In the lull before the holiday lunch rush, Chris stared across
the food court. Several last minute shoppers stuffed the remains of their early
meals into the brightly colored trash bins. All that uneaten food. All that
waste. How many hungry and homeless could it save?
Every year people rushed by, consumed in their quest to give
something to others who truly needed nothing as if a month of spending could
make up for their greed and callousness throughout the rest of the year. They
would throw their loose change into a red bucket and call it even but only when
a ringing bell reminded them.
“Hey, Zeus. Que pasa, cuz?” His cousins Jayme and Juanita stood
with Pjotr at the far end of the counter, all three dressed their brown and
orange Fish Shticks’ uniforms. Chris hated knit polyester. It was hot and even
clean it smelled of frying oil. Why weren’t any of them allowed to wear organic
cotton?
“Haven’t you heard?” Judy said, “He goes by Chris now.” He
turned to find her standing in the doorway to the back arranging her short,
black hair beneath her cap as she came on shift.
“Oow, a big shot,” Jayme said. The three across the counter
looked at each other and laughed.
“I go by what they call me,” Chris responded. His name
didn’t really matter.
“We’re just messing with you, man.” Pjotr reached across the
counter and roughed Chris’s foldout paper hat. He’d forgotten his uniform cap
again today. “Hey, we still on for dinner tonight?”
“I scored us the back room at the Garden,” Judy said. “Big
enough for all of us. And private.”
Another round of laughter. “Better watch it, cuz, or Magda
will get jealous,” Juanita teased as she smiled sidelong at Judy.
“We’re not that way,” Chris said. He turned to find Judy
looking at him with a peculiar expression he’d seen from her a lot lately. He
wished he knew what it meant.
“If you say so,” Juanita said. “Later, cuz.” The three of
them trailed laughter as they headed across the food court to clock in for
their shifts.
A pair of teens approached the counter and considered the
menu overhead. Before Chris could deliver the required greeting, Judy tapped
him on the shoulder. “I’ve got the register.” She pulled a thumb behind her. “Mr.
C. wants to see you in back.”
“Welcome to Your Daily Bread,” she said as he headed for the
office. “May I take your order?”
Chris passed through the two chair break area, just across
from the backline then snaked around the pre-prep and clean-up stations. Over
the scent of hot soups that permeated the restaurant and decay rising from the
dishwashing sink, he smelled yeast and flour, the staff of life. Your Daily
Bread’s signature side in all flavors, light to dark, sweet to rye.
In the tiny office just big enough for the desk piled high
with paperwork that nearly buried the computer, Mr. C. was ensconced in his
ergonomic desk chair as if it were a throne. Miss Anna was perched in the guest
seat by his side. Stacks of promotional material and posters leaned against the
wall behind them.
Chris rapped on the door, but didn’t enter. Miss Anna floated
up and squeezed by him sideways. The knit polyester of her uniform vest rasped
across his shirt, yielding in a discomforting way his did not. She smiled over
her shoulder as she left. She did it just to tempt him, and to make Mr. C.
jealous. Mr. C. watched her sashay back to the frontline through the office
window mostly obscured by old notices, safety reminders and the schedule.
Unlike the insipid carol loop that was piped through the
rest of the food court, Mr. C. had his personal XM receiver tuned to the
O’Really Hour as usual. Today, O’Really was ranting that Christmas had become
an anti-capitalist redistribution of wealth. Last week he had regaled his enraptured
audience with tales of a War on Christmas that bordered on mythic dogma.
The hypocrisy made Chris angry. He was angry a lot lately.
Something inside of him had changed, something he didn’t understand. He didn’t
feel grounded anymore. More often than not these days he felt detached. As if
everything around him were happening in a movie and he could only watch. Unless
he was angry. Then everything came into sharp focus for a little while. But he
hated the way it made him feel. Judgmental and out of control. Like at the bank.
“Shut the door and take a seat.” Mr. C. was eyeing him oddly.
He must have drifted off again.
Chris pulled the door closed behind him and wedged himself in
the chair between the desk and the wall, shoulders hunched inward and hands
upon his knees so that he didn’t encroach on the desk.
“Miss Anna’s just been telling me there have been some
discrepancies in our inventory again,” Mr. C. said gravely. “Do you know
anything about it?”
Chris shook his head, his eyes cast downward on his feet.
Did he really need new shoes? Unfortunately, the law required he have them to
work. Eventually, he’d have to buy another pair. Maybe he’d get lucky and find some
castoffs at the thrift store again.
