Small Steps - Louis Sachar [13]
Armpit had installed enough sprinkler systems in west Austin to know that people worried about money over there just as much as they did east of I-35. Their homes might have been worth half a million dollars, but they still expected Armpit’s boss to reimburse them five bucks if Armpit accidentally stepped on a daffodil.
“Okay,” Armpit said. “Even if somebody wanted to pay a little more to be up front,” he said, “row M is not the front!”
“The ad doesn’t say it’s in the front. It says close to the front.”
“It’s not close to the front. Row F is close to the front. G maybe.”
“So then they’re close to close to the front,” said X-Ray.
“Just call the paper and tell them to lower the price,” said Armpit.
“You need to relax. I promised you I’d double your money, didn’t I? Didn’t I?”
Double or nothing, thought Armpit.
“Besides, it’ll cost another ten bucks to change the ad.”
He didn’t sleep that night, or the next night, or the night after that. X-Ray didn’t sell a single ticket over the weekend.
He wondered how he had ever let X-Ray talk him into this. Why didn’t they sell the tickets to Felix when they had the chance? Now he was out another thirty dollars for the ad in the paper, and it would cost ten more to change it.
But at three o’clock Monday morning, he decided that was what they would have to do. Just change the ad. Seventy-five dollars. They’d still make a small profit. Maybe if they had gotten seats in the first or second row they could have held out for more money, but now they just needed to get rid of the tickets before it was too late.
At four o’clock in the morning he decided on seventy dollars a ticket.
“That’s five dollars less than Felix offered!” X-Ray said when Armpit called him before going to school.
“Well, we should have sold them to Felix when we had the chance,” Armpit said. “But we didn’t, and now I just want to get the things sold.”
“For seventy dollars?”
“We’ll still come out ahead, even after the cost of the ad.”
“So you don’t want to sell them for a hundred and thirty-five?”
“That’s what I said. Look, it’s my money on the line.”
“That’s a problem,” said X-Ray.
“I’ll pay the ten dollars!”
“It’s not that,” said X-Ray. “It’s just . . .”
“Now what?”
X-Ray heaved a heavy sigh. “Well, a guy just called and he wants to buy two tickets at a hundred and thirty-five. He’s meeting me after he gets off work. I guess I’ll just call him back and tell him they only cost seventy.” He laughed. “I mean, if that’s what you want me to do.” He laughed again.
Armpit managed a smile.
Later at work he had to remove a red tip photinia from someone’s yard, and its root was enormous. He first cut off the bush at the base, then started on the root, but no matter how deep he dug, he never could seem to get to the bottom of it. It was like an octopus with thick, long tentacles that hugged the ground.
He went at it with an axe, hacking off many of its offshoots, but to no avail. Finally he wrapped a chain around it and attached the other end to the back of a pickup truck.
He climbed into the cab, put it into four-wheel drive, and shifted into first gear. There was a moment of uncertainty, and he worried he might destroy the engine, but then the root popped out of the ground.
He lifted it into the back of the pickup along with the top half of the bush. He was hot, tired, sore, and covered with dirt and sweat.
But he felt good. He had a feeling of satisfaction that he could never explain to X-Ray. It was good clean work. Scalping tickets felt dirty in comparison.
8
He and Ginny waited out front for X-Ray to bring the money from the ticket sales.
“Two hun-hundred and seventy dollars,” said Ginny. “If you s-sell ten more . . .” She did the math aloud. “Ten times one hundred and thirty-five is one thousand three hundred and fifty!” Her eyes widened. “You’re rich!”
Armpit laughed. “Well, I’ll have to split the profits with X-Ray. When we sell all the tickets I’ll make a profit of four hundred and thirty-five