I Work at a Small Town Gas Station (Part 10)

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We pulled into the gas station parking lot a minute later, and I was out the door and rushing inside before the car had even stopped. The plan was for me to get to the tape recorder ASAP, snag it, and hide out in the bathroom until I could listen to the cassette in my pocket and find out what the Russian radio had said about Rosa.
If she had been targeted like the rest of us, cool. If she had been replaced, like Evil-Aggie Sistrunk, then… Well, I didn’t really want to think about that what-if.
But as soon as I crossed the threshold, I froze.
Rosa was close behind me, and when she saw who I was looking at, she also froze.
“Yo, nerds!†Jerry called out from behind the counter. “Hey, did we hire Old-Bob as a new cashier? Because if not, that guy is getting a little too comfortable around the cash register.â€
Rosa ran up to the counter and dove across it, wrapping him in a big hug. He shot me a confused expression and asked, “Did I miss something?â€
I wanted to allow myself that same sense of relief that Rosa was feeling, but after what I’d seen, I couldn’t. Obviously, this might not be the real Jerry. Or the real Rosa. I’d need to study him closely.
The first thing I noticed about this man presenting himself as Jerry was how he looked like somebody had recently used his face as a punching bag. His left eye was red and bloodshot, with several deep-purple bruises on either side of his head and a cut above his brow not quite covered by two Hello Kitty bandaids. Oh, and he had a tampon stuffed up one of his nostrils--presumably to stop bleeding, but let’s not jump to any conclusions.
He patted Rosa on the back, but she wouldn’t release her cling. As I approached the counter, maybe-Jerry took the words right out of my mouth.
“Dude, what the hell happened to you?â€
“I…†Wow, that was close. I almost blurted out the truth before I caught myself and remembered that Rosa was still here. “I got into a fight. What happened to you?â€
“Same.†He lifted a bottle of tequila to his lips and took a generous swig. “Do you want some?â€
“No, I’m good.â€
“I’ve got some other medicine, too. Quick question, am I covered in spiders right now?â€
“Not that I can see.â€
“That’s a relief.†He put the bottle on the counter, then wrapped his arms around Rosa and said in a soft voice, “Rosa, sweetie, I’m glad to see you too, but you’re squeezing me really tight and I think I’ve got a broken rib or three, so if you don’t mind-â€
She disconnected, grabbed him by the shoulders, and shook him violently, screaming “What the hell is wrong with you two?!â€
Jerry (I’d concluded that this must have been Jerry) looked at me, then at her, then muttered defensively, “Ain’t nothing wrong with us.â€
“Today was supposed to be my day off! I had plans! I was going to make French toast and drink a bottle of wine and binge Game of Thrones! What the hell happened after I went to bed? I have never been more scared in my entire life! You two are giving me gray hair. Did you know that?!â€
We both offered her a sheepish “Sorry†at the same time. Then Jerry added, “Jinx. You owe me a Coke.â€
She was now on the verge of angry tears. “Will you please tell me what’s going on?â€
He took another swig, then announced, “Okay gather ‘round. Make some coffee and get comfortable. I’ve got a story to tell.â€
Right then, the door opened and a customer stepped inside-- a young guy with thick red glasses. Jerry immediately screamed, “Hey! You! Get the **** outta here! We’re closed!â€
The guy turned and looked at the door, then back at us, “But the sign says-â€
“I don’t care what the sign says! I said get the **** out!†Jerry grabbed a handful of pralines and threw them all at the guy, who promptly turned and ran out the door.
I watched as he hurried to his car and sped away before I asked, “Did you know that guy?â€
“Nope. I just didn’t feel like dealing with any customers.â€
Oh man, we are going to go out of business so fast.

