The Fate Merchant

Chapter 10

Chapter 10

     At midnight, Jasper flicked a switch and cut the power to the marquee.  He hung the CLOSED FOR RENOVATIONS sign in the window of the ticket booth, closed and locked the door, then crossed the street to get a better view of the building.  It was a classic design: entrance on the right, exit on the left, ticket booth in the center under a marquee displaying show times. 

     It had been his home for thirteen years.  His apartment was where his body lived, where he fed it, rested it, where he honed his skills in the sedentary arts by adhering to a three step program of light lounging, mild to aggressive snacking, and vigorous laying about.  But his heart lived here.  He hadn’t fully realized it until now, standing on the sidewalk in the middle of the night, staring back at the darkened theatre, and feeling like he’d just pulled an old friend off life support.  The Revival House wasn’t a movie theatre; it was a temple where the old gods could be worshipped as they were meant to be worshipped: in the dark on lumpy seats with the smell of burnt popcorn hanging in the air. 

     He thought of the multiplex again, with its automated projection and sixteen screens offering mass consumption of shiny, yet increasingly hollow product.  He shivered.  He could almost smell the glurping, bubbling sludge they tried to pass off as nacho cheese.  He shivered again.  No.  It wouldn’t come to that.  He had two months pay in his pocket, and if Doyle didn’t come back, he’d find a way to keep The Revival House open.  Dammit, if he had to, he’d rob a bank.

     He paused to consider that particular financing strategy.  Maybe he was getting ahead of himself.  Putting aside the fact that robbing a bank was highly illegal, putting aside the fact that laws were generally a good thing and provided enough of a deterrent to keep society from slipping into some weird Mad Max post-apocalyptic scenario that would see him chained to the back of a motorcycle while Glurg, his leather-clad master, siphoned fuel out of a car whose owner he’d just liberated from his skin -- he couldn’t rob a bank alone.  He’d need a team.

     How did one get a team, exactly?  Hanford, Connecticut had its share of seedy watering holes.  He could prowl one of those: hang in the shadows, make a few discreet inquiries, sustain a few knife wounds.

     He crossed ROB A BANK off his new mental list: WAYS TO KEEP THE REVIVAL HOUSE OPEN SO I DON’T HAVE TO MOVE IN WITH MY MOM WHO WISHES I WAS THE NEIGHBOR’S SON, THE HEART SURGEON.  In its place he added EXPLORE LOAN OPTIONS, and tried to look on the bright side.  He now had two months of paid free time on his hands, two months to figure out how to keep two men from killing each other and not get himself killed in the process.

     He had a feeling he was going to need it.

     He turned away from the theatre and looked up at the dark windows above the Horseshoe Grill.  Callie and her mother were up there, asleep (Callie possibly asleep on the bathroom floor, her body curled around the base of the toilet).  He took her car keys out of his pocket, checked the alley, and saw the dark outline of her MINI Cooper.

     He bounced the keys in his hand and thought of Roy Harper.  He’d decided against confronting him.  It had occurred to him that there were certain types of people who didn’t react well to confrontation -- bouncers, airport personnel, customer service representatives -- and it was probably a smart idea to play it safe and add POTENTIAL AXE MURDERERS to the list.