Watch Them Die

There were stories painting Emerald City Video’s back room as a hot spot of furtive gay sexual activity. But Hannah had never noticed any funny business in the small alcove where they kept the adult titles. The only real trouble she’d encountered in the adult section was a few months back. A nicely dressed, pale man of forty had ducked into the alcove one afternoon, then spent two hours browsing. He finally emerged from the back room and stomped up to the counter, glaring at Hannah. “I was getting sick to my stomach back there, looking at all that filth,” he hissed.

Hannah fought the urge to roll her eyes at him. She managed to smile. “Well, all you need to start a membership here is a photo ID, credit card, and a ten-dollar downpayment that applies to your first three rentals.”

He’d stormed out of the store, but returned a week later. Now he was one of their regular customers, renting up to ten adult titles a week. He was also one of Emerald City Video’s rudest, most obnoxious customers. There was a note on his account whenever they pulled his name up: This guy’s a creep. Argues late fees. Don’t take it personally. He’s rude to everyone. Be nice.

He was one of the exceptions. Most customers at Emerald City Video were friendly. Hannah knew many of them by name now. She had a window into their lives too. She’d heard it all:

“I need to take my boyfriend off my account. We broke up….”

“I have a friend who’s going to be renting for me for the next few weeks. I have to go in for surgery on Wednesday; then I’ll be on chemo….”

“Sorry about the late fee. My mom died, and I had to go to back to Nebraska….”

“I believe my husband has an account with you, and I’d like to know if he’s been renting any adult videos, specifically gay videos….”

“We never got a chance to watch it. We both fell asleep. The baby has kept us up so late the last couple of nights….”

Hannah became sympathetic ear, nursemaid, confidante, beard, and cheerleader to scores of people. She’d even learned some sign language to communicate with their deaf customers. But she still hadn’t mastered Korean, Japanese, Chinese, or Spanish.

At the moment, only a handful of customers were in the store. Hannah’s pick, Strictly Ballroom, played on the three strategically located TVs. Her coworker, Scott, stood at his register, staring down at her. “Hannah, for God’s sake, take the damn tape home and look at it. You know you’re dying to, which, by the way, is kind of pathetic. You really need a life.”

The phone rang, and he answered it. Twenty-six, tall, and thin, Scott Eckland was almost too handsome. He had spiky, gelled black hair, deep-set blue eyes, a male model’s cheekbones, and a strong jawline. With his video store salary, he dressed in Salvation Army finds that never quite came together. Today he wore a pair of green plaid slacks and a yellow shirt that was missing all its buttons. So he’d stapled up the front. The look was a cross between cutting-edge trendsetter and total nerd.

“God help us all,” he muttered, hanging up the phone. “If I have to reserve one more of the new-season Sopranos, I’ll kill someone.” He logged the reservation into his register, then glanced at Hannah again.

Shutting the drawer, she started to slip the tape into her purse, but hesitated.

“So take it home already,” Scott groaned. “The stupid video has been here—what—two weeks? You’re not violating anyone’s privacy. And if there’s a cute naked guy on the tape, you’re giving it to me.”

Hannah dropped the cassette in her purse.

Suddenly, and in steady succession, one person after another began filing into the store, many of them dropping tapes in the return bin. “Oh, crap,” Hannah whispered. “It’s going to get crazy.”

She was right. It got crazy. The phones started ringing, too. About a dozen customers descended on the front counter at the same time. Hannah and Scott were swamped, but they managed to handle the rush without a problem—for a while at least.

Only two people were waiting in line behind the smartly dressed brunette who stepped up to Hannah’s register. With her hair pulled back in a tight bun, the thirty-something woman’s tanned face had a pinched look. She set her video on the counter. “Finkelston is the account,” she mumbled, reaching into her purse.

“Did you say ‘Hinkleston’?” Hannah asked. “H-I-N-K-L—”

“There’s no ‘H’ in Finkelston.” She spoke in a loud, patronizing tone. “There’s never been an ‘H’ in Finkelston. F-I-N-K-E-L-S-T-O-N.”

“Cindy Finkelston?” Hannah said.

Nodding, the brunette woman pulled out a twenty-dollar bill.

Hannah decided she didn’t like Cindy Finkelston very much. Now that she pulled up the account, she disliked her even more. She remembered writing the note on her account: REWIND!!! And tell this slob that she returned Office Space with ketchup all over the cassette. Took forever to clean it off—Erase when done—Hannah.

Hannah started to delete the note. “Well, there’s a couple of things here,” she said gently. “Um, it says ‘please rewind.’ And you returned Office Space to us with ketchup on the tape and the box.”

“Okay, whatever.” The woman rolled her eyes. “I happen to be in a hurry.”

“Yeah, well, sorry to take up your time,” Hannah muttered. “You also have a late fee of twelve dollars.”

“I can’t pay that now,” she replied. “I don’t have the money.”

Hannah stared at the twenty-dollar bill in Cindy Finkelston’s hand. “I’m sorry, but we have to settle late charges before we can rent to you.”

“You know, I can just walk down the street to Blockbuster,” she retorted, her voice growing louder. “I don’t have to take this crap. What’s the late charge for anyway? It can’t be right.”

Hannah pulled the date from her account. “Panic Room came back—”

“I returned that the very next day,” Cindy Finkelston interrupted.

Hannah saw the line of people behind Cindy getting longer. “Actually, it was rented on August eighth, due back the ninth, and returned on August twelfth. Three days late at four dollars a day, that makes twelve dollars.”

“I thought that was a three-day rental.”

Hannah stared at her. “Which is it? Did you return it ‘the very next day,’ as you just said, or did you think it was a three-day rental?”

Cindy seemed stumped for a moment; then she became indignant. “What’s your name?” she demanded. “I want to talk to your supervisor.”

“My name’s Hannah. And the manager went home at five. She’ll be back in tomorrow when the store opens at ten.”

“Well, you just lost me as a customer,” Cindy announced—for half the store to hear. “You can close my account.”

Hannah shrugged. “I’m sorry. I can’t close your account until your late charges are paid off.”

One of the store regulars was in line behind Cindy. “Lady, just pay the stupid fee and stop giving her a hard time!”

“It’s none of your goddamn business,” Cindy growled, shooting him a look. She turned her glare at Hannah. “I don’t have to take this shit from some nobody clerk.” She shoved the cassette across the counter, and it fell on the floor by Hannah’s feet. “I’ll be talking with your superior. If I want to close my account here, I certainly can. Do you want a lawsuit? I’m a paralegal for a very prestigious firm. I’ll take legal action.”

Cindy flounced toward the door.

“See you in People’s Court!” Scott called.

“I can help the next potential witness,” Hannah announced. She still had Cindy’s account on the computer screen, and quickly typed in a note: Accept no substitutes or imitations. This woman is a genuine asshole.

She hated letting people like Cindy Finkelston bother her. She could go for days with one nice customer after another; then someone like Cindy Finkelston could bring her down in a minute. The truth be told, she was indeed “some nobody clerk,” stuck in a go-nowhere job and barely making ends meet for herself and her four-year-old son.