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“Step into my parlor.”
The Spider
Marilyn quickly ran the sponge over the tabletop,
scrubbing away the stains from the lunch rush in a flash. She dropped the dirty
sponge into the bucket filled with filthy water and grabbed up the clean sponge
at her elbow, wiping away the water from the counter.
Dressed in the varying brown uniform of the sandwich
shop, Marilyn ignored the constant influx of new patrons. It was only 12:30
and the place was already an absolute mess. Among the usual bothers, a
mother had brought in six kids. Shards of crayons were everywhere.
“Miss,” came a woman’s voice. Marilyn looked up
quickly, her hair falling down into her face. “Miss, we’re ready to order
now,” said the old woman from the front of the line. Marilyn pushed her
hair out of her face then glanced to the empty register.
Marilyn’s shoulders slumped at the sight before she smiled
to the woman. “I’ll be right there.” She left the bucket on the floor
beneath the table and ran over to the entrance of the kitchen. Vaulting the
door to the back of the registers, she let herself slide controllably across
the floor to come in front of the growing line.
“I’ll have a pastrami rye sandwich,” the woman
started immediately as Marilyn rushed to log in and catch up. “But make
sure the rye isn’t too tough. Otherwise, I’ll be full all day. And I want
it with lettuce and tomatoes and…do you have yellow tomatoes?” Marilyn
blinked at the woman. She shook her head, looking confused. “Oh, that’s too
bad. Then never mind the tomatoes. Let’s see. And I’d like a large coffee,
too. Decaffeinated. No, better make the regular. I’ve got a busy day
today.”
“Okay,” Marilyn said, punching in the order. “That’ll
be 7.38.”
“Do you have a pen?” the woman asked, opening up her
checkbook as she looked around the register.
“Ma’am, we don’t take checks,” Marilyn said, smiling
sincerely.
“Well, when did you start doing that?” the woman
asked.
Marilyn started. “We’ve…never taken checks here,” she
said apologetically. “I’m sorry.”
“Now, I know you take checks because last week I was
in here and I bought my usual lunch and I paid with a check. And come to
think of it, it was a bit cheaper.” The woman began to flip through her
checkbook. “Here, I’ll show you. It says right on there the name of this
establishment.”
As Marilyn started to speak, a loud crash filled the
entire restaurant. Marilyn’s head shot over to where she had been cleaning,
only to see a small child was standing in the very epicenter of watery
filth, crying at the top of his lungs. His mother rushed over to the soaked
child, grabbing him up. She turned towards the registers, fury in her eyes.
“Where’s the manager?!” the woman barked, by-passing
the long line of impatient customers. “I want to see him this minute! You
left that bucket out, filled with that…that filth and it spilt on my son.”
“I’m sorry, miss,” she started to say.
“Just go get your manager this instant,” the woman
yelled.
“I…” Marilyn started. “I am the manager-on-duty.”
The room grew dark.
“How could you possibly leave such a heavy and full
bucket in the middle of a restaurant, right where it could fall over on a
child? My son is filthy and absolutely soaked because you left that bucket
out and…”
“Miss, I found the check,” the old woman said as if
oblivious to the rampage to her right.
“It says right here that two months ago, I wrote a check here for
6.98 for a sandwich and a cup of coffee. I’d like whatever sandwich I got
then please, and I’ve already made out the check so I can help you move
things along.”
“Miss, we’re ready to order.”
“Miss, I’m still waiting on my sandwich.”
“Miss!”
“Miss!”
“My best man has some very delightful things to say
about you, Jericho,”
Phillip said as the two rode in the giant elevator in its descent.
“Which one is it this time?” the blonde asked with a
bored tone, looking at Phillip. “The Cuban?”
“Who it is doesn’t matter,” Phillip said. “You need
to stay away from my men. They do their jobs and they do them well.”
“’Well’ seems to be up for debate,” Jericho disputed. “As for your men,
they’re slow and their loyalty is questionable.”
“That’s for the Investigators to determine,” Phillip
said, unphased by the harsh accusation, “not the Hand. Once the
Investigators have determined someone’s loyalty is in question, then you
can carry out whatever sentence we decide. But you do NOT get to go around,
pushing my men up against a wall, throwing them around, putting knives to
their throats, or whatever other scare tactics you’ve been up to.”
“Our time is near and you expect us to sit by and
watch our only opportunity fall?” Jericho
said, turning to stare directly at Phillip. “While your men drag their
feet?”
“I expect you to stay the hell out of my business,”
Phillip said as the elevator doors chimed. He finally turned to Jericho as the doors
parted, light spilling into the dim elevator. “Or else.” Without any other
word, Phillip stepped out into the main foyer of the floor, adjusting the
collar of his business suit. He turned to Jericho. “Do I make myself clear?”
“Your intensions have never been more clear,” Jericho said with a
false smile, his black suit making him seem to fade into the darkness as
the doors of the elevator closed.
Mint looked out over the bulldozers as they pushed
the great mounts of dirt aside. The field was nearly flat now, but the
ground itself still needed a lot of work. She held up the plans she had
been given, mentally superimposing them to the land before her.