“Look Chris, this has got to stop. One more incident and
your next stop’s the unemployment line. Or jail, like those hoodlums you hang
around.”
“They’re my cousins,” Chris said quietly.
“I don’t care who they are. I don't want to see them by the
back door after we close.”
“I’m their ride home.” Chris shrugged apologetically.
“They’re thieves,” Mr. C. said, his chair creaking as he
leaned forward. “That Russian boy carries a knife.”
“They’ve never stolen anything,” Chris said.
“Security caught them carrying bags of store products across
the parking lot.”
Chris just looked at him passively. “They were cleared of
that. The inventories never came up off.”
“That just means no one can figure out how they stole it.” Mr.
C sighed as he leaned back. “I should have been able to make you a supervisor
by now, Chris. You’re conscientious. Kids like Judy worship you. But after the
incident with El’azar, what am I supposed to do? What would you do in my
situation?”
Chris looked up and considered. Mr. C. seemed to be asking a
genuine question. But he’d never been very good at judging the intentions of
others.
“Have you thought about my idea of giving the leftover bread
to the homeless shelter each night?” he asked.
Mr. C.’s face clouded. He must have said something wrong.
“I’ve already told you, that’s not possible. Too much
liability for the franchise. We’re not running a soup kitchen here.”
Chris just looked at him. Did he even understand what he’d
just said?
“After the stunts you pulled at Fish Shticks and Communal
Wine, you’re lucky to have a job anywhere in this mall.” Mr. C continued. “We
won’t even talk about that scene at Churchill Bank last week.”
“She needed the loan,” Chris said softly. “I only did what
was right.”
“What’s right?” Mr. C. exploded. “How is two grand in
property damage right?”
Chris looked down at his shoes and said nothing. Mr. C.
would never understand.
“You’re just lucky I convinced the branch manager to let you
work it off. And that’s only because I don’t think you thought of it yourself. I
think you listened to those hoodlums’ bad advice. But the only reason you’re
still working here is because I’m an elder at your father’s church.”
“He’s my stepfather,” Chris said.
“Whatever. I told Joe I’d help you out. But one more problem
and I’ll bounce you right back to being a laminator at Bamboo Yew. Or worse if
this inventory comes up short.” Mr. C. turned back to his computer, apparently finished
with him.
“And El’azar?” Chris asked, not moving from his seat.
Mr. C. eyes rose slowly, brimming with fire. Unafraid, Chris
held his gaze until Mr. C. snatched up a pencil and started working out the daily
numbers on a clipboard. Chris generally avoided confrontation but wouldn’t back
down from what was right.
“Check the schedule.” Mr. C. tapped the glass with the
pencil. “You’ll find he’s on it. That might change depending on what corporate
has to say. Now get back to work. You can start by scrubbing out the grease
trap for the Baconator.”
Chris rose and opened the door. He was halfway through it
when Mr. C. added, “I’m not prejudiced you know.”
Chris turned back and looked at him. Then why do you keep a
separate set of files for all the immigrants who apply, he thought but for once
did not say. With a flip of Mr. C.’s hand, Chris was dismissed.
He paused at the window just long enough to consult the
schedule. El’azar’s name was scrawled at the bottom with a handful of shifts.
Chris set off to retrieve the degreaser and a scrub brush.
He hated the Baconator. Just the smell of it made him feel unclean. But Mr. C.
knew that.
***
Chris rolled the mop bucket to the back door, one of its wheel
thumping as it wobbled over the terra cotta tiles. One of his last chores
before he could clock out. Outside in the common cleanup area, he dumped the
grey water then began hosing down the non-skid mats from the kitchen and scrubbing
the metal screens from over the grills. The work was almost meditative but he
hated the scent of kitchen waste and rubber mixed with the acerbic orange
degreaser. It reminded him of his days at Bamboo Yew. He enjoyed working with
his hands but he couldn’t tolerate the chemicals involved.
As he hauled the last of the mats back inside, he found a
trash bag full of the leftover bread waiting by the door. Judy must have bagged
it up while he’d been working. He heard her clomping around the stockroom and poked
his head in. She was collecting the supplies she needed to restock the front.
She paused when she saw him in the doorway.
“Miss Anna was back here all day doing inventory,” Judy
said. “It’s a miracle she didn’t find anything missing.”
Chris just smiled. He noticed Judy was still wearing her Doc
Martens. Miss Anna had asked Mr. C. to ban them, at least for the women. She
said they conveyed the wrong impression to the guests.
