# Extra Napkins ## Jerk "Hey!" Commuter yells at him. He's looking at Commuter's shoes. They are light brown. Have pointier toes than he likes. They look beat up so they are probably— "Hey, buddy! Can you hear me?" —comfortable. He hates being called that. The song on his headphones is almost over. His eyes start to move up. Commuter's khakis are brand new. Probably going to— "Hey, jerk!" —an interview. The dead air hiss fills his ears. He hasn't had a new name in a while. He decides Jerk has a certain ring to it. Jerk pulls a headphone off and pushes up his glasses. "Sorry, I didn't hear you." Jerk lies as he stares through the Commuter's wrinkled button down shirt. Jerk hates people who interrupt music. "Yeah, whatever." Commuter looks anxious. "I need to take the 40 to—" "The 40? 40 doesn't stop here." "But the sign." Commuter's upset. "Sign lies. Bradbury and 3rd, I'd hurry." No thanks. Rapid footfalls. Muttering. Jerk puts his headphone back on and waits for the 40. Time to get to work. ## Tiny Jerk's got a job. The News. Broadside Building, 400 Vonnegut Street, first floor. The heart of Ilium, as far as Jerk's concerned. Door opens, bell rings. "Jerk, where the fuck have you been?" Barks the enormous man behind the counter. He has the brow of a caveman hosting two bushy caterpillars and deep set eyes behind horn-rimmed glasses. A mass of flesh, tall as a bookcase, and probably twice as heavy. "Screw you, Tiny, you know where I've been." Jerk barks back, waving a bag of used cassettes at him. "Hey! Is that any way to talk to your father?" Tiny bellows. Jerk sees a scrawny kid at the comic rack wincing, bracing for a hit. Kid's heard that tone before. Jerk considered letting the kid go if they shoplift non-essentials later. "Father? The only time your fat ass ever ran was from the paternity test." This routine again. Jerk heard the kid laugh and decided he was definitely letting them go if they did. "Ha! Good one, Jerk." Tiny's laugh has the mirthless bass of the passing trucks. He puts a key ring on the glass counter. "I can't stay, need you to watch *The News* until Late gets here." Jerk groans. "Late? He took the car, he's probably lost, and won't show back up until 3am!" "I told Late to be early." Tiny says solemnly, as if warding off evil. "3am at the earliest, Tiny." Jerk began to chew on the side of his thumb. "Don't expect me to pay for my cokes." "You pay for them?" Tiny knows the score. "Go, Tiny." Jerk takes the key ring off the counter. "I'll watch *The News* until Late gets here, whenever it is." A vow. With a grunt of approval, Tiny extracts his mass from behind the counter, making his way to the exit. He looks back as he holds the door open to the corner and the threatening clouds. "Don't burn the place down, OK?" "No promises." ## Reduced Price Three items are placed on the counter: a bottle of orange juice, a bag of chips, and a stretch-wrapped sandwich—the lettuce stubbornly refusing to turn brown despite a bright orange REDUCED PRICE sticker covering the "Best By" date. Jerk begins to ring them up. "So when's Norma coming back?" The customer is a regular. Sandy blonde hair, a handlebar mustache with a hint of red. Jerk reckons he was probably more of a strawberry blonde as a kid. Sad Eyes. "Norma had surgery again. She'll be back when she's feeling better." Jerk points at the price on the register's readout. Norma makes the sandwiches. She and Tiny made Jerk. "It's just... I was thinking about it last night, and even three days old—" Sad Eyes holds up the sandwich as evidence. "—even _three days old_, her sandwiches remind me of sitting in my Gram's kitchen." "Uh-huh." Jerk accepts the cash offered and rings it in. Seventy-seven cents in change. "Just sitting in a kitchen, eating a sandwich?" "No, it's more." Sad Eyes puts his lunch in his backpack. "It's like a happy memory. I'm sitting at the kitchen table. I'm small—my feet don’t even reach the floor when I sit. It's sunny. She's there, humming as she makes her afternoon tea. I feel warm. Safe. Happy." "Huh." Jerk hands Sad Eyes his change. "Sounds like you're getting a lot of value for your money, then." Sad Eyes nods, looking wistful. He turns to leave without another word. "Enjoy the sandwich." ## Original Sin There was a time when Jerk didn't know hate in his heart. Don't laugh. Lots of people laugh when Jerk says that. They sneer. But Jerk's studied human nature. Jerk's read Rousseau and Hobbes. What have they read? Jerk's cashed them out. *The Star*? _Hello!_? _The_—___rolls eyes___—_New York Times_ and _The Washington Post?_ Jerk's just happy to meet someone who reads at all, honest. So little Jerk's an innocent, right? The sweetest, purest boy you ever wanted to meet. A smile filled with joy. Even if he'd seen Norma bounce cans off Tiny's head after she caught him with a girlfriend, there was still this sweet innocence, a radiance to little Jerk. It took true villainy to destroy it. It was summer. Tiny treated _The News_ like the albatross it was, slung around his neck by his father like his father before him. But Norma loved the Coast and took Jerk there every summer for a week while Tiny tended *The News* with the hired help. One of Jerk's favorite things about the Coast was fried dough. Such a simple treat—literally just a chunk of dough stretched out, thrown in hot oil, and covered in powdered sugar or dipped in marinara. Jerk could go either way. It was a candidate for the manna of the gods. Especially in little Jerk’s eyes. It was afternoon—one-thirty, maybe two. Norma had dragged Jerk to her favorite flea market, promising him lunch before they headed back to the motel for a siesta, resting up for her usual nightly ritual: the pier’s buffet and casino, while Jerk haunted the carnival rides and arcades, lingering until they rolled up the streets for families at eleven. They spotted a prime streetside parking space, and Jerk jumped out to hold it while Norma pulled around. Drivers tried to nose in, but Jerk stood firm. What were they going to do, hit a kid? The sky smelled burnt. That gray afternoon haze you get on the East Coast, before the sun begins to set in the west and the wind turns, the land exhaling heat and stink back into the sea. Gulls circled above, their cries full of menace, but they stayed aloft. It was Jerk's favorite spot for fried dough, right by the beach. He got his with extra powdered sugar—messy, but little Jerk didn’t care. He was starving. Norma got a slice of cheese pizza, like always. They shared his coke. They always did. They sat outside. Jerk had just taken his first bite when Norma sighed. "You didn't grab me any napkins." Jerk jumped up reflexively. He didn't need another lecture about being raised by wolves. He took his time chewing that heavenly bite as he ran to get the napkins—a wise call, considering the atrocity he was about to witness. A single seagull—wings spread—descended from the heavens and snatched Jerk's fried dough right off the plate. Norma cowered, clutching her pizza, a Jurassic rodent protecting its child from a dinosaur. "No!" Jerk raced over but it was too late. He could chase it, sure—but would he have wanted the seagull's prize if he caught it? "Jerk, you should have kept an eye on your fried dough." Her single slice of pizza was nearly gone. Jerk watched as she tidied up the table, gathering the trash onto her tray. Her ritual. The signal that it was time to go. Jerk looked at the napkins in his hands. At the sky. At Norma. "I HATE SEAGULLS!" Jerk screamed, hurling the napkins to the ground. Heads turned. People stared. Tears welled up and he bolted for the car. Norma would catch up. She always did. And that’s why Jerk hates seagulls. ## The Kid A thunderstorm blew into downtown just as the last of the commuters blew out. It was hours after Tiny had abdicated the keys and hours before Jerk expected Late to even begin crafting excuses. Rain cleared out downtown faster than any vice raid, especially on a weeknight. Jerk was alone in *The News*. Except the kid. The kid was still there. Jerk went back to the cooler and grabbed his second coke of the day, a truly magnanimous gesture toward Tiny on his part—he'd normally drunk six or seven by this time. But today was different. Today he was watching the kid. He’d thought the kid was a shoplifter, but they hadn’t stolen anything. Hadn’t even tried. The longer Jerk watched, the more curious he became. When the rain emptied everyone else out of downtown, Jerk really began to wonder. Jerk sipped his coke and sized up the kid. The work boots were beat up, dirty. The hem of their jeans, dirty and shredded in spots. They had a rucksack with them. Their cheekbones hinted at missed meals, both recent and historic. It hit Jerk like a Christian Brother. The Kid. The Kid didn't have anywhere else to go in the rain. "Oh hell." They look over at Jerk. Bright eyes that for a split second saw straight through him. Jerk looked away, fumbled for his wallet. "Dropped my wallet." He holds it up like proof. Kid's face was bland. They went back to reading and turned a page. Minutes passed while Jerk waited for the moment to present itself. His stomach growled—loudly. "Hey, Kid." Kid paused, as if recognizing the christening, before coming over to the counter. They were