Tales From the Gas Station 2 Read online

  I put the book into my lap and stared at the computer sitting on the coffee table.

  I wonder if anyone still remembers the old blog…

  It had been a while since the blog unceremoniously vanished from the internet. I never figured out exactly what happened. One morning, I went to update my website, and it simply wasn’t there anymore. A few hours of searching would lead any normal person to conclude that the blog had never existed in the first place. Much like Nelson Mandela's death in the eighties, the blog was just one of those things that scattered groups on the internet swore they remembered, but all evidence pointed to the contrary.

  Part of me felt relieved. Part of me was annoyed. Part of me wondered if it would be a terrible idea to try and start the blog all over.

  There was a loud knocking at the front door. This was alarming, not just because I wasn’t expecting company and hadn’t had a guest in years. This was alarming because the five-knock pattern came to the familiar beat of “shave and a haircut.” I held my breath and hoped the sound of my heart beating wasn’t too loud to give away my presence. Right when I started to think I may have imagined it, the knocks came again. Slightly louder, but fitting the same pattern:

  Knock! Knock-knock-KNOCK. Knock. (Shave and a HAIRcut!)

  I searched my immediate surroundings for any kind of weapon, then reached out and grabbed the twisted wire hanger.

  Who the hell could that possibly be? O’Brien doesn’t knock like that. Spencer doesn’t knock. Our town doesn’t do Mormons or JW’s. Solicitors get shot or run out of town way before they reach my neck of the woods… So, WHO is unexpectedly knocking at my door?

  “Jack. You in there, buddy?”

  Oh God... It’s worse than I thought.

  Calvin Ambrose.

  I’ll own up to the fact that I’ve done some really stupid things in my lifetime. I’ve played with forces I didn’t understand more than once. I’ve tempted fate. I let a middle-aged couple talk me into dropping acid and visiting a world of aliens and hippos. I threw a loaded gun at a recently reanimated psychopath.

  But I’ve never done anything quite as stupid as this. My existential angst, curiosity, misplaced confidence that my home could keep me safe, annoyance, and the urge to tell the creepy man to go away all came together in a perfect storm. Before I knew it, the winds had carried me up to the front door, where I turned the deadbolts and opened it just a crack to see the pasty complexion, wide smile, and dead-eyed stare of Calvin “doesn’t understand personal space” Ambrose.

  “Hey buddy!” he sang. “I knew you were in there. I could hear you moving around.” His ensuing laugh did little to ease my apprehension.

  A hundred possible responses Battle-Royaled in my mind. Go away. What the hell are you doing here? Excuse you, are you lost? I’m calling the police, did you have any more requests?

  I ended up going with the relatively subdued question, “What are you doing here?”

  “Oh,” he said. “I just felt like it was time you and I had a managers meeting. That way we could discuss some of the things that are going on at work. Do you mind if I come inside?”

  He pushed the door open without waiting for permission. Fortunately, it only budged an inch before the slack on the door chain ran out. I reflexively took a step back.

  “Actually, now’s not a good time.”

  “Come on, Jack. I brought some chicken wings. I figured we could hang out and share some ideas about the future of the business.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  He squeezed his hand and arm through the cracked opening of the door and waved a box of fast food chicken in my general direction, singing, “Chicken wings, are calling your name! Chicken wings, are calling, your naaame! Come on, let me inside already.” With his arm still through the crack, he reached the long, skinny fingers of his other hand inside and hooked them around the chain. “This is a good security measure. Three deadbolts and a security chain. I knew you were smart, Jack. Guys like you and me can never be too safe, huh?”

  I was too creeped out to even be mad anymore. Now all I wanted was for him to leave so I could spray every place he touched with disinfectant.

  “Calvin, this really isn’t a good time.”

  He yanked his appendages back through the door, then poked his face through the narrow crack like he was trying to squeeze through. His nose and chin and hairy twin moles were all inside my house now. His eyes darted around my living room.

