Kick (The Jenkins Cycle Book 1) (22 page)

I picked up the pink trunk and shook it: tinkling sounds of metal on metal and small thuds. There could be grenades or jewelry in there. I shook it again (more carefully).

“Jesus, what’s wrong with you?” I said, scolding myself.

Erika had a screwed up family, fine. If she got a little screwed up herself then that was understandable, wasn’t it? And it wasn’t a crime.

Testing the padlock by jerking it quickly against the latch, hoping to pop it open, I eventually gave up and put everything back the way I’d found it. I’d get some tape the next day, fix it up and hope her problems didn’t extend to paranoid fears of people snooping through her stuff.

After all, that would be crazy.

***

Friday morning, the big day. Saturday would be bigger, but mainly for Erika. For me, it would be a misery of playacting, guilty kisses with another man’s wife and deflected questions I couldn’t possibly answer. Not to mention the Electric Slide, the Bunny Hop, and worst of all, the Chicken Dance. I’m no dancer, but for all I knew Nate was. Worse, he might actually be good at it, causing Erika and the guests to interpret my bad dancing as a mockery of the wedding.

I hoped my night out with Rob and Tom would reveal my purpose here, but failing some sinister discovery I felt resolved to let Nate walk away free. How Erika reacted when Nate came back from La La Land and didn’t remember his own wedding or the days surrounding it couldn’t be helped, but it was better than making her a widow.

Since the bachelor party wasn’t until later that night, I decided to do some shopping. The new morning cast Erika’s behavior in a better light. Her accusations were a bit wild, sure, but looked at from a child’s worldview did they really sound so crazy? She’d probably never analyzed any of it before and kept her original perspective well into adulthood.

I remember thinking the Earth was hollow and we were all held to the ground because it spun, like a bucket of water. That little delusion came unraveled when discussing what NASA meant by “launch window” shortly before seeing my first Space Shuttle launch, in sixth grade. If not for the hell everyone gave me as I explained how the astronauts opened a giant, steel window in the Earth and then pushed the shuttle out, who knows how long I would have held that belief?

Feeling guilty, I decided to make it up to her. Girls love jewelry, and I love spending money, so the decision came easy.

After breakfast, I hopped in the Ferrari and went back to the same mall where Erika had committed a certain class six felony in Virginia (I’d Googled it).

“How much is this little turtle?” I said to the sad-eyed, older lady at Earthereal Wonders, a neat shop specializing in jewelry made from turquoise, jade, quartz and other Earth-evoking minerals, as well as natural wonders like fossils and uncut gems. Much like the platinum and rose-quartz turtle with the garnets for eyes I asked about, many of the pieces were exquisite and therefore carried a hefty price tag. Which is why the place had been plagued by a steady stream of
just looking
for the hour or so I watched from the bench out front.

“Well, let’s just see,” Candace said. With a certain degree of going-through-the-motions, she reached into the case and turned it over. “Oh, this little fella’s $300.”

She didn’t even bother to see if I wanted to buy it. Instead, she closed the glass case and returned to the register to finish her shift. It seemed to me her shoulders were hunched down a little bit more than when I’d first walked in.

Since arriving at the mall, I’d cased about five different jewelry stores looking for the saddest, most hopeless salespersons—people who looked like they needed a break from the cruel hand of fate in a down-trending economy. Earthereal Wonders’ merchandise was so singular and expensive that if they sold more than a handful of things a day it would surprise me. Poor Candace seemed hopeless enough for all the jewelry stores in the mall, combined.

“I’m wondering,” I said. “Would it be possible to buy something and not take it with me? You know, have it delivered?”

Perking up a little, and then deflating again, Candace said, “When did you have in mind? Our sale ends tomorrow.”

She must have thought I wanted to extricate myself from the store by pretending I’d buy something next time.

Shaking my head, I said, “I wanted to get something today, but I can’t take anything with me. I have more shopping to do and don’t want to carry a lot of bags.”

Candace blinked at me and then a second later her mouth fell open.

“Oh, w-well
certainly
we can ship anything you purchase—that’s no problem at all.” Then she leapt out of her seat like she was only fifty-something, fresh on the track of an actual commission. “Did you want to buy that adorable little turtle?”