taller than Jerk realized. Ghost of Adam's apple and peach fuzz, most turning darker. Baggy clothes, mended in spots. Ghost of an Adam’s apple. Bright eyes—so bright. "Yeah?" Kid’s voice cracked. "You know where Pizza, Paul, and Mary's is?" Jerk fished a twenty out of his wallet. "'Course I do. Just down the block." The next part was as delicate as it was nonchalant. Jerk folded the twenty lengthwise, placing it on the glass counter like a tent. "Jerk gets pizza and wings there almost every night. Tell 'em Jerk wants the usual—and extra napkins this time." Their pizza was notoriously greasy. He flicked the twenty across the counter, knocking it askew before straightening it again. "You can keep the change, and a slice and some wings for you." Kid's eyes lit up—then narrowed, questioning. "You trust me?" "No reason not to. You've read every comic in that rack twice and haven't bent a single corner. Could’ve stolen a dozen cokes." Kid picked up the 20, pinching it between two fingers before pocketing it and putting their rucksack on the counter. "Can you watch my things?" "I'll hold that behind the counter. Here, take an umbrella." Jerk took the rucksack and handed Kid an umbrella over the counter. "Thanks?" Kid looked at the umbrella like an alien artifact, and started trying to pry the umbrella open. "No! That's bad luck! Were you raised by wolves?" Jerk comes around the counter. He didn't need the bad luck, or a broken umbrella. Brings Kid out the door, under the awning. Shows them how to open the umbrella, and how to close it. "Don't open an umbrella indoors, or bring an open one in, OK?" Jerk pointed at the awning over their head. "That's what this is here for, so you don't curse us." And with that, Kid headed down the block with Jerk's twenty and Tiny's umbrella. Jerk went back inside and decided to make fresh coffee, someone would need it. Probably him. It was going to be a long night. ## Late Phone rings, Jerk answers. "*The News*." *click* Phone rings, Jerk answers. "*The News*." *click* Phone Rings, Jerk answers. "Tiny ain't here, Late." "Shit." That was Late's voice all right. "Jerk..." "What's the story, this time, Late?" Jerk could hear cars in the background. Highway traffic? He swore he could hear a truck's engine brake, a sound like Tiny blowing his nose. "I overslept." He had something in his mouth. Chewing. French fries? Late subsisted on sodium and caffeine. "Late, you live upstairs, in The Squat." "But..." "I heard you snoring, not 12 hours ago, Late." "I'm past Syracuse." It was a fact. Jerk could tell. Late was at a rest stop. Jerk knew the one. Jerk could see the wallpaper just thinking about it. "Snoring in the bedroom next to mi-- FUCKING SYRACUSE?" It hit Jerk. Late wasn't just going to simply be Late. "Start driving, Late!" "So about that." Jerk's stomach dropped. Late's explanations were always matryoshka dolls—one excuse nested inside another. "I came out from getting food and noticed I had a flat." "So you called the auto club?" "Yeah. And you know what?" "What, Late?" "They can't come onto the parkway! You have to use an authorized contractor!" "So you called them?" "Yeah. They got here 30 minutes ago." Jerk breathed a sign of relief. "So you're on your way." "About that." "About what, Late?" "The lug nuts are rusted on. Won't come off. They need to tow my car." "They're towing you here? Down the street, to Danny's?" Danny was a crook, but he was the best mechanic downtown. "I can't afford that, Jerk. They don't take the auto club." "Tell me they're 24 hour service..." Silence. They'd reached the last doll. "Late." Jerk was calm. So calm. Jerk had never been so calm. "Tiny skipped out, Norma's recovering, and you're the only other backup I have right now." "Jerk, I... I'll try. I'm sorry." Line goes dead. No more discussion, but no more excuses either. Late would be Late. No ETA. "DAMMIT!" Jerk swore at the empty store. ## Extra Napkins Door opens, bell rings. Kid came through, umbrella loosely closed and hooked over one arm, with a pizza box held perfectly parallel to the Earth's gravitational plane. A bag with wings and napkins balanced on top. Perfect execution for an amateur. "So," Kid said, looking thoughtful as they slid the pizza and wings onto the counter. "What did 'Extra Napkins' mean?" Jerk stood, opened the bag, and looked down. "It meant extra napkins, and you got plenty." He began digging for the stack of paper plates. "It meant something, Jerk." "It meant get extra napkins." "Paul looked at me after I said it, Jerk." Kid put their hand on top of the napkins, wings, and pizza, blocking Jerk’s access. "He stared at me, then went back to give the order to Mary in the kitchen. She stared too. Felt like a job interview." "That’s weird." Jerk was nonchalant. He could smell the wings. They smelled like regret. He wanted them. "So they come out, and you know what?" "What, Kid?" "They asked if I wanted to wash dishes and bus tables." "That’s amazing for you. I hope you accepted. Can I have access to our food?" Jerk tugged on the bag. He wanted those wings. "I accepted the offer. What does 'Extra Napkins' mean, Jerk?" A question Jerk didn't want to answer. "It means look at the bag you brought back. It’s got lots of napkins. Stop inventing secret messages sent in your favor. Prospiracy theories are a real mental illness." Kid huffed and took their hand off the goods. Jerk laid out paper plates for both of them, each stacked four deep to keep the grease from soaking through. Stacks of napkins for each. A packet of red pepper and Parmesan on each plate. Jerk got cokes for both of them from the rear cooler. A real supper. Other than the sounds of hunger being sated, they ate in silence. Kid ate everything offered. Not even the rats picked wings as clean of meat as Kid did. "Hungry, huh?" "I—" Kid’s voice cracked, like an old automatic stuck in low gear, refusing to upshift. "I hadn’t had hot food in days." They wiped their face. "Thank you." Jerk could almost feel the thunk of the gear shift as Kid’s voice dropped lower. "You picked it up." Just a fact. Jerk stared at the oil the pizza had left on his paper plate. "You got anywhere to sleep?" It was the type of question Jerk hated asking: one he needed an honest answer to, even though he already knew it. "Yeah, Prospect St." Kid looked away. "Under the bridge to West." Jerk glanced at the door and the storm outside. "Where it floods when it rains." "Yeah." Few could master the way Kid refused to make eye contact at that moment. "So, you got anywhere to sleep _tonight_?" Jerk still hadn’t gotten an honest answer. "No." Kid was now trying to stare at a focal point on Mars. Jerk nodded, sipped his Coke. He let the bubbles go flat in his mouth before he swallowed and spoke again. He gave Kid time to start making eye contact with objects inside state lines. "Me, Late, a couple others—we squat upstairs. Fifth floor. 'Penthouse.' Roof springs a leak every other month. Tiny says the free rent is because we're a good alarm system for when it happens. It’s not as fancy as it sounds, but there’s an extra room for someone who needs it." "Do you—" Kid’s raspy voice stuck, but it was because the words got jammed rather than cracking this time. "Would I have a door that locks?" Jerk stopped. "Yeah. Bathroom does too." He thought for a moment. "I’ll re-key all the doors. Locks're older than Tiny. Seen plenty of tenants come and go." "You don’t—" Kid began to protest, then stopped. "Thank you." "Don’t mention it. Can you hand me some more napkins?" ## Hyperbolic Mirror "Can I use the bathroom?" Hours later—brow damp, hand clutching their stomach—Kid was in sudden and serious distress. "Of course you can use the bathroom." Kid bolted with an urgency no one should feel in *The News*’ bathroom. Jerk slipped on his headphones, cranked his music, and read—blocking out everything neither of them wanted overheard. A customer. Then another. Regulars. One got the last bunch of bananas, the other bought a 6 pack. Jerk just pointed to the display to indicate price and pantomimed 'Hello' and 'Goodbye'. Neither blinked. They left. Minutes dragged. He worried he'd have to send a search party, and he had no other volunteers. He was about to go in when Kid came out. Still pale, but looking better. "Was it the pizza? The Wings? Are you OK?" "I'll be fine." Kid dropped onto the stool next to Jerk and slumped against the wall. Sweat soaked through their shirt, pressing into the papers tacked behind them. Jerk stayed quiet. "Not the pizza. I've got some... gut problems." Kid was rubbing their abdomen. "It came on faster than normal." Jerk did what he did. Cooler—ginger ale. Aisle B—Pepto. Saltines from D, where the ramen packets next to them were a mess. He straightened them automatically before he went back to the counter and put his foraging in Kid's reach. He rang everything out, punched in exact change, and wrote JERK in block letters across the receipt before putting it in the til. Accounting was Tiny's job. The first two sets of books, anyway. "I'll pay you back." Kid said weakly, taking their first sip. "You'd just be handing me the change back from the pizza." "But your pizza was wasted." "No. It wasn't." Jerk's eyes flashed. He was mad, he didn't know why. It wasn't at Kid. Jerk got