---

The story, if you were to believe Jerry’s account, was pretty crazy, even by our standards. However, this was Jerry talking, so take it with a pound of salt.
While I was battling to the death with Mrs. Sistrunk, Jerry was busy getting kidnapped by two mercenaries in body armor. They were both “six and a half feet tall, covered in face tattoos, and built like Stone-Cold Steve Austin’s angrier big brother.â€
They ambushed him at the Mathmetist compound in the middle of his daily weapons training, (which consisted of cutting pumpkins in half with a katana). Unlucky for them, this meant he was already ready to defend himself. When he saw that they were both carrying machine guns, he used his sword to slice the weapons in half, then when the bigger guy tried to pull a can of mace on him, he chopped it with the katana, causing it to explode into a fireball. (I tried to explain to Jerry that neither of those things made any sense, but he calmly asked me to hold my questions until the end.)
After an epic battle where Jerry very nearly won, and probably would have if he wasn’t so tired from all the pumpkin-slicing, the bounty-hunters got lucky and managed to subdue him. Once he was tied up and on the ground, they took turns punching and kicking him into compliance before dragging him to their truck.
Once he’d regained consciousness, he realized that these men were obviously working for an old nemesis of his, and they were taking him to a torture-dungeon for experimenting. (I took this as code for “they were hired by my parents to take me back home,†but he didn’t want Rosa to know those details so I kept my mouth shut. Why not? What harm can one more secret do?)
Jerry proceeded to jiu-jitsu his way out of the situation, but after the truck crashed and sank into a swamp, Jerry went running into the everglades in an attempt to lose the men. (Quick note, we aren’t located anywhere near the everglades.) The drugs and alcohol must have really started to kick in at this point, because his story began taking some very weird twists and turns. Look, I’m not going to waste your time with all the details, but there were sharks and a ninja and several more explosions. In the end, the important takeaway from his story was this: the men weren’t going to be bothering him anymore, and there was a Waffle House somewhere out there that Jerry was no longer welcome at.
He ended his tale with, “And that’s exactly how it all happened. Feel free to applaud now.â€
Rosa clapped, but I wasn’t in the mood. This account of events may would have been entertaining under other circumstances, but all I wanted to know was if Jerry was really okay, and if the danger had passed, or if there was something else for me to stay on the lookout for.
I pointed at the line of blood trailing down from the gash above his brow and told him, “Your head wound is bleeding.â€
He looked at me with a drunken eyes and a confused expression and asked, “I have a head wound?â€
Rosa exhaled loudly in annoyance before announcing to the room, “I guess I’ll do what I do now. Let me go get the med kit. It’s not like there are any hospitals or emergency rooms in this stupid town, no, let me just be the designated gas station nurse. It’s not like I-†she continued talking to herself the whole way out of the building to the car.
Now that I had a moment alone with Jerry, I needed to ask him a few things. And in a hurry, too, because Rosa was surprisingly time-efficient when she was distressed.
“Level with me, dude. What really happened last night?â€
“What I said.†He looked away and trailed off with “Basically…â€
“You fought a ninja using a shark as a weapon?â€
“Oh, no. I guess that part might not have actually happened. Or maybe it did. Who’s to say?â€
“I think the men who nabbed you came into the store first. Stingy bounty hunters. They may have bugged the place to try and find you. How did you really get away?â€
“It was easy. Once I realized that they were doing all of that for the money and not for honor or sport, all I had to do was pay them more than my parents so that they’d leave me alone. They actually turned out to be pretty cool. They even dropped me off here on their way out of town. I didn’t want to tell you guys the truth because I didn’t want Rosa to know that I was rich.â€
“Why not?â€
He said this next part like I was stupid for even asking, “Because it’s embarrassing.†Wow. I finally discovered something that can embarrass Jerry, and of course it was the last thing I’d ever have expected. “What about you? What really happened to your face? Because I know you didn’t get into a fight. You wouldn’t fight a fly, you pacifistic little cupcake.â€
“I was attacked by Agatha Sistrunk. I had to beat her to death with a fire extinguisher. Then again with a Louisville slugger.â€
“Nice. Go on.â€
“Well, this guy from town saw me do it and got the wrong idea because the next thing I know he’s shooting at me. But then she came back from the dead as a freaky slug-monster and ate him. And now he’s back, too.â€
“Man. Isn’t that just the worst?â€
“And they both got away, too. I thought she was coming for you next. We went out to your place and-â€
“Wait!†he interrupted. “You didn’t go inside, did you?â€
“Yeah, we did.â€
“Was Milton Friedman okay? That’s what I named my attack boar.â€
“It’s an attack sow. And it’s a mom now.â€
“Whoa. This is a lot of info coming at me, and I’m either drunker than I am high, or higher than I am drunk, but I’m not sure. Did you see the just-in-case-I-die-note I left behind?â€
“Yes. I wanted to ask you about that.â€
“Did you find my porn stash?â€
“No.â€
“Really? It was right there in the open. Did you even look?â€
“I listened to most of the tape, but I need to know. Has Rosa been replaced?â€
The doors opened and Rosa walked back inside, carrying the Mathmetist med kit. Jerry laughed and said to me, “Anyway, I think that’s what Jean Paul Sartre meant when he said the ‘Agony of Existentialism.’ Hey Rosa, welcome back. We missed you.â€
She put the kit on the counter and snapped it open. “What were you two talking about?â€
Jerry blurted out “Sports,†at the same time I said “Philosophy.†Jerry quickly covered by announcing “The philosophy of sports.â€
She peeled off Jerry’s band aids with a doubtful, “Uh huh.â€
“Anyway, Jack, to answer your question. No, I don’t think that sportsball team has replaced any of its players. Or at least they haven’t announced it yet.â€
I felt like a weight had been lifted. Rosa hadn’t been replaced. (Yet.) Now I could move down the list to the next most pressing concern. “Jerry, if those guys were looking for you at the gas station, surely there are more where they came from.â€
“We’ll just have to burn that bridge when we get to it, then. Won’t we? In the meantime, do you guys mind if I take a little nap? I’m feeling a little worn out from all the heroics and alcohol and drugs. I’m just gonna curl up right here and…†He slid out of his chair and fell underneath the counter without finishing his sentence. Rosa looked to me with eyes opened wide.
“What do we do now?â€
“Now we get him the hell out of here.â€
We tried to wake him up, but once it became clear that reviving him wasn’t an option, she and I both took an arm and dragged him outside to her car and stuffed him inside. She tried to talk me into going with them back to her place, but I told her that I couldn’t leave. Somebody had to stay behind and watch the gas station.
After they’d driven off, I picked up the store phone and tried O’Brien’s number one last time, but it went straight to voicemail.

