Mr. 60% Read online

  Matt shifted his grip on the boxes. They were getting pretty heavy.

  The girl looked at the book. “So…what happens to the books?”

  “Sometimes kids get so sick that they have to stay in the hospital overnight, for an operation or something. These books will be in the overnight rooms for them, maybe make them feel a little bit less scared.” The girl chewed on her lip. “You know what made it easier for me to let go of them?”

  “What?”

  “I realized that if I gave the books away, I would still have my great memories from them. Nothing could take those away. Because the love isn’t in those pages, it’s in me. Does that sound weird?”

  Samantha shook her head.

  “I know I’ll miss them, but I think about how happy some other little girl will be, and that makes it easier.” Amanda handed the book over and stood. “But I totally understand if it’s too soon to give these up. Do you want to go through the boxes and see how many you want to keep? Or should we just leave all of them?”

  Samantha thought for a moment. “It’s okay. You can take them all.”

  “Are you sure?” Amanda said. “I meant it when I said I understand if it’s too soon.”

  “No, it’s okay. I don’t really read those much anymore. The little kids at the hospital can have them.”

  “Great,” Amanda said. “Thanks a lot, Samantha. You’re awesome.” Samantha beamed back at her.

  —

  Mrs. McIntire ushered them to the front door. “I’m so sorry for her behavior,” she said. “Sometimes I just don’t know what to do with her.”

  “It’s fine,” Amanda said. “I really like kids. Thanks so much for helping us out with the book drive.”

  Matt followed her out the door.

  Matt knocked on the door of the rambler and waited several minutes. He glanced at the surrounding houses. Tidy lawns, new paint jobs, fenced-in backyards. He tried to even out his breathing, to quiet the little voice that said You don’t belong here.

  Big Ed opened the door. “You back already? Must be gunning for employee of the month.”

  “Your stuff sells itself.”

  “Come on in.” Matt turned and held up one finger to the Buick parked down the street. Big Ed’s eyes narrowed and he shot Matt a suspicious look. “You working with a partner now? That’s not like you.”

  “No. Just getting a ride. Don’t worry, she doesn’t know anything.”

  “Better not.” Big Ed closed the door and led Matt to the living room. “Have a seat.” Matt chose the couch and Big Ed settled into a leather recliner. “So you need another supply already? Those teens must have the reefer madness this month.”

  Matt shook his head. “No, I’m fine on weed. Most of the pills, too. I just need some more morphine.”

  “No shit?” Big Ed said. “That stuff is popular with your crowd, huh?”

  Matt shrugged.

  “That’s weird,” Big Ed said. “I don’t hardly have anyone moving that stuff. I only keep a supply stream open for a couple of big-ticket customers.” He tilted his head to regard Matt. “You must be getting a pretty good price out there.”

  “Decent.”

  The two were quiet. Big Ed rubbed a hand across his salt-and-pepper beard as he regarded Matt. He began the negotiation game.

  “I’m afraid it’s going to cost you more this time.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Weed’s steady, man. Steady as she goes. Easy to grow, cheap, reliable. I love that stuff.”

  Matt just looked at him.

  “But pharmaceuticals, that’s a different tale altogether. There’s always some new federal regulation to worry about. And the people that hoard prescriptions, go to a bunch of different pharmacies, then resell? Most of them are flakes, man. No consistency.”

  Matt made a gesture with his hands: Go on.

  “It’s going to cost you double this time.”

  “Double?!”

  Big Ed spread out his hands, palms up. “This is a business. I need to take market factors into consideration.”

  Matt’s fingernails dug into his palms as his hands tightened into fists. He clenched his jaw and tried to keep his face neutral. “Double. There’s no way.”

  Big Ed exhaled. He pursed his lips, and his gaze drifted to the ceiling as if the answer to this little dilemma was written there. “Actually…maybe there is a way. Something has come up. Maybe you could help me out and then I help you out?” When Matt didn’t respond, he stood and poured himself a drink from the wet bar in the corner. He held up the bottle and a glass to Matt, an offer, but Matt shook his head. Big Ed sat back down with his drink. He sipped it a few times before saying anything.