up. He paced Aisle C, which had a great view of the door if you were pacing. In the back hung a hyperbolic security mirror, letting Jerk see the entire store from any angle. Weird thing—custom-made for Tiny's father. The center reflected clear and clean, showing the counter and door. The rest warped into a funhouse haze. The coolers kicked off, and the only noise in *The News* was the sound of ginger ale slowly going flat and crumbling saltines. Jerk stopped in the middle of the aisle and asked a question. "So how bad is it in there?" "Let me clean it up. I'm almost steady." Kid was nowhere near steady. "That's not an answer, Kid." Jerk caught Kid's reflection in the mirror over the coolers. "It's my mess. Let me clean it up." "No! It's just a mess." Jerk shoved his hands into his pockets, grabbing two handfuls of material. Shoulders stiffened, elbows locked. "It's my mess. My problem." "No one owns a problem!" "What does that even mean?" "It means: Tell me how bad it is in there." Jerk turned, looking directly at Kid, no mirrors. Kid looked towards the bathroom door. "You're going to need a mop." "That’s fine. How bad? Should I bring kitty litter?" Jerk's shoulders relaxed as he took his hands out of his pockets. "Even if just to improve the ambiance." Kid smirked weakly and nodded. "Little punk." "Jerk." ## Old Pennies Jerk grabbed his cleaning supplies. Cleaning the bathroom didn’t bother him—it was part of the job. At least this catastrophe hit during a slow stretch. "I've seen worse," Jerk announced as he went inside. "Well, a few times," He said quietly to himself once the door closed. Based on the mess, the toilet had dodged from side to side as Kid retched—and maybe during another type of expulsion. The smell had the tang of bile, stomach acid, and something metallic that Jerk couldn't place. Tiny had taped multiple layers of electrical tape over the 2nd switch on the wall plate that controlled the lights, and Jerk thought he knew why. The tape didn’t stand a chance against the key he sawed through it with. Jerk flipped the switch, and the ancient vent fan sputtered to life, coughing the stink into the alley with a dying whine. Kitty litter was a lifesaver with messes like these. The clay bound to all sorts of liquids and semi-solids, then you swept or shoveled it up. Kid's output was pushing shovel territory. Jerk wasn't going to be able to eat his usual for a few days after this cleanup. The metallic smell grew stronger near the trash. As Jerk moved to dump the kitty litter and defiled meal, he saw the source—wrapped in blood-soaked paper towels, hitting him with a stink like a sock full of old pennies. "No way." Jerk was imagining things. Had to be. He tied the bag shut, sealing the cacophony of stinks inside. The secret to cleaning *The News*' bathroom was the drain in the floor. Once you dealt with the semi-solids, you could just rinse the rest down the drain. Tiny once joked that he could kill someone in it and wash all the evidence down the drain. Jerk reckoned he was speaking hypothetically—but Tiny's father might have had some practical experience. Jerk unhooked the hose hanging from under the sink and unrolled it. Spraying down the bathroom took no time, the mop after that was as easy as wiping down a table you were cleaning for the third time in a row. Jerk used the mop handle to pry the door open and speed up the floor drying. He turned off the fan. It's whine was getting louder, and a fan like it had caught fire in a tenant's apartment just a couple weeks ago. Tiny also had a really strict no-fires-on-Jerk's-shift rule. "I'm throwing this in the dumpster in the alley." The rain was over and it was dark and quiet, except for the sound of distant thunder. City stank, but it always did after rain. In the alley, Jerk heaved the bag into the dumpster and stood there a minute before heading back inside. Thought about what he saw, and that old pennies smell. Kid was up and on their feet, putting new bag into the bathroom trash. "I'm feeling better, might as well help." Jerk realized he saw the wince and not Kid, that first time. Kid had real talent at wincing, and making themselves smaller. "You gotta tie the bag just how he likes it or Tiny yells at me." He showed Kid, it wasn't hard, and got a chance to size up some things. One thing was true: Kid truly stunk and needed a bath the way Tiny needed his orthopedics. Another thing was that one of the stinks was the old penny smell, but very faint. Jerk headed back and got another coke for himself, a ginger ale for Kid. He put Kid's drink down on the counter. Kid hurriedly finished their current one and cracked open the next. "Thank you." Kid leaned the stool back, still tired, oblivious to the sweat stain they'd left on the papers taped to the wall. Jerk stood on the customer side of the counter. "So, you didn’t tell me you were a gi—" "Am not. Shut your face." Kid’s bright eyes flashed—irritation, anger, fear. That first syllable was stuck in his throat for a full minute before he spit it out and continued. "Are not. Shutting face." Jerk spun on his heel, resumed his habitual pacing of Aisle C. "How did you figure it out?" Kid was the one staring at the hyperbolic mirror now. "Old pennies." Jerk kept pacing. Kid was silent, and looked quizzical. Jerk tried to explain. "Trash stunk." Still nothing. "Your napkin?" "Oh! Oh." Kid looked embarrassed. "I didn't know." "I've got a good nose." "And you clean the bathroom?" "It's a skill not a weakness." Jerk had conquered his reverse peristaltic reactions years ago. "I guess this means the offer of the room is rescinded." Kid sounded disappointed. Jerk stopped, turned to look at kid. Puzzled. "Why would I rescind the offer?" "People rescind offers all the time. " Matter of fact. "That must hurt." Not that Jerk knew a thing or two about that. He resumed pacing. Looked at the time. Cursed Late. "Kid, the only thing that changes is now I understand better why you asked about locks." "People... want things." Kid crossed their arms tight, shrinking in on themself. "They give you a couch, warm food. Then at 3 a.m., they’re standing over you, rubbing themselves. That’s when you realize what the food and dry place are really costing you—unless you want their 'kind offer' rescinded in the middle of the night. It’s hard to trust." "Kid I—" Jerk grasped for what to say next. "Assholes." He stared at the coolers for a minute. When he turned back around, he saw that Kid had slumped forward, resting their head on their arms, snoring softly. Jerk paced Aisle C, glanced at the time, then back at Kid. Their breathing was slow, steady. He let them sleep. ## Daylight 2 a.m. came and went. Then 3. 4 likewise. A compressor on the coolers whined, and Jerk pictured Tiny whining about repair bills soon enough. Kid hadn’t fallen asleep so much as capitulated to it. Jerk figured they’d wake up as he squeezed behind to deal with the occasional straggler, but Kid’s soft snores never faltered. You’d be surprised how readily customers accepted a reeking, sweat-soaked person blocking their view of Tiny’s collection of *GLASS PIPES—FOR TOBACCO USE ONLY* (the sign said so). But things were usually pretty weird downtown at that hour. Some of the more dedicated regulars—the ones who felt personally invested in *The News*—wanted to ask. Jerk could tell. But he’d just gesture for silence, and they learned to live with the mystery. It was 4:49 a.m. when the door banged loudly as the roach coach guy kicked it open with his heel while he was carrying a flat of breakfast sandwiches in his arms. A total breach of decorum. "NO!" Kid awoke with a start, arms raised to protect their face. The stool tipped back, cracking their head on the wall. With pain came awareness. "Ow." They rubbed their head. "Whoa, sorry." Jerk went to school with the guy. He was not sorry. Guy looked around. "Where's Late?" "Late." Jerk was not unpacking it with this guy. Guy handed him the bill of sale to sign. "So Roxy—" Roxy owned the roach coach service they used for breakfast sandwiches. "She says that she can get you flats of lunch sandwiches for the same price as these while Norma's recovering." Tiny had a great deal on the breakfast sandwiches. Their lunch sandwiches probably wouldn't be as good as Norma's, but Roxy's offer still verged on charity. "Tell Roxy that Tiny owes her, and thanks." Guy left, quiet again. Jerk had been mainlining lukewarm coffee and cokes all night, an alertness ritual he'd developed in middle school. Its effectiveness was fading fast. He yawned and could feel the water in the corner of his eyes. He got two orange juices from the coolers, napkins from the deli counter, and placed them with two of the breakfast sandwiches from the flat, pushing Kid's share in their direction. "Please don't make me clean this up." Kid's first bites were tentative. Jerk put the rest of the sandwiches in the warmer and made a new pot of coffee. By the time he'd done that, Kid's sandwich and orange juice was gone. Jerk was finishing his when a dark shape appeared outside the door. Door opens, bell rings. "Jerk, where the hell is Late?" Tiny was freshly shaved, relaxed, smelled like cologne and the cigar he smoked on the way over. "Fucking Syracuse, last I knew." Jerk didn't want to unpack it with Tiny either. "Syracuse? Huh. Good spiedies out there." Tiny seldom pondered the unknowable too deeply, he didn't consider it wise. Tiny looked at Kid, grunted acknowledgment. "You look like shit." Kid stepped aside, shoulders tight, waiting for Tiny to start barking. Jerk filled him in on Roxy's offer, the whining compressor, and other things he'd noticed in the 16 hours since Tiny had left him here. Then he turned to the ugly work. "We can't run with this few people, Tiny." "I know, I'll figure something out." Tiny reconsidered Kid. "You're the homeless kid that always reads my comics when it rains, right?" Kid nodded. "Didn't recognizing you looking shit like that. What's your name?" "Kid." Jerk answered. "They just go by Kid. They're going to be joining The Squat." "So you two are friends." Tiny cleared his throat. "Good. You got a job, Kid?" "Pizza, Paul, and Mary's. Two nights a week. Just started." Kid was proud of it. Tiny looked at Jerk, almost bemused. "Their pizza is so greasy. Bet you needed extra napkins." He looked back at Kid. "So you have some time free." "Is this a job interview?" Kid looked from Tiny to Jerk, eyes pleading *What is this?