“I was thinking maybe tonight we send the pickup to Mother
Mary’s,” Judy continued.
“We’ve talked about this, Judy,” Chris sighed.
“And all we’ve done is talk,” Judy said, grabbing up a stack
of cups. “Those women could really use some of what we’ve collected. You know
the shelter’s budget has been slashed again this year.”
“The people who need it most live at 5 Night Salvation this
time of year,” he said looking around the stock room. Why was everything they
used plastic and disposable? Why couldn’t they go green? “Maybe next time.”
“Three years and it’s always maybe next time.” She strode
over to the boxes of plastic utensils, snatching up handfuls of what she needed.
“I’m tired of maybe next time.”
“The homeless have a greater need,” Chris insisted as
patiently as he could. Why did other people need him to show them the obvious?
Why couldn’t they see them for themselves? It was so distracting and
frustrating.
“Greater than women who’ve been assaulted by their husbands and
children who’ve been abused?” She pulled down a box of paper napkins.
“If things get bad enough, they all end up at 5 Night
Salvation. For most of them, they aren’t.”
“You can’t be serious.” Judy stopped to stare at him. “I
think you’ve lost touch with the community we’re trying to help. You have no
idea what these women go through.”
“The homeless have it worse,” Chris said. He found an empty
box and began placing the things she’d collected in it. “That’s all I need to
know.”
“Maybe you’d understand if you didn’t live the perfect life
with the perfect mother and father.” Judy dumped in the additions from her
arms.
“He’s my stepfather,” Chris said, arranging the items neatly
in the box.
“But he acts like a real father, which is something most of
these women never had. Maybe if Joe had beaten you or hit on you, you’d have
more compassion.”
Chris paused to look at her. “Your stepfather can’t hurt you
anymore, Judy. He’s gone. You need to let him go.”
“This isn’t about me,” she said, rummaging through another
shelf for a box of salt packets. “This was supposed to be about us helping people.
These women need us.”
“I can’t help everyone.” An edge crept into his voice. Why
did they all think he could? Why did they all look to him?
“You make it sounds like you’re doing this alone,” Judy spat,
tossing the salt in the box followed by the pepper. “We’re the ones taking all
the risks. Pjotr almost ended up in jail.”
“Without me, you’d all be reduced to stealing,” Chris stated,
angry now. “You and Simone can go play Robin Hood if you want. But not with me.
You knew that from the beginning.”
“I bet it’d be different if Magda suggested it,” she sneered,
snatching up the box.
Chris stared at her, stunned. Where had that come from? Judy
glared back then turned away as if searching the shelves for anything she’d
missed. Silence settled over them like a shadow. It echoed through the empty
restaurant like their anger.
Judy broke it first. “Mr. C. offered me a supervisor
position today,” she said softly, not looking up at him. “It comes with a
raise. But it probably means we wouldn’t be working together as much. I’d be
opening instead of closing.”
“Will they let you work backline?” he asked. She’d been
pressing Mr. C. and Miss Anna for more than a year.
“Depends on whether Miss Anna leaves. You know they’re
getting married, right?” Her green eyes sparkled mischievously at letting out
the secret. “It’s kind of funny both of them seem to think a woman’s place is
in the kitchen, but only at home.”
Chris paused to consider until his patience had refilled. He
needed to remember she was young. All his friends were. Had he ever been that young?
“Maybe you should take it,” he finally said.
Judy looked at him in the same peculiar way as earlier. Was
she hurt?
“Yeah, well, I don’t know.” She took a step toward the door.
“I told them I’d think about it.” She fell silent again, clutching the box,
ready to return to the front.
“You want some help restocking?” he asked. “I’m done back
here. We can walk over to the Garden together.”
“You go ahead,” Judy said, looking through the box to see if
she had missed anything. “I’ve got some stuff to do before I can leave. I’ll
catch up when I’m finished.”
“I’ll drop the collection on my way out,” he said, nodding
toward the bag of bread.
“Yeah, ok. I’ll tell Ada .”
Judy no longer looked at him. Had he said something wrong?
“I’ll see you at the Garden then. Don’t forget our tip money.”
Judy nodded and headed toward the front.
Chris clocked out, then picked up the bag and keyed the alarm
on the back door. Instead of exiting out into cleaning area, he turned down the
unpainted access hall that led to the backs of the regular shops.
The squeak of his nonskid work shoes echoed in the unpainted
concrete corridor as he passed the brown, metal doors that were the mall stores
employee and delivery entrances. All the others were long gone. For retailers,
closing took only fifteen minutes not half an hour or more like the restaurants.
