Short Stories: Long Way Around the Short End. James Hill
not to the think about it over the weekend. Get some rest and I’ll see you Monday night.”
* * * * *
On the early morning walk to the boardinghouse, I call the only number I know in Oakboro, Texas.
“Hello.”
“Hi, Gwynn. This is Mitchell Deal. Hope I didn’t wake you.”
She laughs. “I know your voice, Mitchell Deal. And no, I’m always early to rise. And I was wondering if you were ever going to call me.”
“I just got this cell phone, and I was waiting on payday.”
“What’s up?”
“Got off early and called to see if you wanted to get some breakfast.”
“I can always eat some breakfast. Are you at the boardinghouse?”
“Almost there. Just made the turn on Elm.”
“I’ll pick you up in fifteen minutes.”
She’s there in ten, and I’m sitting on the front porch when she pulls up.
“Hop in. I know a good little place.”
In six minutes, we’re in a booth at the Oakboro Diner. “How did you manage to get off work early this morning?” she asks me, her big blue eyes gazing over the rim of her coffee cup.
“I wouldn’t want to make you sick before breakfast.”
“Ah, go on. I’m a big girl. I can take it.”
So, I go on and tell her about the incident an hour before: everything that happened between Sherman, the boy, and me. When I’m done, her eyes are much bigger now.
“My God,” she says, “that’s the most horrible thing I’ve heard in a while…just took the boy’s hand and cut his finger off?”
“Lopped it right off,” I answer. “I thought he resembled a weasel, but now I’m thinking he’s a damn psychopath.”
She sets her coffee down. “His whole family is a little bit strange. He lives outside of town with his ma and pa. The parents only come to town about once a month for supplies, and they don’t interact much when they do. Sherman is the most talkative one. I hear his pa runs a cow burial service.”
It’s time for my eyes to widen. “Cow funerals…never heard of that before.”
“Me neither, not until I moved to Oakboro. But oil and cattle are big in Texas, and you have some wealthy eccentrics around here.”
“I guess something has to be done with the ones that don’t make it to the slaughterhouse. I hear cows are worshipped in India.”
“I’ve heard that too.” She grins. “Well, maybe they will do something with Sherman so you won’t have to.”
“I hope so.”
The waitress brings her food and my milk. My stomach doesn’t feel settled enough to layer it with greasy food.
“So what is Mitchell Deal going to do with a whole weekend off?”
“Last night was payday. I thought I might try to find some type of car today.”
Her eyes light up. “Let me take you.”
“You want to go car shopping?”
“Hey, when shopping’s involved, I’m in.”
I laugh. “Spoken like a true woman.”
* * * * *
Gwynn and I are sitting in the lobby of A-1 Car Sales waiting for a salesman to become available. “My dad used to tell me not to go car buying on a Saturday,” I say to break the silence.
“Why’s that?” she asks.
“He’d say that’s the last day of the week for the salesmen to get their lying done. Then they go ask for forgiveness on Sunday to start the week off fresh, until they start lying again on Monday.”
Gwynn laughs. “Sounds like your dad was a wise man.”
“Not so much book smart, but he was wise to the ways of the world.”
Soon, a salesman is free and comes walking over to us. “What can I do for such a nice-looking couple on such a fine day?”
Gwynn blushes, and I don’t tell him any different.
“I’m looking for a secondhand car,” I explain, “to get me back and forth to work. I want to pay cash, and the budget is low.”
This limits his options considerably, and he leads us to the rear portion of the used-car section. It doesn’t take me long to pick one out.
“I know she doesn’t look like much,” the salesman says, “but she runs like a charm.” He’s right. It’s an older model Chevy; the paint has faded, and rust is starting to appear in spots. But when he starts it up, the engine runs smooth, and the four-in-the-floor and nice stereo system are additional selling points.
The six-hundred-dollar price tag seals the deal. I’ve never cared much what a vehicle looks like, as long as it gets me to where I’m going. Dependability over beauty when it comes to a car for me.
* * * * *
On Monday night, imagine my surprise when Wertzel meets me at the time clock. He gestures with a finger pressed against his lips. “Mum’s the word, Deal Pickle. Come…I want to show you something.”
He leads me to a small room beside Layaway. Inside are a bank of security cameras, a small desk with two folding chairs, and two composition-size booklets lying on top. One of them is titled “Store Security: Procedures and Protocol,” and the other (somewhat thicker one) is labeled “Incident Reports.”
He takes me over to the last camera and hits a button that stops the current action. He pushes another, and the screen goes to rewind. He takes it back to early Saturday morning. The screen reappears with the date and time displayed in the top corner.
At first, it shows me working off the pallet in housewares, and then it scans over to the candy aisle. It shows a boy taking a candy bar from the end of the shelf and the upper shelf falling down upon his hand and something falling to the floor from underneath. Then, it shows Sherman coming up quickly and putting the object in the kid’s shirt pocket. By now, you can make out it’s a finger. He turns the boy and motions him toward the front of the store.
The screen goes blank. That’s it! There’s nothing more. It doesn’t show Sherman holding a knife or our confrontation with the mop handle and box of candy.
I don’t know how he did it, but I can smell a lawsuit coming down for Super Sale. I can’t believe what I’m seeing and tell him so.
“What is this bullshit, Sherman?”
He gives me a wicked weasel grin. “I don’t know what you thought you saw that night, but this is what happened. I was startled when you came at me with that broom handle.”
His mentioning of this tells me I’m not losing my mind.
“I know what I saw. Keep your distance from me from now on, Sherm,” I warn him before storming out of his office.
Instead of going back to the warehouse, I go up to the front office. Frances is at her desk doing paperwork.
She looks up. “Mitchell, it’s good to see you back. Are you feeling better?”
“I was until Wertzel replayed that video.”
“I know…such a tragic accident. But there is good news. They were able to reattach the boy’s finger.”
“What the video shows isn’t how I recall it at all,” I tell her.
She puts her pen down. “The mind can play tricks during a traumatic event. Sherman and the boy confirmed