* "Might become one, but right now this is just us talking and me hoping you'll be truthful with me." Tiny's tone was more warm and genuine than a vacuum tube radio, but Kid still shrank when Tiny said it. "You on drugs?" "Not the type you're asking about." "What's your legal name?" "I don't like that name." Tiny chuckled. "I can understand." Tiny's full name was as long as Jerk's arm. "Last question:" *Here it comes,* Jerk though, *the Rorschach test*. "Have you ever stolen from me?"" "I--" Kid stuttered. *Just answer the question, Kid.* Jerk thought as he stared at Kid. "Norma's sandwiches. Pads. Advil. Things I needed." Kid slumped, looked defeated. "You pass." "But... I stole from you!" Kid leaned forward, eyes wide in shock. "I watched you steal. I'm fat and slow, not blind." Tiny sucked in his snot before clearing his throat, an ugly sound. "You only took what you needed." "So what does this mean? I have a job at *The News*?" Kid looked as puzzled as Jerk was about to be. "It's up to the hiring manager." Tiny looked at Jerk. "Who's the hiring manager?" Jerk stared at Tiny. "You, Jerk." Kid laughed at that. "So, do I have a job?" Kid was asking Jerk. "I... I guess." Jerk, decision maker. "Now that that’s settled, go upstairs and clean up, sleep. You two look like shit and will scare away customers." --- "This bedroom is bigger than some apartments!" Kid’s cracked voice echoed off the bare walls. "Is yours this big?" "Minus all the room books take up." Jerk didn’t mention those had already overflowed into the great room. He finished oiling the hinge pins and started tapping them down. Kid sat on the bare mattress in the corner, sunlight flooding across the floor. They finished drying their hair. "Thanks for letting me wear your clothes." "Thanks for agreeing to let me wash your filthy ones." Jerk tested the door. It let out a horrendous screech. "Can I read in your room while you work?" "Sure, Kid." Jerk wedged the flathead under the hinge barrel and tapped the pin loose. He was going to take his time and get it right. ## Spiedies Disaster *The News* hadn't seen a more gruesome scene since the days of Tiny's father. They laid the victims out on baking trays on the table in the kitchen. The soggy bread bits on one tray, cut and skewered cubes of marinated meat on the other. Spiedies. "After my tire was fixed, I got the bright idea to get you guys some spiedies to make up for it," Late was sincere, downtrodden. "But I wasn't thinking. I just put the bag of ice I bought to keep them fresh on top of the box, but it melted fast and soaked them through." Tiny leaned over the deli counter from the floor, looking at the carnage. "The bread's mush. Done in for sure." "Hear me out," It was the Kid who had the plan. "Bread's easy. Throw it out. We've got rolls in the store. I'll butter, season, and toast them." Tiny nodded, in agreement. "Go on, Kiddo." He was licking his lips already. Kid held up a skewer of chicken and lamb. "No grill back here, but if we broil the water out, toss them in olive oil, rosemary, and thyme, then broil again?" "Definitely thyme in whatever this place was using," Jerk wasn't proud, he'd sniffed them up close. "I'm not sure that's traditional?" Tiny offered. Jerk could tell he wasn't even sure. He knew more about Melba sauce with mozzarella sticks. "This was a Syracuse place that had their own recipe and was proud of it, it was near Sa—" Late cut himself off. "Near a friend's place." Jerk looked at Tiny. Tiny looked at Jerk. *Sarah's out of Bedford?* They said to each other silently. "I think Kid's got the right idea." A customer had come in and Tiny was retreating to the counter. "I'm not sure how the skewer and rolls fit with serving?" Kid held up another skewer, beef and lamb, perplexed. "Just pull them out," Jerk offered. "No one here's picky." He looked at Late, who could be, but Late had no objections. Jerk heard Tiny finish checking the customer out. He grabbed Late's arm and pulled him out to let Kid work on the recovery effort, dragged him to the counter. "Did you say Sarah? Sarah Ann McGuire's out of Bedford?" Jerk asked, Tiny listened. "Yeah, I..." Late looked sheepish. "She got out and I got the bug to visit her." They'd been pen pals for years. "She murdered people," Tiny said, the memory clear. "Husband. In-laws. Cold blood. It was all over the news." "It was not cold blood. She was railroaded. He was... he was doing bad things, Tiny. Them too." Late was only 14 or 15 when he answered an ad in the weekly looking for a pen pal. She didn't know he was a kid young enough to be her grandson until after he turned 18. He didn't know she'd committed triple homicide until he was 20. "So did you two...?" The question hung without verb, Tiny looked right at Late. Late turned a shade of red Jerk'd never seen him turn. "SHE'S A NICE LADY!" Late got pissed and stalked off to restock the cooler. Jerk assessed they'd done the deed. Tiny's voice dropped, a diesel in low gear. "This Kid. Kid's made out of rubber or something?" Tiny looked back at the deli counter. "Based on how fresh the bathroom was this morning, you mopped their guts off the floor last night." Why yes, Tiny. Jerk had done a better job than normal with that particular mess. Thank you for noticing. "Crashed for a couple hours and then was back up and restless," Jerk was the same way. Tiny too. "You're paying Kid, right? Because they consider The Squat payment and—" Jerk looked right at Tiny, eye contact he didn't usually like to make "—Squat's mine to give freely. Per our agreement. You pay Kid separately." It was Tiny who looked away. He spit under his breath. "My son's a fucking blackmailer." Jerk learned from the best. Tiny cleared his throat, recovered. "Federal minimum, cash," he said. "Same as you, same as Late, same as the other putzes you bring in here. Paperwork in January, they decide if they're paying taxes." Tiny made some lies other people's responsibility. A gentleman does. The smell out of the kitchen was mouth-watering already, and Jerk saw Kid run out to Aisle A and grab the bread. "You have to tell Kid the Golden Rule." Tiny said, letting the pause stretch. It was always Jerk's job to say it aloud. "No crimes on the clock." ## It's Just Money Squat phone rings twice, Kid doesn't answer. It stops. Squat phone rings twice, Kid doesn't answer. It stops. Squat phone rings twice, Kid answers. "What do you want, Tiny?" "They taught you my code already?" Tiny's voice, Kid could hear *The News* in the background. "Easy code. Be easier if we had an intercom." Kid pondered. "Does this building have pneumatic tubes?" "Shut up and bring Jerk with you downstairs." --- "Tiny." Jerk was still yawning and started pouring himself a cup of *The News*' coffee. It was too early for anything except reading. "I got a sandwich delivery order." Jerk was about to pour sugar in his cup when he stopped, looked at Tiny. "Special order?" "Yeah." Tiny extracted himself from his throne. "Finish making your coffee, watch the counter." Jerk did as he was told. Kid could feel the energy in the air. "Can I... Can I watch you make it?" "Sure Kiddo, was hoping you'd ask." Kid was going to learn something. Tiny could cook. Norma could cook. Jerk? Jerk didn't want to cook. --- Tiny didn't look for a hairnet for his curly mop of salt and pepper hair, but he washed his hands for 30 seconds in the prep sink and had Kid do the same. "Kiddo, can you grab some kaiser rolls, I need one for this sandwich." Kid ran to grab them. Tiny went into the display case, barely above freezing, and got the prosciutto, salami, and honey ham. Tiny cut off 5 slices of each, discarding the first four. He placed the slices in one frying pan and started the heat. "Get a dozen eggs from the grocery cooler." He commanded Kid while he grabbed another frying pan. Kid started in that direction. "American cheese too!" Tiny had the meat sizzling in one pan and butter in another before Kid could get there and back. "Eggs and cheese!" "Cut the roll in half and butter it, one half turn of the pepper grinder on each side." Tiny commanded. Kid