From Dark Treats

Copyright 2024 Ray Gregory

 

Ten Million

She wouldn’t catch a wink tonight. Talk of a Zhouchang-Panasheru merger was all over Asia. China, India getting it together like this. What an investors’ dream! Her analysis had to be on everyone’s desk here in New York by opening tomorrow morning. Get this one right and she could name her bonus this year.

She had to hit the office running, get her team cracking. But first, she had to have a firm jolt of java, and Stop & Snatch’s workaday brew had done in a pinch before. She slowed her Jaguar as she approached the fluorescent oasis gleaming in the night, its floor-to-ceiling windows festooned with “Happy Holiday” decals. It looked deserted, just the usual two orange-and-green uniformed clerks visible. She pulled her Jag up to the front doors.

She glanced around before getting out. Jeezus, right by the door? She squinted hard at the old man curled up on the sidewalk, leaning against the recycle bin.

Cars were whizzing by. The clerks could see everything, inside and out, plus the new snow on the ground made everything brighter, so why not? She checked her lipstick in the rearview mirror. Never knew who you might run into at a Stop & Snatch. Then she set her jaw, slung open the door, stepped out of her Jag. She walked deliberately.

The old man climbed to his feet. “Dollar, miss?”

She flung a hand before her face to ward off the steam of his breath. “No cash,” she snapped as she stepped faster, clenching the lapels of her leather jacket over her breasts. Even the old droolers had eyes.

She yanked open the door and strutted inside, scowled at the clerk behind the register. “You’ve got a panhandler out front,” she barked, jabbing a thumb over her shoulder.  Then she headed for the coffee machine.

The muscular, tight-clipped Puerto Rican clerk sprang into attention. “On it, ma’am. No problemo.” He marched to the door, stuck his head out, started yelling way too loud. What a macho dick.

She imagined the over-jacked clerk shedding his Stop & Snatch shirt after work for a tight tank top to show off his bulging shoulders and biceps, and don’t forget the gaudy gold necklaces and diamond stud earring. Then he’d club all night with his pregnant girlfriend.

She glanced about. The other clerk, a pasty white kid, maybe college freshman age, was in an aisle listlessly tidying things on the shelves.  What a future.
The Puerto Rican clerk started cursing at the old vagrant, even threatening to call the cops. Now the old man seemed more pitiful than obnoxious, less obnoxious than the snarling clerk anyway. Show some professionalism, she wanted to shout at the overeager jerk. But this was life, not Sunday school, and she wasn’t some softheaded kid anymore. The guy was just doing his miserable job, even taking some pride in it.

When she turned back to the coffee machine, she glimpsed a headline on the newspaper rack next to it. Something about the protests of medical insurance caps. Weren’t the shirkers always crowding the emergency rooms, expecting everyone else to pay their way?

She squeezed the lid over her steaming cup as the clerk strutted back to the register. When she glanced back out the windows, the old homeless guy was trudging off through the slush. Sad maybe, but at least he was gone....