He pressed the push bar on the door nearest the walk-in
clinic and exited into an alcove that held three bolted down mini-dumpsters
that were screened from the parking lot by a cinderblock wall. Two were marked
with the broken circles of orange biohazard stencils. The last was plastered
with red skull and crossbones indicating poison. It had been Judy’s idea to
repurpose an unused container after Pjotr had been stopped in the parking lot.
The medical waste disposal agency never touched it because they didn’t think it
was theirs. Poison Control didn’t know it was there. The perfect drop site
she’d said because no one would ever dumpster dive it. Felipe had changed the
lock and ground a set of duplicate keys.
Chris slipped the bag of day-old bread through the mailbox
style drop-chute. Pjotr or Andrea would come by with their bags next, then
Juanita or Jayme in turn. They each scrounged what they could, all according to
Chris’s instructions. Judy worked out the details and handled the accounting of
their collective tips which they used as communal finances. In a couple hours, Ada
would make the pickup on her final security round then deliver everything to 5
Night Salvation on her way home. Tonight, that would have to wait until after
dinner. Chris hoped Pjotr remembered to pack the fish in ice as he emerged into
the twilight and wandered across the parking lot to meet the others.
***
The back dining room of the Garden
of Vegan
By the time Judy arrived, the gathering had started on their
second round of wine. A rich, bright, vegan Shiraz .
The waitress had never brought out wine glasses, so instead Magda had begun
decanting the house red into water goblets. Now she was curled up in a chair next
to Chris, playfully tempting him with the perfect strawberries she’d picked out
from the fruit tray by dangling them over his mouth, her fingertips stained the
same color as her lips.
“What’s she doing here,” Judy asked. “I thought this was a
private celebration.”
“Leave her be, Judy,” Chris said. “I invited her. She as
much a part of this as you are.”
Judy took a seat in the empty chair between Pjotr and
Juanita on the opposite side of the table, hooking her purse over its back to
lay her claim. “Well, I hope she’s contributing because all this will cost a
fortune.”
“It’s not like you’ll have to worry about money for much
longer,” Magda said. Chris tore off a hunk of his pita, scooped up some eggplant
caponata and handed it across the table.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Judy asked, folding the pita
over before take a bite. A trail of juice dribbled onto the table.
“You’re taking the promotion, right,” Magda said. “What’s
that, another twenty dollars a week?”
“Thirty,” Judy said, sopping up the spot on the table with
the white, cloth napkin which came away stained a bloody blackish red. “After
taxes. I’m still considering it.”
“I’m sure you’ll do the right thing, given what they’ve
offered,” Chris said, taking a sip from his goblet. He didn’t usually drink, but
tonight was a celebration. They’d waited a long time to all be together.
Christmas Eve was the one night everyone was guaranteed to have off.
Judy just glared at him. When Magda offered him another
strawberry, she snagged the carafe in front of Pjotr and poured a very full
goblet of her own. She began catching up.
***
As evening wore into night, the room grew warm, loud, and
heady with the commingled scents of wine, sweat, and expensive perfume. Soon
all that remained of The Feast was the basket of never-ending pitas and the Shiraz ,
just enough to nourish body and soul, Chris thought. Sustenance and lifeblood. He
took in his friends around the table. This might be the last time they were all
together. Everyone was changing. Soon they would be ready to move on. He wasn’t
sure how much longer he could hold them all together.
At one end of the table Pjotr was playing with his new butterfly
knife, whipping it open and closed in a flashing blur of circles as Bar-Talmai,
Alpha Jim and Andrea drew back in surprise. Directly across, Juanita looked
drowsy from too much wine. At the other end, Matty and Ada
were deep in conversation with Simone as she zealously condemned the policy changes
at the bank after the loan fiasco. In a lull, Chris heard someone say, “Maybe
if the Christians hadn’t co-opted a bunch of pagan symbols, they wouldn’t have this
problem.” Someone else responded, “Word.” Tomas and Jayme looked upset, while
Felipe turned to Chris with a quizzical expression as if seeking an explanation.
He only shrugged and smiled back through a haze of wine.
Beside him, Magda was now showing off the collection of
expensive perfume samples the manager at Harrods had given each of the girls in
the lingerie department as a gift. She nattered on about the top and bottom
notes as she waved each card under his nose in turn and speculated how they
might interact with her body chemistry. She did smell nice. Her scent was warm
and soothing, relaxing Chris in a soft way that none of his other women friends
did. Feminine like his mother. She was the only one who could make him forget and
set down his burdens for a little while. She expected nothing of him.