obeyed. Tiny grabbed the biggest egg of the dozen and cracked it into the waiting butter. As it fried, he ground pepper on top: one complete turn, then a second. He waited a little more before putting a slice of cheese on top of the egg, sliding the sizzling meat on top of that, and another slice of cheese on top of everything. In the second frying pan, he put the kaiser roll Kid had prepared face down in the sizzling oil and fat from the meat. "I should have had more breakfast." Kid said, trying not to drool as Tiny assembled the sandwich. Tiny laughed. "Get yourself some Donut Tyme on the way. " He put the sandwich in wax paper, more of a sleeve than a wrap, and then wrapped it again. "You have to let it breathe, or it gets soggy." He explained as he sliced through the outer layer. Tiny carried the sandwich out. Jerk let Tiny in behind the counter. Tiny wrote out the slip, placed the sandwich in the bag. He stapled the big shut over the slip, before handing it to Jerk. "City Hall. Third floor. McNally." Jerk nodded and took the bag. "Cash only." --- As they walked, Kid looked at the slip stapled to the outside. "Thirteen hundred twenty nine dollars and sixteen cents? For a sandwich?" Kid asked. "McNally's a councilman?" "City Comptroller." Jerk corrected Kid. "Tiny's blackmailing the city's Comptroller?" Jerk stopped. Kid stopped too. Jerk held up the bag. "We are delivering a sandwich!" Jerk started walking again. Kid caught up. "A thirteen hundred dollar sandwich." Kid was undeterred. "It didn't smell *that* good." Jerk stopped again. Kid screeched to a half alongside. He offered Kid the bag. "You want to know why this sandwich costs as much as it does? Go back and ask Tiny, or you can hand it off to Comptroller McNally and ask him." Kid held up their hands. Backing away. "I was just curious." "Don't get curious, curious people don't deliver sandwiches. Doesn't matter how much it costs, it's just money." Jerk started walking again. He didn't want the sandwich to get too cold. They were almost to City Hall. --- McNally had a secretary. The secretary was named Ms Dunworth. Ms Dunworth was expecting them. "Jerk!" She was grandmotherly, with half glasses, a pea green cardigan, and a tea stained smile. She considered the enigma of Kid. "And who's this? You're always a loner!" "Kid." Kid gave a small wave, doing that thing Jerk noticed where they shrink a little. "And I'm Ms Dunworth." She smiled again. It could brighten an abyss, tea-stains and all. "Well now that introductions are finished, Comptroller McNally told me to call when you were here!" She picked up the receiver on her phone and pressed one of the square clear pillars. It lit up. Kid could hear the phone ring in the other room. A muffled male voice on the phone followed the muffled voice behind the door by a split second. "Yes, Comptroller McNally, they just arrived. I'll bring them in." She stood. Brown pencil skirt. Sensible shoes. Looked like everyone's favorite teacher. She opened the door, smiled, and they walked through. It clicked shut behind them. McNally's office was wood paneling and bookcases filled with books on accounting and finance. His desk dominated it, with two large leather chairs in front. A projection of his power. "Jerk, let's see that sandwich. Jerk's friend--" He gestured at the left chair. "--take a seat." Kid instantly and correctly determined it was not a request and sat down. Jerk handed him the bag. "Price is on the slip." McNally looked at the price. "Well worth the value I'll receive, I'm sure." His smile was too wide. He opened a drawer and pulled out a cashbox, carefully counting out what he owed. He paid in a mix of twenties, fives, and ones. He placed the 16 cents alongside it. Jerk took the cash, counted it out. Handed it to Kid to count too. Kid didn't understand what they were seeing but knew what they were supposed to do. "I hope you'll both join me while I eat it?" McNally smiled that too-wide smile at Jerk and gestured at the right chair. McNally took the sandwich and napkins out of the bag and began unwrapping it like a grandmother who wants to save the wrapping paper. He folded and saved both layers, placing them in his desk, out of sight. He used the paper bag as his plate. He picked up the sandwich with both hands and stopped. He put it back down. "I should not start on this without having a glass of water ready." He filled his glass from the pitcher on his desk. He took hold of the sandwich again. His first bite was easily a quarter of the sandwich. It was too much for his mouth but he chewed anyway. "Mmmm" His eyes rolled in his head and his head lolled a little. The cheese, the roll, and the meat must have been a massive wad he was chewing. He might have had trouble swallowing, if he didn't take a huge swing of water with it. He took another bite, nearly as large. "Mfth dth toe gof!" He leaned his chair back gleefully. McNally was oblivious to them. Kid questioned Jerk with their eyes, Jerk shrugged the same way. McNally's chair tilted forward, and he grabbed his glass of water to wash down the second bite, slamming down the empty glass and refilling it with one hand while he shoved the sandwich into his face again for another encounter with the other. "Toe gof!" --- "What. The. Hell." Was the first thing Kid said when they got to the street. They sucked on a peppermint candy Ms Dunworth had offered them as they left. Jerk shrugged. "Sandwich delivery." "That smelled like a blackmail but he acted like we delivered him the Holy Grail." "It's just money." Jerk repeated that a lot during situations like this. "Sandwich delivery." He started heading back towards *The News*, wad of money money in his pocket. "'It's just money.'" Kid repeated, following behind and not sounding convinced. ## Bologna Steaks It was a mid afternoon lull. Tiny leaned back, eyes closed, while Jerk swept the aisles. Behind the deli counter, Kid was trying to figure out how the slicer worked from first principles. "Wow this reminds me of a saw in shop class!" "You'll work better with fingers!" Tiny barked without opening his eyes. Tiny was tired. Two weeks after her surgery, Norma had gotten an infection in her surgical wound. Fevers. Puss. Drainage. The kinds of smells that even Jerk wasn't comfortable dealing with. Tiny was sleeping even less than usual. Jerk looked past the Tiny act and saw his father—his *Dad*—for the first time in a year or two. It was always easier to look at what he was eating or yelling about. The circles around Tiny's eyes were darker, bruised and black. Tiny had been burning it at both ends before Jerk was even a twinkle, but Norma's illnesses was another kind of exhaustion. "I'm doing it! I'm doing it!" Kid called from the back, and then. "Whoa, those slices are way too thick!" Another pause. "Are fried bologna steaks a thing?" "I could certainly be convinced!" Tiny called back, eyes still closed. Jerk wondered how well Tiny was eating with Norma sick. "She's not coming back to work at *The News*, Jerk." Tiny's lips moved but the rest of him was a motionless mountain as he spoke softly enough it wouldn't carry to Kid. Jerk didn't know either to laugh or cry. "Why, Tiny?" "You and Kid—you're young. When you're sick, they want to fix you." Tiny stayed motionless, arms crossed, eyes still shut. "Me, Norma. We're old." Tiny sighed, collapsing a little. Jerk could almost see the years that Tiny pushed back with sheer force of will creep in, just a little. "You get sick, their first instinct isn't to fix it. It's to simply rip it out." "That's... medicine?" To no one's surprise, Jerk didn't get what Tiny was trying to say. Jerk heard the chain-fence-slamming-shut noise of Norma's favorite flimsy frying pan hitting the coils of the range in the kitchen cubby behind the Deli counter. The snap of the burner clicking on clattered in Jerk's right ear. Tiny ignored him. "Eventually, they just keep cutting pieces off—patches of skin, chunks of colon—until you start wondering if they’re healing you or carving away what’s left. To live. To enjoy." "What's this, Tiny? Has Norma got something else?" "No. Not yet. But eventually." Jerk could almost see Tiny deflating, very slowly. "This is four surgeries in five years." He got quiet. Jerk finished D and moved to E to sweep. There was a sizzle from the kitchen, a smell of salted meat and garlic. The smell seemed to slowly rouse the giant to speak again. "I asked her if she missed *The News*, and do you know what she did? She started crying." Tiny opened his eyes and looked at Jerk, his eyes wet. "She asked me when she'll have given enough to me, to this place." She was always saying *The News* was the family's business and not hers. Jerk guessed she meant it. "Is it OK to open condiments?" Kid yelled from the kitchen. "Yeah Kid." Jerk yelled back. He didn't care. He turned to Tiny. "So she's not coming back?" Jerk's eyes shot to the Deli counter, where the delicious smell was emanating from. "Are we shutting down the counter?" "My father's ghost would kill us all." Kid beamed as they came from the kitchen, a plate in each hand—the kind of thick plates that always went mushy with spaghetti and meatballs. But not today. It was two thick slabs of bologna, fresh off the slicer, fried with salt, pepper, and *Jerk sniffed* had Kid found Norma's personal celery salt/paprika blend? Three dabs adorned each plates. Two different mustard, and a spoonful of horseradish. Kid set down the plates, then pulled out enough napkins for an army. Jerk eyed Tiny's iced tea, it was nearly full. He got himself coke. Kid was leaning on the counter, sawing into the second steak. Jerk was confused until he noticed that Tiny's plate had one fork and the other, two. "I only want a little. I thought we could split it," Kid said, eyes smiling and so bright as they looked at Jerk. They took a cube of fried, salted meat and dipped it in horseradish, their "Mmm" cracking in their throat like a cat’s purr. Jerk shared some of his coke with them. "This is great, Kid." Tiny couldn't lie about food. "A real supper." Tiny ate the slab of bologna quickly and methodically. He hadn't been eating as much as he'd like, Jerk could tell. Tiny groaned as he stood up. He removed his bulk from behind the counter, grabbed a newspaper, and turned towards the bathroom. "Hey Tiny, can we fix the fan in there? It'll help with the smells." "Sure, I'll have the facility manager call around for someone to fix it." "Who's the facility manager?" "You, Jerk." Tiny disappeared into the bathroom, locking the door behind him. ## HELP WANTED The sign was red, with the white block HELP WANTED letters and a rectangle for a note outlined in black. Jerk wrote "SEE: JERK" in clean block letters on the rectangle. He taped it on the inside of the door as the mid-morning rush began. "I hope we get a lot of applicants." Kid leaned against the counter, coffee in hand. "You should." Tiny was behind the counter at the register. "You've got 60 hours in here this week, Kid." His voice was genuine. "Kid's saving our asses." Jerk had started straightening soup cans in D after putting up the sign. "Did Paul and Mary say when they'd be able to send Paulie and others over to help get the Deli counter back up?" Jerk looked at Tiny while he asked, then to Kid. "They need training." "Should be here soon.." Tiny looked over at the counter. The display case was dark now, everything thrown out. Kid's bologna steaks were the last thing worth eating. A flowerbed waiting for spring. Door opens, bell rings. "You're looking for help?" Sad Eyes. --- Paulie shook his head. "This is a nightmare." The bridge of Paulie's nose was high and his thinning hair shimmered under the florescent lights. "Norma kept it clean." Tiny's arms were crossed. "We just had to toss the meat when she got sick and didn't come back." Paulie gestured around the deli. "You didn't come back here and scrub every day while she was gone. I'm not sure you scrubbed at all." He looked around. "I want to learn this stuff. Tell me what I need to do." Kid was leaning against a counter. Paulie looked around and started pointing. "Everything needs to get scrubbed down and sanitized. Hot soapy water, wipe it down, then disinfect." Kid was taking notes. He pointed at the slicer. "Every single piece of that comes apart. Wash everything until it looks clean, then wash it one more time." Next he looked at the cooler. "Every shelf out. Scrub them down. If you don't take care of that empty cooler smell now it's never leaving." He pointed at the display case. "Same goes double for that." Tiny seemed insulted. "There's no smell." "There is. If you can smell it, it's already too late." Paulie moved on. "Check every condiment, seasoning, and dry good. If it's even close to expired, toss. Write down everything you toss or is low." "That's going to take the rest of the day, Paulie." Kid looked around. "I'll be here with you, we'll get this done." --- Sad Eyes was working as an aide at a nursing home in Arrow and studying a nursing degree. He could work 7 a.m. till noon every day. Jerk had to check his references but he'd always gotten along with Tiny and seemed a good hire. The next one wasn't as smooth. "Clark." Jerk's stomach tensed before he set his voice cold. "Buddy!" Clark’s smile was warm, like he never left. Like—Jerk shut that thought out. Clark had been running a small betting circle out of *The News* while he worked there. "We had to make a rule because of you." "Oh, what was that?" Clark's eyes sparkled. "No crimes on the clock, Clark. That rule’s got your name on it." "Oh." Clark looked down. "Still making books?" Last time, Clark left in handcuffs. "No." Clark looked at Jerk as he said it. "I'm almost done with my probation. I thought seeing your name maybe *The News* had passed down a generation." Clark looked back to where Tiny was talking with Kid and Paulie. "You know the job." Jerk stated a fact. "Obviously." Clark's voice dropped, he leaned in. His aftershave hadn't changed. "Buddy, I don't want to cause another problem between you and your old man." "I'm not your Buddy anymore, Clark." Jerk leaned back. He wanted to run. "You have a few gigs?" Clark always did. Clark nodded. "Listen. Jerk. If anything's going to be awkward between me... you... your dad." "Why would anything be awkward?" Jerk looked back at Kid. Kid was staring intently at Paulie as he spoke. "No reason. I have a wife now. Baby on the way." "I know. Everyone's heard." "Jerk..." Clark paused, he had more to say. "Floater. You know all the roles so we call you when we need you." --- It was dark out before Kid came out as Paulie left. "Meat comes tomorrow. Prepackaging, maybe." They wiped their brow as they sat on the second stool behind the counter. "Got a few solid hires and a few high school kids." Jerk looked at where the sign was still posted. He looked at his paperwork. "Oh and a college student. Your wish is coming true." "You OK?" Kid looked at him as they asked. Head tilting. "Of course I am. I'm always OK." Kid pulled on their soaked shirt and left it bunched high on their chest. "Liar." They laughed. "One guy came in, you turned white, but talked a long time." "Clark." Jerk gripped his stool. "We were close. Once." "Ah." Kids bright eyes were curious. "Did you... want to..." "No." Jerk's tone was flat and decisive. "It's not worth talking about." "So pretty close." Kid smirked. "No!" Jerk pushed past and went out to Aisle D, sorting the ramen and soup. "Clark was just someone I trusted who ended up... fucking up." Kid checked a customer out and looked over at Jerk as they left. "Fucking up?" "Made books. Ran it out of the store." Jerk moved back to the cooler and started facing the bottles outward. "Tiny cut him loose while he was waiting for bail. Me and Tiny fought over it. Clark plead, got probation." "You didn't move like he fucked up. You moved like he betrayed you. He leaned in to say something and you jumped back." "He knows the job, OK?" He knocked bags of chips on the floor as he rearranged a shelf of them. "I don't need to explain this decision." He picked them up and carefully arranged them. "I'll let it drop. But..." Kid looked at Jerk. "Yeah?" "I'm keeping an eye on him." ## Fugazi The bus moved with the stop and pull motion of a winning tug of war played over miles. Kid swayed with Jerk. Jerk swayed with Late. They all swayed with the bus. Jerk felt a hand slipping into his as they rode. He stiffened, then relaxed. He looked over at Kid, and squeezed their hand. "Thanks for coming with me and Late." "Books! Music! It's a chance to see you in your native environment!" "That's *The News*." Kid could see the corner of Jerk's mouth trying to curl slightly. They held hands the rest of the way. --- Jerk had gone over to the book side of the store. Kid was flipping through a box new vinyl releases after Late moved on to the box to the right. "So this Clark guy..." Kid spoke first. "Wait, why are we talking about Jerk's--the bookie." Late shot a sideways glance to Kid, alarmed, then looked at where Jerk had gone. "Did he come in?" "Applied." Kid said. "I watched them talk. He leaned in and Jerk leaned back. Way back." Kid pulled up a record, realized it wasn't what they thought, and slid it back down. "He's going to be a floater." Late swore under his breath. "Christ, Jerk. Don't be a martyr." He pushed back, moved right to the next box of records and began flipping through them. "How did Tiny react?" "Stared at Jerk for 10 seconds and then said 'You're the hiring manager.'" "Look, Kid. I'm not specul-- It would be rude to figure out my best friend's emotions before he did, OK?" Late moved right another box, Kid followed. "I just want to know wha--" "Kid! Late! How wonderful to see you!" Came a bright and cheerful voice behind them. They turned. Ms. Dunworth stood there, clutching a copy of Fugazi's Repeater to her pea green cardigan. "That's a really great album, Ms Dunworth. Getting a gift?" It was Late asking. She clutched the album a little tighter. "Oh no! This is mine. I love the energy!" Her eyes were alight. "Right on." Late nodded his head. "Ms. Dunworth, I thought that was your convertible on the street." Jerk had snuck up on Kid and Late. He pointed at her album. "I have that on cassette, it's great." --- "Kid said Clark's a floater, Jerk." They were flipping through the R section of Used Tapes. Jerk shot a glare at an oblivious Kid at the front of the store who was talking to Ms. Dunworth, and then to Late. "He knows the job and he has flexible availability." "He