---

An entire month passed before the next encounter.
That month was easily the longest of my life up to that point. Each day dragged worse than the last. Every customer that came through those doors could have been one of them, and I knew it. Howard never let up his pressure, either. Any time I started to think I was getting a handle on the situation, he’d send another goon to the store (always when I was alone) to steal and break things.
O’Brien wasn’t much help. She wasn’t much of anything. Now that I was able to drive myself around again, we barely even saw one another, except for those moments when she’d stop by to check on me and drink a cup of free coffee. But even those visits were getting noticeably shorter and colder. I tried asking her what she was working on, but she let me know that she wasn’t able to talk about it and that I needed to leave it alone for my own good.
Once upon a time, I would have been happy to leave it alone. The old Jack wouldn’t have even needed to have been told. But not anymore. Now I was fighting old women-monsters and listening to the Russian radio tapes on repeat, searching for clues. The thought hit me one cold and lonely night that I was different, and maybe--just maybe--I had been replaced. But that’s pretty crazy, right?
“Amelia O’Brien has been targeted. Jeremy Pascal has been targeted. Jack Townsend has been targeted. Leland Cruz has been replaced. Rosa Vasquez has been targeted.â€
I listened to the tapes a thousand times, but nothing ever changed. On one particularly desperate night, I even attempted to rebuild the radio, but whatever providence possessed Jerry that time he put it together in the first place, it wasn’t reproducible. Maybe that was for the best.
Suspiciously, nothing unexplainable happened during that month. No new phone calls from the dead. No more slug-monsters. No creepy visitors or cameos from my long-dead friends. It was terrifyingly dull, like the calm before the storm, as if every terrible thing that ever wanted to hurt us was rallying, readying to attack all at once the second we let our guard down.
I tried to occupy my mind with things other than the impending doom. I read a couple books about how to run a small business and quickly realized how much we were doing wrong (turns out, a lot!). Apparently, we’re supposed to be filing state sales tax reports every month, and there’s something really confusing about payroll deductions required by the IRS. To get around that, I started paying all of the remaining employees in cash.
But soon we started hitting other financial snags. The credit card processing companies were first to send final notices. As a result, we had to stop accepting credit and debit cards altogether. For a business like a gas station, that’s what you might call a major inconvenience.
Our supply vendors were the next to complain about what I was attempting to pass off as a “small payment hiccup.†The old owners’ accounts were drained and now they weren’t able to automatically draft their expenses. They put up a big fuss until I told them I’d pay them all in cash, too.
And just like that, the gas station was a cash-only establishment, which would have been fine except that we had more going out than coming in, and once we ran out of real money, I had to try handing out IOU’s.
Somehow, that worked for way longer than it should have. But then Doctor Ass-head moved on to threatening my suppliers. Very soon, word got out that our business was far less trouble than the worth, and the vendors stopped vending. Just one more nail in the coffin full of nails, and in no time we were running on the ghosts of fumes.
I had to start purging the payroll of all non-vital employees. Most of our part timers were very understanding, only a couple death threats. Even Jerry didn’t seem to mind the fact that I couldn’t pay him anymore. I fired so many people. And at the end that first month, I was the only one still working there.
You’d think that Rosa would have packed it in and left around this point, but no; she stuck around. Of course, she had to get another job waitressing in the next town over, but after her shifts, she’d stop by and bring me and Jerry some food or help us clean or do whatever else there was to do.
When I wasn’t on the lookout for monsters or driving the business into the ground, I was planning that birthday party for Jerry. It was a welcome distraction in this trying time, but I still did a ****-poor job of it. I’d done my best to track down and invite everybody on his guest list--which included, among others: The Bathroom Cowboy, The Rat King (whoever the hell that is), all of the clowns from the carnival, Rocco, Arnold (the retired deputy turned falconer), Gregg Walton (my one-time attempted kidnapper), any remaining Kieffers, and Chris Pratt.
In the end, I had exactly two RSVP’s not including myself: Rosa and O’Brien. All in all, I considered that a success.