“Possibly, but before I do I have an important question for you.”

“What’s that?”

“Do you have a shopping cart?”

For the next hour, Candace and I went through every shelf in the shop, making sure to pick out only the finest pieces. I hardly glanced at the price tags as we went before placing them on the counter. Soon, we ran out of room and had to resort to moving the cheaper merchandise to one shelf and the stuff I wanted to another. I spent a lot of time picking through the jewelry for Erika. I thought for sure she’d love the opalized ammonite cluster drop necklace, but if she didn’t then maybe she’d like the 14k white gold pave diamond swirl ring. And if that diamond ring didn’t shine, there was a hefty assortment of necklaces, earrings, bracelets and pendants I picked out, each unique in its own way.

I couldn’t help getting Nate a few toys—like the $18,000 Mesosaurus fossil, gathering dust at the bottom of one of the cases dedicated to wonders from the Jurassic Park era. They also had a number of meteorites, each going for several thousand dollars apiece, and I added those with some much cheaper, yet beautiful, titanium quartz crystals. My biggest purchase was a fossilized Hadrosaurus egg nest. That baby went for $25,000. And based on my experience with Hadrosaurus eggs, it was easily worth every penny.

Occasionally, I threw a glance at Candace to see how she was doing. I started growing concerned because that defeated look had returned—somewhere between the rainbow obsidian buddha pendant and the Selenopeltis Trilobite fossil. It made sense, I reasoned. From her perspective, things probably looked like too much of a good thing and she’d decided I was either a friendly crackpot or a jerk who got off on wasting people’s time.

Not wanting to torment the poor lady any further, I decided to wrap it up.

“Ok, I think that should do it,” I said. “How’s the tally coming along?”

Despite her misgivings, Candace had dutifully copied everything down to a clipboard. There must have been forty things, all told, written out in that neat penmanship perfected in ancient times when people called cell phones walkie-talkies and children played outside.

“I still have to add it all up,” she said. “Are you sure that …?”

I helped her out.

“It’ll be fine. I’ll put it on my card and then get you that address. You’ve been really helpful, I appreciate it.”

I gave her a winning smile, and with Nate’s teeth—easily as pretty as anything in the room—that wasn’t hard at all.

As Candace entered the last item into the register, she turned to me and said, “What kind of card is it?”

“AMEX.”

The total came to just over $62,000, and that’s when I began to sweat. What if the card got declined? I’d look like a moron. I couldn’t imagine giving her a check after putting her through all that. With a confident expression cemented to the front of my head, I handed over Nate’s American Express Platinum Card and hoped he’d put some serious history on it.

Her eyes widened. Then they widened some more, making me think they’d declined it.

“Ok! Well if you’ll just sign
here
Mr. Cantrell,” Candace said, quivering with excitement.

I was approved!

On later reflection in the Great Wherever, I noted that her hands shook so bad she had to press them flat on the glass counter to keep them steady. They must have been damp with moisture, because a hazy halo of condensation spread out from each finger.

I signed my name, trying my best to match Nate’s unpretentious chicken scrawl on the back of the card.

“Candace, you’re a great saleslady,” I said. “I really appreciate all the help you’ve given me. What a neat store. I’m just so glad I got here before someone bought up all those dinosaur eggs.”

Sure, I was milking it.

Candace was smiling so hard my face hurt in sympathy.

“Anytime!” she said. “You come by here whenever you want and I’ll be happy to help.”

Before leaving, I wrote down the address to the McMansion so she could have it all delivered. I asked her to deliver it Sunday, the day after the wedding. She waived the shipping costs and said the owner would probably deliver it himself since I lived in the area. I accused him of being too cheap to pay postage. It was a dumb joke, but we both shared a fun, cheesy laugh together anyway.

It felt great.

***

I’m not a person who sees suffering and hurt and feels the need to go join the Peace Corps or work in a soup kitchen. Before my death, I never gave to charity and probably wouldn’t have even if I’d hit the lottery, like Nate. It only came to me as an afterthought when I found myself sitting on money doomed to grow cold in the pockets of a corpse or go unused in a police evidence locker. After the first few times, I discovered that lifting people’s spirits gave me easily as much joy as doing something for myself, and this remains one of the few things I can point to and say, “See, ol’ Dan’s not so bad.”