hurt my best friend. I don't know how, but I know he did." Late pulled out a Ramones tape he'd seen a million times and pretended to care. Two dollars. "You were morose for months after he was busted, and this is you I'm talking about here." He put the tape back. Jerk ignored him. "Jerk, I know--" "So did he, Late." Jerk moved to another section. --- On the way back, Kid slipped their hand into Jerk's again. He didn't stiffen, he just swayed with them and the bus. ## Boycuts "May I read in here?" Kid was standing at Jerk's open door. They were wearing sweatpants and a tattered vintage Institute hoodie Jerk would have written off as a rag if they didn't wear it almost every night. Jerk looked around his room. His desk and chair were as over-encumbered with books as his shelves. Stacks of comic boxes covered an ottoman he'd gotten from a tenant who moved out. There was only one comfortable place Kid could read. He looked around again, like an alternative might appear. "You mean next to me?" His eyes were wide. "I could sit on a pile of books if you want." Kid pointed to a stack near the door that Jerk had dirty clothes on top of. "The textbooks could work." Jerk looked at the pile of textbooks, and then at Kid. "You'll get sore fast." He moved over and rearranged the pillows to give Kid room. They slid onto the mattress next to him with a few zines they'd gotten at the record store. Jerk reread the same two pages three times before he remembered to turn the page. "Hey, check this out!" Kid leaned over, showing him a zine. "Boycuts for Butches!" The first article had photocopied photos drawn over illustrating a technique for a 'Boy's Cut' and the next an article was a crudely detailed buzz-cut technique. "I could cut my own hair!" "It's easier if someone helps you." Jerk pointed to where those exact words were written boldly and underlined. "Anyway, just go to a barber." Kid made a dismissive noise. "They figure out I'm queer and 'not a guy' and they'll refuse. 'We're not trained to cut your hair.' 'There's a great salon down the street, honey!'" Their tone dripped. "Even at Dapper Jack's?" Jerk went there. "_Especially_ at Dapper Jack's." Kid grimaced like they were tasting bile. They rubbed their cheek. "I need to get a consistent supply of T, then I'll pass and..." Kid's words trailed off and they sat in silence. Jerk closed his eyes, leaning back and listening to the rasp as Kid turned the pages of their zines. He felt their hand slide into his. He stirred and opened his eyes. "So what's this?" Jerk squeezed Kid's hand. "Keeps happening." Kid squeezed back. "Afraid of getting lost?" "It's comfortable. You're... comfortable." They sighed through a half smile before looking faux serious, their voice low. "And as you may have noticed, I'm not like the other guys." They leaned their head against him. "Anyone ever just... felt right?" "Once." Jerk stiffened at the memory. "No, twice." He squeezed their hand. "Right-er the second time." "You don't mean?" Kid smiled, bright eyes dancing. "Maybe." Jerk turned pink and looked away. Kid squeezed his hand. "Clark was the first?" "Dammit Late." Jerk swore under his breath, still looking away. "Not Late. You." Kid squeezed again. "You're not the black box you think you are." "Clark... We could talk for hours." Jerk couldn't meet Kid's gaze. "He knows so many things. I thought he was like me. I could talk to him from the end of my shift until his shift was over. I'd forget to go and sleep. I..." Jerk sucked in his snot before clearing his throat, an ugly sound. "Fuck you, Clark." "Jerk, don't--" They didn't finish. "He told me he was going to leave his girlfriend. Move into The Squat. We'd..." Jerk's eyes wavered. "We didn't talk about what would happen next. He'd push it off." "And then?" "Then one day I find out his girlfriend is actually his fiancée when she shows up to post bail for him at the same time I do." Jerk looked away. "I wasn't special. He was never going to choose me over her." "So why hire him back after Tiny fired him?" "I... He knows the job?" Jerk didn't even know. "I froze. Giving him a job seemed like the quickest way to make him go away." He shook his head. "I'm an idiot." He reached over Kid and picked up 'Boycuts for Butches.' He flipped through. "Would you cut my hair? If I cut yours?" Kid blinked. "What?" "Would... you... cut..." Jerk began repeating each word clearly and distinctly. "I know what you said but what? Why? Go to Dapper Jack's." "If they won't cut your hair, I don't want them cutting mine." Jerk pointed at his head, where his habit of running his hands through his hair had made his cowlicks stick out defiantly. "It's not like you'll make this mess any worse." "What if I mess up?" "That's why they give you buzz-cut directions." Jerk pointed at the pile. "Any other cool zines in there?" ## Circle Mall The bus kicked and sputtered up the hill past West as they headed toward Circle Mall, hands held. "So you wrestled?" Jerk gave Kid's hand a squeeze. "Started in middle school." The bus topped the hill, passing a discount store that had seen better days. "Gave me an excuse to wear a unitard. Kept things 'under control.'" "Wearing one now?" Kid smiled. "Tried that, but they're not very practical for day-to-day life." They tugged at their collar, revealing a strap from what they were wearing. "Sports bra, racerback. Elastic sewn in a couple spots." The bus stopped and sputtered. Bowling alley. A few people moved to get off. Kid rested their head against Jerk when the bus heaved onward again. --- There were three places in the mall that served pizza, but Jerk refused to eat at two of them, favoring the hole-in-the-wall spot tucked away in the back of the mall's half-abandoned food court. They each got a slice of pizza and a coke—big New York-style slices that they blotted with napkins to soak up the grease before anointing them with red pepper and a dusting of Parmesan. "What did you do, science competitions? Spelling bees? I know!" Kid's voice cracked. "School literary magazine!" Their crust crunched as they bit into it. "I went to Academy. After school, it was all sports or marching around." Jerk shrugged. "I'd go to _The News_ after school and do my homework." "Academy?" Kid gave a mock salute. "What did you do to Tiny and Norma?" "Do? I asked to go there." Jerk turned his head, discreetly trying to work a piece of red pepper out from between two molars with his thumbnail. "I did a year in Ilium High. Didn't enjoy it." He wiped the fiery remains of the flake on his paper plate. "Thought I'd fit in better." "It work?" Jerk shook his head and then shrugged. "Uniforms can only do so much." He adjusted his straw. "Teenage boys will find ways to hate on each other." "They make fun of you for being queer?" They wiped their face, brushing crumbs off. "Before I got kicked out by my stepdad at 16, my semi-official name at Locks High was 'Dyke Bitch.'" Kid made a motion like they were straightening a shirt and tie. "So I decided to wear it with pride." Jerk made a face at the mention of 'Dyke Bitch' and then his mouth hung open for a moment. "I— Huh. That didn't occur to me." "What didn't?" "That I might be queer." Kid blinked. They tilted their head. Blinked again. Sipped their coke. "I never had crushes like other people. Never got the whole 'love at first sight' thing. Took me a while to realize I was even supposed to." He looked at Kid, something raw in his expression—an earnestness they hadn’t seen before. Like he’d stumbled into a question he hadn’t realized he needed to ask. "Boy. Girl. Anyone. Never happened." He looked away. "Figured it never would." "But who would you think about about when you..." Jerk said the name of a journalist who covered politics. "I used to imagine them interviewing me while I did. They always asked such great questions." "I'm not sure if that's weird or endearing." --- The mall fountain was dry and barren of a single penny. "No wishes will be made today," Jerk said, sitting on a bench facing it. Kid sat beside him, elbows on knees, swishing the last of their coke and ice around in their cup. "You planning on making wishes today?" "Wouldn't come true." He motioned at the fountain. "Made plenty of wishes here and none did, fountain's defective." "Maybe your wishes were too selfish. What did you wish for?" "To be normal." Kid laughed. "Aiming for the stands with that one, Mr *60 Minutes*." They pulled a penny out of their pocket and turned it over in their fingers. "Should've gone to Harmony Commons." Kid flipped the penny. "Quality wish fulfillment." "No bookstore. Never saw the point." Jerk leaned back, supporting himself with his arms, elbows locked. "Get lots of wishes fulfilled?" "Just one." Kid mimicked Jerk's position and stared at the fountain. "Took lots of tries. Wished I wasn't a—" Kid stopped. "Know what happened?" "You woke one morning and weren't one?" Kid stood up and stretched, arms wide, smiling. "Better. I realized I'd never been one." Jerk stood up as Kid pitched the penny into the empty fountain. "Guess that's one wish made." He looked at the penny where it had come to rest, shining under a spotlight—molten copper, like Kid's eyes. He looked away. "What for?" "I'll tell you when it comes true." --- "It's always the same