  “See, I have another job for you. A different job. Great money. You’ll be able to buy all the morphine you want.”

  “What kind of job?”

  “Transport. I have a load of product north of the border. Twenty pounds of X. I need it picked up and brought to a guy in the city. Only take you a few hours.”

  “I don’t have a car.”

  “That can be arranged. The cost won’t even come out of your cut. You’ll make more money in three hours than you make in three months of selling.”

  Matt maintained his poker face. Dollar amounts swirled through his head along with visions of how much easier things would be. At least for a little while. Finally, with a force of will, he shook his head. “The border, that’s federal.”

  “Only if you get popped.” Big Ed shook his head dismissively. “You know how small the odds are on that? First time across, and no priors?” He smirked. “Besides, you’re white, my man. No profiling to worry about. Hell, they’ll wave you right through.”

  A car horn honked outside, maybe the Buick, but he didn’t look to the window.

  “Besides, you want to make money in this business, you’re going to do some time sooner or later. Everybody does. Part of the game.” Big Ed finished his drink and set the glass on an end table. “You can’t let the possibility mess up your business decisions. I did a two-and-a-half-year stretch in my thirties. It’s not as bad as they say. The food’s terrible and it’s boring as hell, but it’s not a nightmare. It’s not like the movies.”

  “Look, I hear you, all right?” Matt had a vision of himself sitting in a cage while Jack called out for him. The urge to pick up that empty glass and smash it in Big Ed’s face was so strong that he barely trusted himself to move at all. He looked at the floor when he was able to speak. “I just can’t afford to do any time right now.”

  Big Ed shook his head and sighed. “You need to start thinking about your future, you know? You only have—what?—a few more months in that school? Afterward you’ll have very limited access to that market. It’s time to start thinking about your niche after you get out.”

  Big Ed let the words hang there. The house suddenly felt more suffocating than the trailer.

  “Seriously, I can’t afford to do any time right now. Maybe in a few…” Matt stopped, something inside him unable to put a timetable on what would inevitably happen to Jack, even a vague one. “Maybe in a while I’ll be able to risk it.”

  Big Ed stood, took his glass to the wet bar and washed it. When he spoke again he didn’t look at Matt. “That’s disappointing. But I’m glad you dropped by. We’ll talk again when we have business to conduct together.”

  “And the morphine?”

  “It’s double.”

  Matt had to concentrate fiercely to keep himself under control. Now was not a good time to say—or do—something he would regret. He stood and walked to the door. “I’ll see you later” was all he said.

  When the trunk and the backseat of the Buick were filled with boxes of books, Amanda drove to the hospital and pulled into a visitors’ parking space near the lobby.

  “Thanks for all your help, Matt.”

  Matt checked the time on his phone. “Let’s get these boxes into the lobby. I need to get going.”

  “Really? I was hoping
there might be enough time to read a book to one of the kids. If someone’s around, you know, if the time is right.”

  “I’ll take the bus.” Matt stepped onto the pavement, opened the back door and lifted a box.

  “No, it’s okay. I can swing by here tomorrow.”

  “Whatever.”

  Matt stacked another box on top of the one in his arms. As he did he heard sirens blare. He shrank against the car. An ambulance zoomed in and stopped abruptly at the nearby entrance to the emergency room.

  The EMTs hopped out, opened the back doors and removed a gurney. An elderly man lay on the stretcher, an oxygen mask obscuring his face. One gnarled hand reached up, grasped at an EMT’s sleeve, then slipped and fell back. As they rushed him past Matt and through the hospital doors the old man kept reaching up and grabbing, again and again, but never got a good grip.

  “Fuck this,” Matt said. He dropped the boxes on the curb and marched toward the parking lot exit.

  He heard Amanda calling to him but he didn’t slow down.

  —

  Matt missed the bus by two minutes and had to walk home. He kept checking the time on his phone, and when it hit four-thirty he ran the rest of the way.

