Irregular Hours

It was one of those early morning fogs - those that float in off the nearby lake in the early summer. Not great for driving, but good for nice, quiet mornings at the store. I started wiping down the counter when an irregular walked it - that's what I called everyone not named Tony that comes in between 2:58 and 3:00. Tony was a regular. 2:59 am every Wednesday. This wasn't Tony.

As this particular irregular walked to the back of the store, I noticed a bit of an oddity. Preferring not to stare, I went back to wiping the counter - still, it troubled me.

Shortly the customer came to the counter with masking tape, AAA batteries, and a pickle.

"Morning," he said.

"Good morning!" I replied. "Is this all?"

"Yes, please. Thanks." the irregular whispered.

"You know, no one buys AAA anymore - what do you even put these in?" I asked.

"My back pocket!" he gruffly replied and turned toward the door.

I couldn't contain myself any longer.

"Sir! Hey! Sir!"

He paused and slowly turned, a scowl on his face. "What?"

"Eh - I just wanted to let you know that you have a - well a knife in your back. Like just right about here." I pointed to the right side of my back about three-quarters of the way down.

A deep sigh - "Yeah, I know. She likes it that way." He turned again and walked slowly out the door.

I let it be and went back to wiping the counter.

"Hey, Mike!" came a familiar call as the door opened.

"Tony! Happy early morning! How's the fog out there?"

"It's not great - hard to see anything out there."

Tony walked to the back and returned to the counter with electrical tape, DDD batteries, and a pickle.

"This isn't your usual, Tony."

"Yeah, I know. But this is the way she likes it."

The words echoed in my head.

"What? Who? Who likes it that way? Can you turn around for a minute?"

"Eh, no - I'd rather not. I'll just go ahead and pay for these. Thanks."

Tony ran his card and took his receipt. He slowly backed out of the store, never turning his back to me.

I looked at my watch. 3:07. My shift was over in less than an hour. The thought of locking the door crossed my mind, but I was curious. Was this the same "she"? Why had Tony refused to turn his back to me? Was he wearing a knife too?

The bell on the door rang again. In walked a woman.

"Good morn-ing," I hesitated.

"Hello! How are you? Do you have fresh coffee?"

"Definitely - just brewed it maybe 10 minutes ago."

"Perfect!"

She walked toward the back of the store and poured herself a cup. I watched as she put eleven teaspoons of sugar in the cup and walked toward me.

As she approached the counter I noted, "Eleven teaspoons of sugar. That's got to be some sweet coffee."

"Well, honey," she started — then whispered, "That's the way I like it."

The Return

"Can I help you, Ma'am?"

"Why yes, young man! I would like to return this steak knife set."

"Certainly! Do you have your receipt?"

"Yes. Here it is."

"Thank you. Was there anything wrong with it?"

"Well,” with a bit of a sigh, she elaborated, “It doesn’t slice as cleanly as I would have liked and it took a bit more effort to cut through than knives I’ve used in the past. It did the job, but it isn’t what I was hoping. I'll take another look around once I'm finished here."

"Great! You should see a refund on your card in a little while. Have a nice day!"

"Thank you."

ii

"Well, sergeant - we've gotten all the information we're going to get out of this scene. The cause and time of death are clear. The only thing missing is the murder weapon."

"Don't worry, Casey!" Sergeant replied. "It'll turn up. They always do."

48 hours

I had 48 hours and 1000 words to write the twist. It was expected. It was necessary - and it would indeed save my life. The guillotine was primed for my failure. It had already been 32 sleepless hours. I had a pen and three blank pages in front of me.

A knock at the door. "Your meal. Be careful - or it will be your last." The clatter of a tray, the shuffle of an exit, and the locking of the door. I was alone again.

"Soup! It's always soup!" I hated soup, but in this moment - this one time - perhaps it was the meal I needed. Fear of it being my last triggered something in my mind. The twist! I grabbed the pages and began to scrawl furiously.

I wrote and counted - 15 words - more writing - 45 words - a pause. I looked over at the soup and started writing again.

Cramping hands and half a page filled. Exhaustion, but completion. I looked at the page, satisfied. 190 words, but a world within. I was finished. I ate my soup with satisfaction, waiting for my moment in the spotlight.

ii

I arrived in the kings room with my twist, prepared for the spotlight - clenching the page with a tight fist, needing the release that completion would bring. My eyes caught the glint of the guillotine in the corner reminding me of the stakes. The king looked at me and I raised the paper to read for him and the audience. But the king had a twist of his own.

"Everyone rise! We will start with a dance. Then we will hear the twist from our vaunted guest!"

The room rose to their feet as the music played. I watched as the room erupted in smiles and music, but as with the motion of every dancer - the smile on every face, the color drained from mine. My heart went cold and slowed as the song came to an end.

Everyone sat, except the king. He pointed at me and said, "Now, we hear the twist." The spotlight turned from the king to me. Knowing that the king had just heard every word of my — or perhaps not mine — twist, I swallowed hard and the page fell slowly from my hand.

I didn't know who Chubby Checker was - but he had sealed my fate.