pattern." Jerk says, watching the ghosts move on screen while Kid jerked the joystick. It was just them and the arcade attendant, half dozing behind the counter. "Like people." "People don't always move in same patterns." Kid said. The ghosts were chasing them. "Left." Jerk said. Kid pushed the joystick left. Inexplicably, the ghosts went right. "See, like people." Jerk's face was thoughtful. "It's about where they expect you to go next, not where you do." "Still didn't help." Kid said as they steered almost immediately into a ghost. They held up a quarter. "You want to play?" "Nah, I don't want to be here for 45 minutes." --- They nearly walked into McNally coming around a corner as they were leaving. "Jerk. Jerk's friend." McNally's smile didn't reach his eyes. "Name's Kid." Kid didn't shrink. "Sure it is." McNally barely glanced at Kid. "So is it true? The deli counter has reopened?" McNally made a lip smacking noise, wet and squishy. "It's been too long since I've had one of Tiny's specials." Jerk jerked his thumb towards Kid. "Paulie's teaching Kid to run it." McNally's eyes lit up the way a cat's did when they spotted a bird. He turned to Kid, slow and deliberate, like he was actually seeing them for the first time. "Is that right?" His eyes flicked over them, calculating. "That's a lot of responsibility for someone so young. Tiny must be fond of you." "He knows I can do the job." Kid crossed their arms, chin set. "Then please do." McNally looked at Jerk. "The city doesn't run right without Tiny's sandwiches." He kept his eyes on Jerk the whole time he said it before turning back to kid. Jerk looked at his watch, they had an out. "We've got a bus." He motioned to Kid. "Com'on, we've only got a minute." "Tell Tiny he'll be getting an order soon!" McNally shouted after them as they hurried towards the stop. --- They had more than a minute to catch the bus, but not much more. "Guy creeps me out." Kid exhaled the words as they let their shoulders relax finally. They were nearly alone on the bus. "McNally? You get used to him." "I don't want to get used to him." Kid shifted in their seat. "I want to understand what I’m getting into." Kid hesitated. "I feel like I’ve stepped into something that’s been running a long time without me." Jerk put his hand where they could reach it. "I can't explain it... it's Ilium stuff." "Ilium stuff." Kid thought about it. "You mean like the Vanderkill Witch? Dragging people under?" The bus came to a stop in front of a half-empty strip mall and paused there for the thirty seconds required by the schedule as no one got on or off. "Ilium has ru-- No." Jerk stopped and thought. "Not rules. Patterns." He struggled for the words. "Patterns?" Kid studied him for a second before finally reaching over, fingers curling around his. They squeezed. "The same things happening over and over. McNally's sandwiches. The river drownings in the summer blamed on the Witch. Burning the Horse." He made a face. "People drinking from the river." They'd passed the discount store and were easing down the hill back into West, the low gear rattling the bus and them. "It's like we're doing all these rituals, each a small prayer Ilium will never change." ## Puff Puff Pass "We're done with the last patch, Tiny. Come over and check our work," Jerk yelled over to Tiny by the stairwell bulkhead. Kid had just finished spreading the gravel evenly. The floating deck's supports squeaked as Tiny stepped over. Even with the metal footings sturdy enough to hold a dozen drunk socialites back in Big Neil’s heyday, the roof still had just enough give. Tiny leaned over the railing. "Looks great." He straightened, hand still on the railing. He wiggled it. "Kid, tighten this." There was a distant clang of a metal door slamming that came from the bulkhead's open doorway. Someone was on the way up. "Better be Late with my cigar." Tiny came up to the roof increasingly infrequently, and he'd forgotten to bring one up to smoke. It was a warm and pleasant September evening, the sun turning the western skies the color of maple leaves in Congress Park this time of year. "Better be Late with our blunt." Kid turned the screw, then wiggled the railing. "Screw's stripped. Someone tell the facility manager it needs a bolt and nut." "But Jackie's got the weed." Jerk made a mental note to grab a bolt and nut later. He pulled the milk crates out from under the deck and slid them onto the deck before coming around to come up the stairs to set them up as chairs and a small table. "You called?" Jackie came through the doorway as Tiny stepped aside, moving to lean against the bulkhead. She was a bottle blonde that Jerk didn't think matched her golden tone. When she smiled her top front tooth had an extra white patch shaped like a heart. Too much fluoride in the water growing up. Jerk and Jackie exchanged money and weed. "This is from my thesis advisor's hookup. Said it was from Canada." Jerk held it up and examined the baggie. "Enough seeds to start your own grow operation." The metal door below's clangs echoed up again. "Late, as usual." Kid grabbed the baggie and smelled it. "Smells a lot better than the ditch weed the dealers by the bridge sell." "Oh, good, Jackie's here." Late leaned on the doorway as he came through, panting from running up the stairs. "We're lucky the next ice age isn't here, waiting for you." Jerk held out his hand. "You got the blunt? Where’s the beer?" "Shit, I forgot the beer." Jerk and Kid groaned. "I'll go--" "No, you stay here." If Late left their sight he'd enter nonlinear time again and they wouldn't see him again until who knew when. "We've got some in the kitchen fridge. Who wants one?" Kid and Tiny raised their hands. Late held up his hand in refusal. Jackie wistfully watched as Late cut open the blunt to get the extraneous tobacco out. "I’d love to stick around, but I’ve got papers to grade before dinner with Diane." Jackie was the most domestic of the Squatmates to come along in a while. She turned to Jerk. "Need any help bringing things down?" With Jackie it only took two trips to get everything back into the maid's quarters where he kept the maintenance gear. When he returned with three beers and a coke for Late a dank odor drifted down along with the tar. Late had constructed the blunt and they'd already begun. Tiny was leaning against the outside of the bulkhead, and Kid and Late had huge grins on their faces. Jerk looked at Tiny again. He had a bemused expression Jerk hadn't seen often. Jerk sighed and cracked open Tiny's can before handing it to him. "You took a hit? Really?" He shot a look at Late and Kid. Kid had a hand over their mouth trying not to laugh while Late stared forward stoically. "Your mother's in Providence." Tiny's smile was easy, he'd begun his cigar. "You're getting a cab?" Tiny held the smoke in his mouth before exhaling. "I'll sleep in 401." "What's 401?" Kid asked. "Guest suite. I clean and dust when I remember." Jerk had last checked it a couple months ago. It had a bed sturdy enough for Tiny and a girlfriend to do jumping jacks on, but he hadn't brought anyone up there since Norma’s first oncologist visit five years ago. Kid handed him the blunt, Jerk inhaled and counted to seven. Exhale. He inhaled again and handed it to Late. "You ever come up here?" Kid asked them. "I didn’t realize this deck existed." "Not much anymore," Tiny admitted, taking a sip of his beer. "When Jerk was a boy, though..." Tiny sipped again, looking thoughtful. "Had a grill up here. Hauled up a picnic table, one plank at a time, and built it myself. City launches fireworks from a lot up at the Institute." He motioned to the Institute on the bluffs above downtown. "The table wobbled a little, but we always got the best view of the fireworks." Jerk said. Late passed him the joint, saying "I'm good," as he exhaled. "I miss the grill up here." Jerk took a hit, held it, then passed the blunt to Kid. They held up their hand in refusal. He hesitated before turning to Tiny. "Another hit?" Too much of the smoke came out of his nose and he stifled a sneeze. "I'm good." Tiny held up his hand. "I'm a lightweight, you know that." Kid snickered. "You know what I mean." "Yeah, I don't want to carry your ass down the stairs." Not that anyone could without a crane. He snubbed out the blunt, plenty for a couple hits later. Kid tilted back their Genny, finished it, then pulled another can from the plastic rings. They stood and leaned against the rail next to Tiny at the bulkhead. Tiny offered them his cigar. Kid accepted, took a puff, and held it for a long moment before exhaling, mimicking Tiny's slouching pose. "Late, you always lived here? Your parents rented an apartment downstairs?" "I'm from north Ilium. Stoneyfield." He pointed at Tiny. "Tiny and Norma took me in." He looked at Jerk. "Jerk took me in too." Tiny coughed, deep and bassy, then hawked and spit over the railing. "Took you in? You were already living in The Squat part time after you and my idiot son stole that car." "Wait, wait—stole a car?" Kid looked at Jerk, then Late, then Tiny, before back to Jerk. "It wasn't theft." Late protested, crossing his arms. "We borrowed it from my mom." "Without permission." Tiny added. Jerk turned to Kid. "It's as stupid as it sounds. Let me explain."