  “Why not? Wow, this is a really nice place you have. Reminds me of my house. You and I have a lot in common, you know that? Hey, I wanted to talk to you about what I said earlier when I was bleeding out. I want you to know that I’m not a racist or anything like that. Okay? In fact, my cousin is dating a Jew.”

  “Calvin, I need you to leave.”

  “Why?!” He sounded hurt, almost angry.

  I tried a different approach. “I have… company over right now.”

  “Oh,” he said. His lips curled into a devious smile. “Oh, I see. You devil. Well, I won’t interrupt. It’s very important for young men like yourself to engage in all that life has to offer! Here! Take this!”

  His head retracted out of the space, and his arm popped back in, offering me the box of chicken. As soon as I had taken it, his hand formed a thumbs up, then an okay! He pulled his hand out and I went to push the door closed, but it didn’t move. That’s when I realized he was leaning against it on the other side.

  “Thanks,” I said nervously.

  “Hey, I’m going to go wait in my car, okay? Once she finally leaves, we can have our meeting. Let me know if you need me to do something to get her out of your hair, okay? I know how clingy women can get.”

  He’s going to wait in his car?!

  “Actually,” I said. “You should head on home. I think she’s going to be spending the night.”

  “Oh!” Calvin said with a sneaky laugh. “Oh, you dog! You devil! You devil dog! Nice. Good job.” He put his open hand back through the crack for me to give him a high five. Regrettably, I gave him what he wanted because I couldn’t think of any better way to move him along. His palm was extra sweaty, like he’d just washed his hands in butter.

  “Okay, Jack. I’ll get out of here. Call me when she’s gone so we can talk. Alright?”

  “Alright, man.”

  “You still have my cell phone number, right?”

  “Yep.”

  “You want me to give it to you again right now just to be safe?”

  “No, I got it.”

  “Okay. Call me. Good luck. Oh, one more thing!” He put his hand back through the door for the last time so he could hand me something else. If I’d seen what it was before taking it, I would not have taken it. “Just in case. I know you’re a smart guy, but remember to stay smart even when you’re distracted! Take it from me. I’ve been around the block a few times! Okay, have fun, you kids!”

  He finally moved away from the door and laughed his way back to his Mercedes. I closed the door, turned the deadbolts, then went to the kitchen where I threw away the food and the plastic-wrapped condom that Calvin had just given me. After that, I went and took a hot bath with lots of soap, but no matter how hard I scrubbed, I still felt dirty.

  Chapter Eight

  I “forgot” to let Calvin know when I was “available.” I knew that was going to turn into a weird confrontation later, but that was Future-Jack’s problem. Present-Jack had enough to deal with as it was, like getting the gas station ready for another overnight shift and reading another book.

  I picked out the one about an elderly superhero with dementia. I made it six chapters in before I realized that it wasn’t supposed to be a comedy, but by that point I’d sunk so much time into it that I felt compelled to power through.

  Her voice was excited and friendly, and completely unexpected.

  “Hi!”

  I looked up from my dreadfully serious book to see her standing there on the other side of the counter, smiling wide a
nd showing teeth. She was on the older side of college aged, a few years younger and a head shorter than me. Tan skin, with long, dark hair and pink highlights. She wore a white t-shirt and jeans under a baggy blue jacket.

  “Hello.”

  “Rosa Vasquez. Pleased to meet you!” She held out her hand, which I reluctantly took in mine. She gripped tightly and shook twice, almost like she’d practiced. When she released, she took a step back and stared at me. I didn’t know what to say, so I didn’t say anything. We just stared at one another in awkward silence for way too long until finally, she prodded me along. “You must be Jack.”

  I nodded. “That’s right.”

  “Well…” she looked around nervously. “I just wanted to come down and introduce myself, officially.”

  I could tell this was going to be another weird interaction, so I went ahead and put the book away.

