A Hole in the Universe - Mary McGarry Morris [72]
“Gordon, it’s not safe. You can’t keep working there. That’s it. I’m going to call my father and—”
“No, Lisa. I’m fine, really. I don’t want you to do that.”
At work he would look up to find the women staring. With his approach they would look the other way, pretending to be busy. Leo had stopped talking to him altogether. Now when his teenage daughters came into the store, Leo hustled them into the back room away from Gordon.
Neil was disgusted. “What do you think you’re here for? Cuz you’re a good bagger? Cuz I want the fucking floor there fixed? No!”
For one reason and one reason only—to prevent exactly what had just happened. But where the hell had he been at the moment of crisis, of conjunction, when once again the planets lined up in the inexorable constellation of bad breaks and failure under which Neil was doomed to live out his life? What the hell had he been doing rounding up carts when that was Thurman’s job?
“I’m sorry.”
“Sorry’s not gonna cut it. Not when I’m out three thousand dollars.”
Three hundred, Gordon knew but didn’t say anything. The police weren’t around the corner before Neil was running new tapes through the registers for his insurance company.
“Tell me something,” Neil said, following him out to the loading dock the next day. He was unshaven and his clothes were wrinkled. “You must have connections, right? I mean, you know, people that know people, well . . .” He lowered his voice. “Like for instance, people that are good with . . . fires.”
“No, I don’t.” He just stood there, holding on to the empty crates.
A look of disgust came over Neil’s face. “I don’t get it. You’re supposed to be inside, but no matter what June says you gotta get outside. You have to, you want to because you love the fucking pouring rain so much. Then what do you do, you take off, you go for a walk. But meanwhile there’s a fucking holdup going on. You come back, but what, just a little too early, though, right, so you take off again. And now I’m supposed to go, ‘Oh, what a fucking coincidence’?”
“It was. But if you want to fire me, that’s all right, I understand.”
“Get outta my fucking way!” Neil gave him a shove and pushed past him, then paused as if to accommodate the expected or desired attack.
The next morning Neil was about an hour late opening the store. His hands shook and everything had to be repeated before he seemed to understand. Later that afternoon there was a commotion by the register. Serena shouted for help.
Thurman had Cootie pinned up against the wall.
“Those’re mine! I swear to God, those’re mine!” the old man insisted as Thurman fished packs of cigarettes out of his pockets. He pulled three more packs from the lining of the ragged jacket. Eleven in all.
“That’s it.” June picked up the phone.
“No! No, please don’t! Don’t let her. Please, Neil! Please!” Cootie begged. “I’ll work, I’ll pick up all the papers out there. And the cans, they’ll all be yours. You let me before, Neil. And I did a good job. You know I did,” the old man bawled. “Please, Neil, please!”
“Why? Why the hell should I?” Neil sounded as desperate as the old man.
“My dog. My poor little dog.” Cootie pointed to the animal tied to the parking meter. Briars studded his matted fur. “They’ll put him to sleep. They told me last time, they said they would. Please, Neil, please. I’ll do anything.”
Neil took him outside, then stood close by, talking, while Cootie untied the dog. The bedraggled creature rose on his shaky legs, then limped down the street next to his master, who hunched forward, trying to light a cigarette against the wind.
The next day Gordon went into the storeroom, surprising Thurman as the boy was stuffing