Ultramaryne: Short Story #3

One of those cheap, made-in-Taiwan fans whirred tiredly, moving a feeble current of air around my dusty office. My small window was shut to keep the flies out, but despite the precaution, four of them bumped torpidly against it and one was trying to sneak into my can of Diet Pepsi. I think they crawl through the cracks in the plank walls of the building.

Even though it's been years now, I can remember so many minute details of that day.

Jesse knocked at my half open door, causing me to look up, relived, from my endless stack of paperwork. My job, both then and now, is to review loan requests for the small company I work for, Kraals Nosh Incorporated. Normally, it's really boring job, but in the past, I would go with Jesse for inquiries, where we would go to people's houses and talk about their unpaid loans. I tagged along because it was a welcome break from my office chair.

This was the last day I'd ever go on an inquiry.

“We have some people holding out in the Cacti District,” Jesse told me. “Care to come along, Eponine?” Jesse had been a loan collector for years. He's an expert.

“Man, I'm glad you asked!” I said, surging out of my chair with some difficulty. I had been reading convoluted formal papers and receipts for hours and was ready for a break.

Then I remembered Enkai and Anemoni. They were four and eight at the time. “Will we get back before three?” I asked Jesse. “I'd like to get home before my kids.”

“I doubt this'll take an hour,” Jesse reassured me, putting on a pair of sunglasses before stepping outside into the blistering California sunlight. We headed over to Jesse's old red Toyota pickup. I swept a few empty cans of Arizona tea off of the passenger seat and wedged myself into the cab.

The Cacti District was about fifteen minutes away. It was a housing development that never really took off, out by the old deserted Walmart, and the closest part of town to the biotechnology lab. I don't think anyone lives there anymore. It wasn't thriving, even back then.

Jesse and I hopped out of the pickup, both of our company t-shirts soaked with sweat. It was an abnormally hot day. I headed straight for the outdated tan trailerhouse we had come to visit, but I only got a few feet before Jesse yelled, “Eponine, hey! You forgot your vest.”

I sighed the same sigh that Anemoni gives me when I tell her to pick up her My Little Ponies – loud, dramatic, and highly immature. The vest was the one thing I disliked – okay, despised – about the inquiries. Slowly, I plodded back.

“Now I know you don't like it,” Jesse chided me like a caring parent, “but safety is very important, Eponine.” Sweat was dripping from his curly brown hair into his eyes, yet he was wearing his heavy, bulletproof vest and holding another one patiently out to me. That guy was dedicated to his job.

I squished my arms into the too-small holes of the vest, then tried to buckle the black, sweltering, nasty thing in front of me, but it refused to fasten over my belly. I worked at it for at least five minutes, feeling extremely self-conscious.

Finally, Jesse said, “I don't think it's going to fit today. Why don't you sit this one out? I'll turn the air conditioning way up in the truck.”

“No, I'll just leave it unstrapped,” I answered stubbornly. “If someone pulls out a gun, I'll be running anyway. I just need to have my back covered,” I laughed. Jesse frowned, but allowed me to walk to the screen door with him.

“Kraals Nosh Incorporated,” Jesse announced clearly, and knocked politely but firmly. “We would like to speak with you about a loan.”

The door opened promptly, which was a first in my limited experience. People were usually not eager to talk about unpaid loans, and most of the time, our clients would pretend not to be home. The man framed in the doorway was thin and slightly balding, with thick glasses. I could hear a barely-operating air conditioner going full-blast inside.

The man smiled apologetically. “Hello, I'm glad you got in touch with me. I tried calling your offices earlier today, but nobody was answering the phone. Would you like to come in? I have lemonade. Did you hear? They say it's supposed to be one hundred-thirteen today...” The man's voice faded as he vanished into the decrepit trailer.

Jesse and I exchanged surprised glances. This guy wasn't like our normal clientele. He wasn't acting furtive or defensive at all, which seemed to make Jesse nervous. He hesitated for a moment outside the door.

“It's hot,” I whined, and walked inside.

“Sorry about the mess,” the guy called as Jesse shut the door behind us. It took a minute for my eyes to adjust, but when they did, I took a startled step back. The houses we visited were never in pristine condition, but this was positively vile. You'd have to burn it down and rebuild it to get it clean. Sticky food wrappers were strewn around, along with large pieces of randomly placed, decaying furniture. The place reeked of mold, cigarettes, and cat urine.