He looked up to find Judy glowering at Magda from across the
table as she unfolded another card for him to sniff.
“You should donate those to the cause,” Judy said. “They are
the exact sort of thing the women at Mother Mary’s need.”
Magda glared back at her. “Why should I? They were given to
me.”
“It’s not like we don’t all know what your boss was trying
to buy,” Judy said, her green eyes sparkling with wine.
“Maybe if you dressed a like girl instead of a construction
worker, someone would actually notice you,” Magda snapped, gathering up the
samples possessively. “Maybe a little perfume once in a while and you wouldn’t
be alone.”
“And maybe,” Judy said between sips of wine, “you’re just
jealous that I don’t need to dress like a whore just to get a raise. What did
you give him in return, a private modeling session in the dressing rooms?”
Magda reddened, clutched the cards to her chest then fled
the room in tears.
“I think someone’s Secret Santa has a guilty conscience,” Judy
sniped at Magda’s retreating back. “What a selfish little drama queen.”
“Give it a rest, Judy,” Chris said with a sigh as he
refilled his own glass. “You didn’t need to do that.”
“It would be one thing if she helped us by collecting
toiletry samples,” Judy said, still glaring at the doorway through which Magda
had disappeared. “It’s not like she needs to keep everything for herself.”
“They’re a small gift that makes her feel good,” Chris said.
“And that makes me feel good.”
“That’s the problem, Chris,” Judy emphasized his new name as
she turned to face him, “You’ve lost sight of what we’re trying to accomplish.
It’s not just about you.”
“What I’ve already accomplished,” he shot back, his anger
rising. Why did she bring that out so quickly in him now? “Everyone here sees
things differently since they met me. As I recall, you came a little late to the
party.”
“Without me, there would be no party,” she said, rattling
her purse as she set it on the table with a thump. “Without my efforts, all this
would have ended long ago. It still might if you’re not careful.”
“I just hope your new friends serve you half as well,” Chris
whispered around his glass.
“What exactly are you getting at?” Judy asked. “Why don’t
you just come out and say it instead wrapping yourself in some enlightened
enigma.”
“You don’t see any of the others trading their old friends
for new.” With a sweep of his hand, Chris encompassed the entire table. Absorbed
in their own conversations and the vagaries of the wine, none of the others
noticed the growing confrontation. “None of them would sell us out.”
“You’d really like that wouldn’t you? You always did have a
martyr complex.” Judy shook her head and laughed. “You think you know
everything about everyone but you can’t even see that Magda has a thing for you.”
Chris’s mouth dropped open.
“You know Miss Anna does, too, right?” she continued in a
conspiratorial voice. “I mean, who wouldn’t? Just look at you. You collect
women like a herd of mares.” She laughed and took another sip of wine. “You’ve
got a serious problem and don’t even know it.”
“Is that what you tell yourself?” he spat, as angry now as
he’d been at the bank. “Why don’t you go spend some time with your new friends
and get back to me? Maybe they’ll invite you to the wedding. Unlike the rest of
us, you’ve got the right name to do more than clean their house.”
Judy’s face reddened as if she’d been slapped. “Is that what
you really think?”
“When has what I thought ever mattered to you? You just
charge ahead and do what you want regardless of the consequences.”
“No, Chris, I’ve holding this together while you’ve been
falling apart,” she countered. “You know how much I’ve done for you. How much
I’d do. I was the one who told you about those files in the first place.”
“And yet you were never in them,” he said, crossing his arms.
“That’s unfair,” she protested. “I’ve had to fight just like
the rest of you. And now you want to treat me like I don’t belong? Maybe I would
be better off somewhere else.”
“Then go,” he commanded, pointing toward the door. “And pay
the bill on your way out. We’ll be right behind you as soon as we finish off
the bread and wine. We wouldn’t want anything to go to waste.” He raised his
glass in one hand and a half a pita in the other.
Judy knocked over a salt shaker snatching up her purse. As she
fled into the shadows, the others stirred from their celebratory stupor just
long enough to notice Chris’s raised glass. Scrounging pitas first, they lifted
their own in return. “To life,” someone shouted. A chorus of eleven voices
echoed the sentiment in unison, their eyes gleaming like the electric candles.
Only Chris remained silent, uncertain of what he had just done.
***
Soon after, the waitress and the busboy began hovering in
the doorway. In the bar a clock chimed midnight .
