s surest skill was entrusting others with his well-being. He needed not just their help, but their loyalty and affection in a way that validated their self-importance. And maybe he genuinely did; Gordon couldn’t be sure, not when his own natural distrust of people blotted out such nuances. He had known other men like Neil, irresistibly bitter men whose sins seem more affliction than failings. Even Neil’s eager fascination with other people’s pain made