As altruism goes, mine is more of a compulsion in search of an endorphin kick. Yet it lifts me up in a way no Ferrari or pot pie ever could. Sometimes I think it’s akin to the feeling parents get when their child wakes up to find a brand new ten-speed bike waiting to carry her away on amazing adventures.

Not having kids, I can only guess.

Chapter 26

Shortly after I got home from my shopping spree, I realized:
I don’t have a tux.

A quick search uncovered a few decent suits, but I really needed a tux for a wedding. Didn’t I? Before I could look through Nate’s bank statements to check his purchases, I got a phone call.

“Hello?”

“Yo yo, what’s shakin bacon?” Rob said. “You coming here, or are we leaving from your place?”

“Uh… I thought we’d leave from here.”

“You’re bringing the cash, right?”

I laughed, apologetically.

“I kind of forgot to go to the bank,” I said. “Can you spot me this time?”

A pause—possibly lengthy.

“Psh, no sweat Sugar Daddy. I’d just be spotting you back a tiny bit of the money you gave me. We taking your car or mine?”

Wondering what kind of bachelor party had the groom both pay and drive, I said, “Uh, tomorrow’s the big day—I may not be in much shape to—”

“Say no more. Tom and I’ll be over at eight to pick you up. Make sure you’re wearing pants when we get there.”

The pants thing was my joke, but I let it slide.

“Listen,” I said, “that reminds me—what was the name of that place you rented your tux from?”

Silence from the other end, then, “You mean where
we
got
our
tuxes?”

“Yeah.”

“You kidding me? It was only last week. That place at the mall where the high schoolers go for their prom shit. I don’t remember the name.”

“Ah, Tyson’s mall, that’s right.”

“Fair Lakes,” Rob said.

“I meant Fair Lakes, my bad.”

“Why, they give you a bad fit or something?”

“That’s right,” I said. “A little tight in the chest. I was going to call them.”

Laughing at me, Rob said, “All those muscles are making you stupid. Man, you need this night more than you know.”

“Oh yeah.”

“Look, I got some things to do before I head over with Tommy. We’ll be there after seven.”

“Sounds good,” I said.

“Later.”

“Bye.”

That went well.

But I still needed to find out what time the wedding started. I wished I’d thought about all this sooner. I could have picked the tux up on the way back from Earthereal Wonders. Lack of discipline—my number one problem. Well, that and not having a body of my own and no real purpose in life, but brutal honesty’s for sissies.

A while later, Erika called.

“Honey, it’s me,” she said, nearly shouting.

“Oh, hey there—you still in Chicago?”

“I’m at the airport.”

“In Chicago?” I said.

“Yeah, my plane got delayed. Listen, don’t forget to move the stuff from the dining room like we talked about, ok? We need room for the guests.”

“Sure.”

It made sense. The dining room was big enough for two weddings, easily.

“Oh… one other thing,” she said, slowly, as if delivering a bombshell.

“What’s the matter?”

“None of my family’s coming—it’s complicated. Looks like the wedding’s down to your friends and my roommate.”

“Why? What happened?”

“Just drama with my sisters and mom,” she said. “I’m tired of thinking about it.”

Genuinely concerned, I said, “Erika, I’m sorry. Are you ok?”

“Yeah, I’m used to it. I’ve been staying at a hotel for the last couple nights.”

“Why didn’t you just come home?”

She hesitated.

“I had some friends I wanted to catch up with,” she said. “I can leave you by yourself, can’t I?”

“I’ve been a good boy,” I said. “Haven’t been to the movies in like forever.”

She snorted.

“Oh honey, I’m so sorry about that. I’m such a mess.”

“It’s cool babe. Listen, what time’s the wedding? Did it change?”

“
Babe
?” Erika said, her voice rising. “Where did that come from? Are we in the eighties?”

It was bound to happen sooner or later. The more comfortable I got in a role, the easier it was for the real me to pop free. I’d done a good job so far, but nobody’s perfect.

Perfection’s also for sissies.

Trying to salvage things, I said, “I’m trying to sound cooler. Gotta keep up with the cool kids.”