Ace of Hearts

9| well, that was scary

Tap tap tap

   I'm drumming my fingertips against the bookstore counter top, thinking of ways to make Ace Abbots life miserable.

    Do I have him carry a box of textbooks that would break any weightlifter's back? Or maybe I have him try and figure out why the sink never stops dripping.

   Or- I could have him count inventory.

    So far I've had him shelve an entire shelf's worth of books. It's boring work, but something tells me it's preferable over serving McRibs. I roll my eyes.

    Right now, he's clearing off a shelf of clearance items. Occasionally, he will sneeze and I know he's grabbed a dusty cookbook that no one cares to buy.

    Goofball.

    I tap my fingers once more, hearing the store's bell jingle at the door.

   "Hi! How can I help you?" I call.

   A man, he's wearing a black shirt and zip-up joggers, enters. He's wearing a toboggan on his very round head. He looks to be about 40 something, but his five-o'clock-shadow makes him seem older.

    He ignores me, so I sigh and go to clicking a few buttons on my computer screen to make it seem like I'm doing something.

   When I glance back out at the store, I see the man is standing in front of the desk, eyeing me.

    "Uh, what can I do for you?"

    When he talks, his voice sounds like gravel. He smells like cigarettes.

    "Been busy today?" He asks.

    I shift. "Not really. Do you need help finding a book?"

    He ignores me, looking around the store. "Your manager here?"

    "I- do you need her?"

    He ignores my question. "Pretty quiet, huh?"

   "It is a bookstore, sir."

   "You look pretty young. Are you married?"

   Why... now why is that any of his business?

   Not sure how to proceed, I just give a shrug.

  "You're what? 16 or 17?"

   "Yes." I say. A minor, before you get any ideas!

    "Yeah, that's way too young to have a man around." He strokes his face, looking back out at the empty store.

    A weird feeling starts to rise up in my chest. This is odd. I should probably-

    "I'm looking for a book for my, uh, friend. Want to pick one out, for me?"

    "Sure," I look at him suspiciously. I step out from behind the counter. "What does your friend read?"

   "Uh," he scans the rows of shelves. "Mystery gen-ray?!"

    His mispronounced word tips me off, and then I realize he's chosen a genre sold at the darkest and farthest corner of our bookstore.

    He waits on me to lead him over there, but I feel wrong about it.

   "What's the hold up?" He sneers.

   I jump, moving over to the mystery books. When I get to the corner, he looks at the titles.

   "Nothing," he shakes his head, taking a few steps before looking again.