  “Okay. Consider yourself introduced.”

  “I’m really looking forward to tomorrow.”

  “Why? What happens tomorrow?”

  Her smile slowly began to drop, along with the volume of her voice. “My first day.”

  “First day of what?”

  “Work?”

  “Oh. Cool. Congratulations!” I could tell by the look on her face that this wasn’t the response she’d been hoping for. Her smile was completely gone now, replaced with a look of confused uncertainty (confertainty?). She wasn’t saying anything, but she wasn’t leaving either. I had to assume she was waiting for something. This time, I prodded her along, “Where do you work?”

  “Here?”

  “Cool. Here where?”

  I waited for her to elaborate, but she just stared at me with big, brown, confused eyes until finally, “At the… gas station? I’m your new coworker… ?”

  “Oh.”

  A small, cautious smile returned to her face.

  “I thought you were aware.”

  “I’m not supposed to be training the newest batch of part-timers until next week. Maybe you got your schedule mixed up?”

  “Oh! No, I’m not a part-timer. I applied for a full-time position, and… well, I got the job.”

  “What?” My brain was having difficulty translating what she was saying, which was extra worrisome considering I knew we were both speaking the same language. But her words didn’t make any sense.

  “Yeah. I’m really looking forward to working with you. I’ve heard so much about you already.”

  I tried to take it in a piece at a time.

  “You’re the new full-time employee?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you’ve heard so much about me?”

  “... yes?”

  “And you’re excited to start working here?”

  “...uh... Yes?”

  “Why?”

  She looked around, like she was searching for the candid camera. My cloud of confusion must have been big enough to give her a contact high. “I… I don’t… I don’t know… Wow, you’re really intense, aren’t you?”

  Thankfully, the phone picked that moment to ring, giving me a great excuse to put this train wreck of a first impression on hold. I made the international gesture for “one sec,” and picked up.

  “Hello?”

  “Jack! It’s Pops. How’s the station? Is it snowing?”

  “No, no snow.”

  “Really? Why not?”

  “I couldn’t tell you.”

  “Yeah, if you could, you probably wouldn’t be working for a dumb old fart like me. By the way, you should be getting a visit soon from a girl named Rosa. She’ll be coming on board tomorrow as our new full-time associate. Be sure to make her feel comfortable.”

  On the other side of the counter, Rosa stared at the wall and rocked back and forth on her toes and heels. She did not look comfortable.

  I leaned away from her and whispered into the receiver, “Why?”

  “Why? Why?! Jack, you don’t ever ask ‘Why.’ What’s happening? What’s gotten into you? Are you feeling okay?”

  “I’m just confused. I didn’t think we’d be hiring any more full-timers.”

  “What can I say? She turned in an impressive resume, and Mammaw and I liked the cut of her jib.” He chuckled, but then his voice changed into something frantic, “Don’t ruin this for us! She might be our only hope!”

  “What?”

  “I said, ‘Mammaw and I liked the cut of her jib!’ Now get back to work. We’re all counting on you, Jack.”

  He hung up on me in the same abrupt fashion that I’d come to expect from him. Still, I couldn’t help but stare at the phone and feel lost.

  The girl asked in a cheerful voice, “Was that Pops?”

  “Yeah.”

  “He seems nice.”

  “He’s not.”

  “Oh. Noted. Well, I guess I’ll be going now. See you tomorrow, Jack?”

  “Yeah, I guess I’ll see you then.”

  I watched as she left the store. Once the doors were closed, I grabbed my crutches and walked around the counter to see her getting into her car—a Volkswagen Beetle covered in bumper stickers. I watched as she drove away, then realized that something felt off. Try as I might, I couldn’t shake this nagging feeling that things weren’t going to end well.

  Then it clicked. The reason I felt the way I did. It wasn’t necessarily who she was or what she said that bothered me.

  It was the timing.

  If we’d met a month earlier, I might not have given her a presence a second thought. But that was before Tony died.

