Stone Junction (54 page)

Daniel sat at a table facing the mini-arcade. The machines flashed invitingly, but nobody wanted to play. Not the rabbit-eared kid at the counter, not a single patron. Daniel felt himself sliding toward depression and fought for equilibrium. He moved his left foot over and softly pressed it against the bowling bag. The feel of the curve against his foot gave him an immediate impulse to leap on the table, shout for attention, and vanish. That would wake them up. Instead, he concentrated on his beer, feeling the cool glass against his lips, tasting each drop.

Daniel was halfway through his pizza when a small boy tore by him, aiming straight for the pony ride – a fiberglass golden palomino cast in full gallop, ears laid back. The boy still had some baby fat in his cheeks and two front teeth were missing. He had brown eyes as lustrous as melting chocolate chips. Daniel sensed a delicacy about the boy, though there was nothing delicate about the way he swung into the saddle, twisted the plastic reins around his wrist, and shoved in his quarter; nothing delicate at all as he spurred the pony to full speed or whipped out his trusty six-gun – extended index-finger barrel, cocked-thumb hammer – and began blazing away, ‘
Blatchooee! Blatchooee!
’ The loud, wet report cut through the noise from other patrons.

‘Dad!’ the boy yelled. ‘Look! I’m killing the bad guys!’

The boy’s father was arguing in a low, tight voice with a woman Daniel assumed was the boy’s mother. They continued the argument without looking up.

‘
Hey!
’ Daniel yelled at them. They and most of the other diners looked up, startled.

Daniel didn’t care. He was going to be himself. He pointed at their son on the pony. ‘Your son is killing the bad guys.’

The mother turned without really looking and called over her shoulder, ‘Good for you, Billy.’ The father, a stocky, crew-cut guy not much older than Daniel, turned and shot him a challenging stare.

Daniel almost said
Attention is the key to the vault
,
Dad
, but thought better of it. He didn’t know anything about being a father. He shifted his gaze back to the cowpoke blasting away from the back of his swift steed, dropping one grubby bad guy after another until time ran out and the pony shimmied to a stop. The boy dismounted with panache. His father was saying, his voice tight and mean, ‘Read my lips, Mary: We don’t
got
the fuckin’ money for a new dryer.’

As the little boy passed, Daniel said, ‘Looks like you rid the world of some pretty nasty guys.’

‘Yup,’ the boy said, slowing but not stopping. ‘That Snake sure is a good horse.’

‘Well, you handle him real fine, too.’

The boy gave him a sidelong smile as he passed, a smile of deep and secret pleasure. ‘Thanks, pardner.’

‘Hey, you, pal,’ the kid’s father called, ‘you got some kinda
problem
with my boy?’

‘Not at all,’ Daniel smiled. ‘I was merely complimenting him on his imagination. You’ve got a fine son there.’ Daniel wasn’t feigning his smile; he was wondering how the jerk would like getting his liver pulverized by a Reverse Heel-Whip out of the Drowsing Crane position.

The father let this go, sliding over on the bench for his boy to sit down.

By the time Daniel finished another slice, the golden palomino had a new rider. He wasn’t as trigger-happy as the first, but he dropped his share.

And then a whole birthday party of children, accompanied by four harried mothers, came rabbling through the door. Carl-the-Counter- Rabbit already had a slice of pizza with a birthday candle ready for each of them, and one of the mothers produced a roll of quarters for the pony.

The boys, to a man, rode fast and hard with some fancy tricks thrown in, like hanging on the side and shooting across the saddle. The boys were full of bravado and purpose. Daniel loved them. But he loved the little girls even more. They rode with a quiet and stately abandon, eyes closed, the wind blowing their hair out behind them, taking on the power of the golden palomino but not confusing it with their own. He wondered what the little girls imagined as they rode, where they were going, how far away. He wanted to gather them all, boys and girls together, gather them all into his arms and carry them somewhere safe from the slaughter of time and change.

When the birthday party left, Daniel felt his depression ooze forward again. He wanted to vanish into the children’s minds, into some moment he could barely remember, before you were cornered by the lines you drew or trapped by someone else’s. He sat with his hands folded on the table, watching flecks of foam thin to scum and dry inside the empty pitcher. The pizza and beer, his first food since the Two Moons, left him feeling bloated and half-drunk. The last tatters of his energy fled to his stomach to aid digestion. Energy to make energy, and with each transformation a tiny bit lost to entropy. Running down to nothing. Those kids, so innocent. You couldn’t truly appreciate innocence until it was lost, and then you couldn’t get it back. Run down to nothing. The mind is a golden palomino. Hang on, children; it’s the ride of your life. Don’t be afraid. You’re safe with me but I’m not with myself, that’s our problem. There’s time, time, time. All the time in the world. Eat when you’re hungry, sleep when you’re tired.

Carl-the-Counter-Rabbit’s voice boomed over the loudspeaker, ‘Ladies and gentlemen, it’s ten o’clock, Jackrabbit Pizza’s closing time.’ Daniel, who wasn’t aware he’d been drowsing, leaped wildly to his feet, spinning around to check the room. Carl was being tactful. Daniel was the only one left.

He left the Diamond and money under the table and walked up front, taking the empty pitcher and glass with him. Carl was in the kitchen wiping down a prep table. He came out immediately, looking nervous. ‘Hate to hurry you, sir, but the boss’ll be here to cash out in about five minutes, and he gets
really
pissed if the place ain’t cleared – you know, on account of robbers and all.’

