“Sure, I get it. Red wine’s mine.”
He laughed. “Healthy. So yeah, a friend of a friend introduced me to Owain, and he gave me a loan. Interest wasn’t too bad, all things considered, so I said fuck it, and dove in. I got lucky and a year later, things started picking up again. By that time though, I knew Owain pretty well, knew he was a legit guy, stand up, you know? If you don’t fuck with him, he don’t fuck with you. Can’t say that for all the guys.”
“What do you mean, all the guys?”
He stopped pacing and took a breath. “Mafia types. You know.”
“Right. I hear you.”
He laughed nervously and paced again. “So like a year ago, when things are good, he comes to me with this offer. A lot of money to buy the place, and I get to keep my job, keep drawing a paycheck. I just have to turn a blind eye to certain things, you know? Like pretty girls sitting in my back room doing nothing, supposedly, all day long.”
“You’re a front for him.”
He shrugged and ran a hand over his partially bald scalp. “Seems that way. I never got into the crime business, but it sure as hell pays, so I ain’t complaining.”
“Is he a fair boss?”
“Fair enough. Plays these tricks sometimes.” He made a face and gestured wildly. “Like these fuckin’ tests or some shit? Talks about it all the time. I think it’s weird but hey, whatever, his methods seem to work so I shut my mouth and do what I’m told.”
“I noticed the tests. He’s always been doing that?”
“Sure, says it helps people learn about themselves. You know what he did to me one time?”
“No, what?”
“He came in here with a mask on and fuckin’ robbed me. Fuckin’ robbed me! Can you fuckin’ believe that shit! Scared the hell out of me, nearly gave me a fuckin’ heart attack, the god damn bastard, but I guess I passed, ‘cos after he was done rippin’ me off he rips the mask over his head and grins and hits me on the shoulder and leaves. That’s it, no conversation, just boom, done.”
I can’t help but laugh. I shake my head trying to imagine Owain in a black mask robbing poor Sander, but it’s a pretty absurd notion.
“That seems a little extreme.”
“That’s just Owain. He runs those weird tests sometimes, but like I said, you don’t fuck him, he don’t fuck you. Leaves people alone, let’s them do their thing, so long as it doesn’t affect him at all. Always seemed real fair to me.”
“Sounds fair.”
He took a deep breath and stopped pacing again. It seemed like Sander had to always be moving, like a shark. A balding, pudgy shark with too much arm hair.
“Anyway. I should get back up front. Owain, he’s a good guy, you tell him I said that.”
“I will. I’m sure it’ll score you some points.”
He grinned and shook his head. “I don’t need points anymore. Me and him, we’re on solid ground. He knows what I’ll do and he doesn’t ask for too much. I give him all I got. That’s how it goes.”
He walked past me back to the door and lingered for half a beat, then shook his head and left. I watched him go, wondering how the heck I was going to survive the next few weeks or—god, hopefully not—months with that guy. But he was nice enough, even if he was a talker and a pacer, and I’d get through it.
I dropped down off the arm and slumped onto the couch. The TV stared at me, black and motionless. I heard the buzz of electricity and the hum of the refrigerator unit. The back of it stood pressed against the wall ten feet away with a small door attached to the side for restocking. I could feel some cool rolling off it, and I had a feeling I’d need a sweater once the weather turned.
Could’ve been worse though.
I took up the remote, pointed it at the TV, and hit the power button.
11
Owain
I took her to the bodega every day for three weeks and nothing happened.
Every day I thought, today was the day, today the Jackals would make their move. But at closing time I’d pick her up in my car and she’d give me a tight smile and shake her head. I’d drive her home, frustrated, pissed off, but still patient.
I was a patient man. Anyone would say that about me. I knew when to wait and I knew when to move. Sometimes, it was best to keep a low profile, like a spider creeping through the grass.
We fell into a rhythm at home. It was strange, having her around. I couldn’t get used to it at first. She was a foreign body in my atmosphere, burning me up inside. I felt her tug like gravity, and we orbited each other, moving from room to room but never staying in the same place for long. We barely spoke to each other, and when we did, it was in clipped sentences and always about domestic shit: more milk, clean dishes, laundry.
Then one night, during the start of the second week, she drifted downstairs and sat at the other end of the couch. She had on these shorts, these tiny little shorts that barely covered