  —

  Matt wrestled open the door of the trailer and scanned the front room. No mess in the kitchen. Blanket still folded on top of the couch. TV off.

  His heart did a wavering thing, then redlined. He stalked down the hallway. “Jack?” Bedroom door closed. “Jack?” He pushed open the door. Jack lay still on the bed, eyes open, fixed on the ceiling. His face looked different, the cheeks a little more sunken, the lips looser somehow. Matt’s breath came in fits and starts. “Jack?” He couldn’t make his legs take the two steps to the bed. “Jack, I told you this wasn’t funny anymore.”

  Jack was still for another moment before his head rolled on the pillow to face Matt. “No shit.”

  Matt felt his knees buckle with relief. He sat on the bed. “What are you doing?” Jack was quiet. “What are you still doing in here?”

  “Playing tennis, kid, what’s it look like?”

  “Didn’t you get out of bed today?”

  Jack sighed. He shook his head but it barely moved. Matt reached to put his hand on the blanket covering Jack’s leg, to make sure he was still there, but stopped before touching him. “Are you okay?”

  “Stupid question.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  Jack coughed, short, staccato barks that grew louder and longer until it sounded like he was retching. He winced as his chest shuddered. Matt could only watch.

  The coughing jag faded. Jack leaned over on one shoulder and reached for the tissues on the bedside table. His hand made a grasping motion although it was still a few feet away from the box. Matt pulled out a handful and held it up to Jack’s face. Jack spat a brown glob into the wad of tissue. He fell back onto his pillow.

  “I feel ’bout the same way I felt yesterday, if that’s what yer askin’. And the day before that one.”

  “What have you had to eat today?”

  Jack shook his head.

  “Nothing? Why not?”

  “Not hungry.”

  “Jesus, Jack.” Matt stood up. His body wanted to pace, but there was no room. He tossed the tissue in the trash and took a deep breath. “Look, you have to take care of yourself. I’ll make dinner. You want ice cream or the fish sticks?”

  Jack made a face.

  “Come on. What is this?” Matt moved closer to the bed and hovered over Jack, who turned his head the other way. “You’re not giving up, are you?”

  “Like it’s my choice.”

  Matt stuffed his hands into his pockets so he wouldn’t punch a hole through the faux-wood paneling. “What do you want? Huh? You wanna play cards? Watch TV? You want me to turn on the radio? There’s gotta be something. You can’t just lie in here. You can’t.”

  Jack slowly raised one hand from underneath the blanket and scratched at his red-and-white beard. “You really wanna know what I want?”

  “What?”

  Jack turned his head to look at Matt again and smiled. For that moment he looked once again like the Jack that Matt remembered. “I wanna get laid. Just one more time before it’s all over.”

  Matt grunted out what might have been a half-laugh and shook his head. As he walked down the hall toward the kitchen area he called over his shoulder. “You bet, Jack. We’ll hit the singles bars tonight. Right after dinner.”

  Matt’s hands were shaking as he opened the refrigerator. He searched every shelf and drawer, desperately trying to find something—anything—that Jack would eat.

  Matt sat at his usual table in the commons during break while people stopped by. A nervous first-timer who took five minutes to approach the table. An oblivious freshman handing out a survey for yearbook. A couple of girls who would do anything on a Saturday night in exchange for a party bag. None of them stayed long.

  Matt was getting ready to leave when Amanda walked up. “Hey, Matt.”

  Matt raised his eyebrows in acknowledgment.

  “I missed you at Helping Hands last week. I didn’t do any pickups or anything. I just drew up some posters instead.”

  “Great.”

  Amanda shifted her bag from one hand to the other. “I just wanted to make sure that everything was okay?”

  “Yep.”

  “That’s good. I know that…well, sometimes hospitals freak me out, too. Especially the smell.”

  “Hospitals do not freak me out.” Christ, why was she even talking about this?

  “That’s okay. I just…that’s okay. So maybe I’ll see you at the next meeting? I could still use some help and you’re a lot better at carrying those boxes than me.”

