Stone Junction

‘Too late,’ Daniel chirped. He picked up the bowling bag.

Robbins started to rise, muttering, ‘Now wait here just a fu––’

‘He’s right,’ Carl cut him off. ‘I saw you sign it. You wanted to.’

‘Hey, Carl,’ Robbins turned on him, ‘who took the dick out of your mouth? You go do some of that work I pay you for. Work? Remember? And take off that silly, fucking rabbit costume – makes you look like some kinda homo Bugs Bunny or somethin’.’

‘Mr Robbins,’ Carl said, his voice quavering, ‘I am a homo. That’s why when I take off my bunny uniform, I’m going to roll it up neatly and stick it up your ass.’

Robbins’s head snapped up as if he’d been kicked in the chin. He stared at Carl; the intensity of his gaze matched the purplish-red flush seeping downward from his bald pate toward his trembling jowls. Daniel was ready to intervene, but Robbins, perhaps sensing Daniel’s sentiments, smiled instead of erupting. He lifted his right hand up beside his ear and waggled his chubby fingers as he cooed, ‘Bye-bye, Carl. You’re fired.’

‘Hey,’ Daniel said, ‘you can’t fire Carl. He’s our witness.’

‘Fine.’ Robbins nodded his head rapidly. ‘He witnessed. He signed. Now his faggot-ass is out of here in two minutes or I call the cops.’

Daniel said, ‘What is it with you, Robbins? You ever opened a law book in your life? There’s three kinds of contract witnesses: there are signatory witnesses – that’s what you thought Carl was, I guess; then there are material witnesses – they document the contracted transfer of materials, not the contract signing; and the third – Carl’s category – are called I-witnesses – not e-y-e eye, but the personal pronoun, capital I – because they are appointed by one of the contracting parties – me – as a lock sito representative – that’s Latin for “constantly there” – to keep tabs on the contractual compliance of the other party. If you fire my witness, you should plan on spending the next ten years of your life and every penny you have in court.’

‘Come on! What’re you telling me? I can’t fire the pansy? Ever? That’s bullshit. S’pose he starts hanging his whang over the counter? Comes in wearing bra and panties and fucking prancing around, huh? Fuck that. Take me to court.’

Daniel shook his head. ‘You’re hopeless. Of course he can be dismissed – if he’s convicted of a felony. But since the money would be gone by the time he even came to trial, the point is moot. Your only other option is a CWBO.’

‘Like I’m supposed to know what the fuck that is?’

‘Actually, you should. It’s the Contested Witness Buy-Out. If you can’t get along with an I-witness, you can pay him a two-thousand-dollar buyout severance and replace him with a mutually agreed- upon substitute.’

Robbins was incredulous. ‘You mean I gotta give this dork-snorkeler twenty yards to get him out of my face?’

‘That’s correct. It’s deducted from the administrative costs, by the way, as our auditors will be informed.’

‘Fuck it,’ Robbins said, ‘I gotta think this is some kind of setup here, but it’s your money. Sure.’

Robbins counted out the two thousand and tossed it at Carl. ‘Bye, fuck-face.’

Carl grinned at Daniel. ‘Oh, now I can buy a new dress. But you, Max, I’ll always love you.’ He tried to put some smolder in his voice. ‘Ever since I met you I’ve known where you secretly want it. You’re one of those poor, poor souls who can never admit it to themselves.’ He pivoted on his heel and headed for the employee exit, laughing wildly as he tossed away his rabbit ears.

Since Robbins was glaring at Carl’s back, Daniel, for the fun of it, vanished, leaving by the front wall.

Four cars surrounded the Cutlass, the two with their flashers on imparting a strobed jerkiness to the movements of the men swarming the Cutlass. Invisible, Daniel walked over beside an unmarked car. A description of his bowling shirt was coming over the radio. That wasn’t good news, but wasn’t a major problem, either.

Two cops walked right through him as they headed toward the pizzeria. That was a major problem. They’d impound the money, fingerprint the case. He thought this over. No rides for the kids. No idea whose prints could be on the case, except his own. He went back through the wall just as the cops knocked on the door.

As Daniel entered, he almost lost his concentration in a fit of laughter. Max Robbins was going crazy looking for the briefcase – Daniel had forgotten it would vanish when he did. The case was right on the table where Robbins had left it, but he couldn’t see it. He was down on his knees searching under the tables. His florid face turned fish- belly white when he heard the pounding from the front and the word ‘Police.’

Daniel closed the case, picked up the contract on the table, and left through the back wall. Invisible, he walked about twenty blocks toward town, then turned right on Industrial Way. He walked north for awhile, then turned back east on a dark, quiet cul-de-sac. At the very end was an old, wooden-sided warehouse that was too perfect to be possible – T. H. Hothman’s Theatrical Supply. Daniel walked through the closest wall to check it out. Eighty percent of the inside space was a single storage area, aisle after aisle of costumes and props. There was a modest office behind the partition, an adjoining bathroom with shower, and a bedroom. And though the bedroom was hardly the size of two decent closets, it had a firm bed, a narrow dresser, and, on top of the dresser, a thirteen-inch portable TV. Daniel snapped it on to see if he’d made the news.

Almost. The bodies of Elwood and Emmett Tindell, reputed international drug dealers, had been found by a rancher earlier that evening. They had been professionally executed at close range. Unnamed sources speculated that Colombia’s Piscato cocaine cartel had ordered the execution over unpaid bills.

THE FIRST NOTEBOOK OF JENNIFER RAINE APRIL? (LOST TRACK)

I found the truth, and it is simple: Life is amazing. Me and Mia left the donut shop at midnight, seven hours ago, and now I’m rich, loaded, and just got laid. Better things could happen to a nicer girl, but I’ll settle for these.

I owe it all to the DJ. (No, change that to Snake-eyes and Boxcars. Change it to Lady Luck and wonder drugs and a giant country-and-western outlaw gambler known as Longshot, who is now peacefully sleeping in the next room after having, as he sighed, ‘his