Supermarket(32)

I turned to Mia with an excuse about not introducing her to Frank.

“I just like to keep work and love separate,” I said.

“Flynn, are you saying you love me?” she said, blushing.

“Oh, NO! No, I meant ‘life,’ not ‘love’ . . . I’m not saying—” I stopped myself, not wanting to insult her further. “I mean, not that I won’t, or couldn’t, I just, well . . .”

Mia let out another laugh. “Flynn, I’m just fucking with you! I mean, I really like you, but falling in love in just a few weeks isn’t exactly realistic. Especially considering we haven’t spent enough time together to do so.”

I felt relieved. Though, honestly, I knew I was falling for her. I was just glad she was so levelheaded. The great thing about Mia was that she never played games; she was always honest about how she felt.

“Oh . . . haha, got it! Well, thanks anyway . . . I’ll see you tonight at—”

“Floater!” interrupted a voice. It was painted thickly with a Russian accent. “Floater, what are you doing here now?”

It was the Soul Destroyer, Bianca, come to wreak havoc on my moment with Mia.

“Oh, hey, Bianca. I was just—”

“Leaving? Just leaving, yes?!”

My eyes widened and Mia’s rolled.

“By the way, my name is Flynn,” I said. “See you tonight,” I said to Mia, smiling and giving her arm a little squeeze.

With fifteen minutes left before work let out, Ted asked me to clean up some spilled coffee by aisle twelve. I grabbed a broom from the maintenance room and headed over, but just as I began to mop the floor, I looked over and saw Cara headed in my direction. She was holding packs of sugar and creamer, but at the sight of me, they slipped out of her arms.

I immediately dropped the mop and rushed over to help her.

“It’s okay, you don’t have to,” she said in a hurried voice.

“Cara . . . Cara, seriously . . . let me help. It’s okay,” I told her. She allowed me to help, though she seemed a bit tense.

“I’m sorry, Flynn,” she said. “I just—”

“You shouldn’t be apologizing at all,” I interrupted. “Look, I’m really sorry about what happened last week,” I explained, trying to sound as honest as possible. “I didn’t mean to walk in on you, there was just so much going on and . . . I didn’t realize what you were doing, you know?”

“I know, Flynn . . . I didn’t mean to scream at you either . . .” Cara looked down at her boots like an embarrassed child.

“Friends?” she said. She looked up and stuck out her hand.

“Friends!” I said with a smile. We shook, then we both stood up, and I helped her bring the fallen packets to the counter.

After I finished cleaning up the spilled coffee, I returned to the maintenance room to deposit the mop. Frank was there in the dark room, next to a mop bucket, throwing a banana peel into the garbage can.

“Whoa, uh . . . hey, Frank.”

“What’s up, floater?”

“Hey, I forgot to ask, how did it go with Rachel?” I said.

“Oh, man, I called her and told her to meet me for dinner on Thursday and she was super into it.” He smiled. “I’m fucking her then, I bet.”

“Sure, okay, whatever, dude,” I said. “Hey, Frank, I was wondering if you would tell me more about . . . how you would rob the store.”

“Why?” he suspiciously asked.

“Oh, I’m just curious. Your imagination is wild, dude,” I added with a laugh, trying to seem like I was only interested for fun. Frank paused and then began spilling out words.

“Well, the .357 Magnum Smith and Wesson in my locker would be a go-to for the job, I mean, with—”

“WHAT?!” I said. “You really do have a gun in your locker?! What’s wrong with you?”

“The question isn’t what’s wrong with me, my dear Flynn, it’s what’s wrong with the sick fuck who walks in here with a tool forged for death and a taste for revenge. I don’t know if you’ve realized, but this world is fucked up, man! And if we’re at work and some fucking psycho walks through that door, one of us has to be prepared, you know what I’m saying?!”

Again, it was one of those moments where Frank’s insane logic somehow kinda made sense. I glanced at the clock. FUCK! It was 5:45, and I was supposed to meet Mia in fifteen minutes. I asked him if we could postpone the tale of how he would rob the store for another time. With that, I went to the break room, clocked out, put my apron in my locker, and headed home.

Once I got home, I realized I had forgotten to feed Bennett in the morning, so I put a cup of dog food in his bowl. I grabbed his blue leash, clamped it to his collar, and took him for a quick walk.

I loved walking Bennett after work because it gave me time to decompress and think about my day and how it related to my novel. I would write notes, sketching out scenes and dialogue. For how boring work was, it was at least serving its purpose of giving me good material for the book.

Bennett stopped to piss. I waited for him to finish his business and tied him to the bench. My nose was in my notebook like never before, jotting down things about Rachel, Frank and our conversation on the roof, the revolver in his locker, and his crackpot notions of robbing the store. While writing, I heard a very familiar voice.