  Before Matt could answer, a couple of guys, longtime customers, ambled up to the table. “What’s up, bro?”

  “Not much,” Matt said.

  The guys looked Amanda up and down, then glanced back at Matt. “You busy?”

  “No.”

  “Can we talk business?”

  Amanda cleared her throat. “Well, I have to get going, Matt. Maybe I’ll see you next week. Bye.”

  “Whatever.”

  Amanda had just started walking away when one of the guys said, “What the hell?”

  “Come on, Matt knows what’s up,” said the other guy. “It’s obvious. Fat girls always give the best head. They love that stuff, right?” The first guy cracked up and offered a fist for bumping.

  Matt watched Amanda’s back, gauging the distance, trying to decide whether or not she had heard. “What do you guys want?”

  —

  Mr. Marsh sent Matt a note during Earth Science. When Matt showed up at his office, Marsh’s desk was buried in paperwork.

  “Sorry about the mess, Matt. Have a seat.” Mr. Marsh shuffled a few papers around before giving up and tossing them on top of a pile. He sighed. “Progress reports go out this week. The athletes have to keep it above a 2.5 or they get kicked off teams. It’s do-or-die time for a lot of seniors, so we have to notify parents. I’m swimming in it this week.”

  “But you still have time to pull me out of class.”

  “That’s right.” Mr. Marsh sat up straighter in his chair and smoothed his tie. “I guess you know why I called you in here today.”

  Matt tilted his head, waiting.

  “The sign-up sheet to give a formal speech at the big Spring Varsity Week assembly goes up today. Auditions start in a few weeks. I knew you’d want to be first on the list.” Mr. Marsh leaned forward, his serious eyes searching Matt’s face for a few uncomfortable moments.

  Matt couldn’t remember selling Marsh any weed, but if he thought Matt was going to speak at an assembly then he was definitely on something.

  Suddenly, Mr. Marsh threw his head back and laughed. Unrestrained belly laughs, too big for his little office. He clutched at the edge of his desk for support and knocked a stack of papers off, which made him laugh harder. Eventually, he col
lected himself. “I’m sorry, Matt. I’m teasing, of course. I just wanted to see the look on your face. And boy, you sure didn’t disappoint.” Mr. Marsh took off his glasses and wiped at his eyes. A couple of little hiccup-laughs bubbled up. “I needed that today. Thank you.”

  Matt just rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Good one, Mr. Marsh.”

  The counselor put his glasses back on and regarded Matt. “Man, you even get a sixty percent in Remedial Sense of Humor, don’t you? Let’s hope the school board doesn’t start mandating field trips to the comedy clubs, trying to make sure you’re a well-rounded citizen.” Mr. Marsh sifted through piles of paper until he found the one he was looking for. “That reminds me of the first thing I wanted to talk to you about today. Seriously.” He scanned the paper. “Ms. Edwards tells me you haven’t been showing up to Helping Hands.”

  “Isn’t she thorough.”

  “Give her a break, Matt. She notified me instead of Gill. Not everyone here is looking to jam you.”

  “I worked on one of their projects, this book drive thing. I’m good, right?”

  “Can I bring you some news you should know already? Every meeting. I’ll cut you a break. We’ll forget the ones you missed, but you hit every meeting the rest of the school year. Starting now.”

  All traces of the smile were gone from Marsh’s eyes. The two regarded each other in silence for a moment. “Come on, Matt, meet me halfway. Go to the meetings.”

  Matt stared straight ahead. “Fine.”

  Marsh rubbed his hands together like he was warming them up.

  “Great. Now let me show you the second reason I called you in here today.” He handed Matt a brochure. The glossy trifold had three circles on the cover. Each circle showed a group of multiethnic twentysomethings working on a task. Tinkering with a car engine, painting a house. “Tech’s taking late applications this year.”

  “And?”

  “And they require a diploma, two letters of recommendation, and a demonstration of skills in a particular program area.”