Daniel said, ‘Carl, you should explore the spiritual life. You must be a mind-reader, because I was
just
going to ask you if the boss was coming in tonight. When he gets here, would you inform him that I would like to see him for a moment at my table. My name is Nova Rajneesh. I have a business proposition for him.’

Carl was backing away. ‘Oh no, now, come on, mister, please. I shouldn’t of said nothing.’

‘I’m not a robber,’ Daniel assured him. ‘I want to do business.’

‘Well geez, do you think you could call him in the morning?’

‘Unfortunately, I’m forced to leave town tonight. And let me assure you that he’ll find my business proposition so enjoyable he’ll likely give you a bonus that will make my recent tip seem meager. Now, if you’d be kind enough to lend me a pen and one of those empty pizza boxes, I’ll let you return to your work.’

Carl reluctantly unclipped the pen from his velveteen smock and handed it and a pizza box across the counter. ‘You sure this won’t get me in trouble?’

‘You’re covered,’ Daniel said. ‘I promise.’

Daniel began writing rapidly on the pizza box. When he had finished, he opened the briefcase and counted the money: nineteen thousand dollars. He doled out four grand and zipped it in the day pack. When he looked up, a red-faced man, forty pounds overweight and bald, was bearing down on him. Daniel rose to greet him.

Before he could, the man bellowed, ‘My name’s Max Robbins, I
own
this place, and I’d like to know what the fuck you think you’re doing here after closing time? Carl, one of my fucking cretin employees, said you want to talk business. I don’t wanna talk business. I want your ass outa here.’

Daniel lifted the case’s lid and turned it so that Mr Robbins received the full effect of the neatly bound sheaves. Daniel offered his hand. ‘Mr Robbins, my name is Nova Rajneesh. I am what the media fondly refer to as an “eccentric millionaire.” Actually, I’m an impulsive
multi
millionaire, but why quibble.’ They shook hands, then Daniel continued, ‘I haven’t much time, so excuse me for jumping to the point. I’m the Supreme Chairman of the Nova Rajneesh Philanthropy Fund, a perfectly legal tax dodge, the intricacies of which need only concern my attorneys. The substance of my proposition is contained in this hastily drawn contract.’

Daniel picked up the pizza box. ‘You’ll note, Max, there are actually two contracts, but they’re identical. One will be my copy. If you’ll allow me to read:

The owner of Jackrabbit Pizza herewith agrees to accept the sum of $15,000 to provide free mechanical pony rides for all children upon request until such time as the money (at 25¢ a ride) is exhausted. Administrative and bank fees may be subtracted from the original sum, but in no event may the total fees exceed $3000.

In further consideration of this bequest, no employee of Jackrabbit Pizza will be forced to wear any type of uniform or costume as a condition of employment, effective on signature of this agreement.

A separate account shall be kept of this bequest, with books subject to audit at any time.

Dated and signed, etc.

Robbins said, ‘Don’t see much there for me.’

‘Then you’re either stupid or greedy. Not only do you get a customer attraction which will undoubtedly be reflected in increased revenues, you also get an undeserved reputation as a generous man – and, of course, most of the three-thousand-dollar administrative fee.’

‘All right, prick, you’re on.’

Daniel called Carl to witness the deal. Daniel tore the signed boxtop in half, giving Robbins his copy along with the briefcase of money. Robbins sat down to count as Carl and Daniel watched. Finally Robbins smiled. ‘All there,’ he said, starting to close the case.

Daniel cleared his throat. ‘I believe, Mr Robbins, that the witness fee is properly an administrative expense. Two hundred dollars is standard.’

Robbins glared. ‘Witness fee? What’s this shit? You think you can just roll me over and fuck me?’

‘Fair enough,’ Daniel said, ‘we’ll split it.’ He gave Carl two fifties from the day pack.

As Robbins reluctantly handed Carl a matching hundred from the briefcase, Daniel said, ‘While this pizza-box contract may strike you as unusual, and while it’s true my ways are unorthodox, I didn’t become wealthy by accident. I am an excellent businessman. My contract and litigation departments are used to seeing contracts written on cocktail napkins, the upholstery of Rolls Royces, bicycle seats, lipstick on mirrors, paper bags; and in every court case we’ve undertaken – and there have been many – those contracts were found to be binding. My contract department also directs our teams of investigators, whose random visits will ensure that the provisions of the contract are being followed to the letter.
And
the penny.’ Daniel stowed his copy in the day pack.

Robbins was rereading his copy of the contract, his lips moving slightly. ‘Don’t see nothing about investigators here. Where’s it say investigators?’

‘Auditors – same thing.’ Daniel put an arm through the day pack’s strap and slung it over his shoulder. Carl was carefully securing the two hundred dollars in his billfold.

‘So, all right,’ said Robbins, ‘these investo-auditors come, maybe somebody’s spilled coffee on a ledger, numbers don’t come out exactly even, stuff like that. What happens?’

‘The investigators or auditors, as the case may be, report to the contract department. Contract calls litigation. Litigation assembles a battery of attorneys. We file suit. We own a little pizzeria in Reno, the whole business probably worth less than a tenth of our legal fees. You see, Mr Robbins, with
me
it’s a matter of principle, not money. How many more millions do I need?’

‘I didn’t hear none of this lawsuit shit when we were signing contracts. Forget it. I’m backing out. It smells like grief.’

‘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.’