  One of the last things he said was a warning. We were alone together, and he had no reason to lie. He told me that I was a dead man, and if he didn’t kill me, “they” would just send somebody else to finish the job.

  Well, he didn’t kill me…

  I snapped back into the now as soon as I heard the quiet voice coming from somewhere behind me. I turned and scoped out the empty room.

  “Hello?” I said. “Somebody in here?”

  The voice was faint, but steady, like a one-sided conversation or prayer. I soon realized that it was coming from behind the counter. I held my breath and took tiny steps back to my spot.

  “Jerry? Is that you?”

  I turned the side of the counter and saw that someone had arranged a ring of lawn gnomes. There were six of them, placed in a circle around the Russian radio, the source of the noise.

  I looked around one last time to try and see who could have done this, but the building was empty. Whatever trickster was messing with me must have snuck in and out the back door in the time it took me to watch Rosa drive away. But, how long was that, exactly?

  Did I have another episode?

  Did I lose time?

  Did I do this?

  I walked over to the gnome circle, bent down, and picked up the radio.

  “...three hundred meters… Martin Wolf is experiencing myocardial infarction... He will die sitting in front of television before he knows anything is wrong… His wife will find pornographic magazine collection in attic… Marilyn’s Diner has rat infestation… Rodent excrement has contaminated ninety-one percent of dry foods…”

  I switched the power off and set to work placing the gnomes back on the display shelf.

  ***

  Jerry came back to work around two o’clock in the morning. He told me he was bored, couldn’t sleep, and didn’t feel like being alone, but I suspected he just wanted to be close to the Russian radio. I didn’t mind the extra company. Or the extra distraction for that matter.

  I think that deep down, we both knew we weren’t supposed to be listening, but I was curious, and something about the voice was strangely addictive. The smooth, velvety sound of an omniscient phantasm broadcasting directly to our ears with the cadence of a slow dream. The endorphin rush of hearing a forbidden story. The revelation of small-town secrets. A tale told in real time, beyond the constraints of typical structure, beginning, or end. A piece of living art.

  Plus, it was a great way to
pass the time until the morning rush, and it gave us something to talk about.

  “Sheriff Clyde has forgotten about his daughter Mina’s birthday... Mina will not attend her father’s funeral… Happy birthday to Mina… Saul Berthelot cries alone in his deer stand… His blood alcohol content is zero point three one one zero… He owns forty-two firearms… His favorite color is purple…”

  We came up with a few theories. I suggested the whole thing was an elaborate prank. Maybe it was part of a database of sounds, like an audial B-roll for commercial purposes. Maybe a group of bored townies built a shortwave radio signal as a piece of experimental performance art. Maybe someone was testing out their new microphone, and wanted to say something more elaborate than “Test one, two, three.”

  But the voice never stopped, never broke, and never repeated itself. At seemingly random intervals, it would announce the time, and it was always accurate. Sometimes it would say something that sounded like pure nonsense.

  “The collector is growing his army… Rita has entered her third stage of evolution... She will be ready to harvest by new moon...The gossamer is spun between the teeth… A hunter longs for warm blood… Dustin Peterson has locked himself inside his house… He does not want neighbors to know what he is planning to do… He engages in sexual congress with his Big Mac sandwich...”

  Jerry wondered out loud if the voice was even human. I listened closely. His pronunciations were precise, but not quite as much as I would expect from a text-to-speech program. As impossible as it seemed, the announcer’s voice sounded real.

  “I don’t think it’s computer-generated,” I told him.

  Jerry responded, “That’s not what I meant.”

  Before he could elaborate, we heard another noise.

  Deep and loud, like the swelling roar of an oncoming thunderstorm. Blaring music, truck engines, and underneath it all, the wild screaming of a hunting party. It was coming from outside and growing closer, and as soon as I realized what was about to happen, I put my crutches into gear and went straight for the door locks.