“It’s almost as ugly as the city at times,” Octavian said, nodding sadly. “So after Albert lost his job, I helped him get one at SerMart.”
“That doesn’t seem like his sort of place.”
“Why not? He’s a modern kid, and they’re so innovative and cutting-edge.”
“Ugh.” I put my head in my hands.
“What’s the matter?”
“Nothing. Do go on.”
“So he’s been there for a week now. He replaced someone who got fired. Imagine that? The store has only been open a couple of weeks, and they have already let somebody go.”
“You can’t get good help these days. I’m still surprised Albert took that job. They’re pretty heavy on the rules, and I’m sure they do drug tests.”
“Oh, he’s a changed kid. Our little adventure with the murder in the country club really woke him up. He doesn’t smoke dope anymore, and he’s taking business classes part-time at Cheerville Community College.”
“How do you know so much about what he’s doing?”
“I’ve been helping him get on his feet. He’s still a bit disorganized,” Octavian said with a chuckle.
“Well, that’s nice of you, but why take such an interest in some millennial who can’t string together a coherent sentence half the time?”
Octavian grew serious. “Because I hate to see wasted potential. Remember how he helped us in that case? I saw a bright mind under all that marijuana-induced fog, and a sense of honor too. All he needed was a good kick in the pants. He obviously wasn’t getting it from his own parents.”
I reached over and put my hand on his.
“You’re a good man, Octavian.”
My words got drowned out as all the clocks in the café suddenly rang eleven. The café reverberated with a cacophony of bonging, clonging, ringing, buzzing, chiming, and trumpeting. Yes, trumpeting. A clock in the shape of a castle rang out the hours by having the drawbridge pop open to reveal three little trumpeters in medieval livery, who proceeded to trumpet eleven times with their tiny, tinny instruments.
We didn’t even try to talk. We had learned our lesson from previous visits. Only a megaphone could cut through this din, and I didn’t have a megaphone in my purse. A set of lockpicks, yes. Pepper spray, of course. Pistol, on special occasions. But no megaphone.
The bonging, clonging, ringing, buzzing, chiming, and trumpeting finally died down. The drawbridge snapped shut, hopefully sending those annoying little trumpeters straight to the dungeon.
We waited. After about twenty seconds, Octavian pointed across the room at a cuckoo clock.
He was right on the money. The moment he pointed at it, a little yellow bird popped out of the clock and cuckooed the time.
“They still haven’t fixed that thing,” he grumbled.
“Can you give me Albert’s number?” I asked. “I’d like to speak with him.”
Octavian checked his watch, a refined antique Rolex from 1936, and said, “We’re in luck. We have just enough time to finished these wonderful crepes and drive over to the community college. He’ll be getting out of his Economics 101 class pretty soon.”
We took Octavian’s car, which is much classier than mine, and enjoyed a pleasant drive through town—past the spot where I saw someone get run over by “accident,” past the village green where someone tried to kill a movie star with a barrage of fireworks, past a strip mall at the edge of town where gangsters had set up an illegal casino and tried to kill me when I exposed it. Oh yes, a very pleasant drive through a tranquil, prosperous community. The kind of place where successful people move to raise their families in peace and security.
I had never been on the campus of Cheerville Community College. It looked like a pretty typical small-town college with several low brick buildings, a leafy quad where students sat on the grass studying or flirting, and young people strolling along paths or whizzing by on their bicycles.
Albert was waiting for us in front of one of the buildings, Octavian having called with the promise of a free lunch. No college student will pass up a free lunch. When Albert spotted us, he gave a friendly wave.
“Dude! How’s it hanging?”
Octavian checked his tie. “Fine, I think.”
Albert chuckled, shaking his head and turning to me. “He’s hopeless. So, how’s life with you? Finding any more dead bodies in the men’s room?”
“No, just one in my shopping cart.”
He laughed then looked at me, and the laughter slowly died away. “Oh. You mean it.”
I sighed. “It would be nice if you thought I was joking.”
“No way, grandma. Not with you. Octavian told me how you two almost got beaten to death by bowling balls on your cruise.”
“You shouldn’t tell him things like that,” I said to my boyfriend.
He shrugged. “I don’t want him to think I have a boring life.”
“Just a mostly boring one,” Albert said.
“Watch it, or you’ll talk your way out of a free lunch.”
“I got a study group coming up in 45 minutes, so let’s eat on campus. There’s a good pizza place in the student union.”
As we walked there, I studied Octavian and Albert chattering away. My boyfriend had obviously taken on the role of the caring grandfather figure.
And this underachieving druggie was lapping it up and turning his life around. It was remarkable how just a little bit of attention and guidance could make such a difference in a young person’s life.
It made me wonder about all those people I’ve killed over the years, all those so-called “bad guys.” They weren’t the faceless aliens of Martin’s young adult science fiction novels. They had been children once, and at some point, they had gone wrong. The drug dealers, the henchmen for brutal dictators, even that assassin who had come after me, they had all had the chance to be someone better.
If only there were more Octavians in the world…
We ended up at the student union in a loud, echoing cafeteria filled with college kids. Octavian and I were the oldest people in sight by several decades. Since we had just eaten, we only got coffees (bad