The idea for the structure was simple. A large,
hexagonal fortress was to be built into the side of the mountain. Two sides
would be built into the mountain itself, while the opposing two sides would
be totally out of the mountain, with the middle sides would straddle
between being inside and outside.
Each ‘side’ of the hexagon would represent a
different wing of the fortress. And each wing would of course have a
different specialty. The final product, however, would be a giant building
the size of most large malls.
She sat back on her rock, the plans in her hand. The
work to be done on the mountain had already begun while the three-story
deep construction on the ground around the mountain was still only being
started.
She picked up her radio, calling into the speaker.
“This is the project head. Guys, be careful with the granite. That’s going
into the walls, you know.” The speaker crackled and then died. But she saw
them working a bit more carefully with the shaped charges. The work was
going slowly. But at least, finally, it was going.
It was eight o’ clock when the line to the register
finally ended. Marilyn sighed exhaustedly as the last customer walked away
with their food platters. She leaned back against the opposite counter of
the sandwich shop, her exhaustion getting the best of her. All she wanted
to do was go home, curl up in bed, and fall asleep.
“Marilyn,” came a familiar and corporate voice.
Her eyes opened, drearily, already dreading what was
coming. She looked up as the store manager came in from the back, his clean
tie tucked into his pressed, unblemished shirt. “Marilyn,” he said as he
came to lean against the counter, his back to the dining area. “We need to
talk.”
“Yes, sir,” she said, trying to smile congenially,
standing up straight and adjusting the uniform’s cap.
“Twice today, I saw you jump over that door,” the
manager said, looking back to the swinging counter door. “Now, it doesn’t
say very good things about our store if our assistant manager is just
jumping all over the place, with no concern to who’s around.”
“Sir, I was in a hurry,” Marilyn started to explain.
“There’s always time for safety, Marilyn,” he said
paternally with an understanding smile. “And as for that little boy you
spilled the water on. You need to be careful about where you put your
cleaning materials.”
“Sir, the bucket was on the floor, under a table.”
“The boy could have really gotten hurt,” the manager
continued as if mentally reading prepared lines. “The mother was VERY
reasonable and understanding, but if her little boy had gotten hurt…try to
think of things from her point of view. How would you feel if your son got
hurt because an employee at your favorite sandwich shop negligently left a
bucket out where it could fall on him?”
“Sir, the bucket was under a…”
“How would you feel,
Marilyn?” he asked, looking considerately at her. “How would YOU feel?”
Marilyn sighed. “I’d be pretty mad,” she drolled,
knowing no other way to expedite the monologue.
“Exactly,” the manager said, shifting his weight on
his impeccably clean shoes. “Now, her little boy got all dirty from the
water that was in there. Now, I know that the store needed cleaning but
there was no excuse to use water that dirty. You should refill the bucket
every time you start on a new table.” He looked out over the open room.
“And speaking of the tables, don’t you think they look a dirty now? I think
we should do something about that. Don’t you?”
Marilyn quickly ran the sponge over the tabletop,
scrubbing away the stains from the day in a flash. She dropped the sponge
into the bucket filled with filthy water and grabbed up the clean sponge,
wiping away the water from the counter.
She stood up from the table, looking bitterly around
the empty restaurant. Her uniform was filthy, which meant she was going to
have to wash it again before she came to work tomorrow. Which would be an
entire trip to the washing machines in her dorm. Which would cost even more
money and take even more time. Time she was running short on.
“Hey.”
She shook off her dreariness quickly, blinking her
eyes to see the person who had come in. He was a young man about her age
with blonde hair. He was dressed in brown pants with a green and white
t-shirt, a faded red cap on his head.
“Hello,” Marilyn said, blinking again. “How can I
help you?”
“I, um, I don’t know,” he said. He fidgeted
nervously, obviously uncomfortable. “Well, I’m, I’m looking for…” He
stopped. “My name’s Tim,” he finally got out.
“Hi Tim. I’m Marilyn,” she said pleasantly, waiting
for him to say more. “What can I do for you?”
“I, uh, I don’t really know how to say this,” he
said, still thinking. “I just moved here about two months ago. You know, to
go to college here.”
“Oh?” she said, perking up. “You go to the
university?”
“Yeah,” he said. “I’m, well, I’m looking to join a
club there,” he went on awkwardly, stuffing his hands nervously into his
pockets. “Well, it’s actually not a club, it’s…”
“Do you know what it’s called?” Marilyn asked, trying
to keep from laughing. “I don’t know a lot of the clubs around the
university, but I can help.”
“Well, I just heard about it in passing,” he went on,
still nervous. He looked around, seeing only the sandwich cook behind the
angular counter. “It’s, um, it’s called something like the planet alliance
or something.”
“The World Alliance?” she asked, shocked.
“Yeah,” he said, snapping his fingers. “I heard that
you worked for it.” His confidence wavered. “Do you?”
“I hope so,” she laughed, grinning wide. “I founded
it.”
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