---

On the morning of Jerry’s birthday, Doctor Howard decided to come back to the store in person for a one-on-one chat.
I was by myself behind the counter trying to figure out how to log in to the state tax website (spoiler: I never figured it out) when he mosied up to my counter. He slowly took it all in, then used that annoyingly smug Foghorn-Leghorn impersonation he called a voice, “What are we doing, Jack? What’s the point of all this? You’re clearly in over your head. You’re not just hurting yourself anymore. Your friends are worried about you, you know? And this? This **** measuring contest? It’s ruining their lives. Now is the time to get over your pride and do the right thing.â€
He put a contract in front of me, little yellow post-its marking the places where I should sign to legally hand the business over to him. He’d made a point to highlight and even circle the proposed sale price: more money than I’ve ever earned in my entire life combined. Sure, that’s not saying much, but this was truly an absurd amount.
“I’m doing just fine. In fact, business is booming.â€
The doctor raised his eyebrows and slowly turned in a complete circle, looking the entire place over again with a smile before saying, “Is that why all the shelves are empty?â€
“Yep,†I answered. “We just had a huge rush of college kids. They’re our biggest new demographic. I sold a million fidget spinners this week. We’re swimming in financial liquidity here.â€
He shook his head like a disappointed father. “This is sad, Jack. And pointless, I might add. You’re going to lose the business sooner or later. The question is, will it be under a mountain of debt, or will it be with a golden parachute? Because if you don’t take my offer, you’ll only have yourself to blame.â€
I think he was surprised to see me grab the sheets and pull them closer to me. I read them over quickly, then took my pen and scribbled a signature onto each page where it was marked and handed them all back to him.
He looked where I had signed the name, “Go **** Yourself.†(I even initialed each of the pages with a nice, cursive little “GFY.â€)
“I don’t need your help or your money. I love being poor. It’s awesome to me. It’s my favorite.â€
The doctor tossed the pages back onto the counter. “Broke ain’t always so easy. You know that. Say, what ever happened to them crutches you were using, anyway?â€
I smiled, “Don’t need them anymore. I got a super cool new prosthetic leg. I am now more cyborg than you’ll ever be.â€
“That sure sounds like it was expensive.â€
“No, actually. In fact, I didn’t have to pay a penny. The whole thing was covered by some anonymous wealthy donor who wanted to-†I stopped as the realization abruptly hit me. “Nooooooo-â€
He laughed in my face.
“You son of a bitch! How?! No, forget that. Why?! Is there a tracking device or something embedded in it? You know what? Nevermind! I don’t even care. You want it back? Take it! I’ll take it off right now and give it back to you and let you know exactly where you can put it!â€
“Please, please, don’t. I’m not sure what would happen if I felt any more sorry for you. I might just blow a fuse.â€
I tried to come up with a good comeback, but he didn’t give me enough time. He just laughed and kept laughing until he had left the building.

---

Rosa came by early that afternoon to help decorate the gas station while I made the effort to do some cleaning. It had been three whole days since I’d seen O’Brien, and to be honest, I was really looking forward to being able to talk to her for more than a couple minutes.
I wanted to make things look a little more presentable for the occasion, and even took the liberty of sweeping up around the cash register. There were a few shreds of paper in the dustpan when I finished, which were probably the least interesting bits of garbage I’d collected, but as I went to toss it, something caught my eye. A circled word written on one of the strips of paper, in my own handwriting.
“Jack.â€
It took me a second to remember where this had come from, but then it clicked. A month earlier, that night I tore the page of random words from the radio into a thousand pieces of confetti paper and tossed them into the air. As usual, I had done a lousy job of cleaning up my mess. But now I could correct that mistake. All I had to do was dump it into the trash where it belonged. Why wouldn’t I? Right? It simply wouldn’t make any sense to do anything else.
For some reason, I felt compelled to put the dustpan on the counter and pick through all of the shreds of paper, which I then laid out side-by-side. Some pieces had whole words written on them. Some were less. And some had only a letter before being torn off.
“L†“ends die†“fig†â€your†“fri†“h†“don†“Jack†“t†“titâ€
It took me a second to arrange them properly. All together, the message was clear enough. “Let your friends die, Jack. Don’t fight it.â€
“Hey, how are you with blowing up balloons?†Rosa called to me from the top of a step ladder. She was hanging streamer paper with a big, dumb smile on her face. I swept the pieces of paper off the counter and stuffed them into my pocket, then went to help with the rest of the decorations.

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