Christmas Eve had become Christmas Morning. The staff longed to go home but it
was against policy to ask anyone to leave.
Slowly, the others collected their belongings, hugged and
drifted out after saying their goodbyes, leaving Chris with only Pjotr and his
cousins. He was their ride.
Chris was pensive and sullen. The others knew not to talk to
him when he was like this. Pjotr toyed with his knife for a little while then
settled deeper into his chair as his eyes drifted shut. Juanita’s head was
already on the table. Jayme’s soon joined it.
Chris reflected on the evening as he rolled two olives around
each other in a bowl with his finger, one black, one pale. The wine had left a
sour taste in his mouth. He thought about what Judy had said. Had he truly lost
sight?
“We should check to make sure the pickup went ok,” he
finally said. Bleary eyed, the others stirred. Pjotr pocketed his knife. They
wandered out of the restaurant together, the waitress unlocking the door for
them and relocking it behind them. The parking lot was mostly dark and empty. A
slight chill had crept into air. A damp haze pooled beneath the stanchions with
the pinkish parking lot lights.
As the four of them approached Chris’s car, a beat up,
third-hand VW bug, a small, familiar shadow detached itself from a nearby sedan
and moved to intercept them. On the far side of the parking lot, Chris noticed
the yellow flashing light as a security vehicle made its final rounds. He
wondered if Ada was driving.
“Give us a minute,” Chris said to the others. He left them
clustered behind him. In the rising fog they became as indistinct as ghosts.
Judy hunched deeper into her coat as he approached.
“I’m sorry,” she said, her eyes fixed on the ground at his
feet.
“It’s ok,” he said, “we both had too much…” He was cut off
as she threw her arms around him and squeezed him tight. Her body was hard, and
shaking. Her uniform smelled of kitchen work and corruption. He held her a
moment then gently pushed her away. Tears trickled down her face.
“Hey, what’s all this,” he said in a soothing voice. From
the corner of his eye, he saw the lights of security car creeping closer.
“Whatever happens, I just needed to say I loved you,” she
said. Before he could react, she flung herself into his arms again and kissed
him, a long, passionate, yielding kiss. After a moment, he surrendered. He
kissed her back.
A moment later, she disengaged. Fresh tears streamed down
her cheeks. They held each other’s gaze for just a second then simultaneously
looked away. No more words passed between them as Judy turned to go.
In stunned silence, Chris watched her fade into the darkness.
“What was that about?” Pjotr asked, suddenly standing beside
Chris along with his cousins.
Before Chris could answer, all three were bathed in the
headlights of the now rapidly approaching security vehicle. A gleaming white
Honda Pilot pulled up beside them, Crossroads Mall Security emblazoned in blue
on the door, its yellow-orange light swirling over them in waves.
Pjotr’s butterfly knife appeared in his hand with a sudden series
of flashing clicks, the naked blade poised to sting the first security guard
that strayed within range. Another nearby sedan pinned them with a spotlight as
red and blue flashers exploded on its dashboard.
“Put away that away, Pjotr” Chris said. “That’s not how this
goes. They’re here for me this time.”
Reluctantly, Pjotr complied. “She did this, didn’t she,” he
said as he slipped the knife back into his pocket.
“It’s probably best if you three head home without me,”
Chris said, handing Pjotr his keys.
The security guard eyed them disdainfully from a few feet
away while his partner flanked them from around the back of the SUV. Both men
looked like weightlifters.
“Jesus Cristobal Salvador,” the first guard addressed Chris once
the other man was in position, “We have some questions for you regarding a theft
from your employer. We have a surveillance video. You need to come with us.”
“Are you three with him?” his partner asked, a hand resting on
his taser. The others exchanged glances then mutely shook there heads. “Then I
suggest you get going. I better not see any of you around here again before the
mall opens if you know what’s good for you.”
With one hand on either arm, the security guards guided
Chris to their waiting SUV. As Pjotr, Juanita and Jayme retreated to a safe
distance, the two men ushered Chris into the backseat then drove through the
parking lot trailing a police escort.
They rode in cramped silence.
As the SUV passed a clump of landscaping that doubled as
rainwater retention, Chris spotted Judy’s silhouette framed through the window,
one hand hanging onto a twisted scrub oak branch overhead. He was confused with
emotion. Why had she kissed him? Why had he given in to her temptation? She was
so young. She looked up to Chris like he might be her savior but deep down he
was just a man, the same as all the rest. Vulnerable and broken, just like her.
She looked so devastated now.
© 2012 Edward P. Morgan III
