Slide - Kyle Beachy [76]
I didn't, but it sounded about right. A sedan parked next to us on my side and two men in business attire got out, each holding a suit jacket in one hand. These men had careers. The driver of the car had bought the car. It was his.
“Bigger point is, I agreed to a job and plan on following through on that job. Stuart is gone. Found himself a woman and he's made his way into commitment. And part of me understands, because a woman like that will make anyone think twice. Even me. Even me. As for you, personally I give half a nut what you think. But the bigger thing here is customer satisfaction. I agreed to do a service. I intend on following through on that.”
“It's not just your appearance. Your voice has less country in it.”
“If you're not refining, then all you're doing is waiting around and sitting still. You should learn that soon as you can. I got the uniform and the necessary personal skills. I have learned the languages. Now I go in there and perform. Wish I could have rustled up a jacket, though.”
There was a warble. His voice shook a bit. I heard it in gu-o and in perforum. And if it didn't seem impossible it would have been obvious: Edsel was nervous. He placed the mirror and pills on his left thigh, then held out his hand. I pulled the Visa from my wallet and gave it to him. Edsel carefully crushed the pills and herded their powder toward the center of the small mirror.
“Here. Smell this.”
“You going to tell me what it is?”
“Placebo.”
When we got inside, Shannon's Bar and Grill was in that early stage of attendance when any slight move would reverberate through the rest of the night. The few who were there watched us enter. Vacant pool tables and bar stools, an unused pinball machine. A small group of men and one woman huddled around a video golf game in a corner. We secured a table smack in the middle of the room. My nasal passage wanted to bust free and whip about like some balloon slipped from a clown's fingers. A slow trickle of nicely dressed young adults filed through the door, and Edsel went for beer.
I watched him at the bar and felt the confessional momentum gathering steam. I had no therapist, no priest behind a screen, just this depraved, remorseless soul. I imagined a wet cloth wiped across a countertop, requisite purgation and atonement. Edsel sat back down and handed me a beer.
“Took that out of Stuart's five hundred.”
“I fear you, Edsel. You scare me in a way I want to go find somewhere else to live. I fear the implications of you. I fear the reality of a world run by people like you.”
“Good,” he said. “Keep talking. I'm going to try to appear interested and nod my head. Don't be scared to move your hands. Try and give the impression you're discussing something financial.”
“I've been tutoring the daughter who lives next door for the SATs. She's sixteen. I think based on her test scores and the way she laughs at me that she's very smart.”
Edsel nodded and looked around the room. “And you wanna wrestle with this girl.”
“If I call her blond, it's a clear case of a word not doing justice. Last night I counted eight different shades on her head.”
His pretend listening skills were stellar. His eyebrows rose. He shifted his weight and opened a palm to ask follow-up questions.
“This girl, she's around all the time?”
“If I'm home later, she'll be there. It's as if she knows exactly when I'll look outside my house, either just coming out or just going in. So I'm forced to either think long and hard about going and talking to her, or think how I wish I had seen her earlier. Yes. Tonight we'll talk and she'll be there and I'll try not to want her.”
“Now shake my hand and I'll walk away.”
As soon as he left, another hand smacked my shoulder. I turned and was looking up at Matt from Saturdays at the pool house. He wore a blue shirt with a white collar and a solid red tie. He set a bottle of Budweiser on the table and draped his suit jacket over the back