A Hole in the Universe - Mary McGarry Morris [7]
Faded paint was peeling off the Nash Street Market sign. Warped green roof trim arched over the plate glass like an enormous eyebrow. A web of duct tape patched the shattered lower half of the exit door. Gordon pushed the door open, relieved it wasn’t automatic. He always had the feeling he had to hurry through before they swung back and hit him.
The old smell of damp fruity dust seemed to grow right over him. He paused by the rusted office grate. One thing was different: the quiet, the strange emptiness for midmorning. No cashiers at the registers. Maybe it hadn’t opened yet. He froze; only his eyes moved. What if something had just happened, and here he was, a week out of Fortley, first on the scene? Who would ever believe him? He started for the door when he saw a tall man with long curly hair stacking pasta boxes at the end of an aisle.
“Excuse me!” Gordon called with a weak wave. The man didn’t look up. Remembering Miss Jamison’s startled reaction, Gordon jammed both hands into his pockets and cleared his throat. “Umm, I don’t mean to bother you, but is the store closed?”
The man looked back and snorted. “Well, whaddaya think, you’re in here, aren’t ya?”
“Well, I know, but I didn’t see anyone, so I thought maybe I was too early or something.”
The man edged back with Gordon’s approach.
“I mean, it just seems to be the two of us. And . . .” He took a deep breath. Sweat seeped into his eyes, making him blink.
“And what?” The man glanced past him.
“Well, I . . . could I . . . ,” he stammered. “I . . . I need to . . . well, you see, I came in to . . . Are you the manager?”
“Christ! Another fucking holdup?” the man said, shaking his head. “Look, you don’t need the manager. The safe’s empty! They don’t even bother anymore. They just put enough in the registers to get started.” He pointed toward the office. “The register keys’re—”
“No!” Gordon shouted. “This isn’t a holdup! I’m not going to rob you! I just . . .” He started to take his hands out of his pockets, then stopped with the shock on the man’s face. They’d been robbed before; the man might be armed. Gordon stared and kept talking. Knowing what to do in a precarious moment was second nature now. “I just want a job. I saw the sign. That’s why I came in. That’s why I’m here.” He tried to smile. His eyes stung from the sweat.
“And that gun in there don’t mean nothing, right?”
“No! No gun!” Gordon raised his arms. “See! Just hands, that’s all.”
Eddie Chapman explained that he was the owner’s brother-in-law, as they walked to the rear of the store, past the meat counter into a sour-smelling storage area. One cashier was out sick, and the other was in the bathroom. He’d come in to help. “My wife’s brother,” he said with a rap on a black door. He shook his head, sighed, rapped again. “Neil! Hey, Neilie, you up?” he called, ear at the jamb. He lowered his voice. “His wife, she’s giving him one more shot at it. A week, she said, and then that’s it. Jesus Christ,” he muttered, and hit the door harder. “Neilie!”
“What? What?” a thick voice growled.
Eddie opened the door an inch wide. “There’s a guy here,” he called in. “He wants the job.”
“Later.” A moan. “Yeah. Later.”
“He’s big, Neil. Really big.”
“Oh, oh, oh,” came a groan as the man on the narrow cot struggled to get up. “But no lights. Jesus Christ!” He shielded his eyes from the opening door. “What’s his name?”
“What’s your name?” Eddie asked, then repeated it back.
“Loomis,” the man echoed from the murky darkness. “Loomis,” he grunted, straining to raise himself