“Please, sit wherever you'd like,” the guy said as he returned, carrying two Dixie cups of lemonade.

“We'll only be a moment,” I said quickly, giving the couch a distrustful glance.

“We're here to talk about an overdue loan,” Jesse said, holding out a sheet of paper. “It's been four months since you last made a payment on your loan, which comes to $8,974.64, not including interest, Mr. Jones.”

“That's what I wanted to talk to you about,” Mr. Jones smiled sincerely. “I have been working a part-time job – I've applied for a second – and my wife, Heidi, is looking for work, but with her poor health, and all of our credit card debt, and our little girl, and the economy...” Little did Mr. Jones know that Jesse and I had heard this story – with variations – hundreds of times. Usually, it was the truth. He finished in the expected way : “...we just need a little more time to sort things out. Just one more month... or so.”

“Our company wants you to get out of debt as much as you do,” Jesse answered, “but it has been a really long time since you sent any money. Maybe try to set a little aside each week -”

“Honey?” A strained, nervous voice creaked from the dark, sordid depths of the trailer. "Who is it, hon?"

"Just the loan people, sweetie. You can go back to bed." Mr. Jones smiled tightly. "My wife has a medical condition," he told Jesse and I, "it's the main reason she hasn't found a job yet."

"Loan... people...?" The female voice sounded stronger now, more malevolent.

"Sweetie, really, you should get back to bed." Mr. Jones edged toward the narrow, windowless hallway. Though it was one hundred-thirteen out, I felt cold seep through my body when I heard stumbling steps nearing the living room.

When Mrs. Jones entered the room, the gun was not the first thing I noticed. She had wavy, gray-brown hair tied into a messy bun, and her gaunt face was tense and irrationally angry. It was only when she raised her arm that I noticed she was holding a 9mm, and it was pointined straight at me.

"Heidi, just-" Mr. Jones spoke calmly and firmly, but as she tightened her grip on the trigger, he shouted, "No!" and lunged at her.

It was a terrible mistake on his part, but fortunate for me. The gun went off – BAM! - spackling the close room with bits of Mr. Jones' shoulder.

After the shot there was a moment of silence as we all stood there, eardrums burning from the report. I dropped my cup. It rolled around on the floor, spewing lemonade, the cool, refreshing beverage mixing with the hot blood from Mr. Jones' injury.

After a moment, Mrs. Jones threw the gun across the living room and retired to her bedroom. Mr. Jones whimpered for a moment on the floor, staring at his wound in shock, then fainted.

I turned to Jesse, numb with the shock of what I'd just seen. "We need to call the hospital," I finally gasped.

"I'm on it," Jesse agreed, and headed to the kitchen for the phone. I was trying to stop the bleeding with a dirty bath towel when the front door opened.

"Mom...? Dad!" A little girl stood in the doorway, holding a Hello Kitty backpack. She stared into the room, but didn't move toward Mr. Jones.

Jesse returned from the kitchen and took a turn watching the injured man while I called Child Services, then I led the little girl out to the porch. We sat there and waited. It was way past three o'clock. I hoped Enkai and Anemoni would be okay all by themselves. This wasn't one of the scenarios I had considered when I decided to become a single mother. I had never thought, what will I do if I can't cook supper because I'm trying to save a man from bleeding to death, attempting to comfort his daughter, and simultaneously praying his wife doesn't come out of that bedroom with another weapon?

The ambulance arrived, followed by several cop cars and a fire engine. They always bring the fire engine along, even when there isn't a fire, which strikes me as odd every time.

The sun was setting when Jesse and I finally got out of that place. It was five when I finally dragged myself up our front steps, exhausted from the spent adrenaline rush. I opened our screen door.

Anemoni was sitting at the table, crying. There were potatoes splattered all over the table and part of the wall, and Enkai looked close to tears himself. I noticed that although I remembered him leaving for school with bangs, the front of his hair was now cropped close to his head.

“Well,” I said, smiling wanly, “what have you two been up to?”

“I tried to cook mashed potatoes but they aren't like yours, they're all sloppy, and Amenomi won't eat them, and she won't stop crying and we didn't know where you were, and I caught my hair in the mixer and had to cut a lot of it off, and-”

I hugged both of them. “It's okay. I guess we all had a rough day.”

“What happened at work?” Enkai asked.

“Oh, nothing,” I answered quickly. “Just kind of hectic. I love you guys.”

~*